Archive of Our Own

Jaemin isn’t the first person to notice that Renjun is seeing someone. He is the first person to realize that it’s not him. He’s slightly suspicious because as far as secrets run through their group, they never make it far. Living and breathing the same air, and space before someone finds out. But Jaemin knows, he knows. He hears it in the walls when he tries his hardest not to listen. He listens intently to the way that Renjun moans, back arched and untouchable. He sees it in the backstage closet when he finds himself distracted walking back from the bathroom. Renjun’s hands used to readjust the mic next to the ear, succumbed like putty in someone else's arms. Or the way his voice rises and falls like hope for him — because all good things come to an end.

Renjun has been acting differently. He’s unsure when the difference in behavior began, because to him Renjun is so open-faced and unavoidable. Jaemin tries his best to keep away from him. It takes every fiber in his being to suppress the urge to take him away from this world and neatly fit him into a small box for himself. Because he’s selfish and doesn’t mind accepting one of his greatest character flaws. But Renjun is different. He’s like a chameleon, fitting into different skins of pleasures and displeasure to work his way around others. But he’s also incredibly stubborn and beautiful.

In a way, he’s the same person. But different around him. Jaemin notices how his breath jilts with surprise and small bits of excitement when he’s around. And it makes Jaemin’s stomach jolt and drop to the floor, because he’s cruel and selfish and wants it more than ever. The desperate feeling to be craved. Coveted in a society that constantly pushes praise like churning, stale, boring butter. Easily replacable. In the idol industry, the conflicting climax of the struggle between man vs. self, where Jaemin constantly seeks the affection and love of fans, but not more than the attention he seeks from Renjun. Call it twisted love or something freaky, humiliating even — but Jaemin knows.

“Do you think Mark and Renjun-ah have gotten closer these days?” He asks no one in particular. It’s falsified curiosity, as Donghyuck offers a mourning look, half pity and half-scrutiny.

“Not really, hyung has always had a soft spot for him,” Chenle squints at the pair ahead before looking back at his phone. Jaemin is aware he says this to piss him off, and it almost works.

Renjun turns, looking up from the director’s side. By now, it’s too late. It’s curiosity, Jaemin tells himself. Then there’s Mark beside him, looking over their choreography and sticking like a sore thumb to his side.

And Jaemin hates it.

“Jealous Jaeminnie?” Donghyuck smirks, and it’s unfair the way that his words plague him. Because if jealousy truly were a disease that people make it out to be, then Jaemin would’ve been dead ages ago. “How cute.”

On all sides of being equal, yet it’s unfair. “I’m not jealous,” Jaemin answers, and he wonders if the hesitation in his voice is that obvious.

He spots Mark clinging onto Renjun’s shoulder. While their director goes through their mistakes, Mark only clasps onto every word that spills from Renjun’s lips. Staring bashfully, and quietly. But Jaemin is painfully aware, and perhaps Donghyuck is. Or he pretends to be, for no one’s sake. Renjun is seeing someone, probably lets them kiss him and make love to and Jaemin is aware; it’s like he’s on ecstasy, burning through his skin, and his vision is heightened. He knows things he shouldn’t. He sees things that leave a bad taste on his tongue and dwells past the point of no return. Unsure of where his final destination may be.

But he never expected it to be Mark Lee, of all people.

🫗

Mark Lee is everything he is not. He is a leader, but Jaemin has always been content with being a follower. He’d never be taken seriously. He’s handsome in that boyish but adult manner that makes you wonder when the face of adulthood started to burden him. Mark periodically grows a five o’clock shadow and wears it to those four am studio rehearsals but shaves it the next day because Donghyuck insists he would instead grow bald than see Mark sport a goatee. He grew up before the rest of them did. He’s seen more than Jaemin has — he works to the bone until there’s nothing left inside. Until there’s a decomposing body of flesh and labor. This is not to say that Jaemin isn’t dedicated, but the issue is that Mark doesn’t know when to stop. Maybe Mark and Renjun couldn’t be similar, too stubborn and caring for their good. Two good-souled people.

There’s a difference in their work ethic that draws the line between Mark and Jaemin as separate people. Different working systems of breathing, living bodies co-existing in harmony, but unalike. Jaemin can say he enjoys it, idol work. He’s content, a little tired but full for the day. But Mark, he’s always reaching and reaching, trying something new, suggesting new ideas, to bring their group to life.

He never rests, maybe when he closes his eyes for a while. Often, Jaemin sees the door to his room slightly ajar, Mark glued to his desk with the brightness on his computer so bright that it could probably wake up the neighborhood. But he’s serious, more severe than Jaemin could ever be, and maybe that’s what is attractive about him. Not his strong jaw, and focused smile, make him appear adult-ish. Not his great body, how fitted his body relaxes under his clothing — not that Jaemin particularly pays attention to that. Because respectively, Mark is not a beautiful person, he’s handsome objectively, in his angular cheekbones, taunt, and pensive expression. He’s just a boy, no longer a boy but rather an adult living and breathing the same air, the same space as Jaemin.

But Renjun is quite the opposite. He’s just as focused and serious. He is such a serious person that makes Jaemin want to pull his strings and push his buttons until he’s broken, past the ability to be sewn together. Because that’s the kind of person Jaemin is. Destructible.

“Isn’t Renjun-ah so handsome,” One of the make-up artists whispers as he sits idly in his high chair, scrolling through his phone, seemingly bored. “He looks so pretty, almost unreal.”

Everyone loves Renjun. What’s there not to love? Even a blank wall could find a reason to love him. But for him, there are a thousand reasons why brewing in his head. Jaemin sits two rows between Donghyuck and Chenle as he is fiddling with his phone, insisting on making the poor makeup artist’s job hell while he tries to play Steph Curry’s game with the volume three times louder than it should be. Donghyuck yawns, tuck his gaze, and smiles at Jaemin, to which he avoids his eyes and turns back to Renjun.

He looks even prettier today. Gold flecks of eyeshadow dot his eyelids, like fairy dust as he blinks through his phone. Renjun catches him mid-stare, as he says, “if you keep staring at me, I might have to start to charging you Jaemin-ah,” It’s a joke, but he wants to say, take my money, what’s mine is yours.

Jaemin does think of speaking what’s on his mind but advises against it in a room full of strangers, and Mark. Sitting on the couch, tying his shoelaces, and in his world of concentration and focus. “But you’re so pretty, Renjunnie. Who wouldn’t want to stare at your face? Right noona?” He asks her, as she’s a bit taken aback by his direct question.

