Chapter Text
Chan’s first impression of Seungkwan is: pretty, annoying, and arrogant. In that exact order. It’s a fair impression considering the first thing he says to Chan is how terrible his green jumper looks with his jeans.
“That combo is hideous,” Seungkwan’s voice pins him in place and Chan feels the irritation bubble. The angle isn’t helping either, with him looking down at Chan with sharp eyes and curled lips, and it stabs Chan.
In response, Chan deadpans, “My grandma got me this,” there’s a small sickening satisfaction in watching Seungkwan’s smile drop, horrified. He flees before any more words can be exchanged.
Pretty, annoying, arrogant. Chan doesn’t know Seungkwan, but he knows him. He knows that Mingyu likes his voice, knows that Soonyoung hangs out with him often, knows that he’s roommates with Jeonghan, knows that Minghao actually likes him, knows that he’s a music major and knows that he sleeps with Vernon regularly.
‘‘High and whiney, like he’s begging. No dick can be that good.’’ Jeonghan is pouting as he raids Chan’s cupboards, taking out the unopened pack of Oreos. Chan pities him and lets him stay over. He now knows how Seungkwan moans.
Pretty, annoying, arrogant. Hot.
He doesn’t see it. But objectively, Seungkwan is easy on the eyes and everyone and their mothers knows this. Chan knows all this about Seungkwan without ever meeting him, and he prefers to keep it that way.
That pretty face screams problems.
Chan looks up from his red cup, still half filled with vodka and coke and grimaces at how crowded it is. Soonyoung’s parties are always big and bold, and usually a welcomed distraction but all Chan can think of is the essay due in 2 days. He hasn’t even made a draft yet.
Who knew dance majors still had to write? He downs the cup in one go and feels a familiar burn at the back.
With small steps, he makes his way to the kitchen. He wanted to at least get drunk and forget, Seungkwan’s stupid face and the essay both.
The kitchen is less packed but Chan still has to brush past people, feels hands land on his hips and back as he pushes past. He doesn’t even get the chance to make a terrible mix of 70% alcohol and 30% coke because a cup is placed in his hands clumsily.
Chan raises a brow, and Jeonghan grins at him. The smell is strong and Chan knows this is a bad mix of just alcohols. He takes a big sip. It burns and he bites down the urge to gag.
Jeonghan hollers at him and Chan feels good, feels the edges of sobriety blur and knows that tomorrow will be hell.
“Come dance!” Jeonghan is loud, and he drags Chan by the waist, pulling with intent to go all night long. Chan lets himself be swept away, narrowingly avoiding elbows and hands.
The music is blaring and Chan takes 2 more sips, feels his hips move in a steady rhythm. He feels a small grin come over when Jeonghan sways with him, completely off rhythm.
This is the 1st red flag. Jeonghan doesn’t dance, especially not like this. Tipsy Jeonghan liked to talk and run away, liked to sit with Joshua and tease and prod his other friends. Scheming Jeonghan liked to dance.
A long sigh escapes him and Jeonghan immediately straightens, eyes gleaming and dark under the neon glow sticks. “You know me so well Channie,” he coos, gripping Chan closer, sour breath hitting Chan right in the face.
“No-”
“I haven’t even asked,” Jeonghan is still swaying with him, and he sounds a little pitiful. Scheming Jeonghan knows Chan is weak to that voice.
Chan takes another long sip, vaguely distinguishing that it’s vodka and whiskey, “Last time you asked something, I nearly ended up bald-”
Jeonghan’s grip on his waist tightens, “That was an unfortunate accident, chemicals can be hard to work with.” His grip doesn’t lessen and Chan knows this will be a long night. “Besides Wonwoo was there, so it turned out good.”
“That’s too much hydrogen peroxide, he’ll go bald,” Wonwoo’s monotonous voice cuts through, calm and collected, his hand holding a bowl of soggy cereal. Chan bolts out of Jeonghan’s arm reach immediately.
“Just hear hyung out,” Jeonghan twirls him, clumsy and hard, “Please.” He added the plea softly and Chan felt his defence go down like his sanity.
“Fine.” His tone was short and curt but Jeonghan smiled big and landed a sloppy wet kiss on his cheeks.
“Can you let Seungkwan crash at yours tonight?”
Ah. There is it.
“No,” Chan tugs himself away quickly, making sure to keep a blank face and slips in between dancing bodies. He doesn’t even get a meter away before a warm body drapes all over him, hands sneaking around his waist.
Jeonghan squeezes him like a snake, tighter by the second. Coiling and prodding, Chan feels the life leave him.
“Hyung-”
“I want to bring Joshua over,” it’s a soft confession, bare and more vulnerable than anything Jeonghan has said to him. “Please Channie.”
Jeonghan likes Joshua. Chan knows that it's love no matter how much Jeonghan denies it, Chan knows. The lovesick look on his face every time he sees Joshua is sickening. Plus, it must be true love because Joshua puked all over his favourite vintage red jacket and Jeonghan didn’t even care. The same man who made Seokmin buy him snacks for a whole month because of a small drop of coffee on his precious Burberry scarf. You couldn’t even see it from a distance.
Lovesick to the core. Just like how Chan used to be with Seungcheol. He tries not to dwell on it.
Despite wanting to say no because Seungkwan is trouble, Chan knows that asking Joshua over probably meant Jeonghwan went through 10 different breakdowns, ranging from pep talks to borderline insanity. Courage and love, things Chan didn’t have.
It’s no surprise to them both when Chan agrees with a frustratingly fond tone. It’s no surprise when the tight coil turns into a tighter warmer hug. “Thanks, I owe you.”
Chan doesn’t mention how he’d do a lot more for a lot less if it’s Jeonghan asking. He just says, “Okay.”
It shouldn’t be bad. Seungkwan can crash on his couch and Chan can be alone in his room, the door closed and laptop open so he can finally start the essay. More likely, Chan will be in his room, door closed with the worst hangover.
Either way, the door is closed.
The soft excited smile on Jeonghan’s face makes his mood a little better, and he thinks that today was probably the day he’d grow the balls to ask Joshua out. He should mark it on his calendar.
