Archive of Our Own

Martin realizes it kind of late.

If this had been a year earlier, he'd probably have just overlooked it. Lots of things on his mind, but now — now, he has time. A bit.

Sort of.

There's a girl circling Juhoon, like a shark, except she's pretty and she's got beautiful long hair. She's got sharp teeth, but Martin's not afraid of bites. He puts on the best smile he's got in his repertoire, "Jju," he hooks an arm around him. To get the message across. Piss off. "When did you guys get here?" 

They all turn toward him. Keonho and James wave, but are engrossed in another conversation.

Seonghyeon has a knowing glint in his eye. "Just a couple minutes ago," he informs.

"You didn't pick up," Juhoon replies. He rubs his cheek with the back of his hand. "Where were you?" He counters with no real bite, but he leans into Martin's touch, so it's fine. The girl - girls, but the others aren't a problem because they've got no interest in Juhoon. Good, but shame on them. Juhoon's a catch - gazes at them both.

He tightens the hold a bit, tugging Juhoon closer. "Ah," he pulls his phone out with his free hand. His other fingers are busy playing with the collar of Juhoon's t-shirt. There is a missed call from Keonho. One text. He turns sheepish. "Sorry, didn't see that."

Juhoon watches him. "Yeah, you're always posting, and yet," he trails off.

"I already said I'm sorry," he repeats softly. "First round is on me," he adds a second later, chuckling. Martin would've offered it even if it was another one from their group, to be honest. But he wouldn't have gotten the same satisfaction he gets from Juhoon looking at him, worldlessly, expectantly, wanting to get pulled to the counter for his drink. He's demanding today. He's got Martin wrapped around his pretty little finger. Martin likes that, likes him. Round and big eyes, cute, adorable.

Juhoon will get a mocktail. Weekday, and he doesn't like alcohol much to begin with.

"Can I get you anything?" He asks the girls as an afterthought, looking once over his shoulder.

They turn him down.

Double win.

Seonghyeon tells him, "Virgin bloody?"

———

It doesn't happen overnight.

Not even gradually.

Developing a crush is an instant kind of thing, Martin had learned. Keonho just showed up with this dude he met and, "Yoh, this is Juhoon". Martin sees him, and his brain goes, yeah. There weren't sparks, really. Just yeah, pleasing to the eyes. Nothing extremely weird. He'd had a similar reaction to James before James opened his mouth, and it went away completely after Martin spent an entire day with him. Strong personalities are interesting, but he quickly shoved and labelled James as a 'friend'. Too handful. Also, he keeps roasting Martin for merely existing.

Juhoon's way easier. Not in the way that he lets Martin get away with anything, but he's soft-spoken, and calm, and maybe Martin just surrounds himself with people that have too much energy, so he's a nice change. He's not the opposite of Martin, though Martin likes morning and Juhoon sleeps in, always, and he's allergic to dogs.

And Martin is touchy, very touchy.

Juhoon once put his head on his shoulder. "Hurts, my head hurts." His hair brushed the side of Martin's neck, and it tickled.

"Yeah?"

"It'll burst," he answered.

Martin joked, "Want me to carry you back?"

"Mm," Juhoon said absently. Could be an affirmation, but it's probably not. Nobody ever agrees to that. "Hurts here," he usually doesn't whine this much. Must hurt like a bitch. 

Martin touched his temple, tentatively giving him a massage that wouldn't do anything. "Here?"

"Yeah," he breathed out. "There." He guided Martin's forefinger and pressed it to a spot.

Martin's a sucker for stuff like that. It takes little for his heartbeat to race, for his stomach to flutter, this kind of shit gets him. It's not much, but that's him. Juhoon feeds him crumbs of affection and Martin builds a cathedral out of them. 

He had this before. Felt it before. He treated them all as inspirations, but didn't really do anything about them. Fuck, he flew all the way from Canada after vowing to his parents that he'd make it here, and he'd be happy. To achieve that, he's got to focus first. At the end of the day, crushes are fleeting sensations, all excitement and no substance. Easy. A nice face in a café, someone funny at a party, a classmate with good notes and giggles. They pass. 

Martin's crossed oceans with bigger dreams in mind than some boy with sleepy eyes and careful hands.

He resists. Tries to.

But waves wear down stones — slow, but constant. Tiny waves, insignificant on their own. They return again and again until even the hardest rock begins to yield. What seems powerless in a single moment becomes unstoppable through persistence. It happens like the tide. Quiet at first, ankle-deep, and he lets them, they're harmless. And before he knows it, the water's at his throat.

———

"Ain't that, like, too much?" Keonho flicks the bottle, and Martin hisses at him.

"Don't do that —"

James pulls a face, "ain't that a bit too much?" Martin wishes they'd told him earlier. He'd have refrained, but no, trust them to only bring it up now. "It's Juhoon, man."