She laughs, spraying over the last of Renjun’s makeup as he hops off the seat. “Renjun-ah is always so handsome,” She promises.

Handsome. Because, only Jaemin finds him pretty, shining, and shining like a dying star. Handsome is reserved for certain people, like Mark. But words like handsome, and pretty, are a social construct saved for different kinds of thinking alike. So Jaemin waltzes over to where Renjun stands and leans his head on his shoulder. He has to duck down to meet his height and nestles comfortably and calls to Mark, “Don’t you think our Junnie is so cute?”

Mark looks up. Now part of the conversation, his cheeks turn a few shades of pink. “Uh, yeah. Renjun-ah is always cute.”

“Doesn’t he look really cute today?”

“Of course,” Mark is terrible at eye contact, and that’s what Jaemin preys on because eye contact is his favorite part. Keeping their gaze, whether flustered, stubborn, or annoyed, it’s bound to get rise.

“Stop talking about me while I’m right here,” Renjun complains, wiggling out of Jaemin’s grasp. A telling stare that reads, don’t test the waters today.

He puts his hands up innocently, “Just joking.” Not.

Jaemin likes Renjun, not because of his looks. And he thinks of this nuance, complex answer while he closes his eyes for the makeup artist to powder and cake up his face, ridding of any blemishes. Because in this world, there is nothing less than perfect. If so, then that would make Renjun imperfect.

He likes Renjun a lot. He continues to think of the hundred reasons why while he’s walking backstage, adjusting his microphone closer to his ear. And Mark is leaning over Renjun, just a little taller. It’s due to the way he carries himself, in the most selfless way possible. That makes everything in the world make sense as to why suddenly, Mark and Renjun started to grow close.

They just make sense.

🫗

“I’m not a good person,” Jaemin tells him. “It’s probably best if you stay away.”

Renjun stares at him like he’s bent the whole world backward, and on his account with one word, Jaemin would do it for him. Because to Jaemin, Renjun makes sense. But the thing is, Renjun wouldn’t be able to stay away, no matter where he goes, they live together, they work together, take the same van home, and enter the same door to the apartment. Use the same chopsticks, and wash their dishes using the same sponge, it’s impossible to avoid him. “I know you’re not, Jaemin-ah. That’s what makes it even more fun,” There’s an underlying, unspoken bit of their dynamic. After unearthing their odd relationship, the lack of push and pull, that spark that leaves you wondering, are they together? Or is all fun and games? Of course, until someone gets hurt.

“We’re not official, Jaemin-ah. We’ve never been.” If it were anyone else, most people would walk away, maybe be hurt in his words. But Jaemin was selfish, convinced that it makes perfect sense, that small part of him that escapes animistically and wants to take Renjun apart piece by piece.

This is the part he’s not very good at. In the part where it’s late, the curtains of the dorm are drawn, but seeps of moonlight carve out the curve in his cheekbones, the arch of Renjun’s back as he faces Jaemin. But never forward. He looks unreachable. Instead, right in front of his eyes, feasible and a small distance away. His eyelashes, long and thick that they sleepy flutter on their own, and Jaemin wants to reach over, caress his cheek with every bit of gentleness.

Rather, he sits up on his elbow gazing with a small smile, Jaemin leans forward to kiss him. “Am I just a side piece to you, Renjunnie? You’re breaking my heart seeing other people.” Jaemin teases. He likes this game they play, another unspoken agreement. As Renjun frowns, it’s beautiful and strange the way his bones form the face of a man: but not his. The delicate crevices of hard work written in his expression, the way his chest flutters up and down, or how his hands slightly shake, naked and bare in the cruel beginnings of winter.

“That’s not what I meant,” Renjun avoids meeting his eyes, biting on his upper lip.

Leaning over, he lets his hands wander, dangerously to move the untucked hair behind his ear. Hot and humid, sticky air as he gasps. Renjun eyes follow. “So, can I know who it is?” He asks, falling back on the pillow, simply staring at him. “You know I’ve never been the best at sharing.”

He’s never been the possessive type. Think again. That is, until he started paying more attention to Renjun. A little ache, a little spite. They don’t speak about who it is, because in their own way, they both know. He’s a lot of things, he’s Huang Renjun, a vocalist, and caring friend, and co-worker, but not a lover. Renjun is not his, not his in the way that this person isn’t either. And that keeps Jaemin looped around his finger. He was beckoning for more.

“Are you jealous? Jaemin-ah?” He appreciates the way Renjun says his name, not so quite a prayer, but in a whisper. Jaemin laughs, quiet and hushed, and pulls him in. He likes the way Renjun smells, sweet and intoxicating. He kisses hesitantly, slow, drawn kisses that drive Jaemin wild. He lets his hands wander over his back, mapping out every crevice and muscle, lean and soft as Renjun rolls over, seated above him.

In a perfect world, this would be a perfect sight to behold. But in the quiet, escaped moments in time, there’s only so much to hold on to. Leaning over, Renjun kisses more diligently, more firmly, and Jaemin holds his face, grasping at his jaw to take him in. “Eager, aren’t we?” He says, hushed, gasping at the seams of his mouth while nipping away as Jaemin stares to let a hand caress the flushed pinkness of his cheeks.

“So are you. I’m only returning the favor,” Jaemin exhales, kissing him as if it was their last time on earth. His hands roam to Renjun’s hair, now a dark brown, like burning wood where it rests. He lets out a small moan, holding Renjun more fervently, allowing his fingers to comb through his hair and pulling him closer. Jaemin finds his mouth traveling further as Renjun weakly mumbles what sounds like a half-prayer, half-moan. “So talkative tonight,” Jaemin says, his mouth hot against his collarbone, peppering fast, wet kisses. Under his chin, a sensitive spot, the mole under his ear, and Jaemin is rewarded with a fidgeting moan as he lifts his jaw, swallowing him whole as the blanket falls from his shoulders.

It’s been once already, and Renjun withers under every touch, he’s not fragile or broken but Jaemin kisses his shoulder, almost gently. “We have to be quiet, or the others will hear,” Renjun gasps as Jaemin slightly sits up, kisses the trail of his stomach, finding the groove of his outline, hands firm on his waist. “Scared that Mark-hyung will hear us?”

He doesn’t freeze, but there’s a slight pause. And the room stills. “Do you like him?” and Jaemin flips him, now beneath his grasp. Close to his ear, planting drawn-out, small kisses as he adds, “Do you wish he was here, watching you while I fucked you?” Renjun’s breath jilts, he’s so wet already, immediately turned on, and it brings Jaemin some bit of joy and spite. Somewhat spite. “What do you think hyung would say if he was here?” He asks pointedly, two fingers inside and he’s gasping for air. “Does he know how wet you get with only my fingers?”