“Shua!” Jeonghan is screaming, looking past Chan and before he can even turn, he’s being swept away again.
He does his best to not stumble over his legs in a light haze and tries not to spill his drink too much, but Jeonghan moves them like a hurricane.
He’s pulled to a corner, and instantly regrets it when he sees the circle of people, all grinning and drunk. It’s spin the bottle, obvious cause Soonyoung is grinning at him holding an empty beer bottle and wagging his brows. Chan doesn’t know why but an uneasy pit opens up.
“Hannie- Oh Chan-ah you made it!” Sweet knowing voice, Chan opens his arms to accept the hug. Joshua smelled like fire whiskey and vanilla. He also smells a little of peaches and Jeonghan’s favourite perfume.
“Hey hyung- Thanks,” Chan can barely get the words out before another red cup is placed in his hands.
Then there’s another voice, softer and deeper, and Chan pauses when his name is called out. “Chan-ah.” His name under that voice, parting those lips, and Chan felt his heart skip just a little.
“Cheol hyung,” his voice mirrors Seungcheol, soft. He sounds a little breathy and a little shame washes over him.
Big doe eyes trained on him, plump lips tugging upwards when their gaze met. Seungcheol still looks lovely, still so warm, still so everything Chan wants.
“It’s been so long! You barely call me anymore,” there’s a pout on his lips and Chan dies a little internally. “Come hug me Channie.”
He dies a little more.
It’s a little pathetic how quickly his resolve wavers but when he’s held between two strong arms, fingers spanning over his waist and shoulder, Chan feels good.
He doesn’t deny Seungcheol, he only deflects. “Hyung it’s good to see you-” his eyes meet Seungkwan’s when Seungcheol lets go, hug short. He doesn’t get to finish his sentence or give out a glare because Seungcheol pulls him down, makes him a part of the circle.
“Hyung will treat you to dinner later, we can catch up then,” the promise is whispered into his ear, and Chan thinks today would be a great day to die. Seungcheol’s breath hits the shell of his ear and goes over his nape, and he shivers a little.
But the closeness is gone quick and the thick scent of pine and comfort faintly lingers. “Yah, let’s start now!” Seungcheol’s voice is loud and on command, Soonyoung places the bottle down and spins.
It’s a little too late for Chan to plan an escape, but with his thigh pressed against Seungcheol’s, he doesn’t mind too much.
Round after round, Chan watches. Soonyoung gives a heated kiss to Seokmin, Seokmin gives a chaste peak to Vernon, Vernon makes out with Wonwoo for 5 seconds and Wonwoo gives a small peck to Seungkwan.
It’s all good fun and Chan smiles along with the other, even though it's forced. He’s not sure why, but the casual intimacy makes his heart prick, a dull void that claws his way from his stomach to his throat.
Chan feels an odd weight on his shoulders when it’s Seungkwan’s turn to spin. He can vaguely make out Soonyoung cheering and Mingyu’s loud chain of ‘hurry’ but it’s all irrelevant because Seungkwan is staring at him.
It’s calculation, sobre and intense. Those brown eyes rank over his hunched form, lingering at his thighs and Chan felt himself move closer to Seungcheol, increasing the pressure, closing the distance.
When Seungkwan narrowed his eyes and spun the bottle, Chan gave a satisfied huff. It’s childish and illogical, there’s no reason to get so worked up over a little stare but there’s a bitter feeling still lingering in Chan’s mouth.
He tears his gaze away from a slender finger wrapped around a bottle and it lands in the space between him and Seungcheol. Thigh against thigh, pressed together in comfort and it’s nauseating. Chan pulls away a little, increasing the gap, constructing a wall of silence that shields him.
Still afraid, the vines around his throat tighten. The yearning, the sweet yearning morphs and cocoons and Chan fears the creature that bursts out won’t be love, won’t be sweet, won’t be good.
There’s a brief moment of silence. At a party with Soonyoung and Seokmin, Chan thinks that’s impossible so he raises his head, and demands his mind to focus on the scene before him.
He meets Soonyoung’s gaze first. His lips were a little downturned, Chan spots pity in his gaze, and something ugly piles on in his mind. With his own frown, he turns his face to the bottle and his spine straightens.
It would be bad to kiss Seungkwan. It would be worse to watch Seungkwan kiss Seungcheol. The bottle was placed right between him and Seungcheol but it was obvious who it tipped more towards.
“Ah hyung,” the voice was sultry, the intent clear and Chan wished Vernon had fucked Seungkwan hard, till he lost his voice.
He dared a single glance at Seungcheol. His hyung had an expectant look, curious. With a smirk on his lips and a lazy posture, he was looking forward to what Seungkwan gave.
If Seungkwan was a sin, then Seungcheol looked like a sinner. Willing and consuming, Chan knows lust, knows the want of wanting lips on lips.
The cocoon shivers, and trembles within his heart.
His face falls but no one notices. He keeps his gaze trained on Seungcheol and knows that Seungkwan is moving towards them from the way Seungcheol’s eyes trail. Closer and closer.
It’s disconcerting, how Seungkwan holds- commands attention without doing much. There’s a pull, a breathless look, a hopeless need and Chan sees it all in Seungcheol.
Chan tenses when Seungkwan places a warm hand on Seungcheol’s thighs, his fingers so long that they rest on Chan’s too. His nails embed themselves and Chan takes a sharp inhale when they trail up higher, reaching the opening of his jeans. Skin on skin. Warm. The atmosphere thickened, charged with unspoken tension as Seungkwan's fingers ventured into uncharted territory.
Seungkwan wasn’t looking at Chan, Seungkwan's focus remained unwavering on Seungcheol, a predator zeroed in on its prey. The dark intensity in his eyes carved a path, leaving Chan a little dizzy. His fingers were squeezing more of Chan’s thigh than Seungcheol’s.
A noise of discomfort left him but it was drowned out and Chan wanted to move but his body wouldn’t obey. Nerves danced beneath his skin as Seungkwan's touch lingered, a lingering imprint that refused to fade.
