Archive of Our Own

Sometimes it’s too much. Three shows back to back to back. Sometimes it’s four, sometimes it all blurs until Jaemin can’t even bother to string together the past week and a half, all of it impossibly tangled. Their lives splintered across oceans and languages that fuse and get hazy around the edges.

There's a soundcheck, and then a concert, a good one, for what it’s worth. Jaemin supposes it’s probably worth a lot.

Then, before they even fully have a chance to catch their breaths, there's a 30 minute live where he tries his best to not shrink into the stiff couch underneath them. All his bones heaving under the weight, his muscles tense and aching. Too aware of the phone in front of them, too aware of the comments spinning by when he chances a glance over at Jisung’s phone.

Renjun reaches over at some point, puts a hand in his hair, pulling him in close. No one makes him work too hard for it anymore these days.

It’s difficult, veering on nearly impossible, to focus with all of them speaking over each other. He doesn’t register a thing he says, going through the motions. The Korean on his own tongue feeling stilted and foreign, the words stuck to the roof of his mouth

Speaking, and moving, and breathing, all outside his body. Laughing at all the right places, listening to the endless stream of chatter, letting it all flow and ebb around him. Comforted by the familiarity enough to finally, finally, unclench every bone one at a time. The whole room seemingly exhaling at once along with him.

Mark nods towards him at the end. “Our Jaeminnie. Any final thoughts?”

“Me?” Jaemin smiles, feels the uncomfortable pull of his lips.

“Yeah, baby. What’s up?” Mark leans back, hands locked behind his head, legs splayed out over Chenle’s.

He’s not sure what he says. If it makes sense. If it means anything. The comments are going too fast when Jisung tilts the phone towards him, he thinks his left eye might be twitching.

“Get home safe, please. It’s cold, so wear your coat. Or I’ll seriously get mad.”

Renjun’s laughter vibrates through him, their bodies pressed impossibly close together on the couch. Jisung’s phone keeps vibrating with messages.

There’s a bottomless feeling to it all. A quiet, hollow space in the middle of the room that swallows everything before he can push it back down his throat.

And on he goes.

Then, because of course, there's a 20 minute meeting to discuss things that Jaemin can’t even be bothered pretending to care about.

Letting his head rest against the back of the couch, ignoring whoever’s foot is kicking out at his shin.

All of it is so redundant in its pattern. Mark’s too earnest voice, boney fingers mindlessly tapping a rhythm against his bruised knee. He had banged it against one of the stage props three cities ago. The color of it has changed over time,pulsing blood red just underneath the skin fading into just a faint purple shadow. Jaemin tries his best to listen to him talk.

“Just- Don’t get hurt. Or sick. Please. We’re almost done.” Mark laughs, the noise weak and more air than actual sound, like a popped balloon.

Jaemin sucks in a shallow breath, rolling a gum wrapper between his fingers until it starts to shred. “You too.”

And on it goes.

They all talk a little. Jisung more than anyone, pacing in front of the couch.

Donghyeok gives him two minutes before reaching up to get his fingers around Jisung’s elbow. Keeping him still. “Yah! Seriously, sit down and talk. You’re making me feel dizzy.”

No one bristles when Jaemin shrugs them off, promising he doesn’t have anything particularly enlightening to say. Jeno catches his eye then, a feathery eyebrow raised just enough for Jaemin to know, to understand.

It’s okay.

The clock hanging on the wall ticks further and further into the night. Jaemin watching Chenle from across the couch rustle through his medication bag…four spritz of throat numbing spray, two anti-inflammatory pills, one swig of menthol flavored sore throat medicine, strong enough that Jaemin can smell it across the room.

All of it washed down with a few sips of Jisung’s chamomile tea. Jaemin feels his eyes close on their own. He feels it all wash through him, leaving nothing left.

Their managers only step in at the end to encourage them to rest when they can. Always more to do, always more to give.

There's a pulsing just behind his eyelids that won't go away, his fingertips numb where they press into the palm of his hands.

After all of that, after the exhaustion has shifted over and over again until it finally feels like an extension of himself, there’s still a silent car ride back to the hotel. A steady heartbeat that no longer feels like his own pressing, growing, inside of him. He thinks about walking around like an open wound and tries not to feel crazy.

“Can I come to your room?” Jeno asks as they walk through the deserted hotel lobby, ignoring the look one of their managers shoots at them.

Jaemin waits until they enter the elevators. Waits until they drop the rest of them off a floor below. Waits until it’s just him and Jeno slumped together against the glass walls of the elevator. Waits until their manager waves them off, a goodnight echoing softly across the empty hallway.

Waits until Jeno is hooking fingers into the sleeve of his shirt, not pulling, just holding. So gentle it makes him feel feverish.

“Go shower,” Jaemin says. His jaw hurts. “Come after.”

—----------------------------------------------------

“They don’t like it when you pet their bellies.” Jeno says around a mouthful of bread, getting crumbs all over the carpet.

Luke is doing a one man show, trying his very best to guilt trip Jeno into giving him a piece.

There’s weak sunlight leaking through the open window, casting odd shadows across the room. The last patch of sun in the room taken over by a snoozing Luna.

Jaemin isn’t sure when it got so late. Between Jeno getting there early in the afternoon, making them lunch, going out to do some last minute shopping for his mom’s upcoming birthday, coming home to make them dinner. Jeno helping him wash and cut the vegetables, cooking the meat and opening the window when they inevitably let it get way too smoky.

“Oh my god, shit. We’re going to set off the fire alarms.” It was more laughter than anything, Jeno trying to wave the smoke out the window with a dish towel. The food had been nice, their feet tangled up under the table, ankle over ankle, talking about whatever show Chenle had gotten Jeno hooked on.

Lucy keeps climbing back and forth over Jaemin’s lap, stepping on the TV controller as she goes. Neither of them bother to try and fix it when it flips over to some shopping channel.

“Luna likes it. Lucy will just nip at you, a little, at first.” Jaemin says, weaving his fingers through her soft fur.

Jeno hums, stretching himself out across the carpet, letting his legs fall open. He chuckles when Luke hurries over to sniff at his sock. “Do you want any more?”

“Maybe. My dad says that three was probably already too many.” Jaemin scoffs, trying not to coo when Lucy rubs her little face against his.

“We’ll probably have to get a bigger place. If you do want more.” There’s faint sounds of Jeno popping his wrist, rolling them out. His eyes are closed and Jaemin is mad for all of one second, wanting to see him fully.

He clears his throat. “We’ll….as in?”

“As in, you and me,” Jeno says, all fond exasperation. The carpet must be itchy under him, Jaemin thought. He had kept forgetting to order a new one. “Unless you want to move in with Jisung now. I guess.”

The fur at the base of Lucy’s spine is soft and smells distantly of fabric softener when he sticks his face there. Heat, spilling all across his cheeks, making his joy visible, and clear, impossible to hide from. Nowhere to run.

Lucy has switched the TV channel again, some weather report. There’s supposed to be heatwave advisory all week. Jeno’s eyes are closed again when Jaemin finally looks down at him.

“Jisung actually knows how to run the washer and dryer now. So…who knows.”

—----------------------------------------------------

The fireworks are nice.

