Archive of Our Own

“Jongin,”

“Jongin,”

“Jongin, for the love of god, please.”

Monday morning the shrill cry goes on, as does the banging on the wall that Jongin is content to ignore. The thin walls carry Chanyeol’s groggy, irritated voice, filters it through Jongin’s slumber fogged conscious. Chanyeol is in his dream. He may be yelling something undecipherable and it may not sound particularly kind but Chanyeol’s here and this can be concluded to be a dream, a good one.

Then Jongin’s duvet is yanked away and the biting cold kisses him an uncivil good morning. He keeps his eyes closed and waits for this part of the dream to be over. Clearly perfectly good and comfortable isn’t achievable in dreams either. What a fraud.

Jongin waits and waits and waits until he’s blinded by light that fades to the outline of a highly unamused Park Chanyeol. They have a mini staring competition, like two unflinching frogs that dare each other to go for the fly.

Jongin offers an unsure smile. Chanyeol remains stoic. His hair imitates mute fury. He stands shirtless and his pyjama bottoms sweep low on his hips. Jongin brings his smile back to Chanyeol’s face. Much of the irritation melts with each second like snow on hot pavement until his expression turns exasperated.

“Good morning, hyung.”

“Tell that to my headache.”

“Good morning hyung’s headache.”

“Right.” Chanyeol turns on his heels and takes the duvet with him. Jongin, more lucid now and starting to shiver, launches himself after him. His coordination is yet to awake fully and he stumbles into Chanyeol’s back, keeps himself up by wrapping his arms around the latter’s waist. Chanyeol is always hot to the touch, like he’s got a furnace going under his skin and Jongin is ever grateful. It’s no exception now, pressing his cheek to the dip between Chanyeol’s shoulder blades, his bare chest toasting on Chanyeol’s warmth.

“Do you want to skip breakfast too?” Chanyeol throws his hands in the air but they come back down to cover Jongin’s around his middle, not turning.

“I’m cold.” Jongin says on Chanyeol’s skin. Chanyeol’s shiver echoes in his own body. It’s his cold lips, Jongin thinks, Chanyeol’s body is reacting to the difference in temperatures.

“You’re not going to get warmer by standing here half naked.”

“You’re half naked too.”

“Trust me, my blood is boiling.”

Jongin laughs, taking the chance to bend down and grab the fallen duvet. He throws it over his and Chanyeol’s heads, grabbing onto one corner and expecting Chanyeol to do the same.

“There’s an easy solution to all this you know,” he says as they start towards the kitchen.

“Yes you could wake up when you hear the alarm, as you know, per its function. I don’t want to—Oh it’s snowing!”

“First snow!” Puerile glee takes hold of Jongin. His feet move him up and down of their own accord. “Hyung, let’s go! Let’s go!” Jongin darts towards the door. He’s yanked back harshly by the duvet, Chanyeol glaring at him like he lost his mind.

“Where do you expect to go in your birthday suit?”

“I’m not in my—”

“It’s not any better. We’re not going anywhere till you’re wearing enough clothes.”

Approximately two minutes later, when Jongin hurriedly finds odd slippers, sweatpants, two shirts and a duvet serving as a coat because he couldn’t be bothered to grab his actual coat, they’re standing outside in the amassing snow. Jongin twirls around, head facing up at the pale opaque sky as the flurries fall on him. There isn’t enough for a snowball fight but he does open his mouth and let the flakes melt on his tongue. Chanyeol chides him for it and Jongin grouches about him being a spoilsport until he gives in and does the same.

“Ah it’s seriously so cold. Can we go back in?” Chanyeol rubs his arms, lucky to get a sweater on before Jongin dashed out of the door.

“It’s first fall hyung, why are you so grumpy? You know this means we’re gonna be together for a long time,” he tries to avoid Chanyeol’s eyes as he says this, keeping his voice light enough to be taken as a joke.

“Doesn’t that mean we have to avoid freezing to death? Let’s go home darling,” he takes Jongin’s hand, beaming saccharinely. He ignores Jongin’s scowl and marches them back inside.  

“Hyung,” Jongin whines once they’re back in their flat. He deviates towards the fridge and takes out a jar of strawberry jam, “do you know how long it took me to fall asleep? I barely slept.” He passes the jam and a butter knife to Chanyeol who’s setting two plates on the counter.

“Why? Were you jerking off to bad porn all night?”

“Hyung!” Jongin nudges him indignantly from the safety of the duvet now wrapped around him completely to hide his red face. “I was too cold!” he whines, embarrassment evident in his voice at Chanyeol’s gross misjudgement.

“So you were masturbating to keep warm?”

Chanyeol’s only taking the piss now, Jongin knows. It doesn’t stop him from marching to the kitchen table, plopping down and putting his face down. Chanyeol’s chuckle reaches him from the veil of the duvet.

If he could sort out his head and forget his embarrassment for one second, he could tease Chanyeol back about the awful artificial moans that Jongin sometimes hears through the thin, thin walls that are certainly not Chanyeol’s. Unless it belongs to the ghost in their flat, Chanyeol doesn’t bring people over and neither does Jongin so it’s not hard to tell what was going down.

But Jongin is still taking shelter from the thought of Chanyeol even thinking of him doing anything sexual by the time Chanyeol finishes jamming up their crispbread and sets the plates on the table.

“Come on sweetheart, you can’t tell me you’re embarrassed of masturbation.” But Jongin is when it’s Chanyeol who’s talking about it. And Jongin’s heart functions weirdly, almost fails , when Chanyeol calls him sweet names even though he’s been doing it since forever. Well, if forever means since their friends overheard Chanyeol teasing him with an endearment and stuck the couple title on them.

“Brighten up sweetheart, you’ve only got like, the best score in class.” Chanyeol had snorted at Jongin who was upset about the two marks he missed on his history paper.

“Oooh, sweetheart! You hear that guys?” Mark gasped, histrionic.  

“Guys, I reckon whipped. What do you say?” Dany asked mirthfully.

“Whipped,” the rest of their friends chorused their agreement. Jongin was ready to voice his contradiction, annoyed they’d make such a baseless correlation but Chanyeol had nudged him, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

“How about we show them whipped, baby ?”

Jongin’s annoyance coalesced into amusement. “Sounds good honey,”

He wishes he could go back to when that was just a game. When Jongin’s heart didn’t do weird things.

 “Do you want more blankets?”

“Huh?” the rumbling in his tummy convinces him to lift his head. Also the fact that they’re going to be late at this rate if he doesn’t eat quickly.

“What should we do about your night situation?” the way he says ‘situation’ makes Jongin want to burrow under the cover again but he glares instead. Chanyeol only smiles back.

“What we did last year.” Jongin shrugs.

“Really? It’s not even December.”

“Don’t moan when you find I’ve stolen all your blankets and duvet and clothes.”

“Want me in your bed that bad, huh?” Chanyeol whistles, impressed, and Jongin considers chucking the last piece of his crispbread at him. With one last unfriendly glare, Jongin pushes away from the table, drops his plate in the sink and leaves for the bathroom. Perhaps if Chanyeol kept his mouth closed Jongin would do the dishes but he didn’t and it’s off the table now.

All the flushing and shame-face keep him warm enough to leave his cover behind but he regrets it as soon as he enters the bathroom that breathes cold hellfire. He wonders if there even is any hot water or if the pipes have frozen over too.

He doesn’t feel like going back to the kitchen and enduring more of Chanyeol’s teasing—which he wouldn’t mind if he somehow didn’t feel guilty for anticipating sleeping in the same bed as Chanyeol again, like Chanyeol read his mind and is calling him out—nor does he want to bother with rummaging his wardrobe for something when he’s going to stand in the cold for three more minutes max before he gets into the shower.

Chanyeol enters as he’s rinsing his mouth. Instead of picking up his own brush, he stands behind Jongin and smiles at him in the mirror. He’s gauging Jongin’s annoyance and while Jongin left most of his embarrassment at the table, he averts his eyes and pretends to examine his teeth in stubborn irritation.

“Come on Jonginnie,” Chanyeol caresses his shoulders, smoothing the tension from them, wanders lower, rubbing up and down his arm as Jongin stares back blankly through the mirror. A tingle starts in Jongin’s scalp and rushes to his toes. It’s like this every time Chanyeol touches him and it makes him want to drag his friend to the sofa and take a deep nap on his chest. Which didn’t bother him before until he realized lately that, too, makes his heart function strangely.

“You can’t be mad at me.” Chanyeol forms a rope out of his arms around Jongin when he still doesn’t respond, getting tighter and tighter until Jongin squeals when he starts to feel his rib cage compress his lungs.

“What do I get if I forgive you?” he shrugs off Chanyeol’s arms and crosses his own.

“My eternal love and a kiss on the lips, darling.” Chanyeol smiles, wide and charming. It disorients Jongin for a moment and his words don’t register. When they do, Jongin is huffing and shoving away from him. He wonders if it’s the notably colder weather that’s making him so prone to getting rosy cheeked. He could normally hold his own under Chanyeol’s playful flirtatiousness, like always, but there’s something about his half nude state, dishevelled early morning look and extra warm eyes that frazzle Jongin’s nerves this morning.

“Fine, fine! I’ll move in with you tonight.”

The closing door ricochets as Jongin goes in search of a towel and Chanyeol’s laughter meets the echoes.

“Hyung, it’s all white now!” The cold doesn’t bother him so much as he presses his face to the window in Chanyeol’s bedroom. The snow capped landscape attests to the abrupt chill that descended late last evening. “You’re not even wearing socks yet.” Chanyeol, who’s passing by, yanks him by the collar and drags him along. Jongin yelps but doesn’t make an effort to get free.

“But hyung it’s—”

“If we miss the train you’re making dinner.”

That quiets Jongin and improves his cooperation significantly. He shoves on the gloves and fluffy socks and hat Chanyeol forages out of various drawers. They all belong to Chanyeol, perhaps it’s why the tingling sensation is back in Jongin’s body.

“What’s the point of the scarf if it doesn’t even cover your neck?” Chanyeol halts midway of buttoning up his coat.

“You mean if it doesn’t choke me?” Jongin sighs as Chanyeol readjusts the wool around his neck so it covers up to his chin, brushing his lips.

“Just know I’ll leave you in your room until your immunity figures it out if you get sick again.” Chanyeol threatens, wrapping himself up.

Jongin smiles, recalling how Chanyeol spent the three days the flu bested him last by his side, soup bowl and warm washcloth alternating in his hands. “Sure hyung.”

By the time they make it out of the house, the train is due in three minutes and the walk to the stop takes five. Despite Chanyeol’s insistence and endeavours, it’s Jongin who is out of the door first and running to hold up the train. The automated voice rings out through the carriage; train doors closing, please step away from the platform for the third time. Jongin can feel the irritation of the other passengers but Chanyeol only has a few metres left. Jongin makes a beckoning motion, reaching a hand out like a member of a relay team waiting for the baton to be passed.

Several sighs of relief are heaved including his own when Chanyeol leaps in, the door shuts and the train starts to move.

“Sorry!” Chanyeol whispers to the annoyed faces around them, out of breath and his scarf unravelled.

Guilt lurches around like pebbles in Jongin’s stomach. He reaches up to fix the scarf, sheepish half smile on his face, “I’ll wake up on time tomorrow.”

Chanyeol rolls his eyes but lets Jongin continue playing about his neck, “I haven’t heard that one before.”

“No, I promise.” he implores. The two layers of coat make it difficult to get his arms around Chanyeol but he manages, batting his eyelashes up at his friend the way he knows Chanyeol has a hard time denying.

“And the boogeyman promises he doesn’t eat kids.”

“Hyung,”

“And Sehun doesn’t have a crush on Baekhyun.”

“Hyung,” Jongin’s complaint turns into a laugh, the memory of Sehun getting tongue tied and googly eyed around their friend popping into his mind.

“And I won’t forgive you just like every time.”

“That’s why I love you.”

“Can you say that again? I didn’t catch it,” Chanyeol leans down, clutching a grab handle so he can remain steady as he gets in Jongin’s face with his clownish grin.

“Too bad.”

He looks out of the window, to the white mural zipping by, flecked in tall brick shapes and pecan vegetation peeking through. His previous statement replays in his mind, examining it back to front, inside and out how it might have sounded aloud, if the modulation of his voice had changed, if his body betrayed more than it should have.

Unclear to him the exactly when, there came a time where the way he meant those words to Chanyeol differently than he had. The realization didn’t come to him in a sudden moment, a single moment of epiphany filled with wonder or ecstasy. Rather it was like an old box of memories he’d stumbled upon again, like he always had it, residing in a nostalgic crevice of his conscious. It’s not as much a pleasant discovery as he’d like it to be.

As much as it’s a consistent well of thermal fondness in his chest, the feeling is very much tremulous under the strain of Jongin’s apprehension. Trying to keep the surplus emotion out when he tells those words to Chanyeol is a struggle and his heart kicks in fear of letting it slip one of these days in the euphoric comfort of a cuddle with him or basking in the tender attention of his distressed nagging over Jongin’s state of dress. Those surplus emotions have no place as long as Jongin’s role in Chanyeol’s life starts and ends at best friend.

“Psst.” Chanyeol says in Jongin’s ear, startling him out of his rumination.  His arm settles around Jongin, placing them chest to chest. For a moment he allows himself to rest his head on Chanyeol’s shoulder, calculating how long of the ride is left and if he can have a micro nap on the spot.

“The man has three cats and his furniture is probably all scraped.” Chanyeol whispers, nodding to somewhere behind Jongin.

“Really? What makes you say that?”

“He has scratches on his face. His neck too.” Chanyeol cranes to see as discreetly as he can.

They call this game story time and it started out of sheer boredom one day when they were waiting in line for the release of a new game. They came up with backgrounds and stories for each stranger that passed by or was in their surroundings. It became a habit whenever they were bored outdoors or on transport and it thrills Jongin because Chanyeol can get ridiculously inventive.

“He could just have a passionate lover.” Jongin says. The statement brings heat to his cheeks, especially with Chanyeol’s proximity but he still wiggles his eyebrows at Chanyeol’s surprised face.

“Right. Less time with Mr. Byun for you, noted. But you could be right. Maybe he has a lover like you.”

Jongin’s heart dies in his chest and he can’t remember how to respire.

“W-what?”

“Have you seen my back? You’re an aggressive kitten when you get annoyed, my poor unfortunate back. You don’t deserve my cuddles.” he laments with a sigh.

Stunned, Jongin’s jaw remains open until Chanyeol nudges him, noticing his prolonged paralyzed state.

“Jongin?”

“What about him?” Jongin shakes his head, dispelling his stupor. He tips his head in the direction of the man standing at the door across them. Chanyeol rotates his head slightly, pensive.

Jongin heart does that strange faltering thing when Chanyeol puts his lips against Jongin’s ear, at the tender edge of the lobe where his hat doesn’t cover to whisper, “He has conversations with his toaster.”

“In fact he greets him every morning ‘hey there Mr. Toastman,’~”

Jongin laughs all the way to campus.

He’s still flushed and unable to retract the smile on his face when he enters his lecture hall late and shuffles sheepishly across his professor to take his seat. Aidan peers at him as he settles down.

“Let’s hear the joke.”

“Won’t get it,” Jongin shakes his head, partly because he knows it’s one of those things humorous in the moment or with a certain person, and partly because he doesn’t feel like sharing his and Chanyeol’s inside jokes. They’re not called ‘outside jokes’ for a reason.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, why?”

“You just look a little tired,” Aidan says quietly, concern patent as he looks at Jongin, “Sleep fine?”

“I’ll get more rest tonight. Don’t worry,” Jongin says in reassurance.

“Here.” Aidan puts a thin flask on his desk. “Prof. was just talking about the presentation by the way.”

“I don’t drink coffee.” Jongin says with a wince, feeling slightly rude.

“I know,” Aidan places it back on Jongin’s desk, “it’s chocolate.”

“Oh. You remembered. Thank you,” Jongin accepts it with a smile, a little touched though the hot chocolate Chanyeol made for him hasn’t faded from his taste buds.

“Macie and James already determined our focal points. We’re meeting tonight to start corroborating.”

“Tonight? I’m sorry, I can’t make it. Can you text me the summary of the discussion?”

“Yeah sure. We should work out a time that works for all of us.”

“We should.”

*

Chanyeol stares at the ceiling in silence. Occasionally he tightens his grip around Jongin’s waist and looks at him with the husk of a smile. “No naps when we get home.” Jongin forbids as they stand in the train home. Jongin knows Chanyeol got in late last night. He heard him, a little past midnight. Jongin would normally be asleep by then but the cold was especially spiteful and it hadn’t been long since he returned home himself.

Last year Chanyeol had been working the weekend shifts at SuperStore, a chain supermarket that’s kept him on for two years now. He managed to convince his manager to give him shifts that work for him and align with his class schedule at the end of summer. This new schedule is considerably better than last year’s. But if Jongin had his way, they would be working simultaneously which would free up more time to spend together. As it happens, Jongin does not have his way.

“Why can’t I nap?”

“I need you.”

“Yeah? When do you not?”

“Channie hyung.” Jongin fingers at the loose thread on one of Chanyeol’s coat buttons, frowning up.

Chanyeol sighs and closes his eyes. Jongin smiles, resting his head on Chanyeol’s chest, the faint beat of his heart a victory drum.

