Archive of Our Own

Moonlight whispers its way through the window, veiling Jaemin in a silver glow. The click of his trackpad and the soft purring of Luna on his lap were the only noises he’d heard for a long while–the other two cats long asleep. He flexes his fingers through Luna’s fur, stroking through the fluffiness, beaming down at the little rain cloud colored ball in his lap and sighing. 

So much left to do. 

The exhibition had seemed like a good idea at the time, and it still was, but he had taken thousands of photos over the years and his mind felt the weight of every single one of them. Each photo not only a piece of the member he’d captured, but a piece of him too–of the moment they’d shared together. He wanted to share it with the fans, share what he thought as he clicked the shutter, the things he felt as he looked through the lens. It’s too hard to explain with just words, too much to box into a sentence, or a paragraph, or even a novel. This way, his way, this is how he’d show the fans a new side of the dreamies they didn’t always get to see–and a new side of him, parts he didn’t know how to show them before.

Luna digs her claws into his lap with a loud Meow as she leaps down to join the twins in their beds and it startles him out of his own mind. Jaemin huffs a laugh at her, stretching his arms upwards and arching his back over the chair until it makes a satisfying pop sound. The clock on his Macbook shows two forty-six a.m. He has another concept meeting in the morning, and a day of rehearsals after that for their comeback next week. He tips his head, looks up as he does the mental arithmetic. 

“Four hours of sleep.” He mutters to nobody, and sighs. “Not worth sleeping.”

He keeps scrolling, forcing away his tiredness and bathing in the memories that every photo fills him with. Hundreds of photos of Jeno: smiling, sleeping, the crescent moon shape of his eyes a staple in almost every single one. There were more from the earlier days, when Jaemin had been scrambling to deal with the crush he had on Jeno in the only way he knew how–camera in hand. The viewfinder was an excuse to spend any moment he could looking, admiring, yearning. He’d been obvious about it, Jeno had told him after everything. Constantly snapping photos of only him, photos that Jeno would never agree to be shared, moments that weren’t for anyone else. It had been intense, the deep kind of attachment you only get from being forced to spend time with one another and realizing you’re actually very much alike. It had lasted longer than he’d thought it would, but they both agreed after an awkward first kiss and some underclothes fumbling that it was just that–proximity. They loved each other in an ever-changing spectrum of ways, but romance had never suited them and Jaemin’s crush withered away quickly after that.

Scrolling and scrolling, Jaemin allows himself to marvel at his own memory. He could tell a story about so many of the photos, tens of thousands of them. Some would pull the memories out of him as he saw them, others he searched for, knowing he had a story to attach to them. His Leica and Sony are both next to him, two rolls of film and an SD card still to be added to the ream of photos he already had to sort through. He only needed a few more for each member to take to the meeting, and a nap before the meeting would be the sensible thing for him to do. He closes his eyes and scrolls through the unedited, unorganized photos. He counts to twenty before stopping. When he opens his eyes, he feels a smile soften his face.

The album he’s landed on is from a trip to London with Chenle a couple of years back. He’d gone with each member to their respective locations to take photos and keep them company, but London had been the most memorable. Too shy to go into a camera store and a trip too fleeting to order something online, he’d had to deal with an SD card bursting at the brim and deleting photos as he went, only keeping the best shots.

“Ah hyung–I’ve been posing for ten minutes!” Chenle whined loudly, dropping his head against the bus window.

“Hush, you won’t complain when you get good photos to post on Instagram.” Jaemin continues clicking at the camera, coolly ignoring the woes of his protesting subject.

Chenle rolls his eyes and lays sideways instead and something inside Jaemin slips into place. That's the shot. The cold London breeze bites at his cheeks as he smiles wide, zooming into Chenle’s face on the photo, the soft pout on his plump lips half obscured, the green of his sweater stark against his pale skin.

Yes, that’s the shot.

“Waaaahhhh, Chenle-yaaaaaaaa, so handsome and cute ooooooh.”

Chenle blushes, looking around quickly. “Hyung… don’t be so loud, it’s late.”

Jaemin continues making loud noises of enjoyment, cooing at Chenle.

He pouts, as Chenle steps out of the bus and sticks his tongue out. “The photos are only good because I’m so handsome, hyung.”

“Then shall I stop taking photos of you? You can do it yourself?” Jaemin fakes a tantrum, covering the lens with his hand and pouting, turning away from Chenle and squeezing his eyes closed.

“Well… I’m very good at taking selfies, but I think hyung enjoys taking photos more. So maybe you should keep taking them.”

Jaemin opens his eyes and Chenle’s smile makes the crisp darkness of the early London night feel like dawn and a bright new day.

Jaemin feels a shiver just remembering how cold it had been that night, poor Chenle in a pair of shorts for the concept photos. He feels a warmth spread through him as he thinks about all of the whining from Chenle, the glaring and pouting–worth it for how beautiful the shots had come out. 

Jaemin thinks again about the plump pout Chenle had been wearing, staring tired into the distance as he lay against his arm. He’d fallen asleep on Jaemin’s shoulder as they’d traveled back to their hotel, one night only before a flight back to Seoul. Jaemin felt the warmth from his heart start to creep all over his body. 

“Is it that hot?” The late hour has him talking out loud to the darkness again.

He lifts his phone to unlock it, checking the weather app. The temperature was an easy seventeen celsius–certainly not hot enough for the deep flush running all over his body–but he turned on the air conditioner to cool down anyway. Maybe it was the lack of sleep. Maybe he should sleep after all.

He clicked through a few more of the photos of Chenle in London that he wanted to submit and emailed them off to the team. He sent the Macbook into shut down and closed the lid softly, leaving it on his desk and trudging to the bathroom, the tiredness grasping at his bones. 

Flicking on the bathroom light, he lets himself laugh at the state of his hair, sticking up at all angles where he’s been constantly running hands through it, pulling at it while making decisions all night. The damage from the bleach makes it feel rough, he makes a mental note to talk to his stylist about a deep condition after rehearsal. 

As he turns the faucet to cold, Jaemin really notices the red color darkening his cheeks. He splashes his face a couple of times before moisturizing, and brushes his teeth as everything dries. He runs to the kitchen before falling into bed, bringing a mask pack with him to try and cool down his face, mind racing about why his cheeks are so ruddy. He really can’t afford to get sick right now. With worry in his mind, sleep is kind and quick, enveloping him before his head sinks fully into the pillow.

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The morning is clear and blue, the cherry blossoms still clinging, painting the streets a pretty pink hue as Jaemin’s manager drives him through the streets of Seongsu towards the SM building for his morning meeting. 

His team had emailed back that they’d made a printed catalog of all the photos he’d pre-approved so they could go over them and figure out how to piece everything together. Photo books, magazines, frames, posters–Jaemin’s brain was swimming with everything he wanted to do. He traced his finger over a fly that had landed on the outside of the window, following its path as it clung on against the speed of the car. He didn’t feel sick this morning, the heat that had bothered him before bed nowhere to be seen now. Jaemin didn’t have any more room in his brain to think about it, so he shelved it.

The meeting was a whirlwind of compliments on his choices, the stories he could tell with them, and his photography skills. His ego satisfactorily primed, Jaemin took the elevator two floors up to the practice rooms, colliding with Chenle on his way out–no doubt going to the cafe on the ground floor for a caffeine hit before rehearsal.

“Ah, hyung! Sorry, do you want an americano from downstairs?” Chenle’s face is bare, but glowing like he’s just been to the dermatologist. Jaemin says as much and Chenle nods, “I needed to get my face lasered, so I got a moisturizing treatment to get rid of the redness.”

“I’ll take that americano, thank you, Chenle.”

Chenle heads into the elevator and waves as the doors close, while Jaemin turns towards the practice room and is greeted with the usual symphony of Haechan’s screeching and Renjun arguing with him about his volume that is commonplace in the practice rooms.

“Jaemin! Tell Haechan to be quiet, he’ll listen to you!” Renjun looks exhausted before the dancing has even begun, casting a glare towards Haechan.

“You think I’m scared of that big baby? I’m not afraid–” Haechan’s words are muffled as Jeno pulls him into a headlock that cuts off his air supply. They struggle for a minute, before Haechan taps out. Jaemin pulls out his Sony, bulkier than his Leica but not too heavy—not when he’s just going to the company building for the day. He snaps a photo of the two of them, giggling as the screen shows a preview of Haechan’s face turning slightly red as Jeno’s bicep ripples against his neck.

Haechan pouts as Jeno frees him from his grip and stares down Jaemin like he’s the next target. Jaemin rolls his eyes and shakes his head. He hasn’t had enough sleep to fight with Haechan today, so sets his bag down on the sofas at the back of the room and settles down next to Mark to join him in stretching. Jaemin feels the tell-tale tightness, screaming at him for his lack of sleep as he moves from one side to another, legs spread as far apart as they can get.

“Jaemin, how did the meeting go?” Mark is folded into an interesting position that might be stretching his legs, but Jaemin isn’t one hundred percent sure. “Did you choose the photos?”

Jaemin rolls his head around, pulling his neck side to side. “I chose most of them, still a couple hundred from the last few weeks to go through. I want to take some more from the next few practices too, just to make sure I have a good spread. I have a catalog of all the ones I’ve picked so far for you guys to approve, when everyone has a spare minute.”

“So ten minutes for us and thirty for Chenle, right?” Mark grins and throws a hand onto Jaemin’s shoulder. 

Jaemin blinks back at Mark and looks down at the hand on his shoulder, blinking rapidly. “I take photos of all of you? Why would Chenle have to stay longer?”

“No, like… your camera is always pointed at him dude, I’m starting to feel left out.” Mark chuckles, “I mean, I get it, he’s a total joker and it takes ten times longer to make him stop laughing or screaming long enough to get the shot. But seriously man, it’s like you’re drawn to him or something.” Mark continues giggling to himself as he turns away to continue his stretching.

Jaemin opens his mouth to come to his own defense, but finds it dry and uncooperative. His brain empty of words. At the same moment, the door opens and in sails Chenle, Jaemin’s americano in his hand.

“This really smells like poison, hyung, you’re disgusting.” Chenle scrunches his nose up as he hands it to Jaemin and it makes Jaemin’s pulse quicken. “I thought you’d stopped drinking it this strong?”

Drawn to him? Jaemin takes in the sharp lines of Chenle’s face, the pretty way his eyelashes fan across his face. Jaemin has always liked photographing Chenle, but that’s just because he photographs well, his contagious energy combined with a beautiful face always make for a good candid shot. But, drawn to him? Mark’s words ricochet around his brain like a stray bullet, pinging through all of his synapses and making him feel dizzy. 

“Hyung… you okay?”

Chenle is still holding the coffee, hand outstretched towards Jaemin. Jaemin shakes his head and takes it, their fingers brushing as he does. Jaemin jolts like he’s touched a live wire, before collecting himself and bowing in thanks to Chenle and taking a sip. Caffeine would fix the weirdness in his head. 

Why the fuck did it feel like that?

“I’m fine Chenle, just didn’t sleep a lot last night.” 

“Oh dang, you too?” Mark swiveled back around to join the conversation. “It's really getting to all of us this comeback, we gotta do a group trip for an IV soon man, we’re all gonna start dropping like flies.”

Chenle takes a sip of his own coffee, a vanilla latte if Jaemin’s nose (and memory) serves him right. “I needed this, Renjun was on my case for like 30 minutes before you got here, hyung.” 

“What’d you do this time?” Mark laughs, shaking his head.

“Nothing! I’m innocent,” Chenle whines, but his smirk says otherwise, “this time.”

Jaemin sips at his coffee quietly, watching the two of them banter. The bitterness clears some of the fog in his mind, fuels him with the energy he needs to keep his eyes open. He watches Chenle–hair flopping into his eyes, all of his teeth on show for that easy smile, and bellowing a laugh at whatever Mark just said to him. 

Before he even processes the thought, the camera is in his hands, viewfinder trained on the way Chenle’s head is thrown back in laughter. Click. Jaemin’s mind wanders, and so follows his hands, absently zooming in on Chenle’s jawline, marveling at the sharpness of it. He really had grown into it recently, the roundness of his cheeks still just there, but more chiseled and grown now. He didn’t even think about it– click. His hands move without permission, to the bridge of Chenle’s nose, the pooling brown of his eyes, the beauty mark on his hand. Jaemin’s breath catches as the lens settles on a zoomed shot of Chenle’s lips, a little dry, bitten and flaking. There’s that warmth again, spreading across Jaemin’s chest like he’s been branded, expanding until he can feel the temperature of the camera change against his forehead. 

Chenle has long stopped laughing when his voice pulls Jaemin out of his daze. “Hyung, isn’t that enough photos? I know I’m very handsome, but isn’t this too much?” He’s still smiling, his head cocked to the side.

“Huh?” Jaemin almost drops the camera, fumbles for a second before grasping it properly again. “I’m just trying to show you both in a good light, Chenle-ya.”

“Ah, Jaeminnie, show us! I gotta see how, like, wide Chenle’s mouth got when he was laughing there.”

Jaemin frowns, pulling the camera to his chest like Mark might steal it. “I’ll decide when you see the photos, hyung.” It was a little harsher than he would have liked, sounded bitter with a dash of something underneath that Jaemin wasn’t sure he could place.

“Uh… chill. It’s cool. You usually show us right away but I guess they didn’t come out right huh? You can’t be perfect every time, Jaem.”

“Yeah.” Jaemin can’t meet Mark’s gaze. “Something like that… I am perfect every time by the way. I resent the implication that I’m not.”

Mark rolls his eyes and huffs out a laugh that blows his bangs out of his eyes, pulling Chenle up with him as he stands up. “Yeah yeah, sorry, Jaemin, you’re perfect every time and I apologize profusely for suggesting otherwise.”

Haechan’s raucous voice interrupts them before anything else can be said. “Okay, no more slacking! Let’s get going before Renjun’s head explodes.”

Renjun shoots him another harsh glare. “I’m not going to explode, Haechan, stop being dramatic.” He softens his face into a grin and throws a light punch at Haechan’s arm. “I just want to start dancing, damn. It won’t take us long to learn the steps for this song anyway.”

“Next joke, Renjun,” Chenle chimes in, “we’re going to be here for at least seven hours.”

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Chenle had almost been right. They actually practiced for eight hours that day. Jaemin could feel his heart pounding out of his chest as the clock struck nine p.m. and their teacher finally called for them to finish up for the day.

“Fuck,” Chenle’s leaning against the mirrored wall and leaves a fogged breath behind as he speaks, “Renjun, I’m never listening to you about how long it will take us to learn a song ever again.”

Haechan slings his bag over his shoulder and smacks Chenle on the ass on his way past, running out of the door and yelling that he hates Renjun. Renjun follows quickly, lightning fast and giggling as he yells obscenities after Haechan’s quickly disappearing frame. Jeno and Mark clear up the finished coffee cups, waving away the staff offering to do it for them. Jaemin lies down in the middle of the floor and stares up at the ceiling.

He’s going to sleep so well tonight. 

Three heads pop into his vision at the same time, like one of those comedy shows on TV, and he sits back up to address his audience. 

“Can we see the photos you chose, Jaem?” Jeno is beaming, genuine.

“Yeah I wanna see.” Mark is just as genuine, sits down on the floor cross-legged to wait patiently.

“Ah!” Chenle sits down again too, hands out expectantly. “Show me how handsome I am, come on, come on.”

Jaemin’s eyes linger on Chenle longer than the others and take in again just how good he looks, his hair messy and sweaty from the day, lips even more red now, bitten from concentration. He feels the heat growing again, from his chest across his neck and onto his face and feels the need to turn away and hide before anyone notices.

“Aw, c’mon, Jaem, don’t be nervous!” Mark comes up behind him and turns him back around, pulling him down to sit with the others.

“Why– why would you think I was nervous?” Jaemin can feel his face heating even more by the second, can see Chenle out of the corner of his eye tipping his head to the side questioningly.

“You’re all red dude, you don’t have to worry–we’re gonna love them, right guys?” Mark looks around and the other two nod enthusiastically.

Jaemin feels his heart rate returning to normal at the honesty in Mark’s eyes, and keeps his focus on him as he pulls the catalog out of his bag. They all leap closer, Chenle and Jeno crashing their heads together accidentally and delaying the photo viewing by five minutes with a giggling fit that has them both rolling on the floor. As they start pawing through the photos together, there are plenty of oohs and ahhs and compliments to feed Jaemin’s ego. Mark almost cries when he realizes Jaemin has chosen photos from their trip to the US where Mark and he went out alone, cringing into himself remembering the struggle he’d had posing. Jeno is all smiles, deeply focused on the stories Jaemin has to tell about each photo. 

