Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“The power of music, whether joyous or cathartic, must steal on one unawares, come spontaneously as a blessing or a grace.”

- Oliver Sacks, Musicophilia

Chan has an obsessive personality.

He’s always been this way. Once he decides he wants something, he has to have it. He has to surround himself with it, sink his teeth in.

The first time he remembers being obsessed with something, it was a Prince album, and he was eleven.

He remembers so distinctly how it made him feel. He remembers hearing a song on the radio and his ears picking up the trail of something. A rumble in his chest, a feeling that made his fingers twitch, his fists clench. He'd needed to hear it again, needed to feel that one more time, so he'd nagged his mother until she'd bought the album for him.

Once he had it, Chan sat in his room with his headphones on and listened to that one album over and over and over again. He was fascinated by the way the music made him feel. Fascinated by Prince’s voice. Fascinated by the way that the instruments, the electronic sound, the lyrics, had come together to create such a strong reaction in his body. He'd never felt that way before, about anything. Heart racing, palms sweating, anticipation. He was in love.

After that there was another album, and another. His ears are naturally sensitive, and he had them focused on whatever music he could get his hands on. He was obsessed with small details: pitches, tempo, the way moving from a minor key to a major key could change the mood of a song so drastically. Chan took guitar lessons, then piano, and then drums.

Chan tried on a lot of different roles when he was younger. Swim captain, school prefect, lifeguard, older brother. That last one was really a bunch of roles all wrapped up in one: babysitter, tutor, chef, and chauffeur.

His parents both loved their jobs, or at least said they did, and spent most of their time at work. Chan was the oldest by seven years, so the childcare fell to him.

The rest, the sports and leadership, was probably Chan trying to use his natural skills to get his parents attention. It never worked, no matter how many first place ribbons Chan lined up on his bedroom wall, his parents never seemed to notice or care.

The one thing that had always been just for him was music.

Moving to Seoul after college to pursue music full time was the first wholly selfish thing Chan ever did. Sometimes, although she'd never say so, he thinks his mother has never forgiven him for it. Sometimes, he thinks he's never forgiven himself for it.

But at least he has his music.

✵

Chan moved from Sydney to Seoul to be a producer, and that’s how he still thinks of himself, even though he’s been teaching for five years now. Artist first, professor second.

That’s not to say that he doesn’t love his students; he does, and teaching has its rewarding moments, but mostly he’s in this gig because he loves making music.

And the benefits aren’t bad either; he has his own recording studio to work in whenever he wants and a reliable paycheck. He doesn’t feel that stir of obsession as often anymore, that all-consuming passion, but his life is stable, and it’s safe.

He’s thirty-five and he has a career, an apartment in Gangnam-gu and a new car that he bought himself. It’s a little lonely, but Chan would never admit that to his friends.

Especially not Taecyeon, who spent most of last night pestering Chan over drinks about why he doesn’t have a girlfriend. Taecyeon is an old friend, a few years older than Chan, and they meet up for drinks every once in a while. Chan truly didn’t think that the conversation with Taecyeon had bothered him that much, but here he is, a full twenty-four hours later, packing up to go home, and he’s still thinking about it.

It’s only been a year since the end of his last serious relationship, so Chan doesn’t see why Taecyeon had to make such a big deal out of it. And it’s not like Chan hasn’t had casual flings in the meantime!

But, of course, most of those flings were with men, and Chan can’t tell Taecyeon about them.

It’s not like Taecyeon is outwardly an asshole, but he makes comments every once in a while that signal to Chan that if he knew Chan slept with men sometimes, he’d be uncomfortable about it. But it’s fine. It’s not like it’s that big of a part of Chan’s life anyway.

Chan’s been friends with Taecyeon for years now. He can put up with his hyper-masculine bullshit every few months.

But the hyper-masculine bullshit has never bothered him this much before. Never gotten in his head like this. Chan’s worried that it’s because Taecyeon is right, and Chan does need a girlfriend.

The music department is in the newest building on campus, all open floor plans and glass walls. Chan’s studio is up on the fifth floor, down the hall from his office. Compared to his roomy, state-of-the-art studio, though, his office is a glorified closet, so he spends most of his time in his studio. He teaches most of his classes down on the first and second floors.

It’s almost nine, and Chan’s just finished grading papers for the first years in his Intro to Music Theory course, so he’s heading home to order himself dinner. He flips the lights off and checks the handle to make sure the door is locked, his sneakers squeaking on the light wood paneled floors.

He puts on his headphones and calls Nayeon as he walks to his car. His best friend answers on the third ring, “Hiii Channie,” she says, overly sweet, and Chan grins. “Hiya.”

Taecyeon asked last night why Chan wasn’t just dating Nayeon, if they knew each other so well. Chan blinked at him and reminded Taecyeon, not for the first time, that Nayeon doesn’t date men.

Even if she did date men, it wouldn’t change anything. It’s not like that between them. She’s his best friend, that’s all. Besides, she’s way out of Chan’s league. Chan cringes, wishing he’d said more to stand up for her.

“Are you heading home?” Nayeon asks.“This is early for you.”

“Yup!” Chan says, “You?”

“No,” Nayeon says. “The girls have rehearsal until midnight so I have rehearsal until midnight.”

Nayeon’s the manager of a freshly debuted girl group. Nowadays, she’s always with at least one of the girls. Chan tells her she works too hard, but she insists that the girls are still teenagers, and they need her. And then she tells Chan that he works too hard, and there’s not really anything he can say to that. She’s right.

“Help me,” Nayeon says, “What should I order for dinner?”

“That depends,” Chan says, getting into the elevator and pressing the button for the ground floor. The doors close and he can see his own reflection in the shiny chrome. He frowns at himself, looks down at his feet instead. “Am I invited?”

“No,” Nayeon says blandly. “Should I order chicken or jokbal?”

“Hmm. Not chicken,” Chan says, “Last time you had chicken you ate too much, and it made you sleepy.”

“Good point,” Nayeon says. Chan hears tapping on her screen and assumes she’s placing her take-out order. “Also you didn’t call me last night.”

“I know,” Chan says. He pushes open the door and shudders in the cold. It’s only October, but the temperature in Seoul drops fast. “I was out with Taecyeon.”

“Oh,” Nayeon says. She pauses. “And how was that?”

“Fine,” says Chan. “He thinks I need a girlfriend.”

Nayeon sighs heavily. “Of course he does. Men like that always think a woman is the solution to their problems.”

“So you don’t think I need a girlfriend?”

“No, I think I need a girlfriend.”

Chan laughs. “Oh! Did you get my email?”

“You mean the one you sent me five minutes ago?” Nayeon says, “Yeah, Chan, I got it.”

“Just listen to this kid’s song, I swear you’ll like it,” Chan says, getting into his car and tossing his bag into the passenger’s seat. “His name is Jisung. He’s in my modern music composition class and he’s actually good. You know that key change you love in Into the New World?”

“Yes…” Nayeon says hesitantly. “But you know I don’t take SNSD comparisons lightly.”

“I know,” Chan says seriously. “Noona, trust me.”

“You know you’re the only man that’s allowed to talk about Girl’s Generation.”

“I know,” says Chan, “And I take that responsibility very seriously.”

“Alright, alright,” Nayeon says with a sigh. “I’m downloading it now.”

“Good!” Chan says cheerfully. He switches over to the speakerphone, Nayeon’s familiar, drawling voice filling his car.

“You’re so cute, Channie,” Nayeon says. “Come by the company building this week. The girls miss you.”

That, Chan knows, is Nayeon’s way of saying “I miss you” without saying it. Chan smiles. He hears a shuffle and an indignant squeal in the background.

“And Yuna says you have to bring the spicy snacks she likes,” Nayeon says. Chan laughs.

“Okay, okay,” he says. “I’ll come soon, I promise.”

“I gotta go,” Nayeon says, “Talk to you later?”

“Yeah, and listen to that song!”

“Fine,” Nayeon groans. She hangs up and Chan laughs fondly, shaking his head.

✵

Chan’s always suspected that his colleagues only teach popular music because they have to, because that’s where the money is made. Most of the other professors in the music department have backgrounds in classical music. Jihoon was a concert pianist as a teenager and well into his twenties. Byulyi has three master’s degrees in different schools of classical music. Even Hwitaek, who always eagerly listens whenever Chan’s working on a new track, has his own field, and a degree in traditional Korean music.

Chan understands where they’re coming from. He’s studied all kinds of music and even has a grudging respect for Mozart (although if he had to pick a classical composer, he’d choose Gustav Mahler every time. Chan likes his eclectic style, the way he incorporates unexpected sounds into his music to create the exact mood he wants).

Chan can even play the piano, although nowhere near as well as Jihoon can. Jihoon has brought Chan to tears with his playing. But the studio, his computer, those are Chan’s instruments, as much as Jihoon’s piano is his.

Chan’s modern music composition course is a small class, so Chan gets to know all of his students pretty well. They’re all kids who want a future in the music industry, and most of them want to be producers or composers, like Chan. So, to some degree, they all get it, they all feel that drive to create, like Chan does.

Chan has dedicated students, of course. Passionate students, driven students, creative students. But it’s rare to have a student that gets quite as excited as Chan gets about his favorite music.

Han Jisung just gets it. Gets pop music, gets Chan. They have a connection, an understanding. He rarely has to explain something to Jisung more than once before Jisung’s eyes light up with comprehension, and he smiles at Chan like he knows exactly what Chan is trying to say.

Last week’s composition assignment had been to make a girl group song, and Jisung’s song had been so catchy that it got stuck in Chan’s head, and he’s been unable to stop listening to it. Chan tells Jisung as much after class, and Jisung’s mouth twitches up into a proud grin.

“Thanks,” Jisung says, “I think. Does that mean you liked it?”

“Yes,” Chan says, laughing. “I liked it a lot.”

“Ah, sick,” Jisung says, still smiling. He heads for the door and then stops, spinning to face Chan again. “Are you in the studio tomorrow?”

“Jisung,” Chan answers with a wry smile. “Whenever I am not physically in front of you in this classroom, please feel free to assume that I am in the studio.”

Jisung laughs. “Is it okay if I stop by and show you some stuff I’m working on?”

“Yeah, of course. You know you don’t have to ask. I’ll be there all afternoon. And probably all night, too.”

Jisung beams at him, eyes crinkling in the corners.

✵

Im Nayeon:

listened to the song. i'm officially impressed!!!

watch out, you might actually have some competition in a few years

✵

All of Chan’s students know where to find him if they need anything, and a handful of them drop by regularly to ask for advice, or to use a piece of sound equipment. He's happy to see them, and happy to help, but today they've left him alone, and he's been glad for the peace. It lets him focus on his own music.

Even Jisung's arrival doesn't interrupt his creative flow. But something about Jisung's presence has always felt different. Chan's able to relax around him, able to be himself. Jisung makes him laugh, and always has a new playlist of song recommendations for Chan. It helps that they have the same taste in music, and a shared fondness for old school K-Pop.

Jisung offers Chan a genuine smile as he shuts the door behind him. He waves a small hello and settles onto the couch against the wall behind Chan's workstation.

Each of Chan’s higher level students has a different method that works best for them when it comes to composing. Changbin and Chaeyoung are the lone wolves; they vanish for days on their own and come back with something incredible. Wooseok and Hongjoong work best in a group, always producing better music when they have a partner or two to collaborate with.

And then there’s Jisung, who for whatever reason, works best with Chan.

Chan doesn't know why Jisung likes him so much. He doesn't know why Jisung keeps coming back as often as he does. When they'd first met, back at the beginning of last semester, Chan had assumed that Jisung's eager attention was part of a ploy to get special treatment, or higher grades.

Which could have been true at first, but now it feels like something else entirely.

If Chan was honest with himself, he'd admit that Jisung wouldn’t have had to try very hard at all to get Chan's attention, or to be Chan's favorite. Not that Chan would ever say that out loud. He's not supposed to have favorites.

But from very early on, Chan could tell that Jisung was here for the same reason Chan had been.

Because he loves music.

Because he can't live without it.

Chan can see it in the way Jisung's eyes light up when he talks about a song he really likes, or the way he'd practically been bouncing out of his seat the day they'd covered syncopation in class. Nobody gets that excited about syncopation.

Nobody except for Chan.

And here's the real mystery: Chan knows what he's like when he's working. His problem is he gets too invested in getting something to sound exactly right and he hates when that process gets interrupted.

When his most recent ex-girlfriend ended things, she mentioned how much it bothered her that he always brushed her off when she came and visited him at work. She wasn't wrong, and Chan doesn't blame her.

He remembers how annoyed he'd been every time she'd come to visit, how he'd felt a little relieved, honestly, when she'd broken up with him. One less person that expected things from him and more uninterrupted time in the studio.

Jisung spends more time than most people with Chan in his studio, and Chan tries, he really does, but he knows sometimes he's still abrasive and dismissive. Especially when he's deep in a track.

But Jisung keeps coming back anyway, flinging his backpack haphazardly on the floor and making himself comfortable on the couch, or the other desk chair, or once, when Chan's studio had been full of boxes, on the floor at Chan's feet.

They'd both laughed about that, giggled like little kids every time Jisung had tapped Chan's leg to get his attention and Chan had looked down to see Jisung at home on the floor, his laptop and notebook and pens spread out around him in a semicircle.

Chan doesn't even remember now why it had seemed so funny in the moment, just that everything seems to be funnier when Jisung's around.

Chan keeps waiting for Jisung to give up, to realize that Chan isn't worth his time, that Chan is going to give him a good grade either way, so he doesn't have to do… all of this. Doesn't have to act like he likes Chan.

But Jisung doesn't give up. He keeps coming, week after week, and Chan's starting to get used to his presence.

Today, they work together in silence for a while, until Chan gets fed up with the song he's working on. He takes his headphones off and turns in his chair until he's facing Jisung.

"Alright," Chan says, "Show me what you've got."

Jisung looks up from his laptop and grins. He's got such an endearing smile, especially when it reaches his eyes like it is now. Chan bets that he’s gotten away with a lot, using that smile.

Jisung unplugs his laptop and sits down in the chair next to Chan’s. He shows Chan the songs he's working on, and Chan gives him feedback and points out possible changes he could make. Jisung listens attentively, nodding along as Chan talks. He plays the next track, and this one has lyrics. As soon as the vocals start, Chan feels goosebumps rise on his arms and the back of his neck.

"Is that you singing?"

"Yeah, I uh, usually get one of my friends to do guides for me, but they were busy, so I just did it," Jisung says, shrugging. He's fully focused on his laptop, but Chan can see his shoulders tense. "I know it's not ideal, but I'll have one of them do it over next week and it'll sound better."

"Oh," says Chan, frowning. "Actually, I was about to say it sounds nice."

Jisung looks at him over his shoulder, honest surprise on his face. "Really?"

"Mhm," Chan nods. "You have a really nice singing voice, Jisung. It's gorgeous."

Jisung's eyebrows raise, and Chan's stomach tightens nervously. Was that too much? Was that the wrong thing to say? Chan’s embarrassed, wrong-footed, and he doesn’t know why. He wishes that he had found some other word, something less flowery, something other than gorgeous.

Jisung turns to look at him, closing his laptop.

"Thank you," he says, sincerely. Chan's stomach flips. The central heating clicks on, and the usually subtle whirr of the fan sounds loud and obvious in the quiet room. Chan nods in response, scratching his nose with his thumb. Jisung clears his throat, blinking rapidly.

"Can I hear what you're working on?" Jisung asks, pointing at Chan’s monitor.

"Yeah, 'course," Chan waves him closer, grateful for the change in subject, and Jisung rolls his chair over to Chan's desk.

Chan hands his headphones to Jisung and moves his chair to the side so Jisung can sit in front of the computer.

"It's a ballad, for a singer-songwriter I've worked with a few times," Chan leans over his shoulder and hits the space bar, and watches the song start to play. The awkward moment has passed, but the tightness in Chan’s stomach has remained. He glances at Jisung to see if he’s uncomfortable too, but his eyes are closed, and he seems truly into the song.

He’s so expressive, Chan notices, every thought plain on his face, right there for anyone to read. Chan can't take his eyes away from him, the way he nods his head to the music, the focused set of his eyebrows, the wrinkle in his nose, the slight pout of his lips. Chan wants to know what he's thinking.

Jisung’s eyes open, but he’s still in the song, concentration on his face. He pulls himself closer to Chan’s desk, sliding the headphones off one ear.

“It sounds really good, Bang-gyosunim,” Jisung says. His eyes are glued on Chan's computer, at the track open on the screen. Jisung is rarely that formal with Chan anymore, which means that Jisung is laying it on thick for a reason. "Waiting to bring the drums in until after the second chorus was a nice choice."

Chan narrows his eyes. "Jisung, are you about to say 'but'?"

Jisung cringes, smiling apologetically. "There’s just one thing."

Chan laughs. His colleagues make fun of him for it, but he likes getting feedback from students. He works with some smart kids, and there have been times that a student has suggested a change that Chan never would have thought of. Jisung’s the best, though, his brain moving faster than Chan can follow sometimes.

"Go ahead," Chan says, gesturing with his hand for Jisung to continue.

"The lyrics," Jisung says, "They're about confessing your love to someone, right?"

Chan nods.

"For the bridge," Jisung says, clicking around on the screen. "What if you lowered the other instruments, just had the percussion and the vocal track?"

He glances over his shoulder at Chan.

"Add some tension, a moment of uncertainty before the conclusion, so it feels like a confession. That moment when you tell someone how you feel and your words are just out there, hanging in the air, waiting for a response.”

Chan’s ears heat up. It must be because Jisung’s using the second person, that Chan feels a twist in his gut at the phrase “tell someone how you feel”. Whatever it is, Chan shakes it off and nods at Jisung.

“Do it,” Chan says. If he doesn’t like it, he can always change it back.

Jisung grins. He clicks a few more times and hits play. He must be pleased with what he hears because he wiggles his eyebrows at Chan.

"Okay, listen," Jisung says, taking the headphones off and handing them over. The padding is still warm from Jisung's ears.

Chan listens. Jisung's eyes are wide and expectant, glued to Chan's. His knees are bouncing.

And he's right. Jisung’s right. It sounds better. The build to the final chorus is better, more satisfying. Chan can't help but smile, nodding his head. All of the discomfort from before melts away and is replaced with the easy comfort of being around Jisung, of making good music with someone. The specific creative joy that comes with collaboration.

“Nice one!” Chan says, slapping Jisung’s shoulder.

Jisung positively beams, pumping his fists and spinning around in his desk chair.

✵

That night, Chan goes home, calls Nayeon, makes himself dinner, and goes to bed.

Then, he has a nightmare.

Chan’s had nightmares since college. They don't happen every night, but when they do, they always shake him to his core.

When he does talk about his shitty sleep habits, he usually just says he has insomnia, but the truth is that he does it to himself, especially in the days after he has a particularly rough nightmare. He'd do anything not to have a dream like that again, so he ends up staying up all night, drinking coffee and working.

The nightmares are always bad, and they are always the same. So actually, Chan doesn’t have “nightmares”, he has The Nightmare.

He’ll be having a normal dream; good or bad, it doesn’t matter, and then he’ll open his mouth to speak, and nothing will come out. His feet are planted, and he can’t move them. This is when he knows something is coming. Something, someone, is coming to hurt him. He doesn’t know how he knows, he just does.

The people in his dream stay where they are, frozen in the dark with him, and he calls out to them for help, or to tell them to run, but they ignore him. Then he starts screaming, but no sound comes out. He stays there, frozen, alone in the dark, for what feels like an eternity. A forever. An always. And then he wakes up with his pulse racing, terrified.

Tonight, when it happens, Chan scrambles out of bed in a panic and rushes to slam on the lights.

He stands by the wall panting until he catches his breath, until he remembers where he is. That he’s safe.

There’s no way he’s going back to sleep after that, so he makes his way to the bathroom and stands in the shower until he stops shaking, then pads out into the kitchen, and makes himself a cup of coffee. Every sip of bitter, black coffee brings him back from The Nightmare, so he just stands there over his sink, taking small sips until he feels somewhat human again.

He knows he should eat something, too, but he's never been good at eating in the morning anyway, it usually just makes him sick.

Chan sits down at his computer and tries to get some grading done, and then e-mails his music composition students some sound files they'll need for class later today.

After a few minutes, the light outside starts to change, so he gets up and walks over to the window, opening the shade so that he'll get as much sunlight as possible when it comes.

There's a tree in the park at the end of Chan's street that turns a bright, shocking red every fall, and right now the wind is pushing its leaves down the street. Some of them stick face down in the puddles on the pavement, exposing the pale pink of their undersides. They’re the only moving thing Chan can see, so he watches them, his eyes heavy with sleep he doesn’t want, and wonders if he’ll ever get to stop feeling like this, like everyone else has vanished overnight, and he’s alone, completely.

His phone buzzes where he'd left it on his bedside table and Chan jumps at the sound. He stares down at the name on his phone confused. Han Jisung. He’d forgotten that Jisung even had his number, that he’d given it to all of his students when they’d gone on a class trip earlier in the semester.

Han Jisung:

why are you up sending emails so late?

or early.

i guess this is early now.

this is Jisung by the way

Chan knows that he probably shouldn’t encourage students to text his personal phone before five in the morning, but something coiled tight around his ribs had released when he’d seen Jisung’s name.

Maybe Chan can’t shake the dream, but he can text Jisung. That’s real. Real enough to keep climbing closer to that circle of light, far above him.

Bang Chan:

Good Morning, Jisung.

Sometimes I can’t sleep.

Better to just get up and get work done.

Why aren’t you asleep?

Han Jisung:

still at the library, been here all night studying, you know how it is

since we’re both awake...

do you want to get coffee before class?

Chan thinks about saying no. But why should he? They’re both alone, and they don’t have to be.

Besides, it’s just coffee. In a public place. He’s gotten coffee with students before. This isn’t any different. And if Chan had met Jisung in any other context, they’d be friends already, Chan is sure.

Jisung meets him outside the coffee shop on campus at seven. He looks tired, and he’s wearing a cozy wool scarf and wire-frame glasses. When he looks up from his phone and sees Chan, he smiles. He looks so genuinely pleased that Chan’s heart squeezes. He likes making Jisung happy.

"Hey," Jisung says, blinking in the morning sun. The sky is cold and clear now, and Jisung is smiling, and Chan is finally able to shake that nightmare, the way it clings to him as he goes throughout his day.

"Sorry if it was weird that I texted you," Jisung says, "I didn't even think about it until afterwards.”

“Nah,” Chan says, “It’s all good.”

"Anyway," Jisung continues, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. "I got the notification for your email and it was like, bam, I'm not alone. Or at least I'm not the only crazy person still awake at dawn. And I remembered a while ago you saying that you have trouble sleeping so I just thought you'd get it, you know? How sometimes you have a bad night and you just gotta see a friendly face, first thing in the morning.”

A pang in Chan's chest. He does get it. He gets it exactly.

"And you picked me?" Chan asks. He holds the door to the cafe open for Jisung and follows him inside.

It's warm inside and smells like roasting coffee. There are a few other people inside; customers and a tired-looking barista behind the counter, but none of them are quite real to Chan yet, not the way Jisung is.

The rest of the world is still padded in the cotton of Chan's half-awake mind. Not Jisung, though. His insistent attention pulls at Chan and it makes him want to do something to deserve it.

"I figured if you were up sending emails you didn't have anywhere better to be," Jisung says, and Chan can't argue with that.

"No, it's cool," Chan says, "I get it. I'm terrible at sleeping. And I'm always glad to be a friendly face."

Chan buys them coffee and they sit by the window.

“So, what were you working on this late?”

“Paper for music history,” Jisung answers with a scowl. Chan laughs.

“Not fun, I’m guessing?”

“No,” Jisung says, “It’s twenty pages long. I think I used the last of my life force to write that final paragraph and it’s not even good,” He takes a sip of his coffee. Then he looks up at his Chan, eyes big behind his glasses. “Oh god, please don’t tell Lee-gyosunim I said that.”

Chan mimes zipping his lips shut and throwing away the key, which makes Jisung laugh again, his nose wrinkling.

“I’ve never been any good at writing papers, I just can’t focus long enough. I wish I could just do the music part without the school part. No offense, of course.”

“None taken,” he says, grinning. “I was the same way. The music always came easy to me. The rest of it took a lot of practice.”

“Yeah,” Jisung says, his eyes bright. “Yeah, exactly. You get it.”

Another customer comes in and brings a gust of cold air over to their table. Chan shudders.

“You good?”

“Yeah,” says Chan. “Just never got used to how cold it gets here.”

“Ohh right,” Jisung says. “You guys have summer right now, don’t you?”

“Yeah, look at this,” Chan takes out his phone and shows Jisung his weather app, where he has Seoul side by side with Sydney. “22 degrees. And sunny.”

“You must miss it,” Jisung says, and Chan nods. He hadn’t realized just how much he missed Australia until Jisung said it.

“All the time,” Chan says, putting his phone away and taking another sip of coffee, letting it warm him from the inside out, a poor substitute for a sunny Sydney day.

“When do you get to go back?”

“December,” Chan says with a smile. “I go home every winter break to spend the holidays with my parents and my brother and sister.”

“Are they older or younger?”

“Younger,” Chan says. “I’m the oldest.”

“Y’know,” Jisung says, considering. “Somehow that makes perfect sense.”

Chan blushes, not sure how to take that.

“What about you?” Chan asks, “Do you have plans for the winter break? Are you going home?”

It’s only October, so the break is a couple months out, but it’ll be the end of Jisung’s junior year, his senior year not starting until March.

Jisung intentionally breaks eye contact for the first time since they sat down, running his finger back and forth on the lid of his coffee cup.

“Nah,” Jisung says, shrugging. “I stay on campus. My brother lives in Yangcheon-gu with his wife and kid, so I might go see them a few times. My nephew is like, six months old and he’s so cute, and like, actually the coolest baby of all time.”

Chan can’t help but smile at the way Jisung’s face goes soft and gentle as he talks about his nephew.

“And your parents?” Chan asks. He takes a sip of coffee. Jisung scrunches his nose.

“I don’t, uh. I don’t really talk to my parents,” Jisung says. And, fuck, Chan is kicking himself.

Context clues, Chan, he thinks, Jesus. Pay attention.

“Oh, god, I’m so sorry,” Chan says, stumbling over his words. “That was stupid, I shouldn’t have assumed–”

Jisung laughs at that, and Chan immediately wants to make him do it again. Wants to always be making this incredible kid laugh, never wants to make him sad or nervous or uncomfortable.

“No worries,” Jisung says in English, over-enunciating the end, flashing his cutely crooked bottom teeth. “Actually, though. It’s fine. They sent me away to boarding school, and I didn’t really like that.” Jisung glances at Chan quickly before he finishes, “And I uh. When I moved back home to stay, we. Um. Disagreed about some life choices I had made.”

Chan gets the feeling that he’s not talking about a tattoo he’d gotten or the college he’d chosen. Chan gets the feeling he knows exactly what Jisung is talking about, the same life choices that Chan can’t tell his own parents about. He doesn’t know for sure, but he doesn’t want to push.

“So, yeah,” Jisung says, looking down and shrugging one shoulder up to his ear uncomfortably. “They actually, uh, kicked me out, but it’s fine because my brother is the best and he’s helping me pay for school. And now I’m here, and I have friends and stuff, so really, it’s fine. I’m fine.”

Chan feels like he’s swallowed a stone. He wants to say the right thing to Jisung. For a wild moment, he considers telling Jisung about himself, an urge he’s only ever gotten once before. But even the thought of it makes Chan’s muscles lock up, so he swallows down the impulse.

“Wow,” Chan says, “That really sucks.”

Jisung looks up and laughs, loud and bright. “Yeah, it really does.”

Jisung’s lips are slightly chapped, Chan notices, and his cheeks are still red from the cold.

“But like I said,” Jisung says, “I really am fine now.”

“Well,” Chan says, swallowing. He tugs on his ear, an old nervous habit he’s never been able to break. “If you ever need to talk to someone, you can, um, you can always talk to me. You know my door’s always open. And you can text me, if you really need to.”

“Oh,” Jisung says, “Thanks.” His face goes soft again, a smile tugging at his lips. “Really.”

They really do spend so much time together anyway, hours in the studio together that pass just as quickly as the time they’re spending chatting in the café. And it’s easy, so easy, to slip right into that friend role, easy to cross that line.

After a while, the bell over the door to the cafe chimes, and Jisung looks up, waving shyly at whoever just walked in. Chan turns to see Hongjoong.

Hongjoong’s a senior, a year older than Jisung. It makes sense, seeing another one of his students this close to campus, but it still shocks him awake.

Hongjoong’s arrival is a rupture, a mirror, a reminder that it’s daytime now, and this world they live in has rules and order for a reason, and Chan’s suddenly uncomfortable with being seen alone with a student first thing in the morning. Uncomfortable with whatever conclusions might be made by anyone who saw them.

Chan stands. He looks at his watch, then over at Jisung, who cocks his head with gentle confusion. Chan tries for a smile, suddenly full of nervous energy again.

“I have to get ready for class,” Chan says, aiming for casualness and probably missing. “See you guys at nine?”

Hongjoong seems completely unperturbed, and takes Chan’s empty seat across from Jisung, who gives Chan a little wave as he leaves.

✵

Jisung talks to him a little more after that, and whenever they’re alone together, it’s hard to keep the distance Chan knows he should. It’s just so easy, and Jisung is so full of light and motion and music, and Chan can’t find it in him to do anything that might change that.

Chan knows he’s not technically supposed to be friends with his students, but he also knows that every student has different needs, and Jisung seems like he really needs a friend right now. Someone to have his back. And for whatever reason, he picked Chan. So Chan does his best to be there for him.

Jisung has his phone number and his offer of help when he needs it, but he doesn’t ask for anything at all until the first week of November.

When Jisung calls, it’s three in the morning, and Chan’s on his third night of little to no sleep. He should be sleeping now, but he’s been stressed out lately, and The Nightmare is more likely to make an appearance when he’s stressed, so he’s keeping himself awake to avoid it.

“Hi. I’m so sorry. Please don’t be mad,” is the first thing Jisung says when he answers. Chan can hear the sounds of traffic behind him. Why isn’t he at home? Chan pictures him alone in the city somewhere and his stomach drops.

“I’m not mad. What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Jisung says, “I just, ah, this is so embarrassing.”

“You’re fine, Jisung,” Chan says, as gently as he can. Any other concern he had before is gone. The only thing that matters now is Jisung’s safety. Chan thinks about anything happening to him and he feels sick. “Just tell me what's going on. I can help.”

“I got into a fight with my friend and now I'm alone at this party at some guy’s apartment in Itaewon and I don't want to be here anymore," Jisung's voice wobbles, and Chan’s heart throbs. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if Jisung cries. It might kill him. "I know it’s late and I’m so sorry. I wouldn't have called, but the trains aren’t running anymore, and I don't know anyone else with a car. Can you come pick me up?"

He needs you, Chan thinks, and everything after that is simple.

“Oh,” says Chan. “Yeah. Yes. Of course. Is anyone with you?” Chan asks, “Are you somewhere safe?”

“I’m alone, but I’m okay,” The more they talk, the sturdier Jisung’s voice sounds.

Chan gets Jisung’s location and drives there, chewing on his thumbnail the whole way, tapping on the steering wheel. When Chan gets to the address in Itaewon, Jisung’s sitting alone on the steps of an apartment building.