*

His family’s disapproval creeps out of the shadows of his repressed memories sometimes. How Mother had told him Chanyeol would not be with him forever, how she expected college would be his much needed period of growth. To Jongin it was more like she didn’t want Chanyeol to be around. He didn’t notice it until his later teen years because it hadn’t been a big deal until then. Until he started preparing for college and the word prospects started being thrown around. Business prospects, employment prospects. Marriage prospects.

All of which went right over Jongin’s head. What was the rush? His principles and his mother’s expectations and values fall completely short of each other. While Jongin would try and meet her half way, there’s just no way he can accept her meddling in his friendships, trying to eradicate them because they don’t fit an abstract portfolio that she believes is for success.

You need to branch out, Jongin. Chanyeol won’t be your best friend forever and you certainly won’t marry him, she had said with certainty. Her vehement disdain had shaken Jongin to the core, witnessing it plainly for the first time. Have you met Eric? He’s studying law, your father works with his father. Myungsoo wants to meet you for tea, do you know he got into the Royal College of Surgeons? Explore, people had said to Jongin. Family, friends and even acquaintances whose two cents he hadn’t requested. College is for exploration, wildness and novelty, they had said. Jongin knows the same had been said to Chanyeol. Meet new people, accept the adventures.

And they had, the first semester.

Chanyeol was aware of every party and Jongin was in charge of the societies they joined. They were along for the full ride until they landed themselves in the infirmary after a night of molly and cheap liquor. It probably wasn’t the type of exploration his parents were suggesting but it was a wake up call for them all the same, almost costing them their scholarships.

As Chanyeol stops to wipe some cream from Jongin’s chin and takes a spoonful of the granola parfait from Jongin’s cup, Jongin feels contentment that reinforces his decision being the right one. Any Eric or Myungsoo can’t make him feel like this. No amount of Jongin you need to make friends that will actually help you in life could make him drop the best friend that he has. The world could hold as many different and marvelous experiences for him but there could never be one that feels like this. The only way he can explain it is that it brings ‘home’ to mind. Or what it feels like it’s supposed to mean at least.

“Didn’t you say it was 1743?” he says around a mouthful of cereal and whipped cream. Jongin takes the spoon back and scoops up his own helping again.

“Oh…”

“Check.” Chanyeol returns to the simmering pot and stirs lightly.

“The bill was introduced in 1738. The Assembly—”

Jongin’s phone buzzes on the counter next to him.

Aidan:

-Hello Jongin

-hi!

-Get home safe?

-yeah thanks for asking

-We’ve just finished up

-Reformation fine with you?

-It was either that or exploration and trade

-reformation’s fine

-That’s a relief

-Macie said you hated it

-But I could swear you were on time every single day of that module

-lol!

-youre right, its my favourite

-I’ve mailed you the summary

-Also the doc of our presentation

-thanks a mil aidan

-It’s no problem

-We missed you at the meeting

-im sorry

-be there next time :(

“Ah,” Chanyeol holds the wooden spoon to Jongin’s mouth.

“Bland,” Jongin says after tasting the sauce and goes back to his phone.

-Don’t apologize

-You’re fine :)

-thanks aidan

-Jongin?

-yeah?

-Would you like to see a movie with me?

-see a movie?

-Yes

-Like a date

“Just bland? No insults? Must be someone interesting,” Chanyeol says, nonchalant.

“Aidan. Group project,” Jongin says quickly, almost locking his phone.

-hey i need to go

-but call me later?

-Sure

 “Uhm where were we...Assembly...voted it in in 1743…” Jongin repeats the date under his breath, willing it to stick but truth be told his mind is now rotating around that question. Does he want to see a movie with Aidan?

“Ah,” Chanyeol returns with a wooden spoon, blowing on it. “Well?” Chanyeol asks once it’s cool enough for Jongin to taste.

“Almost better,”

Chanyeol rolls his eyes, smiling and returns to the stove.  

Jongin continues reciting information from the chapter as Chanyeol puts dinner together. The kitchen, more a kitchenette with a stove, a fridge, a few cupboards, a single counter—which has Jongin’s tush labelled on it—and a small, round oak table. Thyme and coriander pervade the room, hug the walls, the window above the sink. The glass is translucent with fog and Jongin near misses the white flecks falling behind it.

“Is it raining? I don’t hear it,” he muses aloud, the white flutters behind the condensation still not clicking.

Chanyeol, storing the unused garlic slices in the fridge, pokes his head back out and reaches over to wipe the window.

“It’s snowing again!” Jongin leaps off the granite and presses his face to cold glass like earlier. Chanyeol’s fingers thread through his hair until they grasp a handful firmly and tug Jongin back.

“Hyung!”

“You really want a date with death.” Chanyeol says, unamused, as he encircles Jongin’s shoulders and barricades him in his arms.

“You’ll bring me back. I’m sure Reaper Hyung is afraid of you.” Jongin laughs, relaxing into Chanyeol and watching the winter wonderland swirling outside their  cosy walls.

“Take my best friend? Before he’s ninety four?” Chanyeol snorts. Jongin’s heart judders. He hunches down so Chanyeol can’t make out his expression in the glass.  

“You have to promise you won’t leave before then either.” Jongin holds up his pinky. Chanyeol’s hum vibrates on Jongin’s scalp where his chin rests.

“Ninety four-ninety four.” He locks his pinky around Jongin’s. Touching thumbs, “Copy,” they say together.  Chanyeol reaches forward as Jongin twists back, “Paste.” they touch thumbs to each other’s foreheads.

“There.” Jongin sighs, satisfied with the promise sealed.

The sky dims and the grey-white becomes navy and coral with ivory speckles. If he focuses, he can see their outlines reflected in pale amber light. Or rather, he sees Chanyeol’s outline swallow up his own and the feeling it imbues in his gut is safe and warm. Insulated in bubbles of fondness. Moving is the furthest thing from his mind, especially when Chanyeol’s head has grown heavy on his and Jongin can ascertain that Chanyeol has fallen asleep. But the sizzle of the pot is rowdy and apparent and the pleasant aroma is now tinged with faint char.

“Channie hyung.”

The sitting room is an icebox after the stove-warmed kitchen. It’s a cluttered mess of miscellaneous things Jongin doesn’t question anymore. It’s not quite Jongin’s preference of arranging his living space but if it were up to him, he wouldn’t have more than the couch and TV in the room. And the teddies. They could stay.

Haphazard piles of comics and mangas hoard every flat surface; the chimney sill, window sills, coffee table and even the bevelled edge of the broken radiator.

The tessellated afghan fails to reach all corners of the scruffy sofa. It's far too short for their body lengths, too. But with cushions stacked against the arms and Jongin situated neatly between Chanyeol's thighs, it's where they spend most time when they are home.

Jongin has five long chapters to read before the morning's lecture. Granted he has been working to meet Bel’s schedule and any free time she could allot him, he could have managed his time better to lessen his workload now. Five chapters is quite a bit to read before the morning. Still, he can't bring himself to start his readings before Chanyeol is here. It’s in the hardwiring of his psyche now. The spare afghan will not bring heat nor will it bring the right sense of comfort that enables Jongin to keep concentration with Chanyeol's hard chest at his back.

He shoves the coffee table up against the sofa and sets out his books and binders on it. By the time Chanyeol returns with his own book bag, Jongin's shaking with cold and doesn't give Chanyeol the time to take out his belongings before shoving him down. Chanyeol's legs settle around his hips, bony kneecaps pressing into his pelvis and the familiarity is a boost into relaxation.  

"Wake me up in two hours. Two hours only, Jongin." Chanyeol says once they have both made themselves comfortable, Grandma Park’s quilt cocooning them in.

Jongin wriggles an arm free from beneath Chanyeol's heavy ones and reaches for the phone on the edge of the coffee table. He notes the time and hums to Chanyeol. His own body warns him of the betrayal to come, that he might nod off before he finishes his own work. He sternly reiterates to himself that he'll at least stay awake long enough to wake Chanyeol.

It was scathing July when they moved in and the building's inability to retain heat had been so enticing. They saved on AC costs, though they could not have afforded it even if they wanted.

The flat gives the impression of one grand room sectioned off into multiple smaller ones. None of the radiators work. Some of the cupboard doors limp—Chanyeol has been promising to get around to them for several months now—and the hot water faucet doesn't quite work as it should sometimes. They've already experienced one winter here and the summer’s content was swiftly forgotten. The walls and floorboards exhale frost and even bundled up in coats inside, it's difficult to stave off trembles and chattering. But Chanyeol's scholarship covers the rent as well as his tuition. With Jongin’s tuition covered by his own scholarship, it allows them to split their meager earnings between nutrition, transportation and other necessities. All things considered, they think themselves lucky.

Once late October rolled around, the kitchen became the warmest room with the stove on. They soon found out how unsustainable that was, draining their much needed gas. After that they figured they only had each other to stay warm. Chanyeol was skeptical that it would work but Jongin insisted he couldn't focus cold. Besides if he turned into a popsicle and didn't get his assignments done his professor would find him and murder him. And even beyond that, he reminded him of the grades they need to maintain. Chanyeol hadn't put up much of a resistance then and their cuddle camp on the sofa began.

Chanyeol, however, would not stop whining about the cold to their friends, daring them to come spend one night in their house and not wake with blue lips.

"Well then dummies, that's what the library is for!" Baekhyun had exclaimed, nudging them both in the gut.

“Who are you calling dummy?” Chanyeol nudged him back.

“What? It’s not like I haven’t heard you calling each other that!”

“Leave them hyung. Didn’t you hear? They’re apparently married.” Sehun whispered loud to him.

Minseok and Jongdae made astonished gasps.

“That explains it!”

Chanyeol had only sighed but Jongin couldn’t help the flush.

Reflecting on that now, perhaps that was the first time his heart fluttered strangely in regards to Chanyeol.  

Baekhyun insisted on both of them accompanying him to the library that evening, with the promise of comfortable temperatures and a steady supply of warm drinks. Since it was a short distance from their flat, they had ambled along.  

Chanyeol seemed happy enough to be there, getting his work done. Jongin still felt cold somehow. And he couldn't concentrate. The drink wasn't warm enough. Sweet enough. Not how Chanyeol makes it for him. It was silent and perfectly conducive for study but Jongin just couldn't focus. To be fair, he never did well in populated places.

"What's wrong?" Chanyeol asked after a complete twenty minutes of Jongin's uncomfortable shuffling and fidgeting.

"Can't concentrate."

"Really? Too warm?" Chanyeol put a hand to his forehead, his cheek then touched his hand and kept it there. Jongin swallowed butterflies. "Your temperature seems normal."

"I'm fine."

"Your hand's a bit cold though." he turned Jongin's wrist around and linked their fingers. Jongin hadn't understood it then but the calm washing over him was instant, morphine spreading like ink through a pool.

"I'm fine now, hyung." Jongin murmured, trying to keep his tone as low as possible.

"Hm?"

"Can you two shut up? Please?" Baekhyun glared at them from the other side of the table.

They did and Chanyeol did not let go of Jongin's hand.

They went to the library for two weeks with Baekhyun before it became evident Jongin could not focus there no matter what.

"You're not learning anything, are you?" Chanyeol asked on the train to campus, two weeks since they started going to the library with Baekhyun.

Jongin was about to bring it up himself but Chanyeol doing it before him was undeniably relieving.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I know you just want me to hold you." he smirked, pulling Jongin closer into his chest and Jongin only stayed there because he didn't want to make a scene and knee Chanyeol to the ground.

"You wish."

"Hm."

Their flat remained brutally cold but Chanyeol's embrace is an immunity umbrella that grants Jongin comfort. Once they were back on their sofa with their afghans and quilts, the floor still an ice sheet to even their fluffy socks coated feet and the windows spiderwebbed with frost, Jongin could digest the information on his books, write his essays and work on his projects, sipping on the hot cocoa Chanyeol graciously supplied every few hours. Sooner if Jongin whined enough.

Jongin can admit to himself, a year later, that he can study at the library if he tried hard enough. But he doesn't want to. He enjoys being close to Chanyeol far too much. And as Chanyeol is yet to put an end to their physical intimacy, Jongin hopes he enjoys it just as much.

An hour later, the wind howls and rips snowflakes apart outside. Cold creeps and lingers with greedy tips in every nook and cranny that it can reach. A book thuds to the ground. Arms tighten around Jongin. His leg thwarts and settles over the one pressing into his hip. A Jonginnie is murmured against his head. The word pincers him, a cloak of butterscotch chasing sweetness and warmth into every part of him. He sighs into the sweet hold and welcomes equally sweet dreams.

A shrill tone sounds in the night.

Chanyeol and Jongin startle awake.

"Whose," Chanyeol croaks in Jongin's neck where his face ended up. The phone is temporarily forgotten, as Chanyeol tries to solve the mystery of who the ringing phone belongs to. Jongin doesn’t want to get up yet. Wishes Chanyeol would be still and let him go back to sleep, wills him to put his mouth on Jongin's neck again.

"Aidan? Why is he calling? Didn’t you already talk?"

Jongin shoots up, foiling his attempt at trying to get back to sleep. Disoriented and groggy, he snatches the phone away. Shit. He hasn’t given Aidan’s question much thought.

When he gets up, he doesn't have to look back to know Chanyeol's crosshairs gaze is on him. There's no doubt Chanyeol will hear the conversation verbatim if he stayed in his position but staying in the room might prove less dubious.

The need to keep this from Chanyeol is inexplicable. Perhaps because he’s torn on it himself. He can’t continue masking these emotions, not from himself at least. And perhaps...perhaps trying to direct them towards someone else might help them be for someone else.

"Hello Jongin?"

"Hi." Jongin stands in the doorway. The cold hits him like a pan in the face. Jongin fits three fingers through the hole in his sleeve. His heart is in his throat. Chanyeol watches him, quiet and lost.

"Are you okay? You sound..."

"Sleepy?" Jongin laughs, "yeah I was asleep. But it's fine. What's up?" he tries to hold off the cringe at the thinness of his voice.

There's a pause.

"Oh! That..." he doesn't have to look back at Chanyeol to see the little shifts in his expressions.

"Yeah," Jongin continues, finding the words, preparing to push them past his throat. Just one. Yeah, just one date. To test the waters of being interested in someone else. It shouldn’t be hard. It doesn't sound like the end of the world as he rationalizes it in his head. How it feels is a different story entirely.

"Yes Aidan, I'd like to."

"Really?" there's a perk in Aidan's voice that makes Jongin feel better about accepting.

"Yes," the word is a sash weight on his tongue. He can't help his shoulders from his gathering and his features scrunching like he chugged down raw lemon juice.

“Great! Great! When are you free? Does this Friday work for you?"

Jongin cringes, again, and Chanyeol's spiking curiosity is palpable now if it wasn't before. Friday, their movie marathon night. Sure, they spend many evenings together. They’re not like Friday evening though. It's the one day they can put assignments aside and neither of them has work. It's their unwinding day, prior to the weekend where they both work twelve hour shifts and crash in bed when they get home.

Friday, their night in whereas others go out. Official cuddle and popcorn night.

"Yeah that works."

"Great! I'll let you get back to sleep but we'll talk tomorrow?"

"Sure."

"Goodnight Jongin. Take care, yeah?"

"I will. Goodnight Aidan."

The silence is unsettling. The wrongness of it and what he just agreed to slither under his skin like maggots. He clears his throat, walks back to the sofa.

“Project.”

Chanyeol’s legs are apart, Jongin shaped dent on the seat cushion. He swings them to the side when Jongin doesn’t resume his position but starts clearing his belongings from the table, head kept low.  

“Problems?”

“No, just, making sure ‘bout something.”

“What are you doing?”

I don’t know, his pause spells. I don’t know anymore. What possessed him to say yes? What possessed him to go through with this? A deep seated and all too loud part of him says it won’t work. Is it too late to call back? And what level of hopelessness is he truly on if the idea of entertaining another person romantically is more torturous to him than remaining under the platonic wing of his and Chanyeol’s friendship?

“Going to sleep, hyung.”

“Oh,” Chanyeol stretches and yawns. Jongin catches a glimpse of vertical edge of dark hair where the shirt rides up. “You’re not even halfway through.” he says, passing along the items farther from Jongin.

His harumph is met with Chanyeol touching his wrist, tapping with two gentle fingers before his hand wraps around it. Jongin shakes it off, sighing. He needs to tell him.

“Are you coming?”

“So this is what it’s about?” Chanyeol stands. Jongin isn’t sure what he’s smiling about.

“What?”

“You’re excited to be sleeping with me.”

The silence this time is stunned. Jongin’s cheeks warm. However untruthful he’s been tonight, he can’t lie and say it’s complete falsehood.

“Sleep on the couch tonight, hyung. I’m taking all of your blankets and pillows.”

Chanyeol follows him to his room. He lets out a shivering grimace as soon as he sets foot inside. It’s worse in here than it was in the living room. The ransacking of wardrobes and drawers this morning is still evident by the multiple doors ajar and socks, gloves and underwear scattered on the floor. It nags the back of his conscious but Jongin isn’t really inclined to start tidying up at this hour.

His bag meets the foot of the bed and his shimmied off pants join the sprawling pile at the wardrobe baseboard. His feet are blocks of ice connected to his legs but his socks join the ether after he peels them off.

“I would tell you to take a picture, hyung. But it’s too dark. What are you looking at?”

Chanyeol has been still from the moment they entered. Jongin wonders if he’s having second thoughts about this. Perhaps he imagined the mutual reluctance to separate when it got warm again in the year. It was warm enough to sleep coverless in April but Chanyeol stayed till May. Jongin had only managed to relearn sleeping alone in September. Perhaps it was the heat, perhaps it wasn’t. The fact remains that he only slept what could be considered sufficient hours three months after Chanyeol’s absence. He dreads the arrival of the warmer seasons but what if he’s the only one?