“These are so great, dude, but like, there’s so much Chenle. I told you before practice started you’d have the most of him!” Mark is laughing as he says it.

Jaemin doesn’t feel like laughing. It feels like someone has kicked him in the chest and his heart got stuck on its way up his throat. He swallows around something that is there but isn’t, his throat dry. He can feel the heat rising again and stands up quickly, dazed.

“Uh… water.” Chenle holds out his own bottle, but Jaemin almost heaves at the thought of their hands touching again. 

What the hell is wrong with me?

“Hyung? Are you okay?” Chenle’s voice sounds like he’s hearing it underwater, as if Jaemin’s stuffed cotton balls into his ears.

Jaemin shakes his head, digs his nails into his palms to try and ground himself. “Tired, just–really fucking tired.”

“I can drive you–” 

“No, Chenle, it’s fine, my manager is still here, he can drive me back.”

The others are all standing at this point, inching towards Jaemin like he’s a wild animal on the run that might flee and wreak havoc around the company building. 

“Jeno, can you–uh pass the catalog around if you see anyone on the way down? I’m gonna run and go grab some sleep before tomorrow. Mark, Lele, I’ll uhm–see you tomorrow.”

There’s nothing graceful about Jaemin’s exit, his head is spinning and he knocks over several things in the practice room before he actually leaves, then runs into a wall on his way to the elevator and almost concusses himself. When he gets to the lobby he discovers his manager is still upstairs finishing up a meeting, so he runs into the bathroom and locks the cubicle door. He sheds the hoodie he’d tied haphazardly around his neck and slides his back down the door until he’s squatting close to the floor. 

There’s something tugging at his stomach that tells him he might vomit, but he’s not one hundred percent certain, especially because he hasn’t eaten much today. He feels that heat creeping over him again. This time, Mark’s words echo in his brain so clearly he might as well have been on the other side of the cubicle door. 

Your camera is always pointed at him dude. 

It’s like you’re drawn to him or something.  

Jaemin thinks back to filming the concept videos for this album, the exhibition already agreed upon and in the planning stages–Jaemin had brought his DSLR specifically to get some cool shots of everyone.

“Chenle, what are you doing?” Jaemin finds him hiding behind a set piece, giggling. He lifts the viewfinder to his eye, snapping a quick shot of the brightness on Chenle’s face as he laughs to himself. 

This is how Jaemin always wants to photograph Chenle, with his teeth on show, eyes crinkled and full of joy. It fills Jaemin with something so unknowable and yet totally within reach, to pull his face out of the camera and back into the real world and see that Chenle is still there–still an angel beaming all of his happiness out into the world for everyone to see.

“Hyung! Shhh, I’m gonna post a spoiler on Instagram.”

Jaemin rolls his eyes and a smirk tugs at the side of his mouth. “Oh? What are you going to spoil?”

Chenle bursts out laughing before he can reply, his hands balled into fists and vibrating. “My feet, hyung. It’s perfect.”

Jaemin joins him, the belly laugh coming before he can even stop it. “What the fuck, Lele, why would you post your feet?”

“The company can’t get mad about feet! It tells the fans nothing and everything at the same time. See how smart I am?” Chenle looks expectantly at Jaemin.

Jaemin feels something warm flow through him, like he just took a big gulp of hot chocolate. “You’re too smart for all of us, Lele. You know Mark will be mad, right?”

“I know,” Chenle takes Jaemin’s hand into his, “but Jaemin hyung will protect me right?”

It’s instant, the way his cheeks heat. He pulls his hand away as if burned. He splutters, but saves it. “I–you—of course, Lele, Jaemin hyung will protect you.”

Chenle quirks an eyebrow, amusement painted all over his face. “It’s not like you to get nervous about skinship hyung?”

Something about the arrogance in Chenle’s tone stokes a fire in Jaemin, sinks an anchor into the ground and brings him back to Earth. “Who said I was nervous?” He chases after Chenle, pouting–the threat of a kiss always makes everyone scatter away from Jaemin like he’s a leper. It never failed to entertain.

He catches him, and Chenle sounds like sunshine as he squeals, fighting off the impending doom of Jaemin’s lips on his cheek.

And after everything, sleep doesn’t greet Jaemin, doesn’t envelop him in her open arms the way she had the night before. She keeps him cold, distant–teetering right on the edge of sleep, uncomfortable and exhausted. 

His manager hadn’t asked questions on the way home, just took one look at the rapid rise and fall of Jaemin’s chest and the circles under his eyes and led the way to the car in the parking lot. Even still now, there’s an anxiety pulsing through him that has him in a vice grip, won’t let his thoughts rest. When sleep finally lets him take her by the hand, his mind is still on Chenle. 

Jaemin’s dreams are filled with questions, but no answers. Filled with a pulling at his stomach that feels like a bad case of indigestion and the swooping feeling you get when you crest the hill of a rollercoaster, all wrapped into one.

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The hand creeping up Jaemin’s thigh is rough, calloused, and leaves a burning trail of lust as it moves upwards that makes Jaemin squirm under the other hand—holding him down by his sternum.

He can’t see the face of the person biting a bruise into his hip, but the hair is a dirty blonde—kissed with a warm tinge the color of marigolds. 

The hand that isn’t circling his cock teasingly is wearing a ring. A nail bent around the finger delicately. It’s so familiar, but before Jaemin can question anything further he feels plush lips sliding down the length of his cock, tongue swirling across every vein, suckling at his tip before diving back down again. 

He bucks his hips up into the stranger’s face and tangles his fingers into hair that feels so damaged it crackles under his grip, like a packet of chips. The tongue working its way up and down his cock has him so dazed he doesn’t even think twice about the split ends he’s ripping off with each bounce of the person’s head. 

There’s a name on the tip of Jaemin’s tongue, but he can’t quite wrap the words into something audible, settling for moaning so loud he’s afraid the cats might be scarred for life. 

Jaemin feels like he’s on the edge of the best orgasm of his life, his stomach twisting with want and need and want and he needs to come so bad. But every time his muscles go tight the man pulls off, circling his tongue across his hips instead, leaving a path of purple and blue that Jaemin wants to get tattooed so he never forgets this feeling. Instead of the tugging in his stomach that usually accompanies an orgasm, Jaemin feels something tugging on the back of his head, a chill up his spine like someone just gripped his brain. His vision goes black.

Everything is wet. 

Jaemin shoots upwards in bed at the realization, soaked in sweat, cock stuck to his stomach with a string of cum. He rolls his eyes to the ceiling as he flops back into the damp sheets, breathing heavy. Coming in his sleep like a teenager and waking up sticky hasn’t happened in a long while, and no matter how much Jaemin wracks his brain–he can’t remember who he was with in the dream. If he closes his eyes and focuses, he can still feel the hand pushing down on him, pinning him to the bed. 

Jaemin feels his cock start to thicken again, imagining the pressure of the body on top of him, before the shrill cry of his alarm startles him back to reality–and another day of rehearsal. He reaches blindly towards the side table for his phone to shut off the alarm and is greeted by a message from Chenle.

Chenle (2nd Phone): Hyung, are you still bringing your camera today? 

He’d mentioned it briefly in the group chat. There was something missing from the exhibition, he was going to bring his camera to their last few rehearsals, the music shows–fill the empty space, figure out what else it needed. He quickly replies with a yes, resisting the urge to tease Chenle about only wanting him for Instagram purposes. He ignores the heat creeping up on him again, starting at his cheeks this time and spreading downwards as he clicks away from his messages with Chenle, making another mental note to go and see a doctor if it keeps happening. 

Maybe the lack of sleep from this job is really starting to take its toll on me?

He leaves a quick ‘speak to doctor if not sleeping properly by Saturday’ in his notes app and tilts his head side to side a few times, stretching out his neck. On his way out, he bends down to kiss each of the cats, then grabs the sample book and photos from the counter to drop off with the A&R team for the suppliers. Luke, protesting his father leaving him with the girls, scuttles in front of him. Jaemin trips trying not to step on him, scattering the samples across the floor.

“Baby… please stop trying to kill me every time I leave the house.” He picks Luke up with one hand, clucking and fussing, and begins picking up the scattered photos and battered book with the other.

The first photo he picks up makes his heart pause, jarring, like someone accidentally clicked the remote control at the most exciting part of a movie. Chenle is gripping his seat like a vice, turned around to everybody in the middle of a story. Jaemin can hear his laugh, the photo taken at exactly the right moment for the sound to stay with it forever. His heart starts again, but it’s too fast, feels like it’s trying to climb out of his throat. He puts it down to a delayed reaction to almost falling and possibly hurting Luke, and smiles to himself as he remembers Chenle’s story.

“But when Haechan hyung put Daegal in the bath… he didn’t,” Chenle is almost in tears, struggling for breath as he remembers the moment, “he didn’t check the water and it was cold, so Daegal was screaming.”

Haechan looks murderous, but there’s a smile tugging at his cheeks, so Jaemin thinks it’s safe to laugh. Jeno and Jisung are tugging at their seatbelts as they flail around in fits of giggles, neither caring about Haechan’s misery. Renjun is hiding his face in his sweater, but Jaemin can see him shaking as he tries to hold in his laughter. Mark is laughing so hard the whole car is shaking, but he does that every time Chenle speaks, so it doesn’t give any credit to how funny this story is.

“Haechan panics about the screaming and drops her, so she jumps and gets water everywhere, we’re both soaked!” Chenle is trying so hard to keep telling the story without laughing too hard that tears are streaming down his face. “Then Daegallie runs out of the bathroom so I try to stop her, but the floor is wet so I slip into Haechan hyung as he stands up too and we both fall into the bathtub. We were so tangled up I had to ask Siri to call the manager hyung to come and help us get out.”

The tears are flowing freely now, Chenle’s mouth open in a screaming laugh, overjoyed at everyone else laughing along with him. Even Haechan gives in, cackling, though Jaemin knows he twisted his wrist pretty badly during the fall and still feels bitter about it. 

Jaemin turns back to Chenle and all of the oxygen in the room leaves in one fell swoop. It feels like he just walked into the sun after being lost in shaded alleyways for days, tears shining in Chenle’s eyes, his smile beaming across everyone. Jaemin doesn’t even have to think about it, lifts up his camera and snaps. Snaps. 

Chenle notices the camera flash and somehow, his smile becomes ten times brighter, his ears lifting as he grins at Jaemin through the viewfinder. Snap. Snap. For five minutes, Jaemin points his camera at Chenle and captures every time his cheeks lift, his eyes streaming, all of his teeth on show, while he finishes the rest of the story. He’ll have to edit out the piece of chewing gum Chenle always has in his mouth later, but everything else is perfect. The very essence of Chenle, and all of the love and joy he gives to them. To Jaemin.

Jaemin’s phone rings shrilly, the default KakaoTalk call tone echoing around his apartment, making him jump and drop the photo again. His manager is outside, and has been for around twenty-five minutes. Jaemin had stood in the same place, gripping the photo of Chenle he’d picked up, for twenty-five minutes. 

The photo was bent at the corner into the shape of his thumb where he’d been gripping onto it as if it might blow away into the wind. Even Luke had wandered away in boredom, the sun higher in the morning sky than when he’d tripped over the baby what felt like seconds before. Jaemin flicks his head to the left, then the right, trying to crack his neck and bring his mind back to the present. He finishes picking up the rest of the photos strewn across the floor and makes his way down to the parking garage, apologizing profusely to his manager as he arrives at the car for his lateness.

It’s a beautiful day, Jaemin lays his head against the car window and lets it bounce lightly as the sun bathes him in its glow. He hopes they’re in practice room eight today, where the sun will shine in for most of the day. He hopes Chenle is happy he remembered to bring his camera, letting his mind imagine the shriek of joy, that beaming smile. As the car begins crossing Seongsu bridge, Jaemin sits up straighter to take in the view. The sun shimmers on the Han, joggers dotting the banks in neon hues. Jaemin smiles faintly as he spots a pair in electric green, their outfits as bright as the lightstick he sees so often. The cars in front sound off a symphony of horns, too many bleary-eyed morning drivers switching lanes at the last moment.

His phone screen tells him it just ticked to seven a.m. as he pulls up to the company building and steps out of the car. A very tired Jisung huddled into a beanie greets him with Renjun in tow, who looks ethereal and not at all like he just got out of bed.

“Renjunnie… you’re radiant this morning.” Jaemin means it, and feels the morning tiredness slip away as Renjun gives him a twirl and throws a flying kiss at him across the parking lot.

“He’s so good at mornings hyung… I don’t get it.” Jisung yawns halfway through, making the last part sound distorted. Jaemin and Renjun giggle, as Jisung shakes his head, forcing away thoughts of sleep.

They see no one else on the way up to the 31st floor, but the practice room (eight, Jaemin sighs wistfully as the manager directs them towards it) is alive when they walk in. Jeno and Chenle are pretending to box in the corner, throwing punches that just glaze past the others cheeks. 

Jaemin feels his heart jump. Weird . 

Mark and Haechan are stretching together while they sing along to Baekhyun’s Candy, voices loud even with the song ringing through the speaker system. Jaemin pulls open his bag and holds out the sample book and the collection of photos with a grin, laughing as everyone scrambles to run over and to get a look. 

“Aish–fine. You can have twenty minutes to look through the stuff before we get going. Jaemin-ah, text ahead next time if you’re going to make everyone distracted please. You know how hard it is for me to herd you all!” Their teacher’s voice has no malice, but Jaemin does know how hard it is, so bows in apology before he agrees to message ahead next time.

They sit in a circle, all seven of them, and Jaemin lays everything out on the floor in the middle. “The book isn’t final, I just wanted to ask if you guys liked it, and these are the last of the photos for you guys to check before I send them to the team. Please tell me if there’s anything you don’t want me to include, I want everyone to see them but not at your guys expense. Please be honest.” He hopes they can hear the sincerity in his voice. Jaemin loves nothing more than capturing his best friends at every moment, but he also knows that not every moment is for sharing.

“Should we organize them by person, then we can all check our own?” Chenle says.

“What about photos with more than one of us?” Jisung adds.

“Let’s just pick up what we have in front of us and pass them to those who are involved, it’ll be quicker, before the teacher cries about how long we’re slacking.” Jaemin says it with finality and thankfully, the others all agree.

They begin sorting, and with all seven of them it only takes a few minutes. Jaemin’s pile is the smallest, as expected–he prefers to be behind the lens rather than in front of it. The other piles are all significantly bigger. Jaemin notices, just as Mark does, that there’s one pile continuing to grow while the other piles have finished.

“Man, Jaemin, so many of these are photos of Chenle, I really had it down the other day when I called you out. You like him so much dude!” Mark is beaming, with absolutely zero bad intentions, but Jaemin feels his stomach drop. His throat closes, breath catching halfway out of his chest.

Mark’s words echo in his mind again. 

Your camera is always pointed at him.

It’s like you’re drawn to him.

There’s so much Chenle!

You like him so much.

The words weren’t mocking when Mark said them, but they feel mocking now, chewing at the sides of his mind. Jaemin looks up at Chenle, who is uncharacteristically quiet, and gasps. Chenle’s cheeks are bright red, spreading right to the tips of his ears. His teeth are just visible, latched onto his bottom lip. He’s staring right back at Jaemin, his shoulders lifting with heavy breaths.

Mark, oblivious as ever, breaks the silence. “No but dang, you really like him a lot, huh? These photos are great Jaem.”

You really like him a lot, huh?

You really like him.

A lot.

It feels like a movie, like Jaemin’s vision dolly zooms on Chenle, every other perspective skewed except the boy sitting opposite him. Chenle cocks his head to the side, watching carefully. Jaemin’s brain feels like it just got jammed into a meat grinder. All of the memories from the last few days, smiling to himself as he remembers the stories, the moments. Every grin, every word, every feeling photographing Chenle has given him these last few years. Especially these last few months. 

All of the coffee’s exchanged, the video games played. Every time Chenle throws off Jaemin’s stage outfits to feel him up, giggles at a bad joke Jaemin makes. The pretty way his eyes go wide when he tells Jaemin about the latest Warriors game and Jaemin pretends to be interested. The comfort from every smile, the way it lights up Jaemin’s brain like someone flicked the right switch. 