Martin stares at the ceiling and feels suffocated by the sudden pressure of having done too much, as they had suggested. Luckily, he can always count on Seonghyeon for emotional support.

"Nah, he'll like that."

"Thank you, bro," he sighs.

He's not that grateful anymore an hour later when Juhoon stares at the chocolate and the Champagne. Martin shudders, so this might have been a mistake. The bouquet stays hidden behind his back. Huge, huge mistake. But he's here and he won't back down now. "I —" The door gets shut in his face. Martin is stunned and breaks, blanching and feeling his legs give way, but then the knob is turning and Juhoon's head pops out from the ajar space.

"Maybe it's better if you don't come inside?" 

Martin flinches. "Okay," he concedes fast, still shaken. Then, it dawns to him what Juhoon had said, "Ah, okay— I'll just go, then." He thought the first part was horrible already, but Juhoon coming out to deliver the last blow's basically him stomping on his heart, and kicking at it repeatedly. 

"No, Martin," Juhoon says hurriedly, "My project— you wanna do this with them watching?"

"Them," Martin echoes faintly, not comprehending.

Juhoon looks at him. "No, Martin," and if Martin has to hear that again he swears to God. It's softer. "That's not what I meant." He glances back into his room, and there's movement behind him. "We're in the middle of something." He steps half out the doorway. "I'll be done in an hour," he says seriously.

As if on cue, there's laughter. That should help.

It doesn't.

Martin is standing there, heartbroken, and he's got his good shirt on - that one he put on for the job interview last summer - and he feels stupid. He came at the wrong time — it shouldn't have been a surprise, he should've asked Juhoon if he had a minute or ten. Instead, he just imposed himself. He shifts the bouquet slightly.

It makes a sound. Not loud, but it's not the right moment. 

He nods. "Yeah," Martin agrees, but he doesn't know if he'll have the guts to show up.

Juhoon exhales deeply.

Then, he's fully out into the corridor and Martin retreats a step back to make space. The door swings closer behind Juhoon, until he catches it with his heel, not locking himself outside. He reaches out an arm toward Martin and at the same time he shifts onto his toes.

A palm is on Martin's nape, pulling him down. The kiss is brief, and he impossibly registers Juhoon's lips on his only when Juhoon's already sneaking back inside the room and making him promise, "Later."

———

He's not going to let Juhoon distract him from his goals. Juhoon won't make him the center of his world, anyway.

It doesn't sound good to others, but for them, it works.

Martin can go days buried in books. They check on him, asking if he's still breathing, or what.

Juhoon respects his dedication. Never questions it. He drops by to say, "Hi, eat," and doesn't stay. 

Martin appreciates that.

———

Juhoon visibly powers down after too much social interaction. Martin's seen him stare at crowds at a distance with resignation. Even with them, sometimes, he dissociates.

Dating him's different. Not clingy - if anything Martin's the clingy one - but he gets used to things quickly. He gets used to Martin coming over when he can. To Martin's head or legs on his lap, while they study or hang out. Lets himself be picked up, physically and not, because Martin likes that for some reason.

And Juhoon starts saving seats for him without asking. Beside him. At the library, at restaurants, at places they go to unwind. 

He gets this look when Martin has to leave because something came up and he has to go way earlier than they had agreed on — that bothered him before. Martin had cut ties with people he was seeing in his first year because he didn't like the guilt, the sense of obligation that tied him to somebody. But Juhoon never complains. His forehead splits into this scowl that he straightens right after. Total understanding.

"See you tomorrow." He doesn't walk Martin out, but keeps himself between Seonghyeon and James. Just follows him with his gaze.

Martin feels vaguely touched.

His dormitory room slowly, but surely fills with traces of Martin — hair ties around the faucet, clothes in Juhoon's wardrobe, half-finished electrolyte drinks lined beside Juhoon's monitor because Martin keeps insisting dehydration is why he gets headaches.

"They taste bad." Juhoon pushes them back to him after a single sip. 

Martin grins so hard his cheeks hurt.

Somehow, he expected intensity. Some life-altering revelation that would have possibly made him go, huh, so maybe this ain't what I want. Instead, Juhoon fits in the little cracks of Martin's schedule with ease. Juhoon still speaks softly, and still replies to him with concise texts or one emoji like he's being charged by the word. He works while Martin is on his bed talking nonstop about absolutely nothing. And Juhoon barely responds, just little hums and occasional comments, but every now and then Martin looks up and he catches Juhoon with his gaze down, smiling.

Maybe, it's just that Martin can find romance in a spat gum if he lets his guards down. But this really makes him medically unwell — his throat closes, his chest feels too small, and blood pumps to his ears, and his thoughts turn stupid, stupider, and he can't look away and, "You're so fucking pretty."

Juhoon always huffs. "You said that already."

Well, he's breathtaking, actually. Especially when Martin's got his back on him and then he turns and Juhoon's looking at him already, eyes curving, grinning wide, as if Martin didn't just make a fool of himself just to see that expression on him.