Did he imagine Chanyeol’s face lighting up when he mentioned sleeping together that morning or all the times he felt a smile on his head when he pushed his face into Chanyeol’s tummy when they sleep? He knows he voices his dislike and discomfort in the cold most but he is sure Chanyeol hates it more than he does. If he hates the cold more than Jongin but doesn’t want to stay warm by sleeping with him, what does that say? Does Chanyeol hate him? Does—

“I’m just wondering if you’re about to give me a nude show.”

Chanyeol’s silence lasted a second, Jongin’s contemplation lasted longer than their friendship. Jongin sighs. He misses the uncomplicated days. When he didn’t second guess himself and question everything about his relationship with Chanyeol, if he was pushing for more than friendship warranted, if he was making Chanyeol uncomfortable.

“And you’d like that?” he says with his back to Chanyeol, pulling the covers back and moving his teddy and plushie friends to the side.

“You’d give it?” Chanyeol’s smile curdles Jongin’s blood like his warm intimate tone.

He plops down face first on the bed, burrows his head under his pillow and hopes Chanyeol only thinks he’s annoyed and not dealing with a brutal case of blushing and a traitor heart, whisking madly in his chest.

“Shut up and come to bed hyung.”

“What kind of invitation is that, Jonginnie?” Chanyeol throws himself down, the bed undulating under him. He strokes down Jongin’s back and Jongin can feel the vibrations of his laugh through his hand, “Come out from there. Tell me.”

“Go away.”

“That’s not what you’ve been begging.”

“Go away.” Jongin kicks out sideways, connecting with a hard tibia.

He’s forcibly removed from his hideout as Chanyeol digs him out and pulls all three covers over their heads. He lets go once Jongin’s head is settled on the pillow and even though Jongin can feel their body heat as if they are skin to skin, no part of them touches.

Jongin misses the softness of Chanyeol’s stomach and comfort of wrapping his arms around Chanyeol’s waist and sleeping close and tight. A year ago he wouldn’t hesitate to press himself body to body, Chanyeol, as confident and flirtatious as Jongin knows him to be, sometimes gets shy. Jongin knows because all he has to do is reach up and feel the tips of his endearing elf ears that flame when nervous or embarrassed. He chalks it up to natural human psyche. Still does. As close as they are, as intrinsic and ingrained physical intimacy is between them, this proximity and situation is a step further than the sanctions of conventional friendship.   

And a year ago, he might have still felt those firecrackers exploding over him, inside him, at every touch with Chanyeol but he didn’t understand them. It’s different now.

If it were a year ago, he’d sleep closer and hug Chanyeol. He’d reach out. Weasel down a bit. His feet would hang off the bed but the duvet would cover them. He’d press his face into Chanyeol’s stomach and feel him suck in a breath. He would push up Chanyeol’s sleep shirt. His fingers would meet warm skin and a groove cutting into Chanyeol’s waist. He’d start slow circles on it and feel Chanyeol’s core soften as he lets the breath go. Jongin would smile and relax too as he puts his cheek against Chanyeol’s waist, as if listening for a heartbeat there. His smile would grow wider when he feels Chanyeol cradling his head, fingers carding through his hair.

But if he does all those things now, he might not be able to stop himself from voicing his changed feelings to Chanyeol. So he drags the covers higher over their heads and tries to go to sleep.

“Jonginnie,” Chanyeol says. It comes out muffled and heavy like he’s fighting off molasses-thick sleep.

“Hmm.” Jongin is almost gone himself, tired from the bare sleep he got last night, from the conflicting emotions he battled throughout the day. It might not mean what he wants it to but being close to Chanyeol is always remedial and as the cliche goes, there’s no place he’d rather be.

“What was the call really about.”

With each moment he remains quiet he can feel the sleepiness wearing off Chanyeol. He’s not certain why he’s apprehensive of telling Chanyeol but it’s his chance to get it over with.

The words don’t want to leave his mouth.

“Jongin?”

He wills himself to stay still, to breathe easy and answer the question but his chest begins to move rapidly then.

“Date.” he throws it out. Quiet and muffled but hoping he won’t have to repeat it.

“Date?” Chanyeol repeats the word with as much comprehension he would utter an alien language. “I didn’t know your relationship was...like that.” Jongin hums, trying to get back to sleep or feign it so the discussion can end but Chanyeol’s curiosity isn’t satisfied.

There’s some rustling and pearly moonlight penetrating their duvet tent as Chanyeol searches around for something on the nightstand. The light gets impossibly brighter before Chanyeol shrouds the covers over them again and Jongin sees the flashlight on the phone resting between them. The brightness glares into their retinas and Chanyeol shoves it further down but just so that there’s enough light to see each other.

“Is this...do you have feelings for him?”

“Hyung.”

“It’s just...I don’t know. Do you know him that well? And...his intentions...and I don’t want you hurt.”

“Not serious, hyung. Just a date.” Jongin murmurs, fixating on the Zootopia characters printed on Chanyeol’s sleep shirt because the intensity in Chanyeol’s eyes, in his voice, is gentle yet atomic and something inside Jongin is swelling to burst.

“I want you to be careful, Jongin.” Chanyeol nudges his chin up and instead of letting go, he cups Jongin’s face and Jongin can’t think, can’t swallow, can’t breathe.

Date me so I don’t have to worry about caution.

“I will.”

He studies Jongin and in the silence Jongin thinks Chanyeol is listening to his barrelling heart. Finally, satisfied by whatever he sees, he lets go and a shit eating grin that spells trouble takes over his face.

“I can’t believe my Jonginnie is getting a boyfriend before me. They grow up so fast.” He wipes away a fake tear and Jongin is too stunned in place by the possessive pronoun to react. He wishes it meant something different. He wishes Chanyeol’s reaction was different. What else would Chanyeol be if not supportive? He’s appreciative, of course he is. If he puts himself in the shoes of another Jongin, who felt only as friends do about Chanyeol and felt an ounce of romance for Aidan, this would be moving and Jongin would count his blessings for a best friend that looks out for him so much.

But Jongin isn’t another Jongin. He is himself. And it’s not that he’s not counting his blessings now. Chanyeol is fantastic. So fantastic he has Jongin’s heart in all the ways one could. If Jongin had Chanyeol’s in a fraction of the way he wants, Chanyeol’s reaction would differ from this.

But he only has Chanyeol’s heart the way friends do.

“If you do happen to bring him here, just know I’m not sleeping in my room alone again until it’s warm enough, so good luck if you want to go at the devil’s tango.”

“Oh my fucking god, hyung!” Jongin exclaims, more appalled at Chanyeol’s choice of words than heartbroken and Chanyeol snickers.

“But if he’s only going on this date to do the devil’s tango with you, then I will break his face.” the mirth drained out of Chanyeol swiftly and the sober ferocity with which he says this is frightening. Jongin’s toes curl, a smile forms on his lips.

“I’m not that easy hyung.”

“I know,” Chanyeol says, stroking Jongin’s cheek, “but your heart is soft as pulp. Falls easily. Has a hard time saying no.”

Jongin doesn’t know when they got so close as to almost be touching lips. For a while the ache of wanting Chanyeol in ways he shouldn’t falls away. It feels so much like Chanyeol is his right now. Like Chanyeol is confessing his reasons for loving him. His head is clouded with rose and Chanyeol seems to be as mesmerized by the moment as Jongin is. But I haven’t fallen for anyone but you.

“That’s not me, hyung. You’re describing yourself.” It’s why he doesn’t want Chanyeol to catch on to his feelings. Chanyeol is too considerate for his own good sometimes and Jongin’s feelings, if unrequited, would be a burden because Chanyeol would try to reciprocate. It would ruin their friendship. Jongin isn’t prepared for a loss of that magnitude.“Besides, won’t sleep with him, hyung. It’s not like that.”

“You don’t know, Jongin. Wouldn’t blame him. I mean, I would. If he tried anything you didn’t like. But. You know.”

No, no, I don’t know. Tell me. Everything in Jongin lurches, his brain speeding to process, analyze, dissever and examine every possible meaning of that but before he gets the chance to sort his thoughts into a reply that isn’t ‘then you sleep with me hyung’, a kiss is placed between his brows and Chanyeol is turning over.

“Goodnight Jonginnie.”

Jongin, previously ready to drop into exhaustion induced coma, stays awake for a long time. Partly, he’s wondering why Chanyeol isn’t asleep yet, either. Chanyeol makes these series of light sighs right before he falls asleep. Then he lets out steady snores, not loud enough to keep Jongin awake but some nights when thoughts of the future and his family keep him awake, those snores lull him back to sleep. Has Chanyeol’s sleeping pattern changed since May? After years? Jongin doesn’t know exactly when he falls asleep. Somewhere between one and three a.m. if he is to guess from how long it feels like he stays awake. His last thought is of Chanyeol. Wondering why he still isn’t asleep if his slumber habits are the same.

*

Jongin wakes to a cold bed and a bright orange sticky note hanging off the lamp shade.

Dee switched my shift. Breakfast in microwave. DRESS WARMLY.

x

He squints at the message and reads it twice, thrice. ‘Warmly’ is underlined several times and Chanyeol’s glare is live and corporeal. It makes Jongin grin. It soons turns into a groan and he gets up. It shouldn’t be possible to be missing Chanyeol this much so soon. On the bright side, at least they will see more of each other this evening. Jongin’s shift starts at noon and ends at five p.m. Chanyeol is supposed to start at five and get off at nine. Maybe they can watch a movie or something. Or go out, since his Friday is now taken by the date.

Before that he has to live through a lecture and face Aidan. Joys.

The flat that’s so confined and snug when they are both present feels cavernous and echoey. Extra boreal. He goes through the motions as quickly as possible to keep warm and his brain occupied.

No cancelling the date, he tells himself. He needs to give this a real shot. Besides, Aidan is nice. He’s sweet. An open mind might be the solution to everything.

A flask, pålægschokolade and crispbread await him in the microwave. Happiness, gratitude and a grimace concoct on his face. When did Chanyeol have time to hunt down the chocolate? There isn’t a special occasion to justify it either. All the same, Jongin savours his breakfast and makes a mental note to thank Chanyeol accordingly later. And perhaps return the favour in an extra special celebration. His birthday is in a week and while Jongin has been working on his gift, their friends haven’t confirmed their availability for a night out. Christmas is soon too and he has to take that into consideration. Perhaps Al can fit him in for a few more shifts if he pleads right.

By the time he’s done eating, he has fifteen minutes to get dressed and make it to the station.

Dress warmly. A phantom Chanyeol appears as he’s deciding on an outfit. He enters Chanyeol’s meticulously clustered room. Every inch of it occupied, storage boxes of sport paraphernalia from his teenhood stacked, vinyls climbing the wall at the other end, a Nirvana flag hanging above his bed (this being the sole reason it’s Jongin’s room and not Chanyeol’s that they share. Waking up to a floating black mass is frightful.), dozens of chucks, some exactly the same colour, gathered in a corner—of which Jongin likes to steal—as he has come to steal from the wardrobe of scrupulously folded sweaters.

He skims the edge until he comes to a familiar beige crewneck. There’s a white heart with a crack down the middle near the left shoulder and the sleeves are frayed. It’s huge on Chanyeol and Jongin loves how the tawny illumes his umber eyes, hair and the mole on the bridge of Chanyeol’s nose which gives Jongin the urge to press his lips to it.

Chanyeol wears this one frequently and while the rest of his clothes are well maintained, a hole is starting to form on the sleeve, courtesy of Jongin. It engulfs him and Chanyeol’s coconut and vanilla scent corrals his senses. Jongin got the lotion for Chanyeol as a Christmas gift several years before. It had been a joke, to spend a tenner or less on the present before it became their tradition. The plasters and toothpicks were eye roll inducing but Chanyeol had inadvertently taken to the coconut-vanilla lotion. Of course Chanyeol had tried to deny it, chiding Jongin for his thoughtlessness—he couldn’t blame him, Chanyeol had won him a month’s supply of fried chicken for him—but he couldn’t conceal the scent on his skin and clothes, especially when they were prone to cuddling as they did.

He grabs one of Chanyeol’s infinity scarves, a mute yellow knit that sort of matches the sweater and goes back to his room to grab a beanie.

He misses the train by half a frustrating minute. Taking out his phone, he decides there’s no reason to wait till the evening to thank Chanyeol. Besides, that’s too long without talking to him and his best friend is bound to text him sometime during the day anyway. If business is slow, Chanyeol will reply as soon as possible. If not, Jongin will have to contemplate his tardiness for the remaining twenty minutes until the next train.

-channie hyung

The reply comes three minutes later

-let me guess. missed it?

-missed you hyung

-smooth! not enough

-don’t deserve pålægschokolade

-taking away when i get home

-don’t say that!! i tried hyung :(

He attaches a picture of himself pouting just for good measure.

-not helping

-...

-cute

-just cute? :(

-on the train yet?

-gotta go

-send me story time

-kay hyung see u

-see u darling

“I thought I scared you away.” Aidan whispers to him once Jongin enters and takes his seat, forty minutes late and slightly shame faced. He passes a flask, same as yesterday, and Jongin winces. Chanyeol’s drink is still warm in his belly and he can’t stomach any more right now but refusing might be a little rude, since Aidan took the time.

“Don’t be silly.” Jongin smiles, accepting the flask but not making a move to open it.

“Oversleep?”

“Something like that.”

“You can look at my notes for the intro.” he gives Jongin’s hand a pat.

“Thanks.”

After the lecture Aidan walks him to the station. There are a few messages on his phone, a few from Baekhyun that seem to be confirming his and Sehun’s attendance for the birthday night and a few others from Chanyeol that he didn’t get the chance to skim.

“Pawn shop, right?”

“Yep,”

“I see you around there sometimes. My mom owns the jewellers across the street. So if you ever need a ring…” he smiles and elbows Jongin softly. His smile is charming, his eyes big and kind.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Jongin smiles back, feeling his cheeks warm. “You should come say hi sometime.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Aidan throws back at him and they laugh. “Oh, isn’t that your train?” Aidan asks as they round the corner to the platform.

“It is!”

“You better catch it. See you Friday?”

Jongin nods. He’s taken aback when Aidan pulls him in for a brief hug but accepts the embrace.

“I’ll text you. Take care, Jongin.”

*

There’s no wafting of mouth watering aromas or quiet jazz coming from the kitchen when Jongin gets back so Chanyeol must not be home yet. He won’t even attempt to get dinner started but maybe he can finally tidy up while he waits. And figure out how to break to Chanyeol that he’ll be missing their traditional Friday night.

By the time he’s finished cleaning, Chanyeol’s still not back and Jongin pulls out his phone as he goes in search of a snack. He’s typing a message when he enters the kitchen. The window is open and the wind rattles the shutters. He picks up on the faint smell of spices and spots the pot on the stove.

He certainly didn’t leave the kitchen like this earlier.

“Hyung?” he calls out, a grain of fear starting to grow inside him. Chanyeol would call or message if he were home, wouldn’t he? But who would break in just to use the stove? The front door was intact and nothing appeared to be amiss from his room. But Chanyeol would have let him know…

Chanyeol’s room is vacant as well as the bathroom. The living room is dark and as always, the coldest, inducing a shiver the minute Jongin enters despite being layered up. However, he makes out a lump on the couch and sure enough when he flicks on the light, Chanyeol is huddled on top.

“Hyung?”

Chanyeol’s chattering is loud and he gives out a few pained moans. As Jongin comes closer, he sees the sheen slicking his forehead and Jongin feels vibration as he sits on the edge, produced by Chanyeol’s near violent quivering.

“Hyung!” Chanyeol’s burning up and his eyes are shot with red when he cracks them open and closes them quickly, flinching at the brightness. “Shit,” Jongin swiftly gets up to run to their room and grab as many duvets and covers he can carry.

“Jonginnie,” Chanyeol croaks as Jongin works over him, tucking the sides and making sure Chanyeol is wrapped airtight. Jongin kneels by Chanyeol’s side, wondering if they have any painkillers as he feels Chanyeol’s temperature again. His fever is indisputable but Jongin needs to find their thermometer to see how bad it is.

“Where does it hurt, hyung? Is it your throat too? Do you have a tummy ache? I’m gonna get a drink for you. You should have called! Or messaged! What were you doing here dying on our couch? What if I stayed in the room longer? Why did you go to work if you were feeling sick? Hyu-”

“Jonginnie,”

Jongin takes a deep breath, pushing back the welling tears. The remorse at chiding Chanyeol when he’s already down is instant but he can’t help but feel pained to think about Chanyeol miserably sick and shivering alone in here when Jongin could’ve been taking care of him.

“I’m sorry. Sorry hyung. Shh, it’s gonna be okay. I’ll take care of you, okay?”

“I’m cold.”

“But you’re burning up. Wait, I’m going to get some washcloths. I think we have some-”

“C-come here.”

“Here?”

Chanyeol pushes back the mountain of covers with a shaky arm. “C’mere.”

“Okay,” Jongin breathes, “okay. I will hyung. Anything you want. But first let me help you.”

Chanyeol nods, pallor ashened and face haggard.

Jongin returns with a bowl and washcloth for cold compresses, ibuprofen and a helping of Chanyeol’s ramyun which makes Jongin wonder if Chanyeol bothered making that effort while he was ill.

“Not hungry.”