“I need more of you,” Renjun mumbles, cheeks so fair and rosy under the pale moon, like a sliver of mayhem for him to eat alive. He’s trying his best to be quiet, and Jaemin curls his fingers once as Renjun cries out, “Jaemin-ah, please.”

Jaemin is not a selfish person, but he can’t help but feel a little selfish now. Since Renjun is asking so politely and desperately, he can no other choice but to do as he says. “Since you asked so nicely,” He kisses him, in all its forms of detachment, and guides his cock along his hole, quivering and needy. Anticipating it, Renjun squirms to fit inside, and it’s so hot and heavy inside of him. But he fits so perfectly. Everyone about Renjun is so perfect.

“You feel so good,” Renjun says liltingly, “Jaemin-ah.” And he fucks him at a good pace, but not too urgently that the whole dorm would wake up. Maybe it would be better if Mark did wake up, so he could listen to the way that Jaemin makes Renjun quiver, and come with just his fingers, or how he says his name as he wants him. Not a need. So he could see how needy Renjun was underneath him. “Can you come for me?”

Oh, and he bucks his hips again, with Renjun’s leg gripped tight around his waist and Renjun’s hands locked above his head from touching himself. As his cock bounces on his chest, leaking come and Jaemin ducks down to clean up his mess. “You’re insane,” Renjun whispers hoarsely.

“I’ll take that as a compliment Renjunnie,” Jaemin pulls out slowly as Renjun shivers at his absence.

It’s been a routine, sometimes if Donghyuck is away at the other dorm, Jaemin will stay the night but leave the bed and take a shower before anyone notices. Sometimes, he leaves before the bed feels too empty. It’s a habitual pattern, and nothing else really comes out of it. And Jaemin doesn’t really mind. But he’s also a terrible liar.

🫗

Everyone loves Renjun. Everyone knows that Jaemin likes Renjun. And everyone also knows that Mark likes Renjun too. It’s complicated. Mark is a good guy; Jaemin isn’t. That makes them quite different. Renjun is a good person, much better than him and Jaemin comes across this realization without trying; he realizes that if he can’t have him, neither should Mark. But that’s selfish and flawed thinking, and Jaemin is working on self-reflection and how his actions affect others. Renjun’s expressions is written in the stars, he’s readable most times, but Jaemin is unpredictable. Or so that’s what everyone says.

“Jaemin-ah, you’re so unreadable,” Mark informs him one day. He’s wearing his favorite bucket hat, and his shoulders are pulled in and silent. “I can never tell what you’re thinking.”

According to their fans, they agree. But in the matter of reflection, it’s rather not the slip in the crack or the guise that he puts on during the 25/8 life he lives on a day-to-day basis but rather —

“He’s just a weirdo,” Renjun cuts in. A dipped, cut-and-dry stare that gives makes him laugh.

And yet, everyone else can tell when he’s quieter and less contributive to the group. When they have go live on Instagram, he’s sitting to the side. His group members know when he gets chipper, and chatty at random times of the day. They know a lot and know so little. But that’s alright because such boundaries exist. “But you like that Renjunnie, think of it as a contribution to my many charms,” Jaemin says happily, offering him a big, foolish smile.

Renjun shakes his head and moves on. It’s easier said than done. They’re waiting outside of the coffee truck that their manager had bought for them and the staff while filming, ready to hand out warm coffee in the frigid air. Renjun’s hair is a little darker, they redyed it just before filming the first segment of their new music video. It’s good, there are a lot of different looks that Jaemin has liked, but his natural hair color might be one of his favorites. It gives him a more good-natured, earthy appearance and lets his guard down. “Nah, it’s cool dude, it adds more you know, oomph to your personality. I like it.” Mark says.

Only could Mark get away with a sentence like that. Some see it as charming. Mark laughs, and it’s charming and boyish and has Renjun staring in a daze. But he’s trying hard for not anyone to notice. “Renjunnie did such a good job today, right?” Jaemin asks Mark, directly into his eyes, wide and barely innocent.

Mark reaches over, patting Renjun’s head carefully, and tugs him close. “He was the star of today, but he’s a star to me. My beloved Renjunnie,” He snuggles his chin into his neck, as Renjun doesn’t retaliate. Chenle pretends to stick his finger in his mouth and gag and Donghyuck ignores any sort of unnatural PDA or affection that comes from anyone but himself. Renjun stands there, accepting Mark’s affection, even rolls his eyes, and pretends to pull away for a split second.

“Hyung, you’re hugging me too tight,” Renjun wiggles out of Mark’s arms. Before, it used to be Mark who would reject Renjun’s advances, but now it’s the opposite.

“You’re so cute, Renjunnie, I like you so much.” He continues hugging him, and Jaemin feels his face turn grim.

Only adding more fuel to the fire, Jaemin grabs Renjun’s wrist, and lets out a small yelp, as he’s now not only hugging Renjun but Mark as well. “But you like me more, right?” He asks, cocking his head and puts on his best pouting face. Childish, he realizes, but it works in his favor as Mark snuggles Renjun closer.

“They’re fighting over you, Renjunnie. How do you feel right now?” Donghyuck whistles as he passes by. And they both let go. But Mark lingers a little, and he sees it. The way their hands sneak behind and their fingers entwine and stay. Jaemin has never been the most competitive person, but he likes to think he has some fighting spirit. Or something inside of him that feels inhumane, like a fire about to ignite.

“No, you’re not. There’s nothing here to see,” Renjun quickly says. And just like that, they’re separated.

“Could’ve sworn I just saw otherwise,” Donghyuck hums, dragging Mark along to get a snack from the table before they continued filming for the rest of the morning. “Must’ve been my poor eyesight.” And he’s staring directly at both Renjun and Jaemin, curious but not overstepping. Not yet at least.

I like you so much. Those four-letter words haunt him in his dreams, over and over again.

🫗

It’s late when they return home, and Jaemin finds himself beginning to chop the leftover vegetables in their fridge before they spoil. The heart is like a vegetable, easily bruised after a long period of time, easy to throw away and replenish. He’s unsure as to where he lies.

“You hungry, Renjunnnie?” He pokes his head into his bedroom, which was slightly cracked open. With his back facing the door, Jaemin’s eyes fall to his back, bare and bright as he shrugs on a sweatshirt. And just like that, he wakes up from the daydream.