Jaemin feels that heat spreading again, from the middle of his chest, the same heat that kept him awake the other night. The heat that had him believing he was sick. 

Jaemin isn’t sick, Jaemin is head over heels. 

For Chenle.

It hits him with the force of a category five hurricane. He wasn’t just admiring Chenle’s joy—he was addicted to it. 

This can’t happen.  

Jaemin is immediately sixteen again, folded into an office chair in a room too big for the two of them. Jeno is next to him, shaking with the force of the tears threatening to spill over, masking them with a stiff understanding on his face.

“You’re both smart boys, you understand the problems this would cause for us, for NCT Dream, don’t you?”

Vomit threatens to spill over, but Jaemin swallows it back down, wincing against the acidity of it.

In his mind, the whole thing happens in slow-motion, but Jaemin knows no more than ten seconds have passed. He rubs a hand against his neck, cracks it sideways, centers himself. Then; he throws the photo in his hand at Mark’s head and lets out a shaky breath that almost betrays him.

“Jealousy is a sin, hyung. Jesus wouldn’t want you to be this way.” He doesn’t stutter, pulls it off. Nice. He swallows down another round of vomit, clears his throat of the leftover chunks he would never be able to identify. Jaemin doesn’t even remember the last time he ate.

Another deep breath. 

He lets his face relax, falls into easy laughter with everyone again. 

Except Chenle. Chenle is still quiet. Still staring. The blush is still there, a delicate blossoming pink, bright against Chenle’s pale, sharp features. It makes Jaemin’s mouth feel dry.

The quietness from Chenle, who was rarely shy, is deafening. Jaemin starts sweating, opening and closing his mouth as he meets Chenle’s gaze, speechless.

“Time’s up, guys!” Their teacher claps his hands, pulling Jaemin back to reality. “Let’s dance!”

˙✧˖°📷༘ ⋆｡°

Jaemin counts his blessings as practice comes to an end. 

1. No more realizations
2. He only messes up being distracted by the smooth lines of Chenle’s lean body three or four times. 

Mark, thankfully, doesn’t make any more jokes. Chenle’s shirt only rides up once, which makes Jaemin choke on his own spit thinking about how well his hands would fit around his tiny waist. He’s unsettled, uncomfortable. He hasn’t had these thoughts about Chenle before and they keep making him misstep. 

He’s collecting his samples to take upstairs as everyone packs up when he catches Renjun stroking Chenle’s hair out of the corner of his eye.

“This color is so pretty on you, it’s like those flowers, what’s the name in Korean again?” Renjun looks at Chenle and says something in Mandarin.

Jaemin can understand a couple of words here and there, but he always enjoys the blissful ignorance of watching Renjun and Chenle talk to each other in their native tongue–so much more comfortable for them, and the ease of it decorates the smiles on their faces when they speak. Before he can really enjoy himself, they switch back to Korean.

“Oh shit, uh, Marigolds?” Chenle replies.

“Yeah! Your hair is the color of marigolds!”

The small smile he’d let creep onto his face watching their conversation is immediately replaced with shock. Shock and shame. 

Jaemin feels like he’s been punched in the gut. In the gut and in the head because how did he not realize it had been Chenle’s face buried into his cock in his dreams. How had he not realized that all of these things were because he liked him. 

Anger quickly replaces the discomfort, and he starts to shake. Why would all of this happen just before a comeback, when he’s fixing everything up for this exhibition, when he’s busy. When he can’t do anything about it. He feels out of control and it makes all of his muscles feel tight, like he can’t do anything, frozen.

“Hey, Jaemin hyung, can I–”

“Not now, fuck off.” He snaps so loud the whole room goes silent. The way Chenle’s face drops makes Jaemin’s heart sink.

He realizes a beat afterwards that Chenle is holding out one of the photos. It’s the two of them, during their US tour for The Dream Show 2, leaning on each other in sleep. A manager had taken the photo of them and Jaemin had almost cried when he saw it–when he saw the peace on their faces, scrunched together in the back of the car. 

“-take this home?” It’s quiet, a lot quieter than Chenle would usually be if someone snapped at him like that. Chenle’s eyes drop to the floor as he turns away and Jaemin feels a smack on the back of his head. Jeno.

“What the hell Jaem, what’s up with you today?” Jeno’s face is set in stone, his eyebrows knitted together in a frown.

Jaemin can’t breathe. Jeno goes out of focus first, his face blurring at the edges. Everything else follows, yellow lines and blue dots flashing in front of his eyes and a lump wedging itself into his throat. He chokes on the apology he tries to say as he sees everyone’s confused faces, everyone’s anger at his attitude towards Chenle. It feels like he’s on a carousel spinning out of control while everyone watches and does nothing. 

He tries to reach out to Chenle. Someone else pulls at him first. His breath is coming in pants. Gulping air as he tries to get a word out. He can hear the ragged gasping of his breath. Tries to pull in oxygen. Anything to cast the rot from his brain. Two hands plant themselves on his shoulders and pull him back to Earth.

“Jaemin, hey.” Mark’s voice breaks through the fog in his mind. “Hey. You back with us?”

Jaemin’s vision clears and everyone is holding out bottles of water and different assortments of vitamins and candy. It’s Mark’s hands holding onto his shoulders.

“I–I–uh.” A drop of sweat falls from his temple and slides onto his lip, the tang of the salt spreading across his tongue. “I’m okay. Chenle I–”

“He’s gone, Jaemin.” Haechan is the least likely of all of them to hold a grudge, but his face looks like thunder and Jaemin actually flinches backwards a little. “Why the hell did you yell at him? This isn’t like you at all man.”

“I… don’t know.” 

“That’s not a good enough answer, Jaem. We have a comeback in two days.” Renjun is by Haechan’s side, a rare occasion they’re in agreement, staring down Jaemin until he feels 10 centimeters tall. “Are you good, or do you need a break? What is going on?”

“I don’t–” Jaemin doesn’t finish immediately. “Where did he go? I need to apologize before anything else. I’m just not sleeping well, it’s–just lots to do, right?” He tries to smile, a smile only Jeno returns, hesitantly.

“He just walked out, didn’t say where.” Jisung is leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

“Then I should go on a Chenle hunt, and apologize, with a vanilla latte. Maybe a video message from Stephen Curry.”

“I don’t think we’re at Curry level, but you should apologize.” Mark claps him on the back, soft and encouraging. “I’ll get your manager to take the photos up to A&R for you.”

“Wait–” Jaemin almost forgets as he makes towards the door. He picks up the photo Chenle had been holding out to him from the floor and turns to the rest of his group mates, his friends. “I’m sorry to you guys too. I shouldn’t let myself lose control of my anger like this, especially not this close to a comeback.” He bows, deep, and stays there for a few seconds. “I’m sorry, guys.”

“He’ll be in practice room three.” Jisung smirks a little bit as he says it, Jaemin curls a brow upwards back at him and cocks his head.

“Why would he be there?”

“It’s the only practice room with a piano that isn’t–”

Jaemin is out of the door before Jisung even finishes his sentence, and hears him scream a “RUDE, hyung!” after him as he speeds towards the next floor down. 

Jisung was right, unsurprisingly–Chenle and Jisung have been inseparable since birth or, at least, what in Jaemin’s brain seems like birth. It’s been so many years. Jisung had been the one to immediately stick to Chenle like glue, mixing his broken Chinese with Chenle’s broken Korean. Chenle had always cited Jisung as the reason he had stayed in NCT, the reason he had the strength to keep studying, keep trying. That anger builds in Jaemin again and he stops dead on the stairs and bangs his fist against the wall. His fist bounces a little and the sound echoes around the stairwell, he hears a startled gasp from a few floors below that almost breaks him out of his daze. 

Why am I so angry?

Why was he so furious suddenly? Why were all of these feelings suddenly burning him up inside? All of these ideas and thoughts snaking around his consciousness, coaxing him to eat the apple, gain the eternal knowledge he need to figure this shit out. He sits down in the stairwell and decides to make a list in his head–put everything into an order that might make some semblance of sense to him.

• You like Chenle
• You got angry because you like Chenle
• You yelled at Chenle

Great start Jaemin.

Shame floods him now, settling uncomfortably on top of the anger like an oil spill, a spectrum of colors shining across an anger that runs deep, into the very trenches of him. It tingles all the way to the tips of his fingers.

• You feel ashamed that you yelled at Chenle
• You want to apologize
• Jisung says Chenle is in practice room three

He takes a deep breath, mind more settled, and finishes his descent. The floor below has three practice rooms, and the one he needs is right at the end of the hallway. 

Jaemin’s nerves threaten to get the best of him again, heart pounding heavy against his chest. He walks towards the door of practice room three, knowing he can take a look through the window first to check if Chenle is actually there.

“You don’t have to actually tell him, just apologize. An apology is the most important thing Na Jaemin. You have to apologize now, everything else can come later. Nothing complicated, just an apology.” Jaemin gives himself the pep talk out loud as he’s walking.

“What’s not complicated?” Chenle’s voice is close behind him and Jaemin almost jumps forward out of the window, 30 floors up.

Casting away thoughts of his body splattered on the road outside Seoul Forest, he turns. “Suddenly? You scared the hell out of me, shit.” He takes a deep breath, shaky on the exhale as he takes in the swollenness of Chenle’s eyes, the redness of his cheeks. “Chenle, I... I'm sorry. Please, I didn't mean to snap at you like that.”

Chenle won’t meet his eyes as he says the last part, kicks a toe into the linoleum, shoe screeching as it sticks against the floor sending a chill up Jaemin’s spine.

“It's nothing hyung, don’t worry about it.” Chenle tries to get past Jaemin into the practice room, stops as Jaemin’s fingers close around his wrist.

“It is something. You shouldn’t say something is nothing when that isn’t true. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.” He pulls the photo he’d picked up from the floor out of his pocket and hands it to Chenle, trying to force a smile onto his face. “Of course, you can take it home Lele, I’m sorry that I was in a weird mood and yelled at you when you asked. I… I was listening. Just not in the right mind.”

A smile finally crosses Chenle’s face, he catches his teeth in his lip and look down to the floor before looking back up to Jaemin. “Suddenly you seem so calm, the way you switch moods is a little scary sometimes hyung… but thank you.” He pulls the photo close to his chest and Jaemin feels his heart skip, almost choking him. “I really wanted to have this one in my apartment somewhere, so really, thank you hyung.”

“Will you go home, or practice piano a little more?” An olive branch, apology accepted, a move onto something else. Jaemin hopes that Chenle takes it, already knows he will, but still hopes. His hands are sweating again.

“I’d still like to practice some more… would you like to practice with me hyung?” Chenle finally meets his eyes and Jaemin almost drowns. Feels all of the emotions he’d boxed into different sections start jumping into each other, leaving their designated areas and mixing everything up again in his head.

“I would–I really want to. I really really would love to. But I think sleep might be the best thing for me right now, since I’m getting all snappy and rude to you guys.” Jaemin’s hand lingers on Chenle’s wrist longer than it should. His palm feels damp against Chenle’s skin, and he forces himself to pull away before the warmth makes him forget the apology entirely. “I–uh, sorry. Didn’t realize I was still doing that.”

Jaemin feels dizzy again. Says his goodbye to Chenle and almost runs to the stairwell to get out of sight. As he rounds the corner, he presses his forehead against the wall letting the coolness of it counteract the flush of heat coursing through him. He tries to sort everything back into the right compartment of his mind. 

Figure it out later. 

Feel it later. 

Comeback in two days. Don’t have time. 

He’s breathing too fast again. 

Hot. 

Cold. 

Need water. Go home.

Go home.

˙✧˖°📷༘ ⋆｡°

“How long have you liked Chenle?”

Jaemin smashes both cups of coffee he’s holding, completely losing his grip and watching them sail to the floor together, the pieces scattering to every possible corner.

“I— what are you— fucking hell, how the hell did you know?” Jaemin sighs, then smiles as he sees Jeno pick up a handful of three cats and put them out of harm's way into Jaemin’s bedroom. He wants to protest, tell Jeno the cats aren’t allowed in there, but he knows Jeno has their safety in his mind and doesn’t care for the fur that will end up on everything Jaemin owns. Jeno closes the door, saving them from a fate where they step on shards of the ceramic cups shattered all over the wooden floor. 

“It sounds like you might be the last person to know, except Chenle of course.” Jeno bends down with him, gathering the larger pieces to put into a trash bag. 

“Does… does everyone know?” Jaemin feels his cheeks heat, embarrassment flooding through him. How long has everybody been watching him fumble around? Have they been mocking the way he blushes furiously, leaves the camera lens on Chenle a second longer, lets his eyes linger just a little more?

Jeno looks at him like he just grew another two heads. “Does anyone know you as well as I do? Nobody has said anything to me, you’re safe for now.” He reaches a hand out to Jaemin, but loses his balance and falls into the pile of shattered cups they’ve been collecting. 

“Oh fuck, Jeno.” Jaemin leaps up, mother mode activated, and reaches for the First Aid Kit he keeps under the sink. “Here, let me wrap it.”

Jeno is smiling, unphased by the remnants of coffee mug sticking at odd angles out of the cut in his hand. “Clean up the stuff first, otherwise we’ll end up falling in it again. I’ll go clean it up in the bathroom.

“I… fine. You know where it is.” Jaemin’s eyes track Jeno as he moves to the bathroom and the way Jeno looks back over his shoulder to give him another reassuring smile makes Jaemin’s shoulders sag, heavy with memory. 

As the vacuum cleaner hums to life, Jaemin can hear the sound of the cats hissing at the noise from behind the door and huffs out a laugh. He lets the memories weighing on him pulse through his brain, playing like a movie behind his eyelids. Jeno leaning into him after a practice, longing glances they’d been pulled into meetings for because they’d been caught on camera. Giggling over a bottle of soju they’d convinced their manager to bring to the dorm. A kiss. Just one. The same warm feeling that filled him up when he thought about Chenle, sealed away in a corner of his brain especially for Jeno. Jaemin smiles, sadly, to himself. 

Even with Jeno, it wouldn’t have been easy. A shiver prickles at his spine as he’s back in the meeting room again. Sixteen. 

They were only sixteen.

“Whatever you believe is happening here, isn’t happening. Think about the group, think about what that would do to your colleagues?”

Jaemin had watched a silent tear drip out of Jeno’s eyes and balled his hand into a fist, gritting his teeth to stop himself from snapping back.

They couldn’t snap back. They couldn’t do anything. What if he told their parents? What if he told the press? One statement from the company and Jeno and Jaemin’s journey would be over–NCT Dream’s journey, would be over.

“It’s unnatural. You know it is. Cease the foolishness or your parents will be brought in for contract revisions. You’re both smart boys, you understand the problems this would cause for us, for NCT Dream, don’t you?”

Jaemin had almost bitten directly through his tongue, bowing in apology as he leaves. Jeno followed, tears still streaming silently down his face.

They’d slept in the same bed that night, defiant. Jaemin had woken up covered in sweat and choking on Jeno’s hair. He cracks a smile that doesn’t belong with the sadness of the memory, leans against the kitchen counter and sighs. He pulls up a fist and knocks on his head; three times just to be sure.

“Come on Jaemin, dwelling on the past didn’t get us anywhere before.”

He pulls out another two cups from the cabinet above his kitchen counter and almost drops them again. One of them is transparent, with pressed daisies inside—a gift from Renjun many moons ago that Jaemin hadn’t dared use yet, too afraid of breaking something so beautiful. 

The other cup had a photo of the seven of them on it. Jeno has Haechan in a headlock, fist grinding into his head (Jaemin doesn’t remember what Haechan had done to deserve Jeno’s wrath, but he knows he definitely deserved it). Renjun was on Jisung’s back, like a beautiful pair of angel wings. Mark was in the middle, beaming as he held up a peace sign, one arm slung around Jaemin’s shoulder. Chenle and Jaemin were locked in an embrace that made ‘right now’ Jaemin’s stomach feel tight, like he tried to run too fast without warming up first. Their heads were crushed together by the force of their hug, Mark’s arm at a strange angle sticking out from between their closeness. Photo Jaemin is beaming, all of his teeth on show. Chenle’s teeth too, bright and beautiful like the first day of sunshine after the rainy season. 