———

Martin waits outside James's building for twenty minutes. He checks, no updates. Which is weird because Juhoon's usually not late for warnings. No need to get worked up, though. He tries to ring him.

But nothing.

"He stood you up?" James is adjusting his shoe. He doesn't notice Martin grimace.

"Dunno," he answers lightly.

He doesn't let it affect him much. It happens. Juhoon could've been at studio. There's no reception there. Naturally, he's worried — it's Keonho who confirms it for him. By the time he hears from Juhoon, it's ten already.

"Hey," he says.

Juhoon says it back, "Hey," then, "How was today?"

Martin keeps the device between his ear and shoulder as he washes his hands. "Usual stuff," he narrates with a little sigh, "They told us to fix some parts— " Why do this over the phone, though. "You free tomorrow, right? Wanna sleep over?"

Juhoon arrives around eleven, and he's tired as hell. His hair's flattened to a side, and his face's tinged red. Martin's heart aches at the sight. "Can I borrow pants?" He rubs the tip of his nose.

Martin doesn't even answer that. Of course. He cups his cheeks with both hands, sharing some of his body heat. "Where's your scarf?" He asks, sympathetic. Juhoon exhales, content, and Martin keeps warming him up until he's not that cold anymore. "I made ramyeon," he says.

Juhoon toe-kicks his sneakers off, and shuffles into the apartment. "Just for me?"

"Sure."

"Thank you."

"Marriage material." Martin smirks a bit.

Juhoon mirrors it. He chuckles, short, "I know."

He serves him the noodles, and Martin keeps him company while he has dinner. He takes a bowl too after some time. Everything's fine. He's already moved on. Wasn't a big deal.

It comes up, though, while Juhoon is slurping broth.

"We pissed Seonghyeon off," he says conversationally.

Martin puts his chopstick down. He's already too full. "Why?"

"He waited outside for half an hour." Juhoon pauses. "Forgot we were supposed to print some papers."

Martin's not angry. He also waited less than Seonghyeon. "You forgot me and him in the same day," he teases. There's no accusation. It's light, and there's no other meaning. But he could've kept it for himself. Because Juhoon sets his bowl down to watch him.

"I didn't," he states. Juhoon nudges his noodles from himself, and takes his phone out.

Martin halts too.

There's a version of this dialogue that becomes ugly fast it he phrases the next sentence wrong. He doesn't let transpire any emotion. He's really not mad — it would be hypocritical of him because he'd been on the same boat before. His phone gets abandoned thus he can't let anyone know where he is. More often than not, professors and coaches keep him longer than expected, and Juhoon's left sitting on a bench or walking as he waits for him to be done. 

He shrugs. "Connection's really bad over there," he tries carefully. Juhoon withdraws at first when he gets upset. It's off the list of things Martin wants to trigger. 

Juhoon frowns faintly as he cannot unlock his screen. 

Martin immediately wishes he could rewind the last five seconds. He feels things loudly. Immediately. In full colors. "I wasn't trying to make you feel bad —"

"Wait," Juhoon clips. His thumb misses the sensor again and then it finally gets recognized and he starts scrolling. Martin just wanted to spend some time with him. Juhoon blinks in surprise, "Ah, no." He starts deflating.

That reeks of exhaustion, and Martin softens. 

He totally gets it, "It's fine, Jju," and he just wants Juhoon to stop looking pitiful and sorry. There's nothing to forgive. He's starting to feel like a complete jerk for implying anything, even if it was playful. He wants Juhoon to finish this meal. To wrap him in a hug for the entire weekend so Juhoon can rest.

But Juhoon's stubborn. He shows Martin the screen. An evidence. Their thread is there. Last thing is a failed send indicator. Still stuck here, go home. It's so him.

"I went out to the stairwell— I stood by the emergency exit sign," he elaborates. His shoulders drop. "I should've waited another minute. It was about to go through— I saw it trying. But Keonho dragged me back."

A simple image. Juhoon slipping outside the studio, standing under that sign. Signal comes and goes even there, but there's a chance at least.

The text simply didn't make it.

But he didn't forget about Martin.

Martin drops his head forward onto his forearm. He leaves the phone there, then gives it a push with his fingers, making it slide back toward Juhoon. 

He surrenders himself.

"I'm cooked," he admits. Butterflies, all the insects, there's a zoo in his stomach.

Juhoon instantly leans forward too. He puts his own forearm on the table and lowers his head onto it, turning slightly so he can observe Martin. 

He caresses Juhoon's cheek, absent and certain at the same time. "I'm really falling in love with you".

———

Small changes, big changes.

Their dynamic with the group shifts ever so slightly — they ask Martin where Juhoon is when he comes alone, but they've always done that.

Martin lifts one-shoulder, half-smile, "Running late, or fell asleep."

They bicker more too — not seriously, never seriously. Martin caves immediately.

