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“Fuck, it’s freezing.”
Renjun’s teeth chatter as he fruitlessly fumbles to roll up the car window. He jabs the button once, twice, but the glass only gives a sad little shudder. It’s been three weeks since it got stuck halfway up, but Renjun hasn’t had the time nor funds to get it professionally evaluated.
It’s fine. Renjun’s breath materializes in front of him, visible like wispy clouds dotting a clear sky. He steps on the gas a little harder. The road is deserted at this time of night, his beaming headlights the only disruption slicing through the darkness. He’s several hours into the long road trip back to his hometown and the exhaustion is starting to wear on him, but he can see the light at the end of the tunnel – or rather, the soft glow of his town skimming the horizon.
A gentle curve in the road reveals a new light flashing in the dark. Renjun squints through the strobing orange of some poor soul’s hazards. He clicks his tongue in muted sympathy. Breaking down on such an abandoned road is some next-level bad luck.
Renjun briefly considers stopping to help, but then all the true crime documentaries he’s watched in the past year flicker through his mind, and he decides he values his life too much to risk crossing paths with an unsavory stranger at an ungodly hour of the morning.
“Sorry, stranger. You’re on your own,” he mutters. “I’ll make it up to you another time, universe.”
See, Renjun believes in karma. He’s a big fan of fate and destiny and finding his place in the world. What goes around comes around, and all that.
He’s just never heard of it coming around this fast.
His beloved car Tabitha barely makes it another twenty feet before she starts lurching violently. “Whoa, whoa!” Renjun tries to soothe her like a spooked animal, but it’s no use. The car whirrs and clicks out one last complaint, then dies.
Renjun sits there in shock. The only movement in the quiet night comes from the peeling duct tape on his side mirrors flapping in the wind.
“I’m screwed,” Renjun groans, sinking deeper into the worn leather of his seat. He knew he needed to get his battery checked out, among a myriad of other ailments poor Tabitha had been suffering, but procrastination is one powerful motherfucker.
He pulls out his phone to call his car insurance only to discover an SOS signal flashing where his cell service bars should be. The disappointment is quickly discarded in favor of cold fear shooting along his spine, because the moment Renjun’s screen lights up, the glow traces a humanoid silhouette standing outside his window.
“Fucking hell!”
Renjun flinches back as far as he can, his seatbelt automatically locking from the sudden movement. As he coughs and scrabbles at the tightening material, a pair of very familiar canines bob across the sliver of open window.
Renjun’s stomach sinks for a different reason. The stranger isn’t a murderer coming to skin him alive, or a creep trying to take advantage of a vulnerable situation.
In fact, he’s not a stranger at all. He’s worse.
“I knew it was you!” Na Jaemin grins. “I’d recognize Tabby’s busted-up bumper anywhere.”
Renjun bristles, still struggling with the seatbelt. “You don’t get to call her that!”
Jaemin backs off with hands up in surrender, but those damn canines are still glinting with amusement. Renjun frees himself from his seatbelt, scrubs a hand over his face, then collapses against his steering wheel. This is officially the worst day of his life.
“Save me, Tabby.” Renjun pleads with the ancient pile of metal. “You know I can’t face him again.”
Tabitha has no response.
Renjun resolves to sit tight in his car and wait until sunrise to walk and get help. Jaemin, on the other hand, is fogging up Renjun’s window with his breath to write, hi!!! with a cat face that Renjun refuses to admit is really cute. The hi comes out backwards, so Jaemin erases and tries again.
After a successful fog-breath greeting complete with cat and bunny faces, Jaemin seems to realize that Renjun has no intention of engaging with him. He crouches towards Renjun’s level, eyes softening. “Are you not getting out of the car? You know it’s not safe to stay in a broken down car. You hardly even pulled off the road. Someone could definitely hit you.”
Stubbornly staring straight ahead, Renjun scoffs. Since when did Jaemin care about his well being?
Jaemin steps back with a soft noise of understanding. Renjun almost dares to hope that he’s deterred him for good, but he of all people should know that Na Jaemin cannot be shaken off so easily. Only a few precious moments of peace pass before Tabitha creaks and groans under the weight of a fully grown lunatic.
Jaemin, the crazy bastard, has taken a running start and is now clambering up onto Renjun’s roof.