He makes eye contact with a crying fan, with a sign for Jeno that makes him laugh for real. He blows her a kiss and doesn’t see her phone filming him until afterwards. Chenle splashes him with water on accident, he doesn’t mind once Chenle doubles over, laughter clear. Even with all the noise. His in-ears glitch halfway through the encore. Jeno lets his hand linger on the small of his back as they say their goodbyes to the crowd.

The fireworks are nice.

This time, it’s more than too much. Jaemin feels it all the way down. The exact moment where his ears finally stop ringing and all the blood in his body expands and deflates all at once. His bones are suddenly far too big for his body. He thinks for a moment that everyone can see it, can see exactly where he ends and where the cracks are beginning to take shape.

“Can you send me the videos you took?” Jisung shakes his sweaty hair out, delicate fingers parting the stringy fringe falling into his eyes. There’s already staff members circling them, towels in hand, movements sure and calculated. All of them speak in a buzzing flurry that makes Jaemin feel restless.

“Of the fireworks. I want to post them.”

Mark snorts, letting a gentle hand fall across Jisung’s neck as he breezes by them. “Go change first. You can do all of that later.”

They all get shoved off into different directions. Managers handing them water bottles and vitamin c packets, urging them to hurry so they have time to eat at the hotel before their flight.

Jaemin leaves them all for the green room bathroom, finds reprieve from all the noise and movement. It’s almost too much, the stark contrast between all the sounds that have been etched into his brain after years of this exact routine. The silence tries its best to not feel stifling.

Drying sweat clings to his skin, leaving him shivering in the aftermath of the aircon blasting. The last dregs of adrenaline seep out of him. One second, two, three. If he strains his ears, he can hear Chenle talking just outside the door. The aircon makes a gurgling sound before it quiets down. Jaemin can’t stop the shiver that rolls through, up and under his skin.

He can feel the exhaustion leaking out until he’s slumped against the bathroom sink trying to haphazardly wipe off glitter with a damp towel.

Because he’s impatient, because he feels off kilter, because it’s too much; he’s rubbing the skin raw. Makeup will be awful tomorrow. He should wait till they get to the hotel, have one of the makeup noonas do it for him like they always offer.

He should wait till the vague nausea passes. He should wait. There’s an ache running up and around his ankle all the way to his knee. Jisung saw him limping around during their quick change, mouth pursed in worry. It’s too much. The look, and the knowing, and the hand Jisung had placed on his shoulder before the music went back up again.

It’s something he’s going to have to talk to someone about soon, before it’s too much. Before the ache turns into something unforgivable.

“Leaving in 15. We’ll eat at the hotel.” Mark's voice echoes through the door, gentle. Still bright. Jaemin makes a vague noise in reply, and listens to Mark’s retreating voice call out to Donghyeok.

His ankle throbs. He wonders how Mark and Donghyeok do it. The jet lag and the lack of sleep, all stacking up. And maybe their hunger is different, cutting themselves on each other's teeth for so long that the bite feels miraculous and inevitable. What else could you possibly know?

There are days, few and far between, where Jaemin thinks the want doesn’t taste the same anymore. He wonders if it always felt exactly like this. All of 13 years old and the gnawing uncertainty being replaced with something he didn’t understand just yet.

It’s pointless. The thought, the wonder, the questions. He'll wake up tomorrow and do it all over again, anyways. He can’t imagine wanting anything else anymore.

Before Jaemin can set his features into something more neutral, the door handle is turning, a rush of hustling noise pulses through as it swings open. He winces once before the door is being shut and all that’s left is the small click of the lock.

“You’re not going to change first?” Jeno leans against the door, he’s already dressed down, face washed. There’s still lingering glitter clinging to his eyebrows, the corner of his eyes. Jaemin wants to sleep. He's freezing. His ankle is throbbing.

The sharp edge of the sink is digging into his hips, he can’t help but lean in harder. Clenching his back molars against the way it pinches his skin.

Maybe he’s homesick. Maybe. He doesn’t know. Maybe he’s just too sensitive lately. Maybe. Probably.

Without asking, without knowing, within one breath and the next, he feels the desperation that’s been crawling up his throat for weeks now. It’s always simmering just under his skin where he can’t reach it. He thinks about being back home, in the dorms.

Home isn’t exactly a home. Or a home that he can catalog in a way that isn’t a mother, a father, and the one son who went off and never really came back. Or even a messy dorm with members scattered around. His clothes in Renjun’s hamper, the ramyeon in Jisung’s closet.

Jeno laying across his bed.

All of that is different too. Lucy, Luke, and Luna waiting for him at his empty apartment. A home. His home. Something he calls home and hopes that one day it’ll actually start feeling like it. There were links his mom had been sending him since the company had helped him get the place set up. Furniture and books, paintings she thought he would like to hang up in the living room. Everything that was supposed to make a home, feel like a home. All of them, piling up in his inbox.

“Do you miss her?” Jaemin had asked some odd years and days ago. Watching Jeno’s face closely after getting off the phone with his sister, his fingers tracing along the ridges of his phone absentmindedly.

Jaemin could see where he was biting on the inside of his cheek.

“I guess. More than I thought I would.” He said, eventually, messing with the ringer on his phone. Jaemin had wanted to reach out, force him still. “I think I got used to it though. Missing them. You know?”

No, Jaemin hadn’t known. Still doesn’t know how to get used to missing things. People. All of it.

Here, now, Jeno looks at him through the mirror, his face clear, passive. Jaemin doesn’t look back.

He doesn’t remember it ever being this hard before.

“What? Do I stink?” Jaemin finally answers, turning himself around, a beat too late. Jeno’s mouth is a tight line when Jaemin finally looks at him, his eyebrows dipping down.

“Here,” Jeno says instead of answering, sticking his hand out.

Well, that’s too easy. “You want to hold my hand?”

There’s a quiet pause, Jeno just looking. Someone outside has started to play music, the bass of the song completely muffled because one of them had blown out the speaker sometime last year. Jaemin is more sure than anything, that he can feel his organs sloshing around inside of him, can feel the weight of the room like a physical thing

Jeno’s face softens slowly, inch by inch, a smile. Something sweet and uncomplicated. He’s laughing at Jaemin, but that’s okay, Jaemin likes him best like that anyways.

The damp towel is out of his hand and thrown onto the counter before he can gather his bearings, acclimate to Jeno being in his space.

“Your face is all irritated now.”

Jaemin watches him pull a pack of makeup wipes out of a random drawer, trying his best not to laugh.

“Those were in there?” Jeno shakes his head, feigning disappointment. He steps in closer anyways. Their feet slotted together like zipper teeth. Jaemin’s slipper, Jeno’s sneaker, Jaemin’s slipper, Jeno’s sneaker. His heart clenches pathetically.

“And I’m sure you didn’t even try to look.” His hands flutter, unsure. Jaemin spares him and just leans his face up and in. Feels something weak and shimmery press up against his ribs when Jeno scoffs and finally lets his fingers settle, a barely there hold under Jaemin’s chin, keeping his head steady.

“Are you tired?” Jaemin asks when the quiet finally becomes too much, and he wants to hear something other than the sound of blood moving around inside his body. He wants to know it’s not just him. It’s ridiculous that he needs to hear that all of it, it’s too much, he wants-

Without a word, Jeno bodily moves him around until there’s fingers digging slightly into the meat of his cheek. Jeno’s not gentle, movements too sloppy and rushed. Jaemin feels his eyes close against the cold pull of the wipe on his skin, pushing his face more firmly into the open palm of Jeno’s hand.