Renjun comes over to the door, meeting him halfway. He loves his part of him, when the camera is turned off, and it’s just the two of them. A private screening of their relationship, or whatever remains. “It’s late, are you sure you want to cook? We can just order in, I’m sure the others wouldn’t mind.” Renjun says, “You don’t need to feed us all the time,” This time a little softer.

“You haven’t eaten much today right? Neither have the others, I’ll take care of you Renjunnie,” He wiggles his eyebrows as Renjun gives him a side eye but doesn’t protest any further, walking towards the kitchen.

“I can help you,” As Jaemin raises an eyebrow, and Renjun doubles back. “Help you cook, I mean.”

“I’d appreciate that,” He smiles, and Renjun pulls out the leftover braised pork he’d marinated in the fridge. These days, they’ve been resorting to takeout or instant ramen because it’s easy, fast, and feeds a whole family. It’s nice to actually sit down and cook a nice meal despite the hectic schedule. There’s a bit of light coming from the window, and it feels nice, nothing but the sound of eggs beating in the bowl and the crapping of metal on the pan. It’s a rhythm.

Jaemin continues chopping, careful not to slice his fingertips off because he’s always been careful at times like this. Being careful not to bruise or let the vegetables go rotten. “So, have you and Mark-hyung been hanging often these days?” It’s an innocent question at first, but Renjun suddenly shifts, changing his demeanor.

“When we can, hyung is just being nice. There’s nothing much to it.” Don’t overthink, don’t get jealous is what he really says.

“Do you like him?” Renjun continues to stir the pot, just a little slower this time. “Mark-hyung, do you like him?”

“He’s good to me,” Jaemin watches, his tongue twists and darts in and out of his mouth. The ring glimmers on his finger, always on. It’s like a reminder. “He’s just good to all of us, he cares.”

But I care, I care so much for you. Jaemin wants to shout at the top of his lungs. He wants to do a lot of things and say a lot of things. But he’s always been a witness. And one day, it would bite back at him. “Does he care for you the way I do?”

“Oh, Jaemin,” Renjun murmurs, head hanging a little low. “It doesn’t matter anyway.”

Jaemin drops his knife on the cutting board, turning the burner on low. It feels warmer already as his hands skim Renjun’s arm, wanting to bring him close. There are limits out of the bedroom doors. “It matters to me, you matter to me, Renjun-ah,” He answers firmly. Ducking close, a hiccuped gasp as Renjun kisses him. He is removing his other glove, throwing it to the table as he scoops him up in his arms and lets his tongue meet every corner of his mouth. Warm, like a hot summer day despite the dropping temperatures, it feels like a sauna. A sauna inside of Renjun’s mouth as he kisses him where he can. Next to his mouth, on his cheek, the tiny dimple near his eyelid when he frowns so quickly.

“Do you want your answer?” Renjun wraps his arms around his shoulders, tugging him closer. Something was brewing in his eyes, now the tables have turned, and Jaemin couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

“I think it’s best if I don’t know.” And Jaemin draws his face, careful and delicate. Mapping out the nook in his nose, the cupid’s bow of his lips, and how it pursues and pouts — mapping out the way his arms raise when he takes off his sweatshirt or when he stares through his leftover eye glitter, gold-rimmed and fluttering as he moans lightly into each touch. Renjun is here, feasible, and in his arms for now. Lowering himself even more, as Jaemin kisses his down to his belly button, spreading his legs even wider and kissing the inside of his thigh separated by his pair of shorts.

“Right,” Renjun’s breath hitches, tipping his head back against the cabinet.

The sound of soft bubbling from the pork boils quietly, but not enough to cover the soft, sweet moans coming from Renjun’s mouth and gripping the counter, bucking his hips into the sensation, as Jaemin’s mouth moves fast. Anyone could walk in, but maybe Jaemin is selfish in that way, always wishing for an audience, but it’s Mark he wants to see. But he knows better.

Later, they’re setting the table just as the others arrive back. “The kitchen is so clean,” Jisung comments, in a bit of amazement. “When do you have the time to clean the place up?”

Renjun avoids his gaze as Mark makes his way to his side. “This smells delicious. Thank you for the food!”

Licking his lips, he finally meets Renjun’s eyes. He should know better, but Jaemin isn’t the best at learning his lesson after the first time.

🫗

Mark is a good person. Just ask anyone. He’s charitable, willing to help anyone, and almost too willing at times. He’s pretty easygoing but can get riled up at just a few words or with just the right person to push his buttons. He gets clingy, just like the next person, but he’s clingy around Renjun. And only Renjun it seems, hugging him between sets, on screen, or even just between them. He likes to place his hand on his waist, always keeping him near. Mark is a good guy, but he’s never been the most affectionate among the group. The lovey-dovey, affectionate counterpart he’s developed is more reserved for Donghyuck and sometimes himself. But around Renjun, it’s like a completely new persona. Maybe it’s good since he’s so uptight sometimes when he’s not goofing around or indulging the other members.

Jaemin knows a lot of things, but he doesn’t know enough about Renjun and Mark. He knows Renjun like the back of his hand. He also knows Mark — as two separate people. They’re easy to take on as individuals, but together it just messes up his sense of rhythm. “You’re so cute Renjunnie,” He keeps hearing him say, sometimes under his breath, sometimes on camera in the waiting room. “You’re just so cute Renjunnie. Just the cutest.” Hugging Renjun from behind while he glances at his phone. A stray hand on top of Mark’s lingers for seconds too long before it falls to his side.

It typically goes on like this: in their world, and every once in a while, someone makes a comment composed along the lines of, “They’re so clingy, I’ve never seen Renjun hugging someone for more than thirty seconds max,” Donghyuck observes, Chenle hums in agreement with a wry grin. Or “Is it just me, or do they remind you of an old married couple?” A little repulsed, he says.

Jeno smiles timidly, “I think it’s kinda sweet. Mark-hyung is only the most affectionate around Renjun-ah.”

“No, they don’t.” Jaemin interrupts, pressingly as they all turn to stare back. “Remind of me an old, married couple.” He clarifies. Donghyuck’s expression transform from perplexion to a large smirk, almost devilish. If such existed, just a tad cocky. Confident.

“Feeling left out Jaemin-ah?” He asks. “You poor thing. How can you survive without Renjun’s constant love and attention?”

“I’ll be just fine,” Jaemin insists. “I’ll live,” for now. Sweet is the best way to describe them, like two peas in a pod. Because it’s a lie. Mark is affectionate around mostly everyone if you catch him at the right time. He hugs everyone, snuggles to their side, and praises them like it’s his last job on earth. He’s good at finding the right words to say.