He’s dressed up for a night out, black ankle boots and a jacket with embellishments that sparkle when Jisung moves. The coat is big– bought oversized, Chan guesses, like most of Jisung’s outerwear– but it doesn’t look that heavy, and underneath it, Jisung’s only wearing a white sleeveless t-shirt, the fabric thin and loose around the collar, revealing a silver necklace that matches the silver earrings in his ears.

He’s got his chin on his first, and he’s looking down at his phone when Chan pulls up next to him. His black hair had been styled, but it’s mussed now, and Jisung keeps reaching up and messing it further, pushing it back off his forehead and over so it falls to one side.

He looks…good. Amazing, actually. If a little cold.

“You look nice,” Chan says, when Jisung gets in the car. “I like the jacket.”

“Thanks,” Jisung says, flashing Chan a raw, sharp smile he’s never seen before. He’s drunk, Chan realizes. He fidgets as he buckles his seatbelt. “It’s Celine, Fall 2018.”

“Cool, cool,” Chan says, nodding. He cuts a glance at Jisung. “I have no idea what that means.”

Jisung giggles, “It means I’m wearing three year old clothes.”

“Oh,” Chan says. He looks at Jisung, down at his boots, legs crossed at the ankle, and up to his jacket, “They still look good to me?”

“Yeah?” Jisung asks, his eyes oddly heavy for a moment, before settling on Chan’s face. “I mean, thank you, of course they’re fine. Sorry. Leftover rich boy shit.”

Chan doesn’t mind. God help him, he thinks it’s endearing. Chan doesn’t know much about fashion, but he thinks he’d like to hear Jisung talk about it for as long as he wanted.

“Anyway,” Jisung says, “Thank you for coming. I’m so sorry for waking you up.”

“I wasn’t asleep,” Chan says, partially because it’s true, but mostly because he doesn’t want Jisung to feel bad for asking for help when he needs it.

“Another one of those nights?” Jisung asks.

“Yeah,” Chan admits, “Actually.”

“Well, I’m still sorry,” Jisung says, gesturing down at himself. “For being a total mess.”

“Don’t apologize,” Chan insists. “I was twenty-one once, too. I know what it’s like.” There’s a moment of silence. “I said I’d be there for you, and I meant it, okay?”

Jisung looks pained when he nods.

"Where am I taking you?" Chan asks, picking up his phone to enter Jisung's address. Jisung doesn’t say anything and when Chan looks up at him, he’s looking down at his hands in his lap uncomfortably.

"Ah that's, uh, kind of part of the whole problem," Jisung says. "The friend I had a fight with, Minho, he's my roommate. And I was a huge jerk to him. He kind of told me to fuck off and find somewhere else to sleep tonight, and I was hoping that maybe… um… "

Chan comprehends what Jisung is asking for and his heart drops into his stomach. Jisung wants to stay with him. Chan’s mind races. If anyone saw them together, they’d assume the worst, and another boundary in their relationship would be crossed. Would Jisung still respect him?

Chan is still holding his phone in midair, the maps app open.

“Can’t you call your brother?” Chan asks, as gently as he can manage. Jisung shakes his head.

“He’s definitely asleep,” Jisung mumbles, “And they have the baby and stuff, I didn’t want to bother them.”

Chan glances over at him. He looks…embarrassed. And small. And Chan knows then that Jisung had meant it when he said he didn’t have anyone else to call. Chan recognizes his loneliness because it looks just like his own.

“Hey,” Chan says, “It’s okay. Of course you can stay with me.”

Chan wants to say, just don’t tell anyone, but that feels cruel, somehow, so he doesn’t. He just trusts that Jisung knows.

"Really? I'll sleep on the couch, or, or even the floor. I'll leave first thing in the morning; you won't even notice me."

Chan chuckles. He reaches over and ruffles Jisung’s hair, something he used to do with his little brother when he was feeling extraordinarily fond of him. Jisung grins, and Chan feels a little of his dread ease.

This can be fine, he thinks. We can make this be fine. We can be friends and still be professional. We’re not doing anything wrong. I’m just looking out for a student who needs a little extra help. That’s all.

When they get to Chan’s apartment, Chan insists that Jisung take his bed, and he leaves out clean pajamas for Jisung to sleep in.

There’s an odd tension in the air as they move around each other, getting ready for bed, which is to be expected, Chan guesses. At school, he’s Bang-gyosunim, and here he’s just Chan, and having Jisung here makes the borders of those two versions of himself blurry.

Chan grabs a pillow and blanket from the linen closet in the hallway and makes a bed for himself in the living room. He pauses before shutting the sliding doors that separate the living room and the kitchen, and Jisung steps out into the hallway from the bathroom.

Chan’s clothes mostly fit him, but they’re a little wide in the shoulders and he’s had to tighten the strings on the pajama pants so they’ll stay up on his hips.

“Thank you again,” Jisung says, “I know this is a lot, so. Thanks.”

“It’s okay,” Chan says gently. “I’m glad you called me.”

And he is. He’s glad Jisung trusts him. Glad he can be trustworthy.

“Anyway,” Jisung says, “Goodnight?”

Chan smiles. “Good night, Jisung.”

Chan slides his door shut and a moment later he hears his own bedroom door close. He lies down on the couch and listens for any sounds from the other side of his wall, but he doesn’t hear anything, and after a while, he falls asleep.

In the morning, Jisung has kept his promise. He’s gone, Chan’s borrowed clothes folded neatly on Chan’s bed, which has been carefully made.

Chan thought he’d be relieved to have Jisung gone, to have those two blurred halves of himself be separate again, but instead he just feels lonelier than before, his apartment strangely too big and empty.

✵

A few nights later, Chan is working late, the rest of his colleagues long since gone home. He could have gone home too, but he'd promised his first years that he'd have their papers back to them by tomorrow.

Around ten, he starts to have a hard time keeping his eyes open, so he gets up and walks down the hall to the teacher’s lounge by the elevators and makes himself a cup of tea.

He loosens his tie and unbuttons his shirt collar while he waits for the water to boil, sighing and rolling his neck, hoping it will pop.

There's a tentative knock on the open door behind him and Chan frowns. He was fairly sure he was the only person in the building. He turns around, and is surprised to see Jisung, in his winter coat and a backwards baseball hat. The hat makes his cheeks look especially round. Chan smiles at the sight of him.

"Hey," Jisung says, slowly smiling back.

"Hi," Chan says. "What are you doing here this late?"

"I was at the library," Jisung says, gesturing with a turn of his body and a nod of his head, his thumbs hooked in the straps of his backpack. “I was walking by, and I saw that the lights were on up here and I…”

He trails off, blushing. Chan puts on his best warm smile and gestures for Jisung to follow him down the hall to his office. They start talking and then they hang out and Jisung plays him some music he’s been working on. They get along so well that Chan doesn't even notice the time passing.

Chan sits down on the couch in his office and waves Jisung over to show him something on his phone. They keep talking and he doesn't notice how close Jisung is until he can feel the warmth of Jisung's leg through his sweatpants

Jisung's gesturing with Chan's phone, and they’re talking excitedly about the music sample Chan had just shown him. He shifts, until he’s almost entirely pressed to Chan's side, warm and smelling like laundry detergent and citrus shampoo.

Chan knows that he should move, but he rationalizes his way out of it, telling himself that Jisung didn’t mean to do it, that he’ll move on his own in a moment.

And then Jisung turns his hand over and slides his palm up ever so slightly up Chan’s thigh, his thumb dragging against the fabric of his black jeans. This touch is different, not subtle at all. Chan’s brain can’t rationalize it as an accident. Chan stops moving, and Jisung does too, looking up at Chan sheepishly.

Chan’s mind is racing, trying to understand, to catch up to what’s happening. Jisung yanks his hand away and stands up.

"Jisung, I—" Chan says.

"I’m sorry," Jisung says, blushing red, still gripping Chan's phone too tight in his hand. "That was weird, I'm so sorry. I can go, I should really—"

"Jisung, wait," Chan says, standing up to be at Jisung's level. Before he thinks better of it, he grabs Jisung’s wrist. He only means to stop him so he can know. So he can hear, from Jisung, what he wants, what he was doing, why he touched him like that. He just wants to know. That’s all.

Jisung stops and Chan drops his hand like he’s burned it, but it’s too late. Chan touched him, he can’t take that back. Jisung just stares at him, searching his face for something, chewing on the inside of his lips. He bounces on the balls of his feet, his eyes flicking over to the door like he’s trying to decide between bolting out of the room and—

"Fuck it," Jisung says finally, tossing Chan's phone onto the couch, where it bounces off and lands on the floor. Jisung ignores it, in favor of grabbing Chan's face between his hands and kissing him.

When Chan is composing, sometimes songs will take days for Chan to write down. He’ll hear the beginning of one in his mind and try to grasp it, but lose all traces of it. Other times he’ll follow a train of thought without realizing where it’s leading him until the music drops into his head, whole. He’ll sit down at the keyboard and not realize what he’s doing until his focus shifts and it becomes clear. And he feels stupid for not hearing it before.

That’s what kissing Jisung for the first time feels like; sound becoming music.

Chan catches him around the waist and kisses him back, as everything that he hasn’t let himself admit slots into place.

Going out of his way to help Jisung, the lightness in his chest when Jisung’s around, the way Jisung smiles at him; sort of crooked and deeply kind, like they know secrets nobody else does.

They’ve been heading here for a long time.

And Chan wants him. Wants him so badly that he lets himself get lost in just kissing him, lets himself forget about anything outside of this room. All he can think about is Jisung. Beautiful, brilliant Jisung with his gorgeous voice and his bright smile is kissing him.

And then there’s a noise from down the hall, a slammed door, and they both stop.

It’s probably Byulyi, she’s the only other Professor who’d be working this late, and she tends to kick her door shut when she’s got her arms full. He’d sworn she’d gone home, but he’s been shut up in his office for a while, he could have missed her coming back into the building.

Chan’s heart pounds wildly, and he and Jisung just stare at each other for a moment. Jisung looks as panicked as Chan feels. The fear that rushes through him at the idea of getting caught kissing reminds Chan why. Why he hadn’t let himself indulge in thoughts of Jisung, why he hadn’t realized what they were doing, what they were edging towards, until it was happening, until it was too late.

Jisung’s his student. Jisung just turned twenty-one years old in September. He’s fourteen years younger than Chan. When Jisung was born, Chan was already in high school. Chan’s heart sinks as the enormity of what he's done crashes over him, as he understands the line he’s crossed.

Chan grabs onto Jisung’s shoulders, squeezing him and holding him at arm's length as Byulyi’s footsteps pass them and reach the elevator at the end of the hallway. When they hear the elevator ping, Chan drops Jisung’s shoulders and backs away.

“Jisung, god, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—,” Chan says, shaking his head. “I’m so sorry.”

There's a red spot blooming on Jisung's chin that Chan's stubble rubbed raw, and he’s looking at Chan with confusion and hurt in his eyes and Chan can’t take it.

“You should go home,” Chan says.

“No, please, I—" Jisung says, his voice soft. Soft. Soft like Jisung himself, in his puffy winter coat. Barely twenty-one years old. Chan can’t even look at him.

“Jisung, please, just go,” Chan says. “This never happened, okay?”

Chan walks over to the door and holds it open. When Jisung doesn’t move, Chan forces himself to look at him. Jisung stares back at him, his cheeks flaring in an embarrassed flush, and Chan watches his open face shut down, and he sees a hint of something that he doesn't recognize, something hard and cold, something like determination, like anger.

But Chan blinks and it's gone.

Chan holds the door open wider and looks down at the ground, ashamed.

Jisung leaves.

Chan closes the door behind Jisung and leans back against it. He covers his mouth with the tips of his fingers.

Oh, he's an idiot. He bangs his head against the door. He slips the lock shut and walks over to his desk, sinking down into his chair. He replays the kiss in his head over and over again, thinks of all the different ways he could have prevented it.

But no, instead, he was leaving, and Chan had stopped him. Chan had stopped him because he wanted him. Because he wants him. Chan wants him even now, wants to taste him again, that one kiss not enough, not nearly.

Had Jisung liked him all along? Chan's bad at realizing when people have feelings for him, and Jisung had been firmly placed in a box marked 'Absolutely Not' in Chan's head, so he hadn't even recognized his own feelings, let alone known to look out for Jisung's.

A horrible thought occurs to him. Just because Chan hadn't picked up on his own feelings for Jisung, doesn't mean that Jisung hadn't noticed Chan's feelings. That's Jisung all over; observant and focused and always eager to please, especially eager to please Chan.

And Chan sees now, how obvious he'd been, giving Jisung special treatment, running to pick him up when he called. What if Jisung only touched him like that because he thought it was what Chan wanted him to do?

Jisung is one of Chan's students, and Chan is supposed to look out for him, but he'd failed him. He'd been selfish, only thinking about what he wanted. And he'd been so obvious about it.

If Jisung does like him, then it must be because he doesn't know him. Jisung looks at Chan with such admiration sometimes, looks to him for advice, like Chan knows anything. He doesn't know a goddamned thing.

Kissing Jisung felt like coming home, but that’s not fair, is it? Chan can’t ask that of Jisung, can’t ask him to be a home for Chan when the kid doesn’t even have a home of his own. Chan feels the distance between what he wants and what he’s allowed to have, and it breaks his heart.

Chan sits there for long enough that the motion sensor lights shut off with a flat, mechanical click, plunging Chan into half-darkness, the room only lit from the streetlights outside.

Chapter Text

Chan and Nayeon are out to dinner on one of her rare nights off.

"I have a thing," Chan says, straightening his napkin, adjusting it until it lines up perfectly with the edge of the table. "To, to ask you. I mean. Like, I think I have a situation."

"Okay," says Nayeon, picking at her food and looking at him uneasily. "Why do you sound so nervous?"

"I need your help with something,” Chan says without hesitating this time.

“Yes,” Nayeon says. “I got that part. Tell me what it is.”

Chan’s cautious. He’s worried about telling her about the kiss and he’s worried about telling her it’s Jisung. Nayeon’s his best friend and he doesn’t want to lose her and this secret feels too big. It also doesn’t just belong to him. It’s Jisung’s secret, too. So he starts with the easiest part and hopes it’s sufficient.

“I think one of my students has a crush on me,” Chan says, peering up at her anxiously. Nayeon just laughs, covering her mouth with her hand.

“What’s funny about that?” Chan whines.

“Sorry, sorry,” Nayeon says, waving her hand in front of her mouth, still giggling. “Just. This can’t be the first time that’s happened. You’re young and not bad-looking.”

“I don’t know!” Chan protests, “It’s the first time I’ve noticed!”

“Well I’m sure it’s not a big deal,” Nayeon says. “Having crushes on your professors is normal. I had crushes on at least three of my poetry professors.”

Nayeon starts to pick over her food again. Chan can tell she’s already put this issue on the back burner in her mind, thinking that Chan has blown some schoolboy crush out of proportion. He’s tempted to take her lead, to brush this whole thing off and let it become a joke between them. But he thinks about Jisung’s face, the pain in his eyes when Chan told him to leave. He thinks about the depth of what he feels for Jisung, the door that the kiss had opened that Chan can’t seem to close, no matter how hard he tries.

“There’s something else,” Chan says, swallowing around a lump in his throat.

“Oh, yeah?”

“He kissed me,” Chan says, fast. Nayeon sets her soup spoon down. She blinks at him. She’s wearing the same face she gives him when he’s tired or tipsy and starts babbling, her eyebrows gathered together and her mouth open and slightly curved upwards, her front teeth nearly resting on her bottom lip.

“Sorry, what?”

“He kissed me,” Chan repeats. He feels like he’s confessing a crime. His mind races back over all those Code of Conduct packets they make him sign every year. He realizes he doesn’t know what his punishment would look like. If he’d have to meet with the Dean of the music department, or the President of the college. If he’d have to go in front of the ethics board. “I kissed him back. We kissed. In my office. Last night.”

“Are you joking?” Nayeon says. "Is this a really shitty joke?" She looks at the expression on his face. "It's not a joke."

Chan shakes his head. "Sorry. I put a stop to it as soon as I could but, yeah, it did very much happen and I’d like to know what to do now because I’m freaking out. I don’t want him to get hurt."

"Don't apologize to me," Nayeon says. Her face is cold and stern. She’s looking at Chan like she doesn’t know him at all and it gives Chan chills down his spine. "Apologize to him. You can’t mess with a kid’s head like that. What were you thinking?"

"I, I wasn't," Chan says.

"Exactly," Nayeon hisses. "You weren't. Chan if a man your age so much as looked at one of my girls I would skin him alive."

“I know,” Chan says. “And you’d be right to, but this is a different situation. For one thing, Jisung’s an adult.”

Chan hadn’t meant to say Jisung’s name, but it’s out there now, sitting on the table between them. Nayeon’s eyebrows go up. She leans forward and lowers her voice.

"Jisung?" Nayeon says, "It was Jisung? The kid who’s music you sent me? The kid you said was talented?"

Chan locks his jaw. He nods.

“Haven’t you been spending a lot of time with him?”

Chan nods again.

"Oh," Nayeon says, her brow furrowing. Chan watches her face as she puts two and two together. She sits back in her chair. "Do you have feelings for him?"

Chan’s face burns with shame so hot it stings, like the pit in his stomach, like the ache in his tired eyes.

"Yeah," Chan says. "I didn't mean to, but I do. He's just. I don't know."

“This can’t go anywhere, you know that, right?”

“I know,” Chan says. It’s why he’d asked Jisung to leave the night they’d kissed. It’s why he hasn’t reached out to Jisung again, even though he’s worried about him. “I know, okay? That’s why I’m asking for your advice.”

“Fine. You want my advice?” She crosses her arms. “Do him a favor and stay away from him.”

“I…I don’t know if that’s possible,” Chan says. Nayeon glares at him.

“Well make it possible! Switch his classes. Make sure you’re never alone with him. He’s got a crush on you? He’s young. He’ll get over it. He might be an adult on paper, but he’s your student. He looks up to you. You have to set a good example for him. Show him you’re serious about not crossing any more boundaries.”

“What if that’s not what he wants?”

“He’s a kid. He doesn’t know what he wants yet.”

Chan thinks about how Jisung kissed him; like he was making a decision. Like diving in headfirst. He thinks about pulling himself up out of his nightmares and finding Jisung there, waiting for him in the sunlight.

“What about what I want?” Chan asks.

Nayeon looks at him with pity for a moment, but then she shakes her head.

“Want something else.”

"Well, okay," Chan says, "Thank you for your input."

Nayeon looks taken aback by Chan's tone. But Chan had been taken aback by her reaction.

Chan's embarrassed, and a little angry, and more than a little heartbroken. This whole situation just hurts. He hadn't intended to get in this deep, but here he is, up to his fucking chin in it.

Nayeon starts to gather up her belongings, stuffing her phone into her pocket and putting on her coat. All around the restaurant, Chan swears he sees people’s attention catch on her, a few heads turning.

"Noona, please," Chan whispers. "Don't leave."

"I've got work to do," She says, standing up and tucking her chair in. She digs in her coat and pulls out her wallet.

“No,” Chan says, taking out his own wallet and holding it up defensively. “Please, I’ll pay.”

Nayeon eyes him, then sighs. She puts away her wallet.

“I’ve got to get back to the girls.”

She picks up her purse and slings it over her shoulder and turns to go, the heels of her boots clicking across the floor.

As soon as she’s gone, their waiter materializes and smiles at Chan with poorly concealed pity. He’s probably assuming that Chan just got dumped, or that he’s witnessing a date gone wrong. Chan hands over his credit card with an awkward smile, and thanks him for the meal.

✵

Chan can't get Jisung out of his head. He keeps picturing the way he looks when he's focusing, cross-legged on the couch in Chan's studio, his shoulders hunched forward, sweatshirt hood pulled up over his head, the strings in his mouth. Sometimes, when he's really into the song he's working on, he'll bring one hand up in front of him, fingers dipping to the beat like he's conducting the music in his head.

Jisung isn't in class that week, and Chan doesn't blame him. He doesn't even mark him absent.

✵

Im Nayeon:

Sorry for reacting so strongly.

I got it in my head that you were acting like…

I don’t know. Like a guy who uses people.

But I know you’re not like that.

I just think you two have spent too much time together

recently. Spend some time away from him.

Distract yourself.

✵

Jisung starts coming to class again and Chan has no idea how he’s going to manage distracting himself until Roseanne Park strolls back into his life like a miracle.

Chan first met Roseanne Park (or Rosie, to her friends) when they worked together on an EP for a skatepunk band from Daegu, four years ago. Chan was the producer for the album, and Rosie was the audio mixer.

They'd bonded immediately over their shared memories of growing up in Australia and a shared sense of humor. They’d flirted, too, but Rosie had a boyfriend at the time, so nothing had come of it. Still, she knew more about the music industry that almost anyone Chan had met, so he’d given her an open invitation to come and talk to his class.

Since then, Rosie moved from Seoul to Jeonju and made a name for herself as a skilled songwriter and mixing engineer. She has credits on multiple albums, including recent releases from YG and SM. She emails Chan out of the blue a week after Chan’s conversation with Nayeon and tells him that she’s going to be in Seoul for some meetings.

Rosie’s funny. Chan remembers that, but he hadn’t remembered just how funny. He picked her up at the train station and she tossed her bag in the backseat and immediately launched into a story of an incident that happened to her on the train that had him nearly in tears.

Her smile is charming, and she uses it often, especially when she’s pleased with herself. She’s also smart, well-spoken and good at keeping student’s attention, which some days is more than Chan can say for himself.

Even Jisung, who for the last two weeks has been a quiet, sullen presence in the back of the classroom, perks up by the end of her lecture and asks a few questions about the audio equipment she prefers. She answers easily and Jisung seems pleased, and more than a little impressed.

After class, Jisung waits around and smiles hesitantly at Chan, who counts that as a win. Chan tilts his head and smiles back. He told Jisung to pretend the kiss never happened, so he should do the same, right?

“Hey, Rosie,” Chan says, and she looks up from where she’s still bent over her laptop at the front of the classroom. She’s wearing a cream-colored sweater paired with a chocolate brown skirt that falls just above her knees. Her hair is blonde and layered, hanging down her back. When she turns to look at him, she flicks it attractively over her shoulder and grins at him. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

Chan would have done this anyway, before the kiss. He’s just trying to show Jisung that nothing has changed, that Chan is still his biggest fan. That Chan wants the best for him, no matter what.

Still, Jisung looks at him strangely for a second, like he’s surprised that Chan is treating him so normally, his nostrils flaring and his brow furrowing, but then Rosie looks at him and he breaks into his most charming smile.

“This is Han Jisung. He’s really talented. You should probably remember that name.”

Jisung leaves with Rosie’s email address and a pleased smile on his face. He even raises a hand in goodbye towards Chan, who internally fist pumps. As soon as Jisung is gone, Chan exhales, finally relaxing.

Maybe things can be okay again between him and Jisung. Maybe Nayeon was right and all they needed was space.

Chan and Rosie get lunch with a few of Chan’s colleagues from the music department, Jihoon and Hwitaek. They swap jokes and stories and when Rosie laughs, she nudges Chan with her elbow, leaning into his side. When they go to leave, she puts her hair up, gathering it in both hands at the back of her head and twisting it. As her hair brushes past him, Chan smells her perfume, bright and fruity. It’s nice, and Chan finds himself leaning closer, wanting to smell her again.

Rosie has a meeting at an entertainment company downtown, but they meet back up again so that Chan can take her out to dinner before her evening train. He takes her to a restaurant near campus, a nicer place than he’d usually go, but Rosie is Rosie and Chan always wants to impress her, wants to see her arch her pretty eyebrows in pleased surprise.

At dinner she shrugs off her coat and takes off her shoes and tells Chan everything about her life. They have soju, and then beer, and then soju again. Her face gets appealingly pink when she drinks, and her laugh is catchy and loud and somehow sexy.

Chan tells her about his life too, carefully stepping around the Jisung-shaped hole in his story.

She doesn’t seem too concerned with details, though, and Chan appreciates that. They’re just enjoying each other's company, not trying to dig into a deep conversation.

When they’re finished eating, Rosie leans down to get her phone out of her bag, her hair falling in front of her face. Her mouth is curved attractively and Chan can’t help but follow the pink flush on her cheeks down her neck and across her collarbones. The swell of her breasts is just visible above the collar of her shirt.

“So,” she says, brushing her hair back, placing her phone on the table and looking at Chan. She bites her bottom lip, smiling furtively. “I have a ticket back to Jeonju that leaves at ten tonight, but I don’t have to work in the morning.”

“Cancel it,” Chan says.

Rosie’s face breaks into a grin and she picks up her phone.

✵

They walk back to campus, taking a long route through the neighborhood park in Heukseok-dong so that Chan can sober up before he drives home.

He and Rosie talk freely, and Chan feels lighter than he has in months. Everything just feels so normal with her, and it’s relaxing. They get to the top of a hill, where there is supposed to be a pretty view of Seoul, but Rosie claims that she can’t see the city over the treeline, and climbs up on a bench to get a better view.

Chan giggles at the sight of her, one fist planted on her cocked hip as she pretends to shield her eyes with the other hand, squinting.

“Oh, this is way better,” she says, and for some reason that really makes Chan laugh. Rosie drops her hand in surprise, but then she laughs too. She waves her hand and Chan comes over and helps her down, lifting her by the hips and spinning her around once before setting her down on her feet. She sways forward slightly when he lets go, so he holds onto her shoulders. He smiles down at her, and she tips her face up and leans further into his chest. She’s so pretty it hurts to look at her.

Chan’s eyes keep flitting down to her mouth, slightly shiny with the gloss that she’d gone to the bathroom to reapply after dinner. He dips his head down to kiss her, and she hums approvingly when their lips connect. She tastes nice, he notices, like peaches from the soju and the vanilla of her lip gloss.

Rosie grins when they break apart. She strolls backwards a few steps, her hands in her coat pockets, then she turns and offers her elbow to Chan. “Well, shall we?”

“Ah,” Chan quips, linking their arms together and getting a little thrill at the way she lets herself be pulled close to his side. “You're such a gentleman.”

As Rosie leads him through the park, they pass an elderly couple. The older woman looks at Rosie and Chan’s intertwined arms and then up at their faces and then smiles broadly.

For some reason it’s that, the approving smile and nod from a woman who reminds Chan of his grandmother, that makes him start to feel off. Start to feel like his skin is too tight, like he’s somehow outside of himself, watching himself go on this date.

They get back to campus around ten, and walk to where Chan has parked his car in the music department parking lot. Chan hesitates for a moment, the easiness in his limbs from earlier gone, but he makes eye contact with Rosie and she smiles her lovely smile, and Chan wants to want this. He does want this, he reminds himself. He wants her. She’s easy to want.

Chan drives her back to his place and gives her a tour before offering her a drink, which she declines.

“Just come here, Christopher,” Rosie says in English, sitting down at the end of his bed, and the way she pronounces his name gives him a little thrill down his spine, the full vowels and the -ah at the end.

She leans back on her elbows and Chan leans down over her, parting her legs to step between them, and kisses her, cupping the back of her head. With his other hand, he strokes along the outside of her thigh, pushing up the bottom of her skirt. She kisses Chan like she knows she has him right where she wants him, like she knows he’s going to give her what she wants.

Rosie’s casual, direct attitude makes this easy, and he knows the script for this scene. He lets himself get lost in kissing her, in touching her, in reaching up her skirt and sliding her panties down and lightly tracing his fingers over the wet, inviting warmth of her pussy. She shivers, and her hips rise up to meet the heel of his hand when he slips a finger inside of her.

Chan kisses her, tasting her sweet noises as he fingers her carefully, gentle and slowly building. She shivers again when she comes, her head lifting up off the bed, her cute stomach wrinkling. She’s so wet, her juices coating his hand, and Chan wants to find out if she’ll feel this good around his cock.

Rosie lets out a big breath, flopping back onto his bed, her arms spread above her head. She giggles, and Chan dips his head down, kissing the base of her throat. Her perfume is mixing with the sheen of sweat on her body, and it’s intoxicating.

Chan’s cock starts to fill out with interest. He finds the zipper on the side of her skirt and pulls it down. Rosie lifts her hips up and he slides the fabric down her legs.

“Do you have condoms?” She asks, lifting her head again, naked and starfished on his bed. She looks like a model, an idol, and it thrills Chan that she’s in his bed, that she’s chosen him. Chan nods. “Good. Go get one. You should definitely fuck me now.”

“Okay,” Chan says, laughing good-naturedly.

He gets up, undresses down to his underwear. He opens the bottom drawer of his dresser to grab his stash of condoms, but right next to it are the clothes that Jisung wore the night he slept over. The clothes Chan had just tucked away instead of washing them, the shirt that would probably still smell like Jisung if he’d picked it up, like the clean pine of his deodorant or the almost candy sweetness of the hair product he used.

Chan feels it, sudden like a hand wrapped around his throat. It’s like Jisung’s there in the room, and he fills the space just like he fills Chan’s head.

Jisung, with his lips wrapped around the end of his pen in class today. The way it had pressed down on his bottom lip. The way Jisung’s lips had felt, soft and plush and perfect against Chan’s own. Jisung calling him on the phone when he was drunk and needed help. Jisung, in those sleeveless shirts he used to wear when the weather was warmer, the ones that Chan could see right inside when he leaned over.

And then he thinks about Jisung inviting Chan out for coffee, about how lively Jisung had been at eight in the morning, how cute Chan thinks he is when he gets excited about something. How, selfishly, Chan likes it best when Jisung is that happy because of him.

Suddenly sleeping with Rosie feels like a betrayal.

Chan knows that it shouldn’t, that he doesn’t owe anything to Jisung, especially not this.

Chan turns around. Rosie’s sitting on his bed, her knees to her chest. Chan sees how the rest of their night could go: sex and sleep and breakfast in the morning. But Chan wouldn’t be having sex with her, not really. She’d be a substitute for what he really wanted.

“Actually, ah, you know what, maybe that’s not such a good idea,” Chan says, and Rosie frowns, blinking in surprise. She starts to look embarrassed, and Chan rushes to explain. “No, no, it’s not anything to do with you, I promise,” Chan puts his hands up apologetically. “You’re gorgeous, and so sexy and I like you a lot. But I just…can’t. I’m so sorry, Rosie.”

“Is there somebody else?”

Chan sits down on the bed next to her. He nods. “We’re not even together. Nothing’s even really happened between us. But I… I can’t.”

“Oh,” Rosie says, with genuine disappointment, and more guilt twists in Chan’s chest. “Okay, yeah, that’s fine.”

“You can stay, obviously,” Chan says. “Since I made you miss your train.”

When they get into bed and turn the lights off, Rosie rolls over to face him, and because she is the nicest person in the world, says, “I really don’t mind Chan, you know that, right?”

“Yeah,” Chan says, “I do. Thank you.”

“Maybe next time…” she trails off nervously and Chan kisses her.

“Yeah,” he says, kissing her again. “Definitely next time.”

✵

When Chan wakes up, he has a text from Jisung. Chan’s brain is always slow in the mornings, and it takes him a minute to really process what it says. When it sinks in, he sits straight up, a dissonant note of panic ringing in his head.

