Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

In a perfect world, group projects would never be a thing in higher education. They’re stressful, often unorganized, setting people up for failure in more ways than one, and quite frankly really fucking annoying.

Unfortunately, most people do not live in a perfect world, and this means that they are subject to the horrors of faux friendliness in order to get a decent fucking grade. Typically this wouldn’t be more than a minor annoyance, a blip on one’s master plan to success, but when a certain Social Research class requires that two unsuspecting victims do a partner project on theoretical future funding for the school, one of them realizes very quickly that the world is a cruel and unjust place.

How cruel and unjust?

Well, cruel enough to stick Jeno Lee with Jaemin Suh of all the people in the world; and worst of all, make him have to pretend to like that granola munching woodstock attendee wannabe, when deep down they both know that they hate each other’s guts. 

Yes, the world is out to get Jeno Lee, he’s sure of it, but he isn’t going to let Jaemin Suh stop him from getting what he wants.

🖇

Jaemin hates the swishing sound of his jeans and his backpack as he speedwalks through the library. One of the elevators is broken, and the other is already going up, so Jaemin has to sprint up to the fourth floor where his and his partner’s study room sits. Typically this would be a non-issue, because most people are patient, understanding, normal, but Jaemin knows his partner to not be any of those things, so he tries to avoid further lateness with his new set of zine’s practically falling out of his arms.

By the time he’s bursting into the study room, he’s puffing air in and out a bit faster than usual, but he pays the other man in the room no mind as he gets himself situated, tossing the zines onto the table to be dealt with later. The last thing he wants to do is allow Jeno Lee to think he cares about his opinions—on anything, but especially his lateness—so not giving into the clear holes he is trying to burn into Jaemin’s skull seems like the appropriate course of action.

“You’re late,” Jeno grumbles under his breath, almost as if he partly doesn’t want Jaemin to hear it.

“And you’re still alive and kicking, so I suppose everything is just fine,” Jaemin replies without wasting a breath when he finally lifts his head to meet Jeno’s gaze, their eyes greeting in a standoff that is not unfamiliar territory for them. “Anyways, should we get started? I need to distribute these zine’s before going home and I really don’t want to get caught up with the Greek life kids on the quad.”

At this, Jeno gives him a funny look, as if Jaemin’s free time activities are abhorrent and weird, going so far as to scoff, and Jaemin decides that ignoring him is still the best thing he can do.

Rather than engage the demon, Jaemin scoots in the rest of the way, setting his iPad down before pulling it open and sitting it up with it’s stand. He can still feel Jeno’s prying eyes on him as he does, but when he meets his cold gaze again it’s with a sarcastic, insincere grin. “Why don’t we start with your ideas.”

It’s not actually what he wants, but he has a feeling that appeasing the creature will be easier than trying to actually be productive. 

An assumption that is proven to be true almost instantly as Jeno perks up just the slightest at his invitation—though, perks up is a strong word for the way he just relaxes some of the tension from his shoulders, letting his bitter expression melt into that of bothersome indifference. “Okay, well,” Jeno begins with a clearing of his throat, pulling his open laptop towards him a bit more as he leans against his elbow on the table. “I think the funding should go towards logical things, like furthering the schools stake in stem projects and getting updated tech equipment in the business buildings. I don’t quite have the details worked out, but I believe with the parameters for the project that’s the clear direction we should be going in.”

As Jeno speaks, Jaemin finds himself completely unsurprised by the nature of his words, his wealth showing in more ways than just his appearance, but also his ability to tear people down before they’ve even had a chance to express an opinion. His emphasis on asserting that the funding should go towards something logical shows his blatant distrust in whatever thoughts Jaemin may bring to the table. It’s frustrating, to say the least, but it’s not anything Jaemin isn’t used to hearing, and he squares his shoulders in preparation to recite his defense.

“It seems as if your use of the funding only benefits a certain demographic,” Jaemin says calmly, trying not to let his anger rise too evidently to the surface, especially since he at least agrees with supporting stem. “Of course I can see why, seeing as it’s a demographic you clearly know well, but I don’t think it’d be very in spirit of the project to focus solely on a group of students who have already experienced favor in the school. Funding will come along naturally for them, and I think this would be a unique opportunity to express interest in and support for groups of students in the school who may be overlooked.”

This, for some reason, brings a slight smirk to Jeno’s features, and Jaemin hates the way it genuinely catches him off guard. 

“But these types of things require constant upkeep, and if they are not in our highest regard it could hurt—”

“Maybe you all need to hurt,” Jaemin grumbles bitterly, hardly noticing the words leaving him until he catches Jeno’s affronted expression from across the table. If it weren’t so annoying it’d be a bit amusing, but it is still annoying, and the audacity of his next words already has Jaemin bristling  

“So I should be punished for having wealth, is that it?” Jeno asks with a slight raise of his brow, seeming to revel in the way he’s perfectly pushed Jaemin’s buttons. It’s stupid, and childish, and not going to get them anywhere, but Jaemin has officially been provoked, and once that line has been crossed there’s no going back.

“Yes,” he huffs, crossing his arms in disdain, “and for being a bigoted dogmatist.”

“Oh please—”

“Do you deny it?”

“Of course I do,” Jeno shoots back with his own anger rising to the surface, eyes losing their perpetual state of disinterest. “My minor is in gender studies which is the only reason I’m taking this god forsaken class with you, and I happen to be a product of adoption from my two fathers. Just because I am economically conservative does not mean my values are—”

Oh no, Jaemin thinks, not able to stomach a single second more of this fucking shit. He knows confirmation bias is a helluva drug, but how in the actual fuck has this Korean, orphan son of two fathers become that fucking dense?

“You’re fucking joking,” Jaemin exclaims with a disbelieving laugh, almost shrill from the sheer absurdity. “Do not pull that socially liberal but economically conservative crap with me. Capitalism kills—people and the planet, and if I were you I wouldn’t be so fucking eager to side with your status over your identity. Get some self respect and perhaps a more up to date wardrobe, Grandpa.”

Silence. Jeno appears to be absorbing Jaemin’s words, even looking down at his own attire—which is a simple sweater vest over a white button down, paired with dark blue jeans and some nice shoes. Admittedly he doesn’t even look bad, but Jaemin has committed, and when Jeno’s eyes trail back up to meet his gaze, he feels his stomach sink when he’s greeted with another careless smirk. “Says the one wearing a tie dye t-shirt.”

Jaemin doesn’t really know how to react to that, giving in without realizing by looking down at his own outfit and inspecting his baggy blue jeans and worn out docs. He huffs, shaking his head slightly before looking back up at Jeno with a glare. “Are we going to plan this project or not?”

“Oh I’d love to,” Jeno says casually, though his actions say otherwise as he begins to close his laptop, “but unfortunately you’ve wasted all of my precious free time being an insane person, so we’ll have to pick this up another day.”

Well, if Jaemin were a worse person he’d probably lose his mind then and there, but he prides himself on the very fact that he is a much better person than Jeno Lee, so rather than tear into him the way he so desperately wishes, he settles for a muttered, “Fine.” 

“Fine.” Jeno says flatly, tucking his laptop into his bag before standing from his chair, his floppy blonde hair rustling as he shakes his head. “We can email about it later.”

And then he leaves, not another word spoken between them as Jaemin watches him through the large windows of the study room, waiting until he disappears amongst the stacks before slumping back into his seat with a muffled groan. 

🖇  

“Mail!” Jaemin calls out as he kicks his shoes off in the entryway of his house, his warm bungalow smelling pleasantly of incense and something garlicky cooking from the kitchen. Before any sign of human life is known to him though, he hears the clanging of dog tags and the pattering of claws on the hardwood, and in the next second he sees his beloved pit mix coming at him at full speed. “ Oof —hello, Patch,” he says with a small grunt, catching Patch as she jumps up on him, her nose nuzzling into his stomach as her tail wags dangerously back and forth. “Do you know where our dads are, hm?” Jaemin gives her a well deserved scratch behind her ears, leaning down to place a kiss to the top of her bulky head. 

“Dad numero uno is right here,” a voice comes from somewhere in the room, causing Jaemin to lift his head with a grin upon seeing his father standing in the doorway with a dishrag in his hands, housecoat hanging over his frame as if he’d just gotten out of bed, though Jaemin knows he’s probably been up doing chores. “Why don’t you set the table while we wait for your father to get home from work,” he says while slinging the towel over his shoulder, giving Jaemin and Patch another smile of endearment before disappearing back into the kitchen.

Jaemin give’s Patch a last round of pets before having to begrudgingly let her go, and he slides his backpack off to set it in his usual assigned dining chair before going to meet his dad in the kitchen. 

“How was your day?” Ten asks as he pulls his pot of what smells like chicken soup off the heat, taking the lid off to stir the goodness inside. 

“It was okay,” Jaemin replies with a shrug, grabbing three plates and their reusable napkins from the drawer before leaning against the counter to face Ten. “Though when dad gets home I will have to tell you both about this lovely guy I met,” he adds with a roll of his eyes, spinning around to take the plates and napkins to the dining room. “He was an asshole!” Jaemin calls out for good measure, setting a plate down at each placemat.   

“Who’s an asshole?” The voice, a different voice, startles Jaemin slightly, making him nearly drop the napkins to look up and see Johnny standing in the doorway, kicking his shoes off to join the disorganized pile by the door. “Woah, sorry kiddo,” he snickers as he makes his way around the dining table, leaning over to kiss the top of Jaemin’s head in greeting before turning towards the kitchen. “Smells good—” is the last thing Jaemin hears before his dad is stolen away by his other dad, and he grins to himself while finishing setting the table. 

Once the three of them are settled for dinner, Jaemin doesn’t let Ten or Johnny get more than three slurps in of their soup before he’s beginning his tirade, and he’s grateful that his parents take it in stride. 

“So, yeah, basically he’s the worst person I’ve ever met. I bet he owns, like, NFT’s, or a Jeep Grand Cherokee or something,” Jaemin grumbles angrily while munching on an apple slice, Ten having very nicely cut some up for him to have with his soup. “And I have to be in a group with him for half the semester!” When he looks up from his food, Jaemin sees Johnny looking at him with his brow raised in amusement, and Jaemin can’t help the muffled, “ what ?” with his mouth still full of apple. 

“Oh nothing, nothing,” Johnny says before taking a sip of his soup, glancing over at Ten across the table with that look that Jaemin knows all too well. It’s a look of parental silent communication, the look they always share when Jaemin is about to make a mistake and they just let him because they know he won’t learn any other way. 

“Honey, I think you should utilize the practice of picking your battles, especially when there’s nothing to be gained by hating the guy,” Ten says while drinking from his water glass, looking at Jaemin over the rim with a slight smile, ever the philosophical one. “Sometimes not fighting battles we don’t need to win is the best thing to do for everyone.”

Johnny makes a small noise of acknowledgment with a nod to match, forcing down another spoonful of soup before adding, “your father’s right. This boy may be the devil incarnate, but you won’t even know he exists after this semester, so just pretend like you’re getting paid to be around him and get through it.”

Immediately Jaemin’s expression sours at the suggestion, and his dad’s share that look again that makes him squirm. “Fine,” he acquiesces, not liking their approach whatsoever—he’s a fighter to the core after all—but knowing better than to express as such when his dad’s seem to already think they know what Jaemin’s going to do. They did raise him, he supposes, and they must know that Jaemin would never in a million years just lay down and accept something, but just to be safe he feigns complacency, not wanting to give them the satisfaction of being right. 

When dinner is over, Jaemin spends the better part of an hour cleaning everything up so Ten can rest. He doesn’t like that even though Johnny works just so Ten won’t have to strain his body, that he still spends all day every day on his feet around the house. They’re extremely lucky to be able to thrive on a single income, but living with chronic pain from a lifetime of professional dancing isn’t something to play around with. 