But now, it seems that Renjun is the only one he sees. Renjun doesn’t seem to mind, there are no lashed-out remarks, or recoiling movements, nor an uncomfortable expression accompanying him. A developing smile stays these days, he seems to actually be enjoying it — just a bit.

Another habit he developed is massaging Renjun. Mark likes doing that. Jaemin notices it randomly while they’re in the middle of practice and Mark starts rubbing Renjun’s shoulders. Or when they’re all filming variety show content and sitting from behind, from the corner of his eyes, Mark and Renjun are in their world.

So Jaemin puts it to the test. By all means, he’s no detective, leaving the sleuthing and stalking to Chenle is probably for the best. But he’s rather curious. “Renjunnie, you haven’t drunk anything all day,” he says disapprovingly. As Renjun stares at him from his sweaty face and wet bangs that cling to his forehead, Jaemin almost trips on his feet. He’s so pretty, on his knees, and sweaty but not at his mercy, it’s okay. It’s fine, Jaemin poorly attempts to convince himself. “Here, you can drink from my water bottle.”

“Thank you, Jaemin-ah,” he says, gratefully taking it from his hand. Their fingertips touch, that zap, and tingle as Renjun shivers. How sane would it be, in the middle of their practice, for Jaemin to wrap their fingers together and never let go? They dart away, releasing to his side as he stands, and take a long swing of water.

Mark comes strutting over, like a puppy following his master. “Water!” He seems excited. “At least one of us is smart to bring something to hydrate,” as he points to the half-downed bottle, “can I have a sip Renjunnie?”

Sharing water is normal, he’s done that with everyone. But with Mark, it irks Jaemin beyond recognition for some reason. He shouldn’t be annoyed, it’s normal. This is normal. Asking your groupmate for a share of their water, whom you may or not be fucking behind closed doors. “As long Jaemin-ah doesn’t mind, it’s his water bottle, he was just kind enough to let me drink from it”

“Mind if I take a sip, I won’t finish it all,” Mark asks, looking at him with radiance and innocence. But at this age, innocence doesn’t exist. “Promiseeeee.”

Jaemin nods, all saccharine and sweet. He’s good at that. Faking it. “Knock yourself out hyung. What’s mine is yours.” As he studies Renjun, sparing no glance at Mark. “Right?” He says.

Mark’s eyes widen, ask anyone else and they’ll say that his eyes remind you of large, orbits of stars. Ask Jaemin, and they remind him of empty, large orbits of curiosity and sincerity. If anything, Mark is just sincere. He’s a sincere guy. But Renjun's eyes get so earnest and kind, like a high tide surging to the land. Urgent and bottomless. “If you say so,” He swallows thickly, finishing the rest of the bottle. Renjun’s eyes trace the hollow of his neck, dripping with sweat. He gives a satisfied wipe to his lips with the back of his hand. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Renjun stutters.

“Yo, hyung! Let’s play some basketball later,” Chenle calls to him, and Mark turns but not before giving a small wave.

“Sounds good, maybe I’ll treat you to dinner later,” Mark says, and Chenle raises a brow, swapping glances with him and Renjun before he shrugs. Your loss, it reads. By now, it was late, and dusk had settled in the large, empty windows of the practice room. Dusk has never looked so breathtaking on Renjun.

Starting separate ways for the evening, he starts cooling down. It’s just the two of them now. Left with the water bottle, Jaemin slowly glances down at Renjun’s side. Holding it so tight, the cap flies across the floor, crushing it bit by bit before it explodes.

🫗

The first time it happens, it’s an accident.

It’s that post-stage high, where that rush, that exhilaration, and excitement come, and it hits hard. It happened after their first Inkigayo performance for their new comeback, and it was a good one. A good performance. It’s the kind of post-performance high that has his knees buckling, kissing the cheek of whatever victim he sees fit. It’s like he’s drunk, with his cheeks flushed and his body weak. Jaemin thinks this is good, really good. In the midst of everyone, the makeup artist rushing to retouch his foundation before they head back on stage in an hour, he peels his earphone, letting them drop. It feels so loud but so quiet as he focuses. “Has anyone seen Renjun-ah?” He asks out loud.

Donghyuck turns, “I think he’s in the bathroom, he ran as soon as we got off stage.”

“Thanks, noona, I’ll be right back,” He breaks free from her, hopping from the chair. He darts out from the waiting room, waving hello to a few dongsaengs along the way. He ventures into the bathroom, it’s empty. Maybe Renjun went outside to get some fresh air, it does get overwhelming in the heat of the moment, bodies on top of bodies for warmth. The hall is quiet, everyone either in their own waiting room or on stage. It’s deathly silent, except at the end of the hall, he hears noises. Oh.

He’s not sure why his feet keep moving to the sound — why he finds himself standing outside a storage closest, closed, but just a tiny glimpse of light peeking inside. There’s that sliver in the crack of the door that sees it. Jaemin sees them. Renjun and Mark, with his back pressed against a broom, a leg wedged between Renjun’s thighs. Gentle, persistent. Renjun is kissing Mark deeply, those same hands used to grapple his microphone with such tenderness and carefulness, now tangled in Mark’s hair. He knows it’s him because of that washed-up, blue hair that teeters on almost a blue-silver color. He knows it’s Mark because he’s one of the few that still wears the ring because Jaemin knows that voice. It’s rough and almost broken. Desperate.

Jaemin should walk away, it’s their business. He knew already. There was no point in hiding, not when he’s already known this whole time. It’s the admitting part that hurts but doesn’t hurt in a pitiful kind of way. It’s something new. “Renjun-ah,” Mark whispers between their kisses, “are you sure no one’s going to try and find us?”

Renjun looks torn apart, for lack of better words. His lipstick smudged to his cheek, and he looked hungry, starved, and bewildered. “Stop asking dumb questions, Mark. No one will go looking for us.”

Mark nods, sounding panicked and worried. “I miss you so much,” He mumbles into his chest as Jaemin hears the sound of a jacket being thrown into the small, crowded closet.

Walk away, that’s the best choice. The only choice. Jaemin is an observer, he likes to watch. But watching other people, watching Renjun be taken apart, piece by piece, is just the way he fantasized. Mark is a good person, he’s also a man with desires. Perhaps in a way, they’re alike. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll make it up to you.” Heand ’s soft, cautious, like he’s stepping around shards of glass.