It should be embarrassing - probably - the way he folds for him, but he doesn't do confrontations with Juhoon. He was whipped before, it's honestly worse now. James calls it, "Nasty," because he's allergic to compliments, and Keonho just smiles, wild and mocking, because his hobby is tormenting Martin. There may as well be a leash around Martin's neck with Juhoon's name stamped into the leather, and he parades it, exposing his neck to everyone.

Patience is a skill one can master. It's trainable, and Martin can manage frustration.

———

He's not thinking when he orders it. Juhoon said 'anything' and Martin believed him — to his credit, he's running on fumes. Both of them. Deadlines, exams, all sorts of very annoying adult things. 

It's silly. 

Martin drops the bag on his desk.

Juhoon's fucking picky, okay. He says he's not, but he's already wrinkling because of the smell alone.

"What's that," he says flatly.

If he weren't on the verge of collapsing, Martin would've smooched the expression off his face. But he's calculating if he can finish by the target date, and he's got another mess with disasters piling up faster than he can solve them, approximately seven emails he hadn't opened yet out of fear, and then there's the quiet realization that being passionate about music does not magically exempt him from suffering.

There's a lot on his plate.

He tears the paper bag and takes them out. "Kebab."

Juhoon doesn't want to touch it. 

Martin's already chewing his first bite. "It's good," not the best he's ever tried. But food is food. He slows down to assess the situation briefly when Juhoon doesn't extend his hand to take it. Martin keeps eating, anyway. Chews. Swallows. In his head, it was an option — but he should have known. He looks back down when Juhoon goes for Martin's laptop instead. Pure refusal. Martin goes on. A few more bites. Mechanical now.

Not tasting much.

He finishes what's in his hands first. He cleans after himself, goes in the bathroom, and then walks back to correct it with a few taps.

When the delivery arrives, he sets it down in front of Juhoon's folded legs.

Juhoon looks at it curiously.

There's rice and kimchi and meat. All comfortable choices. Safe. Martin knows he likes that. It's plain enough that he won't dismiss it outright. Can't contort those pretty lips, and just decide it's inedible. 

Martin feels his temper rise a bit when he still catches a glint of suspicion, but he tones it down. Turns it from ten to zero — it's a scale that reaches a hundred, so. He pulls out the containers, and lines them up on the desk one-by-one neatly. Look. Look at the shit I do for you, you little shit.

Sauce cups, extra napkins. Plastic cutlery, chopsticks — everything in display.

Juhoon moves now — now, he's got an appetite. He observes the spread for a long second, then meets Martin's gaze, "Restraint's a virtue," with his mouth finally quirking up. He peels the lids of his buffet.

He picks the rice.

Martin snorts before a laugh, rough and unplanned, escapes him. "You're welcome," he deadpans, smile lingering. He settles on the floor while Juhoon takes the desk.

The other kebab's still there, untouched, on the bed. He snatches it halfway through Juhoon nibbling on pieces of pork.

"Never again," Juhoon tells him as Martin unwraps it.

Martin wants to roll his eyes. "Good talk," he says, munching on the pita, "Glad we're on the same page."

———

"Mid-January? Dude."

Martin mutters, "I didn't book —"

"But did you tell him?" James cuts in.

Martin almost winces.

"No," he exhales. "Not yet."

They look around to make sure Juhoon's not close enough to overhear them. Seonghyeon pulls a face. "Yeah, because it's not like you're leaving in two days, hyung," he points out dryly. He squints. "What are you waiting for? Tell him."

He rubs the back of his neck. "I will, I will," he assures, though dread is twisting his insides into knots.

"When?" Seonghyeon presses.

"You know," Keonho starts, "I think he thinks you guys are at least spending New Year together."

Martin blows out a breath, "Look, it's— " Complicated, he'd like to say. His parents had suddenly emailed him tickets, and told him they could not wait to spend the holidays as a complete family. They had bought last-minute tickets. Expensive as fuck tickets. Completely non-refundable. He cannot cancel them. Can't change the dates. But that still doesn't explain why he's keeping the information from Juhoon. "I don't want to leave him," he adds. He was actually considering asking Juhoon to stay in his apartment, selfishly. At least for the 1st.

Turns out he won't even be here.

They'll be kilometers apart.

At first, he thought that, well, Juhoon's going to be fine because he'll be with his family. And maybe, Juhoon will. But this is just Martin trying to quiet the tension weighing down on his chest. Even if he keeps telling himself that, he panics as he pictures the scenario. Juhoon deserves to know. Juhoon deserves honesty.

Martin knows all of that.

And yet, he's here talking about it with their friends.

It's just that every single time he tries to talk to Juhoon, the words lodge themselves somewhere behind his teeth. They do not want to come out.

Because last time, while they wandered downtown, Martin himself had planted the idea in Juhoon's head — he threw it casually, but the intent was there. "Ugh, New Year's gonna suck if you're not there," he'd groaned. Juhoon had looked over, and actually nodded, and then they kind of started imagining a little routine just for them, little what-ifs about escaping the campus. Finally hidden away from the noise and endless chaos of college.