After finishing cleaning the kitchen and dining room, Jaemin turns off all the lights before walking down the main hallway towards his bedroom. The house they live in is a bit of an older one, though it had been newly renovated before they moved in a few years ago, and the rooms are quite small because of the fact. Jaemin’s bed is pushed into the corner beneath the window, a beautiful tapestry being used as a makeshift curtain that’s tied in a knot in the middle, his windowsill covered in half melted candles and an incense holder still harboring ash. There’s also a small desk in the other corner of his room by his closet, and a mini bookshelf filled from top to bottom with books that Jaemin has always promised he’d get to. All in all, it’s his favorite room in the house, and when he plops down into his desk chair with an agenda in mind, he’s glad that the warm ambience of his desk lamp is able to minimize some of the harshness of what he’s about to do. 

“ Jeno Lee ” is the first thing he types into the search bar on his laptop, but not thinking that would yield many helpful results on its own, he adds the name of their school after it. The immediate results are the standard honor’s lists, and one school newspaper article about how he’d won some business award at the school for a club he has never known even existed. He clicks on the article to see if maybe they have any pictures of him—and sure enough, there he is, standing between two men with their hands on his shoulders. Jaemin glances down at the tag that says “ From left to right: Doyoung Kim (father), Jeno Lee, Taeyong Lee (father) .” Below that is a caption. “The Lee family has done nothing but support the university and it’s endeavors, whether that be through generous donations or by providing the university with their son’s brilliant mind,” Jaemin reads to himself, a scoff following immediately after that nearly has him falling out of his seat. Of course Jeno’s parents have donated money to the university, he’d be a bad rich person if they hadn’t. 

From there, logically, his next search in a new tab is Doyoung Kim , and Jaemin is nearly given whiplash by the first result he sees. 

“Doyoung Kim, executive of Korean car company…” he mutters to himself out loud, reading the bastard's Wikipedia page that basically informs Jaemin that he has made more money in the past 2 years than Jaemin will probably ever encounter in his entire life. As he scrolls, he reaches the family section, and on the drop down he sees the name of the other man, Taeyong Lee. He clicks on that too.

“A fucking fashion designer? Really?” If Jaemin’s honest, he’s in complete disbelief, even if he had no idea what he was going to find. The professions of his parents seem a little too good to be true, like at any time cameras will jump out and catch Jaemin inappropriately snooping on a classmate. 

Then again, shouldn’t it be normal for Jaemin to be curious, considering Jeno carries himself like some untouchable god? Jaemin likes to know who he’s interacting with, if only to keep from allowing himself to get too close.

Though he doubts that will be an issue with Jeno, because Jaemin has no desire to be close to him at all.

🖇

“Why does he want to get you a race car?” Donghyuck asks with a snort, sipping on some green juice that contrasts the bright orange tone of his sweet potato salad. “Do you even like Mercedes’?”

Chenle rolls his eyes at the question, dropping his fork with a dramatic clatter into his metal bento box. “Who doesn’t? But like you said, it’s a race car, and I find the style of that particular one quite ugly. I’d much prefer the Porchse if I’m honest, no matter how horribly Hampton that makes me.”

Jeno snorts out a laugh at that, tongue poking the inside of his cheek as he tries to refrain from making any comments. He knows that Chenle is very particular about his style, even if he is arguably wrong about it, so being the good friend he is, Jeno just smiles and nods in agreement, taking a bite from his salad in nonchalance. 

“Personally I think—” 

Donghyuck never gets to finish his thought, and Jeno’s head is snapping up at the sound of his name. 

“Hey, Jeno Lee,” Jaemin calls from halfway across the cafeteria, striding over to his table with zero shame. Typically lunch is meant to be a peaceful affair, but Jeno thinks with his new found parasite that he isn’t going to be afforded another moment of serenity in his life. 

“What do you want?” Jeno grits out with zero gentleness when Jaemin is finally standing in front of their table, seeing the small looks of surprise from his friends next to him out of the corner of his eye.

Jaemin’s expression too sours just the slightest at his tone, and Jeno is almost about to feel satisfied over it, but the guy glosses it over just as quickly. “We need to actually submit a proposal this week, and we have literally nothing written on the doc,” Jaemin says casually, as if he isn’t intruding on Jeno’s time outside of class and their sanctioned meeting. 

“Why didn’t you just email me?” He asks, clearly exasperated and a bit surprised to be having this conversation at all. 

Jaemin seems to think that question is preposterous, if his expression is anything to go by, and Jeno thinks he might like to punch his pinched brow and curled lips. “Because I saw you and figured it’d save me time?”

Logical enough, but Jeno still doesn’t appreciate it. “Can’t you see I’m busy?” Jaemin has the audacity to scoff at this, going as far as to look around the table at his two friends that quite frankly are probably suffering more than him—though he figures by a very marginal amount.

“Doing what? Plotting your guys’s next moves to tear down a homeless shelter or kick puppies?” He quips back with a sudden glint in his eye, as if he somehow gained some sort of upper hand in the situation.

But if there's one thing about Jeno that will remain true until he dies, it’s that he will never go down without a fight.  

Jeno tilts his head with a fake, tight-lipped smile when Jaemin’s eyes find his again, and he feels about as petty as he’s being. “Well at least we have the drive to actually plan things out.”

This seems to be what finally tips Jaemin into the realm of being entirely done with this situation, and he crosses his arms against his chest with a frustrated huff. “If you’re so driven, then work. On the. Fucking. Project. With me.”

Jeno regards him for a moment more, purposefully eying him up and down. “Fine.” Is all he gives him, and another flash of annoyance displays on Jaemin’s otherwise soft features. 

“Your place or mine?” He asks, clearly just wanting to have this conversation be over with, and Jeno can’t help but feel a bit of pride at the fact that he’s probably steered him away from ever bothering him again. 

“I will not be going to whatever shack you live in,” he replies coldly, bitterly, and he tries to ignore the way his friends cringe beside him. 

Somehow, this comment is what bothers Jaemin the least, and he affords Jeno nothing more than a roll of his eyes before muttering, “Okay Mr. Musk, send the address to your mothership and I’ll be over tomorrow night.”

“When tomorrow? I do have a life you know.” In truth, Jeno has nowhere else to be, but Jaemin doesn’t need to know that. In fact, it’s entirely best if he doesn’t. 

“That I sincerely doubt,” Jaemin quips, a hint of a smirk forming at the corners of his lips, “but I’ll let you know tonight.”

Jeno huffs. “Fine.”

“Fine,” Jaemin echos, standing up a bit straighter, as if he somehow won in the end. “Bye Jeno.”

And finally, thankfully, he’s gone. 

“Jesus christ, what was that?” Donghyuck exclaims while still watching Jaemin leave, Chenle too entranced by the demon. 

“Yeah, holy fuck it was like watching two hyenas fight over a zebra carcas,” Chenle adds, annoyingly, forcing Jeno to turn his bitterness towards them despite that being his last intention. 

“It’s nothing,” he grumbles, closing the lid on his salad container as his appetite is all but ruined. “But I’ll make it a big fucking something if Jaemin Suh keeps his attitude up. I swear, I’ve already had enough of him for a lifetime.” 

If Jeno notices the way Donghyuck and Chenle shoot each other looks at his harsh words, he chooses, like always, to ignore it. He knows that he’s probably being a bit unreasonable, but Jaemin’s entire existence is unreasonable, and it feels too good tearing him down to stop. 

🖇

If Jaemin had known that Jeno’s house was going to be a 35 minute walk from the nearest bus stop, he’d have just insisted they meet at school again despite it being a Saturday. To make matters even worse, he has to drop his name at the gate to his neighborhood to be let in, and by the grace of god (or something) Jeno had pre-approved his arrival so he wasn’t met with much resistance. Jaemin can tell he definitely got some looks from the security guards, which he finds ironic, considering they’re just doing the bourgeoisie's bidding. The entire thing can be chalked up to anti-poverty infrastructure, and Jaemin already has a bad taste in his mouth when he traverses down the sidewalk to find the house number that belongs to his current least favorite person in the world. 

It’s a bit surreal, seeing the mega mansions in the tuscan style and houses made to look entirely like concrete cubes. There doesn’t seem to be much of a theme in this neighborhood besides extreme wealth , and Jaemin can’t help but scoff to himself as he passes more luxury than he thinks he’s ever seen in his entire life. 

By the time he nearly gets to the end of the street, he glances down at the email with Jeno’s address one more time, pausing on the sidewalk to look up at his surroundings. Upon a little inspection, he sees the matching numbers on the house across the street, and though he should have expected it, Jaemin thinks he physically feels the air leave his lungs at the sight of it. 

“Holy fuck…” he murmurs to quite literally nobody but himself, seeing the ultra modern mansion with sleek glass windows and dark gray exterior, all harsh lines and absolutely nothing quant or homey about it. In fact, Jaemin would say it’s bordering on brutalism if it weren’t for the modern glass and steel accents. 

He’s practically entranced as he walks up the driveway, feeling similar to Mia Thermopolis in the Princess Diaries when she gets yelled at through an intercom to stay off the grass. Jaemin notices their front yard is mostly concrete and landscaping though, and he cringes internally at the lack of greenery. 

When Jaemin knocks on the front door that’s probably double his size, a part of him kind of hopes that nobody answers it. He can’t be blamed for leaving if nobody answers, right? And besides, what’s another 35 minutes back to the bus stop if it means getting to avoid having to interact with Jeno Lee at all? 

Those wishes are clearly pipe dreams, though, because in the middle of his escape plan Jaemin hears the front door open, and he stiffens with an awkward smile when his gaze lands upon a middle aged woman wearing jeans and a cardigan. “Can I help you?” She asks, an accent Jaemin can’t quite place thick in her voice. 

“Uh, yes?” It’s a question more than an answer, and the woman has the politeness to do no more than widen her smile in slight amusement. “My name is Jaemin, and I’m… here to see Jeno?” So unsure sounding , he internally scolds himself, relief flooding his body when the woman nods and takes a step back, gesturing for Jaemin to enter through the grand entryway. 

Inside, things are just as dark as the exterior—no, most definitely darker. The floors are a smoothed, slate gray concrete, and the walls are another shade of gray that borders on a muted blue. As the woman leads Jaemin through the house, he sees sleek black cabinets and galaxy marble countertops, a large room through some massive raised archways harboring a dining table that could easily fit 12 people, and a grand piano on a large circular rug by the even larger glass doors that he’s being taken to.

Through the glass he sees what appears to be an atrium, and as the woman opens one of the black-framed doors with another gesture for him to pass through, Jaemin sees what looks to be the most expensive thing in the house: Jeno Lee sitting at a glass table with his laptop in front of him, brow knitted together in concentration and a plethora of greenery surrounding him as if he were some sort of god in an oasis. 

The woman closes the door behind Jaemin, and as he steps up to the glass table he notices the way Jeno does not seem to bother acknowledging him. It frustrates him, clearly, but Jaemin is going to at least try and start this meeting with some sort of bravado left in him. “I’m surprised anything is able to grow around your putrid personality,” he comments while looking around the large atrium, genuinely admiring the thick green leaves from the hanging plants and sprawling vines that overtake little corners with what appear to be fruit trees. It looks like something straight out of a studio Ghibli movie, and when Jaemin looks back down to the dark prince with too much arrogance to stomach, he sees him finally looking up at him. 

“As opposed to your stench of pot and entitlement?” Jeno returns with a look of disinterest, leaning back in his chair to regard Jaemin properly. 

“ I’m entitled? You have a fucking maid.” Jaemin can only assume that’s who the woman was that let him in, as much as he’d like to think it was just some random friend who happens to answer people’s doors for them. 

“And she’s paid handsomely for her work. Sit down,” Jeno says dismissively, turning back to his laptop without a second thought. 