Jeno finally nods after a moment of just wiping at Jaemin’s face. Easy. Simple.

He's always quiet afterwards. Concerts, fan meetings, grueling interview days where it feels like there’s pins and needles digging into their flesh at the end of it…the tight line of his broad shoulders always just in Jaemin’s peripheral.

Counting down the seconds until his jaw finally clicks open, his voice quiet and low, but there. Present. A quiet parentheses keeping them all together.

Chenle and Jisung bickering in the backseat, just loud enough for it to be impossible to ignore. All of their boundless energy even after hours of go go go. Jeno reaching a hand back, grabbing onto whoever he reaches first. Jisung’s squeak, Chenle’s honey smooth laugh that tumbles out afterward, like an echo.

“Enough. Seriously.” Jeno says, voice soft. Jaemin watching Jisung slowly deflate out of the corner of his eye.

“Okay. Okay.”

Quietness as Jaemin lets his head thunk against the van window.

Here, now. It's always like this. Jaemin feels the consistency like a second heartbeat.

“Obviously.”

He’s haphazardly wiping at Jaemin’s face. His touch finally gentle, light. Sweeping across his brows, the tops of his cheekbones, down the slope of his nose.

There’s a knee nudging against his thigh, warm hand delicate where it’s cradling his jaw.

“Tilt your head back.”

And so he tilts his head back, letting his eyes fall shut so he doesn’t have to stare at the water damaged ceiling.

“Thanks.” he whispers, to Jeno. To the universe, to whoever might be listening.

He hopes it’s enough.

—----------------------------------------------------

There’s three people trying to attach a mic under his blouse when Jeno slides through the door. His bangs clipped up and out of his face. Jaemin can see the clear shine of gel keeping it all in place.

“You’re sparkly today.” Jeno says immediately, stepping in close, smoothie in hand. The red straw in his mouth goes white where he bites down on it.

Cold hands snake up and around Jaemin’s sternum, a wire tickling his waist. He’s never gotten used to the feeling.

“It’s the princess concept again.” Jaemin laughs at himself. He had taken about 50 pictures of his makeup before the hair stylist had told him she needed to finish up, tone just slightly clipped.

“Want some?” Jeno asks, moving around the frantic staff trying to figure out why Jaemin’s mic pack won’t turn on. Holding out the cup, Jaemin can see where Jeno has bitten down on the straw, over and over again. The straw glistens slightly with some of his spit.

Jaemin doesn’t even think about it before he’s leaning forward, getting his lips around the straw. He feels the indentations on his tongue. The smoothie is kind of gross, he clocks the chalky texture of protein powder immediately.

A PA from out in the hall calls out for the director, everyone moving in a flurry, a surge just out of step. The staff around him finally get his mic situated and in place before hustling out of the room.

Some of the strings on Jaemin’s blouse have come undone. It’ll be a pain to find someone to fix them for him again.

“Looks pretty.” Jeno says suddenly, letting a finger tangle in one of the unraveled strings, twirling it around and around.

Jeno pulls once, eyeing the way the collar of the blouse dips down lower on Jaemin’s chest. “Really like a princess. Huh.”

—----------------------------------------------------

The streets are busy, loud, packed enough that Jaemin feels hidden under the cover of the pulsing crowd around them. It’s nice, his skin warm where the dry air passes through him.

He had wanted to stay back, allowing himself to sink into the starchy hotel sheets. A familiarity in the beige walls and rooms that smelled just enough of cleaning products for him to be unable to ignore it. An aircon blasting too cold-dry air, his phone speakers playing the playlist Mark had said he would like. The city lights twinkling and out of reach just outside the window, pretending at a full life.

He had wanted to have a moment to breathe properly, to collect himself. Until his phone had started ringing, until the text pings wouldn’t stop, until the knocking on his door dragged him back into the world.

It hadn’t taken much convincing before he was throwing on a jacket and shoes. His phone had rung first, one call ending seconds before another one started up again. The knocking on his door that came soon after didn’t surprise him too much.

Chenle talking a mile a minute as soon as he let the door swing open.

“Hyung, how do I change the flash output on the camera again? Jisung keeps messing with it.”

Donghyeok pushing his way through, throwing himself onto the bed.

“Christ. Take your shoes off. I don’t come to your room and put my shoes on your bed.” Jaemin kicks out, digging his toes into the meat of Donghyeok’s sweatpant covered thigh.

Donghyeok’s yelp, rolling away until he’s completely twisted up in the sheets, mumbling something incoherent into the pillows.

Jeno waiting for all of them, always waiting. Leaning against the door frame, stuffing Jaemin’s hotel keycard and wallet into his own hoodie pocket as Jaemin tried his best to just keep up.

The city around them feels similar in the way all city’s do eventually. Lives that will never cross each other, people Jaemin will never know. It’s freeing. To pretend for a moment that this is just what it is.

Jaemin hangs back a few paces away from the rest of them. Watching everyone else, watch them. He feels itchy under his mask, under his shirt, under his skin. He wonders what others see when they look at them. Their managers trying to not make a fuss about their own presence a few meters back, the whole spectacle of existing as is. The seven of them ambling down the streets, loud in a way that can only exist after years spent together, apart, and back together again.

They’re too loud, even against the culminating noise surrounding them. Maybe Jaemin is just tuned in to them more than anything else. He thinks he’ll know them better than he’ll ever know anyone else.

Someone's phone has been commandeered and is being passed back and forth between Renjun and Donghyeok, both of them reading off names of restaurants that are still open. The unmistakable sound of Mark mindlessly humming the same verse of the same song he’s been humming for the last three days. Most of the noise coming from Jisung walking ahead, trying to take photos of all of them. Chenle shouting at him to watch where he’s walking.

And above all of it, so ingrained into his own being that Jaemin can pick out the sound like ribboned sugar; Jeno’s unmistakable laughter.

He’s only a little startled when Donghyeok slows his pace just enough to slide up next to him, sharp elbow digging into his side.

“You okay?” Donghyeok knocks their arms together as they walk, the street lights flicker dully off the lenses of his glasses.

Jaemin nods, linking their arms together because it makes Donghyeok laugh, because he likes making him laugh. “They’re so noisy. I'm pretending I don’t know them.”

“We waited too long to eat. Renjunnie is getting angry,” Donghyeok clicks his tongue, making quiet little tsks. “I give it five minutes before someone really starts an argument.”

The fond smile on his face is ridiculous. They’re all ridiculous.

They walk in silence for a bit, Donghyeok quietly pointing things out as he sees them. Pigeons, a spiderman beanie a little kid is wearing, the way the moon looks. They don’t unlink arms when Donghyeok stops to take a picture of a stray cat sleeping on one of the park benches.

Donghyeok squeezes his arm once, drawing his attention back in. “I know you know that I’m actually pretty good at listening. If you need to say something.”

Somewhere in his peripheral, he can see the steadiness of the waterfront next to them. He can’t make himself turn to look. Just listens to the sound of the water gently lapping up against the concrete walls.

Donghyeok bumps their sneakers together once the hush grows into a tangible thing. “You don’t have to tell me. But, you can. If you want to. You always can.”