He did that. What a dumbass.

They're across each other when he gets the nerve to spill the truth.

"When are you coming back?"

Martin forces himself to speak, "Like, a day before lessons start."

Juhoon digests it, gears working in real time. "Alright," a second passes, "Guess we'll see each other after, then." He brushes it off, usual acceptance. There's a shadow of disappointment in him, though. Martin has learned to recognize it — blank face, he's not meeting Martin's eyes.

It went exactly as he had imagined.

Unfortunately.

It's not resolved. He's sure about that.

The worst part is that he doesn't realize he's being avoided because he spends the next twenty-four hours agonizing over the fact that Juhoon's gift hasn't arrived yet. It was supposed to come today — no, it wasn't a spur-of-the-moment purchase just for Juhoon not to hate him for something he cannot control.

He even becomes one of those nightmare customers who chats and calls every hour in desperation. None of that helps — he doesn't recommend it.

It hits him when it's night, and he's with James and James tells him, "Why," he frowns at him, "are we together? Shouldn't you be with your boyfriend?"

"I do not know where he is." Normal. For them.

But Martin's also scowling now. He won't be here tomorrow at noon.

James raises a brow, "Huh." He looks Martin up and down. "Is he ignoring you?"

Martin has to blink. He didn't have to, but he does.

"What?"

James inspects his own nails. "He's with Seonghyeon and Keonho." He's completely unfazed.

Martin's about to argue — Juhoon isn't like that. He wouldn't act like that. But he just swallows. Deep down - he thinks - if this is a punishment, he's brought it on himself. Earned it. If Juhoon is creating space between them, the least Martin can do is honor it.

But urgency coils behind his ribs — because Martin has a countdown. If he lets this stretch in, he might lose him for the weeks he's away.

Every rational cell of him says he should let Juhoon be. 

But he's in front of Juhoon's dormitory room fifteen minutes later.

He doesn't like that, Distance makes the heart grow fonder bullshit — yeah, whatever. They don't see each other every day. Hell, some weeks it's barely a text. Juhoon's always around, somewhere, and it's enough just knowing he is. It's okay, because Martin can swing by Juhoon's whenever he wants, or he can ask him to come over and they stay in his kitchen, in Martin's room. Martin can just see that face and laugh at something stupid. If he feels like it, if the day's shit, he's used to make a fleeting visit. To relax, to just hear Juhoon once in person. That's how it usually works — Martin can always drop in, always steal a few minutes, always make it right with a grin or a joke.

Juhoon's always been within reach.

Canada isn't around the corner, though.

And if Juhoon keeps ignoring him - especially now, when he might genuinely be angry, or worse, hurt - Martin can't just go. He still hasn't explained that it was never about excluding him. He hasn't explained the important part at all. Not because he lacks excuses, but because any justification would sound thin. An attempt to patch a wound that had already settled in.

He's got his legs outstretched across the hallway, head tipped back against the wall.

Juhoon finds him like that. "What are you doing?"

Martin pushes himself upright too quickly, "Oh, hey," nearly catching his shoe on the floor.

Juhoon huffs out a quiet laugh through his nose. That's nice. He seems confused as he walks closer. He's got a plastic convenience store bag hanging from one wrist.

"How long have you been here?"

"Don't know." For a while neither of them says anything. Martin's torn between a strong desire to just hold him, and also feeling oddly helpless. What if Juhoon pushes him away. Martin can't take the risk. That would shatter him. "You'll have to wait for your Christmas present," is the only olive branch he can extend. Pathetic.

Juhoon looks at him, stunned into silence. He tips his head at a side a little, "Yours will have to wait too."

Martin gazes down briefly after that. More silence. "I should've told you immediately," he says then. He inhales hard. "I get it, if you're mad. But I-I kinda wanted to stay with you tonight. If that's okay."

"I'm not mad," Juhoon says right away. He presses the bag to Martin who takes it automatically. "I was just —" He fumbles for his keys. "A little off about it, I guess. But I was gonna come find you tonight anyway."

Martin's hopeful. "Yeah?"

The lock clicks softly. "Yep," Juhoon affirms. He glances back at him, "I mean, you're going home. I'm happy for you." He pushes the door with a palm. "You've been talking about Ottawa forever," he continues, "Your family, your friends, your junk food. Of course I'm happy you get to go back for a while." He flicks the light on, then turns to sign at Martin to get in, "Doesn't mean I can't feel weird about you disappearing for weeks."

———

So apparently Juhoon wasn't trying to ignore him.

It's a lie.

But communication isn't their forte. They've got a lot to figure out still.