And truly Jaemin doesn’t know why he listens, but he does, almost instantly, sitting in the chair off to the side of where Jeno sits and trying to ignore his slight look of surprise in his peripheral. In fact, he’d pretty much like to avoid anymore unnecessary interactions altogether, and Jaemin pulls his laptop out of his bag 

“I brought a list of ideas with me this time,” Jaemin says a bit timidly as he sets his laptop on the table, his bravado already gone. “Since you were so prepared last time,” he adds under his breath, waiting with a small cringe for Jeno to return the sarcasm. 

Amazingly, he doesn’t. 

“Okay…” Jeno trails off, seeming slightly distracted for a reason Jaemin doesn’t know, “let’s hear them.”

Given the go-ahead, Jaemin clears his throat, clicking on his little list of notes he has in a doc. Jeno probably keeps all of his lists in a death note or something, a thought that internally makes him chuckle. “The funding should go towards scholarships,” Jaemin begins with a bit of forced bravery, knowing his ideas are good but not trusting Jeno to be kind about them, “renovating the arts building because it hasn’t been touched since it was built in the 60’s, assisting the on campus food pantry, expanding on campus housing with more livable, ethical designs, or expanding the menu in the cafeteria to be more accessible.” When Jaemin finishes he intakes a breath, realizing he’d said everything in one go around, probably paranoid that Jeno would interrupt him if he didn’t. Then as he looks up to see Jeno’s reaction, it becomes apparant that his face doesn’t look very pleased. “What?”

Jeno scoffs at the question, because of course he does. “How do any of these benefit the school long term?” He asks while bringing his pen up to his lips, looking as if he’s about to put the end between his teeth before deciding against it with a condescending exhale. “Expanding the menu would only be a temporary gift to the students, seeing as the university wouldn’t have the consistent funding to keep it going. The arts building hasn’t been renovated because nothing of much importance occurs there that requires advancement in form or function. Scholarships I could get behind but seeing as we don’t know the source or type of funding it’s useless to focus on such a small thing that’s already mostly funded by government grants, and as for the on campus food pantry, that runs on donations and has yet to hit roadblocks so why give it things it doesn’t need? Housing is a decent idea, but once again, the university is not in dire need of new housing, nor would it benefit it’s immediate mission.”

Jaemin feels a sudden surge of anger at Jeno’s words, though he knows he should have anticipated it, it's still frustrating that Jeno is as pigheaded as he’d assumed. “Why even bother letting me tell you my ideas if you’re clearly dead set on not fucking listening to me?”

“Because I was hoping after hearing my ideas you’d have something to offer,” Jeno shoots back without a second thought, clearly just waiting to reprimand Jaemin before he’d even opened his mouth. 

“I did offer something,” Jaemin insists, annoyance lacing his tone. A part of him expects Jeno to scoff at him again, but surprisingly the man’s features soften—as much as stone can be smoothed out, and he simply sighs instead. 

“So you did, but they’re not what’s going to get us an A.” Jeno seems to think this is a fair enough reason to completely dismiss Jaemin, and as much as he is a fucking asshole, Jaemin has to admit that he can see why Jeno would just be interested in passing. As much as Jaemin wants to make a statement with this project and present his honest thoughts, he knows that’s not reasonable, he thinks of his father’s words about picking his battles .

Jaemin exhales, his hand coming up to rub at his brow. “Then what?” He asks, setting his hand down in his lap once again to try and keep from instigating yet another argument. 

Something about Jeno seems to relax at this, and there’s an awkwardly calm air settling between them. They’re probably both incredibly tired of this. “I say we stick with my plan that focuses on using the funding for research grants. This is a research university, after all, and STEM programs are the backbone of most benefactor funding. Assuming that government funding will cover your scholarships and your visual upkeep, then the other funding should go towards something directly useful to the university, no?”

It’s an innocent statement, and it shouldn’t frustrate Jaemin the way it does, but Jeno Lee is nothing if not frustrating. The term directly useful is what sets the fight or flight response off in his head, and he can already feel his wave of disagreement cresting the once only mildly rocky shore between them. It was bound to be a short lived peace after all, and Jaemin can’t bring himself to regret it as he narrows his eyes in Jeno’s direction.

“You mean benefactors like your parents?” The words just slip out of him, spurred on by bitterness and his incessant need to be right, and he regrets saying it immediately. 

Jeno doesn’t answer right away, his jaw clenching. There’s fire in his eyes, and despite this being something they could have avoided, Jaemin thinks he wants to watch Jeno burn. “Maybe if you’d actually done your homework for your classes rather than stalking me we’d be further into this project,” Jeno finally grumbles through gritted teeth, his fingers flexing where they rest on the table. If Jaemin weren’t so sure that Jeno is all talk, he might be afraid the guy would punch him, but he knows Jeno isn’t the type.

“Don’t fucking flatter yourself,” Jaemin bites back, ready to follow this to the end now that he’s committed. “I just like to know who I’m rubbing elbows with.” His own composure is all but compromised as he lets Jeno get under his skin, and he still wishes he’d never said anything. He hates this, hates him, but he needs to pass this class to graduate, so he has no choice but to endure these sour and exhausting moments. If Jeno is one thing, it’s endlessly cruel, and he doesn’t let Jaemin get off with the comment as he further deepens their cuts into each other. 

“Oh don’t worry, Jaemin,” he mutters with a slight glint in his eye, sharp like broken glass, “I’d never get close enough to touch you.” Silence. “So, shall we write up the proposal?”

By the time the night begins shadowing through the atrium, Jaemin can hear a soft patter of rain hitting the glass ceiling. Internally he curses even the weather for being against him, because he has no desire to get his clothes soaked, but he would sprint in a hurricane to get away from Jeno at this point. 

“I’ll walk you out,” Jeno says as he stands from the table, surprisingly docile despite the beginning of their meeting. Admittedly the pair had a civil couple of hours, but now the sun has set and Jaemin has yawned one too many times, and he knows they’re both over this. 

“You don’t have to do that, I found my way 35 minutes here on foot I think I can find my way out of your house,” Jaemin grumbles while stuffing his laptop back into his backpack, slinging it over his shoulder and being ready to leave it at that. Jeno looks at him momentarily, as if confused, and Jaemin decides he doesn’t want to wait around to see what that look means. “Right, well, I’ll email you.”

Jaemin spins on his heels, leaving Jeno in a sort of entranced state that makes him itch beneath his skin. It’s not often, or ever, that Jeno is caught off guard, so as he exits the atrium, Jaemin’s more than uncomfortable to hear Jeno coming after him from behind. 

“What do you mean 35 minutes?” Jeno asks with a slight tone of disbelief, as if the concept that Jaemin can’t teleport is absurd. “Why’d you walk?”

Jaemin scoffs at the question, his shoulders scrunching in on his ears as he tries to ignore Jeno’s impending presence, keeping his gaze straight forward on the front door thankfully getting closer and closer. “I didn’t, asshole,” he bites out, perhaps a bit unnecessarily, but he doesn’t like being questioned by Jeno for literally any reason. “I took the bus, but the nearest bus stop was a 35 minute walk to your neighborhood. If I’d known that was going to be the case we could’ve just zoomed.”

As Jaemin keeps storming away, he suddenly hears Jeno’s movements stop behind him, and momentarily he’s relieved that perhaps Jeno has given up. But like most things concerning Jeno, that is a pipe dream, and just as Jaemin is about to reach out to open the front door, there’s a hand grabbing his arm.

“Hey—!”

“I’ll drive you home,” Jeno says abruptly, cutting Jaemin’s complaint off but thankfully dropping his arm on his own accord anyway. “It’s raining, and you’re no good to me sick.”

Immediately the idea makes Jaemin wonder if he’s asleep at the table in the atrium, or maybe Jeno drugged him and this is a hallucination. “Excuse me?” Jaemin shoots back, though he doesn’t really know why. All he knows is that he doesn’t like the way Jeno grabbed him, and he doesn’t like the look of… apology in his eyes. “I’m fine. I don’t need your charity.”

“Oh don’t be a fucking baby,” Jeno practically spits, as if insulting Jaemin is no different than a sneeze—instant and unavoidable. “It’s just a ride home. I may not like you, but I also wasn’t raised by animals. I’m not letting you walk all alone in the rain at night, my father’s would never forgive me.” He pauses, realization dawning on his own features that he’s perhaps being a bit too kind. The sentiment in general is very unlike Jeno, and though Jaemin is nearly the exact same height, he feels small as Jeno practically crowds him against the front door. “Besides, just by looking at you I can tell you’d be easy to kidnap. Skinny and stupid, like a chihuahua.”

Ah, there it is, Jaemin thinks to himself, feeling oddly better about the insult than Jeno’s attempt at being cordial. He tries to regain some of his bravado, standing up straighter and forcing Jeno to step back by taking up space of his own. “Fine,” he huffs, crossing his arms against his chest, “but I don’t want to be in any of your stupid fancy cars.”

This makes a sly smirk turn up the corner of Jeno’s lips, and all space he’s just made goes to waste as he takes another step toward Jaemin, his hand coming up to touch the wall behind Jaemin’s head, pinning him in place. “I only own stupid fancy cars, pleb,” he says with a gleam in his eyes, leaning down into Jaemin’s space, unwelcome and quite frankly making Jaemin’s heart drop to his ass. The beating in his ears from the blood rushing to his head makes him forget the blatantly classist comment, and panic settles beneath his skin. 

“Jeno, what—” but Jaemin doesn’t get to finish his complaint, cut off by the clanking of keys, and he turns his head to see Jeno holding a set of car keys. Jaemin shoots his gaze to the wall behind himself, seeing a key holder right by his head. 

“Don’t get too excited, Jaemin,” Jeno says as he finally steps back, his smirk slowly and eerily melting into a glare that’s sharp enough to cut Jaemin’s throat. “I meant what I said about never getting close enough to touch you.”

This time it’s Jeno who spins on his heels, abandoning Jaemin in the doorway to exhale the breath he had been holding. He has no idea what the fuck just happened, but he hopes it never happens again, and he shivers away the strange feelings as he rushes after Jeno towards the garage.

Thankfully once they’re both inside one of the four cars Jeno had in his garage, not much else conversation happens. There’s quiet music being played over the speakers from Jeno’s phone, a strange mix of classical piano and Russian music that he really doesn’t hate. Jaemin’s never considered before that Jeno is in fact a person with things that he enjoys, and the thought makes him a bit uncomfortable if he is honest. 

Jeno is supposed to be some creature, this unattainable other , and being in a car with him while streetlights pass them by is not helping that image very much.

“Your house is only a 20 minute drive away,” Jeno says suddenly while his left hand rests on the wheel, his right hand sitting in his lap. “How long is the bus ride?”

Jaemin’s nose scrunches at the question, unable to help but feel like it’s mildly derogatory. He knows it makes him part of the problem to always assume that Jeno is harboring negative intentions, but can he truly be blamed when all Jeno has done is treat him poorly? (No pun intended.)

“It’s only 10 minutes more,” Jaemin mumbles under his breath, squirming in slight discomfort. He half expects Jeno to laugh at him, but no such sound comes, and when Jaemin glances over to catch any sort of reception of his words, he catches Jeno already looking towards him.

They both look away instantly, and Jaemin wishes the car would swallow him whole. 

🖇 

If Jaemin were to consider anything he does particularly harmful, it would be the fact he enjoys partying. It is definitely his toxic trait aside from being a hardass, but thankfully his friends share the same love of loud music and dancing with people they’ll never see again. 

Parties also provide him and his friends opportunities to be proactive, and he, Jisung and Renjun are almost done distributing flyers for a voting for the student council change that’s coming up. A friend of his, Minjeong, is running for president, and she’s just about the only person on the ballot with a fucking brain—and probably bigger balls. 

Regardless, once the flyers are handed out and he and his friends have reconvened right on the edge of the dance floor, Jaemin feels a small sense of accomplishment that comes with the little things.