Back when they were younger, when they knew and understood even less than they do now, it was easier to look each other in the eye and be able to say these things. There wasn’t much to lose back then. All of them still too sharp around the edges.

Not for the first time, Jaemin wonders if he’s gotten too used to them knowing each other enough to never have to speak the hard parts out loud. The complete constellation of unspoken things that hang between all them, like tiny fraying threads keeping them tethered. It's not that he doesn't want to tell Donghyeok everything—he does. It's just... harder now. There's too much noise inside his head. All of it difficult to parse through.

He glances at Donghyeok, who’s still waiting for him to say something. The silence stretches for a second, thick with something Jaemin can’t quite place. Up ahead he can see Jisung’s camera flash going off in rapid succession, Mark telling him to wait, voice thick with laughter.

Jaemin knows that if he doesn't speak now, the moment will slip through him like a rough stream, the current too strong, just like all the other times. “I don’t know,” he finally says, voice quieter than he wants it to be. “I guess... I keep thinking about how things have changed, and how much of it I don’t know how to fix.” He tries his best to not let his embarrassment clog up like molasses, but Donghyeok doesn’t let the moment stretch into awkwardness. Instead, he just gives a small nod, like he already understands.

“What is there to fix?” Donghyeok replies, his tone even, always so sure. He taps the side of Jaemin’s arm lightly, like a reminder that he won’t suddenly slip away if Jaemin takes a breath. “And why are you the only one who has to do it? Things don’t always need fixing, Jaemin-ah. I think we’ve been doing pretty good so far, no? You especially.”

Jaemin doesn’t know what to say for a moment, a harsh surge of affection running down his spine, larger than life.

“Ahhh. Lee Donghyeok, you’re seriously kind of cool these days.” Jaemin says, probably too loud. Jeno looks at them over his shoulder.

Jaemin feels like he could devour the world.

Donghyeok laughs, unlinking their arms and shoving Jaemin forward. “Just these days?”

“You already know.” Jaemin says, seriously. Reaching down to squeeze his hand, one bright pressure when Donghyeok squeezes back and then promptly lets go.

They’ve been walking for too long. Jaemin can feel their managers getting impatient, their steps a little bit more hurried than before. They’re all going to end up having to eat ramyeon back at the hotel.

“What are we eating?” Donghyeok shouts ahead, his voice annoyed, but Jaemin can see where he’s fighting back a laugh.

Jeno quickly leans over to say something to Mark before he stops walking completely, his hands stuffed in his hoodie pockets. Jaemin only realizes then that it’s actually his hoodie.

“They’re still arguing about it,” Jeno purses his lips, his eyes flitting curiously between the both of them. “Mark doesn’t want to say his opinion.”

Overhead, the night is becoming overcast. Someone had said there was a chance of thunderstorms. “Of course. I’ll go…deal with it.” Donghyeok sighs, rushing to catch up and immediately cutting off whatever Chenle and Mark were fussing about.

Jeno takes Donhyeok’s spot next to him, the warmth familiar. “I told them anywhere was fine, but that you wanted somewhere that had dessert.”

Before they had landed, Jaemin had leaned over the aisle of the plane, shoving his phone under Jeno’s nose. Jeno had clearly still been half asleep, eyes bleary, as he swiped through the photos of tiramisu Jaemin saved.

“I want that. We have to find a place that serves that.”

Jaemin bites down on his tongue so as to not say something stupid and irreversible like, I love you. Like, how do I keep all of this for the rest of my life?

—----------------------------------------------------

It’s bitterly cold when they land in Japan and stays that way through the entirety of their schedules. Jaemin stuffing his jacket pockets with hand warmers and trying to ignore the pin-prick chill running up his legs every time they get shuffled back outside. None of them bother to check the forecast beforehand, Jisung only packing some hoodies. He whines about it in the groupchat long enough that Renjun and Jaemin stomp their way up to his hotel room.

"Come on," Renjun says, shoving his scarf at Jisung when he takes a look inside the messy suitcase. "Oppa will buy you a jacket."

Walking around is difficult, which is a problem when they find out half of their content is being filmed outside. The production team take pity on them and don't make too much of a fuss when they keep huddling together, completely ruining some shots. There's a coffee truck waiting for them once they're all finished, and Mark only frets a little bit when Jaemin comes back with an Americano. Chenle lets him cuddle up next to him every time they hop in the van, too tired to complain about Jaemin sticking his cold nose into the crook of his neck.

Mostly it’s too cold to be going anywhere. Mark and Donghyeok refusing to leave the hotel once they’re finished with work for the day. Already in their comfy clothes with room service ordered up when Jaemin goes to look for them.

“They have sushi on the menu, man. Like. Good sushi.” Mark whines when Jaemin slaps his hand down on the bed, annoyed that Renjun had already convinced him to get dressed to go out again.

Donghyeok snorts, too focused playing some stupid coin game on his phone to look at Jaemin.

“Yeah, man. Good sushi.” Donghyeok repeats, English only slightly slurred and wholeheartedly mocking. He jumps when Mark reaches over and knocks the phone out of his hand.

Jaemin leaves them with a roll of his eyes just as their food gets there. Jeno’s mouth is a cute little ‘o’ when Jaemin goes back out into the hall.

“I’m guessing they’re not coming.”

There are already little flurries falling down around them the second they step outside. They should wait in the lobby, but the staff look a bit fidgety about them just standing there. It’s pretty, the type of quiet that only happens when snow is soon to fall. Jeno walking across the way to stand on the small bridge, his phone already out to take pictures of the not yet frozen over creek. Jaemin can sense him also taking photos of him, he doesn’t look. Doesn’t want to interrupt. Doesn’t want Jeno to know that he knows.

“Are you happy?”

He doesn’t mean to ask, the words pressed up against the roof of his mouth, digging into the tender skin of his gums. The question feels stupid as soon as it slips out. All of it an admission, a confession, of something he didn’t mean to voice in the first place.

At least not right now. Not like this. The exhaustion thick and heady, laced all through their voices, their bones and aching muscles. Mind still trying to parse through a completely different timezone, a different place, a different body.

Jeno levels him with a confused look, shoving his phone back into his pocket.

His voice is steady against the city's low hum- “Right now? I'm hungry.”

They’ve been waiting for Renjun for seven minutes. All of their messages, sitting unread in the text thread. “Should we leave without him if he doesn’t get here in the next five minutes?”

It feels childish to ask for more, to be annoyed. He suddenly feels anxious. Tries his best to say come on. take me seriously…without having to open his mouth.

“What? You’re the one asking weird questions.” Jeno says after a moment of them just looking at each other.

Their breaths are coming out in little cloud puffs. Mingling with the ice flurries. “Yeah. I'm happy.” Jeno says, wrapping his bare hand around the metal railing of the bridge. “Are you not?”

He wants to take Jeno’s hands and stuff them in the pockets of his jacket, he forgot his gloves, again. Even after Jaemin had reminded him four times.

“I am. Obviously. Obviously. Just-.” Jaemin shouldn’t have said anything. One day he’ll learn to leave well enough alone.

“Tired?”

Jaemin leans his side against the railing, it’s freezing even through the layers of clothes. There’s a couple walking down the other side of the road when he looks over, hand in hand. “I'm 24.”

Jeno laughs, rocking back on his heels. Hands still wrapped around the railing. “So am I. And? Should I not be happy?”