When a soft chuckle rumbled out, Chan knew that was a signal to avert his gaze. However, Seungkwan persisted, a gravitational force pulling everything into its orbit. His laughter, though soft, carried the weight of a black hole—dark and all-consuming, unveiling the very fabric that held everyone together, leaving behind a trail of bareness.
Seungkwan had Chan in the worst way possible. He had Chan by the throat, he had Chan with force, he had Chan without his knowledge, and he had Chan watching him kiss Seungcheol filthily. It was a silent, potent control that manifested itself as helplessness.
The kiss was all tongue, playful bites and drawn-out moans. Chan couldn’t look away even if he wanted to because Seungkwan held his gaze, a fierce challenge.
It was like biting into a lemon dipped in salt. Seungkwan was kneeling between Seungcheol’s legs, his thighs bracketing Seungkwan’s frame. Seungcheol's hands gripped Seungkwan's waist harshly, fingers encircling completely in a possessive hold.
But Seungkwan held his gaze on Chan through it all. His hand gripped Chan tighter, almost bruising in intensity, nails digging into the exposed skin of his jeans leaving crescent imprints. No matter how intense the kiss got, no matter how much Seungcheol prodded his tongue and left him gasping for breath, Seungkwan kept Chan trapped.
Look.
The kiss between them leaves Chan breathless, it is the air in his lungs that is forced out and the edges of his vision blurred. Filthy and wet.
As a broken moan, too obscene to be ignored, escaped from Seungcheol, Chan tore his gaze away and pulled away. The fingers that had gripped his thighs fell away, exposing him to the biting cold that seeped in, sharp and twisting his stomach. Seungkwan pulled away from Seungcheol, his eyes no longer meeting Chan's.
His lips bore the aftermath—red, swollen, and thoroughly kissed. Seungcheol mirrored the display, his cheeks adorned in a pretty cherry, a smug grin playing on his face.
Cheers broke out, and Chan’s face burned with shame and hate. The depths of his stomach lodged into his throat, a block of mass.
Chan doesn’t look back at them, keeps his head down and sees Seungkwan move away with slow steps, watches how Seungcheol’s hand clung to him until the very last second, tight and unwilling to let go. He drowns the cup in his hand, the whiskey going down like water.
A hand drapes over his shoulder. Coconut and sweet. Chan leans into it, half burying his face in their shoulder. “Hyung, fuck.” It’s a broken whisper.
Jeonghan lets him cling.
Chan watched round after round. Seungcheol pecks Seokmin, Seokmin makes out with Mingyu, Mingyu kisses Minghao, Minghao presses a small kiss to Wonwoo and Wonwoo lands on Chan
It’s quiet again for a second and when Chan lifts his head from Jeonghan’s shoulder, he finds Wonwoo, with a small unsure smile on his face. Chan makes the first move. Jeonghan and Joshua break the silence with loud encouragement and Chan drinks it all in.
Wonwoo is pretty. Wonwoo is kind. Wonwoo knows his stupid little crush on Seungcheol. Chan moves in a desperate rush, he cups Wonwoo’s face, fingers gentle and warm and pulls.
Wonwoo doesn’t resist but meets his halfway, and they kiss. Time moves, but nothing else happens. Lips on lips. Just that. Before Chan could pull away, Wonwoo swipes his tongue, hesitant and quick but Chan gives a small whine, presses himself closer and opens his mouth.
Time moves. Wonwoo’s hand grips his thigh. Distant cheers. Chan sits on Wonwoo’s lap. No butterflies. Tongue pushes in and Chan lets it. A crack within.
A hand lands on his shoulder and Chan breathes. “Chan-ah, let Wonwoo breathe,” a teasing voice, Jeonghan pulls his away. Chan hears the hard edge beneath, the concern.
Wonwoo is pretty. With bitten lips, plump and glossy with Chan’s spit, he’s still just pretty. His heart doesn’t race, doesn’t leap, doesn’t want more. They’re both panting, and Wonwoo’s grip is painful.
With a small tremble, Chan places a soft kiss on Wonwoo’s cheeks and whispers, “Thanks hyung.”
Wonwoo squeezes his waist and lets Chan slip away. He spins the bottle and when it lands on Joshua, he thinks the world is kind.
He gives Joshua a small kiss on the cheek and sits back down, pressed between Seungcheol and Jeonghan. Time moves. He doesn’t look at Seungcheol, just buries himself in Jeonghan and hopes the cracks don’t show.
When the game ends, Chan decides to call it a night. But Chan can’t because Seungkwan is making out with Vernon on the blue couch. This time, he doesn’t trap Chan. This time, he doesn’t even acknowledge Chan.
The lingering taste of vodka and pizza fills Chan's mouth, mingling with the memory of Wonwoo's kiss. Chan needs to go home. The alcohol makes him bolder, makes his feet move so he’s looking over a drunk Vernon roaming his hands over Seungkwan’s back, lips locked.
They kiss with desperation and Chan wonders why, whether it's the alcohol or the need to mould yourself into another flesh.
It’s Vernon who notices him first. Through his long lashes, spit-stricken lips and dazed look, he gives Chan a lazy smile and nods.
He’s direct, “I want to go home,” he hopes Jeonghan already told Seungkwan about their arrangement.
Seungkwan doesn’t even look back at him. Instead, he has the audacity to latch onto Vernon’s neck, and Vernon bites his lip to hold back a moan. It’s humiliating.
His voice sounds foreign when he speaks, “Fuck you too. I don’t give a shit what you do but don’t you dare fucking go back to your apartment and ruin everything for Jeonghannie hyung.” Chan doesn’t have time for pricks and he turns to leave. He’s unwilling to let Seungkwan pull him, tug him bare.
He stumbles around and gets to the door and when cold air greets him, Chan takes it all in like a drowned man. It’s quiet out, the music muffled, the people far. The edges of his vision are still blurred, like he’s looking through stained glass but home. Chan wants home.
Chan takes his phone out and sends a quick text to both Jeonghan and Soonyoung. It’s full of typos but he hopes the message gets across. I’m wasted. I had fun. Gonna go home. Bye.