Jaemin puts the cups back, doesn’t want to risk breaking either of them, and pulls out his phone to order the cartoonishly large Americano’s from Mega Coffee instead. Jeno comes out of the bathroom with significantly less cup in his hand, then raises said hand eagerly to wave and show Jaemin what a good job he did cleaning it. 

On his way past, Jeno pushes open Jaemin’s bedroom door to free the cats from their comfortable prison and waves the hand at them too–Lucy meows in response. Jaemin shakes his head fondly, sitting down on the floor and patting the spot next to him so Jeno will sit too and pulls open the lid of the box of first aid supplies to wrap the wound properly.

“You know you need to tell him, right?”Jeno says as he takes a seat.

“Do I?” Jaemin doesn’t look up at Jeno as he replies, but he would bet a lot of money that Jeno just rolled his eyes so far back in his head he looked possessed. 

“What do you mean?” Jaemin chances a look up at Jeno’s words and sees exasperation painted on his friends face. “Why would you not tell someone if you have feelings for them?”

“Jeno I— I don’t even know for sure if that’s what it is? I don’t know what’s going on.”

“Jaemin, be serious. You can’t still be trying to deny it to yourself, that’s not healthy.”

“And what would be healthy, Jen? Telling him? Potentially causing a rift in the group so close to a comeback? Making him uncomfortable? I don’t even know if he—“ Jaemin sighs, lip wobbling, and lets his eyes fall to the ground.

“Just because he hasn’t said out loud to us that he likes you, it doesn’t mean he doesn’t.” Jeno reaches for his hand and intertwines their fingers, giving them a reassuring squeeze. “You’re not going to know for sure unless you talk to him, Jaemin.” Jeno cups Jaemin’s cheeks in his hands, squeezes a little harder than necessary. “It’s not like those days, you have more power now–we, we have more power now. Don’t let him… them , control this.” 

Jaemin lets the conversation die, doesn’t know what to say in response. He feels that heat again, but this time it’s not the confusing heat when he thinks about Chenle. It’s shame again, slick on top of the water. 

Shame grasping its way up his legs. Crawling up his torso and settling in his ribcage, where it doesn’t belong. 

He should just talk to Chenle, should be honest. 

Honesty has never been something Jaemin avoided. His even footing and level head something he had always appreciated about himself. Something the others appreciated about him. 

He can’t bring himself to be that Jaemin now.

He can’t bring himself to open up to the possibility that he wants Chenle. Needs him. There’s too much at stake. Too many people who would be affected if it blows up in his face. Jaemin knows he has to think about the big picture. The big picture for his journey, and the journey of NCT Dream—it cannot include a conversation about Chenle and he. There’s no way. 

He’d learned that years ago, forced into that chair three times too big for a skinny sixteen year old, while a forty-five year old man told him that loving his best friend was unnatural.

“I can’t, Jen. Not now, when everything feels like it’s being blended in my brain. Not next week during the comeback. Not next month when the tour gets announced. There are too many important things.”

“Jaemin, what’s more important than how we feel, as people?” Jeno brings their hands together again, squeezes Jaemin’s as he says it, but the reassurance doesn’t land the second time.

“So many things, Jen.” Jaemin pulls his hand away, ignoring the way Jeno’s shoulders drop as he does it. “So many things.” 

Luke chooses that moment to join them, curling into Jeno’s lap and stretching his paws on to Jaemin’s legs. He briefly sticks his claws into the meat of Jaemin’s thigh, and retracts them as Jaemin hisses in pain. 

Jeno giggles. “Even the cats don’t agree with you Jaem.”

Jaemin puffs out the ghost of a laugh himself, forced. “The cats don’t know what’s at stake.”

“I don’t think you know what’s at stake, Jaemin.” Jeno’s mouth forms a grim line, tight as he tries to find the right words. “You’re planning for every possibility except the one you want, and you’re planning them all as a worst case scenario. Do you think so little of us? Of Chenle?” 

It stings, the realization that that’s how he’s coming across. As if he doesn’t trust them, doesn’t believe in them. But the fear enveloping Jaemin’s brain can’t let him think positively. Refuses to let him imagine a happy ending to all of this. 

“There’s too much on the line if this goes wrong Jen. Theres seven of us, I can’t be selfish about this.” 

“But what if it goes right Jaem?”

“Happy endings don’t happen for people in our profession, Jeno. We give all the magic to everyone else. There’s not enough left for us, at the end of it all.”

“Stop giving all of it away then, you idiot.” Jeno stands up, gripping Luke around the waist so he doesn’t fall and placing him carefully onto the laminated floor of Jaemin’s living room. “You give the fans so much, you give the company so much, you give them every moment you have—even the past ones, with this exhibition. Why won’t you just keep some of it? Be selfish, even just a little.”

“What’s your point Jeno? Just stop caring about the fans? Stop giving them happiness? Stop doing what the company wants, start a huge contract dispute a la Exo and Super Junior?”

“Don’t be obtuse, Jaemin. Fuck the company… and you’re wonderful with the fans.  You give them enough. Save some of that… what did you call it? Magic?”

“Save it for what?” Jaemin looks up, feels tears welling in his eyes. Frustration bleeds out of him because Jeno can’t, won’t listen to him. Won’t understand. He can’t give himself to anyone. Can’t risk their careers like this. Can’t fuck anything up, or cause any problems. Too many of his seniors have lost everything for a one night stand, one more drink, one more hour in the club. Jaemin isn’t going to lose NCT over something as simple as a feeling. Fleeting. Ignorable. 

You got over Jeno didn’t you? The voice in his mind sounds worryingly like their manager from those days. You’ll get over this.

“Yourself, Jaemin.” Jeno picks up his bag as he says it. “If you’re not going to save some of that magic to give to someone else, at least save a little so you can still be yourself.” 

Jeno leaves Jaemin like that, staring at the door as it closes, his mind a tonne weight in his head, pushing him closer and closer to the end of his tether. 

˙✧˖°📷༘ ⋆｡°

Jeno didn’t stay angry, didn’t stay upset. 

He never did. 

Jaemin let his thoughts haunt him, gliding around the practice rooms like a shadow of himself. He’d plaster on his biggest czennie smile for the music show stages, then stalk into a corner alone in the green room, leaving everyone to laugh and celebrate another successful album without him. Another million seller, double–probably triple by the end of the promotion period. 

Jaemin was so proud he wanted to burst, wanted to decorate everyone with the strings leftover from his heart to show them how much they meant to him. They’d worked hard for this album. He had worked hard. Late nights to keep deadlines for the exhibition after recording. Early mornings for creative meetings about the exhibition, rolling straight into a meeting about the album tracklist, then five minutes for lunch before a photoshoot. 

The dread of allowing himself to feel pushed it all away. He was congratulating everyone with dark circles under his eyes. Hugging Jeno and Renjun as they giggle with glee, looser than he usually would, ignoring the worry lining their face when he lets go quicker than normal. He doesn’t even push Haechan away when he’s chasing a kiss anymore, their game of chicken shoved to the very back of his mind, boxed and labeled “get-pissed-off-later”.

They don’t need this negativity. He would say to himself. They don’t need me pulling them down, not like this.  

He’d shake away a hand on his shoulder from Mark, a worried cheek cradle from Renjun. Haechan even bought him an Americano with nine shots of Espresso “...just to see if it will bring you back to us, like the old times.” It made Jaemin’s heart ache, cracks tearing into the smallest parts of him and opening up every single insecurity he has ever had.

He finally comes back to them, free-falling into despair with a broken parachute and no hope left, when Renjun pulls them all together in the practice room and says he’s going to take a break. It feels like the cracks in Jaemin’s heart have been bled out, sewed up, and ripped open again as Renjun explains how he’s been feeling, the pressure he’s been under. 

How selfish, Jaemin’s mind would supply to him, to wallow in self-pity about some fleeting feelings when one of your best friends has been struggling like this.  

They cried together then. 

The seven of them holding hands, pressing kisses to Renjun’s hair, his forehead, his cheeks. Mark tells A&R on no uncertain terms they will be performing Fireflies at The Dream Show. Renjun had suggested it, had wanted it. Jaemin agrees, lets the despair sinking into the depths of his skin fuel him. Lets the staff know that this is non-negotiable and he will fight for it. 

Jaemin doesn’t look at Chenle. Can’t. For the entire process. From Renjun explaining right through to the end of promotions and meetings about the concerts. Jaemin looks down at the floor in shame every time Chenle tries to catch his eye, squeezes his fists so tight his nails begin biting into his palms as he watches Chenle’s face drop every single time. Jaemin stops looking at Jisung too, fiercely defensive of Chenle and continuously attempting to corner them both together to figure out what is going on.

It’s Mark, surprisingly, that snaps first. Their shining leader, the entire reason that Jaemin had his realization in the first place. As kind as always, Mark tells Jaemin to hang back after practice, and Jaemin’s heart sinks through the floor. He can’t avoid it anymore. Not if Mark has decided to have a meeting with him about it. 

Jaemin looks up as he hears the last person leave. For the first time in weeks, he locks eyes with Chenle. The effect is electric, racing around Jaemin, his breath catches in his throat and before he can even think of a word, Chenle is gone. He turns, taking a deep breath, to face Mark.

“I know–”

“Good, you can start at the beginning then, because I sure as hell don’t know Jaemin. I have no idea what is going on but I can’t lose you too, I can’t–” Mark’s voice catches, Jaemin knows he’s thinking about everything that happened in the last few weeks. “Do we need to delay something, do you need a break? You’re upsetting people dude. I had to tell Jisung I would kick him out of the group if he yelled at you because he was ready to fight man,” the look on Mark’s face is so incredulous it almost makes Jaemin laugh, “Jisung. Ready to fight someone? Ready to fight you Jaemin! I don’t even know what’s going on anymore man.

Jaemin feels the fissure’s in every one of his bones widen and he knows what is about to happen before it happens. The dam breaks. Jaemin pours himself out through the cracks he made and drops to his knees with a hard thump. 

“I don’t know either hyung–I don’t–God, I just–” Jaemin can barely breathe through the tears falling from his face, but he doesn’t know why they’re there. “I don’t even know why I’m crying, hyung,” he looks up at Mark through his lashes, “please, help me.”

“Hey, Jaem, hey.” Mark drops down to his level, cups Jaemin’s face in both of his hands. “Calm down first man, okay? It can’t be this big of a deal if you haven’t talked to us all about it, we tell each other everything.”

“Not this time hyung, I can’t.” Jaemin is hiccuping on every word and it sounds ridiculous. He’s glad Mark has the good grace not to laugh at him for it.

“Jaemin, we’ve been together for almost 8 years, training together even longer than that. There’s nothing you can’t tell me dude. Is it really that bad?”

Is it? Jaemin lets himself really think about it. All of the negative scenarios he’d talked about with Jeno, all of the weirdness he was feeling because it had taken him so long to realize just how much he liked Chenle. Was it really that bad? 

“I—.” No. Jaemin felt his cheeks heat in shame again. “No I guess it isn’t. Not if people don’t find out about it. But hyung, it has to be secret. If it’s not…” Jaemin purses his lips, chasing off the memory of that meeting before it takes over again.

Mark slaps a hand against his forehead. “If you’re about to tell me that you like Chenle I’m gonna kick your ass for real.” He laughs and stands up, spinning comically on the ball of his foot as he makes what Jaemin can only describe as ‘chicken noises’.

“Well— I mean—“ Jaemin splutters and then hangs his head again. “Hyung it’s your fault!” He sticks out his lip petulantly, narrowing his eyes at Mark. 

“Jaemin, have you seriously been snapping and refusing to talk to Chenle and acting weird with everyone the last few weeks because of this?” Mark runs a hand through his hair that makes parts of it stick out like he’s been electrocuted. “Jaemin, it’s never this serious man. Just tell him you like him. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“I—” Jaemin stops himself for a second to collect his thoughts. “What if it has a bad affect on us hyung? As a group? I really… what if it changes things? I thought–thought that you guys would blame me if something bad happened because of it. What if the fans find out? Will our managers even let anything happen? What if Chenle doesn’t even want anything to happen?” 

“Jaemin, dude, that’s like a crazy amount of pessimism for you. Worrying about the outcome before you’ve even given yourself time to think about the positives will always make you feel this way—trapped, right?” Mark’s smile is so genuine that Jaemin feels tears threatening to spill over again. “Just take a second to think about everything Jaem, don’t let things bubble up. You’ve got so much going on right now but ignoring this thing is making you blow everything else up. So just take a second man, let yourself really think about it. Also you know I would for real never let the managers know about this unless it was necessary, feelings are for us—they don’t need to be under the company’s microscope. That meeting won’t happen again Jaemin.”

Jaemin pulls himself up, dusting off his knees. “I’m–I’m so embarrassed hyung.” He hangs his head again, the all-too-familiar feeling of shame that has been his shadow recently squeezing its way into him again. 

“You’ve been thinking too much. Just let yourself feel, man. It’s like, cool to feel things sometimes. Even if they aren’t the best thing for everyone or everything. Sometimes you just gotta feel.” Mark beams again, that smile that makes you feel like everything will always be okay.

Jaemin thinks maybe everything will be. Eventually.

˙✧˖°📷༘ ⋆｡°

Step one of making everything okay: apologize to Chenle—again. Maybe on his knees, begging.

Step two: He hasn’t thought that far ahead.

As he draws closer to practice room three he hears a melody that tugs at the edges of his memory. He doesn’t have to peek through the window; he already knows it’s Chenle. The song he’s playing is soft, Jaemin can’t quite place where he knows it, but he can hear Chenle humming along to the tune and his heart starts racing again. It isn’t until Chenle starts singing that Jaemin really feels like his heart might pound clean out of his chest cavity.

Of course—Rainbow.

Jaemin waits, heart pumping, as Chenle finishes the song and flexes his fingers against the piano keys, savoring the final note. 

Now or never, coward. Jaemin’s brain taunts him as he knocks at the door and walks in without being welcomed, praying Chenle doesn’t start yelling, or crying.

Instead, Chenle almost falls sideways off of the piano bench. “I–hyung? Uh… what are you doing here?” 

“Apologizing, again.” Jaemin sits down next to Chenle, scoots him sideways a little with his hip and gasps a little at the pulse of heat that flickers through him where their bodies touched.

“Hyung you don’t–”

Jaemin cuts Chenle off before he can finish. “Yes, I do. I’m also incredibly nervous, so please… let me get this done, okay?”

“Uh… sure?” Chenle eyebrow quirks upwards, just slightly. “Go ahead.”

“Chenle, I…” Jaemins starts, confident, and immediately freezes. How the fuck is he going to say everything that needs to be said? “I–what I mean to say is, I just–”

“Shall we play together, hyung?” Chenle pulls Jaemin’s hand into his and places it down onto the keys. “Let’s see if we can do this with two of us, hmm?” 

Jaemin takes the get out of jail card, beaming, trying not to shake as Chenle places his fingers for him in a starting position he’s happy with. Jaemin tips his head sideways, chewing at his lip.

Oh.

The position of their hands is the beginning notes for Like We Just Met.

“I haven’t played this one as a duet before.” Jaemin clears his throat, nerves sticking to the inside of his mouth like peanut butter.

“Neither have I, that’s part of the fun, right?” Chenle grins and the brightness of it clears every thought out of Jaemin’s mind.

Chenle starts them off, Jaemin gets the hang of it very quickly. They often practice piano, sometimes even in the same room–but they haven’t played duets like this in recent months. Not even in recent years. 

It hurls Jaemin back to the days following their debut, Chenle had only recently been told he was joining the group and he didn’t speak very much Korean, mostly sticking to Jisung who was more patient than the others. But when Jaemin had clumsily asked in broken elementary school Chinese if he wanted to try playing the piano together, since that was easier than speaking Korean, Chenle had nodded shyly. They’d played everything Jaemin had the sheet music for with him at the time, some Mozart, some Beethoven, a little Taylor Swift thrown in. Chenle had smiled a lot more around Jaemin after that.

“What are you thinking about hyung?” Chenle asks, adding a flourish to the final note of the song.

“I was thinking about when we used to do this together, when we were younger. We didn’t have many of our own songs then. How many do we have now? Almost eight years of music and memories. It’s… nice to think about it. I like thinking about it.”

“The memories? Yeah, reminiscing is always… fun.” Chenle closes his eyes, he looks to Jaemin like he’s running through a memory reel of his own.

Stop avoiding it you coward. Once more, his mind mocks him. Jaemin takes a deep breath as quietly as he can, and puts his hand on top of Chenle’s, still on the piano keys.