“What the fuck are you doing?!” Renjun hollers, punching at the ceiling where he thinks Jaemin might be. It doesn’t accomplish much except dent his roof further. After an unsuccessful few rounds of Whack-A-Jaemin, Renjun finally breaks. He shoves the door open and prepares to drag Jaemin off the car himself.
When he finally gets out, he finds Jaemin laying on his stomach with his chin propped up in his hands, kicking his feet behind him with a bright smile. A pang runs through Renjun’s chest.
It’s been a long time since he’s seen that smile.
“I won,” Jaemin beams. “Fancy seeing you here. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
Renjun avoids his piercing gaze. “Not long enough. Now get off my fucking car.”
Jaemin relents, swinging his legs underneath himself and leaping off the car with grace. “Aw, don’t be like that. Did three years really pass that fast for you?”
Arms crossed in defiance, Renjun doesn’t dignify that with an answer. How could he?
Three years is a long time. Renjun has changed a lot since then, and he’s certain Jaemin has too. And yet, a piece of his heart – larger than he’d like to admit – is still frozen in the heartbreak of that night. Seeing Jaemin again has snapped the chains of memories Renjun has spent years burying, and they surge over him like frothing ocean waves.
The soft strands of pink hair Renjun can vividly remember running his hands through. Jaemin’s long fluttering eyelashes brushing his cheeks. Chapped lips slotted against his, gentle hands mapping his body, limbs tangled in the lazy glow of the morning sun. A tender smile reserved just for him – at least, that’s what he thought.
It’s like no time has passed at all.
Jaemin shifts from side to side. Perhaps he’s more nervous about their meeting than he’s letting on. Renjun only gains a small amount of satisfaction from not being the only one stewing in the leftover awkwardness of how they left off.
“I called my insurance right before my phone died, but they won’t be able to get here for a few more hours.” Jaemin shoves his hands into his pockets. He’s probably picking at his nail beds. Renjun knows all his bad habits.
He wishes he could forget.
“Good for you,” Renjun grits out.
“I have blankets in the car for – um,” Jaemin coughs, a flush suddenly tinging the tips of his ears red. “Well, I guess you remember why. Anyways. I have blankets and snacks, so…”
“Not interested.”
Jaemin’s shoulders slump at the immediate shut-down. There’s no way he was expecting an amicable response, but something in Renjun’s chest still twinges at his crestfallen expression.
“Suit yourself,” Jaemin shrugs. “But I’ll lay out a blanket for you if you want it. I know you hate sitting on wet surfaces.”
Don’t act like you know me, Renjun wants to snap, but the words won’t form on his lips. It’s a lie he can’t bear to speak out loud. There’s no one that knows him better than Jaemin, no one else he was enough of a fool to expose his vulnerable heart and soul to. Jaemin was his first and his last, and that shame lives in his bones to this day.
Renjun is not making the same mistake twice.
Jaemin emerges from his car with an armful of colorful blankets. A rush of embarrassment flushes Renjun’s cheeks as he recognizes the bright pink, cupcake-patterned fleece on the top of the pile. He remembers Jaemin wrapping that one around his shoulders in the backseat after stripping off his shirt, foreheads pressed together and warm hands wandering. It was soft.
Jaemin’s lips were softer.
Renjun shakes his head to dislodge one of the many memories he can never truly burn. Jaemin lays out his blanket on the dew-soaked grass on the side of the road. He spreads out the cupcake one for Renjun as if he knows he’ll eventually break. Renjun moves as far away from Jaemin as he can without being totally out of sight. Though Jaemin is absolutely the last person he wants to be stranded on an abandoned road with, it’s still better than being alone in the dark.
Antsy, Renjun stretches his legs, knees cracking from standing up for so long. He hates to admit that Jaemin is right about anything, but he can’t stand forever and he really does hate sitting on anything wet. He doesn’t have any spare clothing in his car to sit on, so his options are limited.
Renjun eyes the scraggly trees lining the road. Perhaps one of their branches could hold his weight. He quickly discards the tree-scaling idea, unwilling to break a bone and be rendered unable to run into the woods away from Jaemin if need be.
A sweet citrusy smell suddenly wafts in his direction, and Renjun’s mouth immediately waters. Fuck. Jaemin really knows how to lure him in.
Reluctantly, Renjun shuffles a few feet closer to where Jaemin has set up camp. Jaemin doesn’t glance in his direction, but he peels the orange a little more. Renjun inches closer.