Han Jisung

so. did you fuck her? [2:37 AM]

Chapter Text

✵

Han Jisung

i can explain!!!

i was really drunk when i sent that.

and i promise im not stalking you!!!

i was on campus with minho late and i saw you leave with her

oh god im making this worse [9:30 AM]

Han Jisung

actually can you just ignore these?

please? [10:04 AM]

✵

“Hey, Jisung?” Chan says at the end of class the next day. Jisung’s texts had shaken him, badly, but he’d come in to work with a plan, prepared to handle this situation as quickly and painlessly as possible. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Jisung looks up anxiously, eyebrows raised. Once the rest of his classmates are gone, he hurries up to Chan’s desk. He looks especially long-limbed today; gangly and awkward and young.

"I'm sorry," Jisung says. "I was out with Minho and Hyunjin and we got way too drunk and I told them not to let me text you but I stole my phone back when Minho went to the bathroom and. Yeah. I'm sorry."

“We should, um,” Chan says, clearing his throat and gathering his things. “We should talk in my office.”

“Am I in trouble?” Jisung asks in a hurried whisper, following Chan down the hall to the stairwell, his thumbs tucked under the straps of his backpack. He’s worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

“What?” Chan asks, surprised. He’s been so busy punishing himself, blaming himself, that he hadn’t considered that Jisung would feel guilty too. But of course he would. He’s smart and anxious and a natural-born worrier, just like Chan. He’s reckless, sure, more reckless than Chan lets himself be, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care. “No, of course not. I just wanted to clear some stuff up.”

When they get to his office, he unlocks the door and holds it open for Jisung, and then closes it behind him. Chan sets his bag down and leans back against his desk, facing Jisung. His heart is pounding, stomach jumping, and he doesn’t know if it’s from what he’s about to say or the fact that they’re back here again, just the two of them.

“Okay,” Chan says, exhaling. He practiced this conversation in the car, he can do this. “First, I want you to know that I care about you a lot. And I’m not upset with you. If anything, I’m upset with myself. I never meant for it to get this far. I only want what’s best for you.”

And that’s not me, Chan thinks. Why can’t you see that?

Jisung’s chewing on the inside of his cheek. He doesn’t say anything.

“I think it would be in our best interests,” Chan says, picking his words carefully. “Yours and mine, if we took a step back. If we went back to just having a professional relationship.”

“Okay,” Jisung says. He looks down at his shoes, his cheeks coloring. Shit. Chan’s already messing this up, saying everything wrong.

“That means we can’t, um, kiss again,” Chan reddens at the incredulous look on Jisung’s face. This is so awkward. Why is this so awkward? Why is Chan so bad at this? “I mean, obviously it means that. Sorry. And um. It means that you probably shouldn’t text me about who I am or am not spending the night with. That’s not supposed to be any of your business.”

“Oka-ay,” Jisung says, slowly. “Like I already told you…I was drunk, but yeah, okay.”

“I know,” Chan says. He feels fucking horrible. He hates this.

“You could have just ignored it,” Jisung mumbles.

“What?”

“We don’t need to be having a whole meeting about a text. You could have ignored it, like I said. I told you to just pretend that it never happened,” Jisung says, meeting Chan’s eyes, his voice getting sharper. “Which, by the way, is what you said about the kiss. ‘this never happened’? Isn’t that what you said?”

Chan just opens his mouth and closes it again. Jisung’s right, is the problem.

“But now that you want to talk about it, we’re talking about it?” Jisung says, his voice climbing another octave, getting louder too. “And, wow, look! Here I am, alone with you, again, because you asked me to be.”

Jisung’s right, again. Chan could have asked to go anywhere, outside, to a cafe. A public place would have been smarter, more appropriate. But Chan had brought him up here, to the half-light of his office. Chan had only thought to get Jisung somewhere private so they could talk this through without being overheard.

But as soon as the door clicked shut, Chan had become acutely aware of his body in the same space as Jisung’s body. It’s not a big office, and the closed door makes it seem even smaller. The last time they were in here, he'd taken Jisung's hand, so easily. Could he do it again? Would Jisung let him?

so, did you fuck her?

Chan hadn’t known what to make of the text. So forceful and crass and downright fucking bold that it’s been rattling around in Chan’s head ever since he read it, and it would be a lie to say that it hadn’t excited him a little.

A hint of cruelty, a dark, mean edge to Jisung that he hadn’t known was there, but now that he’s seen it, part of him is desperate to see it again.

Do you feel it? Chan wants to ask, That urge to press on a bruise, dig your thumb in and see how much you can get it to hurt?

But he knows nothing good will come from asking that question. (Nothing good in the long term, he thinks, because it's not true that nothing good would come of it at all, not when he remembers so clearly what it felt like to have Jisung close to him.)

“I’m not making this up. I know you want me too,” Jisung says indignantly, “Why won’t you just admit it?”

Chan flushes so hot his back starts to feel clammy under his collared shirt. He can feel his heartbeat in his ears.

"Jisung, please, I'm trying to do the right thing."

And maybe he’d be fine if it was just his reputation on the line, just his job, his future. But he can’t play around with Jisung’s future, not when he knows how much Jisung has already lost (home and money and family), not when he knows how much Jisung loves making music. He's so talented, his future so bright, and tying himself to Chan would only mean trouble, scandal, rumors, expulsion, if they got caught.

“And I don’t— I don’t want you like that,” Chan lies, swallowing hard. He looks at the wall slightly to the left of Jisung’s head. There’s a framed floral print there, one Nayeon had bought after she visited him at work and complained that his office was too plain. “I’m sorry if I led you on, I really am. That was a mistake. That was my mistake. Not yours.”

Jisung looks at him coldly, the room silent.

“Alright, Bang-gyosunim,” Jisung says with exaggerated politeness, averting his eyes. His hair is silky, clean and shining in the light as it falls over his forehead. “If you say so.”

“Jisung,” Chan says, a broken whisper. “Please. Don’t be like that.”

Jisung’s eyes snap to him, his eyebrows furrowing.

“And how else am I supposed to be?”

Chan just shakes his head. Jisung takes a step closer across the carpet.

“You’re all I can think about,” he says in a low mumble, looking at Chan’s mouth. “What the hell am I supposed to do?”

Chan pushes off of his desk with his fingers, his weight rocking forward on his feet. Momentum that his body wants to use to cross the room and pin Jisung against the wall. Heat floods his body, flushing his cheeks. He feels drunk with it, mind hazy.

so, did you fuck her?

Chan wants to kiss him.

did you fuck her?

Chan wants.

did you fuck her? did you fuck her? did you-

“You should go,” Chan says. Chan sees it again, that flash of hard anger in Jisung’s eyes.

“What, you’re not gonna hold the door for me this time?” Jisung snaps.

Chan deserves that. Jisung ducks around him and out the door, being extra careful not to touch him, his hands up at his chest.

✵

When Jisung is late to class the next day, Chan assumes he’s just not going to show up, but he slips in at 9:15, smiling a tight, sarcastic apology smile at Chan.

Chan carries on his lecture as Jisung sits down in the front of the classroom, back at his usual spot. He unzips his coat, pulling the beanie off of his head and taking his books out.

Chan tries not to look at him, but then he worries that not looking at Jisung is just as obvious, so he tries to look at Jisung as much as he looks at everyone else.

Chan asks a question, and calls on Changbin to answer. While Changbin is talking, Chan makes eye contact with Jisung and smiles politely in greeting. Jisung holds eye contact, and Chan breaks away first, eyes cast down, traveling down Jisung’s neck to…

Wait.

That’s Chan’s sweater. Chan knows that it’s his sweater because he’s been looking for that exact sweater all week. It was a gift from his mother; worn-in and roomy and black, Chan’s favorite color. It’s perfect for this time of year, and Chan thought that it was strange that he couldn’t find it since he so clearly remembered folding it and putting it away in his closet.

And here it is, on Jisung’s body. It’s too big for Chan, so it’s even bigger on Jisung, the sleeves coming down over his palms and the scoop-neck collar showing off a small glimpse of his collarbone on one side where Chan can see delicate skin, slightly paler than his neck, the tiny black dot of a mole.

On Jisung’s body. Warm from his skin and pressed against him, pressed against his chest, barely-there pecs, perky nipples, soft stomach, belly button. Chan can picture Jisung putting it on this morning, slipping it over his head, tucking it carefully into his light-wash jeans.

He must have stolen the sweater the night he spent at Chan’s apartment. Chan tries to picture him leaving with it. Had he stuffed it down in his backpack, hidden it like shame? Or had he worn it? Risked being caught, sneaking out past Chan sleeping on the couch?

Chan blinks, tearing his eyes away from Jisung. Changbin has stopped speaking and is looking at Chan expectantly.

“Um,” He pauses for too long, the whole class’s eyes on him. Chaeyoung giggles. Someone’s chair squeaks.

“Woah. Sorry, I haven’t had my morning coffee yet,” Chan says, shaking his head to clear it and then smiling broadly, clapping his hands and looking around the room. “Thank you, Changbin. Does anyone have any questions before we move on?”

At the end of class, Jisung doesn’t pack up to leave with everyone else. When Hongjoong asks him if he’s coming, Jisung just waves him away.

Chan acts naturally with the rest of the students, and then collapses into his chair at the front of the room when they’re alone. The chair rolls back towards the whiteboard. Chan runs a hand over his face.

“What are you doing?”

Jisung stares at him challengingly. He raises an eyebrow.

“Me?” Jisung says nonchalantly. He looks down at Chan’s sweater and adjusts the collar so it falls more evenly on both of his shoulders, covering up the mole that Chan had been absentmindedly imagining putting his mouth on. A small mercy. He shrugs, frowning slightly. “I’m not doing anything.”

Now he does get up to leave. He winds his checkered scarf around his neck and puts on his coat (black, sherpa, oversized), zipping it up tight, tucking the scarf inside. He walks to the door, Chan’s eyes on him the whole way.

Chan had hoped that Jisung would understand, would listen to him, and would move on. But he’d underestimated Jisung’s persistence and he’d, again, underestimated his own feelings, and he’d forgotten how much Jisung gets to him.

Thumb on a bruise, digging in.

Chan is so, so fucked.

✵

For the rest of the week, Jisung comes to class and broods silently.

Chan tries to not let it get to him, but Jisung’s right there and he either can’t or doesn’t bother to keep his emotions from showing on his face. Anger, resentment, pain. Jisung’s head hanging, his jaw locked, his legs spread so he can sit down low in his chair.

And then he disappears. For two days, Chan doesn’t see him around the music building. His seat sits vacant at the front of the classroom, right in Chan’s line of sight. Chan imagines a hundred different things that could have happened to him, even as he knows that it’s probably fine, that Jisung probably just needs space. He worries himself sick, worries his way into two nights of nightmares, two nights of bass drum kicks of panic that leave him shaking in his own kitchen, blinking in the fluorescent light.

On Friday Chan gives up, and falls asleep after promising himself he’ll text Jisung tomorrow, just to make sure he’s safe.

But he doesn’t have to wait that long. Jisung calls him just after midnight.

✵

And just like last time, Chan comes running when Jisung calls, and now here he is; navigating through a snowstorm on the tight, sloping streets of Itaewon at one o’clock in the morning.

“Jisung,” Chan says, relieved, when he finally finds the address Jisung sent him, and Jisung climbs in the car, shaking snow off of his arms and shoulders. Chan can’t tell if he looks especially gorgeous tonight or if Chan is just that happy to see him, just that thankful that he’s okay. “I was worried about you.”

Jisung slumps back into Chan’s passenger seat. His cheeks are bright pink with cold but his eyes are clear, and he doesn’t smell like alcohol, just the light wood and citrus cologne he wears when he goes out.

“You were?” Jisung asks, scanning Chan’s face.

“Of course I was,” Chan says quietly. “You weren’t in class, I thought—” Chan shakes his head, “I don’t know what I thought. But you’re here. I’m glad you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” Jisung says, wriggling out of his coat and holding his hands in front of the heater, flexing his fingers.

Chan looks out the front windshield. Tiny snowflakes are hitting the glass and melting.

"I didn't know if you'd come," Jisung says.

"Of course I came," Chan says. He hadn't considered not coming, just rolled out of bed and shoved his feet into his snow boots and got in the car. "It's snowing. And like I told you; I care about you."

Jisung laughs, a little sarcastic tsk, sucked in through his teeth.

"I do," Chan says, pain in his stomach, ache in his chest. "I meant everything I said the other day, but mostly I just meant that I care. That I worry about you. And that's why, I mean… I want us to still be close. Just. It's not a good idea for me to be alone with you."

"You mean like this?"

Small car, small office, recording studio. Closed doors and covered windows. Snow falling heavier now, hiding them from the pedestrians on the street.

Chan cuts a glance over to Jisung, who's looking at him so intensely Chan swears he can feel it on his skin like a touch.

"Yeah," Chan exhales. "Like this."

"Huh," Jisung says with a small pout, fiddling with the zipper of the coat in his lap. "Why not?"

"What?"

"It's just that the other day, in your office," Jisung says. "You told me that you didn't want me."

Damn it. Chan's seatbelt feels too tight across his chest, and his coat is starting to make him sweat.

so, did you fuck her?

Chan clenches his jaw. He shouldn't have come. He should have stayed in bed. He'd actually been sleeping well for once. But what was he supposed to do? Leave the kid out in the cold, alone?

"So if you don't want me," Jisung says, "Then there shouldn't be any problem, right? It's not like I'm going to throw myself at someone who doesn't want me back."

More snow falls on the windshield, and it sticks, collecting in a white line on each windshield wiper.

"Right," Chan says, uneasily.

Jisung doesn’t say anything, just hums absentmindedly. Chan shifts back into drive and pulls away from the curb.

Jisung gives him the address of the student dormitory where he lives with Minho and Hyunjin, practically all the way back on campus, back over the river, which Chan had already crossed to get here from where he lives, in Songpa.

“You took my shirt,” Chan says.

“I did,” Jisung says, a note of smugness in his voice. “Do you want it back?”

No, Chan wants to say, No, keep it. It looks better on you. Wear it all the time. In fact, wear it and nothing else.

“Yes,” Chan says instead. “It was expensive.”

Jisung hums, “I thought so. It’s really soft.”

Chan’s ears are definitely burning now.

“I’ll run up and get it,” Jisung says, “When you drop me off.”

“Okay,” Chan says, tightening his hands on the steering wheel.

Chan’s throat feels tight. They get on the highway, where the snow picks up, and traffic slows down. They’re almost across the bridge, but none of the cars are moving. Jisung is painted red and gold in the brake lights of the car ahead of them.

“Your ears are so red,” Jisung says. Out of the corner of his eye, Chan sees him raise a hand like he’s actually going to touch Chan’s ear, but then he sets his hand back in his own lap.

"You know, you didn’t use to lie to me," Jisung says, resting his head on the seat back before turning it to look up at Chan. His eyelashes cast long shadows on his cheeks, and in this light his irises are so dark they almost look black. “I liked that about you. I could trust you. Why are you lying to me now?"

Chan can’t remember the last time he wanted someone this badly. He feels it in his hands, the propulsion, his body not understanding why he wasn’t just touching Jisung already. He really should have stayed in bed.

Chan groans, massaging his forehead.

"Why won’t you admit how you feel?”

“Jesus Christ, Jisung,” Chan hisses. “Why are you being such a fucking brat?”

Chan immediately cringes, flicking his eyes over to Jisung. But Jisung looks positively thrilled, a twitch of his mouth and a flare of his nostrils.

“Sorry. Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean— You’re just— I know you’re teasing me and I know that you think this is some kind of game, like you’re trying to see how flustered you can make me, but," Chan makes his voice as gentle as he can, with his heart stampeding in his chest. “But I can’t handle it, okay?”

There’s silence in the car then, just the swish and squeak of the windshield wipers. The muffled buzz of the engine.

“Why not?”

Fuck it.

“You know why,” Chan says, exasperated. “You as much as said it. You wore my clothes to class because you knew it would get to me. You know, Jisung. Let that be enough and just drop it. Please, just drop it.”

Jisung leans over, crossing into Chan’s space. Goosebumps erupt all over the right side of Chan’s body, the hairs on his arm rising. The cars in front of them are still stopped.

"And if it's not enough?" Jisung asks, his voice close.

Jisung carefully, so carefully, like he’s afraid Chan will spook, rests his hand on Chan’s chest. Fingertips first, and then the press of a palm.

“I need you to say it,” Jisung says quietly. “I need you to tell me why you can’t be alone with me.”

“Because I—” Chan swallows. His heart beats faster, and Chan feels like he’s going to fall apart, melt completely into his seat. The only thing holding him together is Jisung’s hand over his ribcage. “Because I can’t stop thinking about you, either. Because I want you so much, all the time.”

Jisung groans, burying his face in the side of Chan’s neck. Every place Jisung touches him burns, and Chan wants to lean into him.

“Please,” Jisung says, and Chan can feel the brush of his eyelashes on his skin. “I need you. Let me touch you. I'm losing my mind.”

Chan’s resolve breaks at the gentle sincerity in Jisung’s voice, the careful touch of his fingers. He lets go of the steering wheel with one hand and takes Jisung’s wrist, pulls it up with a shaking hand and presses a kiss to the center of his palm. He glances at Jisung, who is staring at Chan’s mouth, eyes hooded, perfect rose-petal lips parted, just right for Chan to duck down and slot his own lips between.

Before he can do that, though, the lights change— brake lights shutting off as traffic starts to move again, the cars in front of them pulling away.

“Okay,” Chan says, his eyes flicking between Jisung’s waiting mouth and the road ahead. “Okay. Let me just pull over.”

“‘kay,” Jisung mumbles. His hand is back on Chan’s chest, fingers inching their way up to his collar.

Chan signals to turn right as soon as they get off the bridge, and then puts his hand on top of Jisung’s at the red light.

“Feel that?” Chan says, pressing Jisung’s hand down so he can feel the wild pounding of Chan's heartbeat. Jisung nods, forehead against Chan’s temple, leaning across the center console, twisted towards Chan, his seatbelt still buckled across his lap but tucked under his arm.

Chan pulls down a small side street and parks behind an apartment building with a row of shops on the first floor, all with darkened windows.

Chan kills the engine, turns, and in a rustle of coats, seatbelts unbuckling, he takes Jisung’s face in his hands and kisses him.

The cut and release of tension feels incredible; an enormous swoop of emotion that rushes through Chan, leaving him winded, his nerves singing. Jisung slips his small tongue into Chan’s mouth, kissing him wetly. Chan half-smiles against his mouth, sliding a hand into Jisung’s hair to pull him closer, cradling the back of his head.

Jisung kisses him eagerly, grabbing at him everywhere he can reach, squeezing his pecs over his shirt and then slipping his hand underneath and feeling Chan’s abdominal muscles.

“Want you so bad,” Jisung whimpers between kisses. “Please… pleasepleaseplease.”

“You have me,” Chan says, cupping his face and nudging their noses together. He puts his thumb on Jisung’s chin, dragging his bottom lip down, and then leaning in to taste him again. “What do you want?”

Jisung paws at the front of Chan’s sweatpants until his fingers find Chan’s cock, already half-hard. He grips it firmly, heel of his hand pushing down, looking into Chan’s eyes.

“Can I suck you off?”

Chan swears his heart stops for a second. Jisung’s going to be the literal, actual death of him someday. His cock throbs in Jisung’s hand, and he’s well on the way to fully hard.

“You— You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” Jisung says, pressing down on Chan’s cock again. His pink tongue swipes over his bottom lip. “Want you in my mouth.”

And there goes the last bit of Chan’s resolve.

“Fuck, okay,” Chan groans, taking his cock out and working his hand over it a few times, kissing Jisung again, chasing his mouth. He grips his cock at the base. “C’mere.”

Jisung nips at Chan's neck and bends down. He pauses, his fingers halting right under the crown of Chan's cock, his thumb brushing over the sensitive head.

Chan's brain feels like hot soup, and he’s desperate to come, desperate for Jisung. So desperate that when Jisung touches his warm, wet mouth to the head of Chan’s cock, he whines, an embarrassing, high-pitched sound he tries to muffle with his fist.

Jisung presses a kiss right on the tip of Chan's cock, and his lips are warm and plush and soft and Chan wants to lift his hips, push inside his mouth.

Jisung’s tongue feels fucking magical, wrapping warmly around Chan’s cock, pressing it snugly against the ridges in the roof of his mouth as he slides down.

"Fuck, oh fuck," Chan swears. Jisung moans around him as he sinks down.

Chan throws his head back hard enough against the seat back that it makes a noise, but he barely fucking feels it, too lost in the feeling of Jisung, Jisung, Jisung.

He threads his fingers through Jisung's hair and gently guides him up and down.

"You feel amazing, Jisung, shit," Chan babbles.

Jisung bobs his head lower, the slide easier as he starts to drool around Chan's cock.

Jisung pulls off with a filthy slurp and looks up at Chan, his lips shiny.

"Come in my mouth," he says, his voice deeper and rougher than Chan's ever heard it. It makes his cock twitch in Jisung's hand.

Jisung sinks back down further this time. He switches from simply teasing to actively trying to make Chan come. His hand works over the base of Chan's cock, the part that doesn't quite fit in his mouth, and he bobs his head faster.

Chan’s orgasm takes him by surprise, and he grips Jisung's hair too tight as he comes, forcing him down further on Chan's cock as his hips come up off of the seat. But Jisung takes it, swallows what he can and laps up the rest, the flicks of his tongue making Chan whimper.

When he comes back up his mouth is red and used and shiny with spit, and Chan can't help himself. He slides his hand down to the back of Jisung's neck and guides him in for a bruising, messy kiss.

Jisung slumps back in his seat and licks his lips, wipes the corner of his mouth with his thumb, then pops his thumb in his mouth, sucking it clean. And Chan's definitely going to hell because that's the hottest thing he's ever seen, his cock twitching in his hand at the sight even as he tucks himself back into his pants.

Chan slides his seat back and then reaches over and unbuckles Jisung's seatbelt.

"Let me touch you, baby," Chan murmurs, and Jisung shivers, leaning towards Chan already, so eager. "Come here."

Jisung climbs into his lap, bracing one hand against the ceiling of the car as he leans down to kiss Chan. His lips and chin are still wet with drool, and his tongue tastes like Chan’s cum and it’s messy and salty and wet and, somehow, perfect.

Chan jerks him off, their mouths close together, sharing air but not quite kissing. It’s cramped, but every twist of Chan's wrist is accompanied by a tiny whine from Jisung, and Chan wants to save every single one.

"You did so well," Chan murmurs, kissing Jisung's jawline. "You were perfect. Let go, okay? Come for me.”

Jisung moans, spilling hot spurts of cum over his cock and Chan’s fist.

Chan grins in awe as he works Jisung through his orgasm, the movement of his hand squelching slightly in the silence of the car. Chan kisses him sweetly on his parted lips.

“You’re so gorgeous when you come,” Chan says. Jisung giggles, his eyes slipping shut for a moment as he leans forward and rests his sweaty forehead against Chan’s. Chan fishes his pack of travel tissues out of the car door and cleans his hands, and Jisung’s cock.

Once he tucks the tissues away, he just holds on to Jisung, wrapping him in his arms and burying his face in his shoulder.

Jisung settles down into Chan’s lap and plays with his hair, running his hands through it, meticulously, fingers playing with the short curls at the base of his skull. Chan wonders if it’s something he’s thought about doing for a while.

"Can I ask you now?" Jisung says after a minute, dropping his hands into his lap. "Will you tell me the truth?"

"Ask me what?" Chan asks, his mind still foggy, relishing the weight of Jisung on his thighs. He brushes Jisung's bangs back and cups his cheek with barely contained wonder. Jisung smiles, suddenly shy.

"How you feel," Jisung says, gaze darting back and forth between Chan's eyes. "How do you feel about me."

Chan huffs. He puts his hands on Jisung's back, fingers gentle. He can feel the warmth that's absolutely radiating off of Jisung's skin through the cotton of his shirt.

How does he feel?

He does his best to explain, because Jisung deserves it.

"I went on a date with Rosie last week," Chan starts, his voice rough. “That’s where we were when you saw us. On paper, she's the perfect girl for me. She’s my age, she works in my field, she’s from my hometown. And the whole time it was easy. Like I knew exactly what to do and what to say. We had so much to talk about. It felt so… so normal. It felt like I was doing what I was supposed to be doing, on the right track, you know? And it didn’t matter, right, 'cause I didn't want it. I didn't want any of it, and I didn’t want her. I just wanted to be with you."

How does he feel? Guilty, anxious, worried, sure. But deep down there's something else too. Something fragile and bright and downright terrifying to Chan.

“I just want you,” Chan says. “I’m so sorry.”

Jisung bends down to kiss him. Chan kisses him back, his arms going around Jisung's body, holding him close.

"Don’t apologize," Jisung says. "What are you apologizing for?"

For kissing you. For not kissing you sooner. For knowing this doesn't have a happy ending and starting it anyway. For putting you in this position.

"For, all of it, I guess," Chan says, sighing. "I'm almost fifteen years older than you. I’m responsible for you. This is… bad. Other people are going to think this is bad,” Chan swallows. “I'm your teacher, Jisung. You should be able to trust me. That's the whole point."

"I do trust you," Jisung says emphatically, and Chan feels those words settle into his skin. They feel warm, like Jisung’s hands. "I wouldn't be here if I didn't. I wouldn’t be anywhere near you if I didn’t trust you. I don't actually trust most people. I'm anxious a lot and people overwhelm me. There's only like two people I can be around for hours without wanting to run and hide. And that's Minho, and you."

Chan thinks about himself, about that itch under his skin he gets when he's around people for too long. About how Nayeon and Jisung are the only people who don't make him feel like that. Chan gets it, understands what that means, but he doesn't know what to say.

"And I'm not—" Jisung pauses, his eyes on Chan's. "I don’t have feelings for Minho."

"Oh," Chan says, blinking. "Good."

Jisung half-laughs in surprise, "Good?"

"Yeah," Chan says, more resolutely. He lets his hands settle on Jisung’s waist. "Good."

"Hey," Jisung says after a moment, looking outside. "Come for a walk in the snow with me."

Chan breathes out in a laugh, and Jisung reaches over to the passenger seat and grabs his coat, black and fluffy and soft to the touch like sheep's wool. Ever since they'd kissed, this coat has been Chan's nemesis because it makes Jisung look huggable, like a teddy bear.

Jisung opens the car door and climbs out of Chan's lap. Chan kept his coat on, so he just grabs his keys and follows Jisung out of the car.

He's a few steps ahead under a streetlight, and he's looking up at the snow, his breath fogging in the air above him.

The snow has accumulated enough that it crunches under their feet, and it's like it puts a sound dampener over the whole city. Seoul, in Chan's fifteen or so years of experience, is not a quiet place. Any time of night, someone always seems to be making noise; traffic, sirens, groups of drunk university students clattering by Chan's apartment at two o'clock in the morning.

But right now, it's silent. All Chan can hear are the sounds of their footsteps, and the beep from his car when he locks it.

Jisung waits for Chan to catch up with him and turns to match his pace.

"I don't, like, make a habit of blowing guys in cars," Jisung says when Chan reaches him. "Just so you know. I've never done that before, actually."

Chan must look stricken at that because Jisung hurries to clarify, "In a car, I mean. I've sucked dick before. I went to an all-boys school. No, I meant I've never done it in a car before, not that I'd never…you know. Look at your face!"

Chan nudges him with his shoulder, smiling reluctantly even though the joke is at his expense.

"Sorry," Chan says, "This whole thing makes me feel like I'm corrupting you."

"Maybe. Maybe not," Jisung says, shrugging. "I’m not complaining."

Chan just blinks at him.

"Don't look at me like that," Jisung says, waving his hand at Chan. "All broody and stuff. Just walk with me."

Chan softens. "Lead the way."

Jisung leads and Chan follows along half a step behind, the snow falling quietly around them.

"I love snow," Jisung says. He lifts his arm and watches snowflakes catch in the textured fabric of his jacket. Chan can't help but smile. "I know people hate winter and I get that but, damn. I love snow."

"Me too," Chan says. Jisung grins at him, happily surprised.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Chan says, blushing at the close attention Jisung is paying him, has always paid him; the attention he doesn't feel like he deserves. "It never snows in Sydney. When I moved here, that winter was so fucking cold," Jisung laughs at that. "And I was miserable for weeks, and then it snowed," Chan smiles at the memory. "I walked around my neighborhood like an idiot, smiling at the sky. I thought it was so pretty."

"I like how quiet it gets," Jisung says, and Chan grins.

"I was just thinking that, too," says Chan. "How nice the silence is."

"Mhm," Jisung says, "It feels like we're the only people in the world."

They pause at the corner and wait to cross the street, and for a moment in the crosswalk, Chan can see a cross-section of the city: streetlights and tall buildings across the river, lit from inside, and the snow in front of all of it, dancing up into the darkness and back down again to rest on their shoulders, in their hair.

Jisung looks back at him and smiles so that Chan can see all his crooked bottom teeth. He's breathtaking, eyes shining in the dark, snow swirling around him.

They walk down another block and then turn back. Jisung looks up at the sky and Chan looks at him.

"What do you want this to be?" Chan asks quietly.

"What do you mean?" Jisung looks at him, tilting his head.

"I mean I can't exactly be your boyfriend," Chan says, "You deserve to be with someone who can take you on dates."

Jisung rolls his eyes. "I don’t care about any of that. When would I have time? I'm literally always at the library, in the studio with you, or in my dorm room."

"Or, apparently," Chan points out, "At parties in Itaewon with no ride home."

"These have been… isolated incidents," Jisung says, biting his bottom lip. "That may or may not have been slightly dramatized to get your attention."

"I knew it!" Chan shouts, laughing with amused disbelief. He's not actually mad, he can't be. Not when he'd have gone either way. "Did Minho really tell you to find somewhere else to stay that night?"

"No," Jisung says with a pout, looking down at his boots and kicking at the snow on the sidewalk. "But we did fight! And he always feels better when I give him a few hours to cool off!"

"Did you tell him where you went?"

"Yeah," Jisung says, "He knows everything. That's what we were fighting about, actually. You."

"Yeah?" Chan asks, "What did he say?"

"That I should, um, 'Under no circumstances continue to try and get your attention. That you're my teacher and this is a huge mistake,'" Jisung says, in a high-pitched, commanding voice that Chan guesses is supposed to be Minho.

"Oh," Chan says, "He might be right."

"I know," Jisung sighs dramatically, looping his arms around Chan’s neck. "But I'm not a very good listener."

Chan laughs, honest and big. He feels something loosen in his chest. Jisung grins back at him.

“Look, fuck everyone else, okay? I don’t want a boyfriend. I just want to belong to you," Jisung says. "Can I please just be yours?"

“You’re sure that’s what you want?”

“I am,” Jisung says softly. “Is that what you want?”

Mine. He lets himself hold the word in his mind. The idea that someone like Jisung could ever really belong to anyone other than himself is pretty far-fetched, let alone that he wants to belong to Chan, of all people. But he'd said it so surely, and here he is, perfectly solid against Chan's chest. Here he is, to prove Chan's doubts wrong. Mine. This can be mine.

Chan recoiled at the idea of Jisung being home for him, but maybe this can be true instead: maybe Chan can make himself a home for Jisung. Maybe he can be the safe place for Jisung to stay. He can give him that, at least, for as long as Jisung needs him, in return for everything Jisung gives him.

“Yes,” Chan says. He pushes Jisung’s hair off of his forehead. “Yes.”

Jisung shivers.

"Come on," Chan says finally, rubbing Jisung's arms. "Let me take you home."

Chapter Text

“And now you're pumpin' air to my lungs

This don't feel anything like sinking.