The wind picks up, tousling his hair as strands cascade like ink down his face. Surprisingly, it isn't annoying. The wind treats him gently, its touch a soft caress that doesn't leave a bottomless pit in his stomach.
Chan wonders if intimacy will ever grace him gently, softening his face like golden rays, turning laughter lines into cherished creases. He wonders if intimacy given from a person, instead of the world, will leave him glowing or sobbing.
An overfilled glass is what he is.
Chan doesn't scream when a ringed hand takes his phone. The pearl ring, encasing the middle finger, gleams in the moonlight, captivating his attention as it always does.
With a tired tone, Chan questions, "What are you doing?"
Seungkwan responds with a casual hum, "Booking us a taxi." The words fall effortlessly from his lips, as if they were friends catching up. "What's your address?"
“What?”
“Address, where you live-”
His sentence falls quiet when Chan tries to take his phone back but Seungkwan just tilts his figure and his hand flies right past. “Give it back-”
“You’re drunk,” his tone is soft, but Chan thinks it's sandpaper against rock. “You texted the group chat instead of Jeonghan, I doubt you can go home alone.”
He’s pretty sure he texted Jeonghan. He’s pretty sure Seungkwan is wrong and just hell-bent on making his life miserable because why else would he be here, instead of sucking off Vernon in the corner. “I’m not drunk, I’m fine. Fucking go back-”
“Is that how you talk to your hyung?” The tone is colder than the wind.
But it’s absurd and Chan feels the giggle burst forward, loud and hard. The ripples shake his frame and he sways a little on his feet, “You’re not my hyung,” the sentence is drawn out, infected, and even a not-so-sober Chan thinks it’s strained. “Just give me my-”
Seungkwan invades his personal space, bodies pressed together, and the words poised on the edge of Chan's tongue vanish as he tilts his head upward to meet Seungkwan's intense gaze. Beneath the faint glow of the streetlights, beneath the veiled night cloaked with silver moonlight and beneath the soft caress of the breeze, Seungkwan looks at Chan. A serpent cloaked in human skin. The sun veiled as a man. Dangerous.
“What?”
The voice is jagged, broken glass, and Chan can't help but smile in delight. "You heard me," he stares, finding amusement in watching Seungkwan's face up close, the notion firmly planted. He likes watching Seungkwan’s face. Likes it when it’s hatred.
Anger eclipses the softened features of Seungkwan. It's a transformation, far from delicate. Long lashes quiver with fury, lips thinning, and the light that once danced in his eyes now focused on the singular intention of pinning Chan down. Dark and brown and all on Chan.
When cold fingers grip his neck, Chan isn't surprised. His smile widens, teeth on full display, and eyes crinkled. "Always so easy to rile up," his words are slurred, but Chan doesn't care. As the fingers tighten, he knows Seungkwan doesn't either.
"What's your problem?" Low and curt, the words are lovely in the quiet, echoing with a tense intensity.
And really, what is Chan's problem?
All Seungkwan ever did to him was insult him, and kiss the man likes on the lips with no hesitation, while staring at him the whole time to assert some weird dominance. But to admit this would be the same as admitting defeat. Seungkwan can’t know the weird hold he has over Chan.
Chan says it with chest, loud and open, “I just don’t like you.”
Seungkwan pulls him in by the neck and Chan feels warm breath hit him on the face, tinged with soju and Seungcheol. This close, Chan can count his lashes, can see the small mole on his left eyelid, and notices the little crease under his eye shaped like a heart. “Everyone likes me.”
“I don’t,” his voice is stern, dipped in ice.
Seungkwan’s anger is radiating, “Give me a fucking reason.”
“No.”
“Why the fuck not?” Soju and Cheollie hyung.
Chan tries to pull away. "Why do you care so much?" He's never been close to Seungkwan; they barely interact outside of Jeonghan. They barely interact with Jeonghan.
"You're a disrespectful dongsaeng," he speaks with a hiss, the words hitting Chan right in the face.
He can't do much but laugh. "Yeah," Chan agrees easily and rips himself away. The smell of sweet oranges clings to his jumper. "Give me my phone—"
"Call me hyung," Seungkwan's voice is closer to a threat than a plea. Chan laughs a little harder, ducking his head with twisted delight.
"No."
"Do I have to remind you I have your phone?" It’s a chilling sentence and catches Chan’s attention immediately.
It has to be a bluff. "Break it, and I’ll make you buy me a new one," Chan gives Seungkwan a blank stare, eyes taking in his dimmed figure. His eyes remain feral, a snake ready to strike and bear fangs.
It’s the grin that spreads over Seungkwan’s face that makes dread settle inbetween his stomach and heart. “I don’t have to break anything Channie,” his name is purred, and it sends a phantom hand crawling up Chan’s throat.
Seungkwan lifts his phone, pressing it against his lips in a lover's kiss under the stars. "I can just text Cheollie hyung, cute that you saved his name with a heart," he taunts.
"You wouldn't—"
"But I would. You don't like me, and I don't like you," Seungkwan speaks with the phone still pressed against his lips, and Chan notices the smudge of lip tint—red and ruined.
Chan adds childishness to the list of things Seungkwan embodies.
"Don't bring Cheo—"
"I can and I will bring your precious Cheollie hyung—"
"Why do you even need me to call you hyung!"
"Because it's funny to make you swallow your words," Seungkwan whispers, soft and warm, but the words don't match his tone or expression. He still wears that shit-eating smirk, the one that changes his whole demeanour. "I'll make you call me hyung."
The cold is more biting, creeping up the holes of Chan's jeans, making him shiver. "Don't be stupid—"
Seungkwan makes a show, turning the phone towards Chan, and his heart drops. There's barely a ring before that deep, honeyed voice calls him out.
"Chan-ah?"
He immediately responds because it’s him, because his voice is sweetly uttering his name. “Hyung, hey,” his voice cracks.
“What’s wrong? You okay?” Sweet Seungcheol, always so concerned, always treating Chan like a child, always so far away.
He inches nearer to Seungkwan just as he's on the brink of shattering the delicate moment. Chan lifts his hand, firmly pressing it against Seungkwan's lips, a forceful grip. Unsure of what's causing his heart to tremble, he holds back.