When Jaemin pops the first slice into his mouth with a juicy crunch, Renjun cracks. He plops his aching body down on the very edge of the cupcake blanket, back turned to Jaemin as much as anatomically possible, and shoves his hand out behind him.
With a soft chuckle, Jaemin places a wedge of orange in his hand. The sweetness bursts against his lips, and Renjun has to suppress a moan of delight. He’d been wrapped up in the monotony of driving for so long he hadn’t noticed the hunger gnawing at his insides.
Renjun risks stealing a glance over his shoulder, but whips around just as quickly. His cheeks burn with the knowledge that Jaemin is sitting with his entire body facing him, giving Renjun’s cold shoulder his full attention. It was only a brief glimpse, but the endeared glimmer of Jaemin’s eyes as he deposited another orange slice into Renjun’s hand was unmistakable.
“The way to a man’s heart truly is through food, hm?”
Renjun can’t bite down the dry laugh bubbling up from his chest. “Right. As if I’d be stupid enough to let you anywhere near my heart again.”
He still takes the next orange offering. It doesn’t mean anything.
“Renjun–” Jaemin starts, but his voice fails him.
Despite himself, Renjun waits for him to continue a sentence, an apology, a confession that had died long before this moment.
The silent orange exchange continues until Renjun is certain he’s eaten all but the first slice of Jaemin’s snack. He can’t bring himself to feel bad about it. It feels too familiar.
When the snack sacrifices end, Jaemin has earned himself sticky hands and a Renjun that is slightly more angled towards him. Silence stretches between them until Jaemin’s wavering voice shatters it with words that ricochet like bullets around Renjun’s skull.
“I missed you.”
Renjun’s eyes sting. His body still faces forward, but he ducks his head away from Jaemin to hide the tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. It’s been a long day, a long drive, a long three years apart.
And it still hurts.
“You never gave me a chance to answer,” Jaemin swallows hard. “One day I had you sleeping in my arms til’ mid-afternoon, and the next you had blocked me on everything and moved out of town.”
He sounds exhausted. Defeated. It’s such a sharp change from the teasing smirk that tortured Renjun from the top of his car. Renjun wonders if Jaemin has been harboring the same pain that has haunted him for years. It would be comforting if it wasn’t so miserable.
It’s not like he wants to have a heart-to-heart with his ex-situationship on the side of an abandoned road, but he’s not exactly swimming in options.
“It was for the best,” Renjun says. He so badly wishes his words were truth, but they taste bitter even to him. “Catching feelings wasn’t part of our agreement, and I was the one who crossed the line.”
It wasn’t a confession to be proud of – spur of the moment, spearheaded by his foolishly romantic heart, spoken from pure emotion in the aftermath of bliss. He had just felt so safe and loved with Jaemin cradling him close, head tucked underneath his chin, he couldn’t help but wish they could stay in that moment forever.
I think I like you more than I should.
He hadn’t meant to say it out loud. In fact, he never intended on confessing his feelings to Jaemin at all. In a perfect world, he could have kept his yearning to the early hours of the morning when Jaemin hadn’t woken up yet, a pocket of time just for him to admire the gentle slopes of his cheeks and the peaceful flutter of his eyes, before he’d have to get up in the morning and pretend like it meant nothing. Every time they kissed, touched, brushed that unspoken line, Renjun’s stomach dipped with the knowledge of what a breach would do to their relationship.
He still remembers how Jaemin’s broad chest froze underneath him, breath catching on words that should never have been born. Horror, then fear, then guilt, and eventually a deep sadness welled up in waves from Renjun’s chest into his eyes.
Renjun couldn’t meet his gaze back then, too afraid of the rejection he knew was waiting for him there. Three years later, and he’s still terrified.
“I would never have suggested tabling the conversation for the morning if I knew that morning would never come,” Jaemin croaks out. “All I wanted was to sort out our emotions when we were a little less exhausted and drunk on hormones. Why did you run away?”
“You made your answer clear.”
“No I didn’t. I thought you knew me better than I knew myself, but if that was true, you would have stayed. I wanted you to stay. I never got to tell you how I felt. How I – How I feel.”
Renjun’s heart squeezes. He draws in a breath, then another. The fresh night air settles atop his shoulders and spurs him onward. He finally turns around to face Jaemin.
To face the feelings he thought he abandoned three years ago.
I wanted you to stay.