In fact, no matter how deep I go

Into you it looks like the water is crystal clear.”

- Hayley Williams, Crystal Clear

✵

Chan finally returns Nayeon’s calls a few days later when he feels like he can handle the weight of her disapproval.

They have a late dinner at her apartment after she’s done with work. Chan keeps the conversation on things that are not Han Jisung, which mostly seems to work until Nayeon finishes eating and puts down her bowl on her coffee table and turns to face him on the couch. “How’s the kid?”

Chan’s heart sinks. He sighs. “Are you sure you want to know?”

Nayeon seems to think about this, looking carefully at Chan’s face. Then, she crosses her arms and nods. “Go ahead.”

Chan’s hands are shaking, but he tells her everything; the date with Rosie and the text and the night in the car. Just vague details, no specifics. She doesn’t say anything afterwards, but her face is tight and pinched.

“Alright,” Nayeon says heavily. She unfolds herself, long legs in floral pajama pants and a sweatshirt with the name of her company on it. “I gotta pee. I’ll be right back.”

Chan watches her go, his heart sinking. As soon as she’s gone, Chan starts to cry. Hot, painful and stinging, the kind of tears you can’t help at all, the ones that fight their way out no matter what you do.

He feels cut open, heartsick. He misses his family. He has deadlines to meet. He’s certain, suddenly, that he can't do this. That he’s going to mess up, that they’re going to get caught or Chan is going to break Jisung’s heart. He just goddamn can't. And he can't take all of this if Nayeon is mad at him too.

“Oh fuck," Nayeon says, spotting him when she comes back from the bathroom. She stands stock still and Chan wipes at his eyes, frantically. He doesn’t think she’s ever seen him cry before. He doesn’t cry a lot. "Oh, Channie."

The sympathetic tone of her voice just makes Chan just cry more. He tries to stop, he does, he swears, but he can't.

"Do you want to talk more about it?"

Chan just shakes his head.

"Okay," Nayeon says with a quick, agreeable nod. "Cry as much as you want. I'm gonna sit here, okay? I'm not upset with you. Well, maybe I am. But only a little. I'll get over it. Just cry."

She sits back down next to him and focuses on the TV, letting him cry without interruption but also without being alone.

“Can I tell you what I’ve been thinking?” Chan says when he’s done crying. He sniffles. Nayeon moves slowly and cautiously, like a sloth, and pauses the drama they’re watching. She nods. Chan tucks his knees under him, and wipes his nose with his sleeve. “Okay so, it’s like. Jisung’s an adult, right? I know you don’t agree with that, but from a legal standpoint, that’s what he is. But his whole life, people have been making decisions for him. And I respect him too much to do that, you know? Like yeah, I want him and I like him, but also I respect him. And I’m not trying to claim some moral high ground here, really, I'm not. I know this is fucked up. I know I could get fired and he could get in serious trouble. But I’m not going to pretend like I know better than him because I don’t. He knows the risks, too. He says he trusts me so I’m trying to trust him, too. So I have to trust him when he says he wants to be with me.”

Chan chances a look at Nayeon. She’s starting to look a little mad, but she is still listening and that could just be her face, so he carries on.

“I know a lot of that sounds like excuses, okay?” Chan hiccups, wiping his eyes again. “I know. But it’s true. We have this connection, like I’ve never felt before. He looks at me and he sees me, Nayeon, and, and, and I don’t know. He says he feels safe with me. And like, okay, I'm a thirty-five year old guy, right? I feel safe in most places. But it’s different when I’m with him. It’s more. It’s like when I’m out there, I feel comfortable being Professor me, grown-up me, but behind all of that, there’s always this scared little kid in my head, you know? And the only time I feel safe enough to be the scared little kid is when he’s around.” Chan says.

Nayeon nods. She sighs and rearranges herself so she’s closer to Chan.

"This is about more than that, though," she says. "You have power over him. Power complicates relationships. Jisung seems pretty headstrong, I'll give you that. But that doesn't mean he's mature enough to handle dating you and being your student."

She’s certainly got a point. Chan’s not sure he’s mature enough to handle it, either.

"For the record. I don't want him because he's young, or because he's my student," Chan says, because he feels like it has to be said.

"I know," Nayeon says, scowling. "Trust me, if I thought for a second that was the case we would not even be having this conversation."

Oddly, that makes Chan feel a little better. He relaxes a little bit, putting his elbow on the back cushions of the couch.

"It's just that it's him. I'd want him no matter who he was, I think. He makes me crazy," Chan says. “And I hate this. I hate that we met like this. But I…want… I want to be something good for him. I just want to be there for him. He needs somebody to look out for him.”

"Oh, bud,” Nayeon says, “And who's gonna look out for you?" Nayeon's frown deepens, but then she settles back against the couch and rests her hand on Chan’s knee. “Other than me, I mean.” Nayeon sighs, again, and squeezes his leg. "Okay. I still think this is a terrible idea. But I know you, Chan. And I trust that you have good intentions. And you better listen to the next part because I’m not going to say it again until one of us is on their deathbed, but I love you. And you’d have to do a hell of a lot worse than this to get that to change. So there you go. You have my love, alright?” She turns her head to the side suddenly, glancing at the TV. She chews on the inside of her cheek, and looks at him out of the corner of her eye. “And I’ll be here with takeout and dramas when this all goes south.”

“Thanks,” Chan says, wiping his eyes and smiling down at his hands. He doesn’t quite know how to feel. Of course they love each other. They’ve just never said it out loud before. “And I. I um. You know. Like you know. That I…um…I…”

“Oh god, don’t hurt yourself,” Nayeon says, waving her hand at him. She looks sort of horrified, and Chan is finding it painfully endearing at the moment. She settles back into the couch cushions with a huff. “I know, okay? Save it for the next time I make a huge, life-ruining mistake.”

Chan laughs, relief washing over him. He needs to change the subject, like now, though or he’s going to start crying again.

“How are you? How was work? How’s my favorite girl group?”

Nayeon closes her eyes dramatically, draping herself over the arm of the couch and sticking her legs out so they’re resting in Chan’s lap. She covers her face with an arm.

“Don’t lie, we all know your favorite girl group is miss A,” Nayeon says. She’s right again, she’s seen Chan do Good-bye Baby at noraebang too many times not to know that particular fact about him. He groans with exaggerated embarrassment. “And I’m fine. Yuna and Yeji have been at each other’s throats all week though.”

Chan gasps, “Not the sweet baby!”

Nayeon drags her arm away from her face, “Yeah well the sweet baby left five days worth of orange peels under Yeji’s pillow this morning. She’d been saving them up, Chan. She was plotting. Apparently Yeji keeps clogging the drain with her hair and then refuses to fix it.”

“Holy shit,” Chan says, giggling incredulously. “They’re vicious.”

“Oh, it’s not really their fault,” Nayeon says, just as quick to defend her girls as she is to gossip about them, something Chan has always appreciated about her. “The company’s got them in all-day rehearsals to prepare for next month’s comeback. They haven’t seen anywhere but the practice room and their beds in two weeks. It’s enough to drive anyone up the wall.”

“Well they’re lucky to have you,” Chan says, and Nayeon wrinkles her nose at him, but there’s no bite behind it, and he can tell that they’re probably going to be okay.

✵

Chan gets to class early on Monday and sets up his laptop at the front of the room. He cracks his knuckles and glances nervously at the door every time he hears a sound. He and Jisung had talked about this last night, how it would go, seeing each other in a classroom setting again, after everything that had happened.

Chan likes to have a plan for everything. Jisung, on the other hand, likes to show up and improvise, but he’d been good on the phone, even though Chan could detect the subtle hum of excitement vibrating off of him. Part of him liked this, and Chan could tell.

Crazy boy, he thinks fondly, My crazy boy.

Jisung gets to class early, too, accompanied by Chaeyoung and Changbin, who are happily arguing over the quality of an album from their favorite EDM band that had dropped the night before. They all greet Chan politely, including Jisung, who, even though Chan’s heart threatens to leap out of his chest when he sees him, doesn’t let anything show on his face.

Before the night in the snow, seeing Jisung had felt like stumbling over the wrong note in the middle of a scale. A ringing wrongness. It hurt. The way hearing an out of tune piano hurt Chan's oversensitive ears. Now it's a flawless scale, sliding from the end back to the beginning with no missteps. An arching wave. It feels like something’s been set right.

It’s just them, at the end of the day, he realizes; just Chan and Jisung. Chan knows Jisung. And Jisung knows him. And no matter where they are or who’s around, when Chan looks at him now and sees Jisung looking back at him, there’s a spark of recognition, of warmth and sameness; something secret and only theirs.

Chan has office hours after class, and Jisung has other classes, but when he’s done he lets himself into Chan’s studio. Chan had been meeting with Chaeyoung to talk about her final project, but she’d left right before Jisung arrived.

Chan can’t help the relieved smile that spreads across his face at the sight of him. He sees it reflected on Jisung’s face, and sees his shoulders relax.

“Hey,” Chan says softly. Jisung smiles sweetly, his eyes on Chan’s.

“Hi,” he replies, biting his bottom lip.

“Got stuff to work on?”

Jisung nods, and Chan waves him in. “C’mon. Your seat’s still here for you.”

For the most part, it’s the same, back the way they were before the kiss, before Jisung had been avoiding him, before the night in the snow. And it feels nice to know that this is unchanged; that Jisung still asks Chan a million questions and hums along to the music he’s working on and listens intently when Chan talks.

They’re careful, edging around the subject while they’re at school, but there’s a new curve to Jisung’s smile, a new, fluttering, excited giddiness in the air; a promise of something to come.

Chan makes it through about two hours of being in the same room with Jisung and not being allowed to touch him. He saves and closes the file he’s working on and turns to look at Jisung, cross-legged on his chair, focused on his computer, headphones covering one ear.

“Do you want to come back to my apartment?” Jisung sits up straight, blinking rapidly and glancing down at the time before looking at Chan.

“Now?” Jisung says, his nose twitching as he starts to smile. “It’s not even four. Don’t you have more to do?”

“Yeah, but,” Chan clears his throat, suddenly feeling unreasonably shy. He stands up, willing his ears not to turn red. “If we go back to my place I can do work and kiss you.”

It’s worth the embarrassment, Chan thinks, for the look on Jisung’s face. His eyebrows shoot up, and he slams his laptop shut. He tosses it haphazardly into his bag. “You should have led with that. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

In the elevator on the way down to the parking lot, Chan glances at their reflection in the chrome of the door. Jisung, mussed hair, headphones around his neck. Chan with his dress pants and tucked-in button down, heavy winter coat.

He sees Jisung’s hand move, just slightly, and he feels the brush of Jisung’s knuckles over the skin on the back of his own hand. The simplest, smallest, touch, and it has Chan’s heart stuttering in his chest.

✵

As soon as Chan’s front door closes behind them, Chan kisses Jisung like he’s wanted to all day. He could do that for hours, just stand there and kiss Jisung, but he does have work to do. At least here he can answer emails from the couch with Jisung tucked under his arm, watching videos on his phone with his head on Chan’s chest.

Chan starts to yawn after a while. He’s exhausted, and Jisung’s presence is so warm and comforting. He runs a hand through Jisung’s hair, and presses a soft kiss to his lips when he raises his head. “D’you want to take a nap with me?”

Jisung nods cutely, tilting his chin up for more kisses, which Chan gives him with a small smile. He leads Jisung to his bedroom by the hand, flicking on the bedside lamp and laying down on top of the blankets and gesturing for Jisung to join him. They have a few moments of adjusting while they figure out how their bodies fit together, like this.

Jisung falls asleep on his back and Chan sleeps next to him, on his side, one arm thrown over Jisung’s middle. After an hour Chan’s alarm goes off and wakes them both up.

“Mmn,” Jisung grumbles, his voice rough with sleep. “Turn it off.”

Chan does, but he also props himself up on his elbow, squeezing his eyes shut and rubbing them with his thumb and forefinger.

“I gotta get back to work,” Chan says, yawning at the end of his sentence.

Jisung rests his hand on his chest, playing with his hoodie strings and gazing, heavy-lidded, at Chan’s mouth.

“I have a better idea,” Jisung says, reaching up and guiding Chan down to kiss him. And, fuck it, Jisung’s right. This is better.

The last time they'd been together, in the car, it had been rushed, but today, Chan thinks as he mentally writes off the rest of the workday, they have time. Chan lets Jisung show him how he likes to be kissed, lets him take the lead and teach Chan what he likes. Chan doesn’t ever remember being with anyone that got him this flustered just from kissing.

“How do you always,” Chan says, kissing Jisung deeper, resting his hand on Jisung’s opposite hip. “Taste this good?”

Jisung makes a shy little squeak at that, and Chan lays back down, pulling Jisung half on top of him, tangling their legs together. Jisung’s hood is pulled up and the strings tightened. He looks like a perfect cozy little circle.

Chan kisses Jisung sleepily, slowly. Jisung's so warm and close, Chan's hand on his back. Jisung's obviously still half asleep, too, letting Chan stroke down his spine. He wiggles happily, like a cat being brushed, and Chan chuckles against his mouth.

"What?" Jisung pouts.

"You're adorable," Chan mumbles, grinning.

Jisung hides his face in Chan's neck, and Chan just hugs him tighter.

Chan closes his eyes again, rubbing Jisung's back with his knuckles. Jisung is the softest thing he’s ever touched, and right now it’s making Chan’s breath catch in his chest. The lump in his throat he blames on the fact that he’s just waking up.

Chan slips his hand under Jisung's sweatshirt and carries on stroking him. Jisung moves his face so his breath puffs out against Chan's neck.

Chan’s fingers catch on Jisung's waistband a few times and Jisung looks up at him with his cheek squished against Chan's chest, "You can put your hand down my pants if you want."

Chan stops moving his hand all together, fingertips just under the elastic band of Jisung's shorts. He feels shy, caught sneaking more than he’s been granted.

"Would you feel better if I said 'Will you please put your hand down my pants?" Jisung gives him the biggest, cheesiest grin and Chan laughs shakily.

"Yeah," Chan says, relieved, "Actually I think I would."

Chan hesitates, and Jisung nudges him in the chest with his chin.

"Well? Will you?"

Chan listens then, slipping his hand under Jisung's waistband and sliding over Jisung's butt. It's nice to hold, soft and firm all at once, but small enough that half of it fits perfectly in Chan's hand.

He squeezes, slightly, and Jisung's breath hitches, and he shifts his hips closer to Chan's body. He buries his face in Chan's chest.

"Is that okay?" Chan says, and he feels Jisung nod.

"Mmhm," Jisung mumbles against the front of Chan's shirt, his breath warm. "I like the way you touch me."

Chan feels the burn start to catch, that fucking fire that Jisung starts in him. He strokes careful fingertips under Jisung’s ass, where it meets the top of his thighs.

"How’s that?" Chan asks. Jisung seems to think this over for a quiet moment. When he speaks again, he looks up at Chan.

"Carefully," Jisung says. "But not like I'm fragile, you know? It's more like you think I'm… I don't know,” he shrugs, “Important."

And here is Jisung again, cutting right to Chan's heart with only a few well-chosen words.

Chan takes his hand out of Jisung’s pants and rolls them over gently, holding himself up on his forearms over Jisung.

“You are important,” Chan says quietly. He kisses Jisung’s forehead, the tip of his nose, and his mouth. He reaches down and carefully touches Jisung’s side, warm soft skin exposed by his shirt riding up. "And not, in my experience, fragile."

"No?" Jisung says with a humorless laugh. "You'd be the first person to say that. I kind of… fall apart. All the time. For no reason, too. I cry at TV shows, movies, and really good songs. The other day I cried just because I saw a dog on my walk home."

"Was it a cute dog?" Chan asks. Jisung looks pained.

"The cutest," he says, pouting.

Chan laughs, a deep, happy belly laugh, and kisses Jisung on his bottom lip. Jisung starts to giggle too, his body shaking under Chan's.

“That sounds like a good reason to me,” Chan says.

Jisung runs his fingers through Chan's hair, stopping to scratch behind his ears. Chan lets his eyes fall closed, enjoying the sensation. Enjoying being close to Jisung. Chan nudges Jisung's jaw with his nose, and Jisung tilts his head to the side so Chan can kiss his neck.

Chan reaches further inside Jisung's shirt, feels along his ribs, his chest. Jisung hums happily so Chan continues, sucking a kiss over Jisung's jugular, feeling the rhythmic thud of his pulse.

"Can I take this off?" Jisung says, pinching the fabric of his sweatshirt. Chan nods hastily, and sits back on his heels so Jisung has room to sit up and pull it over his head.

"Damn," Chan swears under his breath. Jisung tosses his shirt off the bed.

Jisung chuckles, covering his bare chest with crossed arms. "What?"

"Look at you," Chan says. Jisung whines in embarrassment, but Chan keeps going. He touches Jisung's stomach, the relaxed muscles tensing under his hands. "You're gorgeous."

Jisung hums, lifting his hips up off the bed slightly, arching his body into Chan's hands. Chan slips his hands around to Jisung's waist and squeezes, admiring how perfectly his body fits here, like he was made for Chan to hold, just like this.

He's perfect, Chan thinks. Pretty waist, puffy dark nipples, neck an elegant curve up to his sweet face with its rounded cheeks and exquisitely kissable cupid’s bow.

He kisses the mole on Jisung's cheek, then the one on his collarbone, then the one above his right nipple, then down across his body to one he's never seen before, right above his belly button. Chan drags his teeth slightly against the skin there and Jisung squeaks, his hand flying up to settle in Chan's hair.

He likes doing that, Chan's noticed. Playing with his hair, tugging on it, running his fingers through it.

"This okay?" Chan asks, lifting his mouth off of Jisung's skin and looking up at him. Jisung nods, swallowing. His pupils are huge.

"Please don't stop," Jisung says, his voice getting desperate. He's hard in his joggers, Chan notices.

Chan takes mercy on him, kissing right above Jisung's belly button. He inches Jisung's shorts down until his cock springs free, hard and leaking at the tip. Chan wraps a hand around it, letting it settle in the crook of his palm, stroking his thumb over the sensitive head.

"Please," Jisung says, sticking out his lower lip. "Please please please."

“What do you want, baby?”

“Anything, anything, please.”

Jisung's cock is tempting, hot in Chan's hand, but Chan has something he's been wanting to do, a thought he hasn't been able to shake.

“Can you turn over for me?” he says. Jisung's eyes widen in shy surprise, but he obeys anyway, getting onto his elbows and knees. And then Jisung's perfect little ass is right in front of him, there for Chan to touch and admire as much as he wants. He touches both cheeks with his hands, smoothing his hands over them. Jisung makes a shy, quiet sound, an exhale, almost a giggle.

"Y'okay?" Chan croaks, his eyes still on where his fingers are gripping onto Jisung's soft skin.

"Yeah," Jisung exhales. "Just. Um. Nobody's ever looked at me like this before."

"I can stop," Chan says, "If it's too much."

"No." Jisung says firmly. "Please don't stop. M'just shy."

"Okay," Chan says, smiling fondly. He digs his thumb into Jisung's ass and holds him open, earning another shy breath from Jisung. "Damn. You're even pretty here. How are you so perfect?"

Golden skin everywhere, soft downy peach fuzz on his asscheeks, small, furled asshole between them, the same soft brown as his nipples. Chan admires him, teases his fingers over Jisung's hole. Jisung twitches, arching his back, and his hole clenches, the tight muscle flexing.

"You're so sensitive," Chan coos. Jisung whines, embarrassed.

“No, it's good,” Chan says, “You’re so good.” He feels like all of the blood in his body is in his cock, or his face, where his cheeks are burning. What he really wants is to get his tongue on him. Chan's already salivating at the thought of tasting him, drool collecting on his tongue. “Can I touch you here?"

Jisung stares at him over his shoulder, and nods, his eyes shining. But Chan has to hear him, has to know it’s okay for him to do this.

Chan swallows. "Use your words."

He doesn't know why everything feels like this with Jisung; like being burned alive, from the inside out. Every touch feels heavier than it used to, and even the air Chan's breathing feels hot in his lungs.

"Yes," Jisung says, his voice small. "Want you to touch me, please."

This isn't the version of Jisung that was daring enough to tease Chan by wearing his clothing. This isn’t the Jisung that sucked Chan off in the car. This is Jisung, nervous, Chan realizes. This is new territory for him.

"I’m—" Chan swallows again, licking at his lips. He feels ravenous, and he's trying to keep his cool when what he really wants is to devour Jisung, to wring every sound he can out of him. He wants to leave Jisung a crying, aching mess. But Chan's trying to take it slow. He takes a steadying breath. "I’m just gonna eat you out, okay?"

"Does that feel good?" Jisung asks in that small, nervous voice. Chan rubs a soothing hand up his back.

"Yeah, it feels amazing if you do it right," Chan says. "Can I show you?"

"Oh-kay," Jisung says, trusting him. Always trusting him so goddamn much.

Chan is gentle, holding Jisung's small cheeks open and nuzzling his face in between them, slowly licking over Jisung's hole.

He tastes like sweat and skin and Jisung. Chan moans, burying his face further in Jisung's ass.

Jisung's hand flies out to the side like he wants to stop Chan, or maybe push him away, but he stops his hand midair and clenches his fist instead, letting out a long, low moan and dropping his hand back onto the sheets.

Chan licks between his cheeks again, dragging his tongue, flat, across his perineum and over his hole. He points his tongue and traces it gently over Jisung's hole.

“Does that feel good?” Chan asks, sucking up the drool that collected on his tongue.

“Yes,” Jisung gasps. Chan grins, proud and fond. He kneads Jisung's asscheeks in his hands.

"Do you want me to keep going?" Chan says, his voice low.

"Yes, please," Jisung says.

"So polite," Chan compliments with a chuckle. He drags his fingers down over Jisung's hole and cups his balls, gently. Jisung nods rapidly, head hanging down between his shoulders. He's breathing hard and trying to cover it up, forcing the air through his nose with little whines.

Chan's affected too, painfully so. He grinds the heel of his palm against his hard cock, trapped in his jeans.

Chan licks him out until he’s panting and squealing and grinding back on Chan’s face. Chan is delighted to get that reaction out of him, and wants to try different things and see what Jisung will like, how much he can take. He gets excited thinking about all the things he can show him.

He reaches between Jisung’s legs and takes his cock in his hand again, fitting it in his palm again, where it’s burning hot against his skin.

“I want to see you,” Chan mumbles, turning Jisung over onto his back. Jisung collapses into the sheets, his knees falling open. His lovely cock is leaking, hard and curved against his tummy. Chan takes it in his hand and strokes him. “Come on, gorgeous. Come for me.”

Chan hovers over him, jerking him fast and staring down at him in wonder as he twists in Chan's sheets, grabbing at a pillow and sinking his fingers in, sweat beading on his forehead.

Jisung lets out little “ha-ha-hah” noises and crinkles his nose and comes, hard, all over Chan's fist and his stomach.

"Good job, baby," Chan says, grinning widely. Jisung mewls weakly, kicking his legs out lazily.

He looks completely spent, but he recovers surprisingly quickly, crawling, naked now, on top of Chan and kissing him. He moves between Chan’s legs, pawing at the front of Chan’s pants. He grins ferociously when he feels how hard Chan is. He cups Chan’s erection through his pants, and Chan chases the feeling, thrusts up into his hand without meaning to. Jisung dips his head down and kisses Chan’s bulge and Chan can feel the warmth, the pressure of his mouth even through two layers of fabric and it makes his cock throb.

“Can I see?” Jisung asks, his lips mere centimeters from Chan’s cock, which twitches again, heat flooding Chan’s body. Chan nods his head, licking his lips. Jisung undoes the button on Chan’s pants, then slowly pulls the zipper down.

Jisung licks up Chan’s cock, from the base to the tip, holding it steady with one hand. His tongue is velvet-soft and when he wraps his lips around the head, his mouth is so warm inside, feels so good Chan has to thrust up again, has to chase that heat. Jisung alternates between bobbing his head and slicking Chan’s cock with spit and working his fist over the length.

“Fuck,” Chan swears, as Jisung kisses the inside of Chan’s thigh, his fist moving faster, focusing on the head of Chan’s cock. Jisung looks up at him through his eyelashes and takes Chan into his mouth again, sinking down until he’s almost in Jisung’s throat. He brushes Jisung’s hair off his face and sinks his fingers into it, holding on for dear life.

Jisung sinks a little further down and swallows, his tongue moving against Chan’s cock and that’s it, Chan’s done for. He comes, spilling mostly into Jisung’s mouth, and then onto his lips and chin when he pulls off.

Chan collapses back into his mattress, feeling absolutely boneless.

“Shit, fuck, come here,” Chan reaches for Jisung, and he crawls up Chan’s body, settling in at his side. Chan grabs a tissue from the box on his nightstand and wipes his cum off of Jisung’s face. He tosses the tissue aside to be picked up later and tugs Jisung close, squeezing him in his arms.

✵

When Chan wakes up again, Jisung’s not next to him. Chan finds him standing uncertainly in the kitchen, biting his thumbnail. He’s just wearing underwear and his t-shirt.

“What’s up, you okay?” Chan asks, and his voice startles Jisung, who turns around and blushes.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jisung says, smiling his most charming, heart-shaped smile. Chan’s not exactly fooled. He does the same thing when he’s nervous, flashes his most genuine smile, the one he practices in the mirror that makes his dimple show, the one that says ‘nothing wrong here!’.

“Nuh-uh,” Chan says. “Tell me what you need.”

“It’s stupid,” Jisung says. “I just wanted a glass of water.”

“That’s all?” Chan chuckles, going to his cabinet and getting a glass. He gets a glass and fills it from the pitcher in the fridge, then hands it to Jisung.

“Thanks,” Jisung says, smiling slightly.

“Don’t be afraid to ask me for stuff, okay?” Chan says, the words pouring out of him. “And when you’re here you can feel at home. Eat whatever you want, drink whatever you want.”

“Sorry,” Jisung says, finishing the glass and setting it down. His bottom lip shines with water. “I know it’s dumb but I was like ‘oh fuck where does he keep his glasses,’ and then I didn’t want you to catch me rifling through your cabinets and I didn’t know where to put the glass when I was done and I didn’t know where the stuff to wash it was and I didn’t want to leave dirty dishes in your sink and oh, wow,” Jisung lets out a weak laugh. “I’ll shut up now.”

Chan just smiles, leaning against his counter and crossing his arms.

“Are you laughing at me?” Jisung says suspiciously.

“No, no,” Chan says, putting his hands up, amused. “Just wondering if this is the same boy who went through my laundry and stole my clothes.”

Jisung flushes.

“That— that was different. I don’t think I thought I’d ever actually get to be with you, yeah? I wanted all I could get. I wanted a piece of you. I wanted you so much. That night, sleeping in your bed? Everything smelled like you and you were right there, so close, but I couldn’t have you. I thought I was gonna lose my mind.”

Chan thinks of the clothes Jisung wore that night, still in his drawer, unwashed. It’s weird. He knows it’s weird. But yeah, Chan can understand wanting like that.

“Well, anyway, it feels different now. I know how much this bothers you. Us, I mean. Me. I didn’t want to give you any reason to…” He trails off, embarrassed.

“Reason to…what?” Chan asks, “Leave you? And you think asking for a glass of water would be my final straw?”

“I know, I know,” Jisung says, “It’s stupid.”

“No, hey,” Chan pushes off the counter and crosses to Jisung. He looks so small, shoulders slumped, one lower than the other. “Can I touch you?”

Jisung nods, quick. Chan touches the side of his face, his neck. Holds his pretty head in his hands.

“This situation isn’t ideal, yeah,” Chan says. “But that’s not your fault. Any consequences, any burden that comes from this, those are mine to bear, okay? Not yours. I don’t blame you. You’re not an inconvenience, Jisung. You’re a gift.”

Jisung’s mouth opens, then snaps closed. His eyes fill with tears and he wipes them away rapidly.

Chan cups his damp cheeks in his hands and kisses him. “I should have said all this before, but I won’t let anything bad happen to you, okay? I promise.”

Chan makes dinner for them, microwavable dishes from the freezer (he’s never been a good cook). After they eat, Jisung asks to see Chan’s guitars so Chan takes them down off of the wall in his bedroom and lets him play around with his Gibson Les Paul, his acoustic Fender. He hangs them so carefully back up when he’s done.

Chan should probably take him home soon, but they start talking about music and they get carried away, sitting back down on Chan’s bed and making each other laugh.

"We all have access to music, one way or another, right?" Jisung is saying, excitedly. Chan’s looking at him with so much fondness that he’s sure it's all over his face. "And pop music is right there, it's not hard to access or understand. You help the most people that way. Maybe it's not the most 'refined' artform. I'm not playing the cello in the Seoul fucking Philharmonic or anything," Jisung says. Chan doesn't doubt for a second that he could, if that's what he had set his mind on, instead of producing. He could be first chair if he wanted to be. "But if I can help one person feel a little better because of the music I make? Then I think that's pretty good."

"I know it sounds cheesy, but when I didn't have anything else, I had music, and that's real, you know? I had SHINee, I had BTOB, I had Wonder Girls, I had—," he stops talking abruptly, his eyes flicking away from Chan's.

"What?" Chan asks. He genuinely wants to know, and wants to hear Jisung speak.

"This is going to sound bad," Jisung says. "But I promise it's not like that."

"Like what?"

Jisung groans, bending forward and burying his head in the sheets. "You're gonna think I'm crazy."

"Tell me," Chan teases. "I promise I won't. It can’t be worse than what I already know."

"Okay," Jisung says, taking a breath and sitting up. "When I was having a hard time in high school, there was this album that I loved. I used to put it on repeat and I thought it was really satisfying because it had this...cohesive sound, and it was beautiful and I could lose myself in the music. So I wanted to know who produced it, and it was, um,” Another glance at Chan’s face, then away again. “It was you."

"It was Kim Seungmin’s solo album? In My Universe?" Jisung says quietly, "I could just tell that you were good at this, that you cared, that you were someone who saw music the way I see it." Jisung shrugs, looking down at his hands in his lap. "In order to make good music, and I mean consistently good music, not just a hit song here and there, you have to love it. So I listened to all the songs I could find that had you listed as a composer."

Chan's eyes are locked on Jisung's face, his breaths coming in short and shallow.

"I just kept thinking about how much you must love music, 'cause I could feel it in every track you make," Jisung says.

"So I picked this school," Jisung continues, intent on getting to the end of his story. Chan hangs on his every word, knowing what's coming next but needing to hear it anyway. "Because I wanted to study with you."

Chan doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know how to wrestle with this feeling, the awe and gratitude and fear. Choices. In Jisung’s real, actual life, made because of Chan. Choices Jisung made, choices Jisung continues to make because of Chan, for Chan.

It’s heavy, intense. Intense like Jisung’s eyes on him from the front of the classroom.

A smarter man would probably have something to say right now, but Chan can’t think of anything, anything at all other than, why me? Of all people, why me?

And deeper than that, darker than that, there’s a part of Chan that is preening under Jisung’s intensity. A part of Chan that’s growing every day that is getting addicted to the way Jisung sees him.

And maybe he should be afraid. Maybe they both could stand to be a little more afraid of how wrong this could all go. But Chan knows fear. Greets it like a familiar houseguest, recognizes it as easily as his own face in the mirror. Chan spends most of his nights afraid.

This feels different. This is not the flat black fear of a nightmare, that blank, hopeless terror.