Warm. Soft.
“Nothing hyung, just acc-” There’s a press of tongue against his palm, and Chan thinks he’s touched the sun. It’s searing. A wet trail is left as Seungkwan pushes into Chan, kissing his palm with the same aggression as he kissed Seungcheol.
‘Crazy fucking bastard.’
Even with half his face covered with Chan’s hand, Seungkwan radiated smugness. Chan’s fingers tightened and he relished in the small look of panic and suddenly he felt-
"Yah, Chan-ah? Where are you? Hyung will come get you," there's a soft rustling coming from the phone, and Chan knows Seungcheol's putting on his jacket, on his way to get him.
It's a slip, an irreversible mistake. "No, it's okay, I'm heading home with Seungkwan hyung, you don't—" A fierce bite on his palm, leaving imprints and a surge of heat within. Chan holds back a groan, biting his lips to conceal the– he doesn’t know.
“What? Seungkw-”
“Hyung our taxi is here, I need to go. I’ll text you when I get home,” it’s a rushed sentence, and Chan hangs up before Seungcheol can even get a reply.
A soft chuckle resonates against his skin, "Good job Channie." The words pierce his skin like sand grains on a stormy beach.
A silence settles between them, and Chan glares up at Seungkwan through his lashes, retracting his hand. His heart falters at the lingering trail of spit, the way it clings to his skin.
“You forced me, crazy-”
Seungkwan waves him off, dismissive and hands Chan his phone back, “I already booked us a taxi, should be here soon.” There’s a red stain on his screen and teeth imprints on his palms.
“What? But my address-”
"Of course, I already asked Jeonghannie hyung. You're dumber than you look," he states it matter-of-factly, a disappointing fact, as if he expected more from Chan, as if Chan had expectations to uphold.
Pretty, annoying, arrogant, hot, childish and a punchable face.
The night hues are growing darker, the deep navy blending into black, and soon it's pitch black. The wind, once a gentle feathered touch against his skin, now resembles the rage of the dark sea. Chan doesn't bother replying. He hugs his frame, clings to the green jumper, and sits on the dirty pavement. His ass is cold.
Seungkwan lets Chan's silence linger and settle, forcing Chan to reflect on every interaction he had today. His brows furrow as he realizes that Seungkwan occupies most of his thoughts, overshadowing even the kiss with Wonwoo.
His night is a collection of scattered fragments, each one bearing the imprint of Seungkwan. It irks him to admit that Seungkwan effortlessly gets under his skin, as if he belongs there. The angry stares, the lingering gazes, the unknown looks—all directed at Chan, all from Boo Seungkwan.
Chan isn't sure what to make of it all. And he doesn’t really want to make it make sense. That’s trouble.
Side by side, Chan on the floor and Seungkwan on his feet, they wait. The silence is more intimate than it should be for two people who hate each other's guts.
When the taxi does arrive, they get in and in the enclosed space, Chan presses himself against the door, presses his face against the cool glass window and closes his eyes. He can’t escape the scent of citrus, overpowering and sweet.
Even with the help of alcohol, sleep isn’t kind to him and he stays there, with his eyes closed. Each inhale smelled like oranges and it did nothing to calm his heart.
When a soft jacket drapes over him, tender and hushed, Chan accepts it without words. Seungkwan retreats to his side of the car in silence. Beneath the gentle warmth, Chan thinks of a sun walking amongst people.
It's a gentle move, a bit unexpected from Seungkwan's usual self. Chan doesn't dwell on it; asking might lead to a conversation he's not ready for.
The ride is short. As they step out, Seungkwan doesn't ask for his jacket, and Chan keeps it wrapped around himself.
Weird. Strange. Why?
Quick steps, Chan in front and Seungkwan following. Retrieving the key from his pocket, Chan unlocks the door.
The familiar scent envelops Chan, and he feels his shoulders relax, the lines on his face softening. Home. It's a bit cramped, a tad messy, and overflowing with plants, but it's perfect.
And now, his little apartment has Seungkwan standing in it. Strangely, he looks like he belongs. Under the warm yellow light, Chan notices Seungkwan is only wearing a thin tank top, black and tight, and—
“You can shower first. I’ll bring you clothes, and there are towels in the cabinet,” Chan whispers, attempting to keep his tone low, but it still echoes in the room. He feels smaller than he is. “It’s the brown door.”
Seungkwan looks at Chan. Again, Chan is reminded both of the sun and storms. “Okay.”
It’s a quiet affair. And because Chan is drunk and his mum taught him love and because Jeaonghan would disapprove of him being a bad host, Chan cooks. He doesn’t know what Seungkwan likes but everyone loves gimbap. It’s easy and gives Chan space in the fridge.
Sounds of chopping mingled with the dull noise of the shower. His stomach churns.
By the time Seungkwan comes out, Chan is sitting by the table, with a plate of gimbap and bottles of water. He was still wrapped in Seungkwan’s jacket.
“You cooked?” Seungkwan sounds shocked, his voice hard. Chan glances at him and immediately knows it’s the wrong choice.
Chan thinks he knows. It’s probably the sun. Black hair a little wet, his figure in Chan’s long-sleeved pink shirt that’s just a little too long and hides his knuckles and bare face glowing right before Chan. Seungkwan looks right at home in Chan’s little apartment.
Chan hums and with a hand, calls him over to sit. Seungkwan does so with small steps. “Unlike you, I’m a nice person.”
“People who claim to be nice usually aren’t.”
Chan gives a mocking smile, “And yet, here you are in my apartment, in my clothes, eating the food I made. I’m so fucking nice.”
“You had no choice, Jeonghan hyung basically forced you to take me in so he can woo Shua hyung,” his tone is curt, the edge of broken picture frames.
“I still agreed-”
“For Jeonghan hyung.”
Chan couldn’t disagree with that, so he made a humming noise once again, “Either way, you could’ve gone home with Vernon hyung.” Chan’s shirt is hanging low on Seungkwan’s collarbone and the red hickies are visible. They’ll be darker tomorrow.