“Come on hyung. Need energy to get better.” Jongin nudges Chanyeol up, helps him sit and keep the quilt around his shoulder. Chanyeol grimaces, holding on to Jongin as if the simple task of sitting up washed vertigo over him. He reaches for the ramyun but Jongin holds it out of his reach, remembering all the times Chanyeol did this for him.

“Ah,”

He holds the chopsticks to Chanyeol’s mouth and Chanyeol graces him with a coarse chuckle before wincing like that action hurt and opening up.

“Channie hyung is Jonginnie’s baby today.”

Chanyeol winces again and Jongin grins.

“Come on hyung, you can do better. Do you want me to chew for you? I can bird feed you,” Jongin singsongs, waving the sticks around when Chanyeol starts to slow down, eyes heavy and jaw working slow.

That earns a snort out of Chanyeol but he firmly pushes Jongin’s feeding hand away and Jongin relents.

“Cold,” Chanyeol says again, reaching for Jongin as he sets the leftovers on the coffee table.

“Medicine, then sleep.” Jongin promises, popping out two tablets for Chanyeol and handing him the glass of water. Chanyeol swallows them reluctantly, follows it with loud chugs and looks to Jongin expectantly, every line of his body riddled with exhaustion and pain.

“It might be better if we move to the bed…” Jongin says, lying down. Chanyeol, pulling him as close as possible, doesn’t reply. His eyes are closed and his face is already more relaxed than it was seconds before. His breathing evens out almost immediately and Jongin doesn’t have the heart to wake him, even if he’s half off the sofa and Chanyeol’s knee is wedged awkwardly between his thighs.

“Get well soon, hyung.” he whispers, pushing hair back from Chanyeol’s face. His hairline is slick and skin too warm to the touch. Jongin reaches behind as steadily as he can without jostling his sleeping best friend, dips the cloth in the water and squeezes. He brings it to Chanyeol’s forehead, observing the involuntary sigh of relief. He goes back to caressing Chanyeol’s hair until he whimpers and unconsciously tugs Jongin closer. Jongin allows himself to be pressed beneath Chanyeol’s chin, lashes fluttering on Chanyeol’s throat as he breathes in coconut and vanilla, feeling more comforted than comforting.

*

Fortunately, Jongin doesn’t have a lecture the following day but he contemplates calling in sick to work so he can look after Chanyeol. Unfortunately, Chanyeol forbids him from doing so.

“Absolutely not. I’m much better today. I’m not a child-”

“I told you, you’re Jonginnie’s baby till you get-”

“Yes and I agreed but you’re not skipping work for me. Don’t make a sick man argue.”

“Aw that’s not fair.”

“Tough!” Chanyeol flicks his forehead and Jongin yells louder than the sting warrants.

“Good going hyung, now I’m sick too.” Jongin huffs and turns over, moving out of reach but Chanyeol hastily presses himself to Jongin’s back.

“Dramatic.” he worms an arm under Jongin’s side and squeezes him with both arms.

“Can’t breathe!” Jongin’s shriek is choked, trying to writhe out of Chanyeol’s hold, “Going to get sick, hyung’s germs all over me. Gonna die! Goodbye beautiful world! See you nev—”

Chanyeol releases Jongin’s torso to cover his mouth, stifling Jongin’s breath.

“My fucking head.” he groans in Jongin’s ear, head slumped on Jongin’s.

For a second, he forgot about Chanyeol’s sickness and why they’re cosied up in bed when they’d both normally be up and running with respective tasks at this time. He called in sick for Chanyeol, Dee crooning in her gravelly cigarette worn voice for Chanyeol to feel better soon, sugar. Here Jongin is, giving him a headache when he’s already ill and a tad remorse creeps in.

“Sorry hyung.”

“S’okay,”

“Let me turn around.” Jongin tries to shift and loosen Chanyeol’s hold but Chanyeol clamps him still.

“You’re the sick one,” Jongin says, wriggling.

“Don’t worry.” Chanyeol murmurs, nuzzling Jongin’s neck and sending that fluttering electricity right down through him, “This is healing.”

Jongin hopes Chanyeol is too far gone in drowsiness to feel him get feverish warm and fight an uncontrollable smile that stays until he remembers he’s not supposed to be feeling like this about his best friend anymore.

Since Jongin now has other plans for Friday, he figures today is good as any day to get a movie in at a minimum and nurse Chanyeol back to health in snuggles and ibuprofen every four hours.

First, though, he must figure out a meal. The best remedy for the flu is good ol’ nutrition.

“Jongin, no.” Chanyeol tugs him back.

“You can’t starve!”

“I won’t. Just make sandwiches.”

“Not enough.”

“What if you give me food poisoning on top of the flu? What then?”

“Hyung,” Jongin says, shocked and indignant. “You don’t trust me.”

Chanyeol rolls his eyes, pinching Jongin’s side. “I trust you, sweetheart. I just don’t trust your cooking skills whatsoever.”

“It’s not that bad.” Jongin pouts, scooting away and crossing his arms.

“Oh baby,” Chanyeol says and Jongin pretends his heart doesn’t flip, “you put mayonnaise in scrambled egg.”

“But—”

“After you already put in ketchup.” Chanyeol deadpans.

“It wasn—”

“There was corn. Corn, ketchup, mayonnaise and eggs. Kim Jongin.”

Jongin deflates, unable to refute.

“So please. Just make sandwiches and come here so we can watch something and stay warm.”

Jongin did say he’d do anything, not that any of Chanyeol’s aforementioned instructions permits complaint in his books.

Chicken sandwiches heaped on a plate atop the coffee table and Venom ready to play, Jongin comes back from fetching the medicine to find Chanyeol holding up his phone.

“Aidan wants to know if you haven’t changed your mind.”

Is Jongin imagining the terseness?

“Thanks.” he takes his phone slowly, remembering how odd he acted last time.

“Why does he think you’re unsure of this? Are you?”

Jongin offers a sandwich to Chanyeol, buying time as he takes a bite out of his own. Part of him desperately wants to spill the truth. The rational part of him that doesn’t want to encroach on the boundaries of their friendship urges him to stick with the story.

“No. I’m sure.”

Perhaps it’s not rational. Perhaps it’s just dread. Lily livered fear.

The churning of his gut at lying to Chanyeol certainly agrees with that notion.

“It’s okay, you know. Saying no for whatever reason. It’s not too late.”

The words chill Jongin, mostly how it’s in direct reply to the predicament that has been circling in his thoughts, fraying his nerves.

“Why, wanna date me instead?” Jongin cocks his head, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

“Just looking out for you Jonginnie.” Chanyeol says with a grimace and Jongin wishes he could take his words back from the air.

“Lets just watch the movie.” he’s sullen all of a sudden and wants to quickly bury the subject.

*

Friday night rolls around and Jongin realizes he put off thinking about the date completely, including preparing an outfit. Yeah, his enthusiasm for this could be higher and he is not quite sure either why he is even going through with it at this point—clearly he’s failing miserably at trying to think of anyone other than Chanyeol—but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t look presentable.

Dealing with the vestiges of the flu, Chanyeol observes Jongin from the doorway as he flits around his room, taking drawers apart and dumping the contents on the floor, hooks screeching on metal as Jongin frantically goes through the articles hanging in the wardrobe.

“You’re not helping.” he accuses hastily and Chanyeol chuckles.

“Fine, lover boy. I’ll be in the kitchen making tea. Seems someone needs to relax.”

He decides on an all black outfit, shirt tucked into his skinnies with tears at the thighs and an oversized blazer thrown over the look, casual but leaning formal if Aidan decides to spring any surprises.

His hair has been growing out, he hasn’t trimmed in awhile, and his bangs rest at his eyebrows. He goes with an uneven parted look, most of it resting over his right brow. He then spritzes on some cologne, lines his waterline with a thin layer of eyeliner and decides this will have to do.

“Great, I think it’s cool enough for you to dri—” Chanyeol halts abruptly when he lays eyes on Jongin.

Jongin shifts his weight from side to side, pulling on the blazer sleeves and trying to maintain eye contact.

“Well?” he sounds nervous to his own ears and the direness of it is that it’s not because of Aidan.

“Maybe I will steal you for this date after all.” Chanyeol sets the mug down and starts towards Jongin.

“Don’t joke like that.”

“Who said I’m joking?” Chanyeol musses his hair when he reaches him and Jongin wants to complain but the way Chanyeol scans his face, lingering on the black rimming his eyes, roaming down his body and clearly checking him out, lodges the protest tight in his throat. Chanyeol is checking him out.

“That’s better,” Chanyeol says, nodding to his now dishevelled hair, “Irresistible.”

To you or someone else?

The guilt of having feelings for his best friend in the first place starts to morph. It forms the zygote of confusion, or suspicion. Of a little heartbreak. Why does Chanyeol keep saying such heart fluttering things if he doesn’t feel that way about Jongin?

“You can come, you know. Aidan’s nice, I don’t think he’d mind.” and then there’s the guilt of leaving Chanyeol on a night where it’s practically sacred for them to spend time together. And leaving Chanyeol alone especially when he’s recovering makes Jongin feel like he’s a little short of Worst Friend of The Year Award.

Chanyeol scoffs and nudges Jongin towards the table, “Please, that would be pathetic. I’m a big boy Jonginnie, I can survive one evening without you.” his words are softened by the smile he gives when he hands the mug to Jongin, taking up his own.

“Okay hyung.”

“Besides, who said I’m staying in? I need to start hunting for presents before the Christmas frenzy starts.”

“Oh! So what are you getting me?”

“My love. Like always. Finish your tea, Jongin. Maybe Christmas will come faster that way and you’ll find out.” he winks and Jongin sighs. Chanyeol never gives him clues about gifts but Jongin can never say he didn’t try to find out.

The doorbell interrupts Jongin’s reply. They glance at each other, confused. Jongin and Aidan agreed to meet in town, not pick him up. He’s not expecting anyone and by Chanyeol’s similar expression, neither is he.

“I’ll check it out,” Chanyeol says, putting his tea down.

Jongin hears the front door being open and the loud greeting as soon it is. The familiar voice bring a grin to his face. Chanyeol returns with a Baekhyun and Sehun that are clinging to his either side, making a fuss at him being sick.

“Get off me you rascals.”

“Is that the thanks we get for our time? For the drinks we brought you? Sehun, take these back to the ca—”

“Thank you very much,” Chanyeol snatches the six pack beer from Sehun and heads towards the fridge.

“And you! Hello you!” Baekhyun sashays over, looking Jongin from head to toe. “Looks like someone’s gonna get it!”

“Hyung,” Jongin chokes on his tea, swatting away Baekhyun’s touchy hands.

“Getting what?” Chanyeol says expressionlessly, closing the fridge.

“Yeah Jongin, what are you getting?” Sehun wiggles his eyebrows from where he’s leaning on the doorframe.

“Let’s see...eyeliner, some skin at the thighs, messy hair...Yeah I’d say there will at least be tongue.” Baekhyun says, giving Jongin another scan from head to toe.

“I-I’m gonna be late,” Jongin rips away from Baekhyun, taking his cup to the sink and giving them his back.

“We need to go too,” Sehun pipes up, his tone smug as if flustering Jongin was the only thing they came to do.

“Yeah we have to get to Em’s party. Aren’t we the best friends? Go on, thank us, Park.”

“I don’t know why you bothered, we don’t drink much.”

“Sehun, remind me to never care about this mannerless reptile.”

Chanyeol ignores them and stands before Jongin, hands on his shoulder. “Don’t be out too late. It’s Friday, you don’t know what kind of creeps will be out.” he says, a little more than stern. “And no…” his eyes bore into Jongin’s, clutching him tighter.

“No what?”

Chanyeol takes a deep breath then shakes his head and lets Jongin go.

“Nothing. Have fun. Be safe.”

*

The date is pleasant. Cordial. It reminds Jongin why he accepted the invitation. Aidan kissed him on the cheek, upon meeting and told him he looked lovely. It was nice. Aidan is nice. He’s warm. The awkwardness on his part dissipated and talking with Aidan is easy. In the glow of festive lights, streets teeming with enthusiastic folks, carols filling the night air and in gracious company, the date is almost ideal.

Almost.

Jongin can’t help but wince at each thought of Chanyeol that Aidan’s actions make him reminisce. Like the fact that Chanyeol, too, sets his hand right above the small of his back but Aidan doesn’t quite splay his fingers like Chanyeol. Aidan’s lips fall on his nose when they’re standing before each other and not between his brows, his forehead, like they do with Chanyeol. And when Aidan falls he gets flustered. Unlike Chanyeol who burst out laughing, lies on the rink snorting and creating a jam on the ice along the rim instead of getting up—how he kept falling and cackled with Jongin until he got the hang of it.

But Aidan would be ideal for a Jongin that wasn’t in love with Chanyeol.

They’re in the queue for turning in their skates when Jongin’s phone vibrates in his pocket. Smiling, Jongin surrenders his skates to Aidan to reply.

Channie hyung:

-how’s it going?

-need to behead anyone?

-hyung, it’s hopeless

-he said manga is for kids

-and chicken isn’t really food

-oh no baby that’s criminal

-i’m wounded hyung

-where are u?

-i’m at delores street

-need a rescue?

-PLEASE

-we’re at st. kevins

-lol

-sit tight princess

-i’ll ‘bump’ into u very soon

“It’s Chanyeol, right?”

Jongin starts.

“What’s Chanyeol?”

Aidan walks back to him, a sombre demeanour about him making an appearance for the first time this night. “The reason you’re smiling at your phone. Far brighter than you’ve smiled with me tonight, mind you.” he looks at Jongin sideways, walking closer than he has all night and despite his words, Jongin can’t identify a trace of acrimony in him.

“Why you’ll most likely turn down a second date.”

Jongin’s silence is concession enough.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.” he stops walking, the crowd moves past them like a stream flowing around a boulder. “I still had fun tonight. I’m grateful you came.”

Aidan’s sweetness is a knife that twists regret in Jongin, the ache for another version of him that isn’t smitten with his best friend pulsing wilder than ever.

“Let’s get a drink before we call it a night? Tea? Hot chocolat—”

“Jonginnie!”

An arm slings around Jongin’s shoulder, squeezing him tight. Sure as he promised, Chanyeol is grinning down at him. Then he turns to Aidan.

“Hi Aidan!” Chanyeol greets brightly.

“Hi Chanyeol, how are you? Jongin has told me you’re a little down.”

“Oh he has?”

Jongin pretends he doesn’t see Chanyeol looking at him.

“Yes, he’s told me quite a bit about you.”

“Good things, I hope.” Chanyeol’s laugh sounds strange.

“Of course.” he turns to Jongin, “I think those falls are starting to take effect. I’ll head home now.” he puts out a hand and Jongin gives him a firm shake.

Perhaps once he figures how to tame his Chanyeol induced inner turmoil, he can get started on being a better friend to Aidan. Because seeing him in a romantic light has been a colossal fail.

“Goodnight, Jongin. Goodnight, Chanyeol.”

“What happened to you? You look withered.”

“I don’t think we’re a match.”

“So no second date?”

“No second date,” Jongin confirms, saddened by  his inability to like Aidan back.

“That’s his problem, Jonginnie. His loss.”  

“Not really.” Jongin murmurs, taking the bag Chanyeol holds. “For Mom?” A small piece of card paper reading ‘Robins are near when loved ones are near’ holds a black bracelet with a silver robin charm.

“No, Yoora. What do you mean ‘not really’?”

“Oh, the birdwatching.”

“Yeah, she’s made a robin friend in the garden so I got her this wish bracelet. She invited us to a grouse lek, by the way, with Peter and her new beau but I think you’d sooner do my calculations for me than go birdwatching so I told her we’re busy that week.”

“Good call,” Jongin chuckles, bumping a hip into Chanyeol as he returns the bracelet to the bag. “Don’t get anything for Mom.”

“What?”

“Just trust me.”

The inquisition and protests are poised on Chanyeol’s lips but as Jongin looks at him, they’re swallowed and he nods.

“Thank you. Are you going to get my gift now?” Jongin beams, bumping hips again.

“Sure,” Chanyeol locks his arm around Jongin’s neck and ruffles his beanie clad head, earning a yell that is more of a laugh.

“Fine. Lets get sweaters,” Jongin suggests.

“Christmas sweaters? We already have—”

“Yes and mine has holes the size of your eyeball.” Jongin stops in front of Chanyeol, folding his arms, “C’mon hyung.”

Chanyeol hums and steps closer. The street and people fade away, a pretty bokeh backdrop for a prettier view of Chanyeol’s face so close to his, lips so close, kiss so close. For a moment there is poetry in Chanyeol’s eyes, the feelings in Jongin’s heart manifesting as a confession in Chanyeol that Jongin can read and comprehend. Or so his heart wishes it to be.

“No.” Chanyeol says, smiling. The world comes back into focus and though the spellbinding moment is broken, Jongin is slightly disoriented and confused about what his best friend is rejecting.

“But hyung!” Jongin whines, snapping into himself.

“You made us get onesies last year. Wear those.”

“We can wear them and the sweaters!”

“We have plenty sweaters at home. I give you permission to raid my wardrobe.”

“I don’t need permission to raid your wardrobe. Besides they’re not Christmas sweaters.”

“Jongin,”

“Chanyeol,”

“Jongin,”

“Channie hyung,”

“No,”

“My favourite hyung,”

“Nope,”

“My sweetest most favourite bestest most handsome most—”

“Fine.”

Chanyeol’s resigned sigh does nothing to deter Jongin’s excitement or triumphant whoop.  