“Chenle, please look at me.” Jaemin doesn’t know where the confidence came from–maybe the warmth of the fingers underneath his. 

Chenle cracks open one of his eyes and trains it on Jaemin.

“Mark told me… that everyone is upset with me. I’ve been a total asshole. I’m sorry I haven’t been talking to you much. You didn’t do anything wrong, I’m just…” Jaemin thinks about saying it. He thinks really hard about it.

Chenle sits forward, both eyes open now. He doesn’t try to move his hand away from Jaemin’s. “You’re just what, hyung?”

“I–uh.” He really does think about it. 

He thinks about it so hard that his hand starts to shake and it echoes a little through the piano. “I’ve had so much going on with the exhibition, and the album, and the tour and… there’s something I’ve been thinking about a lot. Without even realizing I was thinking about it for a long time.”

Chenle shuffles sideways again, their hips and sides flush now, no space between them. It makes Jaemin’s breath catch and he sees Chenle gulp at the sound of the air sticking in his throat.

“What have you been thinking about, hyung?” Chenle speaks, barely above a whisper. 

Their faces are close, too close , and its making Jaemin’s skin feel like his skeleton wants to break free of it, itching across every possible inch. The panic is climbing through his ribcage again, crunching it’s way up to his throat and it reaches the opening of his mouth just as Chenle leans an inch closer.

Jaemin jumps back, forgetting they’re on a small piano bench, and winces as his ass smacks against the hard floor of the practice room.

“Oh shit hyung–I’m sorry, are you okay?” Chenle jumps up, holding out a hand to help Jaemin up.

“Yeah, I just–I can’t tell you, the thing I was thinking about. It’s difficult and it’s making me jumpy and weird and rude and that’s what I wanted to apologize for. You’re…” Jaemin words this very carefully. “You’re important to me, Chenle. You’re important to–I mean all of us. So I wanted to apologize, because you deserve it. You deserve better.” The last sentence pings around Jaemin’s mind as Chenle pulls him up.

It’s awkward, the moment of eye contact before Jaemin pulls Chenle in for a hug. Awkward and electric and it makes Jaemin’s heart feel like it’s on fire. 

“Will you ever tell me, hyung? What’s really making you so upset?” Chenle’s voice is muffled into Jaemin’s shoulder, but he hears it nonetheless. 

Jaemin thinks about it. Thinks about how seen it makes him feel, that Chenle knows this isn’t the full story. Thinks about how furious Jeno and Mark are going to be. Thinks about all of the ways this could have gone and comes up empty. There’s no way for this to happen that won’t affect the group in some way. The members being slightly angry at Jaemin for his refusal to act on his emotions ranks very low on the risk report compared to telling Chenle about his feelings and their entire careers blowing up in their faces, hauled into a meeting room to be told how they’re subverting the word of God, the will of the company. It makes him shiver.

“Maybe one day, Lele. Maybe.” Jaemin squeezes Chenle a little tighter as he says it, before letting go and ruffling his hair. “We should both get home and rest, we’ll need all the sleep we can get this comeback.”

Chenle throws his head back in anguish and yells at the ceiling. Jaemin has never understood something so deeply in his entire life.

“Ugh, I hate that you’re right.”

Jaemin clears his throat. “I really… I really am sorry, Lele, I shouldn’t have been ignoring you and avoiding things.

“Yeah, you shouldn’t. But whatever is going on is something you’re clearly not ready to share—I’m not going to push you for an answer hyung. I’m glad I know you don’t hate me at least.” 

God no, Chenle. Quite the opposite. 

“I definitely don’t hate you, Lele.” Jaemin tries to reach for Chenle’s hand again, but pulls back, fidgeting to try and cover it up. 

“Well it would completely fuck up the group dynamic if you did, hyung.” Chenle swings his bag over his shoulder and readies himself to leave. “You coming?”

“Yeah.” Jaemin mirrors him, picking up his bag and straightening the t-shirt he’s wearing, crumpled from sitting at the piano. His throat feels tight, Chenle’s words digging into his brain like they have claws.

It would completely fuck up the group dynamic.

Jaemin should talk to Jeno again, or Mark. He tries to swallow down the ball of worries lodged in the back of his throat but it won’t budge. He nods a goodbye to Chenle as he runs back upstairs to see if Mark is still in the practice room, but he isn’t.

Jaemin sighs as the practice door closes behind him, the weight of his own feelings pressing down on his chest and making it hard to breathe. 

What the hell am I going to do?

˙✧˖°📷༘ ⋆｡°

Nothing, is the answer Jaemin comes up with. He’s going to do absolutely nothing and hope for the best. They already feel so empty without Renjun, even when he still comes to watch practice, sits on the sidelines cheering for them or brings them coffee. It feels misaligned, like finishing a jigsaw puzzle but finding out the last piece is missing.

They’ve finally finished promotions and started practicing properly in their formations of six for the tour starting in May. Jaemin can’t focus on any of it, because apparently he’s developed his own gravitational pull and Chenle is caught up in it. Ever since that day in the practice room, playing piano together, Jaemin feels like he can’t escape the slender hands of his bandmate wrapping themselves around every part of his body.

Chenle has always been touchy, Jaemin flicks through one of the fully finished Narcissism photobooks and stops at a photo of Chenle, again. He isn’t even trying most of the time–it’s like the books are mocking him. Every time he flicks to a random page, it will settle on something that has Chenle in it, or reminds him of something Chenle did, or Chenle was next to him when he was snapping the photo. The photo is of Chenle from a slightly high angle, making him look up just the tiniest bit. Jaemin’s cheeks heat as his mind plays the scene in front of him.

“Chenle, you have to stop, please.” Jaemin pushes out his hand into Chenle’s face, but it’s barely enough to stop the long, probing hands of his teammate. He’s giggling as he does it, no seriousness in his tone.

Chenle is roaring in laughter as he tries to sneak his hands across Jaemin’s chest. Jaemin had decided to bulk up for the encore shows, they’d been overseas for The Dream Show 2 and he’d lost a little muscle. 

“But hyung–you’re just so muscular and manly now, it’s crazy!” Chenle keep squeaking with joy whenever he finally get a hand past Jaemin’s bicep barrier and slips it inside of the silver shirt he’s wearing. “Wah… the stylist really did a good job choosing this shirt for the concerts hyung, it’s really too good at showing your muscles.”

“Sit down, you little beast, let me snap something before we go onstage.” Jaemin pulls out his camera and Chenle starts making faces, scrunching his nose and sticking out his tongue. “No, don’t pose. Just look at the lens… that’s it. Good job.”

Jaemin eyes zeroed in on Chenle’s ears, turning pink at the praise, his head ducked low just the tiniest bit. But it’s the camera, right? The lens makes everyone a little shy sometimes. Jaemin tucks the camera away again and squeezes at Chenle’s cheek, eliciting a screech somewhere between fury and joy that makes Jaemin grit his teeth and coo.

Jaemin is pulled out of his nostalgic daze by a hand squeezing at his bicep. Surprisingly, it’s Haechan.

“Is there a reason you are harassing me in this way?” Jaemin narrows his eyes as he says it and widens his mouth, positioned like a predator on the prowl as Haechan shrieks and jumps across the room in fear.

“Mark, Mark hyung! He’s targeting me, I’m the next victim!” Haechan brings his legs up around Mark’s waist as Mark sighs and just let’s him hang there.

Jaemin tips his head to the side, scoffing as he pulls out his camera. Haechan looks exactly like a Koala, clinging to Mark’s shoulders for dear life. “You’re not worth the time it would take to chew your bones Lee Donghyeok. I have too many things to do.”

Haechan throws a fist into his chest in a crude mockery of an arrow and falls to his knees. “You wound me, Na Jaemin.”

“I wish he really would wound you sometimes.” Mark hauls Haechan to his feet as he says it and grabs his shoulders, directing him towards the middle of the practice room so they can get back into formation.

Jaemin takes a deep breath. Candy is next on the practice agenda. Always an opportunity to be touched, or touch. He’s been trying to play along when Chenle brushes against his chest, or moves in for the false promise of a kiss. It’s starting to feel like someone is dropping a piano on his head every time it happens, like an episode of Looney Tunes. After the stars stop spinning around his head, they already have to move into the next section and there it is again, a touch, a smile, a wink. Jaemin feels like he’s drowning, but his throat has never been drier.

As they finish the song, he slides onto the ground and pushes himself towards the wall, like a worm, crunching his knees up into his chest and then pushing himself forward again before eventually he rolls onto his side when he reaches his bottle of water. It has everyone in stitches, Haechan and Jisung look like they’re about to throw up from laughing and Jeno is shaking his head as he silently giggles. 

“Jaeminnie—ah—please, you’re too strange sometimes.” Haechan is clutching at his side, bent double and breathless.

“It would be more strange if I ate you alive and I haven’t done that yet, so stop complaining.” Jaemin doesn’t even look at Haechan; is still staring at the ceiling after finishing his water.

The jokes flow easier today, even after the chest-tightening stress of all the random touching and flirting during practice. It’s scary to Jaemin. The past few weeks of constant anxiety have his toes on the edge of a cliff. It would be easier to jump, to feel. His mind constantly reminds him that the burden would be less if he wasn’t restraining himself, boxing his feelings away into the back of his brain every time a stray piece makes its way out of his heart. The other part of his mind berates him. Coward, it whispers under everything, spineless good-for-nothing.

He can’t jump. The group would never survive it. He looks on at the other five in front of him, then over at Renjun curled up napping in the corner—he’d refused to stop coming to practices, even if he wasn’t always taking part in the dancing. He feels his heart squeeze and a lump form in his throat. 

This is love. 

Love is Haechan poking Jeno in the cheek and shrieking as he runs away, Jeno chasing him. 

Love is Jisung trying to calm them down, but flinching every time Haechan makes a loud noise and getting confused about what he was saying, turning to Chenle and Mark for help. 

Love is Mark and Chenle shrugging their shoulders as Jeno finally captures Haechan and pins him against the mirror, Haechan spitting out three apologies a second in the hopes it will save him. 

Love is Renjun poking his head out from under the blanket on the sofa to laugh at Haechan’s misery as Mark ruffles his hair and asks if he needs a drink.

Any other love would hurt this love. Jaemin wouldn’t give this love up for anything in the world.

But what if love is the way you feel when he touches you? 

Jaemin’s eyes stop on Chenle at the thought. Imagines it, opens the box stashed away in the depths of his mind for just a second. Bathes in the memory of the electricity when their fingers brush. The way his heart pumps double time when their faces are an inch too close. The calluses on Chenle’s hands and how they would feel cradling Jaemin’s cheek, the sharp corners of his hips and how they would feel pressed into Jaemin’s pelvis with a breath between their lips. The whisper of a secret, shared in the maroon silk of Jaemin’s bed.

Jaemin doesn’t want to know the answer to the question, but it stays. It stays and it sinks deep into every groove of his brain until Jaemin can’t see anything but Chenle, whether his eyes are open or shut. Haunted by the ghost of what could be, might be. Can never be.

˙✧˖°📷༘ ⋆｡°

It’s May, before Jaemin accepts that Jeno and Mark won’t stop calling him every two days asking if he’s going to be honest with Chenle. He still hasn’t told Chenle how he feels. Even thinking about the word feelings shuts Jaemin off most of the time, immediate, like a laptop running out of battery with no warning.

It’s May, and the final day of their Seoul concerts for their third iteration of The Dream Show is looming. Stage time in five hours. Soundcheck with the fans in three and a half hours. Renjun didn’t come to the venue, worried he would get too emotional and set everyone else off, or be too distracting. He’d called Mark earlier and on speakerphone, wished each of them good luck and promised to watch the livestream.

It’s May, and Chenle is glowing. 

There’s something different this time. Different about the way he sings, the way he dances. The way he holds himself. There’s a level of confidence Chenle has unlocked that Jaemin didn’t even know was possible–it’s not like Chenle wasn’t confident before. He’s not the only person that’s noticed. Chenle had squeezed himself next to Jaemin on the sofa backstage to show him the thousands of fan reactions to the first concert, all of the posts on Weibo and Weverse about how Chenle is causing everyone to switch their favorite. 

Jaemin reads with him. Jaemin laughs along with him. Jaemin stiffens as Chenle pushes further into his space, casually throws a leg over his. Jaemin ignores Jeno rolling his eyes and Mark scoffing from the other side of the room. Jaemin doesn’t know if Chenle is oblivious, or pretending not to hear.

Jaemin feels, no matter how much he tries to ignore it.

The more Jaemin feels, the more his brain prods at him. Pointing out things Jaemin is trying his best not to overanalyze. 

He won’t stop touching your arms, imagine how much he’d enjoy you holding him down.

He’s staring at your abs again, he almost missed the cue for Drippin’.

He’s looking again, how many more videos of him staring before you accept the truth?

It’s been months, and the entire group have been walking on a tightrope between them, stumbling and wobbling around their game of push and pull, half of them without even realizing. But Jaemin finally thinks he might be there. 

Chenle likes him too. 

Maybe not as much as Jaemin likes him, maybe he never will… maybe that’s not even possible. 

But nonetheless Chenle likes him. Even if it’s just a little bit. 

Chenle flusters when Jaemin gets pulled out of the leathers for the first section of the concert by the stylists, blushing and clearing his throat. Jaemin pretends not to notice, grateful for the inch of makeup covering the flush of his own cheeks at the attention. 

Jaemin pulls the two that know aside to ask if they’ve said anything to Chenle and they both swear on various things (including his actual belief in God, six times, from Mark) that they haven’t. Jeno swears on the new bike he got for Christmas from Jisung, so Jaemin knows he means business. He has to accept that his best friends are lying to his face… or he has to accept that Chenle likes him, of his own accord, with no outside interference. Just because he’s Jaemin. 

That’s the part Jaemin can’t understand.

Because when it boils down to the darkest corner of his house, in the quiet of a night where Jaemin shakes a little bit more than usual, he doesn’t think he deserves to be loved like this. He already receives so much love, from the fans, from the dreamies, from the other NCT members, from other groups that admire them–or their sunbaes. Jaemin is the recipient of so much love it makes goosebumps prickle across every part of his body if he thinks about it too much. How do you funnel that much emotion through just one person?

Jaemin is grateful for the love, and he works hard to receive it well. But it’s already so much love, just for one person. Who is he to take more? 

Greed is a sin, Mark’s God would be terribly displeased with you the voice whispers to him again.

For Jaemin, admitting to Chenle how he feels, opening that door–it’s more love than any person should ever be allowed to feel. The kind of greed that invokes the wrath of ancient spirits in stories that Renjun tells them by the fire when they go on trips to film content. The kind of greed that terrifies Mark into bowing his head in prayer. Greed that has sunk the ships of many idol groups before them, and will tear at the sails of hundreds that come after them.

A hand at Jaemin’s back jolts him out of his mind. “Hyung, the hair stylist wants to know if you need a trim?” Jisung looks like he needs one himself, bangs sticking into his eyes at all angles, making him squint.

“I’m good Jisungie, you should definitely get one though. Can you even see?”

Jisung bows his head, not that it makes much difference. He’s inching taller and taller above Jaemin now. “I–no. I can’t actually.

Jaemin booms a laugh that echoes through the backstage corridors. “Go ask the stylist noona to cut it for you Jisung. I’m all good.”

Jisung leaves, but Jaemin barely gets a moment alone before Chenle flops down on the sofa next to him, some compilation or other about Stephen Curry blasting out of his phone because he has zero decorum and refuses to use headphones. Continuing to have no decorum, he lays his head on Jaemin’s lap, nestled right into Jaemin’s crotch. He keeps pressing his head further down, snuggling into Jaemin like a kitten. Except he isn’t–he’s Chenle, and it makes Jaemin’s vision go white every time he feels the pressure pushing down on his cock.

“Chenle–Lele, Chenle your head. Chenle.” Jaemin knows he sounds pathetic, he’s almost begging, but he can already feel the blood starting to rush downwards, and Chenle is about to be very uncomfortable when Jaemin’s lap is no longer soft.

“Ah, Jaemin hyung please, just until this video finishes it’s almost–oh.” Chenle stills, stops squirming so suddenly it startles Jaemin a little. They both take a deep breath at the same time.