Jaemin’s eyes are wide, unblinking, like if he takes his focus off Renjun for an instant he’ll slip away like grains of sand in the wind.
“...Renjun?”
“I’m giving you your chance. Right now. So don’t waste my time,” Renjun huffs as if he has anywhere to go.
“Oh.” Jaemin’s hand lands on Renjun’s blanket, dangerously close to brushing his fingers. But he doesn’t cross the line. “Okay. I’ll start with why I reacted the way I did. Honestly…I didn’t know what to think. You didn’t seem to know what to think. I’m not sure if you meant it this way, but fuck, Renjun, you sounded so scared of yourself, of your feelings.”
I think I like you more than I should.
Renjun’s cheeks flush. His words certainly weren’t a shining symbol of confidence and devotion.
“There was so much rushing through my head at that moment. Did you like me the way I liked you? Did you even want to like me? Were you only confessing so you could move on and pretend it never happened? I just – I didn’t want to say the wrong thing without thinking and lose you forever.” Jaemin’s face falls. “But I said nothing, and I lost you all the same.”
Jaemin’s voice wobbles with rare unshed tears. It’s the final crack that sends Renjun’s carefully enforced walls crumbling to dust.
He thought Jaemin only loved his body. He thought he could easily disappear from his life and lick his wounds by himself, never having to face the aftermath of the ill-fated confession head-on.
Renjun’s fingers flex, hesitate, then settle against the back of Jaemin’s hand. It’s his olive branch. Jaemin doesn’t miss a beat, turning palm-up to capture his fingers.
He squeezes hard, as if he’s never letting go of Renjun again.
“...I wanted to stay,” Renjun admits. “I knew it would hurt too badly to see your face again after I made such a fool of myself. I couldn’t bear to have you look at me differently.”
Jaemin’s other hand slowly glides to Renjun’s chin, forcing their gazes to connect. The familiar touch sends shivers down Renjun’s spine.
“Does it hurt now?”
Jaemin’s hair ruffles gently in the wind. His nose is flushed red from the frigid air. A hesitant smile curves his mouth, one of those damn canines just barely peeking out to the world. He’s grown a lot in the elapsed time, round edges sharpened with age and lips shiny with years of diligent lip balm application.
He looks every bit as beautiful as he did back then – and every bit as loving.
Renjun lets out a soft laugh. “Well, you’re not so bad on the eyes.”
“Ditto,” Jaemin says. He hasn’t let go of Renjun’s chin. His chest expands and deflates with measured breaths, like he’s trying to keep his heart rate under control. Their faces draw ever closer.
It doesn’t hurt at all.
Renjun wants to do something very stupid. Being with Jaemin always frees this side of himself – the impulsive one that wants to scale trees and run away, or press Jaemin against the trunk and kiss him until they’re dizzy, or absentmindedly confess his feelings in the middle of the night.
It’s frightening to come undone at the whim of another person. Renjun hates feeling out of control, and Jaemin is the only one who can render him defenseless. The shame and rage he’s harbored for years, desperately clinging to the pain despite its jagged edges because it was the last thing he had of Jaemin – it all fizzles out. A few thoughtful words, a well placed blanket, a peeled orange, and Renjun is putty in Jaemin’s hand once again.
Jaemin is antiseptic on an open wound. The first brush is fraught with anger and hurt and hatred, but it paves the way for healing. For a new start.
For this.
Jaemin’s tongue darts out to anxiously lick across his lower lip. Renjun’s eyes follow every movement. “I forgot my chapstick in my car.”
Tilting his head, Renjun brings their mouths to a brush. “You can have some of mine.”
Jaemin melts against him like he’s been waiting his entire life for this moment. It’s not the first time they’ve kissed, not by a long shot, but it still feels like they’re crossing into unknown territory together.
Renjun thumbs along Jaemin’s jaw, enjoying the rush of having him close like this. Their lips move against each other gently, but with increasing desire. The desperation is mostly coming from Jaemin, who drinks him in like a dying man. His tongue swipes across the top row of Renjun’s teeth, and it takes all of Renjun’s concentration to not break the kiss with a smile.
During all those lonely nights when the scars on his heart bled tears of regret and he dreamed of crossing paths with Jaemin again, he always pictured him as someone made unknowable by those years apart. Jaemin always enjoyed being an enigma. Renjun always enjoyed being the only one to unravel his eccentricities. Whenever he thought of seeing Jaemin again, he was terrified he would be met with someone he no longer understood.