No, what Chan catches glimpses of in Jisung’s eyes in moments like this— that obsessive edge, that’s the fear of running headlong off of a cliff, stepping out of the door of an airplane at fourteen-thousand feet. Sure, he has no idea what happens next, has no idea what’s at the bottom of that cliff, or if his parachute is even working. He might find out the hard way how this ends, but surely, surely that’s better than never jumping at all.

“But that’s why I was so intense at the beginning,” Jisung says. “I just thought you were cool, and I wanted your attention. I thought it would get better once I had it, you know. I wanted you to be my mentor, I guess. And then someday we could be colleagues, y’know, collab on some tracks, compete with each other on the charts.”

Chan can see that, another path they could have taken. Maybe a better one, but Chan has Jisung now, and he’s way too selfish to let him go. He doesn’t know what to say so he takes Jisung’s hand in his. Jisung smiles up at him gratefully, squeezing his hand.

“That’s really all it was at first,” Jisung says, cheeks still blazing pink. He was afraid for Chan to know this, Chan guesses. “I just wanted you to notice me.”

“I did,” Chan says. “Of course I did.”

“Yeah,” Jisung agrees, scoffing. “I made it hard not to.”

“No, before all that. I notice you. I always notice you.”

“Oh. Thank you, Bang-gyosynim.”

“Don’t,” Chan jumps. “Don’t call me that. Not here.”

“What should I call you?”

“Chan. Or hyung would be fine, too. But just Chan is good.”

“Okay,” Jisung says, still gripping Chan’s fingers. “Chan.”

And oh, Chan likes the way his name sounds in Jisung’s mouth. “Say it again,” he murmurs.

“Chan,” Jisung says, and Chan stares at the way his lips move. “Chan.”

Chan takes hold of Jisung’s chin and closes the distance between them. Jisung makes a muffled yelp, but he doesn’t move, all his muscles going slack as Chan kisses him, licks inside his open mouth, hand tightening on his jaw. He flicks his tongue over Jisung’s bottom lip, sucking on him. It’s barely kissing, mostly just Chan being greedy, starving and depraved, and Jisung letting him because he likes it and Chan feels lucky.

Chan gets up on his knees and slides his hand back to cup Jisung’s face, Jisung moaning around Chan’s tongue, and Chan kisses him and pushes him down into the pillows, Chan’s weight pinning him to the bed.

“Sorry,” he murmurs. Jisung blinks up at him, bleary-eyed. Chan even likes the way Jisung’s mouth smells, his breath on Chan’s face. “Fuck. Jisung. You’re so…”

He looks down at Jisung, spread out under him, black hair in a messy halo around him on the white pillows. He doesn’t move from where he’s pinned but instead pulls Chan closer, rolling his hips up as much as he can.

“The way I think about you, Jisung,” Chan says, sitting back so he’s settled in Jisung’s lap. “The things I want to do to you. Those are… not good.”

Jisung gets up onto his elbows, his hair statick-y from being rubbed against the sheets.

“Tell me,” Jisung asks, “Chan. Tell me what you want to do to me.”

Jisung licks his lips, and Chan wants to stuff his tongue back into Jisung’s mouth, but instead he uses his thumb to pry apart Jisung’s lips and press down on his teeth, just watching how Jisung’s mouth looks wrapped around his finger. Jisung bites him, lightly, catching the tip of his thumb.

Fuck you til you're screaming my name. Hold your cute, perky ass open and watch my cum drip back out. Fill you up to the fucking brim, take you so many times that you're loose and gaping and crying for more. Come all over your lovely face, get it messy in your eyelashes, spread it over your blushing cheeks and your wet little mouth.

Chan swallows and shakes his head. He squeezes his lips together, eyes wide. He can't say any of that out loud.

“Did you think about me in class?” Jisung asks, bright eyes darting back and forth between Chan’s. Chan pulls his hand away.

“You were telling me something,” Chan says. “We were talking about you. I want to hear about you, not me.”

“I think you got the point,” Jisung says, shrugging casually. “I’m obsessed with you. What else did you want to know?”

Everything. Tell me everything.

“How about we trade off. You tell me something I don’t know about you and in exchange I’ll tell you something about me.”

Jisung perks up at that, “Can I ask questions?”

“No,” Chan says. He’s afraid of what Jisung will want to know, afraid he’ll say too much if asked. Jisung deflates, rolling his eyes. “But I promise I’ll be honest.”

“Alright, fine,” Jisung says. “Me too.”

Chan gets off of Jisung’s lap and sits cross-legged in the sheets, giving Jisung space to sit up too. Chan is suddenly reminded of slumber parties in elementary school; staying up late and telling his childhood friends things he’d never told anyone else, eyes fixed on the glow-in-the dark stars on the ceiling.

“I’ll go first,” Jisung says, tilting his head back and cracking his neck. “You remember that day when you’d just gotten all that stuff for your studio and we spent the morning just fucking around with the new equipment. And then there wasn’t anywhere for me to sit so I had to sit on the floor to do my homework?”

Chan nods.

“Yeah,” Jisung says. “So anyway you told me that I didn’t have to stay, that if I wanted to I could go study somewhere else. You asked me if I’d be more comfortable somewhere else and that’s when I knew for sure, because I knew there wasn’t anywhere in the world I could think of that I’d rather be.”

“Oh,” Chan says, and now they’re both blushing. “Knew?”

“When I knew how I felt about you,” Jisung says. He coughs, then slaps Chan's thigh. “Your turn.”

“I’ve never dated a guy before,” Chan blurts out. “I’ve had casual things, hookups, but never anything serious.”

“Why?” Jisung asks, but Chan shakes his head.

“No questions,” he says, “It’s your turn.”

Jisung frowns dramatically, but he seems to let it go. He relaxes into the pillows again, sighing and messing with his hair where it hangs in his face.

“I had a boyfriend,” Jisung says. “At boarding school. He was my roommate.”

As he talks, Jisung’s voice gets gentle, fond. He’d liked this boy, Chan can tell. (Yunho, Jisung tells him, tall and cautious and funny, handsome like a puppy.) It’s sweet, and it makes Chan’s chest ache. That’s the kind of relationship Jisung probably deserves, the kind Chan can’t give him, with someone his own age. A beginning.

But then Jisung continues. “That’s how my parents found out about me, actually. His parents found a letter I’d written him and they called my parents. Our parents didn’t want to take us out of school so they just told us to never speak to each other again. And I was pissed off, but he actually listened to them. Senior year started and he acted like he didn’t even know me.”

He’d had it, this relationship, the one he deserved, and it had been taken from him, and it still hurts, Chan can see. Chan’s tongue feels heavy in his mouth. He has a million questions, but he can’t ask any of them.

“See!” Jisung says, pointing at Chan. “It’s hard not to ask!”

“Shut up,” Chan teases, laughing. “It’s my turn.”

Chan thinks about what he wants to tell Jisung, what he wants Jisung to know.

“I’m not out,” Chan says, “Nobody knows except for Nayeon. She’s…she’s the closest thing I have to family in Seoul.”

“I played rugby in high school,” Jisung says. Chan stares at him, taking in his small, scrawny frame. Chan has friends in college who played rugby, and they were much, much bigger than him, with arms big enough around that they could easily have popped Chan’s head like a melon. Jisung’s not weak, exactly, but he’s certainly not built like a rugby player.

“No way,” Chan says, but Jisung just nods sagely.

“Yup, for two years. I was terrible and it sucked,” Jisung says, but Chan hears a note of pride in his voice at his story of athletic failure. They look at each other and laugh. “The coach never put me in. I never even told my parents I played because I was afraid they’d fly out for one of my games and see me just sitting on the bench like an idiot. I hated it.”

“Why—” Chan asks, still giggling. “Jisung. Why did you play for two years if you hated it?”

“Shh,” Jisung says, his shoulders shaking as he tries to hold back his own laughter. He holds up a finger and presses it to Chan’s lips. “No questions,” he says in English, mimicking Chan’s accent.

That makes Chan laugh even harder, and Jisung looks pleased with himself, watching Chan laugh at his joke.

“It’s your turn,” Jisung says, kicking Chan in the shin. Chan grabs him by the ankle and holds onto his foot. He keeps hold of it, massaging it absentmindedly as he thinks of more things to share. He hasn’t had someone be this genuinely and deeply interested in him in a long time.

“I have a dog. He lives in Australia with my sister, but he’s mine.”

Jisung smiles at that, wiggling his toes in Chan’s grip.

“My favorite movie is Howl’s Moving Castle,” Jisung says, “I love the soundtrack. I listen to it all the time.”

“I’ve been to three BTS concerts,” Chan says. Jisung’s eyebrows go all the way up. “Fuck, that’s actually a lie. I don’t know why I just lied to you,” Chan takes a deep breath. “I have been to nine BTS concerts.”

“No way,” Jisung says. “Nine?”

“Now you doubt me?” Chan laughs. “It’s true. Nine.”

Jisung just stares at him. “You’re killing me. I want to ask so bad.”

He continues, “Okay, you know that trendy cafe we went to? I never go there. I’ve been there exactly one other time. I wanted to impress you. I usually just get an iced Americano from McDonalds.”

For some reason, that really makes Chan want to kiss Jisung, so he does, releasing his foot and pressing a series of pecks in fast succession on Jisung’s mouth. Jisung giggles.

“I really, really like kissing you,” Chan whispers, bumping their noses together. He draws back and smiles at the shyly bewildered look on Jisung’s face. Chan makes a mental note to compliment him more often, if it has him looking at Chan like that. “That’s my fact. It’s your turn.”

Chan sits back down, but he can’t seem to stop touching Jisung, trailing his hand down his arm and resting it on his thigh. He draws circles absentmindedly on the exposed skin there. Jisung shivers slightly at the gentle touch. He looks up at Chan, his cheeks attractively flushed.

“I’m a virgin.”

Chan stops moving his hand. For a moment, his mind is completely blank.

Chan had considered that this might be the case. Fretted over it, that ugly word: corruption hanging over his head like an ax. But to hear it is an altogether different thing.

“Oh,” is all Chan can think to say.

“I just mean,” Jisung says. “I’ve never… Nobody’s ever…”

Chan wraps his hand around Jisung’s thigh. Jisung’s leg twitches.

“Nobody’s ever fucked you?” Chan says, his voice low, even to his own ears. Jisung shakes his head, his eyes locked on Chan’s.

Something awful, primal and thrilling all at once settles over Chan. He slips his fingers up Jisung’s thigh. Mine, he thinks again, mine.

“I’ve wanted—,” Jisung starts. “I want to. It’s just. Always felt like too big of a deal. And I wanted it to matter. I wanted it to be with someone I trusted.”

This moment feels important, delicate like a soap bubble.

“I have been thinking about it, though,” Jisung says. “Been thinking about you. I want it to be you. Would. Would you?”

Chan can feel his sanity slipping further and further away from him. He can see it, is the thing. He’s been picturing it in vivid technicolor for weeks now; Jisung taking his cock. It is a big deal. Chan understands that. He also knows that for the rest of his life, Jisung will have lost his virginity to his college professor.

Light, Chan thinks, He's light.

The things Chan wants to do to him. The things Chan has already thought about doing to him.

“Yes,” Chan says finally. “Of course I will.”

✵

When Chan drops Jisung off later, he sticks his head back into the car when he gets out. “Who’s your bias?”

“What?”

“In BTS,” Jisung says, grinning cheekily. “Who’s your bias?”

Chan rubs his fingers against his forehead. “I shouldn’t have told you.”

“Nope!” Jisung says cheerily. Chan frowns.

“Jungkook,” Chan admits. Jisung crows with delighted laughter.

✵

They don’t see each other much that week. Jisung has exams and Chan has his own tests to grade, as well as final projects.

Jisung wanted to study with Chan, but Chan had refused on the grounds that Jisung should be studying with his friends, and also every time they’re alone together, they can’t keep their hands to themselves.

Chan thinks about him constantly, incessantly; the way he teases Chan – bold and outright, always poking at him, never letting Chan get away with anything, evade any question, brush over any mis-step. The way he rolls certain syllables around in his mouth before he says them, the way he uses his laugh like punctuation. The way he smiles, the way he sings, the way he sucks cock. Everything about him. Chan likes it all, and it’s hard to focus on work when Jisung, bright, blinding Jisung, is the only thing he wants to think about.

Chan promised Jisung they could have sex once Jisung was done with his exams. That particular phone conversation had involved an increasingly nervous and floundering Chan and an increasingly delighted Jisung.

“You don’t have to bottom,” Chan said. “I’ve done both, so I don’t mind. If you’re, I dunno, nervous or anything.”

An extended pause on the other end of the line. All Chan could hear was Jisung’s puffs of breath as he walked back to his dorm. “Are you saying you’d let me fuck you?”

Chan felt himself flush, from his cheeks, creeping down over his chest. Surely there was no reason for Jisung to say it in quite that way. The visual had sprung to his mind, automatically, like a reflex; Jisung, bending him over and pounding into him: on his couch, on the floor, on the desk in his office. He’s not as big as Chan but he’s big enough, and curved, and Chan’s sure he’d fill him up so nicely. His blood traveled further south, his cock twitched in his pants.

“Yes?” Chan said. More silence on the other end.

“Okay. Noted. I want you to top the first time but, yeah,” Jisung paused. “Noted.”

✵

Jisung's vibrating with excitement as soon as Chan opens his door to let him in. He takes his backpack off, dropping it in a heap by his shoes and reaches for Chan. He goes to take Chan's arm, but Chan beats him to it, catches his wrists instead. He looks at Jisung down his nose, a teasing smile on his face.

"Someone's eager," Chan says. Jisung just nods, whining as he tries to extract his wrists from Chan's hold. Chan tightens his grip. He drops his voice. "Patience, baby."

Jisung rolls his eyes at that, pouting and stomping his foot. "I've been patient. I've been so patient."

"I know," Chan says, backing down the hallway, still holding Jisung's wrists. "But I'm not gonna rush this."

Jisung's pout deepens somehow. Chan chuckles.

"Did you finish all your exams?" Chan asks, still in that low, commanding voice.

"Yes," Jisung says. He makes a move like he's trying to kiss Chan, to get skin contact, but Chan just tightens his grip again. He backs Jisung up against the wall in the hallway, rattling the frames he has hung there.

"And your final projects?"

"Yes, Chan, fuck come on, just–,"

Chan traps him against the wall, caging him in. Bringing his body close enough that he can feel the warmth radiating off of Jisung but not close enough to touch.

And he lets go.

Jisung's on him in an instant, kissing him, teeth first like he wants to eat Chan, whole. He tugs at Chan's hair as he kisses him deeper, whining the whole time, little squeaks in between each smack of lips.

"I've been-, thinking about it, been waiting, please," He kisses Chan's neck, teeth grazing his skin. "You don't understand, it's so bad."

"I don't understand?" Chan says, amused. He takes Jisung by the waist, hemming in his loose t-shirt so it's pressed to his bodyline. "You think I don't want you? You think I haven't been waiting, too?"

Jisung gulps, his head back against the wall as he stares at Chan with shining eyes. "You want me?"

Chan smirks. He kisses Jisung chastely on the cheek. He's warm to the touch. He gasps at the contact.

"C'mon," Chan says, taking Jisung's hand. "Let me show you how much I want you."

✵

Chan preps him carefully, pausing at every pained furrow of Jisung's forehead to whisper praise in his ears and kiss his lips.

By the time Chan reaches out from under the covers to grab a condom from his nightstand, Jisung is clinging to him, skinny chest heaving and his face flushed red. He smiles, just a little, and Chan has to duck down to kiss him. Jisung hums and kisses him back, sharp teeth nipping at his bottom lip.

"Ready," Jisung breathes, shifting in Chan's arms, making Chan's cock nudge against Jisung's slick hole. Chan feels like he’s not going to survive this, not with the way his skin is burning up, the way his heart is pounding, and his thoughts are racing, insistent that he not mess this up. He wants Jisung’s first time to be perfect, for him to only have good memories of this. No matter what happens between them, he deserves that, at least.

He positions himself over Jisung, holding his cock at the base, resting his weight on his elbow. He checks Jisung’s face and finds his eyes closed, his lashes two dark, sharp lines on his cheeks.

“Hey,” Chan says, gentle. Jisung opens his eyes. Chan smiles. “That’s it, look at me. You’re so lovely. Did you know that?”

Jisung shakes his head minutely.

“You are,” Chan says, “My lovely boy, yeah?”

“Yours?”

“Yeah, honey,” Chan murmurs, heat pooling in his stomach. “All mine.” Chan kisses him, holding his own cock right under the head and pushing it against Jisung’s waiting hole. Jisung’s thighs fall open further, letting Chan closer. “You want me?”

Jisung’s reaction is immediate; a whine and Jisung angling his hips up, pushing his chest into Chan’s, skin on skin. “I want you so bad, I’ve wanted you for so long, Chan, please I—ahh.”

Chan pushes the head of his cock inside the tight ring of Jisung’s hole, so warm and ready for him. It feels like his body is pulling Chan in, his cock slipping in deeper. He keeps going until Jisung’s eyebrows pinch together in pain and Chan stops and pulls back out, then pushes inside again. Jisung moans this time, eyes rolling back, his head lifting off the pillow and sinking back down.

Chan’s cock gets even deeper before Jisung lets out a small whimper of pain that makes Chan stop and pull out immediately.

“You alright?”

Jisung nods, licks his lips. “M’fine. Try again. I can take it all this time.”

He looks solidly determined, slightly sweaty hair clinging to his forehead, big brown eyes shining and fixed on Chan. Chan chuckles softly and kisses him, a careful peck, before lifting Jisung’s knee over his arm, spreading him open wider. Chan pumps more lube into his palm and rubs it over Jisung’s hole, which clenches and flutters under Chan’s fingertips.

Chan slicks his cock up one last time and sinks into Jisung with one push that makes them both moan when Chan bottoms out.

"Ohmygod," Jisung says, panting, his forehead smoothing out. "Oh."

"Feel okay?"

Chan tries to catch his breath, palms sweating on Jisung's warm skin.

Jisung nods. "I can—,” Jisung gulps, his eyes falling shut again. He’s pretty, so pretty just like this; nose crinkled, top lip lifted, and all full of Chan’s cock. Chan watches as he puts a hand on his own stomach, pushing down. “Aw fu-uck. I can feel you everywhere."

"Yeah?"

"Mmm. Like," Jisung blinks hazily, dragging his hand up his torso in between them. "In my chest, in my throat, fuck. Oh, fuck."

Chan waits, both of them breathing hard, Jisung tight around him like a vice. He counts in his head. Five seconds. Ten. Fifteen. Jisung feels divine, and nobody, nobody has ever had him like this. The idea makes Chan feel crazy, wild, hungry, that he is making Jisung his in a way nobody else ever has.

And Chan's not confident about a lot of things outside of music, but he knows how to do this, knows how to make his partners feel good, and he wants to watch Jisung fall apart, just for him. Because of him.

He inches his cock back out and then pushes back inside. Jisung moans again, and he sounds so pretty.

Chan kisses his neck, rocking into him, thrusting gently. Jisung squeaks hoarsely every time Chan bottoms out, his fingers spasming in their grip on Chan's shoulders.

“Fuck, oh fuck, I didn’t— I didn’t know it would feel like th– this,” Jisung mumbles. He slips his arms around Chan’s neck. Chan exhales a pained, shaky breath and kisses Jisung’s cheek, nuzzles his nose up under Jisung’s ear. They’re so close, wrapped in each other. “Didn’t know I’d feel so—” He trails off with a whine.

“Feel so what?” Chan asks, rolling his hips forward again and again, relishing in the way the tight clench of Jisung’s hole relaxes to let him in. He feels Jisung shake his head.

“S’dumb,” Jisung pants, “You’ll laugh.”

“Promise I won’t,” Chan says.

"Didn't know I'd feel so close to you," Jisung says in a rush.

It's such a tender, simple thing to say and it cuts right to Chan's heart because it's true. He feels skin rubbing on skin, feels Jisung's breath on his face. He feels what Jisung is giving him, feels the timid shake in his biceps where they’re resting on Chan’s shoulders. Chan touches his forehead to Jisung’s, and Jisung slips his fingers into Chan’s hair and holds him there.

It's like they're out in the snow again; a blanket of quiet around them, nobody else in the whole world except for the two of them, matching breath, Chan moving inside of Jisung.

“Let me know when I can move faster,” Chan says softly.

“Now,” Jisung gasps, “Now, please. Fuck me.”

Chan can’t help but grin, kissing Jisung softly on the lips before slamming his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt inside of Jisung, his balls resting snug against his ass. He hoists Jisung’s legs up and pulls him against his body, fucking into him harder and faster.

“God, Jisung,” Chan groans, “You feel incredible.”

They move together, breath accelerating, Jisung’s cock hard and leaking between them, rubbing against Chan’s abs.

Once Chan gets a hand around him, Jisung comes so sweetly, and Chan isn’t far behind, his orgasm catching him unexpectedly, stars exploding behind his eyes as he spills inside the condom.

✵

In the shower afterwards, Chan cups Jisung's ass in one hand, letting the water hit both of them. Jisung's eyes are closed as he lets the spray wash over him, arms up, and Chan can see his small, dark patches of armpit hair. Chan feels himself staring but he doesn't stop. Not anymore. He just lets himself look.

He touches Jisung's hole, the tightly furled muscle still slick with lube. "Are you sore?"

Jisung shakes his head.

"Not too bad," he says, his eyes still closed, eyelashes wet and sticking together. He leans out of the spray of water and rubs his face, opening his eyes.

"Let me know if it hurts, okay?" Chan asks, and Jisung nods, lips parting in a silent gasp as Chan traces his probably sensitive hole again. The heat licks up inside of him again, the burn he gets only for Jisung.

"Turn around," Chan says, so he doesn't try and fuck Jisung in the shower. It's too soon and he's new to this and sore but Chan's had him now and it's like the floodgates have opened and every depraved thought Chan has vehemently pushed away for months is occuring to him at once. He wants Jisung's mouth, he wants Jisung's cock, especially now that he's seen it, appealingly cute and cut, unlike Chan's, and Chan wants to choke on it, wants to get on his knees and worship Jisung like he deserves, wants to let Jisung fuck his mouth, fuck his ass, whatever he wants. Anything he wants. Chan feels giddy with the possibilities, the things he can show Jisung, the ways he can teach him to make his own body feel good. "Let me wash your hair."

Chan massages circles on Jisung's scalp.

"How did I do?"

"You were perfect," Chan says, hoping he doesn't sound quite as besotted as he feels. He feels like he's in a Disney movie. Like he's got stars in his eyes.

“Yeah?” Jisung cracks a smile, his eyes squeezed shut to keep the shampoo out. "Can you grade my performance?"

Chan plasters himself against Jisung's back and nuzzles his neck with his nose. “No more grading please. The term’s over.”

"Fine, just. Can you tell me I was good?" Jisung says, "I think…I think I need you to tell me I was good."

Chan slides his arms around him and hugs him to his chest. "You were amazing."

Jisung is quiet for a moment. "Your best ever?"

Chan chuckles, and turns them around so Jisung can rinse the suds out of his hair.

"I don't think about sex like that," Chan says, "You were you so you were perfect. I don't want to compare you to anyone else."

Jisung seems to consider this as he rinses his hair, running his fingers through it. When he opens his eyes he's got a determined set to his jaw.

"I will be," Jisung says with a smirk. "Give me time and I'll be better. I'll be the best. You'll forget you've ever even been with anyone else."

✵

Chan hands Jisung a towel, and then dries his own hair. He opens the cabinet over the sink and grabs an unopened toothbrush, handing it to Jisung.

"You just…have this?" Jisung asks, tearing open the packaging.

"Yeah?" Chan says, wrapping his towel around his waist. "Why?"

"I have one toothbrush. I've had one toothbrush for…six months?"

"I like to have an extra, in case I drop the first one or if I have a guest," Chan catches Jisung's eye in the mirror. "What?"

"You're like… a grown up person," Jisung says. He sidles up next to Chan, resting his back against Chan's bathroom counter. "It's nice to be around someone responsible."

Chan laughs, "It's just a toothbrush."

"It's sexy," Jisung says, tilting his head, looking over Chan. He plants his hands on either side of his hips and hauls himself up onto Chan's counter.

Chan picks up his toothpaste, and Jisung sticks his hand out, offering Chan the new toothbrush, handle first. He flashes Chan a cheeky grin, water droplets still clinging to his eyelashes, running down his neck."Brush my teeth for me."

Chan laughs, pushing Jisung's hand away, assuming that he's joking. But Jisung just offers it again. "Please?"

"Seriously?" Chan asks, raising his eyebrows incredulously. Jisung nods, grinning wider. “You literally want me to brush your teeth. For you. Like you’re a baby.”

“Yup!” Jisung says. “My arms are tired.” Jisung gives an overdramatic pout that should be annoying, should be irritating and on anyone else it would be, but it’s Jisung and he means it, and goddamnit, he’s adorable and Chan is weak. Jisung wiggles the toothbrush in Chan’s direction again and Chan snatches it out of his hand, sighing.

“C’mere then,” Chan says, stepping between Jisung’s knees. Jisung scoots forward on the counter and opens his mouth, putting his hands together in his lap. Chan gets the toothbrush wet and squeezes toothpaste out onto the toothbrush before turning back to Jisung. He touches Jisung’s chin, rubs his thumb over Jisung’s soft bottom lip. Chan chuckles. “You look good like this.”

Jisung wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, which makes Chan laugh, which in turn makes Jisung start to giggle, too. Jisung nudges Chan in the side with his knee. “Shut uh-up!” Jisung whines. “I know it’s weird, I just think it feels nice.”

Chan cups the side of Jisung’s face with one hand. “It’s not that weird. Lemme do it. I don’t mind.”

Jisung opens his mouth again. Chan adjusts his hold on Jisung’s face so his thumb is under Jisung’s chin, and angles his head up.

It is a strange feeling, brushing someone else’s teeth. It’s backwards, for one thing, and Jisung’s mouth is small, and his tongue keeps getting in the way, and when Chan has to brush Jisung’s incisors they make eye contact and both start laughing so hard that Jisung almost chokes on toothpaste and has to lean over and spit in the sink. But even for all that, there’s something painfully tender about it, the proximity, the way Chan’s essentially holding him by the throat, Jisung’s stillness, his vulnerability.

Chan is careful, even makes sure he gets his gums, and his back molars. When he’s done he pats Jisung’s cheek and says, “Okay, spit.”

Jisung turns on the faucet and spits into the sink before hopping down off the counter. He stays close, nuzzling against Chan’s side as Chan brushes his own teeth.

“Thank you,” Jisung says, when they’re finished and back in Chan’s room.

“I really didn’t mind,” Chan says, searching through his drawers until he finds pajamas for Jisung. He tosses them at Jisung, who catches them and puts them on. “I told you, it’s not that weird.”

“No, I mean, thank you for all of it. Tonight. It was really nice.”

“I didn’t do all of it,” Chan says, pulling back the covers and getting into bed, patting the space next to him for Jisung. “You did half the work, if I remember correctly.”

“Yeah, sure, but,” Jisung shrugs. “I know you were trying really hard to make it special for me. I’m trying to say that you did a good job. So, thank you.”

“Oh,” Chan says, flushing. “You’re welcome.”

He falls asleep holding Jisung and he sleeps better than he has in a long, long time.

Chapter Text

His second day in Sydney, Chan sleeps until the early afternoon. When he comes downstairs, there are what seems like an entire book club’s worth of women his mum’s age in the kitchen, talking over chilled glasses of wine and ready to squeal over Chan as he tries to make himself breakfast.

He’s given a reprieve from their attention when Hannah returns, fiancé and bridal party in tow. She sweeps into the kitchen and only momentarily pauses when she sees the uncomfortable look on Chan’s face. She hugs him tight.

“Mum didn’t tell you? It’s a sort of unofficial wedding brunch,” she whispers in his ear.

Chan’s sister is getting married in the spring, to a guy, Daniel, that Chan doesn’t know particularly well. One of the hazards of moving to another country and only coming home once or twice a year.

It seemed like happy, if distant, news last year. Chan’s mother emailed him the engagement photos. They were taken somewhere tropical, Daniel kneeling in the sand, a big smile on Hannah's face.

Chan hadn’t banked on how much an engagement would change everything.

He recognizes one of the girls in Hannah’s bridal party, a childhood friend, but the other two are new additions, as are most of the women in the kitchen. Chan tries to stay afloat in the conversation, but there are too many people. A nervous pounding starts up behind Chan’s eyes.

Chan tries to make his way over to where Hannah’s sitting now, in the living room, to sit next to her and maybe ask her to remind of him of their mom’s friend’s names, but a woman in a lilac cardigan intercepts him and directs him out to the back garden with a too-friendly grin.

“Boys are outside, honey,” she says. “Us ladies have some wedding planning to do.”

Im Nayeon:

say hi to Hannah for me, and congratulations!

Im Nayeon:

you know about cricket

Im Nayeon:

didn’t you produce a title track for that new boy group’s cricket concept

Im Nayeon:

i dont know??

im gay

Chan’s father changes the subject to a recent loss by his favorite team, so Chan has to suppress his laughter at Nayeon, biting his lips and nodding soberly while his father talks.

Im Nayeon:

also you have to come home soon

nobody else will watch Nevertheless with me

Over his father’s shoulder, Chan can see Hannah through the back window, surrounded by movement; shopping bags, flurries of fabric and hands and tiny plates being passed around. Laughter and glasses of champagne.

Is this what weddings do? Divide? Chan doesn’t know.

Is this really what Hannah wants? Chan doesn’t know that either. Another hazard of moving so far away. He doesn’t know Hannah as well as he should.

They’d had fun, he’d thought, when he’d come home a few months ago, right after Hannah had gotten engaged, he and both of his siblings had stayed up late, sitting around the dining room table on Hannah’s laptop, window shopping for wedding venues. They’d split a bottle of pink wine between them, and by the time it was empty, they had been suggesting more and more outlandish ideas just to make each other laugh.

Chan assumed that the rest of the wedding planning would go something like that, that he would be involved, at least partially. But perhaps that was naive of him. Maybe later, when everyone else is gone, he can find Hannah and Lucas and see if they can steal a moment alone, just the three of them.

✵

Since Chan's been in Sydney, he’s developed a new inability to sleep without knowing where Jisung is, if he’s at home or out with friends. Chan knows it isn’t healthy. He’d told Jisung he couldn’t be his boyfriend, hadn’t he? So what right does he have to act like one, to worry like one?

The truth is that Chan spends most of his time with Jisung these days. And the more shameful truth is that before Jisung, Chan spent most of his time alone.

He still feels alone, a lot of the time, if he’s being honest with himself. He doesn’t really see his friends that often. He used to go out a lot more. He’d see Taecyeon more than once every few months, and they’d go out to bars with their friends from university. He would hang out with Nayeon and her boisterous group of friends and sometimes go home with a pretty boy. Those were few and far between, however, and always discreet.

More often it was girls he brought home, girls he was enchanted by, girls he wanted to kiss and spoil and take on romantic dates. There was nothing he used to love more than to have a new crush on a beautiful girl, someone he could write songs about, could daydream about.

What was she doing, right now? What would she say if I kissed her? How would it feel to take her to bed?

Sometimes it felt as if Chan preferred talking to these girls in his head over talking to them in person, where he seemed to get in his own way when it came to emotions. He always did fine at the beginning of a relationship. It was making them stay that he couldn’t seem to get right.