There’s no way around it now. No way to hide the way he’s rapidly hardening beneath Chenle’s head. Jaemin’s face heats up so quickly he questions whether the amount of blood reddening his cheeks might actually make his dick a little bit less hard—but no such luck. 

Chenle still hasn’t moved, frozen in place with Jaemin’s very obvious level of arousal prodding into the back of his skull. Jaemin can’t– won’t– bring himself to make eye contact, or attempt to move, or even say anything more. Over the last few months Jaemin has become accustomed to feelings overwhelming him, pulling him into the undertow of confusion he’s been thrashing around in for what feels like millenia. 

It’s surprising that this shame doesn’t feel like drowning, but more like breaking through the surface after being afraid you won’t make it there before you breath your last. It feels like a weight has been pulled from his shoulders and he can finally lose tension for the first time since that dance practice when he realized Mark had been right about his feelings for Chenle. If Jaemin was going to be really honest, he would even say the weight had been there long before that. He just didn’t know what it meant.

“Jaemin, Chenle, stage right in twenty-five for soundcheck final checks.” One of their techs pokes a head through the door.

“Yes, thank you!” Jaemin tries not to wince at how strained his voice sounds.

“Are… you okay Jaemin-ssi?” Ah, it’s more obvious than he thought, then.

“Yes, yes sir–thank you for letting us know. Just a knot in my shoulder from yesterday’s show, I’m sure Chenle can get it for me before we hit the stage.”

“Of course, take care of yourself Jaemin-ssi, you too Chenle-ssi, have a good show–we’ll be stage left with your backup mic packs as usual.”

“Thank you again sir.” Jaemin finally looks down as Chenle speaks and sees the panic that matches the high-pitched tone of his voice.

The door closes quietly and Jaemin clears his throat. The unexpected visit at least softened him up a little, but if Chenle doesn’t move quickly Jaemin fears it might not be long before things get awkward again. 

“Hyung–”

“Chenle-ya–”

They both look away with a giggle as they stumble, trying to get a word in at the same time. It changes into a silence that ebbs and flows between a look, a smile, and a lot of throat clearing. Jaemin finally steps forward, a hand out towards Chenle’s arm, when Jeno breaks the silence for them.

“Jaeminnie do you have my–ah.” He stops dead, eyes on Jaemin’s hand reaching out, Chenle’s lips slightly parted in shock at the door swinging open. “Never mind, I just remembered it literally does not matter, I’m going to… I don’t know. Haechan probably needs something. Something that isn’t–uh–here. Anyway.” Jeno raises an eyebrow at Jaemin quickly before turning heel and slamming the door behind him.

It’s Chenle that breaks the returning silence, mercifully. “Jeno seemed… surprised? That we were in here together, I mean. That’s weird, right? It’s normal for us to be places together.” There’s something sad tugging at the corner of his mouth, but Jaemin doesn’t know how to approach it.

“Yeah, totally normal. Totally normal things happening too. Chenle I’m sorry about–”

“We’re dudes, hyung, it happens sometimes when you push it the wrong way. I don’t know why we let it get so weird,” Chenle shrugs, dramatically, twisting his face into a confused half-frown half-smile, “it’s just like, normal for guys to have that happen sometimes. Right?”

“Yeah, for sure. Yeah. Normal. You’re right Lele. As expected.” Jaemin shakes away the worry and changes the trajectory of his hand, ruffling Chenle’s hair instead of clinging to his arm. There’s still a sadness clinging to the edges of Chenle’s lips, dragging them downward whenever he isn’t paying attention enough to force them into a grin. “Chenle, are you okay?”

Chenle nods, but it’s not enough to sway Jaemin. “Let’s go sing some songs hyung. Do a little dance.”

“Little? We’re never letting you choose choreography if you think this setlist is just a little dance.” He keeps changing the subject. “Chenle-ya, really, are you sure you’re okay?”

“You should never let me choose the choreography anyway, I would make it all basketball themed.” Chenle pockets his phone, long since quiet after the Curry compilation ended, and nods towards the door. “You coming?”

“Yeah, I’ll follow right after you Lele.” What is he avoiding?

Jaemin gives himself a second to shudder imagining all of the basketball themed choreography Chenle would want to incorporate into their arsenal before his mind wanders back to the sadness oozing out of Chenle. 

What could have caused him to switch up like that? Surely my boner didn’t make him sad?  

What a sentence. 

What a day. 

Jaemin wished that covered even half of it. Feels like his entire world has been tilted off-axis since the first time Mark mentioned how many photos he takes of Chenle all those months ago. He pulls at his head until his ear meets his shoulder and his neck makes a satisfying crack.

He makes it halfway to the stage before he catches up to Chenle, stopped dead in the hallway looking through the tiny window of a storage room door.

“Lele-ya, what are you—what the actual fuck?”

Muffled by the door, Haechan’s replies, eyes rolling as he speaks. “Fuck me if we wanted an audience we wouldn’t be in the storage closet, would we?”

Jeno, blushing, stands next to him. Lips swollen and a little red, like they were just bitten. 

“They were…”

“Let’s go, Chenle, leave them to it.” Jaemin salutes through the window as he pulls Chenle towards the wings.

“But hyung, what about you?”

“Huh?” Jaemin turns, cocking his head at the question. “What do you mean?”

“What do you mean? Aren’t you and Jeno a thing? Isn’t that something that’s been happening since the dawn of time?”

“Huh?” Jaemin has never been this confused before in his life, including all of the just gone months that he was battling his own mind about feelings. 

“You and Jeno–he literally just got sad when he walked in on us? Because you two have something going on, right? That’s why I haven’t…” Chenle stops himself, takes a breath and squeezes his lips into a thin line.

“Chenle, what are you talking about?”

They speak over each other, stuttering and stumbling, caught in a cycle of slipping on the ice just as they manage to right themselves over and over again. The moment they both stop, Jaemin shaking his head and Chenle pursing his lips, a voice booms over the intercom laced throughout the backstage rooms. 

“Five minutes to soundcheck, all to starting positions.”

˙✧˖°📷༘ ⋆｡°

“I don’t know why you’re so upset I didn’t tell you.”

“Jeno don’t be like this, I know I didn’t take your advice about Chenle but that is entirely different to you having a whole situationship with Haechan of all people.”

“You’re being dramatic, it’s not a situationship. We just kiss sometimes, and like, occasionally touch tips.”

Jaemin blinks, eyes wide. “Please don’t use descriptors like that, the image of you touching tips with him is making me feel like taking a bath in acid.” He shudders, for added effect. “I’m not even upset you didn’t tell me, I’m upset at the mess it’s caused with Chenle! Why the hell did he think we were fucking...”

“Probably because we constantly look like we’re around three seconds away from swallowing each others balls. Old habits die hard right?” Jeno flashes his eye smile as he says it, innocence spouting pure filth.

“You’re vulgar. I haven’t thought about swallowing your balls in at least two years.” 

“Damn, what the hell did I miss?” Haechan joins at just the right time.

“We’re discussing the pros and cons of having a threesome to celebrate three successful concerts Haech, you game?” Jeno doesn’t waver, total seriousness in his tone.

“Absolutely fucking not, Jaemin’s teeth are too sharp and I’m a little afraid he would genuinely take a chunk out of my butt cheeks.”

“You should be so lucky.” Jaemin rolls his eyes as Haechan blows a kiss in response. “Have you seen Chenle? We haven’t seen him since we got off stage and the make-up noona’s want to get changed before we all get dinner, but he hasn't had his make-up taken off yet.”

“What is actually the point in having a group chat with you in it Jaem? Have you even checked it once this weekend?”

No was the answer, but Jaemin wasn’t about to admit it. “Yeah like… yesterday. We were busy doing a whole ass fucking concert in case you didn’t notice Lee Donghyeok.”

“He dipped, Jaem.” Jeno is holding out his phone with worry deep in his eyes. “He went home.”

Jaemin slams a fist down on the table in response. “I haven’t done a single second of this shit right and I haven’t even actually tried to do shit about it yet. Why is this shit so hard?”

Haechan cocks an eyebrow, flinching a little at the noise Jaemin’s fist makes as it keeps connecting with the tabletop. “Bro, I don’t even know what you’re talking about or what the hell is going on, but I’m hungry as fuck so can we hurry the fu–” Mercifully, Jeno places a hand over Haechan’s mouth and shakes his head, smiling sweetly.

“Go, Jaem, he just left five minutes ago, you should be able to catch him.” Jeno raises his voice a little over Haechan’s muffled shouting and struggling, but keeps that sweet smile on his face as he nods towards the door. “Go, Jaemin. Dinner can wait.”

Haechan starts writhing again, shaking his head furiously. 

“I don’t think he agrees with you there Jeno. Head out to dinner with everyone else. I’ll call you if I find him and we’ll figure out where you are. Go feed your…” Jaemin doesn’t know what to call it. “Pet? Toy?” Haechan narrows his eyes at Jaemin, hands swiping furiously towards him. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry. Go feed your… Haechan. We’ll try to be there.”

On his way to the exit, Jaemin slides (ungracefully, bambi on ice) across the linoleum and almost directly into Mark as he turns a corner.

Mark is holding his camera bag, packed away neatly already, just the way Jaemin usually does it. 

Jaemin opens his mouth but Mark just shakes his head. “He’s going to Jamwon park, he already asked one of the managers to drive him. I thought you might want to have your stuff with you and I assumed you’d be chasing him, he looked pretty sad. If any of this is packed badly I don’t wanna hear shit about it until tomorrow, I swear.”

Jaemin takes the bag from him and sets it down carefully on the floor, before pulling Mark into a tight hug that pushes all of the breath out of both of them. He swallows thickly against a knot forming in his throat. Mark hasn’t showered yet, still sticky with stage sweat and reeking of adrenaline. It makes Jaemin squeeze harder.

“Jeez Jaem, my ribcage.” Mark wheezes. “I love you too man but you gotta go. That was like, the whole reason I did this.”

Jaemin holds on for another three seconds, hoping that Mark can feel his thanks through cell osmosis or whatever, because if Jaemin opens his mouth to speak right now he thinks he might cry. He picks up the camera bag, holds it in front of him as he swings his backpack on and races towards the door.

In record time, Jaemin is in one of the cars, grateful to the security staff for parting the huge crowd of fans waiting at the exit so they don’t delay him further. He cracks the window as he drives past the throngs of people, winking and waving, but closes it quickly again as the screaming and the blinking of hundreds of lightsticks overwhelms him.

Seoul is always alive, but she is another beast in the night. There is no escape from the flashing of neon lights, advertisements that lure you in with the promise of all seven sins climbing the sides of hundreds of feet of concrete reaching for the stars. Jaemin watches the colors blur into a mess of lines that he can’t focus on as his manager potentially breaks the speed limit (at his request) to catch up with the other car– a car they can see ahead. It’s just about to pull onto Gangbyeonbuk-ro, to cross Dongho Bridge into Apgujeong. Jamwon Han River Park is the first right turn off the bridge. Jaemin would have to look pretty damn hard to find Chenle in the dark if he didn’t catch him before he escaped into all of the couples whispering between the branches of rose bushes, secrets that only the crickets are supposed to hear.

By some kind of miracle, Jaemin’s car pulls up behind Chenle’s just before they turn onto the bridge. Good–Jaemin doesn’t want to draw attention to the car by having his manager weave the lines of traffic painting the bridge in shades of red, beautiful against the constant din of impatience in the form of horns beeping incessantly. 

Jaemin watches Chenle and his manager pull into the public parking lot, his own car slowing to a crawl–he feels bad, for a second, wondering if Chenle has noticed and is worried that it’s a fan following him. 

“I’ll get out here hyung, you can go home–I’ll get us a taxi or call another car once I find him and talk to him. Thank you, hyung, please don’t drive that fast on your way home too, it’s dangerous.” Jaemin bows his head to the blacked out window, letting Chenle slip out of his vision for a second, but when he turns again it’s easy to spot the neon orange against the shadowed trees.

Jaemin follows, as Chenle heads away from the road and the still busy bike lanes of Jamwon, further into the grass and open space. As they pass the Seven Eleven, Jaemin’s brain switches on, like a lightbulb.

Ah, the basketball court.  

It’s just a few feet further than the convenience store, and is exactly where Chenle always goes when he wants to be alone. There are four, at Jamwon, together in a neat rectangle, separated by huge green fences. Chenle always prefers the bottom left. Jisung had asked him why once, at a group dinner, and Chenle said usually people reserve the ones further away from the convenience store, so the bottom left was usually the only one left when he decided to go play and he’d come to be very fond of it.

Jaemin stops at this thought. Maybe he shouldn’t have come. Chenle could be sad for any amount of reasons–mulling over a mistake he made during one of the songs, maybe his muscles are locked up and he wants to shoot some hoops to loosen them up. Maybe it has absolutely nothing to do with Jaemin at all, and he is the asshole for following someone who just wanted a second to himself after spending every minute of the last three days with the rest of the group.

Jaemin didn’t even actually know if he was sad? He was working solely on the word of the others. 

He looked sad.

He’s dipped Jaem.

He hadn’t even opened the message in the group chat. The thought of looking now and seeing that he’s overreacted makes bile rise in his throat.

Maybe it isn’t about you.

Jaemin feels that shame flame up in his chest again. How could he have assumed this was anything to do with him. Why on earth would it be about him, and not just about Chenle feeling a little burnt out? Chenle is smart… Chenle probably knows what’s at risk. Doesn’t want to fuck up the group the way Jaemin is willing to, even after all of the warning Jaemin has had about what could go wrong. 

You don’t care about them, you’re selfish. The devil is whispering in his ear again. 

Jaemin watches as Chenle keys in the code for one of the Basketball courts and pulls a ball out of one of the cages outside.

Jaemin turns, and doesn’t look back again. He pulls up the Kakao Taxi app and keys in the address for his apartment. The shame curls up in his chest and makes itself at home.

How stupid. Why would you assume any of this was ever about you? The devil is terribly insistent today, especially.

His phone pings in mockery. The screen lights up with a notification: There are no taxis responding to the call right now, would you like to try again?

Jaemin sits down on the closest bench and throws his phone to the side, scoffing. Maybe some time alone wouldn’t be so bad, he’d been avoiding thinking about things for so long. Maybe this was a sign–thinking is exactly what he should be doing.

˙✧˖°📷༘ ⋆｡°

Chenle’s skin is soft, squishy in all the right places and bony in the ones that will leave delicious bruises on Jaemin’s own softness when they collide in bed. Jaemin’s mouth fills with saliva as he imagines it, bone crashing against bone painting memory trails of blue and purple all over each other’s hips. He squeezes at Chenle’s waist, runs his hands up the sides. Milky white and dotted with the occasional mole, Jaemin wiggles his fingers, readying himself to take it all in his mouth and chew, and bite, and mark.

But someone is shaking at Jaemin’s shoulder, pulling him away, a voice chanting his name over and over again like a prayer, a whisper dragging him away from his chance to handle perfection with his own two hands.

“Jaemin-hyung, wake up.”

The first thing Jaemin notices is the sheet of sweat covering his entire body. Summer nights in Seoul don’t provide any solace from the humidity and it’s coating Jaemin like a new layer of shiny, slick skin. 

The second thing he notices is that his ass hurts, and he’s sitting upright, his back screaming at him to be stretched into a different position. 

The third thing Jaemin notices, as he rubs the sleep from his tired eyes and really opens them, is the hand from his dream is still on his shoulder.

“Chenle?”

“What are you doing here?” It’s accusatory, but soft. It still makes Jaemin gasp a little, trying to gather his thoughts.

“Give me a second, I didn’t mean to fall asleep… what time is it?” He stretches, groaning as the muscles all down his spine pop in sync.

“Hyung it’s past two.” Chenle is beside him, flicks his wrist up to check the time on his watch. The streetlamp catches it and Jaemin spies the time for himself. Two forty a.m. 

“Well, shit. I wasn’t supposed to fall asleep.” The memory comes back to Jaemin quickly, Chenle’s head in his lap, the awkwardness, Jeno, Jeno and Haechan in the storage closet, the sadness in Chenle’s eyes. “I came to see if you were okay, you seemed… you seemed sad, after the concert ended. You left without even taking your make-up off.”

Jaemin looks up now and sees there are still remnants of it clinging to Chenle’s face, most of it washed away with sweat, probably dirtying a towel Chenle has in his bag. His eye makeup is almost intact, glitter and smoke pulling his eyes into a sultry shape that suits him a little too well. 