“Can we dance now?” Renjun grumbles as he‘s already pulling Jaemin towards him, the atmosphere shifting very quickly to that of being in need of fun. “That girl from your soc of sex class you think is really hot is over by the drinks,” he adds with a twinkle in his gaze, making Jaemin roll his eyes despite the way the thought admittedly excites him.

“I didn’t come here for a girl,” Jaemin comments with a huff, though his gaze is already scanning the crowd, slowly and reluctantly making its way towards the table that houses rows upon rows of shitty solo cups, some already crushed and tossed to the floor. At first he doesn’t see her, feeling a bit silly for falling for Renjun’s trap, but then just as easily his eyes land on 5’10 of just about the prettiest person he’s ever seen. 

“Ah… but it seems like you could leave here with one!” Renjun quips while patting Jaemin on the back, pulling away just as quickly to grab Jisung’s hand. “Have fun with that, Jisung and I are gonna try and con boys for things.”

A small groan emits from Jisung at Renjun’s words, but Jaemin sees an air of amusement on his features so he decides that their baby won’t be too miserable. Watching his friends go, Jaemin absently wishes he’d at least done his hair before coming tonight. He isn’t given too long to dwell on it though, because when he turns to look back at Yoorim by the drinks, she’s already staring at him.

Approaching women is simultaneously the easiest and most nerve-wracking thing Jaemin could ever do. Easy because they are usually much more pleasant to be around than most men, but nerve-wracking because Jaemin lives with the motto that women deserve all good things and that’s a lot for a guy to live up to. Still, when he approaches the table of drinks, he does so with a casual smile, and his insides warm when Yoorim smiles back at him.

“Hey,” he greets easily, reaching a hand down to rest on the table before letting his smile melt into a grin. “You look really good tonight.”

Good is an understatement. Yoorim has these tiny black shorts on to show off her long legs, and her calves are covered by tight black boots. The boots make her a bit taller than Jaemin, but he doesn’t really care—in fact, that’s quite literally the least of his concerns. 

“Thank you,” Yoorim hums in reply, swaying slightly as she bites down on her bottom lip, almost as if she’s a bit nervous. “You always look pretty good.”

“Pretty good?” Jaemin teases, hoping that his smile is doing its job as he leans slightly closer to her. “Coming from you, that is a massive compliment, you know.” Even though it’s a bit dark, Jaemin is sure he can see her cheeks redden beneath the haphazard lights, and excitement thrums beneath his skin.

“Well then, are you going to ask me to dance?” Yoorim comments with a slight raise of her brow, her hand coming up to rest on Jaemin’s shoulder. The minuscule touch already has him aching to put his hands all over her, and when their eyes lock in a mutual agreement, he knows he’d be a fool to say no.

“I can’t think of a single other person I would want to dance with besides you.” It’s a cheesy line, but it does it’s job, and when he holds his hand out for Yoorim to take he can’t help the small chuckle that escapes him when she doesn’t waste a second after grabbing it to lead him towards the middle of the dance floor. Reckless bodies bump into them, and eyes follow Yoorim as she cuts through the crowd, always attracting attention from everyone. It’s hard not to look at her, with her eyes that curve when she smiles, and round cheeks that Jaemin for some reason feels like he wants to nibble on. She’s also got a soft waist, he notes as his hands come up to rest on it, her crop top letting his fingertips touch her bare and warm skin. 

Finding a rhythm is easy once they get into it. Jaemin has seen Yoorim at other parties before, but they’ve only recently found each other in similar circles. She was volunteering as an escort at a planned parenthood on the same day he was, and he could argue for falling in love then and there.

It’s hard sometimes to find people who will still find him interesting after he admits he is one of the most annoying people in the world, but Yoorim talked to him through their entire break, and they’ve met up on campus for lunch a few times.

All of that is quite far from Jaemin’s brain as she wraps her arms around his neck, leaning against him close enough that he can feel their hip bones meet from how crowded the room is. She smells like daisies and there’s small flecks of glitter in the corner of her eyes. Everything about Yoorim is gorgeous, and he can’t help but stare as she dances along to the music.

“I got one of your flyers!” She comments over the noise, one of her hands coming up to flip her hair back and out of her face. Even that movement has Jaemin weak. “I really like Min! We were roommates in freshman year!” Her words are accompanied with a small giggle, and Jaemin nearly loses his mind at how badly it makes him want to kiss her.

“Yeah, she’s great! I really—” Smack .

Jaemin jostles at the feeling of someone bumping into his shoulder, though bump is probably a loose term for the way the offender has made his arm sting slightly from how hard they’ve hit each other. A small annoyed scoff escapes Yoorim next to him, and as he too is rather annoyed, he shoots his gaze in the direction of the rude individual. Jaemin expects it to be some freshman with an attitude problem, or maybe even someone too drunk to know what’s going on around them, but what he doesn’t expect is to have his stare met with eyes that bore shamelessly into him like daggers—eyes he’s tried very hard to forget.

“Hey!” Yoorim comments as the brooding figure Jaemin unfortunately knows all too well tries to step away, and his eyes blow wide when he looks down and sees that the man is wearing a sleeveless shirt, his arms on full display. “Aren’t you going to apologize?”

Bless Yoorim for being able to say something, but Jaemin would much rather be swallowed by a sinkhole right now then take the glare that Jeno shoots his way. “Jeno, you don’t—”

“Apologize to him ?” Jeno practically spits, a look of humorless incredulity gracing his stone cold features. Briefly his gaze catches on Yoorim’s hand on Jaemin’s shoulder, and something unreadable flashes in his eyes. “No. Thanks though.”

And with that he leaves, sauntering off towards a hallway and leaving Jaemin to process what the fuck has just happened. Jeno’s arms were… adorned with tattoos. Different patterns and designs in black ink that Jaemin never would have thought he’d have in a million years. Distantly he can hear Yoorim talking to him, but he can’t focus, and quite frankly he’s a bit pissed.

“I’m sorry, Yoo, I think I need some air. Wait here?” He asks with a gentle hand on her arm, feeling a bit like a dick but relieved that she gives him a pretty and understanding smile.

“Of course, that guy was an asshole. I’ll go wait by the drinks again?” She offers while pointing in said direction, and Jaemin has no choice but to agree with a tight-lipped smile.

Once she walks off, Jaemin heads straight towards where he saw Jeno leave to, not interested in seeking a break despite the way his skin prickles with annoyance. It isn’t hard to find Jeno in the crowd, loitering by the bathrooms with his icy blonde hair that sticks out like a sore thumb. Even from here Jaemin can still see the tattoos riddling his arms, and a part of him feels so severely blindsided he almost can’t believe that this is in fact Jeno.

“Wow, so Jeno Lee does know how to have fun,” Jaemin comments sarcastically as he saunters up to Jeno’s side, standing directly in front of him and the bathroom door. He doesn’t even know if that was really where Jeno was headed, but the idea of keeping him from it feels at least a little bit like a power move.

Jeno doesn’t look very surprised to see Jaemin, and his tongue pokes the inside of his cheek as he shakes his head with a sigh. “Don’t speak to me in public, I’d prefer if people didn’t know we know each other.”

Ouch. Jeno really is a dick, and no amount of rides home could ever remedy that. “Right, like you’re the one suffering from image issues in this horrendous partnership. Everyone happens to like me, you know.” It’s true. Jaemin is well liked by his peers, his professors, his parents. Everyone in Jaemin’s life can see that he has good intentions—everyone except Jeno, that is.

“I don’t.” Jeno affirms coldly, firmly, and Jaemin almost wants to huff in frustration. 

Though that would only make Jeno the winner of this hostile conversation, and Jaemin refuses to let that happen. “The exception that proves the rule. You’re the only one,” he rebuttals with a sweet smile, his arms coming up to cross against his chest. 

Jeno doesn’t seem very amused though, and his eyes roll bitterly in his head. Jaemin can’t remember a time when Jeno didn’t look bitter. “Can I use the restroom now?” He asks, clearly annoyed and wanting to end the conversation. Of course this means that technically Jaemin has won. In their terrible game of push and pull, the smart thing to do might be to just let sleeping dogs lie, but Jaemin is feeling a bit too brave for that.

“Didn’t know you were the type to need permission,” he comments almost curiously, eyeing Jeno as if in search of something. “Is this some sort of kink?”

And oh , that definitely does it. Jeno’s already hard features turn into stone, his eyes burning with hellfire and his skin actually changing to a shade of red. He’s not just mad, he’s fucking pissed , and Jaemin can’t help but delight in that as Jeno grabs him to shove him out of the way. His touch is bruising, gripping Jaemin’s arm and pushing him back towards the wall next to the door. His shoulder stings when it hits plaster, but his lips curl into an amused grin when in the next second Jeno is disappearing into the bathroom, the door slamming shut behind him.

Going back out to the dance floor, Jaemin sees Yoorim waiting for him right where she said she’d be. A part of him is kind of relieved, because she could easily have whoever she wants, but instead she’s smiling at Jaemin as he approaches her, her hand already reaching out for him. 

“Hi, you okay?” She asks while intertwining their fingers, clearly interested in picking up where they left off.

“Oh yeah, I’m great,” Jaemin replies with a grin, pulling her closer with a glint in his eyes. “Wanna keep dancing?”

Yoorim doesn’t even answer, just excitedly nods and drags Jaemin along behind her back to the middle of the dance floor. Jaemin goes willingly, enthusiastically even, because as much as it’s fun in the moment, being constantly riled up by Jeno always leaves a bad taste in his mouth. He isn’t this person, the kind of person with a sharp tongue and rude words, but Jeno always pushes him to that point before anything even has a chance to occur. Even now, as Yoorim tugs him closer once they’re in their own little space, he infiltrates Jaemin’s mind, making him run through possible scenarios should they see each other again.

It’s madness, to have the most beautiful girl on campus rigth in front of him and to still be thinking about Jeno Fucking Lee, and Jaemin decides then and there that it has to stop. Instead, he forces himself to focus on everything that Yoorim is, like the flowery scent of her perfume and the slight tickle of her hair as she leans in closer and closer. By now she’s able to easily wrap her arms around Jaemin’s shoulder, comfortable and sure of herself, and Jaemin thinks that forgetting could be quite easy if this is what it entails. 

Yoorim feels amazing against him, her fingers tangling in his hair as she brings him in for a kiss that catches him off guard. He isn’t complaining though, and his hands hold her waist to keep her close against him. Yoorim’s lips taste like fruity chapstick and her tongue is warm when it swipes curiously against the seam of Jaemin’s lips. Jaemin allows her in, of course, because he’d be a fool not to, and the music is now no longer the only thing thudding in his chest. 

“You’re a good kisser,” she hums against his lips, pulling back just enough to smile her pretty smile. “And you taste like mango.”

Jaemin chuckles at this, his finger’s squeezing her waist. “I did in fact eat some mango before I came.”

This also seems to make Yoorim giggle, and it’s with this simple amusement that she leans back in to kiss Jaemin just as sweetly as the first. 

But Jaemin can feel eyes on him.

Somewhere in the crowded room there’s a stare making his skin prick and his spine tense in an unpleasant way. He doesn’t want to pull away from Yoorim to see who it could be, doesn’t want to break this lovely moment between them that he’s daydreamed about for days. Instead Jaemin brings one of his hands up to cup Yoorim’s jaw, angling her just enough to be able to peek over the edges over her cheek should he need to as their lips move together a bit more intensely from this position. Her lips feel so good, almost enough to distract him completely, until Jaemin feels a shiver overcome him that is not due to the beautiful girl in his arms. Jaemin’s eyes slip open, lidded and dazed, and immediately meet a gaze that consumes his insides with a vice grip.

Jeno has a guy on him, his back to Jeno’s chest as Jeno’s teeth nip at his jaw. His hands are digging so harshly into the man’s waist that Jaemin is sure he’s hurting him, but the guy doesn’t seem to care, his eyes closed in bliss while Jeno lets him grind his ass against his expensive jeans. 