“When we first met, did you think…could you picture any of this?” The damp feeling of his socks is making him hyper aware of everything. Hyper Aware of his breathing, his heart in his chest, the red tint to Jeno’s fingers. They should have stayed back in the hotel.

Renjun still hasn’t answered their text.

“When we first met, did I picture us waiting to eat dinner at 9PM, in Japan? No.” Jeno says, amused like he’s not really sure what he’s supposed to be saying. It bites at Jaemin. Leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

It’s his fault. Silly, is what it is. He’s the one who asked.

“Okay. Nevermind.”Jaemin doesn’t mean for his voice to sound like that, frustrated when Jeno hasn’t done anything wrong. He turns to look back at the hotel. Looking up at all the windows with the same warm-orange light seeping through the curtains. He forgot what room Renjun was staying in.

“I wondered. Or, hoped, kind of. Probably not this exactly. I didn't know. Honestly, I thought you would want to leave.” Jeno says, suddenly. His voice is too quiet. Jaemin hears him anyways, not turning to look at him. Instead letting his eyes fall on the steady water stream below them, the ice beginning to form around the edges.

There’s a duck swimming in the water. “Leave?”

Jeno slumps forward, elbows resting against the railing. The profile of his face is backlit. Jaemin feels something twist and twist and twist.

“Doing this. Isn’t what you wanted when they casted you, right?”Jeno doesn’t make it sound like a question, like he already knows well enough. “I wasn’t sure if everything, all of us, what they were trying to do with us…was enough to make you want to stay.”

Jaemin’s chest tightens, a lump forming in his throat. He looks down at the duck, bobbing in the water, its movements slow and deliberate. Suddenly he can’t ignore how dense the chill around them feels. Seeping through his jacket, his sweater.

“But. I don’t know.” Jeno says, clasping his hands together, the skin has gone just white enough to notice .Jaemin wants to take Jeno’s fingers into his mouth, keep them warm like that. Like an idiot. Like there’s blood seeping into his brain.

He speaks so he doesn’t do anything else, his body clenched impossibly so. “Do you ever regret it? Wanting to do this?”

Jeno sniffs, his nose has gone pink. He looks worried. And there’s another thing Jaemin has done. “Why are you being so serious right now?”

He’s not sure. He’s not ever going to be sure.

“I just want to know,” Jaemin says, trying to make his voice sound lighter. As if they’re joking. As if this is something they can forget come tomorrow morning. “Give me this. And then I’ll stop.”

“No you won’t.” Jeno says, but it sounds soft, like it’s really okay that Jaemin is like this. “What is there to regret? This is what I wanted.”

His chest burns, something molten and sticky sweet filling up in his lungs. He might actually die on the streets, and it will be Jeno’s fault. Probably Renjun’s fault too. The steadiness in Jeno’s voice, in the way he stands on an empty street in somewhere, Japan, unknowingly holding Jaemin’s stupid heart in the palm of his hands, keeping it safe.

“You don’t even regret it on the days where Jisung won’t stop calling you to get on the computer?” Jaemin asks, wanting to hear Jeno laugh so badly he can’t think of anything else.

He’s rewarded immediately. Jeno crowding him up against the railing, placing a hand on the metal so it doesn’t touch Jaemin’s back. His laughter comes out easy and smooth. They’re standing too close, but the streets are empty enough and his nuts are probably going to freeze off anyways. It’s good.

“Do you regret it?” Jeno asks once his laughter dies down, zipping up Jaemin’s jacket until it’s hitting just under his chin.

Jaemin lets his head lull backwards for a second, the air immediately cold against the exposed skin of neck. “I thought I would.”

“And?” There’s cold fingers nudging up against Jaemin’s, Jeno stuffing his hands inside the too small coat pockets.

It’s starting to snow just a little but, just enough for Jaemin to feel it. His eyelashes feel like they’re freezing in clumps.

“Still plenty of time.”

“Guys! It’s snowing!” Jeno doesn’t bother stepping back at the sound of Renjun’s voice splitting across the way, leaning back just enough for Jaemin to see him walking up. With Jisung and Chenle in tow. All of them bundled up.

“The three of you, seriously. Do you know how long we’ve been waiting? Jeno huffs, eyes narrowed.

Renjun’s ragged breath almost makes Jaemin laugh. His cheeks are already rosy pink, as if he’s been running around.

“Chenle kept changing his mind about coming,” Chenle doesn’t even bother looking apologetic, batting his eyelashes when Jeno swivels around to glare at him. “And then Jisung couldn’t find his room keycard.”

“I told him he could just stay in my room.” Chenle quips in, already pulling out his phone and motioning them in the direction of the restaurant. Arms linked with Jisung’s.

Soon, the ground will be covered in snow. Roads a clean sheet of white. A little bubble of frost sending them off when they inevitably have to get on a plane back home. For now though, Jaemin watches the snow stick to the fabric of Renjun’s beanie. Listens to their silent footfalls, all in tandem. Steps into the shoe prints Jisung leaves. He wants to send a photo to Mark and Donghyeok.

Wish you had come with us.

Jaemin spends the entire walk to the restaurant with one of Jeno’s hands in his pocket. Listening to the sweet sound of Renjun’s voice breaking through the falling snow.

—----------------------------------------------------

It's quiet in the van. The radio turned down so low it sounds like nothing but scattered static.

Jaemin doesn’t know where they are, how long they’ve got till they’re where they need to be.

When his brain finally catches up to being awake, bringing everything into a sharp focus, he can hear the soft snuffling noises coming from the front which assures him that Jisung is sleeping.

His limbs feel heavy…everything still too soft just around the edges. All his senses muted, zeroed in on the warm body breathing evenley next to him.

It’s hard to see much of anything against the inky night swimming through the van window, trying to focus his eyes. The shapeless blur of a car driving by, the feeling of smooth highway under them. He thinks that it should be impossible for the moon to be that bright, guiding them forward.

He wishes he could roll the window down. Feel the cool air sting against his face, breathe it into his chest until it burns. Hold it all in until he can’t stand it.

“You’re awake?” Jeno’s voice is thick with sleep.

“Yeah. Go back to sleep.” Jaemin whispers, reaching over and running his fingers along the slope of Jeno’s nose.

Jeno shivers at the touch, small huff falling from his lips. “You too.”

His thoughts wander, drifting like smoke, directionless. Jeno’s breath evens out within minutes.

He wonders if Jisung's snoring has always sounded like that, soft and almost melodic. Jaemin never got the chance to hear it at the dorms, or in crowded backstages in between music shows. He wonders if Jeno's warm hand will find its way to his in the dark, fingers brushing gently.

Jaemin leans back into the seat, but the stillness around him feels too heavy for him to sink into. The weight of silence presses down on him, and he shifts uncomfortably, fingers tracing the edge of his hoodie. He looks out the window again, watching the stretch of road disappear under the van's wheels, the soft whirr of the tires on asphalt a quiet constant. Every now and then, the sharp outline of a tree or a distant silhouette breaks up the darkness, but it’s fleeting, as if they’re passing through a dream.

—----------------------------------------------------

As soon as Jaemin closes the door, Jeno is on him. Kissing him, frantic and slick before Jaemin has a chance to steady his balance, sending them both backwards into the entryway wall.