*

“So are you going to tell me what we’re doing tomorrow?” Chanyeol asks as they lie on the sofa, hugging each other and the rim of Grandma Park’s quilt. They have finals to be studying for but it was mutually decided it’s simply too cold to function. Jongin tried to convince Chanyeol it would be fun to warm up via snowball fight and Chanyeol only stared at him to spotlight the fallacy in that reasoning.

He’s waiting for Bel’s text if tomorrow’s plans are all a go but Bel has never let him down before and he’s not expecting any bad news. He only hopes Chanyeol will like it.

“We’re celebrating your birthday.”

“Yes,” Chanyeol rolls his eyes, playing with the zipper on Jongin’s onesie, a matching bear set he coaxed Chanyeol into purchasing through the power of pleas, praises and a pretty smile, “and how are we doing that?”

“Adopt the pace of nature, hyung,” Jongin fiddles with Chanyeol’s zipper in return, “her secret is patience.”

Chanyeol snorts, bringing the zipper lower as if competing with Jongin, “And who said that?”

“An old man, probably. Can’t recall which one. You get it, though.”

“I just want to know if I have to brace myself for any traumatic event,” he says as he slips his hand into the suit, palm grazing Jongin’s bare side since he wore naught underneath and Jongin’s breath is stifled, “if my supposed party will have the cops at our door.”

“Hyung,” Jongin puffs out, trying to stay still, trying not to squirm, “I didn’t think Xing hyung would invite his whole faculty,”

“I think one of his TAs tried to hook up with me, you know.” he glides down until his palm locks into the dip in Jongin’s hip, made perfectly for Chanyeol.

Jongin’s leg twitches of its own accord, but not by much since it’s pinned down by Chanyeol’s thighs that it’s trapped between. His whole body is catching fire, slowly, from the tip of his toes and working upwards and Jongin has no power to stop it, Chanyeol won’t stop touching him. Not that he wants him to. He needs him to. Before he makes a fool of himself or spits out his heart that is beating in his throat.

“Did you want to?” Jongin regrets the question as soon as its out. He really doesn’t want to know if the answer is anything but ‘no’. The zipper he rapidly tugs up and down sounds in the silent room and Jongin looks away from it to Chanyeol’s face when it goes on a beat too long.

“No,” Chanyeol shrugs, the squeeze of Jongin’s hip could be imaginary, “I had my sights on someone else.”

“Oh,” Jongin’s voice sounds small, even to himself. Breathless, pinched. Which is rather silly, he tells himself. Chanyeol can have feelings for other people, of course he can. He’s not Jongin’s. Not like that.

“You don’t wanna know who it is?” Chanyeol asks after Jongin doesn’t say anything else, just tucks his head into Chanyeol’s chest and closes his eyes.

There’s a buzz as Jongin’s phone vibrates on the coffee table before he can mumble a vague reply and Jongin has never been gladder for anything else.

He sits up to stretch over Chanyeol and get his phone, it must be Bel getting back to him. But he’s nudged down, left staring at a Chanyeol who has his brow raised.

“Another date, Jongin?”

His voice is light, sarcasm morphing his features but his clutch on Jongin’s hip tightens and it muddles Jongin. He might have joked that Chanyeol is jealous but he remembers Chanyeol’s solemnity a few days ago when he played around like that.

“What does it matter,” to you, he almost adds, but it comes out sour enough, glare driving the point home.

“It does matter,” Chanyeol says, quiet and serious with all mirth gone, “because I’d tell you to say no. I’d ask you to turn them down,” he removes his hand from Jongin’s hips, from his suit and sits up. “Because the only person I want you to go on dates with is me.”

“W-what,” Jongin sits up so hastily that they almost bump foreheads and Chanyeol holds him around the shoulders to steady him. He searches Chanyeol’s eyes frantically, waiting for the punchline, waiting for the laugh, just messing with you Jonginnie. As usual.

It doesn’t come.

“I like you,” Chanyeol murmurs, gaze darting between Jongin’s eyes and lips, his grasp on his shoulder slipping lower to his waist, into his onesie and curling around his back to bring them closer. “I like you so much,” each breath he draws falls on Jongin’s lips and Jongin’s chest is tight and stationary, “say I haven’t been imagining things,” he brings them closer together yet, faces almost slanted, “say you like me.”

Jongin watches Chanyeol’s lips inch closer and closer, Chanyeol watching him back, watching to see if he’ll pull away. Jongin does pull away. Chanyeol has uttered the words he’d only ever dreamed of hearing from him. Any second now the setting will get distorted and the real Chanyeol will shake him awake. Or Chanyeol will laugh and tell him his face is priceless, what, do you actually like me Jonginnie?

Chanyeol’s face begins to fall, begins to extract himself from Jongin. “But I understand if you don’t. I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

Jongin launches himself at Chanyeol and they fall back together on the sofa, almost tumbling to the floor. He digs his knees firmly into the cushions, at Chanyeol’s sides, hovering over him. For once he doesn’t feel the cold.

“Jonginn—”

Jongin leans down.

Euphonies and dreams, if they were tactile, would feel like the moment their lips touch.

If honeyed-wonder could be bottled, Jongin would forever keepsake the moment Chanyeol smiles against his lips.

The kiss is rusty, their coordination tentative. Jongin hasn’t kissed anyone in years and even then it hadn’t been good. The boy’s lips had been cold, same as Jongin’s and the whole experience was unmoving at best. So very unlike the thrill currently humming right beneath his skin, threatening to break to the surface.

In time they find their rhythm and the uncertainty on how to move their lips together melts away like ice in the spring with no evidence of its being. Only heat in its place, heat and the unscratchable itch to be as humanly close as possible to Chanyeol.

Chanyeol must feel the same as he holds Jongin’s head in place with one hand and roams Jongin’s bare back with another, pressing him down, pressing him closer with a desperation like he’s getting farther away instead of nearer. Jongin’s hands end up in Chanyeol’s hair, lowering the zipper of Chanyeol’s suit and searching for skin beneath the extra layer of tshirt, gripping any piece of Chanyeol he can reach with ferocity.

They break for air, when it becomes obvious it’s impossible to continue kissing without. Accomplice sheepiness creeps into their smiles when they glimpse the state of disheveled brought on by each other. Jongin attempts to pat down Chanyeol’s nested hair and Chanyeol brushes his thumb over Jongin’s lip as if to magically bring down the swelling. It ends up in Jongin slumping back on Chanyeol as they fall into titters.

When it dies down, Jongin, for the first time he can remember, doesn’t know what to say to his best friend. He keeps his face in Chanyeol’s neck, content yet racking his brain for something to say, a comment, a remark to officiate what they’ve just admitted to.

Chanyeol prompts him up and initially Jongin pretends he doesn’t feel it, burying his face deeper into Chanyeol’s neck but Chanyeol tugs harder and Jongin has no choice but to look up.

Then Chanyeol closes their lips together again and all of Jongin’s worries instantly seem silly and unfounded. The gut-wrenching moment that is spent at the front door in a homecoming, waiting for it to be opened. Once it is, you’re welcomed in, welcomed home. There’s no words for the time lost, no interrogation at the doormat. And so, Jongin and Chanyeol are home and words are redundant.

*

“Are you sure we have to do this?” Chanyeol swings their clasped hands higher and higher and the pout he speaks with makes Jongin giggle.

“Yes hyung, we have to.”

“I don’t know what it is but I can imagine a few million other things we could be doing before we meet up with the guys.”

“Yeah? What?”

It’s only five in the evening but the city has plunged into darkness. Combined with the unfavourable temperatures, the sidewalks clear quickly and the final rush home clogs some of the roads.

Chanyeol has been taking every opportunity to intertwine their fingers, keep Jongin close, kiss him, on the lips, cheek, anywhere, everywhere, and it does not seem like the rush of butterflies that overwhelm Jongin will fade any time soon.

“Like,” Chanyeol abruptly pulls them into an alley they’re about to bypass, pinning Jongin to the brick wall, “like this.”

His lips are warm and rough, cheeks cold and body sheeting Jongin’s. He kisses languidly, as if they’re not relying on the obscurity of the alleyway, as if they have no place else to be, as if he means to kiss Jongin for the remainder of the night.

Jongin angles his head to deepen the kiss, encircling Chanyeol’s neck, fingers crawling up Chanyeol’s nape, into his hair and loosening the hat but neither of them pay it any mind. The low, satisfied noise Chanyeol makes shakes all the flutters loose inside Jongin and pulls a faint moan from him in return.

“Oh,” Jongin says when Chanyeol pulls away, lips tingling. “That...that would be fun.”

“Wouldn’t it?” he says, brushing a flurry of successive kisses to Jongin’s mouth.

“Mm.” Jongin repays the kisses, feeling a little more intoxicated with each one. “But we still have to do This. Let’s go.”

‘This’ happens to be taking place in the basement of Sinclair Art Centre, where the ceramics workshop is. The workshop is massive, solely taking up the whole expanse of the basement. It resembles a warehouse, with its bright metal halides chasing every shadow with white light and shelves running the length of two of the walls. Decorating the shelves are pieces of ceramics, some bisqueware, some glazed.

There are terracotta pots and round bellied vases, rainbowed glaze, each colour running into each other like tear stains on the porcelain cups, dolphins and shells printed bowls, fine intricate tea sets and an array of carefully crafted products dotting all around the wooden space. And less impeccable pieces too: a tall cylinder that could be a vase save for the frayed rim that undulates like the curve of petals, the mug that seems to be missing a chunk of the handle, the severely chipped jug.

Several of the works hold plants and give the room an enchanting flare. Pale petunias in deep olive pots, devil’s ivy sitting in hanging pulley baskets off the shelf corners, carmine begonias blossoming between ceramics.

Then there are the rows of low tables and wheels, traces of clay on the wheel heads.

“Jonginnie?” Chanyeol says in question the same moment Bel exclaims, “You’re here!”

“Hi!” Jongin walks into her open arms, her enthusiastic bear embraces always welcome.

“It’s so good to see you! How are you? Oh your cheeks are so cold sweetie! Can I get you a drink?” Bel pinches his face, concerned.

“I’m fine,” Jongin laughs, prying her hands away and turning them towards Chanyeol.

“The birthday boy! Come here, you! Happy birthday!” She sails past Jongin and envelopes Chanyeol in the same all-crushing hug. Chanyeol’s eyes are huge as he looks at Jongin over Bel’s shoulder, making Jongin chuckle.

“I’m Bel, Chanyeol. We’ve already met but nice to meet you again.” She takes Chanyeol’s hand and gives it a firm shake. Chanyeol nods, mutters that it’s mutual. His hat is in his grip now, knuckles whitening. His slightly tousled hair, frequent blinks and mouth ajar adding to the lost puppiness of him. Jongin is warm, endeared.

“Welcome, welcome guys! Come on, take off your coats. I understand we have two hours? I’m hoping we will get the bisqueware done today.”

Jongin takes Chanyeol’s coat, returning his uncertain glance with a reassuring smile. He fetches two aprons from the basket and hangs their coats on the way. Bel gestures for them to take seats on the second row.

“Chanyeol, do you know why we’re here today?”

Chanyeol briefly glances at Jongin again before shaking his head at Bel, “Making pottery…?”

“Correct! We’re making pottery for a special lady,” she beams, clapping. Chanyeol still seems confused but he cracks his own smile, Bel’s charm is contagious.

“I hope Mom is still into ceramics,” Jongin says, nervousness creeping into him once he realizes this could all be meaningless if Mama Park’s interests have changed.

“We’re making pottery for Mom?”

Jongin nods.

Chanyeol stares for a moment. Jongin can see the cogs in his brain working. “That’s why...that’s why you told me not to get her a present?”

Jongin nods again.

“That’s...Jonginnie…” Chanyeol trails off, his face twisting with emotions. Then he pulls Jongin to him, squeezing him even tighter than Bel had, the momentum swaying them. He holds Jongin for an endless moment, uncaring of their audience before he whispers in Jongin’s ear, “Thank you, Jongin.”

“Hyung,”

When they withdraw from each other, Bel is nowhere to be seen and Jongin assumes she’s getting supplies or something.

“Sit down, hyung. I’m gonna be one of your instructors today,”

Jongin relishes the confusion that once again takes Chanyeol’s face.

“I took a few lessons with Bel. That’s why I came home late sometime, wasn’t always group projects. Sorry for lying hyung.” Jongin says, guiding Chanyeol to a seat when he stays transfixed, “what do you want to make? Mug? Bowl? Vase? Pot?”

“What does my Pottery Master Kim recommend?”

“Well,” Jongin says, standing behind Chanyeol, trailing his hands over Chanyeol’s arms to his hands and linking fingers, “I’ve only made a vase and a bowl. Bowl is definitely easiest.” He turns into Chanyeol’s neck, nuzzling and brushing his lips over. Chanyeol inhales deeply, stock still. Jongin continues, trailing his mouth to Chanyeol’s ear and nipping at the lobe. Jongin doesn’t have to see that Chanyeol’s ears are red, he feels them heated. It spurs him on.

“Jongin,” Chanyeol moans. The sound vibrates through Jongin, rousing all the desire he’d buried for so long, desire he buried as recent as last night when they kissed until their lips ached and their clothes came off one by one to their underwear. But Chanyeol had mumbled about an early start the next morning and something about sleep, even when sleep was clearly the furthest thing from their minds.

This time they do hear the door and while they don’t retract from each other entirely, Jongin does release Chanyeol’s ear from his mercy and settles for resting his hands on Chanyeol’s shoulder.

“Just went to grab some water. The lights can make it impossibly hot in here. Alright, I’ll get some clay. Have you decided what to make?”

“Hyung?”

“U-uhm...Vase?”

“Sure thing! I’ll run you through the basics and I’ll be demonstrating here in front of you but you’ll have Jongin to help you too, right?”

“Right!”

Jongin helps Chanyeol with his centering form, reassuring him that it's tricky to master.

"Flick some water onto it, it's leathery again." Bel instructs and Jongin dips a hand into the bucket and flicks it over the piece of clay on Chanyeol's bat. "The less elastic the clay, the harder it is to centre so it's especially important you keep it soft as a beginner."

Jongin can't see Chanyeol's face but his whole body spells utterly perplexed so he covers Chanyeol’s hands and helps him put his weight into centering.

"The heel of your palm is important, hyung," Jongin says in Chanyeol's ear to be heard over the whir of the wheel. "Use your heel and thumb, like this. Hyung? Are you listening?"

Chanyeol moves his thumbs, stroking them over Jongin's and laces his fingers back with Jongin's over the clay.

"Hyung," Jongin whines, putting more pressure on the clay so it doesn't become an amorphous mess on their bat. "Pay attention,"

"It's hard,"

"I know. You'll get the hang of it. Let's keep the bottom wide and top fl--"

"I mean it's hard to pay attention when I want nothing more than to kiss you."

Jongin falters, their clay turning into the Leaning Tower of Pisa as he accidentally applies lopsided pressure. Chanyeol gives the wheel all the attention he was previously lacking but a corner of his lips tugs upwards and his smugness is visceral. Jongin figures two can play at a game and gives him a quick peck on the cheek that ends up more along his jawline. That effectively wipes the smugness but Jongin remembers they're not alone and casts a glance at Bel whose lips are lifted in amusement.

"Behave." he whispers through gritted teeth.

"'Friend', Jongin?" Bel asks, eyes on their wheel.

"Uh," Jongin gulps, recalling how he'd denied any talk of him and Chanyeol being in a relationship when he first came to Bel to ask the favour.

“I don't know Jongin,” she'd told him then, “you guys looked pretty loved up to me. Still do.”

“Just friends, Bel, best best friends and I really need you to help me.”

“Fine, but I want invites to the wedding.”

Jongin had just groaned and allowed her to tease him every time he came to her for a lesson. She may think she’s indebted to him for saving her from a guy that was trying to coerce her into going upstairs with him at a party last year where almost all of the attendants were wasted but he's aware of the magnitude of the favour he asked for. After all, in spite of her being Sinclair's—the owner of the art centre—daughter, it must not have been simple to get the workshop cleared tonight nor does he take the extra hours she dedicated to showing him the ropes for granted.

"Can I get a kiss too?" she asks.

"Shut up," Jongin grumbles as Chanyeol chuckles.

"I knew it. I get to say I told you so. No one is 'just friends' like you two. It's impressive you've been thick for that long."

Even Chanyeol grumbles this time and Bel laughs.

"Well love birds, that piece is ruined. Let's start again."

*

They leave later than they should have because they kept getting caught up in conversation and having to remould the piece on the wheel. She gifts them with a parting kiss on the cheek each and lotion for their incredibly dry hands, saying she'll see them next week for the glazing and that they did well. ( Happy birthday once again, Chanyeol. This boy here really loves you and you're lucky to have him. To which Jongin blushed and Chanyeol said he knows, kissing Jongin's temple.)

Jongin is still buzzing from that as they enter the club, already missing Chanyeol's hand in his. They walk detached, agreeing they won’t tell their friends yet. The news is just theirs for now. Bel already had notions about them and Jongin feels a comfort with her he can't really express. Like a big sister whom he can't keep things from. Maybe he just misses his own sisters whom he hasn’t spoken to in over a year.

Their friends are all present and have claimed a table. He and Chanyeol are twenty minutes late. They immediately start cheering when they glimpse Chanyeol and Jongin.

"Yah! Do you think you're celebrities to keep us waiting?" Sehun scowls.

"Hey come here birthday boy, how many bashes is it again?" Baekhyun points a scolding finger at Chanyeol.