Jaemin can’t take his eyes away, entranced by the lewd sight before him. Now that he’s committed to watching, he doesn't want to break away from Yoorim either—both so she doesn’t have to know, and because he likes the way it seems to annoy Jeno that he isn’t interested in stopping. Perhaps Jeno was trying to make a power play, but Jaemin’s eyes trail back up the length of Jeno’s body, stealing his gaze once again and forcing them to drink from each other’s stubbornness. His fingers tangle in Yoorim’s hair, holding her tighter, more insistently, and she makes a small sound into the kiss that forces a smirk to his lips.

Their kiss breaks apart, but Jaemin tucks Yoorim against him, pulling her hair to the side with the hand on her neck to poke his tongue out, and makes Jeno watch as he licks her delicate skin. Her breathy little sounds against his ear are euphoric, but it's sick how Jeno’s gaze on him is what’s making his skin burn. Somehow Jeno has managed to keep the man in his arms distracted, eyes still squeezed tightly shut, and Jaemin looks down to Jeno’s veiny and gold-clad hand cupping an obvious swell in the stranger’s jeans. 

This is wrong, so incredibly wrong, but Jaemin can’t help the soft pant that escapes him against Yoorim’s skin, and he feels his own cock harden in the confines of his briefs.

“Jaemin,” Yoorim calls quietly, her voice a bit muffled from where she nuzzles into Jaemin’s shoulder. “You wanna get out of here?”

Fuck .

Jaemin forces his eyes away then, ignoring Jeno’s burning presence only a few feet away in favor of looking at Yoorim’s pink cheeks and glossy lips. Jaemin definitely wants to get out of here. 

“Yeah, for sure. Though I have to warn you I live with my dads, so if you’d rather…”

“We can go to my place,” Yoorim amends almost instantly, her eyes bright and giddy. “My roommates are all out.”

Well, that settles that.

Jaemin lets Yoorim drag him away from the dance floor, shooting his friends a text not to wait up for him but still call if they need help as is their usual I’m getting laid text. Just before he’s freed from the suffocating mass of sweaty bodies and loud music, Jaemin looks over his shoulder to see Jeno still staring, though the guy in his arms is gone, and he’s glaring holes into Jaemin that he doesn’t even know where to begin with. 

🖇 

Typically getting sick is a curse on it’s own, but Jaemin getting sick the weekend his and Jeno’s project is due is just about the worst thing he can think of. They’d met up on campus every now and then, all but ignoring their moment that happened between them at the party and treating each other with as much disdain as either could muster. Now that Jaemin can barely leave the couch, let alone the house, Jeno has been forced to come to the lion’s den—the very warm, homey, lovely lion’s den, in Jaemin’s opinion. 

“Honey, do you want some more tea?” Ten’s sweet voice sounds from a few feet away, and Jaemin looks over the back of the couch to see his head sticking out of the kitchen. “Will your friend want tea?”

Jaemin appreciates the sentiment, being sick and all, but he shakes his head no. Ten and Johnny both have been shoving so much ginger-lemon tea and homemade remedy stews their mom’s use to make them down his throat that he’s pretty much sloshing with broth. The idea of drinking a 4th cup this morning makes him feel bloated already.

“No thanks, dad,” he says with a smile, able to feel the congestion in his face when his cheeks raise even just the slightest. Being sick is the bane of his existence. “And please don’t say Jeno is my friend when he’s here, he’s—”

“The worst thing to have ever been invented since the stock market?” Ten echoes his own words, used to Jaemin’s complaints of the man by now.

“I was gonna say a dick about that kind of stuff but yes, you get me.” Ten and Jaemin share a grin, though Ten’s is accompanied with a lighthearted roll of his eyes as he disappears back into the kitchen (presumably to make him tea anyways). He knows he’s a bit unreasonable with the fellow, but to be quite fair, Jeno never gives him much to work with. Hostility breeds hostility, and all that.

When Jaemin hears the fated knock on the front door, he’s a bit slow to drag his sorry ass off the couch, the blanket getting caught on his legs and nearly taking him out entirely before he’s able to shuffle up to the front door on socked feet. He doesn’t even try to let himself have a moment to gather his composure before opening the door, because he has a feeling that will just entail a much larger sense of dread than necessary, especially now. 

The sound of the lock clicking is at least a good warning to his senses before he’s twisting the metal knob, and as he swings the door open, he tries not to let the fact that Jeno looks fucking perfect make him feel even worse about being sick. Jaemin is not going to let Jeno make him insecure in his own home, especially not when his entire immune system is fighting for it’s fucking life.

“Hi,” Jaemin mumbles in a bit of a croak, clearing his throat awkwardly before stepping aside to allow Jeno in. “I have a dog, so if you’re allergic we can sit at the table.”

Jeno easily steps into the house, eyeing Jaemin for just a moment before slipping his shoes off at the entrance, neatly placing them on the little rack by the door. Jaemin shuts the door behind him, and when the man stands up straight, he feels utterly small.

“No, couch is good,” Jeno says with a nod, no arguments, just a quick gaze past Jaemin to see that he’s basically already set up camp there. There’s two empty mugs on the coffee table—one from tea, the other from broth—and Jaemin has strategically placed a pillow in the middle of the couch so that there’s some distance between them, not wanting to get Jeno sick and only give him further reason to hate Jaemin’s guts. 

Jaemin gestures for Jeno to follow him back to his sickly nest, and plops down on the couch cushions before setting his blanket on the back of it, not wanting to get too cozy and risk passing out mid conversation. Though, Jaemin doesn’t think he could ever be relaxed enough to ever fall asleep in Jeno’s presence. 

“So, what exactly are we—”

“Jaem?” Ten’s voice once again calls from behind Jaemin, though this time it’s not from the kitchen. Jaemin twists to see his dad standing in the hallway with a slight smile on his features, arms crossed against this chest in his “motherly” stance as Johnny likes to jokingly call it.

“Yes, dad?” Jaemin asks while begrudgingly turning a bit more to face him better, feeling his head pound all over again from moving so much.

“Your father will be home soon, is your friend staying for dinner?” Internally Jaemin cringes at the use of the word friend , considering he had specifically directed his dad not to use it, but he supposes it sounds like a naturally parental thing to say.

“Oh, we won’t be long, Mr…”

“Suh,” Ten says as his smile only widens, looking between Jaemin and Jeno as if he knows a secret that neither of them are in on.

“Mr. Suh,” Jeno says with a small bow of his head, something resembling a smile curling on his tight lips. “Thank you for the invitation, though.”

Ten nods slowly, once again being so fucking ominous that it makes Jaemin want to scream. “Well if you’re still here by the time it’s finished, please feel free to join us. Anyone Jaemin welcomes into this home is welcome at the table.”

It’s a sweet sentiment, and Ten gives them one last smile before disappearing down the hall again to do god knows what. A part of Jaemin is full of fondness for his dad who always tries his best to be kind to others, and the other part wants to punch him for being so nosy. 

Regardless, that is not the point, and when Jaemin turns to see Jeno now comfortably situated on the couch on the other side of his germ cushion, he internally can’t believe he got this far. Having Jeno in his home is weird enough, but sitting on his furniture just adds to the strange feelings warring inside of him. He’s too sick to argue, and he hopes that Jeno senses as such, especially while watching him pull open his laptop without another word—straight to business. 

Jeno does end up staying for dinner, though nobody really eats at the table, because the project ends up taking much longer to finish than they anticipated. The sun has set outside, just like their first meeting, and Jeno has his laptop open while he scrutinizes their final draft of their funding proposal for errors. All in all, the evening has gone rather smoothly, their usual spitfire conversations reduced to snide grumbles and angry glares when one of them says something the other doesn't like, but Jaemin doesn’t look horribly exhausted by the end of it—well, not from Jeno at least. His cold still appears to be taking a toll on him, and because of that, Jeno doesn’t push him too hard. 

“Your dad and I are going to bed, Jaemin,” Johnny says as he shuts the kitchen light off, dimming the dining room one as well to leave only the lights Jaemin and Jeno are using for the living room. “Lock up when you’re done?”

Jeno likes Jaemin’s parents, having found them rather endearing when they first met, but still very apparently the root of why Jaemin is the way he is. His father’s wear baggy pants that have strange patterns on them that look like they’d been bought off some guy out of a van. One of his dads—the incredibly bigger one—even wore the most stereotypical forest green sweater with flowy sleeves he’d ever seen. It was strange at first to see that, just like him, Jaemin has two dads, though he isn’t sure if Jaemin has had the same experience as him.

By the looks of it, he’s almost positive that Johnny is his biological father, but that would have probably made him a very young parent. Jeno tries not to dwell on it too much, quite keen on knowing as little about Jaemin as possible, but finds it interesting that he’d never known that fact about him before.

Then again, he’d never asked.

“Sure, dad, night,” Jaemin replies with a tired voice, clearly losing his grip on being awake by the minute. Jeno waves a good night to Jaemin’s father as well, but instantly his attention turns back to the man practically falling asleep next to him.

“I’m gonna finish editing this and then we can submit it, okay?” Jeno asks despite the way he doesn’t really need Jaemin’s approval anyways. The dudes so drowsy he’d probably fuck it up if he tried to help, but Jeno doesn’t mind all that much doing it on his own anyways.

Surprisingly Jaemin doesn’t even try to stop him either, just curls silently into himself more, but Jeno can still feel his gaze from over his shoulder. “Guess we never have to see each other again,” Jaemin mumbles in his nazely voice, and Jeno can’t help but huff in amusement at the sound of it. 

“Suppose not,” is all he grumbles in a reply, his efforts at being remotely nice making his social meter run out quickly. Thankfully it’s quiet for a few moments longer, but as if possessed by cold medicine, Jaemin doesn’t quite let it stop there.

“Don’t miss me too much,” he adds with an evident grin in his voice, and Jeno can’t even bring himself to look in Jaemin’s direction for that. All that slips out of him is a few ill timed scoffs, and eventually Jeno turns away from Jaemin completely because of it, focusing entirely on their nearly 18 page word document. 

“Shut up,” he scolds, his shoulders tensing every time he feels even the slightest shift in movement from the man behind him. This seems to be the end of the awkward conversation, and Jaemin takes the request in kind, barely even moving a muscle as Jeno concentrates on every word of every page. He admits he’s a bit of an annoying perfectionist, but it’s yet to fail him, so he thinks that if Jaemin can sit and be quiet while he finishes up, then he’s going to put in maximum effort.

When he’s finally done, Jeno looks over at Jaemin on the couch, his lips already parting to ask him something when he notices that his eyes are completely shut. He’s propped up on a bunch of pillows, his feet tucked under him as his chest rises and falls slowly. Jeno can still hear how congested he is when he breathes, and a part of him finds it… endearing.

Jaemin’s less annoying when he’s asleep.

Not wanting to disturb him, knowing that he isn’t feeling well, Jeno decides that he can submit the project without him. He was just editing their final draft anyways, so it’s all ready to go. Quietly Jeno puts his laptop back in his bag, gathering the rest of his supplies without a single sound. Jaemin stirs when he stands from the couch, but doesn’t look like he’s going to wake up, and Jeno is a bit glad that they won’t argue before he leaves. 

Yeah, Jaemin’s much less annoying when he’s asleep. 

Regardless, Jeno feels a bit bad for his red, fever-ridden cheeks and parted lips that are definitely going to dry out by the time he wakes up. Nobody likes being sick, and though it goes against every fiber of his brooding being, Jeno snatches the blanket that is folded nicely on the back of the couch. He unfolds it, deciding it’s big enough to cover Jaemin’s body, and lightly lays it over Jaemin’s sleeping frame. Jaemin stirs again, but only cuddles deeper into the couch cushions, his hands finding the blanket and tucking it around him tighter. 

Jeno doesn’t know why he did that, but a part of him feels… okay with it. Maybe he’s just exhausted, or maybe the stupid smell of incense is infiltrating his brain and making him soft. He doesn't really want to stick around and find out, and slings his bag over his shoulder before making his way to the front door.