Jaemin is not a bad person. He’s been working on it, learning how to stay away. But now, it’s like there’s gum stuck to the bottom of, his feet and he can’t move. Renjun lets out a soft, mellow moan, trying his best to be quiet. That crack in the door, the painful taste of the air of Renjun pleading and Mark’s chaste kisses hung dry in the air. He’s trapped. Just in a continuum of time, where it repeats over and over again. Those desperate noises, the way Mark takes his time to devour him whole, littering kisses all over his body. A risky one planted right above his collarbone, but at the moment, no one’s watching. There’s a subtle hum of arousal pooling in Jaemin’s belly, and he wants to —

He wants to open the door, let the arousal fill the whole air and let it greedily eat him as well. He wants them to know he’s watching, luring from behind. But at last, he slowly and bitterly starts to retreat. Jaemin watches as Renjun comes once and then twice. And finally, for a third time, as Mark uses the door as a placeholder for something stable to hold onto. He’s never heard Renjun like that, the way when he’s with Mark.

Walking for what feels like miles, he pushes open the door to the waiting room. Donghyuck is the first to speak upon his entrance. “Did you find him?”

He shrugs nonchalantly, with whatever remaining composure is left. “Renjunnie must’ve slipped from me. I’m sure he’ll be back soon.” And right on cue, he’s the first to slip inside. The first two buttons of his shirt are mismatched, and his pants fall a little low as a small slip of his hips is revealed. He did his best to look put together but failed miserably in plain sight, and Jaemin immediately looked away.

Minutes later, Mark returns with some food from the convenience store across the street. Looking like he had just sprinted a marathon, some of his foundation running down his neck as the makeup artist hurried to fix it. “Anyone hungry?”

🫗

There’s this saying that when humans gather in groups, they naturally see the utter destruction of others. To ensure their utter demise, ruining their confidence, self-esteem, their pride. Because pride is a human’s weakness because pride is what keeps humans alive, he’s never felt it until now, the utter urge of spite coursing through his veins. It gets tiring after a while. When crabs are trapped in a bucket, they try to free themselves, but naturally, the other members of their species will result in a collective demise. It’s inevitable to wish for someone else’s demise when someone has something you wish is yours. Or rather what he wishes was his.

In the likeliness of his own demise, Jaemin is prideful. He’s always been good at knowing what he wants, but when it comes to Renjun, it’s the first time he lies. He lies to himself. “If you were in a sinking ship and had to save someone, who would you choose? Mark-ssi or Jaemin-ssi?” It’s a silly question. The whole concept of variety shows starts becoming background noise to him.

Renjun blinks at the interviewer, “I would save myself.”

She smiles, surprised. “Well, who would you choose if you couldn’t save yourself?”

The thing is, it’s a primal instinct to be selfish. “Jaemin-ah absolutely hates getting into the water, he avoids it like a cat taking a bath, so he would never put himself in a dangerous situation like that. And whereas Mark-hyung can care for himself, he’s been swimming ever since he was little.” Renjun says.

Jaemin leans forward, “But if I did like to swim, would you save me Renjunnie?” Turning his head away from Mark. “Maybe I like danger,” He winks at him, and Donghyuck rolls his eyes.

“You’re an adult, growing up is learning how to float independently. If we can’t even save ourselves before saving others, then how will we grow?” Renjun’s eyes narrow, and for a second he sounds almost serious. Now in a room full of cameras, bright and vibrant, Jaemin feels almost blinded by how intense the lighting is. Despite the interviewer between them, it feels like they’re the only people in the room. Alone.

“Leave it to Renjun-ah to say something so smart,” Donghyuck snickers. And the world returns to being so bright as Jaemin puts on his best smile. The interviewer moves on, and the rest of the interview runs smoothly.

Then the interviewer asks the next question. “Who’s most likely to fall in love first?”

Everyone knows that these kinds of questions are bait. Someone will answer, and their fans will pick apart each word and hold onto it. Jaemin is bored now, sick of these questions, and the light in his face is unflattering and bothersome.

“Well, Renjunnie, of course,” He starts. Renjun gives a flat stare, void of any emotion or reaction, as he continues. “He’s always been the romantic among us, coercing us into purchasing matching rings for one,” It’s ironic, as Jaemin rarely wears the ring, but luckily for him — Mark never takes it off. He wears it to every single schedule, both group and solo, he wears it around the dorm when he comes to visit or stay the night when their day gets particularly long, and it’s late to go to their dorm. Mark wears it casually as it glistens and glitters like a taunt. It was an ornately plain silver ring, and yet he never stopped wearing it.

“That was friendship, not romance,” Renjun corrects him, smiling at the host loosely. “I proposed wearing rings to symbolize our friendship, and everyone agreed.” Everyone listens closely, enraptured by his words, hanging by a thread. “I wouldn't consider myself a romantic. I enjoy seeing those I’m close to happy.”

He looks neatly put together, the hair stylists lately have a habit of parting his hair down the middle a little, drawing a few strands of silky, brown hair in front of his forehead. Jaemin likes this look on Renjun, his hand twinkles from the stage light, thin, and in his lap. He looks beautiful like this, so close but yet so far.

“Alright, that’s a wonderful answer, Renjun-ssi. Next question what member would you most likely date?”

He hears a small snort from Jeno, unimpressed by the set of questions. Mark laughs nervously, throwing a messy hand behind his neck and rubbing it hesitantly. “We don't have much time for dating, so that would be a difficult question.”

Jaemin cocks his head, “Liar.”

Mark’s mouth forms an ‘O’ of surprise. His cheeks become flushed with pink, and he ducks his head away. He’s always bad at hiding his facial expression, a parade of an open book. “Sorry, what do you say?” Apparent confusion falters in his eyes as they waver, and he frowns profusely.

“I said, you’re a liar, hyung.” He knows this is bad. He knows people might be angry at him. But he doesn’t mind the world being angry. “But to answer your question, the best answer is no one other than Renjun-ah of course. I mean, look at him,” he addresses the interviewer, as she seems almost as confused as Mark. “What’s there not to love?”

She haughtily laughs, “And what you have to say Renjun-ssi, do you agree?”

Renjun’s gaze dips to the floor, his hands resting on his knees. “There’s nothing lovable about me.”

“Now you’re being humble Renjun-ssi,” She chirps, waving her hand flippantly. He’s quiet, and the whole stage is. The creaking sound of the cameras as they move across the room. It’s a bit cold, as Renjun shivers, his fingers prancing impatiently along his thigh. Jaemin’s fingers twitch, his cardigan halfway on his shoulders as he’s about to throw it over Renjun’s body until he turns to find that there’s already a sweater draped around his shoulders. It looks too big for his body, drowning him out, but he stops shivering and offers a small smile to Mark. He knows it’s Mark because it’s that dark blue sweater he saw him wear while they were getting ready, washing his now even bluer hair, and Mark appears unfazed, smiling at the camera. Like nothing is wrong.