Chan hates admitting weakness. Maybe that’s part of the reason he’s had so much trouble keeping relationships: he’s always too embarrassed, too hesitant, too reticent with his emotions.

It’s strange, but with Jisung, Chan has the opposite problem. He can’t seem to stop telling him things.

Part of it has to be Jisung’s own eagerness to share himself with Chan. He shares so much, tells Chan so much, and wants to know about Chan in return. When he asks Chan questions about himself, he wants to know the answers, he wants to know everything about Chan, and is hungry for any information he can get.

So whenever he’s around Jisung, Chan finds himself spilling himself out, words falling from his lips before he can stop them.

And then, also, there's the kiss. Chan can’t get his mind off of it.

Jisung had come over to ‘help Chan pack’ the day he was supposed to leave for Sydney. Jisung had been anything but helpful; spreading himself out on Chan’s bed on top of his duffle bag and folded shirts, like a puppy that didn’t want its owner to leave him alone. Chan rolled his eyes and dumped a pile of jeans and socks onto Jisung’s chest. Jisung had laughed and wriggled, ruining Chan’s carefully folded clothes, and Chan hadn’t minded at all.

Chan put off calling a taxi until the last possible minute, stalling with Jisung’s pretty cock in his mouth. (And what a gift that had been, the way Jisung didn’t last more than a minute before thrusting, quick and rhythmless, into the back of Chan’s mouth and whimpering as he came, wet tears in his eyes.)

Jisung said goodbye to Chan at the door; cupping his face and pressing their lips together in a sweeping, romantic kiss that made Chan’s head spin, his heart fluttering like a goddamn teenager.

It was the fizz and pop of a ringing, upbeat melody over an accelerating beat; a summer song played with the windows down.

Is this how I make you feel? Chan thought, waving goodbye to Jisung as he got into the cab, Jisung stuffing his hands in his pockets, his mouth tipped down in a disappointed half-smile. Chan’s heart was pounding, giddy energy in his hands, which were shaking in his lap. The last thing on earth he’d wanted to do was drive away from that curb. I get it. Okay? I get it.

✵

Chan meets up with a group of friends from high school, people he sees once a year, but keeps up with via Instagram posts and facebook updates.

When they’d all been recent college graduates, Chan had been the star of the group; the one who moved away, the one who “made it”. He had what they all wanted: a career, a life full of success and celebrities and songs on music shows, and enough money to buy his parents a house near the beach. The last few years, however, Chan’s life has been stagnant, and his friends have raced past him with accomplishments that suddenly seem so much more important than a job.

Accomplishments like: an ultrasound, pulled from Jennie’s purse and placed tenderly on the bar table, in between plates of appetizers and crumpled napkins.

The mood shifts immediately. Any residual awkwardness that comes with only catching up occasionally melts away and everyone speaks at once, cheers of congratulations, and the questions that follow; When’s the due date? Girl or boy? Do you have a name? Boy or Girl? What does your husband think? Is he totally freaking out?

When Chan says goodbye to his friends on the sidewalk, he watches them walk away in packs of two and three.

He breathes in the warm summer evening air. He can smell the salt from the nearby ocean and hot, damp pavement. He keeps thinking about that ultrasound— such a small thing, that little baby with its already fully-formed toes, jelly-bean fingers curled into a fist by its head. Chan thinks about the look on Jennie’s face, how enchanted she’d looked, how changed.

Han Jisung:

Miss me yet? [9:47 p.m.]

And it’s like reality has thrown open a window in his head. A gush of cold air, direct from the Han River, rushes past his face.

Chan feels a pang in his chest, a sudden, fervent wish so strong he has to close his eyes for a moment. He wishes Jisung was here to look at him the way he does.

And maybe this is the problem after all. Hannah has her fiance. Other friends are getting married too, and Jennie has her baby and her baby's perfect toes.

And all Chan has is a secret. Because no matter how he feels about Jisung, no matter how they feel about each other, they have to be a secret.

For now, and for the foreseeable future. At least as long as Jisung is at school.

But then what? It's not like they could come out right after Jisung graduates. It would be clear, immediately, to anyone who knew how they met, what had happened. Chan met Jisung when he was his student. And people would assume that Chan pursued him, pressured him, even, because Chan is older. Chan has all of the power. The power to lie without repercussions. The power to be believed over Jisung. The power to put Jisung in a situation where he wasn't allowed to say no.

Never mind that it wasn't like that, never mind that Chan would never try to make Jisung do anything he didn't want to do. Never mind that Chan cares about Jisung more than he’d like to admit. Never mind that Chan will do everything in his power to make sure Jisung has a happy future, all of the success he wants and deserves.

And in the end, will it matter, does it matter, who pursued who? Chan was supposed to say no. Everyone will know that. Even if they don't say it, it will be in their eyes. An eternal question:why didn't you stop him? And then they’ll know, they’ll know Chan completely, because they’ll know that Chan did not say no because he did not want to. Chan wanted him. Chan saw him, knew how vulnerable and innocent and young he was and wanted him anyway.

Everyone. Not just people they meet in the future. Chan’s family. His little sister. His mom. Jisung’s brother. They will all know. Know what Chan is.

And even if they weren't who they were, even if they hadn't met this way, was Chan ready for what it would mean to be with a man, long-term?

Would Chan ever get to a point where he felt like he could redefine how every person in his life (except for Nayeon) perceived him?

Because that's what coming out would mean: giving up the Chan the people that he loved thought he was. And they love Chan, but they love that version of him. Who's to say that won't change when they see this different part of him?

Chan thinks about being with Rosie, about the nod of approval from the woman who reminded him of his grandmother. He wouldn’t get nods like that, he realizes, if he were arm in arm with Jisung. If he kissed Jisung in public. He’d get different looks, he’s sure. From there it’s easy to think about the other reactions he’d get. He certainly wouldn’t get a nod of approval from Taecyeon, not like he had when he’d shown him a photo of his ex-girlfriend, accompanied by a low whistle and a pat on the back. He wouldn’t get the impressed smiles from Jihoon and Hwitaek that he’d gotten when Rosie had draped herself over his shoulder at lunch, all those weeks ago. No wedding brunches with his mom’s intrusive friends. No admiring coos from old friends.

An old memory resurfaces: getting ready for a school formal in high school. Chan hadn’t been able to tie his bowtie properly. When they’d gone to take pictures out in the front yard, his mom pulled him away from his date and untied the tie, retying it expertly. He looked down and realized his mother had tears in her eyes.

“What? Why are you crying?” Chan asked, panicked, glancing around to see if any of his friends had seen.

“You look so handsome,” she said, “I was thinking about your wedding day. Whoever you choose, I hope she knows how lucky she is.”

Han Jisung:

I was going to wait an hour to text you again but I'm too bored

You never took your shirt back, by the way

[Image Attached]

[9:50 p.m.]

Maybe innocent wasn’t the right word for Han Jisung.

Chan fixates on the plush, golden skin of Jisung's thighs, where he can see them under the hem of Jisung's boxers. Jisung is going to be the death of him.

Chan stuffs his phone into his pocket and fishes out his car keys. Instead of heading home he drives to the nearest beach and just parks there, staring out at the sea in the dark. There’s no moon tonight, so even though there aren’t many clouds, the sky is an eerie, empty navy. From the parking lot, the waves are illuminated only by the street lamps, the light catching on the white foam as it crashes onto the sand.

He calls Jisung.

He sounds slightly out of breath when he answers. “Hey.”

"What are you up to?"

"Music stuff," Jisung says. “I finally have the room to myself.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Chan says with a smile. He’d assumed Jisung was alone for the holidays, and he also figured that Minho wasn’t around if Jisung was taking pictures in his underwear. "No Minho?"

"He went home for a couple of weeks," Jisung says, and Chan can't tell from his voice how he feels about that. He wishes he could see Jisung's face. Chan is better at reading Jisung when he can see his face.

Outside, a cool summer breeze is shaking the leaves on the copse of trees between the parking lot and the beach.

“I do, by the way,” Chan says, looking out at the empty beach. He hooks his fingers through the bottom of the steering wheel, just to have something to do with his hands. “Miss you.”

As soon as he says it, he realizes how true it is. How intensely he misses Jisung, how much happier he is when he’s with Jisung. He’d forgotten what this felt like, that it could be this intense. Had he felt like this with his ex? He doesn't think so. Not even at the very beginning.

“Oh, yeah?” Jisung’s voice drops. Chan hums in affirmation. “Good, ‘cause I miss you so fucking much. How much longer are you gone?”

“Two weeks,” Chan says, his heart sinking as he says it. Another two weeks of feeling out of place. Two weeks of wasted time he doesn’t have with Jisung.

“That’s too long,” Jisung complains. He sighs. “I can’t believe you’ve done this to me.”

Chan laughs. “And what, exactly, did I do?”

“Uhh, lets see,” Jisung says, his tone light and teasing. “You made me feel better than I’ve ever felt, and then you left the continent. Totally unforgivable.”

"Better than you've ever felt?"

"Mhm," Jisung says. “I liked it so much, hyung.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask you about that, actually,” Chan says. “I wanted to know if there was anything you wanted. Or if you had anything you liked, or didn’t like. When it came to sex, I mean.”

There’s a pause, and Chan can’t tell if Jisung is surprised or just adjusting his position. Chan pictures him sitting up, crossing his legs, phone pressed to his ear. His fingers, always in motion, tugging at the hem of his shirt or messing with his hair.

“Like kinks?” Jisung says, finally. “Are you asking me about my kinks?”

“I mean, not– not– not necessarily. Maybe? I just want to make sure you’re having a good time.”

“Are you always this considerate?” Jisung muses. “Or do I get special treatment because you stole my virtue?”

The question knocks some of the breath out of Chan, the reminder that he’s Jisung’s first.

“Little bit of both, maybe,” Chan answers.

It’s true enough that Chan’s being extra careful because Jisung is inexperienced. And part of it, too, is like what Jisung said— that he wanted to be the best Chan had ever had. Chan wants that, too. Wants to be the metric with which Jisung’s future partners are measured. It’s Chan’s selfish way of making his mark on Jisung permanent.

“Hm,” Jisung says. “Nobody’s ever asked me that before. Yunho definitely didn’t, but we never really did much because he was too nervous. And other than that…I don’t know. It’s never come up. Most guys don’t ask, they just want me to blow them or whatever.”

“Well, I’m asking. I want to know,” Chan stretches his neck to the side, easing some of the tension that’s been building in his spine. “Here. Lemme put it this way: what do you fantasize about?”

Jisung doesn’t skip a beat. “You mean other than you?”

Chan chuckles. “Fine. Fair enough. What am I doing in those fantasies, then?”

"You remember how I said I liked the way you touched me?"

"Yeah," Chan says. He rests his head against the headrest, and touches his fingertips to his own lips.

"Sometimes," Jisung says. “Sometimes I think about you being rough with me.”

Chan’s face immediately blooms hot, and he can feel it spreading down his neck and over his chest, pinpricks of heat.

"Oh, yeah?" Chan asks. He pinches his bottom lip, gathering skin and squeezing hard enough to hurt. "What. Um. What do you think about me doing?"

"Yesterday I—,"Jisung's voice brings him closer, bridges the thousands of miles between them.

"Tell me."

"Yesterday, I got myself off with my hand around my throat," Jisung murmurs. "I pretended it was yours."

"You'd let me–" Chan’s mind reels. He licks his lips, brushes his fingers against his mouth again. “You want me to choke you?”

"Yeah," Jisung says, even quieter. "Yeah, fuck, Chan, I think I'd let you do anything you wanted to me. Manhandle me. Tie me up so I can't move. You could have me anytime you wanted, anywhere. You'd just have to say the word, and I'd be on my knees for you."

Chan whimpers, a needy, pathetic sound.

“Chan,” Jisung says, breathless with excitement. His words tumble out in a whispered rush. “I really— I want you to put your hands on me and I want it to hurt. I want it to hurt so I know I’m yours, so I can— can feel how much you want me.”

Don't trust me this much, please, Chan thinks. He barely trusts himself. Doesn’t trust himself not to ruin this, doesn’t trust himself not to break Jisung’s heart, doesn’t trust himself not to hurt him in some permanent, irreversible way, to take too much from him. He breathes out slowly, his heart in his throat.

“Oh,” Chan says. His dick doesn’t seem to be keyed into the moral dilemma the rest of Chan is having, however. He can already feel it taking interest. He punches the steering wheel, light, not hard enough to make a sound, but hard enough to send a ringing buzz through his arm. “Fuck, Jisung. Fuck."

"Is that," Jisung sounds timid again. "Is that okay?"

He squeezes his eyes shut, pretends he’s with Jisung, over him, kissing his pretty forehead and whispering in his ear. Okay, Chan thinks. Okay. If Jisung wants to give this to him, he'll take it.

"Yeah, sorry, yes," Chan says. He clears his throat. "Of course it’s okay. I'll take care of you, I promise."

"Know you will," Jisung says. He sighs, his exhale coming out in a shaky whimper. He sounds desperate. He sounds like he’s— “I wasn’t working on music, earlier. When you called.”

“Oh?” Chan asks, “What were you doing, baby?”

“I think,” Jisung hums, then sighs, soft. “I think you already know.”

“I want to hear you say it.”

“I was, um,” Jisung’s voice cracks. “I was touching myself.”

Fuck. Chan looks out at the sea petulantly, as if it’s the Pacific Ocean’s fault that Chan isn’t with Jisung right now, that Chan can’t watch him, touch him, hear him, feel him, taste him. Jisung, on his dorm room bed, cheeks flushed pink, his hand down his sweatpants, hips thrusting up against nothing as he whimpers for Chan.

Goosebumps break out all over Chan’s skin. He even feels his nipples harden, his skin tight under his shirt. He almost asks Jisung to FaceTime him but he realizes he prefers it this way, that he can only hear him. It makes him pay attention to every noise, every rustle of clothing, every sigh. Chan presses the heel of his hand down against his cock.

"Are you touching yourself now, baby?"

There's a pause, and Chan can hear movement, and then Jisung moans, and it sounds muffled, like he’s clenching his teeth and it pierces Chan like an arrow. Chan’s own mouth drops open, and he feels drool collecting on his tongue.

"Y-yeah," Jisung says, his breath hitching.

“How does it feel?”

“Feels nice," Jisung hums.

"I’m glad. But we were having a conversation, yeah?" Chan keeps his voice still and steady, relaxing his body into the driver's seat. He sinks into this moment. He feels truly calm for the first time since he set foot in Australia. It's like the calm that washes over him when he's in charge of a recording session, giving out orders to everyone in the room, making them work together to create the song he hears in his head. "I wasn't finished. I want you to tell me what else you want. Can you do that for me?"

"Mmn," Jisung mumbles. "W-want you to leave marks on me, on my thighs, on my stomach, I want your mouth, your teeth, can- can you..?"

"Course," hums Chan. "I gotta remind you who you belong to, yeah? I'll mark you up so nice when I get home."

"Please," Jisung begs.

"Keep talking, baby," Chan says. "If you want to keep touching yourself you have to be a good boy and talk. You want to be good for me, right?"

"Chan," Jisung gasps, "Yes ohmygod yes. W-what else do you want me to say? I’ll do anyth— I –ah— wanna be good, please."

Jisung sounds so sweet that it’s making Chan crazy, and it's worse, so much worse, because Chan knows Jisung isn't like this all the time. Most of the time Jisung is bossy and contrary and completely in control of himself. It's worse because Chan knows Jisung hands all that control over to Chan willingly. It gets at Chan’s heart sideways, sneaking in where he’s most vulnerable.

"Of course you do," Chan says, soft. "You're so good, lovely. So polite and patient for me. Tell me what you think about, when you touch yourself. You have such a good imagination. I know you’ve thought about all kinds of filthy things, haven’t you, Jisungie?"

"I wanted—, I want," Jisung says, his breath coming faster. "I want you to come on my face, I think about it so much. Thought about you pushing me down onto my knees and making me gag on your cock. 'S'so big, Chan-hyung, fills me up so good."

Chan can hear slick, wet sounds now, knows that Jisung’s cock is leaking, knows he's getting close, and Chan wants to lick it from Jisung’s fingers.

"I think about you ruining my voice with your cock down my throat,” Jisung says, almost dreamily. “And calling on me in class, making me talk in— oh fuck— in front of everyone," Jisung says. He moans. "Nnnn— Chan, I can't—"

"Yes, you can," Chan says, sweet but firm, and when Jisung starts to protest again, he doubles down. "You can. Keep talking."

"Fff-fuck, oh fuck," Jisung says. "Just. You holding my wrists down and and unh, mm, holding my wrists and forcing me to take you as many times as you want, I'll do whatever you want, Chan, please, please, wanna— fuck Chann, use me use me use me."

Chan has to push down on his own cock again at how desperate Jisung sounds.

"Good boy," Chan says, "Such a good fucking boy, Jisung. Tell me who you belong to."

"You," Jisung says, his voice cracking. "You, Chan."

"Yeah, baby, all mine," Chan touches his own mouth again, pulling on his bottom lip. "Does my baby feel good?"

"Unh, y-yeah," Jisung says, "Wish you were here though."

“Me too,” Chan says.

“What— um— what would you do if you were here?”

Chan coos, “You’re so cute. You really want to know what I’d do?”

“Yes, please.”

"If I was there, I'd make you hold your hands behind your back and keep them there like a good boy while I sucked you off."

Jisung moans, "Please, want that."

"Mm? You do? You wanna fuck hyung's mouth?"

"Yes, so bad, hyung, please can I?"

"Of course, jagiya," Chan says, the endearment slipping through his lips without his permission. "Hyung wants to taste you again."

“M’close,” Jisung says. He hisses through his teeth. “So close, Chan, please.”

“Fuck, Jisung, wish I was there, wish I could see how messy you are,” Chan can hear Jisung’s desperate whimpers, the slick sounds of Jisung’s hand on his leaking cock. “Can you come for me?”

Jisung grunts when he comes, a gruff, masculine sound that goes straight to Chan’s dick. Fuck, Chan really hadn’t wanted to get his cock out in his dad’s car, but now he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to help himself.

“Cha-an,” Jisung groans, contentedly. His voice is deeper now, slower. “Ahh, fuck. I came so much.”

And there it is. The last nail in Chan’s proverbial, horny coffin. He unzips his pants, moaning as soon as he gets a hand around himself. Jisung’s quiet and for half a second Chan worries that he’s made him uncomfortable, but then Chan’s phone buzzes once, against his ear.

“Check your phone.”

Chan taps on the message from Jisung, his heart in his throat.

“Oh, baby,” Chan says, his mouth dry. “Look at you.”

It’s Jisung, bare from his hip bones to his chin, cum in pools of pearlescent white on his stomach, between his pecs, clinging to the gold necklace around his neck. He’s got two fingers in his mouth for some reason. Probably because he was sent directly from hell, just to torment Chan in his old age. Chan moves his hand on his cock. The dry tug of his fingers is barely enough, but it’ll have to do for now.

“You like it?”

Chan moans. “I like it so much, got me so hard for you,” Chan says, pumping his fist over his cock, chasing an orgasm that is coming way faster than he expected. He can’t take his eyes away from Jisung. Jisung’s pink, trembling chest. Shit. Jisung’s chest between Chan’s knees. Chan tipping Jisung’s head back and making him lie still while Chan makes even more of a mess of him, coming on his tits, his throat, into his open mouth. Chan’s cum on his lips, Chan’s cum on his cheeks, pooled on his tongue. “So fucking sexy.”

“And all yours,” Jisung reminds him.

“Fuck, yes,” Chan grunts. “Only fucking mine. God, I’m going to ruin you, baby.”

“Please.”

“You want that?” Chan’s hips jerk and he moans again. He’s so fucking close, if he could just— “You want me to ruin you? Stuff you fucking full of my cum, yeah? Fuck your tight— fuck— little— ass,” Chan comes. “Oh, fuck.”

They just breathe together for a moment. Chan closes his eyes and tips his head back against the headrest. Jisung’s rabbit-quick breaths in one ear and the ocean’s waves in the other. Centering him like an equally balanced scale.

“Chan?” Jisung asks. Chan smiles fondly.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

Jisung makes a sound halfway between a chirp and a hum. Chan smiles wider. In his mind, JIsung is bathed in golden sunlight, like something holy.

“Come back to me?”

“Soon,” Chan says. “I promise.”

✵

Chan has a nightmare. He doesn’t recognize the room when he wakes up. Panic claws at him, leaving him frozen in bed until he can catch his breath and remember where he is. In his room at his parent’s new house near the beach in Newcastle. The house he’d helped them buy. The room is still mostly unfurnished, just some extra workout equipment in the corner and a simple bed and dresser. Nothing familiar for Chan to fixate on. He just has to wait until he calms down naturally with his head between his knees.

Fuck this, he thinks. He tastes blood in his mouth— he must have bitten his cheek. Absolutely fuck this.

Later that afternoon Chan changes his ticket so that he leaves the next morning.

Chan’s mom seems genuinely surprised by his decision, and he doesn’t blame her. He knows it's not like him. He never does anything like this. Always the dutiful son. But he soothes her with promises to return soon and an elaborate lie he’s not proud of about an urgent issue with a high profile client that he heavily implies is IU.

In truth, Chan’s only current project is with the indie singer-songwriter who is taking his sweet time responding to Chan’s emails.

✵

Han Jisung:

yeah!

Han Jisung:

really!!? are you sure?

Han Jisung:

oh. oh okay yes

absolutely

ill be there when you get home

Han Jisung:

……can i play your guitars?

✵

The flight isn’t direct, and with the layover in Singapore it takes almost eighteen hours to get back to his apartment. His back and feet ache. He hasn’t had a decent meal since yesterday, at his parent’s house.

"Chan?" is the first thing he hears when he opens his front door. His heart soars, and he feels his body come back to life.

"Yeah, it’s me," Chan calls back, leaving his bag and shoes by the door. He follows the sound of Jisung's voice to his bedroom. Jisung looks right at home here with Chan’s sheets all around him, the acoustic guitar on the floor by the bed, where he must have left it.

“Hi,” Jisung says, rubbing his eyes sleepily. "You're here.”

"Hey," Chan says. He pauses at the edge of the bed. His heart is pounding like he just ran a marathon. What is this kid doing to him?

Jisung crawls towards Chan and stands up on his knees. Chan holds him around the waist and buries his face in his neck. The smell of his skin there is warm and familiar; sleep and clean sheets and Jisung.

"Missed you." Jisung’s voice is thick. He clutches fistfuls of Chan's shirt. Chan rocks him from side to side, sneaking in a kiss to the top of his head.

"I missed you too," Chan says, and he means it down to his fucking bones. "Let me sleep for a bit and I can show you how much, yeah?"

Jisung nods eagerly. He watches Chan get undressed and pulls him into bed, which is still warm from where Jisung was sleeping.

✵

Chan gets the most restful sleep he’s had in days. The next afternoon, when he wakes, Jisung lays his head in Chan’s lap and Chan strokes his hair. They don’t talk about the fact that Chan came back to Seoul early, and they certainly don’t talk about the fact that Chan definitely came back early for Jisung, but they both know. Chan sees the change in Jisung, the confidence, how he wears that knowledge with pride.

Chan’s already made good on his promise to show Jisung how much he’d missed him (two fingers crooked inside of him, milking Jisung’s prostate until he was leaking precum all over his quivering tummy. Chan had fucked him after that, with long slow strokes and his mouth on Jisung’s throat. He’d left three dark purple marks on Jisung’s collarbone. He’d caught Jisung admiring the marks in the mirror that morning).

“Do you want to go somewhere with me?” Chan asks. They have the time. Classes don’t resume until mid-January and nobody at work even knows Chan is back in Korea.

“Where?”

“Anywhere you want. The mountains? Jeju? Just us.”

Jisung smiles. “Yeah?”

✵

Jisung picked mountains and snow, so Chan finds a rental cabin for them in a town south of Wonju at the base of Chiaksan mountain. It’s a three hour drive from Seoul, and with every kilometer that passes and every song on Jisung’s playlist (custom-made for the occasion, of course), Chan’s heart feels lighter.

Chan merges onto the highway right as Picasso by SHINee comes on.

“I saw them do this live, you know,” Chan says, and it makes him feel like an old man. But Jisung’s surprised reaction makes Chan smile.

“No way,” Jisung says, looking over at Chan with his phone in his hand.

“Yup.” Chan smiles at the road and flicks glances over to Jisung. “2015, SHINee World. Jihoon, er– Lee-gyosunim was still producing for SM back then. He got us tickets.”

“Oh, you suck. I’m so jealous,” Jisung says. “How was it? Ugh don’t answer. I already know. I’ve seen clips. They’re gods.”

“Yeah, pretty much,” Chan agrees. That concert is one of Chan’s favorite memories, being surrounded by people who loved SHINee as much as he did, feeling that love and enthusiasm fill him up, make him buoyant. And SHINee themselves? He’s never seen performers like them, before or since. It had been a reminder of why he loves music so much, lit a fire in him that had kept him going.

“So you saw this one too, huh,” Jisung says as the next song starts. It’s Woof Woof, a lighthearted B-Side that the group had performed in costume. Chan laughs, hard, and Jisung beams in response.

“Yeah, I did,” Chan says. “Dog ears and all.”

“Hyung, you don’t understand, I love this song,” Jisung says, “Seriously. I don’t know what they put in it.”

“I think it’s the barking,” Chan says, with a smile that Jisung returns, giggling.

He turns up the volume and he and Chan sing along together, shouting out ‘Where are the treats!’ along with Key and dissolving into laughter.

Jisung sighs when the song ends, leaning back against the passenger seat. “I wanna make music like that. I mean. Music that makes people feel like that. Little three minute bites of serotonin. Just, joy, you know?”

Chan glances over at him and smiles, pride swelling in his chest.

“What?” Jisung whines. “I’m serious!”

“I know you are,” Chan says. “And you will. You already do.”

“You really think so?” Jisung asks after a moment.

“Yeah, Jisung,” Chan says. “Sometimes I think about where you’re going to be in like…even just five years, and—,” Chan chances a look over at Jisung, who’s looking up at Chan, his lips parted slightly, his phone forgotten in his lap. Chan shakes his head. “I can’t wait to see what you’re going to do.”

When Jisung breaks eye contact and bows his head, Chan can see how red the tips of his ears are. “Thank you, hyung.”

✵

They stop at a grocery store on the way. Chan buys the essentials they'll need for the week, and whatever snacks Jisung throws into the cart when he thinks Chan isn't looking.

The cabin itself is far enough back in the woods that it can't be seen from the main road. Chan had gotten the code to unlock the door from the owner, so they don’t even have to talk to anyone else when they get there. Out the back windows, the only things visible are forest and mountains and sky.

They unpack the groceries and Jisung tells a dumb joke that makes Chan laugh so hard he has to sit down on the floor. They struggle through making dinner together, handing each other ingredients and picking up Chan’s phone again and again to look at the same recipe.

Dinner turns out not great but edible, at the very least, and they share a bottle of soju afterwards. Jisung gets pink-cheeked and tipsy. They both giggle at a story he tells about Minho and Hyunjin.

Jisung talks with so much animation that Chan can’t look away. He keeps running his hands through his hair, the more soju he has the more he does it, until his hair is sticking up at odd angles. He's incredible. And yours, he thinks. Chan wants to devour him. And, Chan remembers with a shock that feels like cold water, Jisung wants that too.

Jisung moves his arm as he speaks, and Chan sees a flash of the marks he’d left on Jisung’s skin. Chan can still hear the way Jisung had moaned when Chan bit him, and can still feel the way his hole had squeezed so tight around Chan’s cock.

Jisung gets up with his plate and walks towards the kitchen, but Chan catches him by the elbow.

"I was just gonna clean—"

"Leave it," Chan says. He pulls on the collar of Jisung’s shirt so all three marks are exposed, and looks up at Jisung with a toothy grin. Jisung looks down at him, his eyes widening with excitement. The corner of his mouth twitches with a smile. He sets the plate down on the table and steps closer to Chan. Chan drops his hand from Jisung’s elbow to his thighs. Jisung takes a shaky step that Chan guides, squeezing the back of Jisung’s thighs.

Chan rubs his hands over JIsung’s thighs appreciatively, slipping up to hold his hips in his skinny jeans.

“Hi, baby,” Chan murmurs. Jisung blushes. He’s so funny, Chan thinks. He can dish it out all day long, but he can’t take it for even a second. Chan pushes his thumbs down to squeeze Jisung’s soft body in his hands. Jisung whimpers, small and quiet.

Chan untucks Jisung’s soft, olive-green t-shirt with slow, deliberate fingers, not looking up at his face. When Chan's done working the t-shirt free, he continues his path and moves his hands up underneath the fabric to touch Jisung's bare skin. Jisung’s warm, and he hums at the skin contact.

"Such pretty clothes," Chan says quietly, fingertips brushing against the bottom of Jisung's ribcage. "Did you dress up just for me?"

Now Chan does look up at him, and he’s pleased to see Jisung already pink-cheeked with parted lips and huge eyes. Chan smiles again and watches Jisung’s nostrils flare. Chan feels a stab of pride that he can have this effect on Jisung. And he follows the sensation, the warmth, instead of running from it like he usually does. After all, who’s here to stop him? To see him?

Jisung nods. “I wanted you to look at me. I wanted you to want me.”

Jisung's skin is blazing hot under Chan's hands. Chan grips him tighter, hands wandering his body, feeling up his torso.

“I see you,” Chan says, low. Jisung's breath catches and holds, and Chan can feel the way his ribcage and his diaphragm move with the inhale. “I want you.”

"Chan…" Jisung murmurs, like he can't say anything else. He sways forwards and rests his hands on the back of Chan's chair. He's so close now, and Chan can smell the appealing warm body smell of him, the spice of his deodorant and sweat.

"You’re so fucking cute," Chan says. He pulls the shirt up higher and Jisung ducks down so that Chan can easily slide the shirt off over his head. Chan holds his back, kisses the center of his stomach, above his belly button. He feels Jisung let go of that breath, feels his stomach muscles move rapidly, up and down. Jisung makes a sound, a little whimper, and Chan looks up at his face again. He's staring down at Chan like Chan is everything. "What should I do with you, hm?"

Chan kisses Jisung's tummy, then up to one of his dark nipples. Jisung’s body trembles as Chan takes it into his mouth, savoring the way the soft skin feels under his tongue.

“Fuck me,” Jisung says. Chan scrapes his teeth over Jisung’s nipple. “Please. Fuck me, please.”

Chan smiles at him and takes his chin to kiss him gently on the lips. “Good boy.”

“And how should I fuck you?” Jisung whines through his nose. He wets his bottom lip with his tongue. Chan sets his teeth on Jisung’s other nipple.

Chan smacks Jisung’s ass. He does it lightly, over his jeans, but it still makes Jisung squeak. “Baby. How should I fuck you? Should I take my time?”

Chan lets his fingers trace over Jisung's exposed skin like he knows he has access to all of Jisung and he doesn't mind going slowly.

“Hard,” Jisung says. “Don’t– don’t take your time. Just. Hard.”

Chan lets his smile speak for him. He traces Jisung's hip bones, scratches his fingernails in the patch of hair under his belly button. Follows it down and slips his hand under the waistband of Jisung's boxers.

Jisung's arms shake where they’re still gripping the back of Chan’s chair, and his breath puffs out in little bursts as Chan's fingers reach deeper until finally–

"There you are," Chan says as he wraps his fingers around Jisung’s cock. Jisung's still mostly soft, but that just means Chan gets to feel him get harder in his hand. He gets to hear the little gulping noise Jisung makes when Chan gently strokes his fingers over the head of Jisung's cock, and touches the silken softness of his foreskin.