Opening it slowly, Jeno takes one last look at Jaemin on the couch, and reaches over to flick the overhead lights off to leave him only in the glow of the lamplight. Jeno also makes sure to turn to lock as his father had asked, before leaving as silently as he came.

🖇 

“I don’t know, does it look dumb?” Jisung asks as he looks himself over in the mirror, his black skinny jeans showing off his long legs, and the slightly distressed t-shirt tucked in at the front making him look…

“You look cool,” Jaemin says honestly, sitting up on Jisung’s overfilled bed with a yawn, nearly getting sucked into a pile of pillows all over again. “Chenle said to dress casually, don’t think too much about it.”

“Easy for you to say,” Jisung grumbles as he ruffles his hair. “You’d probably show up in a potato sack knowing that Mr. Millionaire was gonna be there just to make a statement.” He’s clearly a bit grumpy, but Jaemin doesn’t hold it against him, brushing it off with a lighthearted oof .

“Look, I know you like Chenle and all, but he’s a millionaire too,” Jaemin quips as he stands from the bed, coming up next to Jisung and turning him in his direction. “But tonight isn’t about that, hm? We’re gonna go celebrate a friend, have a few drinks, and try to ignore the fact that we’re in enemy waters.” As he adjusts Jisung’s shirt and fixes his hair with a few swipes of his fingers, he nearly coos at how cute his little Jisung is.

“ Your enemy, Jaemin. I don’t want Chenle to think I have a problem with his friend, so just—be nice, please?” 

Jaemin’s instincts are to scoff, the words I’m always nice already wanting to roll off his tongue, but this is an important situation to Jisung, so he bites his tongue. “Of course, I promise,” Jaemin says with a smile, patting Jisung’s shoulder affectionately before spinning around to grab his denim jacket off of Jisung’s bed. “Now c’mon, we need to go pick up Renjun so we’re not late.”

Admittedly that’s not really the reason Jaemin is quick to end his conversation with Jisung there, but he can’t readily tell his nervous friend that the thought of being in Jeno’s house again physically makes him itch, so he figures it’s as good of an excuse as any as he drags the poor boy out of the room.

When Jaemin walks into the unfortunately familiar house, he’s honestly a bit stunned to see the change in atmosphere from when he first saw it. What once was a cold and unfeeling stone box is now a stone box with strobe lights. There’s music thudding off the walls, people that Jaemin has never seen before dancing on each other in overpriced t-shirts and tight jeans. He can tell the crowd here is all people far beyond just their university, but he also finds it quite interesting, especially from a social perspective. 

“I’m gonna go find Chenle,” Jisung says in his ear, already slipping away to disappear into the crowd without fear, which honestly Jaemin is proud of him for. Jisung usually isn’t the one to break off from the crowd, but this Chenle guy seems to have him being all sorts of brave.

Jaemin allows it, turning to Renjun in hopes of begging his friend to run off and get a drink with him, but Renjun’s eyes are already glued to a man that Jaemin also unfortunately recognizes.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Jaemin blurts without thinking, watching in horror as none other than Jeno’s other best friend, Donghyuck Lee, practically eye fucks Renjun from across the room.

“Huh?” Renjun asks, clearly distracted, unwillingly tearing his eyes away from the man to turn his attention to Jaemin once again. “What’d you say?”

Jaemin has to intake a breath to keep his composure, not keen on being ditched for yet another trust fund brat but also not one to deny his friends things over something as petty as a man. “Donghyuck?” Jaemin says his name in an accusation against his will, feeling a bit hostile in his enemy’s territory.

“What about him?” Renjun is already turning his gaze back towards Donghyuck, and Jaemin realizes with a belated groan that he’s already headed this way. 

“You know what? Never mind,” he acquiesces, raising his hands in surrender as he steps away upon Donghyuck’s nearness. “You two have fun, I’ll go… get drunk.”

Donghyuck is nice enough to smile at Jaemin with a wave even as he backs up, but Jaemin doesn’t give him more than a tight-lipped acknowledgment with a nod to match before spinning on his heels, surprisingly more interested in being left alone in Jeno’s house than any other option that his friends are leaving him with. Granted, this is probably his fault. It’s almost impossible to not discuss your annoying problems with your friends, and Jaemin is sure his friends and Jeno’s friends have so much to talk about if Jeno complains half as much as he does.

Still, a party is a party, and Jaemin decides that observing the social mechanisms of the twenty-something elites could be a fun enough pass time while sipping on some beer. Jaemin sifts through the crowd, not trying to draw attention to himself as he is naturally drawn towards the end of the living room with the wall of windows, seeing the glass leading out to the atrium all steamed from the amount of bodies inside. A part of him tries not to remember the events that occurred the last time he was here, or any of the events that have transpired between him and Jeno thereafter. Jaemin very distinctly remembers being told by Jeno that he’d never touch Jaemin in a million years, and as much as it shouldn’t, it’s a statement that has so easily weasled it’s way into Jaemin’s mind.

Jeno doesn’t deserve any of his time or his thoughts, in fact Jeno pretty much doesn’t deserve a single thing from him at all. The man is arrogant, cruel, and Jaemin wishes more than anything that he’d never met him. Life has a funny way of making sure people’s patience is tested every single day, and Jeno has just been assigned as his personal “see how long it takes before he sends you to jail” guy. The thought is an amusing one, and Jaemin finds that he can deal with this stupid party by himself if need be, clearly enjoying his own stupid brain.

That doesn’t seem to be very necessary. At least, not for long. 

“Wanna dance?” Someone asks right by Jaemin’s ear, the music thankfully not as glaringly loud as if they were at a frat house or bar. When Jaemin turns his head, he sees an unfamiliar face, one with sculpted features and pitch black hair hanging slightly in front of his eyes. His eyes also sparkle, Jaemin notices, and his lips turn up in a sweet smile. 

“Maybe, what’s your name?” Jaemin probes in return, flashing his own look of amusement as he crosses his arms against his chest.

“I’m Mark, Mark Lee,” the man replies with a widening grin, his gaze trailing down the length of Jaemin’s body in a clear sign of receptiveness. “Jeno’s cousin.” Fuck . The admittance catches Jaemin off guard, so much so that the surprise seems to be evident on his face, and Mark’s brow raises in question. “Is that a problem?”

Is it? Jaemin doesn’t really know Jeno all that well if he’s honest, just enough to know that he’s annoying. So what if he dances with his cousin? He’s not breaking any rules, or crossing any boundaries, because boundaries would insinuate they had a relationship to cross. 

“No, not at all,” Jaemin replies while trying to tamper his smile, not wanting to seem too eager at the thought that despite him and Jeno not being close, that he’d probably still hate this. “I’d love to dance.”

Mark doesn’t need to be told twice before he’s holding his hand out for Jaemin to take. He’s about the same height as Jaemin, but he’s got a slightly larger stature, all muscles and smiles—probably how Jeno would be if he smiled.

Jaemin takes his hand, this time taking the lead by flitting past Mark to take him onto the dance floor. There’s a small sound of amusement from Mark behind him, which lets him know he’s doing this correctly. Men are easy, base creatures, and making them happy is usually Jaemin’s expertise. 

Once they’re well in the middle of the thankfully not so tightly packed crowd, Jaemin turns while detaching his hand from Mark’s grasp to instead come up with his other to rest on his shoulders, and Mark seems to take the hint that his own hands should be brought down to Jaemin’s waist. A smile is shared between them in the flashing lights, and some modern greatest hits play over the radio that Jaemin honestly doesn’t know, but the beats are nice, and Mark seems to enjoy it, so he doesn’t say much else on the matter.

“So are you friends with Chenle?” Mark asks him by leaning into his ear, his breath warm and pleasant on Jaemin’s skin. The music isn’t so loud that they can’t converse, but Jaemin can’t say he minds the closeness. 

“Not really, moreso a friend of a friend,” Jaemin replies with a slight shrug, realizing belatedly that that sounds a bit pathetic. “I mean—one of my best friends really likes him, but I probably wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

Mark nods at this, his features twisting in amusement as he processes his words. They’re honestly barely even dancing, but Jaemin finds that he just enjoys the company. “You seemed to know my cousin?” Mark offers in further curiosity, clearly still stuck on Jaemin’s look as if being related to Jeno had directly killed his grandmother. “He’s kind of a lot, huh?”

Jaemin’s instincts are to reply that yes , Jeno is in fact the most difficult person he’s ever met, but that sort of feels like a betrayal. He’s allowed to have thoughts about him in his own home, and to his own inner circle, but to Jeno’s family ? That just doesn’t seem right.

“Hey, don’t worry about it. I’m not really close with him either. My uncle adopted him when I was 10 and he was about 7, so we were kind of at an awkward stage to get to know each other,” Mark reveals with a shrug, as if airing out Jeno’s past is a sexy dance floor conversation. Jaemin isn’t sure he feels very comfortable with it, considering it’s quite… human. Any human revelations about Jeno make his skin crawl, and he hates that that is the case. Everyone is a human being with thoughts and feelings, but his ability to be empathetic is at odds with his disdain for the man. “So, how do you know him?” 

Damn, he’s still pushing it, but Jaemin knows it’s his own fault for being so fucking suspicious. For all Jaemin knows, Mark could just be trying to get him to say something bad about Jeno to relay back to him, or maybe he really is just a bit of a clueless gossip.

Regardless, Jaemin decides to tread lightly, clearing his throat a bit to allow him some more time to ponder the question. Vague is usually best in these situations, and he thinks of all the simple things that they are —classmates, project partners, nobodies. “I mean, I wouldn’t say I know him, we just—”

Jaemin yelps, his arm being tugged by a firm and painful grasp. Mark’s hands fall away from his body, and Jaemin shoots his gaze up to see a face he was hoping more than anything to avoid—no matter how much of a pipe dream that might have been. 

“C’mon, we’re leaving,” Jeno commands as he pulls Jaemin with him, but Jaemin practically digs his heels into the hardwood like a child being dragged to timeout. 

“What? Jeno, get off of me,” Jaemin grunts, trying to remove Jeno’s hand but is only tugged harder. He can faintly hear Mark uttering complaints behind him, but when Jeno pauses to stab a searing glare in Mark’s direction, Jaemin’s patience completely dissipates. “Jeno, I swear to god—”

But Jeno doesn’t let Jaemin finish, releasing his arm only to reach down and grab Jaemin’s legs, tossing him over his shoulder Shrek style and carrying him away from the party like the fucking caveman he is. Jaemin yells and punches at Jeno’s back, quite literally kicking and screaming to try and get free, but none of it seems to work. Somehow Jeno is able to endure it all the way up his extremely fancy staircase, and all Jaemin sees is the expensive cotton of a black t-shirt and the hue of red rage on the edges of his vision.

Somewhere between a harsh squeeze to his thigh and the sound of a door thudding shut, Jaemin is all of a sudden brought down to his feet again, and all that comes out of him is an angry, emotional scream.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Jeno!” Jaemin shouts as he shoves at Jeno’s shoulder, hardly deterring the creature at all. Somehow Jeno looks equally as pissed as Jaemin feels, and he really thinks he has no reason to, considering he’s the one who fucking violated him.

“Me? Wrong with me? ” Jeno asks incredulously, stepping into Jaemin’s space again and clearly trying to get him to back down. “You’re the one sticking your fucking nose where it doesn’t belong, inviting yourself to parties you weren’t invited to .”

“Chenle told Jisung we were allowed to come,” he counters almost instantly, not interested in hearing Jeno’s whines of complaint. He’s a guest at a birthday party, and he isn’t going to apologize for it. 

Jeno’s nostrils flare, and Jaemin feels a thrum of something foreign in his stomach at the sight. “I don’t give a fuck, I don’t want you in my house.”