For now, Martin has his back against the headboard, cock buried to the hilt inside Juhoon. Can't really think about anything else other than, yeah, baby, fuck yourself. Juhoon goes up and then sinks down again with a slick, greedy roll of his hips. The heat is obscene - tight, and scorching - and it pulls a deep, groan straight from Martin's chest.

Fuck, arguments and misunderstandings suck, bu it's not every day he's got Juhoon straddling him.

If this is how they make up after every stupid fight, he might start considering picking a few on purpose. 

Juhoon's thighs tremble from the effort of riding him. His chest heaves, sweat sliding down the groove of his collarbones. His jaw is tight with concentration, lips parted on every ragged breath. Martin watches every flutter of pleasure across that pretty face. This has been good, but he wants to push inside Juhoon further.

He reaches up and taps two fingers against Juhoon's sternum.

"Lean on me, Jju," he says, "I've got you".

Juhoon's dark eyes flash with relief. Hello, beautiful. He folds forward, bracing both hands on Martin's chest, and the new angle lets Martin slide all the way in, deeper, fuller. Finally. A sharp, broken breath punches out of Juhoon, and Martin feels it vibrate through both of them, straight to his balls.

Early on, Martin had wondered if Juhoon would even like this — getting fucked. Taking cock deep. Penetration isn't for every guy. Some times, people just do it to please their partners, and no, Martin doesn't like that for Juhoon. He'd told himself it would be fine either way. They could grind, suck, rut against each other until they came. He'd wanted Juhoon any way he could have him. But the first time they did it and he'd pushed inside, Juhoon had been rock-hard, leaking against their stomachs, pushing back against Martin.

Juhoon actually loves getting pounded. Craves it.

And that knowledge makes Martin stupidly, filthily hot.

He lifts his head and claims Juhoon's mouth in a messy kiss. He wants to say, I'm sorry and I can't wait to be back and you feel so fucking good, but all he registers is the obscene slap of skin on skin, the wet sound of Juhoon's ass taking his thrusts. God, he's gonna miss this, miss him. Juhoon moans into his mouth, needy, and Martin drinks it down, fucking up harder, chasing that perfect heat.

He pulls back just enough to speak against Juhoon's swollen lips. "Wanna come?"

Juhoon nods frantically, kissing him again. "Yes— fuck, yes." He noses under Martin's jaw, teeth and tongue teasing the sensitive skin there, making Martin whimper. Irresistible. 

Martin nips at his cheek, "Sure," affection and raw lust twisting together. "Whatever you want," he rasps. Whatever Juhoon wants. He makes it his mission.

He stops moving, and focuses completely on Juhoon. One hand's around Juhoon's throbbing cock, stroking in firm pulls. His other arm bands around Juhoon's back, holding him flush. Martin watches his face with heavy-lidded eyes — Juhoon's mouth's hanging open, lashes fluttering. He sits there impaled on his cock, lost in it. Martin can come with just that.

The tension builds fast. Juhoon's thighs shake harder. His eyelids squeeze shut. He swallows once, throat working, then his mouth drops open again.

"Ah— !" The sound is soft, and utterly perfect.

Martin twitches hard inside him in response. He adjusts their angle again, and now gives a few small thrusts. Juhoon comes with a broken cry, spilling hot and thick over Martin's fist, his hole clenching rhythmically around Martin's cock like it's trying to milk him. Martin bites off a moan, God.

Juhoon slumps forward, panting against Martin's neck. Martin holds him through the aftershock, stroking his back, saying low praises against his temple.  Letting him catch his breath. He brings a hand up to push Juhoon's hair behind his ears.

"You okay?" He whispers.

He feels Juhoon move his head in affirmation.

A few heartbeats later Juhoon raises his head, eyes glassy and fucked-out.

"You can move," he breathes. "Move, Martin."

Martin doesn't need telling twice. He grips Juhoon's hips and drives up into him, chasing the tight, pulsing heat still fluttering around him. Juhoon takes him, body soft and open, voice cracking on every push. Fingers squeeze Martin's biceps.

"Yes," he purrs. Yes, baby, make it hurt.

"Uh— Martin," Juhoon gasps between thrusts, "is it good?"

Ah, man. That's what does the trick. It turns him on even more. Martin doesn't know why those little questions always hit him like this. He always feels them all the way down his spine. He groans, hips snapping faster, harder. 

"So much," he manages. "You feel— Jesus, Juhoon —"

Juhoon keeps going, murmuring encouragement between moans, clenching deliberately around him, asking again in that wrecked voice if Martin likes it, if Martin likes fucking him, if he's close. Too much. He speaks right in Martin's ear, "Fuck me, come inside me". And, oh, haha, that's a new entry. Martin presses his face in Juhoon's shoulder, movements turning erratic and deep, and finally lets go.

Pleasure crashes through him in heavy waves as he fills the condom hips jerking into Juhoon, body tensing, toes curling.

He sags against Juhoon's pillows. That was amazing. 

"Man, you're so good," he gushes. His pulse's still racing, post-euphoria.