“I– well there’s… we should eat, right? Let’s got to the convenience store?”

Avoidance, again. He’s even worse than me.

Jaemin ignores it, will press it later. He stretches one more time, moaning as his knees click just right, and stands up. Offers a hand to Chenle, who quirks an eyebrow.

“Just in case you needed help getting up, you know.” Jaemin pulls his eyes away again, a little embarrassed that he’d done it without thinking.

“Is that really why, hyung?” The question hangs between them, but Chenle doesn’t allow Jaemin to reply, just heads towards the Seven Eleven across the way.

The lights are bright, too bright. Jaemin blinks away the remnants of sleep he didn’t wipe at earlier as his eyes adjust to it. It’s quiet, nobody around the park at this time except people exercising, or people with something to hide. Chenle has already gathered two cups of ramyeon and a bottle of soju.

“We’re drinking?”

Chenle turns, smirking. The sadness is still clutching at the corners of his eyes. “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do at the Han River? We should celebrate finishing up the concerts properly, right?”

Jaemin nods. “Well… you’re right there, I guess.” He reaches to pat Chenle on the head, as he usually would when he gets something right, but stops himself. He picks up two more bottles of soju instead.

Talk first. Skinship later.

They pay up, a reasonable amount under ten thousand won, and head back out into the sticky air, no breeze to relieve them of the dampness in the air. Jaemin can feel the air between them like its a physical presence, almost as thick as the moistness of the May heat. They walk a little, batting at mosquitoes that try to take a bite, the occasional small talk–mostly about the concert. The pressure is mounting in Jaemin’s mind, that rock sitting on his chest pushing further down on him. This is it. This is his last chance.

They settle on some steps, leading down into the river, laying their feast out before them. Chenle had chosen rabokki ramyeon, and the sauce was thick and red. Jaemin immediately felt regret looking down at his white shirt, it was one hundred percent going to end up with a stain. There was a click behind him as Chenle twisted open the lid of the soju and handed the bottle to him. 

“Oldest first, right?”

Jaemin reaches for the bottle with both hands, biting at his lip. “You know you don’t have to worry about those politeness things with me Chenle.”

The bottle is snatched away before he gets it, mischief tugging at the corners of Chenle’s mouth. “Fine, then me first.” Chenle takes a huge gulp, way bigger than Jaemin would have taken for a first drink, and grimaces, smacking his lips. “Uagh… it never tastes good, not ever.”

Jaemin laughs, a little too loud for the time of night. “Then why did you pick it up?” He takes the bottle as Chenle offers it, takes a much smaller drink, but still inhales deeply, his mouth forming a tight ‘o’. “You’re right though, it is terrible. We should have gotten the flavored one.”

It goes like that, for an incalculable amount of time. Jaemin doesn’t look at his phone once. Chenle’s eyes don’t stray to his watch. They talk about the performances, the fan reaction, Jeno ripping his shirt off during Smoothie–Jaemin notes the sadness returning to Chenle’s eyes, even as they giggle about it. 

It’s time. His mind prods at him. Do it.

“Chenle, you know there’s nothing going on between me and Jeno, right?” Jaemin picks up their second bottle as he says it, twisting off the cap and taking a drink. He keeps the cap, but passes the bottle to Chenle. “You seemed to think there was, earlier, but there hasn’t been–not for a long time.”

Chenle sighs. “Isn’t there always something going on between you and Jeno? You’re so close, sometimes it feels like you really might have been the same person, separated at an early point in your lives.”

“It does feel like that sometimes.” Jaemin thinks about Jeno, for a moment, especially in the older days. It could have been, but it wasn’t supposed to be. “But he’s my brother, in mind and soul and whatever else there is… just… not that way. We got over each other quite rapidly actually, after a meeting on the 40th floor about how unnatural it was.”

Chenle winces at that. “You never told us about that. What a shitty thing for them to do, fuckasses. Did you talk to him, Jeno I mean?” Chenle takes another drink after he says it. “About the Haechan thing?”

“Yeah, just before I found out you left. Good luck to him. Haechan is a handful.” It pulls a laugh out of Chenle and Jaemin feels that warmth in his chest again. It had bloomed from something anxious and unsure into something almost… comforting. 

They talk about anything. They talk about everything. 

Everything except the thing they should be talking about.

Jaemin takes the bottle back from Chenle and winces–they’ve almost finished two bottles. “We’re getting through these a little quick, no?”

“Aren’t we supposed to be celebrating?” Chenle slurs back.

Definitely too quick. Definitely getting drunk. Fucked it up again Jaemin.

“I didn’t want to be drunk when I did this, actually. But I don’t think I can do it sober.” He says it to himself more than anything.

“Do what, hyung?”

Jaemin turns and flinches at their closeness. He hadn’t realized how much they’d cosied together in the time they’d been sitting. It wrenches all of his bravery out of him in one shaky breath, as he notices the way Chenle is flush against him. Remembers that day in the practice room, playing piano together. Jaemin feels his breath quicken to match his heart rate.

“I–uh. You… Lele can I take photos of you here?” It’s the only thing his mind can reach for, the thing that will ground him enough to talk this through properly. Jaemin reaches for his camera bag, shaking a little as he waits for the response.

Chenle stands, dusting dirt off of his ass, wobbling a little as the soju settles in. “Don’t you care about my idol image, hyung? You can’t put me up in an exhibition drunk like this.”

“Come off of the steps, you’re gonna fall in, idiot.” Jaemin wraps a hand around Chenle’s wrist and pulls him up to safety. “Let me just set the aperture for this darkness and clean my lens.” He lets go of Chenle’s wrist, but feels a hand wrap around his in return.

“I’ll wait, hyung.” 

Jaemin feels warm again, comfortable warmth beset against the humidity sticking to both of them. He fixes up the settings on his Alpha 9, dusting the lens with the brush he always keeps in his pocket. 

Chenle doesn’t let go of his wrist the whole time. His fingers are clumsy on the small buttons, dizzy with the alcohol pumping through his system. Dizzy at the grip on his arm, pressing right into his pulse.

“This is… hard when you’re drunk, shit.” He giggles, flicking his head to the side to move his bangs out of his eyes. “Are you going to hold on to my wrist the whole time, Lele?”

Chenle doesn’t reply, just continues to watch him, eyes intense, full of something Jaemin wants, needs to know about. He brings up the camera in the small space between them and snaps without looking through the viewfinder. 

It’s blurred, the lighting is shit–but it’s Chenle, toothy and grinning, acne scars invisible in the low light.

That’s not what Jaemin wants. Jaemin wants all of Chenle, selfishly, every part of him visible so he can study it in the depths of the night when he’s alone.

“Let me see!” Chenle whines loudly, but Jaemin bats his hand away lightly.

“We need more light, I can’t see enough of your pretty face.” It slips out, and it’s normal for Jaemin to say that, but in this moment it strikes them like lightning.

Chenle’s lips are parted, just slightly, as he pushes the camera down, away from Jaemin’s face. “Don’t say that if you don’t really mean it, hyung. Don’t say that in your Jaemin way, the way you say it to everyone. If I’m pretty like this, hyung, I want you to mean it, just for me.”

Jaemin brings the camera up again, snaps him like this. Captures it, to keep it in his pocket forever, this moment–the moment of Chenle wanting him, and wanting Jaemin to want him back. He lowers the camera again, onto his bag this time, and brings a hand up to Chenle’s cheek.

“I think you might be the only one that hasn’t noticed, Lele, that you’re always pretty to me. Like this, like… anything. I do mean that.” Jaemin has both of Chenle’s cheeks resting in his hands now, and takes a deep breath. He thinks about every tingle, every fire in his heart and heat in his stomach over the last few months. Every time his breath caught at the sight of Chenle’s waist, or the stars in his eyes. “And I mean it just for you.”

It’s soft, at first, when their lips finally meet. Jaemin pulls Chenle towards him, tries to push all of the things he’s thought about, the feelings that have dug down into the very core of him, into Chenle’s lips. Chenle squeaks in shock at first, and it makes Jaemin melt forwards, hands leaving his cheeks and lacing their way into Chenle’s hair instead.

It’s dangerous, to do this here. So publicly, so blissfully drunk. Jaemin finally doesn’t care, the haze of alcohol freeing him from the memories that have been weighing him down for months.

He thinks Chenle probably doesn’t care either.

Chenle tastes like the spiciness of the ramyeon and the bitterness of the soju, but there’s something sweet underneath it all, and Jaemin wants to drink every ounce of it up until there’s nothing left of Chenle that doesn’t belong to him. Nothing that hasn’t rocketed around Jaemin’s entire body, fused with his blood.

He tests the water, tugs a little at the hair wrapped around his fingers and feels a surge of energy as Chenle moans, mouth opening into the kiss. Jaemin takes his chance, teasing his tongue into Chenle’s mouth and is rewarded when Chenle moans even louder. It shoots through Jaemin like pure electricity and he pulls away, slapping a hand over Chenle’s mouth. His jeans feel tighter, he knows it must be obvious to Chenle the effect he’s having, but they can’t get caught like this. 

“You have got to be more quiet than that, we’re in public.”

Chenle narrows his eyes, smirking. He steps back down to where they were sitting and picks up the one bottle of soju they have left. “Then take me home, idiot?”

Jaemin groans, pulling him back in for another kiss before he hails a taxi, successfully this time. He’s all too happy to comply with Chenle’s demands as the drunk kitten lays his head on Jaemin’s shoulder for the short drive back to his apartment.

˙✧˖°📷༘ ⋆｡°

His vision is blurry and the camera buttons are hard to press in his drunkenness. Eye against the viewfinder, Jaemin watches as Chenle removes his shirt and the sight of his bare chest makes Jaemin shake. Click.

“You’re a dirty ass pervert, you know that hyung?”

Jaemin feigns offense, holding the camera to his chest like a lifeline. “I quite literally begged for your permission the entire taxi ride here Lele. But if you want to talk dirty…” Jaemin feels a surge of confidence he’s pretty sure is riding the bottles of soju coursing through his veins. “I bet I can win that game, little kitten.”

Chenle’s breath catches as he says it and Jaemin lifts the camera up to his face again, snapping just before the moment of ecstasy at the nickname leaves Chenle’s face. Chenle continues shedding his clothes, as Jaemin snaps away, trying to keep his hands on the camera and away from the long expanse of Chenle’s legs, pale and perfect.

That won’t last long. The evil horny monster in the back of Jaemin’s mind growls. Jaemin can’t help but agree–they would look much better painted purple and red by the sharpness of Jaemin’s teeth.

“Will these be part of your exhibition too hyung?” Chenle bites his lip, grinning, and takes a step towards him.

It’s like a hand just grasped his heart and bounced it against his ribcage, trying to squeeze it through the gaps in his bones. Jaemin growls. “Nobody else gets to see you like this. It’s for me. You’re mine. ”

That’s all it takes for them to fall into each other again. Jaemin just manages to cast the camera gently to the sofa before Chenle is on him, bitter tongue fighting its way past Jaemin’s lips to taste him. Jaemin gasps into the kiss, finally giving way for Chenle to get what he wants. Jaemin loses balance at the weight Chenle throws onto him and they collapse onto the couch–narrowly missing the camera Jaemin had discarded a second before. They stay like that, limbs hanging precariously from the end of the sofa, drinking in the taste of each other until Jaemin’s lungs feel like they’ll burst if he doesn’t take a breath. 

He’s saved as Chenle flinches, letting out a scream. The culprit pops his head over the side of the sofa, eyes wide from the loudness. 

“Shit, I forgot you had cats, God. Scared the shit out of me.” Chenle huffs out a laugh and sinks his face into Jaemin’s chest, nuzzling. 

“Get off a second kitty cat, I have to find somewhere to hide these three so they don’t keep trying to join in the snuggles.” Jaemin puffs upwards, blowing his bangs out of his face and stands, hands on his hips, staring down at Luke. Luna and Lucy aren’t far behind him, heads cocked in interest. “Babies. I need to be alone for a few hours,” he scoops Luke up, and Lucy as he gets to the girls, “that means you have to go in the guest room, but I don’t want to see any claw marks, hmm?” Luna follows without prompting. 

She always was a Daddy’s girl. 

Wonder if I can get the fourth kitty to call me Daddy too.

The thought spurs Jaemin to move a little faster, pulling the cat tree from the lounge into the guest room too so they have something to play with and somewhere to rest. Lucy protests, a paw on Jaemin’s head as he bends down to kiss them all.

“Daddy wants this so bad Lulu, please don’t be sad. I will play with you so much and cuddle tomorrow if you let me have this one thing.”

She paws at him one more time, softer, and doesn’t mewl as he turns away, so he thinks she gets the point. Luke and Luna have already settled into their spots on the cat tree, comfortable to doze and have peace from Jaemin constantly petting and sniffing at them. 

When he pulls the door closed quietly, Chenle is still clothesless, but hugging himself, ears bright red. He looks up at the sound of the door closing and smiles, that smile Jaemin hasn’t stopped thinking about for–God, how long. Jaemin doesn’t remember, only remembers when he realized. How long had he been feeling that warmth at Chenle’s smile and not realized what it meant?

He didn’t want it to be like this. Wanted to tell Chenle about everything, wanted it to be sober–not fueled by adrenaline from three days of performing and three bottles of soju to match. It stops him in his tracks for a second.

Should we do this? Shouldn’t I tell him first? Should we do this even if I do tell him?

What if someone finds out?

The thought is there, but Jaemin’s hands and mouth have different ideas as Chenle unfolds his arms and leans backwards, revealing the expanse of his chest. His nipples are a beautiful shade of mauve, matching the tip of his dick, bouncing against his abs as he shuffles into comfort. Jaemin swallows, hard. 

“Chenle I… there’s so much to say, but we’re drunk. We shouldn’t but–fucking hell you look so good.”

“Hyung, we’ve known each other for almost ten years. What’s a little drunk fucking between… friends?”

Friends. Chenle had hesitated at the word, but he’d said it nonetheless. 

Jaemin shakes the word away, doesn’t want to hear it. He sinks down to his knees in front of Chenle and drags his hands up each leg, using his nails as lightly as he can. He pays close attention to the areas that make Chenle hiss and gasp, commits it to memory so he can use his teeth there later. He drags his eyes away from the way his hands look squeezing at Chenle’s thighs, the redness forming around the grip he has on them. Chenle is looking down at him with nothing short of pure adoration, a flush of red creeping up his chest and onto his neck, his breath short and panting. 

Jaemin brings one hand up to Chenle’s left nipple and squeezes, testing the waters. Chenle moans, high pitched and whiny and it shoots through Jaemin’s brain straight to his dick, already painfully hard. Jaemin’s brain feels like it’s going into meltdown, his restraint slipping further and further the more Chenle keens into his fingers, pressing now into both of his nipples, holding him down.

“Lele…” Jaemin is in awe, watching as Chenle’s ship wrecks before it’s even set sail properly, arching into every single flick of Jaemin’s fingers, every nip of his teeth.

Once Jaemin has decided there are enough bruises littered across Chenle’s thighs, all shaped lovingly by his mouth, he frees Chenle from the abuse on his nipples and flinches slightly at the gasp it releases. Something strikes a match in his brain and a new warmth floods Jaemin. It wants and wants and wants and Jaemin doesn’t even think about it, just takes the base of Chenle’s cock in his hand, the tip in his mouth and sinks down as far as he can go before he gags. He shivers as Chenle moans, loud and deep, nothing high and whiny this time; like it was pulled from the very depths of his soul. He pulls off with a loud pop , admiring the string of spit shining as it connects his lips to the blushing color of the head of Chenle’s cock. 

Chenle immediately starts whining again, breathless. “No no no hyung, don’t stop.”

“Hush, Lele,” Jaemin stands up, stroking a hand through Chenle’s hair to ground him, “this couch cost me six hundred million won, you pretty fool. Let’s go to bed.”

Chenle refuses to move, giggling at being called pretty and half-heartedly pushing Jaemin away until Jaemin gives up, tossing the other boy over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry and only fumbling twice as he turns the handle to open his bedroom door.

As Jaemin lowers Chenle to the ground, Chenle whistles, low. “Hyung, your bedroom looks like some Fifty Shades of Grey shit. Why’sevthingredddd.” The last part of the sentence comes out all at once, half of the syllables missing. Chenle slaps himself lightly on the cheek, grinning, before looking back up to Jaemin and winking. “I bet you think this looks so cool, hyung.”