“Guess he beat you to it,” Donghyuck whispers in his ear.

“It’s not a race,” He hisses back at Donghyuck. If it were a race, they would be at the starting line, and Mark might be two steps ahead of him without evening realizing it. Maybe it was a game to Jaemin, a game that, as the looks of it right now, isn’t exactly in his favor.

🫗

The second time was an accident. He’s returning to the dorm after a solo schedule, his limbs rebutting with exhaust and his heart a little heavier as soon as Jaemin steps inside, his only desire to crash into his bed and sleep for hours, seeing as they were no group schedules for the rest of the day. He’s thankful that the dorm is pleasantly quiet. Jeno might be already in his dorm with his headset on and blissfully ignoring the rest of the world to reunite with his Xbox station after a long day of separation. His door is closed, and Jaemin doesn’t want to interrupt him.

Then he hears it again. While he’s lying in bed, eyes shut to try to get some sleep before dinner as Jaemin hears the sound of bed squeaking. Groaning into his pillow, it just had to be now. He has no qualms with members bringing people back to the dorm, their pact followed the guidelines as long as they were 1) discreet and careful and 2) when no one was home. Jeno’s room is across from the kitchen so it couldn’t be him because the noise is so close. The hindered sounds of moans and giggles in the walls beside him.

Renjun’s room. And that’s Mark’s voice, from the deeper, more rough voice as he hears the bed creaks and more giggles. Throwing a pillow over his head wouldn’t stop the noises. They were so loud. How has Jeno not noticed, or if there’s anyone else in the dorm. Jaemin likes to listen, he’s always been an excellent ear to lend to, and maybe that’s one of his greatest faults; he observes too much and never instigates first. He should walk away again, and he’s returned the closed door of the backstage closet, and it’s absolute torture.

He wonders if Renjun enjoys it just as he does with Mark, he wonders if Renjun would gasp and wither and fall apart the way he does with Mark, so succulent and ripe. Jaemin is aware that it’s bad thinking to think of both of them while they’re on the other side of the wall. He is separated by the layer of paint and wood that makes him think such insane thoughts. Would Mark fall apart the same way he takes apart Renjun, piece by piece or as a whole?

Finally, he hears the door slowly open as he sits outside on the couch, barely paying attention to the soap drama playing on the screen. As he looks over as they both step out, Renjun greets him with an avoided gaze, as Mark’s is already fully clothed, hat on backward, putting back his bangs swept across his forehead. It’s his boyish look ever, but he does it well. Incredibly well. “Leaving so soon hyung? It’s late. You should stay the night. It sounded like you were already getting comfortable,” Jaemin bites at his tongue. He shouldn’t speak so fast.

Mark laughs a little, “I would I could, man, but I’ve got an early schedule tomorrow. Have a good night Jaemin-ah,” before he shyly adds, “you too, Renjun-ah.”

As soon as the door closes, the screen drones on, like white noise in his ear. As Jaemin rolls his neck, staring at Renjun from upside down, watching him bend down to pull a water bottle from the fridge. “You broke the rules.”

A hand stops at the bottle cap before it twists it open. “Sorry, we got carried away.” Renjun takes a small sip before setting the bottle down. “I’ll be going to bed. Good night.”

“Good night Renjunnie, sweet dreams. Dream a little of me tonight.” He purrs.

Lingering at the door knob before Renjun enters his bedroom, he pauses. “I’ll try to.” As it closes softly, Jaemin is alone again. But it doesn’t feel like defeat, not yet.

🫗

“Hey, Jaemin-ah could we talk?” Mark asks. They’re getting ready to leave for today’s schedule. Everyone’s left except for the two of them.

“I’ve got a minute to spare,” Jaemin shifts, leaning against the counter, as Mark quickly texts the group chat to let their manager know they’ll be out in a few minutes. “What’s up?”

Just as the front door closes, Mark’s uneasy glances change into annoyance. “Don’t what’s up me Jaemin-ah. You’ve been avoiding me like the plague recently, so I want to know why. And we’re not leaving until you tell me.” He says firmly. As Jaemin sighs, leave it to Mark to be so confrontational, unlike him. When Mark is angry, he gets determined and emotional, which is not the best combination.

Shaking his head already hung low, Jaemin crosses his arms and laughs. “We shouldn’t hold everyone up. They’re waiting in the car.”

As he starts to pass, Mark says, “Hold on, is this about Renjun?”

His feet immediately stop, unable to move anymore. “And if it is?”

Mark holds his hands up in defense, “We need to talk about this like adults. Renjun-ah is an adult. He can do what he likes.” I know that. Believe me I know that better than anyone else, Jaemin desperately wants to say. He wants to shout it out to the sky and pray that the universe hears him clearly.

“‘I’m aware, hyung. So let’s talk like adults. Grown-ups.” Jaemin fidgets with the key in his pocket as the rough side scratch at his fingertips.

Mark looks at him through his those eyelashes, naive and innocent. But Mark Lee is not innocent. No more innocent than he is. “Most people would hate being called childish,” he says. Jaemin shrugs, indifferent. It’s not a weakness to be childish at times when your bones sprout at such an early age, and your voice stretches three octaves deeper.

“At this point in my life, I’ve accepted it. It gets tiring acting three times your age.”

Mark looks nervous now, wearing that same brown beanie that Renjun had given him for his birthday. Playing with the top, as it sloppily messes with his hair and Jaemin notices the veins, large and long, crawling up his shirt as his muscles wither and flex. Nice. “Is this about me, then? Do you dislike me?”

This catches him off-guard because when the argument boils down, and the only people left standing are Jaemin, Mark and Renjun, who is the real winner? Was Mark the real problem, or was it him for never having enough courage to make a real move? Always playing around, sleeping around but never stopping to ask — does he love Renjun?

Jaemin falls back against the door,, because at the end of, the day no matter what he did, Renjun was never his in the first place. “No I don’t, I don’t know. It’s difficult,” Those messy, complex, gut-wrenching feelings rising like bile up his throat and the indignant urge to despite Mark. But he could never be truly mad at him. He can only be mad at himself.

“There’s something I’ve always admired you for. You say it’s difficult, and yet liking someone, even loving someone, takes effort. But you make it look so easy.” Mark’s voice draws softer, quieter.

Jaemin leans back and laughs. Mark is an exciting person, and he finds that even more entertaining. “You’re saying that so you don’t think I’m a bad person.”