It knocks the wind out of him momentarily. “Okay. So, give me a second. I think you just broke my ribs.”

Jeno laughs, leaning forward until his forehead rests on Jaemin’s sternum. Warm puffs of breath that Jaemin can feel through his thin workout shirt. He probably doesn’t smell too good, still sweaty from working out with the trainer.

“Sorry,” Jeno says, lifting his head. He does have the decency to look at least a little bit sheepish.

The apartment is dark mostly, except for the small lamp Jeno has turned on in the living room. Jaemin can see one of his psychology books open up on the coffee table.

“Were you reading?” Jaemin asks, touching the stitching on the front of Jeno’s hoodie, dragging his fingers up and up until he can curl them around the strong line of his jaw.

“You said you were only going to be gone for an hour, man.” His voice is thin, whiny.

He’s not sure where the cats are. Sometimes they like to hide under the bed for awhile when Jeno comes over, even when they’ve known him since they were babies.

“Please don’t call me man right now. I’m serious.” Jaemin jokes, pulling Jeno back to him.

It feels ridiculous. The weight of it. The pure sinking feeling squeezing against his ribs. Jeno kissing him. It’s not even the first time, or the tenth time, or the fortieth time, and it’s all the same. Always exactly like this.

The feeling of warm lips up the column of his neck, despite the thin layer of sweat. All along the side of his face…a puff of warm air. The same sound of soft laughter, when Jaemin starts to whine. Lips pressing into the dry skin on the side of his nose, up to his forehead where his bangs lay flat and sticky. The corner of his mouth.

A gentle hand roaming up under his shirt, delicate fingers pressing the skin taut. Jaemin shivers and can feel the want in his teeth. There isn’t a way that Jeno can’t feel him shivering, feel the way his body goes molten all over.

“Are you having fun?” His voice wavers when Jeno bites down on his shoulder, soothing the sting over with his tongue.

He feels sick with want, feels it like a seismic tremor across his entire being. All of it devastating in ways he can’t categories.

Jaemin gets his hands in Jeno’s hair, pulling him back until he can see his eyes, tilting his head back with a tug. Jeno’s cheeks are red enough to look feverish, there’s some spit smearing across his cheek. Messy and gleaming.

Looking at him feels impossible. Unbearable in all the way he wants. It feels insane.

“Jeno,” he says, his hand wandering down between them. Letting his fingers dip down passed the waistband of Jeno’s sweatpants, getting his fingers around Jeno’s dick.

The noise he makes rips through Jaemin, leaving a deep ache to sooth over. He’s already wet, pushing in closer when Jaemin rubs his thumb over the tip.

“God,” Jeno says, condescending, like he’s laughing at himself. “I really was actually going to wait for later.”

Jaemin just yanks him closer, a hand to the small of his waist. He exhales sharply when Jeno leans down to lick a line across his collar bones. Jaemin can’t taste the salt from his skin when Jeno kisses him, the slide of their tongues silky soft.

It’s not their best work. The slide a little bit too dry because Jeno doesn’t want to separate long enough for Jaemin to spit in his hand. They’re rhythm is completely out of sync because Jaemin keeps trying to rub himself up against Jeno’s thigh, chasing the friction until the good-hurt reels him close to the edge.

Jeno comes with a small, hurt noise, pressing his face into Jaemin’s armpit because he’s a freak. Jaemin following soon after him, having no sense of mind to feel any sort of shame for the way he’s practically riding Jeno’s thigh in the entryway of his home.

His chest aches, muscles completely dead.

Somewhere in the house, one of the cats knocks something over. A loud crash and then the sound of scampering rings too loud, Jaemin and Jeno immediately go still.

“I’ll get the broom.” Jeno says, unsticking himself from Jaemin. The both of them immediately cringing at the feeling.

When it turns out to be the mug that was on Jaemin’s night stand, the one his mom had gotten him a few years ago. Jeno helps him try to glue it back together. And then finds him a new one online when they’re both too tired to really figure it out.

—----------------------------------------------------

In the shadowed sodium-yellow gleam of street lamps and dim store lights, Jeno glows.

His hair freshly clean flowing in soft tufts across his forehead, face scrunching up in annoyance.

“Windy.” He mumbles, peeking at Jaemin through squinted eyes.

Jaemin wants to kiss him. Bright and larger than life, surrounded by an endless vastness and people that can’t quite touch them. It’s a bad idea. He wants it more than he’s wanted a lot of things.

There’s hardly any people milling around when Jaemin lets his eyes wander up and back down the street. The night spanning out in front of them, just late enough for the streets to settle into a quiet hush.

He’s probably drunker than he originally thought. Suddenly feeling the full weight of the drinks Mark and Johnny had been handing him without abandon. They were celebrating. There won’t be many more chances to do a concert all together.

A warmth spreading all the way down to Jaemin’s fingertips. The bathroom mirror had shown him the red flush across his face, reaching down below the collar of his sweatshirt.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, the want digs in. The hunger pushes in close. It can wait. He can wait. It can always wait.

Jeno closes the space between them, the heat from where they’re pressed all along their sides making him feel unsteady. Both of them watching in silence as member after member spill out of the restaurant and onto the sidewalk. Laughing too loudly, shouting over managers and security guards gently trying to place them in vans and cars.

“Are you going home?” Jeno asks.

Jaemin only nods absentmindedly, watching in slated fascination as Chenle pulls a more than slightly intoxicated Jisung towards an idle van, nearly sending them both toppling over the curb of the sidewalk when Jisung pushes in too close, too fast.

They’re both laughing, the sound impossibly, achingly sweet. Chenle pushing Jisung into the van, faces too close. Jaemin can’t help but flinch.

It’s hard not to miss where their hands are tangled, fingers interwoven. Jisung reaching out to bring Chenle in, one limb following after the other until Jaemin can’t tell who is holding onto who.

“Enough! Park Jisung!” Chenle groans, fond smile still pulling at his lips.

It feels like he’s watching them through a clear plastic film, everything smudged and too bright against the pulsing in his head. They could be anyone. Two guys that Jaemin knows like the back of his hand.

This could be their lives. Just this, dinner, and drinks, talking over each other until the sun begins to drop low across the sky. Complaining about classes or the jobs they hate. Kun reaching over plates of food to show Jaemin photos of Ten and the cats. Doyoung’s too loud laugh because people keep handing him drinks and because none of them have quite yet mastered the concept of personal space. A fizzing feeling bubbling up and up until it has nowhere else to go.

Jeno, always there, leading Jaemin back to his apartment because he can, because there’s time. And a want that grows and grows until it feels impossible, this could be it.

He can’t look away, can feel Jeno lean into him like a phantom touch, a whisper of something. Chenle placing a soft hand on Jisung’s jaw, patting it…one...twice. Letting the hand wander to the back of his head until Jaemin can see his fingers tangled up in the black strands.

Something tightens up right underneath his ribcage, his stomach lurching for one horrible moment. He finally rips his eyes away.

Something is lodged in his throat. “It would be easier if we all still lived in the dorms.”

Maybe it’s true. Maybe it’s not, Jaemin doesn’t know. He thinks of the early mornings, the soft noises of all them waking up one by one. Pressing his face deeper into his pillows at the sound of Jisung blowing his hair dry, Renjun opening and closing doors too loudly for six in the morning. Jeno padding through the hallway, a warm hand on Jaemin’s waist as they pass each other in the kitchen.