Jaemin rolls his eyes, yanking Chenle against the door by his collar, pinning him there by the neck. “It’s maroon. Honestly. Is the only time you stop talking shit when someone has your cock in their mouth?” It’s so endearing, Jaemin can’t help the smile creeping onto his face. He slides his hand away from Chenle’s neck, sliding it down to the middle of his spine and pulls him forward, arching Chenle into him as their lips meet again, somehow even more urgent than the last time. 

Jaemin thinks he’s a fucking idiot. It might be the soju–but it’s definitely something to do with the fact that he could have been doing this for months , if he hadn’t spent the whole time living in his head, treading water around things that happened in the past, pushing against a tide of memories that won’t let him be free. He couldn’t have dreamed the way Chenle sounds as he groans into this kiss, the obscene sounds their lips are making as they grasp at each other, the way the hair stands up on Jaemin’s neck as Chenle brings a hand there, stroking up and down, up and down, before sinking his nails in and grasping a handful of Jaemin’s hair. It’s Jaemin’s turn to moan into the kiss now, tongue feeling out every possible inch of Chenle’s mouth, committing every ridge to memory.

Jaemin slides his hands down even further, cupping Chenle’s ass, and pushing up–praying Chenle gets the message. Answering Jaemin’s every wish, and without breaking the seal between their mouths, Chenle jumps up, wrapping his legs around Jaemin’s waist. Jaemin doesn’t have time to be impressed, carefully maneuvering the both of them, tongue still exploring the inside of Chenle’s mouth, to his bed. His feet touch the edge of the frame and he whispers a thank you onto Chenle’s lips, before lowering him down into the silk.

If Chenle looked good before, the contrast between the pale white of his skin against Jaemin’s dark bedding paints a masterpiece so beautiful Jaemin has to take a step back, sighing. 

“Christ Lele, you look like heaven.”

Chenle looks like hell, if Jaemin is being totally honest, but he’s an angel to Jaemin anyway, hair sticking up at every possible angle, lips swollen and red, purple bites decorating his thighs. 

“Maybe I am, hyung. Come and taste it some more.”

Jaemin doesn’t know if that makes him more horny or if the desire to squeeze him until he bursts like a grape might overtake him. The warmth is sitting comfortably in his chest now, curled up like a cat by a fire. The static in his brain feels less loud, a part of the normal background noise. Jaemin climbs on top of Chenle and reaches into his bedside table, closing his hands around a box, and then a bottle. He closes the drawer and fumbles, blindly reaching for the dim switch on his lamp, giggling into Chenle’s mouth as he struggles. He sits back as he finds the switch, takes in Chenle’s rosy cheeks, his kiss-swollen lips and all of the little love bites that Jaemin had nipped into the most sensitive parts of him. So pale, so stark against Jaemin’s dark sheets, a little gift all wrapped up–all for Jaemin.

He clicks off the light and presses into Chenle again, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as Chenle’s tongue rubs against his. His hands drift down to Chenle’s waist, a spot Jaemin knows will make him squirm. It’s feather-light, barely there, but Chenle arches up into him deliciously, pushing the hard ridge of his cock into Jaemin’s, the friction punching long moans out of both of them, swallowed by each other’s mouths.

Jaemin’s mind feels like a twisted mess of absolutely nothing, and the entire spectrum of feelings the universe can throw at you at the same time. Every time Chenle keens under his drifting fingertips, or his cock jumps against Jaemin’s stomach, Jaemin would swear he could will a pair of wings to burst out of his back and fly them both to the moon. He slips his fingers through Chenle’s, pushing him further into the mattress, and rolls his hips. Jaemin closes his eyes as the noise Chenle makes sparks at the bottom of his spine and rockets it’s way across his whole body, making him shiver.

“Jaemin, hyung.” Chenle is talking in pants, chest rising and falling like they’ve just come offstage. “Don’t, please–don’t make me wait more. I need you.”

“Needy, sexy.” Jaemin wiggles his eyebrows, hoping Chenle can see the movement in the shadows created by the moonlight.

“Shut up and fuck me will you?” No honorifics, no more patience. Chenle grips at Jaemin’s biceps, nails digging in so deep he knows there’ll be crescent shaped marks sewed into his muscle tissue in the morning.

Jaemin doesn’t say another word, all too happy to comply.

˙✧˖°📷༘ ⋆｡°

Jaemin is awoken incredibly unceremoniously with a paw on his face, and loud meowing in his ear.

“Alright, alright. How did you even get in here? Weren’t you locked away so I could get laid in peace, huh?” It’s melodic, the way Jaemin says it, each syllable exaggerated as he croons to whichever baby is laid across his chest. He hasn’t opened his eyes yet to check.

He uncurls himself, reaching above his head until his arms meet the headboard, fingers splayed wide trying to pull the morning sun back down below the skyline, begging for five more minutes of darkness. He pulls himself up, core engaged–and aching. The mound of fluff on his chest leaps away, indignant at being so unceremoniously moved. He stretches upward again, moaning as each vertebrae in his spine clicks one by one.

He drags his eyelids open, heavy with the need for more sleep and it takes him a whole minute to register anything more than the brightness snaking it’s way around his blinds. He catches movement by the door and his eyes focus.

Chenle is frozen in the doorway, dressed in his clothes from last night, shame burning his cheeks a crimson that could rival the sky at dawn.

“Uh... going somewhere?” Jaemin’s voice is rough, thick with sleep and probably still coated with at least three of Chenle’s orgasms.

“I–” Chenle’s face burns even brighter, the air between them stretching thin with the weight of everything neither of them is saying.

“You weren’t going to say anything? Just leave me here?” Jaemin’s voice is quieter this time, tinged with something uncomfortable and agonizing that makes his stomach twist painfully.

“I would have said something. Eventually.”

It makes Jaemin’s breath catch, too tight and too sharp for this early in the morning, scraping at the edges of his throat. He throws off the cover, trying not to smirk at the audible gulp from Chenle as the rays shining through the window paint Jaemin a regal shade of gold, dipping in and out of the definition of his muscles. He pulls on a pair of bright pink pajama pants, covered in bunnies sleeping on clouds, and closes the wardrobe door a little louder than necessary.

“Breakfast?”

Chenle shifts uncomfortably, but follows him towards the kitchen nonetheless, head still dipped, eyes on the ground.

It’s quiet, minus the clattering of pots and pans and the hum of the stove as Jaemin moves with unhurried ease. His bare feet pad against the tiled floor, the casualness of his movements at complete odds with the charged tension hanging in the air. Chenle leans stiffly against the counter corner, staying out of the way as much as he can as Jaemin rifles through cupboards, pulling out ingredients. Jaemin can see him out of the corner of his eye, Chenle’s eyes darting from the kitchen to the door–as if he’s calculating the best route to escape. Every clink of Jaemin’s spatula in the frying pan, and hiss of the eggs as they cook through seems louder in the awkward stillness.

“I only have instant coffee, no vanilla syrup for your latte I’m afraid.” Jaemin doesn’t look at Chenle as he says it, continues busying himself with the food as he flicks the switch on the coffee-maker.

Chenle gasps again, startled at being spoken to directly. “I–uh, that’s fine, hyung.” 

Jaemin hums in response, pours the coffee with maddening normalcy as the machine dings it’s readiness. The scent fills the air in the kitchen–rich, comforting–at odds with the unease in Jaemin’s gut. He places the plate of eggs in front of Chenle on the counter and places a hand on his shoulder, squeezing.

“Eat first, Lele, overthink later.”

Chenle swallows hard, nodding slowly.

Neither of them eat, at first. Jaemin drums his fingertips rhythmically against the countertop, everything he wants to say sitting heavy in the middle of his throat, trapped, unable to scramble for the grip they need to come out. The air feels heavy, thick with the tension between them–it makes Jaemin feel queasy.

“I… Lele I need to tell you something.” Jaemin says it quietly, shakier than he would have liked. He rubs at the back of his neck, his nerves a jumbled mess. “About last night.”

He finally looks at Chenle then, properly. He’s met with wide eyes, swimming with something Jaemin can’t place. Jaemin almost stops then, almost backpedals, regretting ever bringing it up. But he can’t–knows he can’t, not after what they did. 

“It wasn’t supposed to happen… like that.” Jaemin breathes heavy as he starts, panic clawing at him, telling him to stop before he open a door he can’t close. “It wasn’t supposed to happen when we were fucked on three bottles of soju.”

Chenle is unreadable, as Jaemin meets his gaze again. “So it wasn’t supposed to happen… at all?” Chenle turns towards the door, eggs untouched, and Jaemin almost vomits as the panic reaches it’s peak, twisting it’s way around his tongue.

“No! Chenle.” He grabs at Chenle’s wrist, turning him back towards him. “That’s not—I didn’t mean that. I wanted. Fuck.” Jaemin’s shoulders sag under the weight of what he wants to say, unable to string it together into a sentence that he’s confident will make Chenle stay. “I want you. Chenle. I wanted this. Just–not drunk.” Jaemin’s heart feels like it might pump straight out of his chest, unable to catch his breath as he waits to see Chenle’s face change, waits to see any acknowledgement of the confession.

Chenle doesn’t say anything at first, his brow furrowed in the way it always does when he’s trying to be careful, mapping out what he wants to say. 

He’s going to reject you. The voice in Jaemin’s head joins them, uninvited. He’s going to tell you you’re an idiot for wanting what you shouldn’t.

Chenle takes a breath, teeth gritted–it hisses the same way the eggs did as they were sizzling on the stove. He meets Jaemin’s gaze again, nose scrunched, still deciding how to navigate this. Then–blissfully–he takes a mouthful of the fried egg in front of him. 

“I thought you hated me, hyung. I thought I was doing things wrong, over and over again.” It’s a mumble, muffled by the food in his mouth, but it’s there. 

Acceptance.

Jaemin’s knees almost buckle as he wilts against the counter like a plant left out of the sun for too long. “Never, Chenle. I just–” He doesn’t know how to say it, takes a bite of his own food and shrugs instead.

“You know I’ve liked you for years, right hyung?”

It feels like someone has pulled Jaemin backwards by his neck and slammed him bodily into the floor. The weight of every touch pulling Jaemin under the surface, memories flooding his lungs so fast he starts coughing on the taste of them. The fist that has been pounding at the side of Jaemin’s head since he woke up ceases, for just a second.

“You–I–what?” 

All of the sound in the room stops, the air so thick Jaemin can’t find any oxygen to breathe–and then, the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard.

Chenle starts laughing.

“You idiot, how didn’t you notice. I can’t keep my hands off of you, stop going to the gym immediately by the way.” Chenle points his chopsticks at him as he says it, accusatory. “You make me blush! Nobody makes me blush hyung! You–you make me nervous, stuttering over simple sentences when my entire life is based on saying and writing beautiful words in the right order.”

Jaemin’s chest tightens again, but it feels different now. Chenle’s laugh continues to ring through the room, so free and bright it chases away the last of the panic still trying to pull Jaemin down. He lets himself stare, drinking in the way Chenle shows all of his teeth, his head tilted back showing the long column of his throat–dusted with the ghost of Jaemin’s teeth. Jaemin feels drunk on the sound of it, inundated with flashbacks of the night before.

“Stop laughing.” Jaemin runs a hand through his hair, but there’s no bite to his voice. “I–I thought I was crazy. I thought I was seeing things I wanted to see. You can’t just–why didn’t you say anything?”

Chenle straightens, pulling away from the countertop, his laughter tapering off into a soft, dazzling smile that makes Jaemin’s insides feel gooey. His eyes shift, the feeling Jaemin couldn’t place before softening into something tender. “No, hyung.” He takes a step closer to Jaemin. “You weren’t, you didn’t imagine it. Not a single thing.”

The words hit Jaemin square in the chest, carving their way into his heart and making themselves at home, snapping the final threads of his restraint. His feet move before his brain even thinks about it, closing the space between them and crowding Chenle back against the countertop. They’re so close he can see the flecks of gold dotted throughout Chenle’s eyes. He cups Chenle’s face in his hands, achingly gentle–afraid the moment might shatter into a thousand pieces, cracked all over his floor never to be spoken of again.

“Tell me, Chenle.” Jaemin’s voice trembles. “Tell me you aren’t going to leave now. Not after all this. Tell me I’m not about to wake up to an empty bed and this is all just a dream. It’s all a dream and I can’t have you, you’re not–”

Chenle’s lips stop him mid-sentence, kissing the answer into Jaemin’s mind, settling it. He giggles into it, the vibration sending a shiver down Jaemin’s spine that makes him part his lips in a gasp. Chenle tilts his head, his fingers finding Jaemin’s bare waist and squeezing before he pulls back. “I’m not going anywhere, Jaemin.”

“Suddenly no more hyung?” Jaemin earns a pinch at his waist for the joke.

“You confessed to me in bunny pajamas over the most tense breakfast I’ve ever been served while I’m fighting for my life against the hangover of a lifetime. You deserve casual speech until my brain starts working properly again.”

“Disrespectful, I should kick your ass–” Chenle shuts him up again, tongue begging for access as he surges forward again.

Chenle nips at his waist again, making Jaemin groan–he can’t decide whether it’s from pleasure, or the pain of the hangover bouncing against his skull. His stomach feels like chaos, a tornado of emotions and undigested alcohol. The last thing Jaemin needs is the ghost of the soju still on Chenle’s tongue doing laps around his mouth. 

“Pause, Chenle, seriously.” Jaemin mumbles into Chenle’s lips, pulling away just enough to catch his breath. “You’re fucking beautiful and I’m going to swallow you whole. But if I don’t brush my teeth and take a shower I’m seriously going to throw the fuck up in your mouth.”

Chenle snorts, giving Jaemin the space he needs. “See if I was a fucked up freak like you hyung, I’d say something like ‘wow, sexy’ about you throwing up on me.” 

“See, what I should actually do, is tie you to the fucking bed and make you lay there alone all day for using your mouth in all the wrong ways.” Jaemin doesn’t know where the confidence comes from, surprises himself.

Surprises the hell out of Chenle too, whose jaw drops open as his knuckles turn white against the countertop. Jaemin calculates, quickly:

1. How long will it take to shower?
2. How long will he need to leave Chenle?
3. Is it worth leaving someone so beautiful waiting for longer than the three seconds it takes to finish this thought?

Easiest decision of Jaemin’s life, he pulls at the collar of Chenle’s t-shirt, smashing their lips together messily, their teeth colliding a little painfully. They fall into step quickly, their lips moving in a perfect, fevered rhythm. Jaemin comes up for breath again and feels something sharp in his chest. Tears form in the corners of his eyes and he turns away.

“Jaemin…”

“Don’t. I’m–I’m fine. I just.” He takes a deep breath, wills the tears back down into his soul. “Chenle I’ve always thought I couldn’t–shouldn’t–have this. It’s not going to be easy. Just on top of all the weirdness. They–” The tears form again, quickly.

“Jeno, right? They told you both it would ruin us.”

“I–” Jaemin melts into Chenle, pulling him as close as he can without physically fusing into one entity. Chenle squeezes him right back, carding a hand through the back of Jaemin’s hair and swaying slightly.

“You know they had no right to tell you that, right? Neither of you, but especially you. Jeno is… sensitive in a different way. I know you took that shit like a shot to the heart. They don’t own us, hyung.”

“I do… I know it more now. I talked to Mark and Jeno about it–about you. Jeno already knew anyway, of course.” Jaemin pulls out of the hug, shoulders feeling a little less heavy. “I just, you need to know Chenle. There are a lot of things I need to unlearn about what I deserve. It might take me a while. We’ve got a world tour, I have to finish the exhibition I–I just don’t want you to expect more than I can give you right now.”

“Well it would be terribly boring of us to be a perfect couple immediately anyway, don’t you think? We have to be at least as fucked up as Jeno and Haechan before I’ll even consider dating you properly hyung.”

“Oh ho?” Jaemin tugs at the hair by Chenle’s ear playfully. “You really might be the least romantic person I’ve ever met Chenle Zhong.”

“Maybe.” Chenle smirks gleefully. “But you want me so bad it makes you look stupid.”

Jaemin kisses him again then, an unspoken promise.

He pours every piece of himself he has left into Chenle’s mouth and silently begs him to swallow it. 

Pleads with him, wordlessly, to keep it safe alongside all of the other pieces of his heart Chenle had been stealing away for months without Jaemin realizing, with every click of the shutter.