Chan unzips Jisung's jeans and pulls them down until he can get his cock out, pumps his hand over it until it's fully hard. Jisung tightens his grip on the chair. He stares down at the hand on his cock. Jisung shudders, his hair falling over his forehead.

Chan turns his hand and adjusts his grip. Jisung gasps. “Ah hyung—”

Jisung’s hips jerk and he licks his lips again. Chan takes his chin and kisses him, moving his hand faster.

"Take your clothes off and get on the bed." Chan’s eyes flick back and forth between Jisung's. Jisung nods eagerly. "I'll be in in a second," he adds.

"Okay,” Jisung squeaks. Chan lets go of his chin and pulls his hand out of Jisung’s jeans.

Chan goes over to where he left his bags and fishes out a condom and the bottle of lube he'd tucked away for the trip. He'd done it with some measure of guilt. Packing for the cabin he’d rented just to fuck his twenty-one year-old student in. But now he’s too focused on Jisung to let that touch him. He shakes it off and leaves it at the door. He heads up the stairs to the bedroom.

He clicks the door shut behind him. The moon reflects off the fresh snow and fills the room with a dim blue-silver shadow. Chan edges around the bed and flicks the lamp on to bathe him and Jisung in a circle of warm yellow light that leaves only the corners of the room dark.

Chan sets the lube and condom down on the bedside table and takes his shirt off by grabbing the back of the collar and pulling it over his head. Jisung's staring at him appreciatively, eyes trailing over his body. He undoes his belt and steps out of his pants, hesitating at the waistband of his boxer briefs before pulling those down too.

“C’mere,” Chan says, and Jisung crawls to the edge of the bed and kneels there. Chan grabs whatever parts of him he reaches first; upper arm, side of his head, and leads him closer. He kisses him hungrily.

"I remember what you asked for, okay?" Chan murmurs. Jisung nods. He rocks forwards, their noses brushing. "And I'm gonna give it to you. But I gotta ask you some stuff first, okay?”

“Okay,” Jisung says quietly. Chan scratches his scalp.

“Do you want me to ask before I hurt you?"

Jisung sucks in a quick breath. He shakes his head. "I don't. I don't want to think. I think too much. I'm… I…I want you to choose."

Chan swallows and he feels a lump in his throat. He can do that. He wants to do that. "Anything you don't like, anything at all, just tell me, okay?"

"Okay," Jisung says, serious and gentle. Chan is cut with a deep stab of fondness, so he kisses him again, pressing his lips against Jisung's top lip, then his bottom lip.

“And when I ask you something, I need you to answer me verbally, so I know you’re okay,” Chan says.

“Yes, hyung, I promise,” Jisung nods, then flashes a grin at Chan, leans into the hand still holding the side of his head. “Now can you fuck me, please?”

✵

Chan tries to start slow and Jisung tries to rush him at every step. He only slows down when he finally sinks down onto Chan’s cock. Chan’s sitting against the headboard, his hands guiding Jisung down, running over his body appreciatively.

Jisung moans, and his shoulders visibly relax. Chan chuckles, brushing his thumbs over Jisung’s nipples to see them harden, and to watch Jisung shudder. “Feel good?”

“Mhm,” Jisung bites his lip, shifting on Chan’s cock, making his hips twitch with the movement. It feels indescribably good to be inside of him again, so warm and snug. Chan’s head swims with pleasure.

“Okay,” Chan chokes out, smoothing a hand down Jisung’s body. “Now straighten your back.” Jisung sits up, pushing his shoulders back so his spine is straight. Chan grins. “Good.”

“It’ll feel best if you rock forward and back like this,” Chan says, moving Jisung’s hips with his hands, and watching how his eyelashes flutter when he rocks towards Chan, Chan’s cock driving deeper inside of him.

Jisung clings to him, letting out cute whines that get louder and more breathy as he rocks forward again and again. His tight heat squeezes around Chan’s cock.

“Such a good boy,” Chan mumbles, his fingers digging into Jisung’s waist, hard enough to leave marks, half-moon indents in the shape of Chan’s fingernails. “Taking me so well. Fuck. I want you like this all the time.”

Chan grips Jisung’s waist tight and lifts him up, pulling his body back down onto his cock. Jisung moans so hard his eyes cross slightly when he opens them again. Chan holds him tighter, buries himself inside Jisung over and over again.

“M–more,” Jisung whines, fingers curling against Chan’s chest as he moves along with Chan’s thrusts. “Moremoremore.”

“More?” Chan teases, cocking his head. He slows his pace, dragging his cock out slowly and pushing back in, feeling Jisung clench down around him. “M’already giving you a lot. Sure you can handle more?”

Jisung scrapes his nails down Chan's chest to his stomach, his head hanging low, his face over Chan's. He wets his lips with his pink tongue. "Want it harder. I wanna feel you, Chan, please."

Chan adjusts himself, hands on Jisung’s back to steady him, his skin as hot as ever. He’s hot inside, and so tight that it feels like Jisung’s pulling him in, drawing his cock in deeper. It feels like Jisung was made just for him, like they were meant to fit together like this, Jisung’s thighs spread open on Chan’s lap, sweat gathering where their skin touches.

Jisung moves just his hips, angling them forward and down like Chan had shown him, and then repeating the motion.

“Keep moving. Just like that,” Chan says. His voice is affected, stretched thin. He can’t stop staring at the muscles in Jisung’s thighs, the fat and skin there and how it wobbles with every bounce.

I think too much. That’s what Jisung said. I want you to choose.

Chan hits him, high up on his thigh and hard. It’s loud, a sharp snap in the quiet room. Jisung keens and his hole squeezes so tight around Chan’s cock that it’s just this side of painful. Chan groans, and smacks Jisung’s other thigh. Jisung gasps, his hips stuttering.

“That’s my baby,” Chan says. He’s so fucking hard and Jisung is fire itself, burning up from the inside, squeezing Chan’s cock just right. “So good for me.”

“Hnnn—,” Jisung moans, and Chan hits him again, and then again, stinging strikes to his spread thighs that leave Chan’s handprints on his skin. Sweat, from one or both of them, Chan isn’t sure, sticks and slides where they’re pressed together. Every time Chan bottoms out, Jisung’s ass and thighs land back in Chan’s lap with a filthy, wet sound. “Channn—ah–ah–ah.”

Chan grabs Jisung’s ass in both hands, forcing him farther down onto Chan’s cock. Chan clenches his jaw tight, grinding his teeth together. “You feel so fucking good, Jisung. My Jisungie. Gripping me so tight. You love this, don’t you?”

Jisung nods rapidly as he bounces, “Yeah–yeah—love it so much. Ah!”

Chan spanks him, hands coming down on either side of Jisung’s ass. Jisung’s cock twitches, leaking precum. Jisung moves his hand, reaching for his cock, searching for relief. But Chan’s not done with him yet, not done watching Jisung lose his mind, writhing in his lap, speared open on Chan’s cock. He takes Jisung’s arms and holds them together behind his back. Jisung whines in complaint, which just makes Chan smile.

“Let’s see if you can come like this, yeah?” Chan squeezes, feeling the delicate bones in Jisung’s wrists shift. The action forces Jisung’s chest into Chan’s face, and Chan runs his tongue over Jisung’s sweaty skin, and sucks on his nipples.

“Nnn—” Jisung shakes his head. “Can’t. I can’t. I’ve never—.”

“Yes, you can. You’re my good boy, yeah?”

Chan fucks him harder, making him bounce, his cock bobbing between them, leaking like a faucet, sticky droplets that land on Chan’s stomach. With the hand he has wrapped around Jisung’s wrists, Chan holds him in place, angling him so every thrust goes right to his prostate. Jisung squeals, high-pitched and animalistic, the sound coming from the back of his throat. Jisung bites his lips closed and Chan growls, low. He wants to fuck all that shame right out of him, wants to hear Jisung make the most depraved sounds he can think of.

Chan slaps his thigh again with his free hand, and matches it with a particularly rough thrust. Jisung’s arms pull at Chan’s grip but he just holds on tighter.

“Mmm—ohmygod—” Jisung says, and it feels like a victory when he arches his head back, letting his hair fall away from his eyes, letting his mouth hang open. “Just— ohh— oh fuck, Chan— just like that, please please please.”

“You liked that?” Chan asks, adjusting his grip on Jisung’s arms. “You like it when I hit you while you’re full of my cock, hm?”

Jisung nods. He licks his bottom lip, then sticks his tongue out, panting. “Please,” he gulps, breathless, his hips working on Chan’s cock. Chan pounds into him, forcing higher and higher sounds out of him, nasally and broken and sure to stay in Chan’s mind forever.

Chan smacks his already red thighs over and over, higher up, until Jisung comes, his balls tightening and cum shooting all over Chan’s stomach and chest.

“That’s it, there you go,” Chan murmurs. He lets go of Jisung’s arms and Jisung collapses bonelessly against Chan’s sweaty chest. “Good fucking boy. You’re incredible. Fuck.”

Chan grabs hold of Jisung’s waist, fingers slipping slightly on his damp skin. Chan tips them back onto the bed and fucks Jisung quickly, biting down on the delicate place where his shoulder meets his neck. It doesn’t take long before Chan comes, too, filling the condom while his teeth work at Jisung’s neck.

Jisung’s out of it, eyes fluttering shut, and muscles weak, so Chan cleans them both up, disposing of the condom and putting lotion of Jisung’s burning thighs and ass.

“Perfect boy,” Chan whispers, afterwards, when he’s got Jisung all wrapped around him with his nose buried in the hollow of Chan’s throat. Jisung hums. “Thank you.”

“Mmm,” Jisung mumbles. “You should— you should do that again.”

Chan strokes his hair, scratches the back of his head and behind his ears. “Which part, baby?”

Jisung lifts his hand and wiggles it vaguely, before dropping it back onto Chan’s chest and drawing lazy, looping circles on Chan’s skin. “All of it.”

Chan strokes his back. “You’re really okay?” Chan checks, “I didn’t hurt you?”

Jisung yawns, his mouth millimeters from Chan’s throat. His breath is warm, and it tickles Chan’s skin. “It was exactly what I wanted,” he kisses Chan’s neck. “You’re exactly—,” he yawns again. “Exactly what I want.”

✵

In the morning, the full wall of windows that takes up the whole back wall of the cabin reveals a breathtaking view of the mountainside, and several more mountains folded behind it further down the valley.

Most of the mountains are covered in bare trees, brown with a dusting of snow, but there are patches of evergreen, too; dark forest green under white. Over all of it, mist gathers in the nooks and crannies of the mountains, and hangs over everything at the base of the valley. The early morning sun is bursting through all of this, lighting the mist with beams of gold and pink.

“It feels like we’re on another planet,” Jisung says, and Chan turns to see him getting to the bottom of the stairs, wrapping his arms around himself in the cold morning. He stares out the windows, head tilting back so he can see all the way to the roof. “It’s beautiful.”

He comes up behind Chan and puts his arms around him. He rests his chin on Chan’s shoulder. Chan leans back into his warmth. Jisung sniffs, then buries his nose in Chan’s back.

“Thanks,” Jisung’s voice cracks when he speaks.

“For what?” Chan says, touching Jisung’s arms. Jisung gestures around them with his chin. Chan’s already seen the view, so he doesn’t bother looking again, content to just watch Jisung look.

“Do you know what the view is from my dorm room?” Jisung asks, his eyebrows raising impossibly high. “Someone else’s dorm room. Seriously,” he says when Chan giggles. “I mean it! There’s another dorm across the street from us, and the street is so narrow and our windows line up perfectly so that all I can see when I open my blinds is this dude folding his socks. And no offense to him, but this is a way better view.”

Chan leans his head to the side so their temples bump together. “I’m glad.”

✵

They have breakfast at a small restaurant they’d passed on the road out to the cabin from town. It’s a newer, modern building, black and red on the outside, but the inside is cozy and welcoming. It smells like coffee brewing, and Chan can hear soft music being played over the speakers and the clink of utensils against plates.

They sit by the back window, where they can see the river they followed here from Wonju, now just a stream in a rocky bed, the parts of it that aren’t frozen bubbling lazily underneath a stone bridge.

The only other customers are a young family with two kids, a baby and a toddler. The baby is sitting in his mother’s lap, gleefully mushing a chopped banana onto a plate, and the toddler is sitting across from his father, waving his hands and telling a story that the father is patiently listening to in between sips from a steaming cup of tea.

The middle-aged woman who took their orders at the counter disappears into the back room for a while, and then brings their food and drinks, smiling warmly at the two of them. Chan guesses she’s the only person working here.

When she walks away, Chan nods at Jisung, who’s taking a sip of his iced Americano through a straw.

“How is it?” He asks. “I know it can’t compare to McDonald’s, but…”

“Shh!” Jisung says, whipping his head around to look at the woman, but she’s on the other side of the cafe, clearing the table of a young family. He relaxes and takes another sip. “It’s really good, actually. I can enjoy fancier things than McDonald’s, sometimes.”

“Sure,” Chan says teasingly. “Of course.”

“Shut up,” Jisung laughs, but his eyes give him away, soft with fondness and bright with excitement. “How’s your old man coffee?”

Chan looks down at his cappuccino and pouts, which makes Jisung giggle.

✵

When they’re done with breakfast, they go for a hike, up one of the marked trails by their cabin. It’s cold, and there’s still snow on the ground from a recent storm, so they don’t see too many other people. They see a frozen waterfall, and a few small animals that haven’t gone somewhere warmed for the winter. It’s nice, and the cold fresh air feels good in Chan’s lungs.

And even though they could–– they don’t pass anyone all morning— they don’t touch, don’t hold hands.

✵

Jisung starts the movie they watch that night after dinner tucked between Chan and the arm of the couch, his knees against his chest, a blanket draped over the two of them. Twenty minutes in, Jisung has his feet in Chan's lap, both arms wrapped loosely around Chan's left arm.

"C’mere," Chan says quietly, “Let me hold you.” Jisung gives Chan a flash of a shy smile before swinging his legs over and climbing into Chan's lap, settling against his chest.

Chan slips his arms around Jisung's waist, and Jisung makes a happy little sound that makes Chan grin against the top of Jisung's head.

Jisung's weight is pleasantly heavy, pressed to Chan's body. Outside the window, snow falls in flurries that brush against the glass. Chan pushes his cold nose into Jisung’s hair.

It's warm and nice and comfortable, and Chan feels relaxed, and he thinks Jisung's feeling the same, until Jisung starts moving in his lap. The first nudge of Jisung's ass against Chan's crotch feels like an accident. The second one is decidedly not an accident, Jisung grinding against him, arching his back at the right angle so that he's right on top of Chan's dick.

Chan grabs his hips to stop him. "I thought you wanted to watch a movie?"

"I did," Jisung says. He drops his head onto Chan's shoulder. Chan bumps his nose against the side of Jisung's head, sliding his hands up Jisung's body and resting them on his stomach. Jisung whispers in his ear. "But I changed my mind. I was thinking about last night."

"Is that so?" Chan says, his fingertips just grazing the exposed skin between the bottom of Jisung's shirt and the top of his boxers. He plays with the hairs there. Jisung's breath catches, and he presses his mouth shut. Chan picks up the remote and clicks pause. "There's forty minutes left.” Chan kisses the side of Jisung’s head and scratches his fingers underneath Jisung’s waistband, teasing touches that make Jisung shudder. “Can you wait that long?"

Jisung bites his bottom lip and then lets it spring free, shining and begging to be kissed. Chan resists. He's playing a longer game right now.

“No,” Jisung shakes his head, his cheeks starting to flush. Chan feels the front of Jisung's boxers and grins when he finds him already hard, and as warm as always. Chan grips his cock and squeezes his fingers around it gently. Jisung gasps, arching up into Chan's hands. He shakes his head again, more decisively. "I can't wait."

Chan deliberates for a second, and then lets go of Jisung's cock. Jisung whines, going limp against Chan's body. Chan kisses the side of his head, right above his ear. "I think you can."

"Nooo," Jisung whines indignantly, pouting, "Please."

Chan brings both his hands up out of the blankets and pulls Jisung tighter against his chest, tucking the blanket in around him.

"Nah," Chan teases, eyes on the screen. He picks up the remote again and presses play. "It's not that long, and I’m enjoying this movie. You can wait."

He teases Jisung for the rest of the movie until Jisung is twitching at Chan's every touch, breathing heavy as he melts into his arms, begging in his ear for Chan to “fuck me fill me please need it need you want you inside.”

He tugs Jisung's shorts down and wraps his fingers around him, jerking him off slowly while Jisung wiggles in his arms, pulling his face down for messy kisses.

Then he stops, and lets go of Jisung’s cock. Jisung’s eyes spring open and he looks at Chan with watery eyes. “Noooo, no please, don’t stop.”

“I don’t know,” Chan says, gently moving Jisung off of his lap. “I don’t think you deserve to come yet, do you?”

Jisung whines his complaint, and Chan stands up, leaning over the couch and taking Jisung’s chin in his hand. He presses down, just slightly, squishing Jisung’s cheeks. Chan kisses him on his pouty lips, a quick peck that Jisung tries to chase, but Chan holds him, still squeezing his face. “Don’t move.”

Chan smirks at the wild look in Jisung’s eyes, the way his pupils are huge, spread to the dark brown outer rings of his irises. Chan climbs up the stairs to the bedroom and retrieves the lube, padding back down the stairs.

When he gets back, Jisung has his hand in his shorts, fingers working over his own cock. He jumps when he sees Chan, pulling his arm quickly away.

“What did I just say, hm?” Chan says, calm and quiet, even though his heart is racing. He steps over to the couch so he’s towering over Jisung. Chan can’t get enough of this, enough of this game, this push and pull, Jisung wanting and Chan resisting and Jisung drawing him in closer until he can’t resist, until Chan takes what he wants. Jisung blinks up at Chan. I want you to choose.

Jisung presses his lips together and swallows, and Chan watches the muscles of his throat move under his skin. Chan uses the feeling Jisung brings out in him, wears it like a medal. He tugs at Jisung’s waistband, and Jisung eagerly lifts his hips up to help Chan take his pants off.

“Go on. Tell me. What did I just say?”

“Don’t move,” Jisung says. As Chan takes his shirt off, he raises his arms over his head, and they’re trembling slightly. Chan takes one of his hands and holds it steady, pressing his thumb into the center of Jisung’s palm, gently.

“Correct,” Chan says, rubbing circles into Jisung’s hand. He’s still trembling, and Chan can see his cock in his boxer briefs, the wet spot at its tip where he’s already leaking. Chan’s mouth waters. “And what did you do?”

“I moved,” Jisung says, “I was touch–– I was touching myself.”

“Mhm,” Chan says. He releases Jisung’s hand and trails touches down Jisung’s body, pinching his nipple and making him squirm, feet planted on the couch and hips twitching. “And you said that you wanted to watch a movie, but the whole time you were sitting in my lap, teasing me, and begging for…what? What were you begging for, baby? What do you want?”

“Please, Chan, please,” Jisung whines, hips twitching again. Chan hits him, his hand coming down on Jisung’s inner thigh with a sharp crack. Jisung wails and Chan can see his cock throb in his underwear as his hips continue to move.

“Answer me, sweetheart,” Chan says, rubbing gentle fingers over the spot he’d just smacked. He pulls Jisung’s boxer briefs down and drops them onto the floor. Jisung’s completely bare now, stretched out on the couch, while Chan is still fully clothed. Chan traces one finger up the length of Jisung’s hard, leaking cock. Jisung shivers. “What do you want this badly?”

“You!” Jisung yelps, “I was thinking about last night and I wanted— Wanted your cock. I want it so bad, please give it to me, please.”

Chan licks his bottom lip. Jisung’s a mess; flushed face and wild eyes, and Chan can’t imagine wanting anyone more than he does right now. He hits him again, higher up on his thigh, and his body curls inwards, long legs folding up towards his chest. “Flip over. Get on your stomach.”

Jisung obliges eagerly, turning over and hissing when his cock comes in contact with the couch cushions. He’s definitely going to have to deep clean this couch before they leave, but he pushes that thought from his mind for now, getting onto the couch and putting one leg over Jisung so he’s straddling his thighs, his cock tenting his sweatpants, looking obscene over Jisung’s bare ass.

Chan smacks the meat of his asscheek, admiring the way it jiggles. He repeats the motion on the other side, and then down on his thighs, which bounce so appealingly, soft and warm. Jisung yelps and whimpers after each hit.

Chan leans down over him, intentionally grinding his erection against Jisung’s pink, stinging skin. He can feel the warmth of it through his sweatpants. Jisung moves immediately, grinding backwards, but Chan just rests more of his weight on him, trapping him against the couch. Jisung lets out a whimper of a breath. Chan brushes Jisung’s hair away from his ear, and kisses him on the cheek, rubbing his nose against Jisung’s temple. “You smell so fucking good. Wanna eat you up.”

“Please,” Jisung says, almost silently, looking at Chan out of the corner of his eye, his cheek pressed into the couch.

“I don’t know,” Chan hums, nuzzling against Jisung’s cheek, nosing along his jawline. Jisung arches his chin up for easier access. “I still think I should punish you for teasing me. And for disobeying me.” Chan rests more of his body weight on Jisung, grinding his cock down into Jisung’s asscheeks. Jisung gasps. “What do you think I should do?”

“P-punish me,” Jisung says, “Like– like you said. Punish me. Hit me. Spank me.”

“Hit you?” Chan asks, leaning back a little. “You mean like this?”

Chan hits Jisung the hardest he’s hit him so far, as hard as he’s let himself, hand coming down hard on the side of Jisung’s already pink ass. Underneath him, Jisung moans, muscles trembling again and eyes squeezing shut. Jisung nods. “Yeah, like that, just like that, please.”

“That doesn’t seem like much of a punishment,” Chan muses, hand rubbing over where he’s just hit. He can feel Jisung’s every breath, how quick they’re coming, expanding his ribcage where it’s trapped between Chan’s heavier body and the soft cushions of the couch. “If it's something you like that much.”

Jisung’s absolutely at Chan’s mercy now, reduced to a vulnerable, trembling thing that Chan can do anything he wants to, and the most mind-bending part is that Jisung wants that too, wants Chan to take. Chan can feel how much Jisung wants it, feel it in every touch, every kiss and sound and movement of his perfect body. It’s like a dance, every move Chan makes, Jisung is there to meet him, accepting and moving with him.

Chan leans forward and grabs the lube again, snapping the cap open and spreading it on his fingers. Jisung starts to move underneath him again, grinding his ass back into Chan’s bulge.

Chan sits back up onto his knees, and Jisung stills, probably thinking he’s finally about to get what he asked for. Chan holds his cheeks apart, gently touching the delicate skin of his hole and rubbing circles over it with lube-slick fingers. Jisung whimpers with pleasure and cants his hips back. Chan grabs him and holds him still. Jisung whines in confusion, his eyebrows furrowing.

Chan spreads the lube further down, over Jisung’s perineum and down behind his balls. Chan squeezes more into his hand and spreads it all over the warm crevice between Jisung’s plush thighs.

“Here’s what I’m gonna do,” Chan says, spreading Jisung’s thighs and letting them fall back together with a satisfyingly wet slap. He pinches the underside of Jisung’s butt, twisting the tender skin just to hear him squeal. “I’m gonna fuck your pretty thighs until I come. And then I’ll decide if I think you deserve to come too, okay?”

Jisung looks like he might be about to come now, but he nods, and squeaks out, “Okay, hyung.”

Chan undoes his own pants, freeing his cock, already hard, and letting it smack against his abdomen.

"Hold your thighs together, nice and tight," Chan says, slotting his body back over Jisung's and pressing his cock down, slipping over Jisung's entrance and pushing into the tight crease under Jisung's ass and between his thighs. The sensation is unbelievable, Jisung's silken skin welcoming and warm. Chan lets out a guttural groan. "That's it, baby."

"Yeah?" Jisung asks, voice tiny. Chan's head snaps up. He kisses Jisung's neck, his jaw. He brings his hand up and traces over Jisung's bottom lip.

"Yes, baby, my baby," Chan hums, "So good. You make me feel so fucking good."

Each push of Chan's hips grinds Jisung's cock against the couch and makes him moan through his nose. His lips part and Chan stuffs his fingers inside, feeling around his warm, welcoming mouth, stroking the soft, spongy inside of his cheek as he fucks his cock between Jisung’s thighs.

Jisung sucks on his fingers, licks over his knuckles, drool dribbling down Chan’s hand.

The sensation around his cock is not as tight as when Chan is inside of him for real, but Chan likes how easy the slide is; the way Jisung’s skin gives way to the hot rigidness of Chan’s cock. Likes the way Jisung is completely underneath him, how small he feels like this.

Chan slips his fingers out of Jisung’s mouth, trailing spit over his bottom lip.

“Y’okay?” Chan asks, kissing below Jisung’s ear.

“Yeah, hyung, s’good. Please don’t stop,” And he’s so cute that Chan suddenly can’t stand that he can’t see Jisung’s face, can’t kiss him properly, so he turns him over and pulls him into his lap, cups his face and kisses him. It keeps happening, he realizes as Jisung kisses him back, that they always end up here, face-to-face, Jisung’s nails on Chan’s back, sharing breath and kissing until their lips are swollen.

“Fuck what I said,” Chan says, kissing Jisung. Jisung whines against Chan’s mouth and it sends sparks shooting down Chan’s spine. “I want to be inside you, now.”

Chan turns him over onto his hands and knees. Chan slicks his fingers up with lube and slides one inside, letting Jisung get used to the stretch before adding another, and then another. The sounds Jisung makes when Chan brushes against his prostate are so high, so unlike the deeper gasps and grunts he’d made when Chan fucked his thighs, or when he touches his cock.

He adjusts Jisung's limbs so he's on his knees, his chest pressed to the couch. Every touch of Chan's hands has Jisung twitching, muscles jerking.

He smacks Jisung's ass, and Jisung wails, stomach bowing down, legs spreading further apart.

"Okay?" Chan checks.

Jisung nods, his eyes glassy. "Again."

Chan strikes him again, harder this time, hard enough that it stings Chan, too, and makes Jisung yelp.

Chan smacks him, over and over, until his cheeks are bright pink and his legs are trembling.

"Fuck, you're perfect," Chan says. He gathers Jisung close and kisses him all over his shoulders.

Chan reaches down between them and lines his cock up, pushing his way inside with a long, slow thrust that feels heavenly. He fits his thumb into the crease between Jisung’s ass and lower back. The sight of his own cock splitting Jisung’s perfect ass open makes Chan’s head swim, like it always does.

He straightens up and brings his hands down to Jisung's trim little waist. He grips him there, using the leverage to hold him perfectly still while he rams his cock inside of him over and over. "God, look at you," Chan says, squeezing Jisung's hips and using them to move his body up and down on his cock, the tight drag delicious and addictive. "You were made to be fucked. Feel fucking incredible, baby. So, so good. Fucking built to take cock."

Jisung keeps his back straight obediently, his head hanging between his shoulder blades as he pants and whimpers and wriggles his toes and just lets Chan use his hole, letting him angle him however he wants and pump in and out of him, balls slapping noisily.

Jisung's fingers clench, gathering into fists. Chan thrusts into him again and again until he's coming, every pulse of Jisung's tight walls around him making his cock throb and spill more hot cum inside of Jisung.

✵

“Oh, shit,” Chan says in the bathroom later, after they’ve taken a shower, stretching his arms up and flexing his hands. “My arms actually really hurt.”

“Huh,” Jisung says, flexing his own biceps in the mirror with a cocky grin. He bites his bottom lip. “Mine are just fine.”

Chan hip-checks him playfully. “That’s because I did all the heavy lifting.”

“I’m not that heavy!” He protests, but Chan just holds onto his arms and winces in exaggerated pain. He shoves Chan back. “And my ass hurts. So we’re even.”

“Sorry about that,” Chan says, dropping his arms, but Jisung just smirks.

“S’okay,” Jisung says. “I asked for it, remember?”

“Begged, I think, would be a better word,” Chan says, smiling. Jisung rolls his eyes.

“C’mere,” Jisung says, gesturing at Chan’s toothbrush, halfway to his mouth. “If your arms hurt, let me do that for you.”

Chan stops and turns, furrowing his eyebrows. “I can’t tell if you’re messing with me or not.”

“Nope, gimme,” Jisung says, holding his hand out. Chan hesitantly places his toothbrush in Jisung’s hand.

“This is weird,” Chan says, as Jisung approaches him with a wicked grin and an odd tenderness on his face. “I take back what I said last time. You’re weird.”

“Yeah, yeah I know. But you like it,” and Chan can’t argue with that, “Now come here. It feels nice. Trust me.”

And Chan does.

✵

Chan wakes up with Jisung’s warm body pressed flush against him, his smaller torso fitting perfectly against Chan’s larger chest. Chan’s fingers have fallen asleep and the sun is in his eyes, but Jisung is using his bicep as a pillow and he doesn’t want to wake him.

It takes Jisung another half an hour of soft snoring to wake up, wriggling around in Chan’s arms until he’s facing Chan. His face is puffy with sleep and he looks so cute it almost makes Chan angry.

Jisung cracks an eye open, then smiles, huffing out a short laugh before closing his eyes again.

“What?” Chan asks, jostling him.

“Your hair,” Jisung croaks, rubbing an eye with his knuckle. “It’s so curly in the morning.”

Chan flushes, reaching up to touch his own hair and flushing further when he feels how messy it is, curls sticking up at odd angles. “Oh. Yeah, it does that.”

“S’cute, Channie-hyung,” Jisung says, smiling fondly. “I like it.”

✵

When Chan checks his phone, he finally has an email from his client, but he’s not happy, and he’s sent Chan new sound files and multiple, meandering voice memos. Essentially his complaint is that one of Chan’s songs feels “unfinished”.

Chan goes right into the stage in his music writing process where he has to mindlessly do chores and listen to the song until he hates it. He works in the kitchen, washing the dishes they’ve used so far and playing the song on repeat on his headphones.

Jisung’s fine, content to curl up on the couch under a blanket and watch nature videos on YouTube while Chan works.

After an hour, Chan looks up from where he’s working at the kitchen counter, and sees Jisung, asleep on the couch, hand trailing on the decorative rug with an expensively soft gray blanket draped over him. Behind him is that otherworldly view; evergreen trees and rolling fog.

I could get used to this, Chan thinks. He tries to shake the thought from his mind; it’s easier to not think about the future when it comes to Jisung. That way lies pain. It’s better to just focus on now. But still, he can’t look away from Jisung. Can’t look away from how beautiful he is. Can’t stop himself from realizing, I want to get used to this.

“I’m bored,” Jisung announces an hour later when he’s woken up from his nap and strolls into the kitchen.

Chan’s got his headphones on, so he just smiles over his shoulder at Jisung distractedly.

Jisung opens one of the cups of noodles that Chan bought at the grocery store, and reaches around Chan to fill it up with water and put it in the microwave.

Chan’s been listening to the song that his client isn’t happy with on repeat, hoping his trained ears will pick up on what’s missing so he can fix it. Usually, this method has good results for him but today for whatever reason, he’s just developing a headache.

Jisung comes up behind Chan and wraps his arms around Chan’s waist. “Are you done yet?”

“No,” Chan says, sighing. “Sorry.”