It’s moments like these Jaemin wishes he were a bit more violent, because he’d absolutely punch Jeno right in his perfect fucking face. “Well I’m not leaving.” Jaemin crosses his arms with a huff, and for a brief moment, Jeno looks almost… defeated. Internally Jaemin staggers at the rare flash of humanity in Jeno’s eyes, but as easily as it’s glossed over with anger, Jaemin finds his resolve again. 

“Jaemin—”

“No, asshole,” Jaemin bites out with all the bitterness that Jeno has brewed in his body these past few weeks. “I won’t listen to your little bitch fest. If you hate it so much, you leave.”

“This is my house!” Jeno retorts in clear frustration, not interested in winning their dick measuring contest and truly just wanting Jaemin away from him. A part of Jaemin feels a twinge of hurt at that, despite Jeno being the last person he would ever require validation from, it still doesn’t feel nice to be truly and utterly so disliked that you aren’t even allowed to be under the same roof. Something in Jaemin bristles, and words just start spilling out of him, filling him with instant regret. 

“Yeah, I’ve noticed that this is your fucking house, Jeno. All you ever seem to want to do is remind people, me especially, that you are so much more well off than the rest of the world. Well guess what? I don’t fucking care about your fancy cars or your glass atrium or your marble countertops. This house is as much of a fucking joke as you are. I wonder what your fathers—”

Jaemin never gets to finish his tirade, because within a millisecond Jeno is crossing the distance between them to shove Jaemin against the door, hard , and then Jaemin realizes there’s a hand around his throat. 

“Don’t you ever talk about my fathers, you stupid fucking bitch,” Jeno spits out at him, face burning with a seething rage even in the dim lighting of his room. The pressure around Jaemin’s throat tightens enough to be concerning, and he feels his head get fuzzy as his lungs stop taking in breath.

And he should be struggling, should be fighting with Jeno to get free, but all Jaemin can do is claw his nails into the door behind him, his shoes bending as he goes up on his tippy toes to try and alleviate some of the pressure. As he stares into Jeno’s eyes, it’s not with fear, their gazes meeting in a metaphorical clashing of metal and glass, all harshness and pain and stabbing regret for how they both know this is going to end. Jeno’s fingers relax around his throat just enough to allow him to breathe, but the second he’s intaking a much needed breath, Jeno’s lips are stealing it from him just as cruelly.

Jaemin nearly yelps when their lips connect, caught somewhere between not willing to believe this is really happening and so fucking turned on at the realization that it absolutely is. Jeno’s hands on him are brutal, grabbing and yanking him however he pleases. His denim jacket is the first thing to go, and Jeno consumes his lips in a clashing of tongue and teeth while dragging him away from the door by the front of his shirt, stepping Jaemin’s clumsy and overwhelmed frame towards the bed. 

“Jeno—” Jaemin gasps when he feels the ground get taken away from beneath him, his back suddenly hitting the plushness of a bed far too luxurious for his goodwill clothes. Then again, it is Jeno’s bed after all, and he wouldn’t mind making it cheaper with his existence, if only to piss Jeno off.

“Unless you’re telling me to stop, don’t fucking speak to me,” Jeno all but seethes as his hands come up behind himself to yank his shirt off, the sudden sight of his body making Jaemin’s mouth go dry. From the glimpses he caught at the party, Jaemin knew Jeno had tattoos on his arms, but when his entire chest and abdomen are revealed, Jaemin sees his pale skin riddled with traces of black ink, some even disappearing past the hem of his dark jeans. Jeno is… hot, unfortunately, and Jaemin almost forgets what they’re even doing. “Do you want me to stop, Jaemin?” Jeno speaks again, catching Jaemin’s attention once more and making his cheeks flush a horrible pink color. 

If this were a logical moment in his life, Jaemin would absolutely be nodding his head yes, telling Jeno once and for all that he never wishes to see him again. All Jeno does is make him feel horrible, rile him up to the point of no return and burrow beneath his skin like a putrid botfly. Nothing about Jeno is welcoming or steady or warm, but Jaemin is so fucking sick in the head that he thinks he likes that about him. Still, telling him no, lying and saying he wants to stop is the right thing to do here, because neither of them deserve to be used.

Because Jeno is truly and wholeheartedly making it Jaemin’s choice, giving him this out in case this is really something he doesn’t want, it somehow only makes him want it more. Perhaps everything has been leading up to this moment, every angry and hostile interaction between them just a manifestation of unspoken tension. Is this something Jaemin is really ready to accept? Is he going to ascribe to the age-old toxic playground rule that if a boy is mean to you it means he likes you?

Well, when Jaemin rakes his eyes over Jeno’s body once again, his gaze lands on a glint of silver in Jeno’s nipples that he’d somehow missed the first time, and suddenly the dragon tail poking out from the hem of his jeans is the least of his worries. 

Just this once, Jaemin lets his need to be fucked overshadow his morals.

“If you stop, I’ll kill you,” Jaemin finally utters, feeling the breath escape his lungs when Jeno’s eyes flash with a look that is almost familiar. There’s a ferality in his stare, something determined and insistent, but this time it’s laced with a hunger that makes Jaemin’s skin crawl in the most pleasant way. 

In the next second Jeno is kneeling onto the edge of the bed, his features dark but curious as he crawls over the top of Jaemin’s body, his arms caging him in on either side. “Take your shirt off,” Jeno commands easily, his voice sounding vaguely calm as his hands grip Jaemin’s waist. Despite his demure demeanor, Jeno’s hands are just as unforgiving as the rest of him, and Jaemin has to keep from squirming as he lifts himself up just enough to tug his shirt off. The fabric lands on the floor in a silent little thump, and when he falls back onto the bed with an exhale, Jaemin suddenly feels a tugging on his jeans.

Jeno has unbuttoned them at some point in time, but Jaemin hardly has to think as he lifts his hips to accommodate Jeno’s pulling, only for his briefs to come away with the tight denim in one go.

“Jeno, I—”

“What did I say about speaking to me?” Jeno interrupts with a glint in his eye, a slight playfulness now lacing his annoyed tone as he bends Jaemin’s knees to pull his clothes off the rest of the way, tossing them off the bed to join his shirt. “Just because you’re hot doesn’t mean I want to hear you.”

Obviously Jaemin knows Jeno has to see something in him to want to touch him at all, but to hear it is an entirely different thing. Jaemin’s thighs shut to hide himself from Jeno’s gaze, and a bit of bravery overcomes him. “Be nice to me or I won’t let you fuck me, Jeno.” 

Instantly Jaemin watches as Jeno’s eyes trail down to where his legs cross, a surge of something making his nostrils flare that simultaneously has Jaemin’s skin prickling with goosebumps. It’s a look of… possession, of want, and Jaemin has to keep himself from whimpering when Jeno’s head dips like a predator, his hands coming down to dig into Jaemin’s thighs hard enough to bruise. 

“You’ve been threatening me a lot today for someone who’s practically begging for it,” Jeno says while prying Jaemin’s legs apart, nails digging little crescent shapes into his smooth skin as Jaemin goes, admittedly, a bit too willingly. “And yes, I am calling you a slut.”

As his legs fall open against the mattress, Jaemin has to bite down on his bottom lip to suppress a moan when he feels teeth scraping his inner thigh, his head pressing back into the pillows. He wants to tell Jeno to get on with it, to stop teasing, but he likes the way Jeno is treating him, likes the transfer of their harsh treatment into their… sex life? Is that what this is?

“Do you like that, Jaemin?” Jeno murmurs as his lips close to attach to the soft flesh of his thigh, sucking a harsh bruise that has Jaemin squirming in his hold, hands fisitng into the sheets to keep from stopping him. “Do you like it when I call you a slut?”

Jaemin’s chest rises and falls rapidly at the question, his brain already feeling frazzled at the onslaught of sensations hitting him so fast and so soon. Jeno seems far too comfortable seeing Jaemin naked for the first time, as if his body had always been something that belonged to him, and the thought makes him shiver—well, that and the fact that Jeno is kissing along the crease of his thigh, dangerously close to Jaemin’s cock that is now hard and laying against his belly from nothing more than a bit of kissing.

“So fucking desperate for my cock you can’t even answer a simple question, hm?” Jeno taunts as he lifts one of Jaemin’s legs, hooking his knee over his shoulder before leaning down to place a hot, teasing lick at the base of his cock, lapping up the underside and completely ignoring the way Jaemin cries out at the small sensation. As embarrassing as it is, Jaemin is already beyond sensitive, so hyper aware of Jeno’s touch on him, his words of I’d never get close enough to touch you ringing in his brain in a sort of triumphant song. A part of him had always felt a twinge of hurt at the statement, but here Jeno is, gripping onto the base of his cock with one ring-clad hand before bringing the tip to his mouth, nibbling on it teasingly and making Jaemin’s body jolt from the dangerous scraping of teeth.

“I’m—I’m not desperate,” Jaemin pants, despite the way his knuckles are turning white from how hard he’s gripping into the sheets. He is so fucking desperate for this, willing to do anything that Jeno wants if it ends with his cock buried in Jaemin’s ass, but he isn’t about to let Jeno know that.

Not without a fight, at least.

“No?” Jeno looks up at Jaemin through his lashes, an obvious glimmer of unwavering confidence in his eyes as he pokes his tongue out to press into the slit of Jaemin’s cock, humming in lewd pleasure when a small spurt of white precum drips into his mouth. Jaemin’s entire body is tense, his muscles already straining to keep his composure and not come on Jeno’s face then and there. Though, the mere thought of Jeno’s face covered in his come is a satisfactory one, and Jaemin bites on his bottom lip to muffle a small whine at the imagery.

Ignoring his little sound, Jeno parts his lips to take Jaemin into his mouth fully, his lips stretching thin as he slowly bobs his head, wrapping Jaemin’s cock in a searingly tight heat that has his chest stuttering with uneven breaths. Jeno is obviously good with his mouth, and his fingertips press bruises into Jaemin’s thighs as he forces him open, keeping him exposed and all for Jeno’s taking.

The swooping heat of an orgasm already begins building in Jaemin’s stomach, his toes curling and neck baring to the sky as he moans in pathetic juxtaposition to the rhythmic music still thudding beneath them. Suddenly Jaemin is hit with the realization that his two best friends in the entire world are right below him, along with an entire house full of people that have no idea that he’s currently letting himself be defiled by the most horrid creature he’s ever had the displeasure of meeting.

Though all of that is hardly a sobering thought when suddenly Jeno’s throat closes around the head of Jaemin’s cock, catching him off guard and forcing his hips to rise from the bed. Jeno takes the hit with ease, but he groans a complaint, and in the next second Jaemin is being pressed so hard into the mattress that he keens . He’s so fucking close, can taste release as Jeno flicks his tongue against his frenulum, but just as that high is about to overtake him, Jeno pulls off, a lewd popping sound echoing in the room.

"No." Jaemin whimpers, blinking his teary eyes open only to see Jeno hovering above him, his lips still glistening with spit. “I was so close, asshole.”

Somehow, by the grace of god or whatever inhuman spirit Jeno must worship, a small huff that nearly resembles a laugh escapes Jeno, and his tongue swipes over his bottom lip to lick away the remnants of his blowjob. “Mm, I don’t care,” he murmurs as he trails his gaze down the length of Jaemin’s body, consuming him shamelessly from head to toe. “You’re going to come on my cock, begging for it like the pathetic little bitch you are.”

Jaemin hates the way Jeno’s words have him nearly boneless, the harshness of his demeanor only adding to the pleasurable little jolts still coursing through him, and his hand comes up to rest on Jeno’s chest, intending to playfully shove him for being so crude. Though as soon as their skin connects Jaemin can tell he’s made a mistake, and Jeno yanks his hand away as if the touch burns him. 