Juhoon half-smiles at that. "Thanks, man," he replies. He looks at him, pleased, before he shifts with a soft, sated sigh and eases off him. 

The loss of his warmth makes Martin's belly tighten instantly. "No, stay," he huffs. 

Juhoon asks, "What time's your flight?"

Martin peels the condom off, and ties it off. "Thanks," he says on reflex when Juhoon passes him tissues, and he starts wiping his fingers, "Don't talk about that while you're naked." His eyes stay fixed on Juhoon. Nobody can blame him if he wants to savor this moment a little longer. He throws everything off the bin. "Come to bed," he says around a yawn.

Juhoon obliges.

Martin's touchy and clingy. After sex, it's worse — sharper, almost needy. He rolls over in the narrow mattress, and crowds in close, catching Juhoon before he can settle fully on his back. He presses a kiss to Juhoon's cheek, then another to the high curve of his cheekbone, one to his closed eyelid, the side of his forehead. Several more land on Juhoon's lips. He can't decide which spot deserves more attention. Juhoon lets himself be held, and Martin just cannot get enough of him. "What if I buy you a ticket?"

It's dumb. He's dumb. And he hasn't seen anyone in almost a year, but he doesn't want him far from him. He wants Juhoon everywhere he goes. He can already see himself moping and he's not even at the airport yet. 

Oh, he has it bad bad.

They both know it.

Juhoon puffs out a quiet laugh against his mouth, "I can sneak into a luggage." He's also playing along. How fucking cute.

Martin nuzzles into his cheek. "You're so small," technically Juhoon isn't, but compared to Martin he could be, "You could fit. Come, I'll take care of you." He showers him with kisses. Juhoon is cuddly, and he clings back, and Martin's heart is suddenly bigger and will explode. He intertwines their fingers, kiss, "They," kiss, "will", kiss, "love you."

———

Martin is twenty. He's got crazy hormones, and what's engraved in his brain on the plane is Juhoon - early in the morning - playing with himself, back and front, while sucking on Martin's fingers.

———

"Ha?"

"Hm?"

"What, hm?"

"What, ha?"

His dad bursts out laughing at their interaction. His mom doesn't feel the same way. Her brows are pushed in confusion. "Mister, I've been talking to you," she says. She swats his arm with the dishrag. "Put that away," she gestures at Martin's phone. She grumbles, "You and your sister— both on that thing. Every time."

Martin obeys with an exhale.

He's not in a good mood. Hasn't been ever since he landed. Because he didn't take into account the time difference. First day, he brooded over Juhoon's texts not coming through. Because, who knows, maybe something happened while he was traveling overseas. Some settings changed on their own.

It could've happened. 

He also called Seonghyeon who mumbled, "Hyung, it's three am." Good choice to inconvenience him.

His dad nudges his foot. "What's up?"

"Nothing," he says weakly. Just that Martin's learned he actually dislikes waiting for Juhoon to wake up. Just three days ago he was in his arms. Juhoon didn't want to video-call yesterday or the day before because - apparently - he had his long-distance cousins over, and they're merciless, according to him.

Doesn't mean he can't send selfies, though.

Martin freezes a bit at that last thought. He cannot quite believe it, but Keonho is awfully right. He has become annoying.

"You're doing well," his dad adds conversationally.

"Am I," Martin says back, head in his hand. Now, he's going through a crisis.

His mom nods, "Yes," then she sighs fondly as she watches him, "Martin." His parents exchange a look then a laugh at his expense.

Martin runs both hands over his face. He makes eyes at the ceiling. 

"Are you happy?"

Now, that makes him feel bad. He doesn't want them thinking it's because of them. He straightens, and meets their stares. "Yeah, sure," he goes on, "It's just— the jet lag. But I missed you, guys."

She snorts at him, "Yeah, yeah —" She waves him off. She sighs again, repeating, "You really didn't hear anything at all. Your dad was asking if you were happy there. In Korea. Is it going well at school? Are you happy? You seem stressed."

Martin doesn't even defend himself. "Ah, sorry," and then immediately, "Yes, I'm happy." Very. In general. Put the heavy part of college stuff aside for a second - deadlines, lectures he's half-listening to, the constant feeling that he should be doing more - and he realizes it's actually true. He is happy. Not loudly, not even in the way that he's not overthinking every decision — he worries constantly. College is there, sure, sometimes stressful, sometimes boring, but it isn't the whole picture.

He still has to find more balance, but it doesn't swallow him the way it used to anymore.

His friends are solid. The kind of people he can sit with for hours without needing to do too much. They're with him and for him every time he needs. It's reassuring.

And his love life is —

"— you know Juhoon," comes out naturally from Martin. It's only when both his parents pause that he catches what he's just said.

His dad ponders. "The one who doesn't smile?"