"Sixty!" Sehun replies.

"He better be ready to drink up..." Minseok yells.

"Good luck!" Yixing says sincerely.

"He's gonna need it..."

"Hey Jongin! Sit here!" Baekhyun makes space between him and Yixing for Jongin and shoves Chanyeol into the space between him and Sehun.

"Hi hyung," Jongin says helplessly to Yixing as Sehun and Baekhyun instantly start their assault on Chanyeol's arms, any part of him that's within their grasp.

"I suppose I should give you bashes too?"

"Me? What for? It's not my birthday!" Jongin exclaims, feeling betrayed.

"What should I get you when the children finish up their game?" Minseok leans over Yixing to ask.

"Hey!" Baekhyun whips around, "I heard that."

"Good! You're gonna send him to the ER before the night has even begun. Can we get this party started?"

"Fine, this isn't over Park."

Chanyeol lifelessly slides down in his seat, hugging his forearms. Jongin would feel bad for him if Sehun didn't have his arm around him, both of them grinning like mad men.

"Tonight everybody is drinking till their legs are noodles and they can't tell a toilet bowl from Sehun's head. Except for Min hyung. It's on me so you better kiss my ass."

"Come here then," says Yixing, the same time Sehun exclaims, "What the hell?" and the rest of them at the table cheer.

"Okay," Baekhyun says, once they all have a drink in hand, "what I really want to hear about is baby Jonginnie and his date. How did that go? Are we supposed to get used to Aidan's face? Have you guys done it? Details, Kim, I don’t see your mouth moving,"

Jongin grimaces, glances at Chanyeol who's intently staring into the contents of his glass. Everyone is listening attentively, imploring him to divulge.

"There's nothing to tell, it was one date." Jongin shrugs.

"What?" Sehun says in disbelief, "Dude he was so excited about it—don't tell him I told you by the way,"

Jongin grimaces harder. What does Jongin tell them? It wasn't him, it's me, it’s me who's in love with my best friend—who might love me back—?

"Yeah it was just one date, didn't work out. That's all." Jongin takes a deep gulp of his margarita which makes him grimace, again.

His friends are measuring him up and he can tell not a single one of them buy it but he's not yet ready to tell them the real story.

"That's too bad. But nothing precious Chanyeollie hyung can't fix, right?" Sehun gives him a box grin, his eyebrows greeting his hairline.

Jongin and Chanyeol choke on their drinks and the rest of them find high comedy in it.

"Anyway, you're forgetting it's my birthday. Why are you interrogating Jonginnie?"

"You're right, we should talk about your love life instead, tonight is about you after all."

"I need another drink," Chanyeol ignores Baekhyun and Sehun's following cajoling and then goading about relationships. Jongin relaxes into the night, into the ruckus his friends make, into the comfort of being surrounded by people that make him laugh, into the knowledge that Chanyeol is his now, or so he hopes and soon they'll stop asking because they'll know. For tonight, Chanyeol can suffer the mild teasing he too sustained from Bel.

"How are things, Jonginnie? We barely see you these days." Minseok says, head on Yixing's shoulder.

"So much to do, hyung. You know that. But you're coming over Christmas Eve, right?"

"Of course."

"What about you, hyung?"

Yixing snaps to them as if brought out of a distant reverie. "What?"

"Dinner at ours. Christmas Eve. You're coming, right?"

"I...I’ll try my best." he says softly and Jongin doesn’t push. Juggling the care of a sickly grandparent, classes and part time job isn’t an easy feat and Jongin knows if Yixing says he’ll try, they’re not empty words and that’s good enough.

"I'm getting a drink at the bar. Who wants to dance?" Baekhyun asks over loudly and Sehun immediately volunteers, Yixing following suit. When they leave, Chanyeol and Minseok close in on both sides, the latter putting his arm around Jongin in the greeting hug they didn't get to do when he and Chanyeol arrived.

"Ah I need to stay sober but you guys should drink up,"

"You can have one drink, hyung. Your tolerance is the best."

"Yours is commendable too, Chanyeol. I'm gonna leave Jongin with you. Xing doesn't look so great. Make sure you go and dance! Have some fun! Happy birthday Chanyeol." he leans over to kiss Chanyeol's cheek and Chanyeol thanks him with happiness, alcohol putting colour on his face.

Finally they're alone again and Chanyeol scooches even closer, hand on Jongin's tight jean clad tight.

"Hi baby." Chanyeol murmurs.

"Hi hyung,"

"I missed you,"

Jongin laughs, looking up at Chanyeol, "already?"

"Already." he caresses Jongin's thigh, hand sinking to the inner thigh and Jongin's senses startling to prickle. “I wasn’t kidding," he starts, burying his face in Jongin's neck, breathing softly, "I want to kiss you so bad.”

Jongin finds his way to the sleeve of Chanyeol's hand on him, stealing beneath the fabric and catching Chanyeol's wrist, encouraging his movements.

"It's like it's my hobby now. Park Chanyeol, Engineer student, Cooking Enthusiast and Kisser of Kim Jongin."

"That doesn't sound so bad," Jongin nuzzles into Chanyeol's shoulder, parting his legs as discreetly as he can for Chanyeol's exploration. "How about Kim Jongin, History Student, Sleep Enthusiast and Receiver of Park Chanyeol’s Kissses?"

Chanyeol thinks for a moment. Nods, "Positively perfect."

"I want you to kiss me, hyung. And I want you to keep doing what you're doing."

"This?" Chanyeol moves his hand until he's cupping Jongin over his pants and Jongin gasps, sitting up acutely.

"Shit," Jongin moans and reaches for the drink so he can have a reason to excuse his eyes closing, his features scrunching.

"Have I told you how gorgeous you are?" Chanyeol catches his chin, turns his face.

"I think so." Jongin gulps down some more alcohol, hips bucking the slightest into Chanyeol's palm, "Can I hear it again?"

"You are gorgeous. So gorgeous."

Jongin all but moans, at the praise, at Chanyeol thumbing his head, at Chanyeol humming under his breath.

"It's your birthday, hyung. I should be—"

"Ssh. I'm enjoying this. You've already done so much. Let me—this makes me happy."

Jongin cracks an eye open, lets a wide smile take over, "Then I'm happy too, hyung."

This time Chanyeol places a kiss on Jongin's forehead.

They’re interrupted by Sehun who comes to steal Chanyeol citing that  Jongin has Chanyeol literally every day and come and dance man. Jongin watches as Chanyeol gets dragged into the throng, his face riddled with reluctance but Sehun’s not lending any leniency tonight.

Jongin takes a gulp of his drink, the blaze it sets down his throat making him cringe and put it back down hastily. A few familiar faces passing call out his name, ask him why he’s just sitting there and to come join them. Jongin nods them away with a smile, knowing they’re too off their heads to really know or remember what they’re saying. The club is a popular one near their university, frequented by the students.

Funnily enough it’s where he and Chanyeol met half of their current friends; Baekhyun, Sehun, Yixing and even Bel. Remembering the first semester is like sifting through someone else’s mind. The memories feel far removed from him. Those reckless weeks almost cost them their scholarships. Alas, the only good thing that came out of it was the friends they made.

“Jongin!”

Baekhyun comes stumbling into their booth, pointing a finger at him.

“Did we—did we come here to—ouch!” he yells as he knocks into the edge of the table.

“Hyung!” Jongin jolts up as Baekhyun doubles over in pain. He settles him down away from the edge, his body heavy, neck droopy. After the third attempt to sit him up and his head lolls Jongin realizes Baekhyun has fallen asleep.

“Sheesh,” Jongin sighs. Baekhyun snores in reply. With a laugh, Jongin prompts him onto his side, resigning himself to babysitter of the night. It’s good he hasn’t had more than one drink. But he notes the strangeness of not seeing a Sehun close behind. Lately he seems to be tethered to Baekhyun’s hip and the two—

“Here you are!”

Speak of the Devil…

Sehun appears, holding the table as he catches his breath. His hair looks windswept, his mouth open as he takes deep breaths. Looking at him glare at Baekhyun’s sleeping form, Jongin has never seen anyone look so perfectly exasperated and endeared at once.

“This hyung, Jongin, this hyung is really wearing me out. He should pay me for my service, right? Do you know I looked for him all over? I even went to see if he went to sleep on strangers’ cars like last time. Ah, he’s giving me back pain high blood pressure high cholesterol diabetes indigestion diarr—”

“You’re so dramatic,” Jongin kicks out and evens out the pout on Sehun’s face with light slaps.

“Why did he have any more drinks? I warned him! I told him he’d be like this again.”

“Nothing precious Sehunnie can’t fix, right?” Jongin says, saccharine and batting his lashes.

Sehun gives him the foulest glance before he hoists Baekhyun’s dangling legs onto the seat and letting out another hefty sigh.

“Where’s Chanyeol?”

“I...I don’t know? I left him  on the dance floor when I saw Baek hyung leaving,”

“Great,” Jongin shoots up again. Chanyeol gets up to a fair amount of trouble himself if he has the right amount to drink. Jongin would really rather avoid a repeat of the time Chanyeol jumped the bar to rescue the bear on the bottle of Polar Ice displayed on the shelf, later grousing to Jongin but it was so big, Jonginnie, believe hyung it was so real.

He meets Chanyeol on the way to the floor, walking with hunched shoulders and an off gait. He straightens the minute he sees Jongin, face lighting up.

“Where are you going hyung?”

“Let’s go sit, Jongin. I think I’m already too old for this.”

“Yah hyung! What are you saying? Did the alcohol take all your brain cells? You haven’t even danced with the most important person,”

“Don’t look at me like that, sheesh. Let’s go,” Chanyeol grabs Jongin’s arm.

Jongin is not smiling at Chanyeol not denying his importance. He’s not.

“Put more energy hyung!”

Jongin repeats the encouragement until Chanyeol lets loose and dances with all of his limbs like everybody around them. The teeth-vibrating bass pumps an increasing amount of adrenaline through him and his hair sticks matted to his forehead. Chanyeol swings him out then catches him on the way in, laughing as they switch positions. They’ve danced together before, many times, but Chanyeol’s hands all over him has never felt so riveting, so much like a voltage at each point of contact.

Chanyeol braces him somewhere around the tenth song, panting and telling Jongin to have mercy. Fortunately for him, the beat turns mellow and allows for more relaxed dancing.

“What happened hyung? You used to be better than this,” Jongin accuses, swinging his arms around Chanyeol’s middle, falling into a gentle sway.

“Shh,”

Jongin does, only because he likes the song. And because Chanyeol is holding him in a way that maps the topographies of their bodies on each other.

“You know,” Chanyeol says, fingers scratching light patterns on Jongin’s shoulder. There’s a sombre shift in his voice that captivates Jongin, dimming the noise and bustle around them, muting the world to Chanyeol and Jongin only frequencies. “It was the first time we came here that I realized I like you more than as a best friend,”

“You mean the first time you saw me as a party animal? Wow hyung, extremely romantic.”

“No, silly,” Chanyeol murmurs on his head, his eye roll spiritually felt, “ I mean it was the first time we did something like that. It wasn’t about partying or clubbing. It was doing things with you. Everything feels good with you...if we’re at home doing nothing...if we’re dancing and getting wasted...if we’re doing homework, if we’re walking down the street...anything. I like experiencing life with you, Kim Jongin.”

Emotions surge in swiftly like a riptide and Jongin can’t speak, even if he wanted to, even if he could find an adequate way to vocalize the great affection pressing in from either side of his rib cages, pressing behind his eyes.

“H-hyung,” Jongin fails to keep his voice steady, “isn’t it too early for a proposal?” fails to keep the stammer out.

Chanyeol laughs, lowering his mouth to Jongin’s cheek, “Maybe,” a kiss, then he gently breaks free, turns Jongin around and holds him tenderly around the waist, “maybe.” he kisses Jongin’s neck, making him shiver. “Should have done this long ago. I tried for you, Jonginnie. I tried so hard to let you figure out your emotions. Sometimes...sometimes it seemed like you felt the same...but then you told me about the date and I didn’t realize how painful you being with others would be for me. I never wanted to hear you tell me about another date that wasn’t with me.”

Jongin coaxes his fingers into the space between Chanyeol’s, emotions swelling. “I like you hyung. Only you.”

Chanyeol hums, happy. He presses another kiss to Jongin, keeping his lips home right there on the column of Jongin’s neck before his jawline. They move together slowly, a mum conversation of body and pendant words. Mutual, unspoken sentiments that previously felt criminal to feel at all leaking out, bleeding into the atmosphere between them and turning into a soft encompassing sphere that fades the world away.

Perhaps this is what unabridged happiness feels like. Molten sunlight, honey dreams. Taffy kisses, cosmic dust. Feathered falls. Deeper and deeper.

The next song is fast, lyrics bordering obscene and Jongin spins to face Chanyeol again. Chanyeol groans and tries to drag him towards the booths staircase but Jongin stands his ground, “Hyung, please I really love this song!”

He lifts their clasped hands over their heads, grinning and twisting his hips in an attempt to reinvigorate. Chanyeol copies his moves with half the effort but he’s grinning back so Jongin doesn’t wheedle any harder.

The sheen on Chanyeol’s face reflects the flashing coloured lights, his hair adhered to his face like Jongin’s. Beads of sweat run down his temples, down his throat where his adam’s apple bobs heavily as he breathlessly tries to keep up with Jongin. The impulse to be pasted together, flesh to flesh, returns and Jongin pushes their hips together as they dance.

“What,” Chanyeol says, leaning his forehead on Jongin’s, whispers a little hoarse, completely intimate, “what’s that look?”

“Nothing,” Jongin whispers, core tense as their lips almost touch, “hyung is pretty.”

He doesn’t smirk, as Jongin would expect, or gloat. In fact his expression is nothing short of lascivious and every breath Jongin takes under that gaze is exhilarating. This time when Chanyeol tries to lead him off the dance floor, he doesn’t resist. There’s a current of urgency running between them through their joined hands. The anticipation for whatever’s coming thrums right through his veins.

He barely recognizes the sparingly lit corridor to the restrooms, Chanyeol leading with giant hurried steps. He registers his head meeting a cold hard wall before Chanyeol’s lips are hot on his, hands reaching beneath his clothes, palm warm on his flesh. It’s the first time Chanyeol uses his tongue like this, sweeping through Jongin’s mouth, to his throat, an attempt to devour and it weakens Jongin at the knees. His hands wander around the waistband of Chanyeol’s jeans, yearning to touch the evident hardness poking into his hip.

When he gives in and places his palm on Chanyeol’s member, it earns him a buck and teeth clamping on his lips.

“Shit,” Chanyeol gasps and Jongin can’t tell if it’s because he’s apologetic for the bite or caused by Jongin digging his palm into his groin. The bite stung but it feels alien not to have Chanyeol on his lips so Jongin presses up for another kiss. He enjoys the sounds Chanyeol makes into his mouth as he works slowly to undo Chanyeol’s belt, pop the button, pull down his zipper. Slide his way into Chanyeol’s boxers. Grip his half mast cock, coaxes it out from the cover of the underwear.

The first full stroke has Chanyeol breaking the kiss, hissing loud.

“Jonginnie,” he moans, gripping Jongin’s shoulders tightly. In the faint light that comes from the other corridor, Jongin can see Chanyeol’s eyes shut tightly, features contorted and breath coming quick.

Jongin has seen most of what there is to see of Park Chanyeol but seeing him receive carnal pleasure is a new one. Being the reason for Chanyeol’s pleasure is new. Feeling Chanyeol grow harder in his hand. It thrills him. Overwhelms him with desire until his knees start to seriously feel like jelly. But it’s not yet time to collapse. Not until he brings Chanyeol to his knees too.

“Hyung,” he murmurs, giving Chanyeol a tight stroke, “hyung you’re big,” there’s a bead of wetness on the tip and Chanyeol draws in sharp breaths as Jongin thumbs it, smears it, spreads it to the base.

“Jongin please,”

The heavy moan makes Jongin’s own dick twitch, his hips bend into Chanyeol’s. He cups Chanyeol’s face with another hand and seals their mouths back together. He strokes luxuriously, relishing Chanyeol’s hardness, the velvet warmth of him in his hand, the veined texture, the way he grows slicker. All by Jongin.

Chanyeol groping him back is sudden, makes Jongin moan out Chanyeol’s name in shocked plea. His nerves all dissolve in pleasure as Chanyeol palms him, the kiss turning into a tournament of pants and moans.

“Baby,”

Jongin hooks an arm around Chanyeol to keep himself upright, head in the crook of his neck, wrist in motion.

“Chanyeol, hyung,” Jongin whines as Chanyeol alternates pressure, going hard then gently skimming back and forth over his bulge. It’s driving Jongin insane, barely able to focus on keeping his hand moving. He almost crumbles when Chanyeol fits another palm on his ass, cupping a cheek firmly and kneading lightly.

The groan Chanyeol lets out sounds akin to finally and the thought of Chanyeol yearning to do this or even thinking of it sends a hot aching flush through Jongin.

When Chanyeol sucks on his throat, the tension at Jongin’s core explodes. He arches sharply, gasp silent, hips stuttering.

“Stop stop hyung please,” Jongin pleads as Chanyeol keeps applying pressure, chasing Jongin’s hips that squirm to evade the overstimulation.

He concedes, wrapping his arms around Jongin and thrusting into the fist with mild desperation that grows to critical.