“I don’t think you’re a bad person. I admire you for being selfish. Even if you believe it’s a flawed trait, I could never possess it.” Mark grins as the sun rises, it reaches the corners of his mouth, and Jaemin looks away. “Because no matter what, no matter who it is, Jaemin-ah, you give and give and give, but you never take.” Mark pats his shoulder, unsure if it is out of sympathy or agreement. Solidarity.

“Do you love Renjun?” Jaemin has to know. He has to know the truth, even if it might kill him.

Mark looks so much bigger in the light. He looks taller, more grown-up with his mask loose at the bottom of his chin, and a little tired. “What’s there not to love about him?” Everything about Mark is genuine, and real, making Jaemin a little more guilty.

It’s okay to love him, to love Renjun, because it doesn’t make him a terrible person. It’s okay to love them both. It doesn’t make Jaemin a terrible person. It sounds correct in all its truest forms in his head, but in reality — even the worse people have no room to love in their hearts.

🫗

The studio is quieter today. He keeps to himself for the most part, keeping his eyes on Mark and Renjun when he can. Renjun smiles with an arm around Mark’s shoulder but spares Jaemin no glance. They finish hours later, Donghyuck plans to stay the night at their dorm and follows behind Jeno, wishing everyone a blessed evening, but he’s sure they’re sneaking off together. He’s left alone, and it distracts him. Renjun’s voice distracts him and drives him insane. “Renjun-ah, could I talk to you alone?”

Mark clears his throat, “I’ll go grab us some water,” and excuses himself as the studio door slides shut, and Jaemin is faced with a similar, unwavering silence.

“Renjun-ah, I just wanted to apologize. To you and hyung as well. I was unfair and selfish.” He starts. Renjun collects his belongings into his duffel bag before throwing it over his shoulder.

“It was my fault, I was the selfish one. You could never be selfish, Jaemin-ah. It was selfish of me to think I could want you both,” Renjun murmurs. He wants both of them? Jaemin freezes, and he catches sight of his faltering expression.

(It was Donghyuck’s saying, in the late aftermath of the empty car when he held Jaemin’s arm. “It’s not selfish to love them both, it doesn’t make you a selfish person,”)

Without even thinking, Jaemin crosses over, cupping Renjun’s cheek, and pulls him into a hug. It’s not quite a hug, but rather his arms embracing his waist and Renjun’s cheek resting against his cheek. But they make it work. “I don’t hate Mark. I hope you don’t think that. I admire him for many things,” For putting others first when Jaemin couldn’t, but being so unselfish and kind and never distant.

Renjun looks up, smiling widely. “He says the same about you, and he was so nervous about it too.”

Jaemin raises a brow. “Nervous? About what?” Renjun shakes his head, and that small forehead dimple creases when he laughs.

“Hyung likes you too, Jaemin-ah.”

Jaemin’s head spins. Mark likes me? The guilt spills, staining the floor as it pools over, teetering to the brink. “Then do you think he would mind if I kissed you, right here?” There it is again, that same arousal in all the times he’s faced with a difficult decision. When met with Renjun’s lilting gaze and the way his hands skim Jaemin’s face, brushing over his lips. He closes in the distance, and that greedy part of him, the one he lets lay low, comes to play. Renjun gasps into his kisses as if each time surprises him even more, moaning into Jaemin’s mouth with such sweetness and stickiness that he brings a curling fist into Renjun’s hair. His hair was even lighter as it coiled and entwined in his hands, bringing him closer. His duffel bug drops to the floor with a loud thud, but both of them choose it to ignore it.

He wants to see him whole, eye to eye, not from a distance but up close and personal. He wants to stay with Renjun and listen to him talk and ramble about his day, about his passions and dislikes, even though Jaemin knows it by heart. “You once told me that there was nothing lovable about you,” Jaemin says between kisses. Renjun appears exhilarated and a little disoriented by the sudden pause. “But I think otherwise. Everything about you is lovable. From the way you always need help with your microphone when it’s too tight on your ear,” Renjun frowns, sliding his arms on top of his shoulders, gently running his hands through the nape of Jaemin’s neck.

“Are you making fun of me?” Renjun pouts a little, and Jaemin kisses it away, cupping his jaw and biting his bottom lip.

“It’s endearing. Everything about you is endearing. From how you laugh, even you’re down, and how intact you are with your feelings. And the way you always try your best. In my head, I think about a million reasons why I love you, but out loud, the only thing I can think of,” Jaemin dips his head, angling his neck to kiss that tender spot on the underside of his jaw. “Is that I’m in love with you. Everything about you.”

Then the studio door slides open, and they both frantically turn to the side. The two water bottles in his hand slip from his fingers as Mark enters. “Aw, you already started without me,” He complains. “Not fair.”

“Sorry,” Jaemin lets go as they part. “I couldn’t resist a head start,” as Mark tilts his head and walks over.

“Do you mind if I take over for a bit?” Mark whispers, and Renjun nods in a daze. Mark reaches over, tugging on his shirt, and fully kisses him. He kisses the way he acts. Giant kisses, full mouth, and breathy. Mark is a good kisser. Everyone knows that. His hands capture Jaemin’s body, searing at his waist to his cheek, and he parts his lips, running his tongue along the seams of his mouth, angling deeper. From the corner of his eye, he sees Renjun in the mirror's reflection. As their bodies cling to each other, his chest rises, and Mark breaks apart. Like coming up for air, as Jaemin stumbles a little before catching his footing. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while now.”

“Hope it met your expectations then,” Jaemin breathes as Renjun walks over, pulling at Mark’s hand before kissing him deeply. It’s just in practice, except the yearning in his chest simmers into something more. Want.

From the mirror, he sees them in a cloudy vision of hunger; it haunts Jaemin from afar. Anyone could walk in, though it’s pretty late, and most studios are empty for the day. It’s exciting to think if any one of the members wandered in wondering where the three of them went. “My turn now,” He hears him say as Mark laughs softly and pulls him in.

“As you wish,” Renjun moans between kisses as he watches as a hand furls underneath his shift, grazing his abdomen. He sees them in the mirror — a reflection of their inner desires. Jaemin guides him backward as Renjun’s back hits the wall. Mark assists in throwing his sweater to the floor, lining wet kisses along his spine as Jaemin shudders, beckoning for Renjun’s fingers as he takes them into Mark’s mouth. Sucking and twisting around his fingers, Jaemin looks into his reflection. It’s right there, and he can’t help it. The air is hot and humid, and he smiles. “Is there something wrong?” Renjun asks, cheeks red and lips swollen with spit. Now facing his reflection, Mark is on his knees.

“No,” he kisses his forehead as Jaemin holds his eyes in his reflection. What’s mine is yours. “Everything is perfect.”