“I didn’t say you could touch me,” Jeno snaps, his hand gripping Jaemin’s wrist so tightly that Jaemin swears he feels the blood stop pumping to his fingers. “Hands and shoulders only, okay?” He doesn’t loosen his hold until Jaemin nods in understanding, and for a moment he almost looks… a bit scared. Jaemin is about to ask if he still wants to keep going, but before he gets the chance Jeno is flipping Jaemin onto his stomach in one go, keeping him firmly planted on his hands and knees with a hold on his hip. “Lube’s in the bedside drawer.”

A part of Jaemin is still reeling from the whiplash, caught between the need to make sure Jeno’s okay and the realization that he’s the one completely spread bare for Jeno on his bed, covered in more reminders of his touch than he’s ever harbored of any accident in his life. He’s going to look like he got in a fight tomorrow morning, and he already internally cringes at the thought of having to hide so many marks.

Jaemin also can’t deny that he’s a bit drunk on the fact, obsessed with the idea that Jeno won’t be able to forget what occurred between them, especially not if Jaemin carries evidence everywhere he goes. It feels… personal, primal, and Jaemin doesn’t need to think twice before leaning over the edge of the bed to pull open the sleek bedside drawer, fumbling in it a moment too long before emerging with a bottle of lube and a box he really hopes is condoms.

Thankfully when he tosses the items onto the bed they’re exactly what he’d thought they’d be, and his skin prickles with excitement as he realizes what is about to transpire between them. What he and Jeno do now can never be taken back. What was once just petty words being tossed into the air in the hopes that they’d land in a hurtful way is now an intimately toxic mingling of bodies. Jeno wants to fuck him, Jaemin wants to be fucked by him, and it all sounds too absurd to be real.

The sound of the lube clicking open is about as real as it gets, and Jaemin’s head droops in anticipation for what is to come next. He doesn’t know what to expect really, his senses haywire and body instantly tensing when he feels the cold drip of lube in the cleft of his ass. Jeno clicks the bottle shut in the next second, letting it drip down the swell of Jaemin’s balls before trailing down the length of his cock. The sensation makes him shiver, and he can hardly process the sound of Jeno crawling off the bed, the sudden clank of a belt hitting hardwood letting Jaemin know that he’s taking everything off.

Unable to help himself, Jaemin peeks behind him to see Jeno in all of his horribly grecian glory. Tattoos litter all down his legs, random little ones painting the thigh that doesn’t have the scrawling image of a dragon in sleek black ink. He’s fucking unreal, and Jaemin has no idea how this has been hiding beneath oxfords and sweater vests, especially with his cock that hangs heavy and red between his legs. Jeno is long, both his limbs and… otherwise, and Jaemin can’t even begin to comprehend him at all. Maybe one day Jeno will explain it to him, but for now, Jaemin is more concerned with his burning touch on his hips as he crawls back onto the bed, as firm and demanding as always.

“I’m going to take a guess that you’re nice and stretched, baby,” Jeno murmurs behind him, sounding almost distracted as one of his hands presses into Jaemin’s back, making him arch uncomfortably and practically press his ass back against Jeno’s crotch. A part of him wants to whine a complaint that he’s not that desperate for sex the way Jeno had so blatantly stated only moments ago, but that would be a fucking lie. 

“I— mmh— ” Jaemin whimpers, Jeno not giving him a second to answer as two fingers slip into him with ease, the slight squelching sound of lube making Jaemin shiver. “ Fuck." Jeno’s hands feel so fucking good inside of him, long and fearless as they massage against Jaemin’s walls, curving his fingers with each mindless thrust to test his stretch.

“Was this for me? Were you hoping so badly that I’d finally notice you that you prepped just in case? Or was this just for anybody that would be stupid enough to take you home?” Jeno emphasizes his words with a harsh thrust into Jaemin’s prostate, and he mewls at the sudden jolt of pleasure that simple touch gives him, feeling the way his cock leaks another pathetic string of precum.

“Not for—for you,” Jaemin pants, fisting his hands into the sheets all over again for the lack of knowing what else to do. Jeno isn’t gentle with him, lacking the usual slow and curious patience that other partners have had with him, though he supposes that’s exactly why he’s here.

Jaemin is letting this happen because he has egged Jeno on so much that he thinks he deserves the payoff. If Jeno is going to be cruel and insufferable, the least he could do is make Jaemin come with such talents. Once again Jaemin wonders if this makes him sick, but when Jeno slips his fingers out, wiping the lube carelessly on the back of Jaemin’s thigh before tearing open a condom, he forgets about literally everything else.

“Say red if you need me to stop, okay? I won’t go easy on you,” Jeno mutters behind him, not giving Jaemin a moment to breathe before he’s prodding his fluttering entrance with the tip of his cock, making Jaemin tense in anticipation for the inevitable sting he’s going to feel for days to come. Though, he can’t say it’s going to be a sting of regret.

When Jeno pushes into him, Jaemin almost wishes that he’d prepped just a bit more before leaving his house, the stretch definitely prominent and painful , but he can’t help the pleased little whimpers that escape past his lips as Jeno bottoms out in one thrust. He wishes he could see Jeno, wishes he could watch the way his face contorts to match the low grunt sounding from behind him. Jeno adjusts a bit against Jaemin’s body, his hips digging into the plush of Jaemin’s ass in exactly the way Jaemin likes. Somehow it’s cosmically hilarious that Jeno feels so fucking good against him, like Jaemin hasn’t known what pleasure could be until Jeno begins pulling out without giving Jaemin a second to think, only to thrust back into him with a lewd slap of skin against skin.

Jaemin yelps at the suddenness of it, but Jeno’s grip on him keeps him from moving even an inch away from the immediately brutal pace of his hips. Jeno fucks him as if he’s the desperate one, nothing more than a mindless animal in search of release, seeking that release in the tight heat of Jaemin’s body. This isn’t anywhere near his first hookup, and Jaemin likes to think he knows how to please just about anyone, but Jeno doesn't let him do more than clench helplessly around him, moaning brokenly into the room with every thrust.

“Fuck, you’re so tight, Jaemin,” Jeno grits out as he pauses only to grind his cock deep in Jaemin’s ass, rubbing up against his prostate and making the muscle in his arms shake before continuing his relentless rhythm. It almost feels like Jeno is slapping him with how much his ass stings, and internally he wishes he could have actually experienced a solid hit.

God, Jeno is making him crazy. Jaemin doesn’t think he’s ever wanted to be hit during sex in his life, never really the one to consider being particularly rough. Jeno doesn’t seem to do it any other way, and somehow even through the mind numbing pleasure of Jeno fucking him as if he needs Jaemin’s body to know peace, he internally mourns the sight he could have had of Jeno’s tattooed skin straining over his muscles while he fucks him, looking like every wet dream Jaemin has ever had.

“Can I—I touch— please?" Jaemin begs without thought as his thighs clench to keep himself up right, the lingering sensations of his almost orgasm from before only heightening every sensation inside of him. The orgasm clawing its way through Jaemin’s insides is desperate, hungry, and Jaemin needs to feel release or he thinks he’s going to cry.

“Touch what? Yourself?” Jeno asks nearly breathlessly, his thrusts changing pace from painfully fast to a torturously slow drag, and Jaemin feels like he could scream from the intensity of it. He’s not afraid to beg, not usually at least, but with Jeno? The mere thought of dealing with the repercussions of asking Jeno permission for anything makes him dizzy. “Absolutely not. If your hands move from the bed I’ll stop.”

It’s a genuine threat, one Jaemin knows Jeno will follow through with, and the helpless mewl that escapes him as Jeno presses into the already awkward arch of his back catches him off guard. Jeno is fucking right into prostate, abusing the sensitive bundle of nerves that Jaemin has already rubbed one too many times himself that day. His brain feels like it's being fried, electricity coursing beneath his skin and scorching his veins. Spots dance in his vision as he squeezes so tightly into the sheets he can feel his nails digging into his palm through the fabric, and he cries out shamelessly with each overwhelming thrust.

“C’mon, slut, can’t come untouched? I’m sure you can.” Jeno speaks as if he’s talking to a pet, his breath coming out quickly and his words carrying a tremble that wasn’t there before. He’s close too, and Jaemin feels tears prick in the corners of his eyes at the taste of earth shattering pleasure on his tongue. “Come on my cock, Jaemin. Scream for me so all your little friends can know how desperate you are for a little attention. You’re supposed to hate me, and here you are, crying like a desperate bitch.”

It shouldn’t feel so good. Jeno spewing obscenities and insults at him shouldn’t have his knees knocking together in absolute bliss, but Jaemin has long since gone past the point of no return. He feels the painful tugging of it in his stomach before anything else, his muscles seizing as if struck by lightning and his thighs trembling uncontrollably. It feels so good, so so so fucking good, and Jaemin can’t hold it in any longer.

“Fuck— fuck— ” Jaemin’s voice pitches into a whine, his arms collapsing beneath him as a violent shudder shakes him from head to toe, and thick spurts of white paint the dark gray bedding beneath him. His head is already filled with pleading apologies, chanted and whimpered I’m sorry’s echoing in his ears for staining Jeno’s things, but all that comes out of him is a choked and desperate groan as Jeno fucks him through the aftershocks. Stars dance behind his eyes, feeling like he’s just crawled off of a carousel, and he can hardly breathe when Jeno finally seizes above him, the deep and warm sound of his stuttered moans like music to Jaemin’s ears. Another weak streak of cum drips out of him as he feels the warmth of Jeno’s release inside of him, even through the condom, and all he can do is slide weakly onto the bed without care for what’s beneath him, his legs giving out on him completely. 

He isn’t sure when Jeno pulls out, but Jaemin’s chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath, the bed feeling oddly cold with just him in it. He knows that he doesn’t have much time before he’s going to have to get up and put his clothes on his raw and bruised skin, which already has him cringing in the comfortable sheets of Jeno’s bed—the messy top blanket gone already.

Not a second later, Jeno comes out of the bathroom, a washcloth in one hand and a clean pair of sweats in the other. Jaemin tries to hoist himself up on his elbows with shaky arms, but Jeno immediately pushes him back down by his shoulder, making him thump back into the pillows with a soft oof.

“You can sleep here. I’ll go to a spare room,” Jeno says quietly despite the slight perpetual anger that is always in his voice, reaching down to hand the washcloth to Jaemin, as well as tossing the sweats onto the bed. “I went pretty hard on you, so I don’t expect you to get up and leave.” Jaemin’s cheeks flush at his words, but he takes the washcloth with a small nod, honestly grateful that he doesn’t have to move. “You can use whatever you want in the bathroom, just put everything back or I’ll kill you.”

Oh good, the Jeno that Jaemin is comfortable with, all bite with equal bark. 

“Thanks,” Jaemin grumbles, watching as Jeno slips back into his clothes, looking as perfect as always, not a single scratch on him. 

“Though don’t get too comfortable, because I have to feed my rats in the morning,” Jeno adds as he zips his jeans up, dusting the fabric off as if they’d been dirtied at all by his pristine hardwood. At the mention of rats, Jaemin makes a bit of a scan around the room, but upon seeing nothing, immediately looks over to Jeno for an answer. “The double doors are an extra part of my room, not a closet,” he explains while nodding his head towards said door, and Jaemin is too tired to ask further questions, just gripping the washcloth tighter in anticipation for Jeno to leave before he starts cleaning himself up. The water in it is already beginning to cool, but Jaemin appreciates that it was warm to begin with. Jeno’s not totally heartless. “Right, well, I gotta get back to the party,” Jeno says a bit awkwardly, giving Jaemin one last look that holds too many thoughts behind it. A part of Jaemin feels scrutinized, more exposed than when Jeno was fucking him, and it makes him want to burrow deeper into the blankets and die. “Goodnight, Jaemin.”

And with that, he turns to go, leaving Jaemin alone to deal with whatever the fuck just happened.

“Night, Jeno,” Jaemin whispers to himself once the door clicks shut, the darkness of the room seemingly laughing at him, as if he can’t hide his shame.