“Jongin,

“Jonginnie,

“Fuck, so close baby,”

“That’s it, hyung,” he makes the circle of his fist tighter, “so sexy hyung. I’m getting hard again hyung, listen to you.”

“Hyung is— is sexy?”

“So sexy, come on give it to me hyung,”

Chanyeol trembles in his hand, thrusts becoming sporadic as he shoots all over Jongin’s stomach, soiling his jumper.

Jongin didn’t lie, Chanyeol’s low broken groan as he orgasms makes his dick twitch again. He lets Chanyeol rest on his shoulder, chest moving rapidly as they both regain their breath.

“Didn’t know you could dirty talk, Jongin,” Chanyeol says quietly after a while.

“Just the truth,” Jongin’s glad for Chanyeol’s eyes away from him.

“No,” Chanyeol lifts his head, Jongin looks away. Firm fingers turn his chin, bringing them face to face again. “No that was so hot, Jonginnie. Fuck, I— fuck.” Chanyeol shakes his head in wonder.

He leans down to kiss Jongin when a familiar voice comes from the other corridor, “No Sehun, I don’t see them in here. Let me check the bar again,”

They flatten themselves to the wall, even though they know Minseok won’t come this way if he’s heading to the bar but just one sound and he might come to investigate. In their disheveled indecent state, that’s a lot less than ideal.

Chanyeol does sneak in that kiss when Minseok’s steps fade away, stealing the breath Jongin barely managed to regain before he buckles up and leaves Jongin with a cheeky smile to fetch him tissue.

*

The weeks following Chanyeol’s birthday are busier than usual. Winter finals are upon them and the days they slacked off come back to bite them as they direly need to marathon cram. Between work and staying out late for group work, it feels like they rarely see each other—besides the few minutes they spend talking in bed prior to deep dreamless sleep. Not even their Fridays remained unscathed.

In the morning, the only time they get is the train ride to campus, exhaustion making both of them deaf to the recurring alarms. It’s a frenzy of mismatched socks, shoveling cereal or forcing down bare crispbread when they run out of everything else and can’t afford to spend any more that week. Hastily tying scarves around each other, brushing teeth while hopping on one foot to get their pants on, running a hand through each other’s hair on the elevator because there was no time to brush, flicking off missed eye crust, startling awake on the train every minute or so as they fall asleep, hugged and standing, so they don’t miss their stop, sharing a chaste, rushed kiss once they arrive before running in the opposite direction.

Nevertheless, there always seems to be time for missing Chanyeol. Every second. Lurking on the fringe of his conscious even when he doesn’t actively engage the thoughts. The littlest of things reminding him of his best friend. More than best friend.

The only thing that keeps him sane is the fact that the feeling is reciprocated. When he’s having lunch with his projectmates between discussing the layout for their presentation and wolfing down a chicken salad, Jongin’s mind takes him to the first time Chanyeol made a chicken salad for him, which admittedly was a long time ago, when Chanyeol’s interest in cooking first piqued at age twelve. Even as a child, Jongin’s favourite meals had always been those made by Chanyeol. And Chanyeol—

Channie hyung:

-don’t forget ur scarf when ur out

-u hear me?

-ur bottle’s in the second pocket

-i miss you

-take care of my baby

-that’s u

By some strange telepathy, Chanyeol would text whenever Jongin thinks about him, as though their minds are tethered. Though come to think of it, it might not quite be telepathy. Jongin does think about Chanyeol a fair amount.

Today, for the first time in a while, they’re home at the same time. Several exams have passed and classes for those subjects have ceased until after the break. Jongin has completed his presentations, with only written exams to sit but his will to study is out about with the flurries.

“Be still.” Chanyeol says as Jongin shifts in his lap for the fourth time in less than a minute.  Grandma Park’s quilt is tucked around their knees, a modern european history textbook laid out on Jongin’s lap as well as a bowl of apple slices. Chanyeol has an arm looped around Jongin and studies his thermo-fluids notes with the other. Occasionally he puts it down to flatten Jongin’s restless hands and scold him to focus.

“Hyung, my attention span is in the negatives today.”

“Prepared to write that on your answer booklet?”

“Hyung,” he whines, wiggling his hips.

“I said, be still.” Chanyeol drops his notes on the coffee table, swiftly arresting Jongin’s movement. It’s unnecessary, the sudden gruffness to his voice brings Jongin to an abrupt stop. “You’re distracting me,” he says, meandering about Jongin’s waist, making a path under the heavy sweater up Jongin’s sides.

Jongin closes his eyes, leans further back. They haven’t been seriously intimate since the night of Chanyeol’s birthday and Jongin’s deviant thoughts have taken him back to it on more than one occasion. Taken him to notions of what if, what more.

“You can’t study,” Chanyeol continues in that low tone, “it’s distracting me and I can’t study,” he encircle Jongin’s waist, palms meet on his stomach and wander down. Jongin holds his breath, slightly angles his face towards Chanyeol in case he thinks to kiss Jongin. “So,” Chanyeol says perkily, the abrupt change of tone giving Jongin whiplash, “shall we go sledding?”

“Hyung!” Jongin whines again, fist pounding on Chanyeol’s kneecap.

“What? Ouch! What? You don’t want to go?”

“No, no, I didn’t say that!”

“Then why are you beating me up?”

“Nothing. Sorry hyung, sorry hyung’s knees. Let’s go.”

“I don’t think so. Ow, I can’t move my leg. Look what you’ve done Jonginnie,”

“Hyuuung,” the textbook, quilt and bowl have a merry convening as Jongin twists around, pushing Chanyeol back on the sofa arm and straddling him. “Let’s go, let’s go. You can’t mention it and then unmention it like that. Let’s go!” he throttles Chanyeol by the jumper collar with each word. Chanyeol’s dizzy grimace brings the realization that this may not have been the best way to persuade anyone. But Chanyeol gives in without much more protest and Jongin presses a hard kiss to his cheek in jubilation before scurrying off to get in gear.

“Put on another undershirt, hyung,

I can’t find the other pair of earmuffs, take mine,” Jongin waddles up quickly, making sure Chanyeol doesn’t get time to change his mind and also swathe him up nicely too so he doesn’t catch a cold again.

“Hyung these jeans aren’t as thick. The other pair is in the clean laundry basket.

Hyung—”

“How lovely, I didn’t know I had to get sick once for Jonginnie to fret over me. Shall I forego my coat to get sick? Will Jonginnie take care of me again?”

“Aish,” Jongin scowls, tugging on his boot, “what do you mean? Don’t I always take care of you?”

“Relax,” Chanyeol undoes the coat Jongin just zipped up, “you take care of me.” he lifts Jongin’s sweater and tucks in the two undershirts beneath. He takes the scarf from Jongin and ties it neatly—tightly, as Jongin likes to moan— and rezips the coat. “But you’re a spoilt baby, you require way more attention,” he wags his finger, chiding seriously for a moment, “you’re lucky I really like you.”

“Chan hyung,” Jongin stomps, pouting petulantly.

“See? But I do require payment you know. It’s not all for free,” Chanyeol pouts in return, holding his head high.

“Yeah?” Jongin perks up, “What is it?”

“I think you know.” his lips turn poutier, puckered, eyes shut.

“Ah!” Jongin exclaims. He observes Chanyeol’s unseeing expectant face for a moment. The memory of what their lips feel like together urges him to give Chanyeol the payment he’s expecting. A more recent memory thwarts that urge. Jongin can play around with him too. He throws himself into Chanyeol, nearly toppling them into the shoe rack.

“That’s right hyung, I should give you at least one hug every day, right?”

Jongin can’t see his face but the silence between them is stupefied. Chanyeol’s laugh fills their corridor. There’s a ruffle on Jongin’s yet to be hatted hair.

“I love you,” Chanyeol says, his chuckles carrying through the layers between them.

Jongin laughs, too, until the words log properly in his brain. He goes still.

It’s not that Chanyeol has never said the words to him, or that he hasn’t said them back. It’s just...it’s the first time since they admitted more-than-friends feelings to each other. Jongin wonders how Chanyeol means it.

Jongin is wide eyed and motionless when Chanyeol pulls back.

Chanyeol regards him with a smile. “I love you, best friend. Boyfriend.”

Jongin’s eyes can’t grow any wider, his lungs emptying of breath. It shouldn’t be this surprising. Or rather, this awe inspiring. Hearing it aloud, having it acknowledged is a whole different thing, even if they’ve been living the words, the title.

“Best friend,” he nods, “boyfriend.” those fire-crackle tingles take a hold of him.

“Aren’t you going to say you love me?” Chanyeol grumbles, taking the hat on the hanger, covering Jongin’s head and gives a good yank down towards his shoulders so it doesn’t fall off easily.

“Jury’s out on that one.”

“In that case let’s break up,” Chanyeol says, prodding Jongin out the door and locking it behind them. “Sehun and I will switch flats, we should never see each other again.” he turns away from Jongin as they enter the elevator, bunching his shoulders in a barrier against Jongin.

“Hyung, no, hyung look at me,” Jongin tries to turn Chanyeol around, hoping he’ll forgive him if he gives him That Look that always gets him what he wants with Chanyeol. He doesn’t budge until they’re outside, Jongin half climbing Chanyeol’s back in a hug, whining for him to not take it that way, I didn’t mean it hyung, I love you hyung! Do you hear that?

“Yes Jonginnie, the whole neighbourhood heard that.”

“Then forgive me hyung.”

Chanyeol stops, Jongin walks into his back. He walks around to face him, hands clasped in a plea.

“Only if you pay what you owe.”

This time Jongin doesn’t mess about in tiptoeing to touch their lips together.

There’s a shack on a hill a little ways away from their house. It stocks toboggans for the locals to use, boarded up every spring when the snow melts and reopened every November at first fall. It’s mid December now and the landscape is scabbarded in unalloyed snow.

Finding the last available toboggan, they Rock Papers Scissors to determine who gets the first ride down and Jongin emerges triumphant. At Chanyeol’s turn he insists they can both fit on it and when Chanyeol refuses to ride together, he jumps on last second. Chanyeol bellows that he’s a cheater and Jongin bellows back his agreement, too caught up on the speed, adrenaline and happiness to feel sincerely apologetic.

They’re  on their way up again when something hits Jongin in the face. A snowball, he realizes, wiping away the melting cold. A young girl stands ahead, culprit with her pink gloved hand to her mouth. Jongin slowly crouches and scoops up some snow, shaping it into a ball. The little girl and Chanyeol watch him. Neither of them register Jongin throwing the snowball, hitting the girl square on the shoulder.

“Yah Kim Jongin! How can you hit a child?” Chanyeol punches his back but the little girl giggles.

And so, a snowball fight ensues, Chanyeol teaming up with Jongin’s small assailant and the other kids playing on the hill joining and splitting themselves into teams.

Jongin has snow melting in awkward places by the time the sun sets and they begin their trek home. It’s undecided which team won the fight. At some point, the lines blurred and everyone became the enemy of everyone. Jongin forgot how unintendedly vicious little children could be. They ganged up on him, some wayward kicks and particularly hard punches landing on him instead of snow several times and Chanyeol had to shield him out of the danger dome.

The Pink Glove girl was sweet though, Jongin discovered as she made snow angels with him and Chanyeol. She took to calling them Uncle and told them her name is Willa. She wanted them to promise they’d come back tomorrow but they had to decline, Chanyeol having an exam that day and Jongin the following day. Instead they promised to see her on the hill New Year’s Day if her parents allowed.

It’s colder in their flat than it is outside. The patches of wetness on his torso from where snowballs were unmercifully shoved down his sweater make him shiver. Chanyeol orders him into the shower, saying he’ll put something on the stove for dinner.

“Spaghetti?” Jongin emerges in the kitchen thirty minutes later, head wrapped in a towel, in nothing but a woollen sweater and fluffy socks.

“We’re out,” Chanyeol says, back to him. “We can’t spend till New Year, Jonginnie. You know we need to save for the Christmas dinner.” he explains when Jongin makes a displeased sound. “You’re going to like—”

Chanyeol’s sudden pause doesn’t register with Jongin, busy scanning the fridge for an empty jam or marmalade jar he can finger the remnants from. He doesn’t hear him come up either, gasping when Chanyeol presses himself to his back.

“Hyung?”

“I thought you were cold,” one of the arms around Jongin’s middle snake down to rest on Jongin’s thighs.

“Kitchen is warm,” he giggles. A shiver racks through his body as Chanyeol starts kissing his neck. It feels as though he can stay this way forever. Chanyeol holding him this way, caressing his thighs and sending more shivers through him, it’s steering him steadily to an arousal. All too soon Chanyeol lets go, a lingering kiss to the corner of Jongin’s mouth and goes to attend the sizzling pot.

Equipped with a strawberry jam jar, Jongin settles himself on the counter, crossing his legs. Between cooking and making a grocery list for the dinner they’re going to host, Chanyeol makes the kitchen a warmer place than usual. Jongin listens to him recite facts from his notes for his upcoming test, dulcet baritone an acoustic embrace. His body takes on the stove’s temperature whenever Chanyeol brushes over his legs, in passing or when he pauses to give Jongin short kisses, caressing circles into his inner thighs.

Post dinner sees them to the sofa for more studying. Which in reality means Jongin settled between Chanyeol’s thighs, head on his chest and Chanyeol listening to an oral version of his notes. He rubs a rhythm on the small of Jongin’s back and the tranquilizing prickles would bring sleep if it weren’t for the serious cold Jongin can’t shake off.

“Hyung,” Jongin removes a bud, “hyung, I can’t sleep,”

“What’s wrong?”

“Too cold,”

“This baby,” Chanyeol sighs, shaking his head.

“Hyuuung,”

“Alright what do you want me to do? Shall we go to the kitchen?” he removes the other bud, sets his phone aside.

“Can’t think of another way?”

“You’re right,” he tows Jongin and the quilt up until Jongin is lying directly on him. His limbs fold around Jongin and a hand works into his hair, massaging his scalp.

It quiets Jongin for a moment. Sure, he’ll warm up like this, eventually. If only he could power off the part of him that wants to continue what Chanyeol started in the kitchen. It’s only to get warm, the nervous, almost ashamed, part of him insists. But the sliver of frankness in him won’t allow him to deny that he’s been thinking about Chanyeol in ways that align with what they did on his birthday. Ways that go further. Way further.

“There’s a more effective way of getting warm, hyung,”

“That is?”

“According to Science…”

“Spit it out,” he taps Jongin’s head.

“Well…”

“Jongin.”

“Hyung...if you...ifwearebothnaked—”

Chanyeol sits up, forcing Jongin up with him. He pulls Jongin back into his lap by his thighs.

“What was that?”

“Uhm, it might help if we’re both naked,”

Chanyeol raises a brow but doesn’t laugh off the idea. If he’s not imagining things, Chanyeol’s expression darkens, gaze doing to Jongin’s lips. Perhaps it would be opportune to share his thoughts.

“Actually, hyung, I’ve been wondering…” he trails off, somewhat regretting that he didn’t think of how he’d phrase it. Saying it outright feels brazen, though the last time they were intimate like that would suggest Chanyeol likes when Jongin is brazen, obscene even.

“What’s on your mind, Jonginnie?”

“It’s just, I know there hasn’t been time but, I—we haven’t, you know, done things like—on your birthday and. It’s like, completely fine if you don’t want to I was just wonderi—”

“You think I don’t want to touch you?” he sounds incredulous.

“No baby. I have wanted. For a really, really long time. And on my birthday, you were, so perfect, made me feel so good. Of course I’ve been thinking about that. Of course I want to do those things with you. To you. But, we’ve been busy haven’t we? I’m sorry it’s been like this.” he cups Jongin’s face, looking earnestly in his eyes, “When I touch you, properly, I want it to be the best. Because you deserve that. I want to satisfy you completely. Because you’re worth that.” it comes out a breathless rush, the tips of his ears scarlet. Jongin feels adoration bubbling so deep it makes him want to wrap himself around Chanyeol. He settles for wrapping his arms around Chanyeol’s neck.

“Hyung, are you nervous?” he strokes Chanyeol’s ear, notes him leaning into his hand.

“A little,”

“Me too...But I want this hyung,” he places his forehead against Chanyeol’s, angled ready to slots their mouths together.

Chanyeol’s reply comes in a kiss, one that is instantly unchaste, impatient to prove a point.

I want you.

I have wanted you.

Brief but deep strokes of tongue that give him time to take a single breath before Chanyeol’s mouth is on his again.

“Aaah,” Jongin’s gasped moan breaks their kiss. His lips are slick with saliva, Chanyeol’s and his as he bites them hard, a volley of moans threatening to spill from him as Chanyeol does it again, tweaking both of Jongin’s nipples.

Each moment is raising the temperature of the room so Jongin has no complaints when Chanyeol lifts off his sweater, leaving him in his boxers and socks. Complaints do come when Chanyeol puts his mouth on Jongin’s nipples, a spasm of pleasure making Jongin writhe, throwing control out of the building as all the wanton moans and gasps escape.

“Hyung,” Jongin breathes, choked. His eyes rolls back as Chanyeol alternates sucking each nipple, sucking on the skin of his sternum between each nerve ridden peak. The ferocious desperation of each suckle leaves Jongin’s nipples stinging. Cold air cooling around Chanyeol’s spittle intensifies the sensations. Jongin is spiralling towards climax alarmingly fast.  

“Chanyeol,” he moans hoarsely, head lolling back with pleasure as Chanyeol opts to lick. He is so hard, so turned on and not even his wildest, lewdest imagination could have prepared him for how much this would wreck him.