It’s quiet for a second, a strange tension coming over that Chan didn’t expect. When he looks at Seungkwan from the corner of his eyes, his gaze is returned. It’s cold, the brown colour similar to an explosion, not autumn leaves.
“Could’ve gone home with Cheollie hyung too,” it’s teasing, his voice loud in the quiet place. “He seemed to like me. A lot.” Underneath, Chan knows it’s deliberate, meant to hurt.
‘You can’t have the man you like.’
It’s quiet again. Seungkwan only told the truth but it carved something in Chan, digging into a wound that refuses to heal. Chan stands up, chair scraping rough against the wooden floor.
“You can have the couch, I’ll get you a blanket and pillow.” He takes off Seungkwan’s jacket and places it on the chair with little care.
“Okay.”
The conversation doesn’t continue and Chan realises that he has nothing to say. All the words they’ve ever exchanged have been cruel or filled with fury.
He doesn’t know Seungkwan and Seungkwan doesn’t know him. Chan slips away and when he closes his door, the scent of oranges doesn’t cling.
They don’t see each other the next day, Seungkwan slipped away before Chan even woke up. The dishes were done and the blanket was neatly folded up.
Almost like he was never there, but the extra towel in his laundry and his faint smell of Seungkwan suggested otherwise.
When Chan checks his phone, he’s mildly annoyed to find that he did indeed text the group chat, the message barely readable. He forces down the unnecessary thoughts and sends a short text to Jeonghan.
‘Did u finally do it? Bf shua? Istg call me :(‘
Then Chan goes on with his day with a massive hungover and an essay due in less than 48 hours. But at least he has no lectures and he can practice later in the night when he’s fueled up with Red Bull and food.
Seungcheol also texted him. He didn’t really want to open it but knew better. If he didn’t answer now he’d get a very sulky call later on and Chan didn’t want his heart to endure his hyungs cute antics.
‘Did u get home safe?’
‘Hyung wants to treat u tom’
‘Dinner? 7:00? Plz ( •̯́ ^ •̯̀)
‘Text me if when u can ( ⸝⸝´꒳`⸝⸝)’
His heart shouldn’t race at a man 4 years older than him using cute but irrelevant text emoticons. Chan’s heart never listened to him though, only obedient to Seungcheol.
With suppressed fondness, Chan sends a quick message back.
‘Home safe thx’
‘Ok c u at 7’
‘ :) <3 ‘
Chan felt the weight of stress as he navigated through the task of essay writing. By midday, he had already drank three cups of coffee in an attempt to stay focused. Sitting in the library, he found himself cursing the long history and development of dance. It was testing his patience.
Despite his efforts, only a modest 25% of the essay was completed, and the quality remained somewhat subjective. The harsh glare from the laptop screen added to his discomfort, making the headache linger. The sound of keyboards around him only grated on his nerves.
"You look like shit."
"Thanks, hyung," Chan's voice was stretched thin. Jeonghan sat opposite him, his hair perfect, his skin flawless, and a huge smile on his face. Chan knew before he even said anything. "Congrats on the boyfriend."
The after-sex glow was real because the Jeonghan sitting in front of him had basked in golden rays of heaven, radiating a soft, happy warmth. Chan couldn't help but break into a huge grin when Jeonghan smiled sweetly.
"He said yes-"
Chan snorted, "There was no other option, you guys are so disgustingly whipped for each other."
Jeonghan didn't deny it; a pretty giggle danced from his lips that softened the weight in Chan's heart. Happiness draped itself elegantly over his hyung, making him even more lovable.
“It was very romantic,” his tone was so fond, and Chan hummed.
“I bet hyung cried.”
“Shua did cry-”
“No, I bet you cried.” Chan gives a sly grin and it feels normal to watch Jeonghan’s smile drop from sweet to something a little darker.
“Did not.”
It didn't sound convincing, but Chan decided to let it go. Jeonghan pulled out a small bag, placing it gently in front of Chan. "Got you some food. Thanks for letting Seungkwan stay over."
Chan paused for a moment, then shrugged his shoulders with a subtle nonchalance. "Didn't see him most of the night, barely knew-"
“Oh really?” Speak of the devil and he shall appear. “We ate together last night Channie, you should tell Hannie hyung how close we got.”
Seungkwan entered, his hair meticulously styled, falling in a flawless arch across his face. Dressed a tad too elegantly for a library, he held an iced coffee with a certain flair. The mischievous grin never left his face as he pulled the chair beside Chan, the scrape loud as he settled into his seat.
Chan tore his eyes away and leaned slightly, distancing himself. The overpowering scent of citrus lingered in the air.
"Fuck off."
Both Jeonghan and Seungkwan raised a brow, and irritation surged up Chan's throat. The grin on Seungkwan's lips widened a little. "Still a shitty dongsaeng."
Before Chan could respond, Jeonghan intervened, giving him a stern look. Chan swallowed hard, silencing the next insult that threatened to escape.
“Seungkwan-ah what are you doing here?” Jeonghan gave him a warning look too.
Choosing to stay silent when Seungkwan was so annoying was frustrating. With quick movements, Chan grabbed the bag Jeonghan had brought.
Inside was a sandwich — his favourite chicken one, generously layered with extra lettuce. Jeonghan could be surprisingly sweet when the mood struck, and Chan felt a sense of gratitude.
"Vernon-ah called me, he needs help with lectures," Seungkwan replied, his tone still smug. Chan took a bite of the sandwich, using it as a distraction to keep from saying what was on his mind. There was a lot on his mind.
He tuned out much of their conversation, fully engrossed as a starved man in his meal. Between bites, small, contented hums escaped him, savouring the heightened flavours that came with a hangover.
A soft finger unexpectedly touched his lips, swiping across the bottom corner with force, causing Chan to almost choke. "You eat like a pig."
Seungkwan pulled his hand back, a light smear of ketchup on his finger. Before Chan could formulate a thought, the finger was wiped on his grey hoodie, near the shoulder, leaving a tinged stain.
"Yah! What the fu-"
"You're welcome."
"You ruined my hoodie!"
“I saved you from looking like a pig-”
“You already look like a pig!”