Jaemin kisses him exactly how Renjun remembers. When they strip away all the missed birthdays and lost milestones and festering regret, their hearts still recognize each other.
Jaemin tastes like oranges and a love rekindled.
They part after what feels like hours, the frigid night briefly set aflame. The glow lives on in Jaemin’s cheeks and Renjun’s chest. As if fearful Renjun will push him away again if their skin loses contact, Jaemin winds their pinkies together. With his free arm, he raises his own forearm to his mouth as if in a trance, and bites down. Hard.
Renjun stares. “When did you get into pain play?”
Jaemin’s teeth unlatch from his reddening skin. “Just making sure this isn’t a dream. But I can be into pain play if you want. You know I’m down for anything as long as we communicate.” Jaemin’s pinky tightens around his. “That wasn’t a dig at you, I promise.”
Renjun rolls his eyes in response. He still squeezes back.
A passing breeze sends ripples of goosebumps across Renjun’s skin. Either the night truly got colder or it just feels that way after the loss of Jaemin’s body heat. Ever attuned to Renjun, Jaemin starts to shrug off the jacket he’s wearing.
The emotional backlash from letting himself be vulnerable is starting to set in. Embarrassed, Renjun tries to wave away the offer. It’s just so….boyfriend-ly. He’s not sure what to make of that.
“Come on. You can have my tongue in your mouth but you won’t wear my jacket?”
“There are plenty of blankets around here that will warm me up. You can keep your jacket.”
Jaemin waits, eyes sparkling. He’s wearing that grin that Renjun hates – the one that means he knows Renjun is on the verge of giving in.
Renjun snatches the jacket from his grasp and feels like a damn fool for fearing they could ever become unknowable to each other.
Once Renjun threads his arms through the jacket, he’s overwhelmed with memories of raiding Jaemin’s closet for a clean outfit during morning afters. They’ve grown since then, but Jaemin’s clothes still give him sweater paws.
The blankets would have supplied warmth on a surface level, but Jaemin’s jacket provides a deep-seated comfort that puts Renjun’s heart at ease. Drowsiness creeps in to replace the ebbing tidal waves of emotion. Without thinking too hard about it – for the first time in his life – Renjun sleepily curls up against Jaemin’s side.
Jaemin’s hand rests in Renjun’s hair, seamlessly finding the spot that always makes Renjun melt. Muscle memory is one hell of a thing. They’re quiet for a moment, the only movement coming from Jaemin’s fingernails lightly scraping against his scalp.
“Do you think it was fate that we met like this?”
Renjun snickers, burying his face further into Jaemin’s broad chest. “You don’t believe in fate. You’re too much of an unromantic pragmatist.”
“Guilty as charged,” Jaemin shrugs. Renjun can feel his heart beat faster underneath his cheek. “But you do. So it means something, right?”
With his last scrap of energy, Renjun pulls out his phone and unblocks Jaemin’s number. It takes seconds. It took three years.
“I hope so.”
Renjun drifts off to sleep in Jaemin’s arms, but it feels like no time passes before blinding yellow headlights rouse him into unwilling wakefulness. Jaemin is still holding him close. His chest rumbles against Renjun’s skin as he speaks to someone. Eventually, Jaemin coaxes him to stand up.
“Hey, sleepyhead. Roadside assistance is finally here for my car.”
Renjun always thought Jaemin was extra enchanting just after waking up. His hair sticks up at odd angles and he moves extra slowly and he stretches like a cat and he has a habit of licking his lips and Renjun missed all of it – all of him – so, so badly.
Jaemin opens the door to the tow truck and offers his hand to Renjun. “Listen, I know you love Tabby…”
“Don’t call her that,” Renjun pokes at him. The venom in his words is gone, replaced by a fondness he almost thought was lost to time.
Jaemin’s smile widens. “Listen, I know you love Tabitha, and I would hate to separate you two. But what do you think about coming back with me? We’ll call your insurance and try again in the morning.”
Renjun’s not sure what gives him the confidence. Perhaps it’s the chilly night air, or the grogginess still lingering at the edge of his consciousness, or the warm scent of Jaemin’s laundry detergent dousing the jacket still wrapped around his shoulders.
Instead of taking Jaemin’s hand, he links their pinkies together and squeezes.
“Yeah. Let’s try again.”