“Hmm?” Chanyeol brings a hand to support Jongin’s hanging head, nudging him down to face him. His lids are lowered, eyes almost lazy like he’s falling asleep. But there’s a sparkle of wonder in them and an undeniable searing lust. scanning Jongin’s face carefully, lodging every detail in his memory. “How do you feel, Jonginnie?”

His hands moves down Jongin’s back, slowly as if it’s memorizing the feel of inch square skin to the tissue, to the bone. Then he brings it to Jongin’s face, caressing his warm cheek, trailing to his lips, dragging the well kissed bottom lip down to expose teeth and gums. He prods his thumb into Jongin’s mouth, feeling out every corner. Jongin sucks lightly, arousal brewing stronger, more steadily at Chanyeol’s careful exploration.

Then he trails lower, to Jongin’s neck and flattens his palm around Jongin’s throat, applying pressure softly. It feels inexplicably good and leads to Jongin biting his lips again, looking at Chanyeol beneath a veil of dark lashes.

Chanyeol’s exploration takes him to Jongin’s nipples again, pressing both thumbs to them and rubbing. Jongin’s chest heaves up and down quickly, his senses overwhelmed with pleasure at once and he groans, head becoming heavy again. Chanyeol’s groans echoing his don’t help, the gruff unspoken approval setting Jongin alight.

“You didn’t answer me, baby,” Chanyeol says, letting Jongin’s nipples alone to graze his hands down Jongin’s sides, his waist, going up his arms. Jongin can’t control the shivers making him tremble, desire solid in his boxers yet something in his chest breaking warm, gentle, as Chanyeol touches him and looks at him like he’s lodging every detail about Jongin in a permanent place close to his chest.  

“Here,” Jongin says, leaning for a kiss, “this hyung, I feel like this,” he puts Chanyeol’s hand to his member as he kisses him, small gasp when Chanyeol rubs.

The kiss is heated again, leading to Jongin riding Chanyeol’s lap and Chanyeol moving with him, grinding up. When Jongin is almost certain they’re not going to get further than this, that they’ll both orgasm like this, Chanyeol pulls away and tells him to stand.

Self consciousness creeps in when Chanyeol lowers his boxers from his hips, looking up at Jongin as he does so. He rarely feels shy in the presence of his best friend but standing in all his naked glory like this with evidence of his great desire leaves him more vulnerable before Chanyeol than he has ever been.

“Beautiful,” Chanyeol says, stroking the sides of Jongin’s thighs, gaze moving along the length of his body.

The urges to cover up or dive under the quilt are simultaneous and Jongin doesn’t quite have words.

“Are you blushing? Cute,” Chanyeol laughs, kisses Jongin’s thigh, briefly nuzzles his head there. He tugs Jongin closer to the sofa. He’s touching Jongin’s erection next, balls heavy and swollen. Jongin writhes, hissing, hips jerking away. He puts herculean effort into staying still but the pleasure is blinding when Chanyeol takes him into his mouth and Jongin wrenches free, breathing hard.

Chanyeol blinks, a moment of confusion. He cocks his head, glancing up at Jongin with raised eyebrows.

“Hyung,” Jongin croaks, unable to stop the trembling. “I’m sorry, it feels so good please don’t stop hyung,”

Keeping their eyes locked, Chanyeol reaches around Jongin, hands settling on either cheek of his ass and pulls him closer. With that anchoring grip, he takes Jongin in his mouth again, takes him whole.

Jongin cries out, feeling tears blur his vision. The pleasure is too much, dousing all his senses. His legs clamp together, fingers gridded tightly in Chanyeol’s scalp. His instability doesn’t hinder Chanyeol. The latter sucks hard, his head bobs.

“I—I’m—hyung I-I c-cl-” Jongin stutters, close to combustion. Chanyeol stops. Tugs a weak Jongin down to the sofa and covers him with his body.

“I didn’t touch you properly last time,” he says, fabric grazing Jongin’s groin as Chanyeol slowly moves against him, “but you’re sensitive Jonginnie. So sensitive. No wonder you came like that,” he sounds awed, hands shaping Jongin’s face.

A flush takes over Jongin and he pulls Chanyeol down to hide in his neck, moves his hips up to encourage the building friction. Chanyeol takes the chance to mark up Jongin’s neck, causing him more shudders as he leaves stinging bites that are soothed with kisses.

“Jonginnie,” Chanyeol gasps when Jongin decides to lick his ear. He never expected to be completely disarmed by the sheer pleasure of Chanyeol touching him but it’s not like he has never fantasized about touching Chanyeol or yearns to bring him pleasure. The lick turns into a nibble. Chanyeol clutching Jongin, goes absolutely still and pants faintly into Jongin’s shoulder.

“Is that good hyung?” Jongin asks between licks, even though he knows the answer. He understands what drove Chanyeol to ask him the same earlier. Because when Chanyeol moans yes baby, feels so good Jongin throbs.    

He takes the answer as a go ahead to nibble, squeezing softly on the lobe, brushing away the long strands of Chanyeol’s hair and running his tongue along the helix and taking delight in Chanyeol’s gasps, Chanyeol’s whimpers.

“I’m sensitive?” he says cheekily, kissing Chanyeol’s jawline.

Chanyeol grunts before initiating a heated kiss again. He prompts Jongin’s mouth open and licks Jongin’s tongue, the roof of his mouth, his lips, messy and hungry. All teasing is wiped from Jongin’s mouth as he’s once again rendered boneless by Chanyeol’s ministrations.

“Jongin, Jonginnie,” Chanyeol pauses for a breath before descending for another dirty kiss, “I want to—touch you slowly, like I promised—but—” he trails off into a moan when Jongin bites his lip.

It’s not that Jongin doesn’t want to hear what Chanyeol has to say. It’s just that the fire inside him is edacious, edacious lust for Chanyeol that’s driving Jongin a little feral.   

“But what hyung?”

“But, want, to, fuck you, so bad, right now,” he manages to get out between kisses.

Jongin pauses. Thrill rushing through him as he looks an equally disheveled and wrecked looking Chanyeol.

“Then fuck me hyung. Fuck me,” the obscenity doesn’t feel nearly as good as seeing Chanyeol’s eyes close, take a deep breath and shudder at Jongin’s words.

Chanyeol speedily scoops him up in his arms as though he weighs nothing and carries him to their room.

He sets Jongin gently on the bed before shedding his clothes like lightning. There’s a fresh urgency to him, as if Jongin’s words annihilated his control. He doesn’t even let Jongin turn around from reaching for the lube behind the nightstand. He drags Jongin to him by the ankle, into his lap.

“Hyung,” Jongin says, surprised but Chanyeol only takes the bottle from him and kisses him again. Despite his roughness, he’s tender when he prods at Jongin’s entrance with lube coated fingers, cool liquid warmed by Chanyeol rubbing his fingers together. He works mindfully into Jongin, attentive to the tone of his groans.

When Chanyeol has scissored four fingers in, Jongin searches around for the bottle without pausing their kiss, successfully navigating his way to Chanyeol’s copiously leaking cock erect against his own. He lubes his boyfriend up, Chanyeol’s sudden gasp empowering.

“Hyung,” he says, “you’re pretty here,” he glances down in case it isn’t obvious enough and gives the cock a full, slow stroke. “I want it inside me,” limpidly wanton.

Something in Chanyeol seems to snap for a second time. Jongin finds himself on his back. Chanyeol enters him without delay, moaning each second of the way. Jongin would worry for the bedsprings if Chanyeol didn’t have his arms arrested above his head, lips mauling his and fucking him within an inch of his life.

*

 On Christmas Eve Jongin awakes to a hush. He lies still in bed, basking in the crispy warmth. It’s unclear whether he’s slipping back into the hands of sleep or rousing slowly. What feels like an eon later, he opens his eyes to see Chanyeol’s head on his chest, hair disheveled and strands tickling Jongin’s face.

Jongin smiles. Basks in the pleasant pulse.

The clock on the nightstand reads six twenty. Chanyeol’s alarm will go off in ten minutes. He might as well get up and refresh himself. They have their work cut out for them today.

He lowers Chanyeol to the pillow as he rises. Jongin’s smile grows as his boyfriend reaches out, pulling Jongin to him when his searching fingers meet Jongin’s body and ensconce him in a tight hug.

“Hyung,” he says affectionately, even though he knows Chanyeol can’t hear him. He gently worms out of Chanyeol’s arms, looking down at his peaceful face. Peaceful as they can get with Chanyeol’s eyelids half open. He touches their lips in a chaste kiss. He presses another kiss to Chanyeol’s nose, right on the small black dot, and then forehead. When he slips out of bed, every fibre of his being screaming at him to get back in as the cold rapidly rips away all warmth, Chanyeol searches for him once more and Jongin places his pillow in Chanyeol’s arms.

He takes his phone and heads for the bathroom.

Scrolling through his notifications is a disappointment. He knows they won’t send anything, not even his sisters. They’re much too filial to their parents. Yet, he still checks.

The woe he sees in the mirror is uncomfortably apparent so he gives himself a rueful smile. The good with the bad, tells himself. That’s what life is. There is much good he is grateful for.

The door opens as he’s finishing up and a sleepy Chanyeol hugs him from behind, placing a good morning kiss on Jongin’s shoulder before setting his chin upon it.

“Morning baby,” Chanyeol says, husky morning voice rough, “I almost panicked for a second when I didn’t see you next to me. Jonginnie up before me. What a miracle.”

“Isn’t Christmas supposed to come with miracles?”

“I guess I believe it now,” Chanyeol looks at him in the mirror, an intensity in his heavy lidded eyes that gives Jongin the impression they’re not talking about his waking habits anymore. Chanyeol places another kiss on his shoulder, his arms loosening around Jongin as he lets go but Jongin quickly stops him, bringing them back to his waist.

“Jonginnie?” Chanyeol hugs him tight again, craning his neck to look Jongin in the face and not the mirror.

“Look up hyung,” is all Jongin says, holding his phone up. The picture comes out with Jongin smiling and Chanyeol looking caught in headlights on a bad hair day.

“Gimme that,” Chanyeol groans and Jongin holds it out of his reach.

“Only if you won’t delete,”

The next few pictures are a series of various degrees of Jongin laughing as Chanyeol blows raspberries on his neck, clutching him tightly with one hand and taking the picture. Jongin likes the one where they’re both snuggled into the crook of each other’s neck, likes it enough to swap it as his phone background, bidding farewell to the snow angel picture from the day they gave up on exam revision.

The photography session escalates to Chanyeol sitting Jongin on the counter and drawing moans from him, hand in Jongin’s boxers and lips on his.

With Chanyeol awake, keeping him entertained and a great list of things to be done before their friends arrive in the evening, there’s hardly a minute for Jongin to stop and think about the sadness pressing at the backdoor of his heart.

Cleaning was supposed to be done last night but with an armoury of popcorn, hot chocolate and Disney movies, Jongin kissed Chanyeol into another cuddles and movie night.

He really shouldn’t have procrastinated, the chore awaits no one but him but he can’t say the time wasn’t well spent.

Preceding the laborious part of the day is the gift opening. Chanyeol fights Jongin into wearing the recently bought red Christmas sweaters with reindeer and snowflake prints and fluffy pj pants ( No, Jongin, I thought I said no more being pantless in winter and hyung I’m going to be working, that’s going to warm me up real quick and nope .). They sit at the hearth, the small Christmas tree they only managed to get time to erect and decorate a few days before in the corner near them. Today the fireplace is lit, the only day in the year that it is. It emits a homely aureate glow. There are five stockings pinned to the mantle, two belonging to Chanyeol and Jongin, the rest for Baekhyun, Minseok and Jongdae who are the only ones who can make it to dinner. Green tinsel lies on the mantle, too, fairy lights sleeping atop. Besides the red tinsel, glittery ornaments and star on the Christmas tree—all posted to them by Mama Park—that’s the extent of their decorations.   

“Okay, ready?” Jongin says, rubbing his hands together and eyeing the presents. “Ready,” Chanyeol says, draining the last of his cocoa.

They don’t even check the name tags before ripping into the wrapping. There are a total of five boxes under the tree, two of which are from him. Predictably, Jongin goes for the biggest box like last year and Chanyeol goes for the smallest.

The reveal is laughable. In fact, that is what they do. Burst out laughing as they hold up what they received.

“Hyung, you’re impossible,” Jongin says in awe, once he stops laughing. Chanyeol got him a clear miniature tackle box, each compartment filled with sweets; sweet jelly licorice, gummy worms, sour strings, jellybeans, most of them resembling bait in one way or another. The cherry on top: hooked on you is scrawled on the top. Reading it again, Jongin guffaws.

Similarly Chanyeol drops the stack of Extra multipack chewing gum, holding his sides. Jongin wrapped a ribbon around a five-pack stack, a handwritten tag tied to it ‘you are Extra special’.

“You’re one to talk!”

“I admit, this is really good hyung,” Jongin says, opening the box to take out a gummy worm.

“I guess I am extra special,” Chanyeol concedes too but not before ruffling Jongin’s hair.

“One down, two to go? But why did you get me three, hyung? I feel bad now,”

“Shh, just open them.”

The second box turns out to be a wish bracelet similar to the one Chanyeol got for his sister, It says Purrfection on the card and holds a kitten head charm. Chanyeol helps Jongin put it on and as he is facing down, Jongin puts a kiss on his forehead in thanks.

Chanyeol’s second gift from Jongin is an assortment of stationery. Jongin’s own supply often goes missing and resorts to borrowing from Chanyeol. It’s not exactly borrowing as Jongin never returns them, mostly because he ends up losing the borrowed goods. Chanyeol never complains, always telling him it’s not his, it’s theirs.

But Jongin couldn’t help but feel awful when he stole a pen from Chanyeol’s bag on an exam day, not knowing that that was the only one he had. He later learned about it when Jongin texted to know Chanyeol’s whereabouts and his best friend said he was returning Kyungsoo’s pen.

“You didn’t have to,” Chanyeol says, warm smile. “Thank you Jonginnie.”

The third present is peculiarly rotund and considerably heavy.

“Oh! It’s jam!”

“Noona made it herself,”

“N-noona?”

“Yoora noona,” Chanyeol says apologetically.

“Oh,”

Jongin doesn’t mean to sound so let down. He appreciates the gift immensely. It’s just noona that caught him off guard. For a second he thought—

“I’m sorry Jonginnie,” Chanyeol scoots over and pulls Jongin into his lap. Jongin hides his face in Chanyeol’s neck, praying quickly for the tears to disappear. He doesn’t want to upset Chanyeol along with him. He doesn’t want to feel this melancholy on what’s supposed to be a merry day.

“I can’t help but miss them hyung,” Jongin whispers hoarsely.

“It’s not too late to call them,” Chanyeol slides into Jongin’s shirt, caressing down his back with both hands as if to forcibly rub away Jongin’s upset.

“No, I can’t hyung.”

No matter his family’s stance, no matter if they’ve had a change of heart, he’s not ready to face them. Something tells him it’s only going to be another fall out and he’s not sure he can endure that.

“You should come with me,”

“Can’t do that either,”

Chanyeol is leaving for his family’s place tomorrow morning. Infringing on the Parks family time isn’t an option either, regardless of Chanyeol’s insistence that Jongin is family too. His reasons aren’t entirely noble. How is he to tell Chanyeol that seeing him with his tender and compassionate family might be hard to bear, a too obvious reminder of what his family is not? It’s a little hard to admit to himself, let alone confess it to his best friend.

“I know it’s only a few days but I’m going to miss you so much, hyung,”

“I’m going to miss you too, baby. You better call me. Whenever you think about me, call me. Even if we just hang up and you miss me, call me again immediately,” Chanyeol says vehemently and Jongin doesn’t doubt that he’s serious.

“That will be all the time. Every single moment,” Jongin murmurs, sleepiness creeping back in after having cried out a bit of the pent up emotions.

“Then I guess I should take extra shifts when we get back for our phone bills.”

“My saviour hyung,”

“And boyfriend.”

“And boyfriend.”

“Are you falling asleep? Yah, Sleepyhead, you don’t want to make cookies?”

That rouses Jongin faster than his excitement at the word ‘snow’.

“Don’t eat—”

Chanyeol’s sigh soughs through the kitchen.

“You’re going to get sick.” he says in resigned dismay, watching Jongin put another portion of cookie dough in his mouth.

“It’s yummy,”

“You’re not supposed to eat the cookie dough, baby. That’s what baking is for,”

“Anyone who says you can’t eat cookie dough is a lunatic. I should watch out, huh?”

“What am I going to do with you?”

“Love me? Give me more presents? Wait no bring that back, hyung! Fine, I’ll settle for a kiss,” Jongin pleads when Chanyeol takes the mixing bowl away.

“Forget it. I need you out of my kitchen.”

"Your kitchen?”

“Mine. Out. Or else this is going here,” he suspends the dough bowl over the garbage bin and Jongin gasps.

“You are true evil, hyung. There’s no need for that, I’m leaving,”

“Good,”

“Great,”

Just when Jongin is about to storm out, Chanyeol catches his wrist and hoists him up against the fridge. His fingers curl around Jongin’s nape, his eyes shiny umber hearths. He’s smiling before their lips even touch.

“I’m making a second batch but you have to promise you’ll make it last,”

If I love you was phrased another way, this is it for Jongin.

“Really?” he pecks Chanyeol’s cheeks that he’s squishing together.

“Really,”

“You’re the best sometimes hyung,”

“Sometimes? Don’t ever return to my kitchen.”

“I love you, Chanyeol.”