Seungkwan’s eyes looked more narrowed, “I dare y-”
A sharp thud echoed, causing Chan to flinch. Jeonghan glanced at both of them, his smile morphing into a blank expression. Chan, feeling a twinge of shame, looked away. His grip tightened on the sandwich, and a bit of lettuce escaped, falling to the side.
“Okay what the hell,” Jeonghan’s tone is a little serious, his hyung tone Chan realises. It’s been a while since he heard it. “What the fuck was that?”
“He started it,” Seungkwan’s voice was loud and he gave Chan a lit glare.
In a sudden moment of clarity, Chan realized Seungkwan was looking for a confrontation. Seungkwan wanted Chan to take the bait, to press his buttons back, to give in to his anger. The desire for a reaction was undeniable. The stolen glances from the corner of his eyes, the rhythmic tapping of his fingers against the table, and the restless shaking of his legs all betrayed his intent.
Chan tensed for a second, took a deep breath, turned his head and put a sweet smile. “Sorry.” It was said quick but that was all Chan could manage.
The surprise on Seungkwan’s face couldn’t be hidden. “What?”
Chan shrugged his shoulders and bit into his sandwich to hide a smile. Jeonghan gave him a glance before pinning Seungkwan with a long stare. “Seungkwan-ah what do you say back?”
But it appeared as if the words hadn't reached Seungkwan; he continued to shoot daggers at Chan, and Chan could feel his face burning under the intense gaze. Seungkwan looked at Chan as if he were the only thing worthy of his attention, and it wasn't a kind look.
When Seungkwan's rough fingers gripped his collar, Chan allowed it, remaining pliant. As Seungkwan pulled them closer, face to face, he seemed to occupy more space than anyone else in the room. "What?"
Chan didn’t have to do anything because Jeonghan intervened, “Yah Seungkwan-ah!” The fingers were ripped away and Chan is always a little shocked at how Jeonghan’s wiry frame held so much strength.
Chan had a small smirk. Seungkwan saw it. Jeonghan didn’t.
It was fun to watch Jeonghan drag him away, all the while Seungkwan’s eyes never left him, all the while his gaze turned redder with Chan’s growing smile.
Jeonghan's heated whispers brought satisfaction to Chan, and he continued to eat with a lingering smile. If he truly wanted to irk Seungkwan, all he had to do was ignore him completely. Easy.
Seungkwan didn’t return with Jeonghan. Jeonghan returned with a tense posture and Chan felt slightly guilty. “Ah hyung it’s okay-”
“It’s not. He usually isn’t like this, I don’t know why he’s acting up,” Jeonghan retook his seat and Chan sighed a little.
“Hyung, I’m not really gonna see him often. Probably only at parties or campus, it’s fine.”
Jeonghan still looked a little off but it easily went away when Chan asked about Joshua. By the time 6:30 hit, Chan had done 50% of the essay and had a happy Jeonghan. A good situation to be in.
“Is this a good idea?” Jeonghan’s voice was soft and Chan appreciated the worry.
He was slowly packing up, storing away his laptop with care, “I can’t ignore him, he doesn’t deserve that. Plus, it’s just a casual dinner. I’ll be fi-”
“Chan-ah, text me if you want to leave, I’ll come get you.” It was a serious tone and Chan let out a bubbly laugh.
Jeonghan was a good hyung. “I will but it’ll be fine.”
The restaurant Seungcheol had chosen was conveniently close to his flat, a detail that Chan genuinely appreciated, especially since it was getting dark, the sun barely peaking in the sky. Exhaustion had settled in, his shoulders drooping, but a BBQ restaurant was something to look forward to.
It was a small and insignificant thought, but Chan couldn't help but feel that the golden hour resembled Seungkwan standing under the soft glow of dim light of his apartment. Pretty but fleeting.
Entering the restaurant, finding Seungcheol wasn't a challenge. If anything, it was almost embarrassing how quickly Chan's eyes locked onto his familiar figure.
Seungcheol, big and broad, radiated an aura of love and care. Chan couldn't help but think that anyone who knew Seungcheol must love him a little bit.
"Hyung!"
As Seungcheol's warm, doe-like eyes turned to him, a broad smile on his lips, Chan's heart raced a little.
With quick greetings and a warm hug, they settled into their seats, the mood bright.
“Chan-ah how’s university? Is dance hard?” Seungcheol started with the obvious questions and Chan answered with muted fondness.
Simple conversations never truly felt simple with Seungcheol. They carried a weight of something more — a depth. Seungcheol genuinely listened to every word, catching tiny details that even Chan overlooked. It made him realize that this is what it meant to have a good hyung.
"Ah, hyung, let me grill-"
"Yah, you'll burn it," Seungcheol didn't allow Chan to touch the grill or the tongs, hoarding them like a dragon. (A cute, fire-breathing dragon).
"You always say that," Chan pouted slightly, but his smile couldn't be contained.
"Oh, right, Seungkwan-ah will join us in a bit, is that okay?"
"Of cou—wait, what?" Chan's voice got a little loud, enough to make Seungcheol pause and give him a confused look.
"He asked me to hang out this afternoon, and I told him about our plans. He asked if he could tag along," Seungcheol placed the meat on the grill, his eyes still on Chan. "Is that... should I have said no?"
The blood rushed through his ears and he let out an audible groan, “No, it’s fine.”
“Clearly it’s not-”
“No no, it’s okay. I’m just a little surprised and I don’t know him that well,” Chan lied through his teeth.
Seungcheol flashed him a big grin, "You'd like him, Channie! You guys are really similar!" He sounded so positive, but Chan felt like he might spit out blood. He was nothing like Seungkwan.
The conversation continued, but there was an uncomfortable pressure at the back of Chan's mind. The beef helped. Seungcheol was excellent at grilling. Yet, the pressure lingered.
Chan is great at finding Seungcheol in a crowd, knows where his hyung is and it stems from the heart. Chan isn’t great at finding Seungkwan, can’t distinguish his presence and that stems from dislike. So when a warm body slides next to Seungcheol, he nearly screams.
“Hyung.”