“You left first.” Jeno says after a moment, waving goodbye to Jaehyun. Jaemin isn’t sure how much Jeno drank, if he drank at all. Both of them pulled into different groups as the night bore on. His voice, even, clear. Never cruel. It’s probably fucked that Jaemin wishes he would be.

“Someone had to.”

There’s a metallic taste coating the back of his tongue. He wants to go back inside, wants to keep talking and laughing with everyone. Just for a bit longer.

Jeno laughs, getting a hand around his forearm when a manger waves them over to a car.

“Hmm. I guess you’re not wrong.” He says, a soothing thumb caressing the inside of Jaemin’s wrist as he pulls them forward. There isn’t enough time to smother down the desperation before he’s opening his mouth.

“Come back with me. I still haven’t given you your camera.” Jaemin says in a rush, the words woven together in a frenzy. The excuse makes him wince. Ignoring the way their manager immediately takes a step back, gives them some space.

He knows better. He should probably know better.

Jeno just stares at him for a moment, messing with the sleeves of his coat. He should take it back, make it a joke, do literally anything other than just stand there, waiting and hoping.

It’s not really surprising when Jeno shakes his head, his face so sweet Jaemin doesn’t know how he walks around like that most days. “I’ll get it some other time. You need to go get some rest. See the kitties. They miss you.”

His mouth and his want feel like a separate entity, sprinting away from him before he has a chance to catch up.

“You’ll forget again.” Jaemin’s voice scrapes together. “And the babies like you.”

Jeno’s bottom lip is caught between his teeth. His face, open and earnest, and yet Jaemin still doesn’t know. Doesn’t know how to ask without begging. It’s too quiet.

There’s warm hands reaching for him, touching him under his coat, just under the hem of his sweater. Jeno guiding him backwards into the car, gently moving him around until he’s seated. Jaemin lets his head thunk against the headrest, trying not to twitch too much as Jeno buckles him up.

Jeno leans further into the car, his face too close, closer than they let themselves have when they’re out in public.

“Next time. I promise.” His lips are a hot, lovely, smear on the corner of Jaemin’s mouth. He’s up and out of the car before Jaemin has a chance to reach for him, dig his fingernails into him, and keep him there.

His head feels heavy, heavier than it did minutes before, feels a breath getting pressed out of him. Watching Jeno wave shyly as their manager goes to shut the door.

“Get home safe. Say hi to the babies for me.”

“Okay.” He says, not sure if Jeno hears him.

It’s probably for the best, he thinks. And then tries his best to not think at all.

—----------------------------------------------------

There’s a couple of text messages waiting on his phone when Jaemin gets out of his meeting. Some emails that he’ll have to deal with later. A voicemail from Jeno that he doesn’t hesitate to play, waving goodbye to one of the assistants that’s helping him with the photo exhibit.

Hey, Jaeminne- Jisung. Can you just-wait. I’m on the phone. Did you ask Mark if he even wanted anything? Hey okay. Sorry. Jisung’s being impatient. Even though I’m the one paying. I know you’re busy. With your meeting. I hope it’s going well. We got coffee. I asked one of the manager hyungs to make sure it gets to the photo gallery. It’s an Americano, only two shots. You don’t need that much caffeine. Okay. Bye-Bye.

Jaemin replays the voicemail over while he walks down to the lobby, can't help the stupid smile that makes his jaw ache.

Sure enough, one of their managers is waiting for him downstairs. Coffee in hand.

Jaemin doesn’t notice the little scribble of words on the coffee cup until he’s in the car on the way back home.

Proud of you. - J

—----------------------------------------------------

Jaemin will look back and think about how they weren’t supposed to be there to begin with. A lucky day off before flying out for a festival and then a constant checklist of places they needed to be. A never ending sprint to a finish line that doesn’t ever show itself. They weren’t supposed to be there. Renjun calling Jaemin early in the morning to ask if he wanted to get lunch, extending the offer to Jeno once he heard his voice call out to one of the cats in the background.

Maybe it’s why they forget, maybe it’s why Jeno lets himself get pulled into the empty practice room on one of the floors they never bother visiting, the one with the horribly scuffed wood floors. They’re not supposed to be there. Jaemin pressing himself all along Jeno’s side, biting at the underside of his jaw.

“You’re scary.” Jeno had said, scoffing, wiping away at the smear of spit. Giving in immediately when Jaemin stupidly asked for a kiss. Their breathing suddenly impossibly loud in the empty space. Sucking up all the air and keeping them suspended between one point of searing heat, and the feeling of warm skin under their palms.

So, it really only makes sense that a manager that hadn't ever worked with them before, catches them pretty much immediately. Both of them not hearing the sound of the door clicking open before it was already way too late. No one had been around to look for them in the hour that they had already been there. The both of them waiting for Renjun to be done with his vocal training, a message sitting on their phones with a promise that he would be done soon. It hadn’t been anything crazy, but, well. It was enough.

Nothing had really come from it in the days that followed. A pointed silence that Jaemin felt down to the root of his teeth, festering and growing. The manager had looked embarrassed, profusely apologizing before walking right back out. They hadn’t even had time to untangle themselves properly before the door was being shut. Leaving them to deal with the fallout of their own recklessness.

No one had said anything to them, no looks from any of their team. No meetings. A lighting bolt hadn’t yet shot down from the heavens and struck them down. But there was still the feeling of knowing. Of waiting for the other shoe to drop. Of waiting to see what exactly their penance would be for being careless, getting sloppy.

“We probably should have been more careful.” They’re on the roof of Jaemin’s apartment building. It’s been weeks since it all happened. Almost a month of tying himself up into knots, letting it settle into a hard rock in the pit of his stomach. They had immediately told Mark who had comforted them, promised them he would help figure it out if anything happened. It had made Jaemin feel nauseous.

He mostly says it because he needs to. Because they’re not 16 anymore. Because the guilt has been too much to digest.

Because there are other things, there’s everything else, but this is it. It wouldn’t be the end of the world if something did happen, probably. Jaemin knows he’s lying to himself. But there are years of their lives intertwined with all the things they do. Time warped and twisted until everything matters because it has to.

Jaemin thinks about Jeno at 13, and 18, and 21, and 24, and all the endless days in between a moment and the next. And how deeply he’s known every single version of him. All the small lives they’ve lived up until this point.

Practice rooms where everything they’ve ever worked for has sunken and seeped into the floorboards, tarnishing the foundation underneath it forever. It should be comforting that they weren’t the first, and that they won’t be the last, but it leaves him shaky with the thought of it all. The weight of what they want and how much they’ve already asked for; how much they’ve already been given.

Nausea patches placed behind ears and ragged breaths pressed into his shoulder blades right before mics were double, tripled checked, and steady hands were shoving them on stage. Nights that turned into day, and night again. All of them slipping into bed half dead and wondering what it was exactly they were working towards.

It’s everything, everywhere, in all the things they do. It’s all he wants. It’s all he knows. .

The silence feels telling, feels like something impossibly sharp. Neither of them had tried to bring it up, tip toeing around each other. Unable to say the hard parts out loud. Jaemin looks across the familiar skyline and feels hollowed out by the sun being out, high in the sky. Just hot enough to feel it burn slightly.