Martin chokes on air. "No, no," he says with vehemence he doesn't mean. But no, wrong, that's not Juhoon. "That's James hyung." He doesn't wait for them to mistake him for somebody else. "Hyung thinks he turns out looking good if he's miserable. It's a whole thing."

"Ah," his dad nods wisely, as if that actually clarified it. 

His mom is wiping the counter now. "So this Juhoon smiles?"

Martin finds that lame. He chuckles fondly. "I mean, yeah— Obviously?" He looks at her back. When she turns, she has her arms crossed on her chest and a little smirk. "He's pretty nice," he says more.

"Let's see him," she drawls.

He can downplay this. Make a clean retreat and say that it's from his circle, they spend lots of times together. Not everything has to be out on his third day back here. But Martin is already in his gallery and looking for the perfect picture to show them — it takes him some time because some of them are for his eyes only. He ends up choosing a group photo because all the others are really personal.

Even those with Juhoon sleeping with his mouth open, yes.

"Oh," his mom's hand flies to her chest, "Handsome."

Martin's not subtle at all. "I know, right?"

———

It's connecting. Martin smiles before he can stop himself. "You look busted."

Juhoon's cheek's half-squished into a pillow. The entire screen is just his face. He's barely awake, and Martin's gone. He blinks at Martin slowly. 

"Why are you up," he whispers, rough.

Martin grins, stomach folding in on itself. "Wanted to see you," he whispers back.

It's late, or too early. Depends. Even his sister's still knocked out. They talk quietly. Martin asks if other relatives are visiting. Juhoon asks if he still gets up around two. Martin complains about bread here. Juhoon's phone falls on his face, and they both laugh.

Martin keeps staring instead of speaking sometimes.

Juhoon shifts lower into his blankets. "Your family good?" Tiny smile. There it is.

Absolutely devastating. Martin thinks, I'm finished. Horrible. "Yeah," and he's brave enough or sincere enough at this hour to say, "We talked about you."

Juhoon stills. Just a little. He's not alarmed. "Why," he asks, though it's clear he knows the answer.

"Because I say your name a lot," Martin diverts a bit. "Which is fake." To let him breathe even if it looks like he doesn't need it. 

"Mm."

"Dad thought James hyung was you."

Juhoon actually laughs at that. Quiet and brief, and real. Martin feels it around his ribs. "That's offensive?"

"Exactly! Thank you."

There's another pause. Juhoon's eyes keep slipping shut for a second at a time now. He's trying to stay awake anyway. Martin goes quiet watching him — an old t-shirt Juhoon's using as a pajamas. Sleep-heavy voice. Blanket now up to under his chin. The way Juhoon blinks back to look at him, all soft and still smiling.

And suddenly the distance feels enormous.

Canada feels enormous.

Martin wishes he could touch him. "I miss you so bad," he mutters a little louder.

Juhoon looks more attentive now. "Me too," he breathes, "Too quiet without you."

Martin laughs weakly right after, because instinctively he always tries to soften things. Thing is, he's actually emotional. Better late than never. Open. Affectionate. He tries to be careful with big feelings, but they slip out of him. This one, though, he has to force out manually. He looks straight at the front camera.

"I had this whole speech before calling."

Juhoon gets quieter, "Really."

"Mm," Martin smiles, lopsided, more to himself. "Was supposed to sound cool too."

"Did it."

"No," he says, "because now I'm nervous."

Juhoon's awake awake now. Martin can tell.

He drums his fingers on his on thigh. Stops. Takes a breath. "I think —" He starts, then immediately frowns at himself. "Ah, fuck," he swears.

Juhoon waits him out patiently.

"No, because listen," Martin tries again, laughing under his breath, embarrassed. Can't get shy now, though. "I know I'm— whatever. But you're— " He cuts himself off. Breathe, breathe. This cannot go wrong. It's Juhoon. He starts over. "You make my life better," comes out first instead. Barely above a murmur. Martin's heart is beating hard enough to hurt now. "And I miss you all the time here." He laughs once again, softer. "Like, actually all the time."

Juhoon's expression changes then.

But Martin knows him now. Knows every tiny shift. He inhales, "And I think— no, not think." That's not it. "Fuck." Then, finally, he just goes, "I love you."

Juhoon just looks at him.

Of course, Martin immediately caves under the pressure. "You don't gotta say it back right now," he blurts. "I just— it was sitting in my chest weird and —"

"I know," Juhoon answers. He smiles, huge, in that rare way that always makes Martin feel a little sick.

Martin stops talking. Then, he laughs helplessly, covering his eyes for a second. "Terrible."

"You're very obvious."

"I thought I was carrying myself with dignity."

"No," he says.

Martin groans dramatically into his hand.

Juhoon laughs at him. He sobers, blinks. "And I love you too," and he grins.

Martin can't fucking move.

Juhoon watches him carefully afterward. "You okay?" He asks, raising a brow.

Martin looks at him. He sighs, deep. "No, man," he says honestly. "I'm worse."

He really cannot wait to be back.