His face contorted into an ugly frown, but Seungcheol didn't seem to notice, his attention completely captured. If Seungkwan had been slightly overdressed for the library, Chan wasn't quite sure what to label this attire at the restaurant.
Hot. Burning more than the sun.
It wasn't just the clothes; it was his face. Seungkwan looked undeniably pretty, with long lashes that framed his eyes, rosy cheeks brightening his features. His soft eyebrows and lips, subtly tinted, added to the overall appeal. Even his hair, fucking styled to perfection, added to the polished image. Seungkwan was confident in his appearance, and he was fully aware of it. He didn’t spare Chan a single glance.
Seungcheol smiled, and Chan could see the change in his posture. Open and inviting. He looked ready to devour.
When Seungkwan laid his hand on Seungcheol, deliberately dragging it down his shoulders, tracing the curve of his arms, Chan gripped his chopsticks tighter. If they had been wooden, they would’ve bent and broken.
“Seungkwan-ah you’re here- oh right this is Chan-ah,” Seungcheol allowed the arm to remain on his hands and slightly leaned into Seungkwan’s touch. Seungcheol gave a bright grin towards Chan and he knew that look. ‘Introduce yourself.’
Seungkwan cast him a single glance and Chan hated it. It was small and dismissive and in front of them, Chan felt exactly like that.
"Oh right, Chan-ah, it's so good to finally meet you. Cheol hyung told me a lot about you," Seungkwan purred the sentence out, his voice quiet in the noisy restaurant. The words were spoken with fake sincerity.
Chan gritted his teeth for half a second before putting on a sweet smile, “It’s nice to meet you too,” his tone was honeyed and when Seungcheol gave him a small smile, Chan felt the sky bear its weight down.
Seungkwan gave him a serpent's smile, a man cloaked in the scales of a snake. Chan gulped. If Seungcheol looked ready to devour, then Seungkwan seemed poised to end Chan's entire existence and make him regret every decision that led to this moment.
“We are going to have so much fun!”
Chan didn’t expect anything less than cruel. And Seungkwan delivered.
It was torture. Seungkwan deployed all his flirting techniques on Seungcheol — gentle touches along his hands, a fleeting hand on his thigh when he doubled over laughing at something Seungcheol said, gazing lovingly into his big doe eyes, and sitting so close that he might as well be on Seungcheol's lap.
And Cheol absorbed Seungkwan's touches, words, and flirting, responding with his own touches, words, and flirtation.
In short, Chan was stuck watching them flirt so loud.
“Ah hyung, make me a warp,” his voice is overly sweet, overly familiar. Seungkwan drapes himself all over Seungcheol’s space, blinking his pretty eyes up at a certain angle that’ll drive anyone mad.
“Ah hyung this shirt looks really good on you!”. A firm touch.
“Cheollie hyung, say ah,” another firm touch.
“Do I look pretty?” Undeniable allure.
“You should let me dress you! Those muscles-”
“Gym? Hyung must be so strong-”
“Hyung tell me more-”
“Cheollie hyung-”
Chan learns to ignore, to filter out their conversation. His eyes and ears are both burning. He shoves food in his mouth and feels his exhaustion settle in fully, a mountain on top.
No one had asked him a question in the past 20 minutes, but that seemed to be the entire point, didn't it? This was Seungkwan's revenge, his fury unleashed—this was how he got back at Chan. A pit of nausea steadily climbed up his gut to his throat.
His heart roared, demanding an answer that had no question.
A touch shattered the spell, leaving Chan on the verge of choking.
It wasn't accidental; it lingered. When Chan's head shot up, Seungkwan still wasn't looking at him, his attention entirely absorbed by a flushed Seungcheol.
Something snaked up Chan's baggy jeans—a long touch that started at his ankle and trailed up his calf. It felt soft like a feather dragging across his skin. His cheeks burned and he felt a small shiver travel through his body.
There was a smirk on Seungkwan’s lips.
Seungkwan allowed his foot to roam across the expanse of Chan's skin, leaving him dizzy. The points of contact were searing hot, yet his jeans riding up left a cold nip of desperation against his skin.
It persisted, leaving in its wake a lingering pool of warmth. The touch was gentle, almost tender, tracing its way up his calf, exploring every inch of exposed skin. Chan tensed as his socks were pulled down, and the cold greeted his skin like a familiar companion before the touch returned, igniting a searing sensation.
More. More. More.
The breaking point for Chan was the realization that even in the midst of all the humiliation, he didn't move a muscle. He just sat there, an observer of Seungkwan's flirtation with Seungcheol, while Seungkwan's touch carved into him beneath the table, hidden.
‘Hyung help.’
When his phone rang, Chan immediately picked up. “Chan-ah what’s wrong? I’ll come pick you up, tell me where you are.” Worried and filled with pity.
He fervently prayed that the traces of tears wouldn't betray the storm raging within him. Unseen, a silent plea.
Two pairs of eyes turned on him, and he finally had their attention. He didn’t want it. “Ah, hyung? Sure, give me 10 minutes I’ll be there,” his voice was hollow.
Jeonghan seemed to catch on, "I'm at my apartment. Seungkwan-ah isn't here, so come over." Seungkwan, now wearing a growing frown, sat across from Chan.
Chan cut the phone call and took a deep breath—
"Who was that?" Harsh, the words falling like nails rusting with age. Seungkwan demanded, and Chan felt the urge to throw up.
He had to answer because Seungcheol was looking. "A friend. I need to go—"
"Who—"
"None of your business."
The atmosphere dropped, and the touch on his leg disappeared, leaving only ice behind. Chan didn't even have to look up to know the disapproving expression that Seungcheol would be wearing.
"Chan-ah..." Seungcheol began, and disappointment dripped from his voice. The exhaustion morphed into something even greater.
Chan didn't apologize, and Seungkwan didn't ask for one either, his gaze fully fixated on Chan's half-hidden face.
"I need to go," he declared, picking up his bag and shoving it onto his back with such force that he slightly stumbled. "I'll pay you back."
He didn’t look back.
When Jeonghan opened the door, he scooped Chan into his arms. There were no complaints when Chan's tears stained silk pyjamas.