Jeno leans into him harder. Shrugs easily before turning his gaze back to Jaemin, waiting.

“Yeah. Probably.” Is all he says, like it’s enough. And-

Jaemin can’t help the sound that escapes up his throat, digging the toe of his worn sneaker into the pebbled concrete. “What? That’s it?”

He imitates the shrugging, making sure to dig his elbow into the soft part of Jeno’s arm.

Jeno only laughs, the sound warm and familiar, echoing. It helps sooth the horrible feeling that’s been burrowing a hole and making a home in his chest.

“Don’t act like you’re not worried. I know you.”

“Of course I’m worried,” Jeno says, pressing his thumb into the palm of his hand. “But, what else is there for us to do? Do you want to…stop? Doing this.”

Jaemin can’t help but feel a little bit crazy, every emotion he’s been experiencing these past few weeks bubbling up to the surface. Unable to get his hands around any of them. “Are you trying to act like an adult suddenly?”

The words feel heavy on his tongue, feels the way they want to crawl back down his esophagus. “Do you think we should stop?”

Wind whips around them, it almost hurts to breathe. Jaemin tries not to look, tries not to notice every detail of Jeno’s existence. The way he crosses and uncrosses him arms, the shaky hand he runs through his hair. His chest and the wave it heaves when he takes a deep breath, holding it in until he can’t.

It’s too sunny outside, too pretty, Jaemin thinks. It should be thundering, a blizzard, the world ending. Maybe. Probably. They should have done this somewhere else. Somewhere where Jaemin never had to look at ever again. Somewhere that never belonged to them in all these infinite ways. What a horrible day to for your entire life to have to start over.

Jaemin forces himself not to flinch when he feels Jeno’s fingers graze the back of his hand, a soothing comfort. “We probably should. Will you be upset if I say I don’t think I can though?”

Nothing can be that simple, not like this, not for them. But for one horrific, heart-stopping, moment, Jaemin pleads to whatever higher power might be listening to him. I’m so sorry. Let me have this. I’m sorry. I know it’s too much. We’re asking for too much. But, please. Let me keep this.

Jaemin bites down, hard, on the inside of his cheek, lets the faint taste of copper flood his mouth. “I don’t want to stop. So, then what?”

“Do you want me to be more worried? I’ll be worried with you if you want.”

He’s tilting his head like a puppy, the warm breeze blowing his hair backwards. He looks ridiculous, and he’s everything Jaemin wants. The acknowledgement doesn’t make him feel any better.

There’s a nauseating simpleness about being young, and naive, and open to all the things you want. A selfishness that never fully ceases. A want that keeps steady until it’s spilling over at your feet. Jaemin walks around letting it drip into everything else, the blood pooling. Everyone can see it, everyone knows. He hopes more than anything that Jeno can feel it.

“Does it make sense to be acting cute right now?” Jaemin says, but he can hear the fondness in his own voice. He feels exhausted. Worn down to the bone. “It feels like we should be doing more.”

“Why?” Jeno asks, softly.

They’re not old, but they’re not kids anymore. All these things stopped being simple a long time ago. It’s not easy the way it used to be. The want and the feverish desire to have everything, to consume yourself and leave nothing for the rest of the world. None of it makes sense.

Jaemin isn’t sure he knows how to put any of that into words.

“Are you really this calm, or are you faking it? I’ll be pissed if you’re faking it. By the way.” Jeno just looks out over the view, smile never faltering.

There you are, Jaemin thinks, hopelessly. I’ve been looking for you.

“Has anything we’ve done ever been easy?” Jaemin says, wanting a reaction. Wanting a fight.

“Sure. Have we ever not done it anyways?”

The fight leaves him immediately, gone between one shallow breath and the next. Jaemin lets the reckless hope drip down his spine. Jeno kisses him when the wind begins to pick up, rushing through their ears.

—----------------------------------------------------

“Can you eat that faster? It’s dripping everywhere.” Jaemin laughs, making a show of moving his body away from Jeno.

Donghyeok had sent them out to get drinks 15 minutes ago, all of them exhausted from practising the new dance. They’re only two practices in and they all can already tell this one is going to kill them, just a little bit.

Jeno had lost rock paper scissors, Jaemin had followed him to the convenience store anyways.

The detour to get ice cream will probably get them yelled at. Jaemin is already counting down the minutes before their phones start to ring. The park bench is comfortable. They’ll leave soon. It’s okay.

“My teeth hurt.” Jeno whines, extending his arm out so the ice cream doesn’t drip down from his wrist onto his clothes.

“Who told you to bite the ice cream?”

The napkins that Jaemin stuffed in his pocket are barely enough, leaving a sticky smear on the inside of Jeno’s arm. He taps his foot lightly against the grass, looking around to make sure no one’s watching them. The park is practically empty on a Monday afternoon, but he still feels like they’re about to get caught any second.

Jeno scowls, trying to wipe the rest off with the hem of his shirt, but only manages to smear it further. "It's too hard, okay?" he grumbles, giving up and holding the ice cream stick with both hands. "I thought it would be easier to eat it fast if I just bit it.”

There’s a group of preschoolers being led down the road by their teachers, their little backpacks, small voices impossibly bright. Jaemin smiles, waves when one of the kids shouts a hello at them.

“Do you think Renjun will kill us?” Jeno asks, his head thrown back in comfort. The sun is nice, not too hot yet. The time will come where being outside will be unbearable, where they’ll find themselves hiding from the heat in the cool chill of the SM buildings. But for now, Jaemin likes the way Jeno’s face goes a little pink from the heat.

“Eh. Don’t worry. I’ll protect you.” Jaemin mumbles around the popsicle stick in his mouth.

Jeno turns his head towards him, eyes amused. “Really? You sure about that?”

“Well. I would probably do anything for you, so.”

Jeno winces, lifting his head back up, there’s a tender smile on his lips despite it all. Jaemin wants to swallow him whole, keep him safe. Keep him forever.

He might get to, if he’s lucky.

“Cheesy?” He asks, smirking when Jeno just yanks the popsicle out of his mouth.

“Maybe. Not really. It’s good. Cute.” He’s not looking at Jaemin, gathering all their trash and putting it in the plastic bag filled with the drinks. They’re going to have to find somewhere to throw that away before they get back.

Jaemin feels bottomless. Endless. He feels the sun inside of him.

They’ll walk back to the building and get yelled at a bit before Donghyeok inevitably gets bored and Mark makes them focus on practice again. Afterwards, they’ll do some monitoring, trying to iron out all the little mistakes before they move on. They all like the song, letting all the praise from their producers and directors propel them forwards. Maybe they’ll see the 127 boys before they leave, Johnny texting Mark earlier that some of them had to come in for some recording. There'll probably be food somewhere in there. An argument about where to go to eat, all of them having to convince Jisung to come out instead of going back to his parents house to play games. And throughout all of it, Jeno right there.

His phones starts vibrating in his pocket as they turn onto the road, leading them back.

“Me too. Just so you know.” Jeno says out of nowhere, bumping their shoulders as they walk.

Jaemin makes a confused noise, flicking away the messages Renjun is sending him en masse.

“It’s the same for me. I would probably do anything for you too.” His voice is shy, impossibly quiet. Jaemin hears it like a thunder clap.

The sun is warm where it hits the back of his neck. Warm where Jeno’s hand keeps brushing against his.