Jisung retrieves his ramyeon from the microwave and takes a pair of chopsticks out of the drawer to Chan’s left.

“D’you wanna listen?” Chan asks, handing over his headphones. Jisung nods enthusiastically, hopping up onto the counter next to Chan’s laptop. He blows on his steaming noodles and puts Chan’s headphones in his ears.

Jisung bobs his head, stuffing a huge bite into his mouth and groaning contentedly.

Chan looks back at the sink, blushing. He could probably watch Jisung eat for hours, he’s so cute, his cheeks stuffed full, and Chan can’t help but smile fondly down at his hands.

Jisung finishes the song and sets his food aside, his mouth shining.

“‘S’good,” he says, licking his lips. Chan shakes his head.

“Nah,” Chan says, “I’m not happy with it. And the artist definitely isn’t happy with it.”

“Maybe you’ve heard it too many times,” Jisung says, eating another bite, then stuffing it into his cheek to finish his sentence. “You gotta switch things up. Here, gimme your phone.”

Jisung swallows, putting his chopsticks down and wiping his fingers on his pants. Chan hands his phone over, and Jisung turns off the bluetooth that’s connecting Chan’s headphones and sets the phone and his ramen to the side, jumping down off the counter.

Jisung presses play on the song and it starts to come out of Chan’s speakers, gentle piano notes that will pair nicely with the vocalist’s moody tenor.

“Dance with me,” Jisung asks, extending a hand to Chan.

Chan just giggles, putting his own hands up and waving them in a declining gesture.

“I don’t dance,” Chan says, “I’m so bad at it.”

“Who cares?” Jisung says, gesturing around the empty cabin. “I’m the only one here and I’m literally wearing your underwear. I don’t give a shit if you can’t dance. Just dance with me.”

Jisung wiggles his fingers in time with his eyebrows, and Chan’s a goner. He takes Jisung’s hand and Jisung yanks him against his chest, making Chan stumble a bit.

“Brat,” Chan mumbles. Jisung’s arms wind around the back of Chan’s neck and Chan’s hands settle on his waist. “Are you really wearing my underwear?”

“Shh,” Jisung says, shaking his head and tapping his pointer finger over his lips. Chan rolls his eyes.

It’s silly at first, awkward to be dancing to his own song, and Jisung smells like Chapagetti, but then they settle into it. Chan’s muscles unlock and they find the beat together, swaying in time to the music.

They’re almost exactly the same height, Jisung has maybe a centimeter or two on Chan, but it's still easy for Chan to cautiously rest their foreheads together.

Jisung comes close enough to kiss him but doesn’t press their mouths together, just stays there. They’re swaying, hips swinging, and Jisung moves forward again, just barely brushing his lips against Chan’s, their breath mingling.

Jisung plays with the short hairs at the base of Chan’s skull. Chan’s heart flutters, a humming vibration in his chest that feels so much like a sparkling synth, rising and falling with the beat of the song.

Jisung tilts his chin and kisses him, and suddenly it all clicks together. The track playing is incomplete, but Chan can hear it whole now. He knows what’s missing.

The song loops, more than once, and Chan’s not sure how long they stand there, swaying and kissing in his half-clean kitchen while the sun sets, but when he pulls away he feels dizzy, lightheaded and dazzled.

Han Jisung.

Han Jisung.

Chan kisses him on the forehead and then, because he's got Chan feeling giddy, tickles him, digging his fingers into his ribs and making him bend to the side and squeal with laughter.

Jisung shoves him away playfully, and goes to pause the song, still giggling.

“Well?” he says, and Chan can see that he’s flushed, and he can’t help but wonder if Jisung heard it, too. The song in Chan’s head. “Did it help?”

“Yeah,” Chan says. “It did.”

✵

When they have to leave their private oasis at the end of the week, it’s hard for both of them. Jisung gets uncharacteristically quiet, watching the mountains fade away out the window of the car.

Chan wants to tell him that things will be the same when they get back to Seoul, that nothing will change between them, but he can’t promise that.

All he can do is turn the music up on his car stereo and stop at the first McDonald’s he sees to get Jisung an Americano, just to see him smile.

Chapter Text

The beginning of a new semester is hectic. Every day rushes past, full of meetings. Meetings with his colleagues, meetings with students, meetings with the dean of the music department. For almost two weeks, Chan doesn’t get to be alone with Jisung. He sees him in his own class, but Jisung has back-to-back classes with Jihoon during Chan’s office hours, so Chan doesn’t see him in the studio as often.

If it were up to Jisung (and Chan, if he was truly being honest with himself), he’d be at Chan’s apartment every night, but Chan is worried that Jisung’s friends will start to get suspicious. Minho knows, but Jisung trusts him, and as far as Chan knows, he’s always been a good friend to Jisung, so Chan tries to trust him too. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t make him nervous.

Finally, Chan’s schedule opens up and Jisung finishes his homework early, so Chan picks him up a safe number of blocks away from the library and takes him back to his apartment.

When they get back to Chan’s place, Jisung hops up onto the kitchen table. He swings his legs back and forth.

Chan can feel Jisung’s gaze on him as he kneels down to untie his shoes.

Jisung keeps watching until Chan steps between his legs. Chan drops his keys down onto the table with a clatter. He slides a hand under Jisung’s coat and grabs Jisung’s waist instead.

“Hey,” Chan says, softly. But Jisung doesn’t seem to want to talk. He puts his hand on the back of Chan’s head and tries to push their mouths together, but Chan tenses his neck. His lips halt a millimeter from Jisung’s. Jisung lets out an irritated little huff that makes Chan want to do terrible, terrible things to him. And Chan’s been so well-behaved, been so good, resisting for days while Jisung has been within reach and as enticing as ever.

But Chan can wait just a little bit longer, now that he knows he’s about to get what he’s been waiting for. Jisung, on the other hand, has never had that kind of patience. And nothing is cuter to Chan than Jisung when he’s desperate.

Chan smirks, his hand tightening on Jisung’s waist. Jisung straightens his back, bumping his nose against Chan’s cheek, seeking his mouth again. Chan dips back, smirking wider. Jisung huffs again, pouting.

“Do you want something?” Chan teases. He dodges another kiss, choosing instead to ghost his nose along Jisung’s jaw. Jisung bounces his leg and whines. Chan won’t deny that he loves making Jisung make that noise in particular.

“A kiss?” Jisung says hopefully.

Chan chuckles. “That’s all? Just a kiss?”

Chan presses his lips to Jisung’s cheek where it’s pinkest. Jisung’s skin is warm, and his hair smells citrusy-sweet.

“How’s that?” Chan murmurs.

“So good, hyung,” Jisung responds. Chan smiles against his cheek. Jisung drops his hold on Chan’s hair and takes Chan’s wrists instead. His fingers dance up Chan’s forearms. His eyelashes flutter. “Can I have another one?”

Chan slides his hand from Jisung’s side up to his back. The air between them is warm and growing warmer by the second. Chan kisses him again, this time at the hinge of his jaw, right under his ear. There’s a small patch of stubble there he must have missed while shaving, and Chan can feel it under his lips. He feels Jisung’s breath hitch, just for a moment.

“Another?”

“Of course,” Chan says. This time he kisses the side of Jisung’s neck. Another hitch in his breath. “My baby gets everything he wants, doesn’t he?”

“Yes, hyung,” Jisung whispers. Chan can feel him shivering. His palms are sweaty against Chan’s arms.

"You’re being so sweet, baby,” Chan says. He tugs on Jisung’s hair, jerking his head back. Jisung swallows. Chan’s eyes follow the movement of his throat. “Are you sure you only want a few kisses?”

"No. I want…" Jisung goes quieter, his voice demure. He drops eye contact. "I was thinking about you today."

"Oh?" Chan runs his fingers through Jisung's hair. This, he wants to hear.

Jisung nods. "I passed you in the hallway earlier, remember?"

"I remember. I was with Moon-gyosunim."

Chan pulls Jisung closer to the edge of the table.

"Yeah," Jisung says. "You smiled at me and Changbin-hyung. I thought you looked..hmm..so nice."

Chan kisses under his ear. He keeps pressure on Jisung's body wherever his hands roam; squeezing his hips, groping his tits. He can feel the effect his rough touches are having on Jisung, the increase in his breaths, the way he's shivering. Chan nips at Jisung's earlobe. "I looked nice?"

"Yeah," Jisung says. Chan pinches his nipple through his baby blue sweater and feels it harden under his fingers. "You're…you're always so friendly. Everyone's favorite teacher. Nice."

Chan pauses, his hands back on Jisung’s hips. "You thought about me all day because I looked…friendly?"

Jisung nods obediently, a tilt of his chin, his eyes shining up at Chan. He spreads his legs wider, inviting.

"Made me crazy ‘cause," Jisung says. His fingers mindlessly stroke Chan’s arms. "Cause they don't know, none of them know." Chan stops his touches, just watches. Just listens. "They don't know what I let you do to me."

Chan sucks in a breath through his teeth. It twists him up inside, how filthy he is for what he does to Jisung. What he loves doing to Jisung. It’s fucked up. Wrong. The idea of any of his collegages, his students, knowing what a sadistic fuck he is makes his stomach clench, bile rising in the back of his throat. But.

But it’s got him so hard. The image of the two of them, the professor and his favorite student. Wholesome and proper from the outside. Jisung’s right, Chan has a reputation on campus of being friendly and approachable. He’s even had other professors ask him how he gets students to be so comfortable around him. How would people react if they knew? How would they look at him then?

Chan wraps a hand around Jisung's throat. Jisung groans with something that sounds like relief, letting his eyes fall shut.

"And what is that?" Chan murmurs. He squeezes his fingers. He can feel Jisung swallow. Should it sicken him? How two-faced he is? How sometimes he’s sure he lured Jisung here with his friendly facade, and now Jisung is stuck with the real Chan: sad and angry and mean. It should sicken him more than this, at least. He should enjoy it less than this, at least. "Huh, honey? What is it that you let me do to you?"

Jisung whimpers. His eyelashes flutter and he paws at Chan's chest. He looks so delicate like this, and Chan can't help but shake him, just to see his head bob. Chan’s been dreaming about this, fisting his cock thinking about Jisung’s mouth, Jisung’s eyes, Jisung bouncing in his lap.

"Ruin–," Jisung's breath catches in a hiccup. "Ruin me. Ruin me for anyone else. I w-want you to. Please. That’s what I want."

And there’s the proof. Isn’t that enough? Jisung likes Chan like this.

“Good boy,” Chan says. Chan smiles at him, dropping a kiss on his lips. Jisung wriggles up to meet him, eager hands dancing on Chan’s skin.

Chan steps away from the table and Jisung jumps down to follow him. Chan stops him with a hand on his chest before he moves any further. "Ah ah ah, I don't think so."

Jisung cocks his head. Jisung's so cute when he's confused. Chan feels power rushing through his veins, sizzling on his skin like heavy rainfall. His cock twitches in his jeans. Chan leans in close so he can whisper in Jisung’s ear.

"You asked for it here, so I'm gonna give it to you here. Bend over and put your hands on the table like the good boy I know you are, okay?"

Jisung turns on his heel to comply, bending only slightly at the waist and resting his palms on Chan's kitchen table. Chan pauses to take in the sight of him. His fingers itch with the need to touch.

Chan feels Jisung’s eyes on him as he ducks into the bathroom and grabs what he needs. He comes back into the kitchen and strolls over to Jisung casually, spinning the condom between his thumb and forefinger. He tosses it down onto the table next to Jisung and without warning, grabs Jisung by the shoulder and shoves him down into the table. His elbows buckle and when his chest makes solid contact with the wood, he lets out a quiet oof.

“I said bend over, not lean.”

Jisung whimpers, but then he glances back over his shoulder at Chan, flashes him a smile with just a sliver of teeth. Chan pushes down harder, feels the breath go out of him.

"I could be nice, you know," Chan murmurs, running his fingers down Jisung's spine. "If you wanted me to be. I could be careful with you." Chan slowly pushes up Jisung's sweater, his other hand still firmly on Jisung's back. He presses down harder, pinning him to the table. Chan's not hurting him, not any more than he's asked for, but it still kicks Chan in the gut that Jisung is letting Chan do this shit to him. Chan bends down over him and kisses the shell of his ear. "Take you back to my bed and make love to you. Open you up nice and slow. Would you like that?"

"No," Jisung gasps, a note of panic creeping into his voice.

“No?” Chan asks, feigning surprise. He brushes his thumb over the curve of Jisung’s cheek. They've done this enough that Chan doesn't need to ask what Jisung wants. He knows now. But he likes to hear his baby say it.Chan likes how worked up and desperate it makes Jisung when Chan forces him to say what he wants. “Why not? It’s what a pretty baby like you deserves."

“Don’t want you to be nice, hyung, I want you to hurt me,” Jisung says, an edge of impatience in his voice. Brat. Chan was getting there.

Chan gets a hand under Jisung's body and pinches his nipple. Jisung yelps, which just makes Chan smile. He does it again, harder this time, twisting Jisung's nipple between his fingers, then stopping. Jisung pants, "More, more."

Chan lets go of him and Jisung whines in complaint, reaching back and grabbing for Chan’s hands, trying to put them back on his body.

"Ask nicely, baby," Chan murmurs, keeping his hands out of reach. "Or I won't give you anything."

"Please, god, hyung, please give me more," Jisung says, the words coming out in a jumble of quick breath.

Chan pulls Jisung against his body, holding him up by his neck with one hand and squeezing at his chest with the other, pinching both of his nipples. Jisung moans, his body jerking.

He pins Jisung's squirming body against him by his throat. Jisung's fingertips brush against the surface of the table.

"Good?" Chan hums. He kisses Jisung's neck.

"Yes," Jisung says.

He releases Jisung's throat and lets him fall back down to the table. He doesn’t bother to catch himself on his elbows. He lays down like Chan asked, arms outstretched. Jisung looks up, his eyelashes curving against his upper eyelid. He eyes the condom, inches from his face. He glances back over his shoulder at Chan, reaches his hand out, and flicks the condom away, sending it skittering across the kitchen floor.

Chan freezes. Jisung looks back at him, challenging him to say no. And how could he?

"You sure?" Chan murmurs, stroking Jisung's hair. Jisung nods, his cheek catching on the table.

Chan feels like his brain is melting. His ears are so hot they hurt. All of his logic is leaving him, because Jisung wants Chan to defile him. Again. More than he already has. He breathes in Jisung's scent, citrus and sweat. His tongue flicks against the roof of his mouth.

"D-don't do this with anyone else, okay?" Chan says shakily. He gently caresses Jisung's cheek, then his ear. Wants to say, you are precious cargo. Doesn’t. "You know you have to be careful, right?"

"I know, hyung," Jisung says. "And I don't want anyone else. Only you."

"I just meant…" Later. When you're gone and I can't protect you anymore.

"I know what you meant," Jisung says, soft. He takes Chan's hand and squeezes it. "And I know. Promise I'll be careful. Just. It's you. I trust you."

"It's gonna be messy," Chan says, squeezing Jisung's fingers in a wordless response. I'm here. I hear you. "Cleanup can be a bitch."

"I know," Jisung says. "I don't care. I like that it's messy. I like that it's yours."

Chan groans, squeezing his eyes shut. He breathes through his nose. He opens his eyes. Jisung's trapped between Chan's hand and the hard solid surface of his table. He's begging for Chan to come in his ass. And he trusts Chan.

Chan moves his hand from Jisung's back up to his pretty face. And shoves it down, hard, into the table below. Jisung lets out a muted whine. His body goes stock-still.

Chan pushes his head harder down against the rigid surface of the table, the heel of his palm against Jisung’s cheekbone. Chan’s cock kicks to life against his thigh. He bends down closer to Jisung’s ear, trapping more warmth between their bodies. "What am I going to do with you? So filthy. Begging for me to come inside. Hoping I'll knock you up?"

Jisung's motionless under Chan's hand. The only movement is his shallow breaths. And then he flicks his eyes back to Chan's and he nods.

Chan presses down on his lower stomach. Jisung moans. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? Filthy baby. I’ll have to try a few times. Make sure it takes.”

Jisung moans louder, turning his face and resting his forehead on the table. He reaches his hands up above his head.

“Chan please,” Jisung whimpers, pressing his forehead against the table and arching his back, pressing his ass against Chan’s cock again. “Please.”

Chan fights to control his voice. All he wants is to be inside Jisung. “Please what, honey?”

“Please,” Jisung says. “Hyung, please f-fuck me raw. Get me pregnant. Please.”

“Holy shit,” Chan’s voice trembles. “I can’t believe you’re real.”

Jisung giggles, shifting his hips slightly from side to side.

"Good boy," Chan removes his hand from Jisung’s head, but Jisung stays in place.

Chan fumbles around in front of Jisung’s waist, undoing his fly and hastily yanking his pants and underwear down to his thighs.

He grabs for the lube and slicks his middle and forefingers up, reaching between them and sliding his fingers between Jisung’s cheeks and rubbing at his hole. His skin is so velvet soft, and he’s always so warm here. Chan works his middle finger to the first knuckle. They both groan together.

“God, Jisung,” Chan says. “You have no idea what you do to me. I'd do…fuck…all I think about is getting you like this."

Jisung whines, arching so Chan's finger slips deeper inside of him. “Me too. All I want. Please."

Chan kisses him, Jisung craning his neck back to reach. He finger-fucks him until he's relaxed enough for Chan to get three fingers inside.

"Need you," Jisung says, sweet and pleading and soft like spun sugar. "Please."

Chan spits onto Jisung's already wet hole and Jisung shudders. Chan puts his hand back on the back of Jisung’s neck, pushing down and using the leverage to push his cock in.

Chan nudges Jisung's legs further apart, as far as they will go with his jeans still only halfway down his thighs.

Chan groans as Jisung's body lets him in. Warm, tight walls giving way to the hard press of Chan’s cock.

"Mmm…oh thank you."

"Thank you?" Chan says with a breathy laugh. "You like my cock that much, baby?"

"Uh-huh," Jisung says.

Chan coos at him, letting his hands rest at Jisung's hips. Jisung's cute, plush little ass is so warm, and his hole is so wet and tight around Chan's cock. "Such a good boy."

Chan pushes Jisung's sweater up further, wanting to see his little waist, the way Chan's hands fit so nicely around it.

"So fuckin gorgeous," slips out of Chan's mouth. Jisung hums happily.

He fucks Jisung slowly, at first, dragging his cock painfully slow almost all the way out and pushing back in. Jisung lets out another shaky breath when Chan bottoms out, his hips pressed flush against Jisung's ass.

"Goddamn. I'm so fucking lucky," Chan groans. He grips Jisung by the hips, forcing his hard cock deeper into Jisung's soft, welcoming body. Jisung's hands slam flat against the table, his mouth open in a silent scream. "You're so fucking sexy, baby. You have no idea."

Chan actually fucks him now, little thrusts to start, each one a zip of electric pleasure that courses through Chan's body.

Jisung's breath catches in little hiccups.

"Harder alright?" Chan asks, sliding one hand up Jisung's spine, under his sweater. Jisung nods frantically, his fingernails scraping against the wood of the table as he clenches his fists. Chan squeezes Jisung’s side to acknowledge his nod. They’re getting good at this; at communicating without speaking, at reading each other’s bodies.

“So pretty, baby, my baby,” Chan coos. He scratches his fingernails against his scalp. Chan grinds his cock deep inside of Jisung, feeling the way his walls hug him just right. “So fucking gorgeous like this. Gorgeous all the fucking time. So pretty."

He kicks Jisung's legs further apart and grabs a fistful of the hair on the back of his head, yanking him up.

Jisung lets out a noise that's half laugh, half moan as Chan starts to fuck him relentlessly, gripping his hips and driving him back onto his cock.

"Fuck," Chan grunts, "Fuck, Jisung you're so fucking tight."

He slides his hands around to Jisung's front, pushing his sweater up further so he can grab his chest, squeeze his nipples.

Chan sinks his teeth into the place where Jisung's shoulder meets his neck, biting down on the little mole there and sucking hard into the skin.

The harder he bites down, the more Jisung squirms in his hold.

"Good, so good," Jisung gasps, "Mark me up, please, want it want it. Want to be yours."

"You are mine," Chan growls, nosing up Jisung's neck and sucking at his jawline. "All mine. Taking my cock like you were made for it. Pretty thing."

Chan can feel his orgasm approaching but he wants Jisung to come first, likes the way he shrieks when Chan makes him come on his cock.

"Just yours," Jisung gasps out, his head hanging down, his sweater bunched up under his armpits, and Chan can feel how close he is, can feel his cock hard and pulsing in Chan's hand. "Just for you, only yours."

Chan jerks him off with a loose fist, his wrist moving rapidly until every muscle in Jisung's body goes tight like a bowstring before he comes all over the table.

He's breathing frantically, beads of sweat on the back of his neck.

Chan wants to give him time to recover, but he also just wants to get off, can feel it pulsing in his skull, is so hungry for it, and Jisung feels so good, his hole squeezing vice-tight around Chan's painfully hard cock.

His hips twitch forward without him meaning to move them. Jisung yelps, back arching.

"Shit, sorry," Chan says, reaching down and rubbing the back of Jisung's neck, touching the soft buzzcut-fuzz of his undercut. It’s pleasantly prickly under Chan’s palm.

"S'okay," Jisung says, "I can take it."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm," Jisung says cutely, and Chan melts for him, like he always does. "I want it. Come in me, please, Channie."

Chan moves his hips experimentally, thrusting back inside Jisung, who gasps.

"C'mon hyung," Jisung drawls, and Chan feels him clench down around Chan's cock. Heat licks up his spine. "You can do better than that."

Brat.

Chan straightens up and grabs Jisung by the shoulder to shove his body back onto Chan's cock.

Chan fucks him like he asked for, thrusting into him hard and fast.

"Ahhh," Jisung moans, "Fu-uh-uck yes. Yes yes yes."

Chan's just about to come when one of his thrusts moves the table forward. The table's legs scrape against the floor with a loud screech.

Jisung's knees buckle, but Chan catches him around the waist. He tries to move again, but the table moves with him and he can't set a good pace.

"Fuck it," Chan says, pulling out of Jisung with a wet squelch. He's panting, hand wrapped around his hard, aching cock. "Take your pants off and get on the floor."

Jisung does what Chan asked, because he’s good. He’s so good, and he’s all Chan’s. All Chan’s.

Chan wants to save this image in his head forever: Jisung stretched out beneath him, lifting up his sweater and showing off his stomach, the dip of his body, his soft cock, slick lube shining between his legs. He bends his knees, spreading them. His toes wiggle back and forth in his knit crew socks. Chan stands above him for a moment, just taking in the boy beneath him.

Jisung whimpers and furrows his eyebrows, feeling down between his thighs and toying with his own hole, staring up at Chan. Chan exhales hard through his nose and gets down on the ground, still mostly clothed, only his cock out of his pants. Chan presses his lips to Jisung’s eager mouth, and Jisung traps him against his body with his legs, wrapped around Chan’s waist.

"Okay?" Chan asks, his mouth dry, barely holding himself back.

"Yes please, just—" Jisung says, and that's enough for Chan. He positions his cock and slides back inside, the push easy and slick now that Jisung’s fucked out and relaxed. "—ohh."

Jisung squeezes around him, arching his stomach closer to Chan, tilting his hips up.

“Feel good?”

“Uh-huh,” Jisung says dreamily, pressing his forehead into Chan’s sweaty neck. He digs his fingers into Chan’s back.

"Good boy," Chan growls. "So fucking good for me."

Chan can't fucking believe his luck, can't believe he gets this, that Jisung is letting Chan fuck him on his kitchen floor like an animal, like Chan doesn't have a perfectly good bed just down the hall.

Chan buries his nose in the sweaty hair above Jisung's ear. He drives his cock down into Jisung, skin slapping together echoing through the otherwise quiet apartment with the whiny moans Jisung lets out with every thrust.

The tile floor is an unforgiving cold even through his pants, painful under Chan’s knees, but he’d take any pain if it meant he could keep taking Jisung like this.

It takes a few more thrusts, Chan’s cock gliding in and out of Jisung, and Chan shudders against Jisung’s body as he fills him with his cum.

"So good, such a good job, sweetheart," Chan mumbles against Jisung’s mouth. They kiss lazily, open-mouthed, breathing hard. "Fuck."

Jisung giggles and Chan giggles with him, breathy little laughs, their faces close. Chan rests his forehead against Jisung's and Jisung pushes his forehead back into Chan's, his smile doubling in Chan's too-close view.

"You alright?" Chan asks, cupping Jisung's face in his hands. He feels his cheeks move as he smiles again.

"Yeah, you?"

Chan lets out a delighted laugh, rubbing his nose against Jisung's. His head is still spinning, his blood pumping rapidly in his veins. Chan’s worries from before seem ludicrous now. He feels calm for the first time since the beginning of the semester.

"God. Jisung, yeah, I'm…fuck, I…."

Jisung giggles. "Speechless, huh?"

"Jisuung," Chan says, kissing his cheek, nuzzling along his jawline. Chan shivers, running both hands through Jisung's hair. Chan can't stop touching him. Can’t get close enough to him, even though he’s still inside him. "You're…God you're just…do you know how amazing you are?"

"Not historically, no," Jisung says with a quirk of his mouth.

"Well you are," Chan says, touching his chin, resting his thumb right under Jisung's bottom lip. “Did I hurt you? When I pushed you down onto the table? That felt too hard. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Jisung nods enthusiastically. “I’m fine, I promise. I told you to be rougher. Are you okay?”

Chan can’t help but smile. “Yeah. It was perfect. You're perfect," He slides his arms around Jisung's waist and hugs him. He puts his face in the crook of Jisung's neck, breathing him in. "Perfect for me. My best boy, yeah?”

"Your best ever?" Jisung whispers, eyes sparkling mischievously.

Yes. Chan thinks before he can put his walls up, and Jisung must see his answer in his eyes.

"Oh," Jisung says. He leans back. "O-ohh? Really?"

“I mean,” Chan starts. His cheeks burn.“I don’t—”

“Nuhuh,” Jisung says. His slight smirk has become a full-watt grin. He looks so pleased with himself. Chan can feel his hole clench weakly around his soft cock. “Tell me. Have you ever had sex this good, ever once in your life, have you?”

Chan shakes his head, slowly. Jisung’s grin becomes a laugh. He tosses his head back and crows triumphantly. He throws his fists in the air.

Chan laughs, half-amused, half-relieved. He tucks his chin over Jisung’s shoulder and squeezes his arms around him. “You’re so annoying,” he grumbles fondly. Jisung just giggles.

“Who cares?” He says, wrapping his arms and legs around Chan’s body like a koala. His wet breath on Chan’s ear. “I’m the best.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Chan says, slowly pulling out of Jisung, eyes on his hole so he can watch his cum drip back out. He brings his hands down to the backs of Jisung’s thighs and strokes his thumbs over the soft skin there. “Don’t get cocky about it.”

Chan moves to get up so he can take him to the shower they now both desperately need.

“Oh, baby,” Jisung says, reaching a hand out so Chan can help him up off the floor. He flashes Chan a megawatt smile. Chan’s stomach flutters. “I’m gonna be insufferable.”

✵

A few nights later, Jisung sleeps over and Chan has a nightmare. It had to happen sometime. Chan’s been dreading it. Sometimes he can predict when his nightmares are coming a few days out, if he’s getting more and more stressed. But other times they sneak up on him.

Tonight, it starts with a dream that he and Jisung are on the street in Incheon. They’ve never been there together, but Chan recognizes the neighborhood Jisung grew up in through dream logic.

Jisung walks at his side as they weave through other pedestrians on the sidewalk.

The crowd gets thicker around them, people bumping into them, jostling them from side to side. Chan goes to take Jisung’s hand to keep from being separated. With a pang of fear Chan remembers that they’re in public, and drops his hand. The crowd gets busier and busier, then suddenly dissolves, and Chan’s alone.

He turns to find Jisung, but he’s gone too. And then everything is gone, and Chan is alone. Really alone.

The darkness closes over his head and he jerks awake. His legs are tangled in the sheets and he tries to kick them away. He scrambles to sit up.

It takes a moment for his room to come into focus and all he can see for a minute are deep blue shapes that refuse to form themselves into things that make sense.

“Shit,” Jisung’s voice, close and groggy with sleep. “What’s wrong?” Jisung’s hand on Chan’s arm. The slide of sheets as Jisung moves to sit next to him. “Hyung, are you okay?...Chan?”

Chan tries to find words. He gives up and just shakes his head. He probably looks insane. He can’t catch his breath.

“Tell me what to do,” Jisung says gently. “I can help. Let me help.”

Chan shakes his head again, bracing his elbows on his knees and hanging his head. His whole body is trembling. He doesn’t want Jisung to see him like this. He feels so stupid, for overreacting like this. So childish and weak. He’s angry at his body for betraying him, for reacting in ways he can’t control.

“You’re scaring me,” Jisung says. Chan’s stomach lurches. “Chan?”

“M’fine,” Chan manages to grunt, pushing the words through clenched teeth. “N-nightmare.”

“Oh,” Jisung wraps his arms around Chan and rests his cheek on Chan’s shoulder. Even though his brain is screaming at him to hide, to not burden Jisung with this, he can’t deny that it feels nice. That he feels better in Jisung’s arms.

“Does this happen a lot?”

“Yeah,” Chan croaks.

“M’sorry,” Jisung hums. Holds Chan’s still-trembling fingers. “I used to get ‘em too. Not this bad. But after my parents kicked me out, I used to have this dream that my dad was Batman and he was coming to kill me.”

“Batman?” Chan croaks.

“Yup,” Jisung says. “Batman used to really freak me out as a kid. I didn’t like his mask. And his voice gave me the creeps.”

Chan chuckles, and Jisung smiles sleepily at him.

“I’m sorry,” Chan says, “You shouldn’t have to…”

“Shh,” Jisung says. He kisses Chan’s shoulder. His lips are warm against Chan’s bare skin. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

It takes a while, Jisung holding him and just breathing with him, but eventually, Chan stops shaking.

✵

Chan lets Jisung fuck him. He takes to it like he takes to everything, focused and determined and way better than a beginner has any right to be.

"Just lay back, okay?" Jisung asks at the beginning. Chan complies with a grin. "I wanna take care of you."

"That's the plan, yeah," Chan says, heart thudding in his chest.

"No like, let me," Jisung looks determined. "Just. Lay there and let me do whatever I want. To you."

Chan tries to stay still as Jisung surveys him from the foot of the bed. Jisung crawls towards him and Chan goes to move his arms so he can touch Jisung like he always does, but Jisung pins him in place with a pout.

“Put your arms behind your head?” Jisung suggests.

Chan obeys, smiling as he stacks his hands behind his head and lays back on them.

Jisung seems fascinated by Chan. Every facet of his body. His touches start out tentative, but quickly become exploratory, urgent. He sucks little pink marks onto Chan’s thighs, and Chan watches with bated breath as Jisung’s head bobs between his legs.

He touches Chan’s arms, which Chan thinks can’t be that interesting, but Jisung traces his veins like a new route on a roadmap, ending at his fingers, which Jisung kisses one by one. By the time he reaches Chan’s lips, Chan is breathing like he’s just run a mile.

Jisung’s pupils are blown, his eyes huge. Chan can feel how hard he is, his erection pressing against Chan’s hip. He looks like a masterpiece. Chan’s never seen anything more lovely.

“Hyung, hyung,” Jisung gasps, biting his bottom lip. “Can–can I?”

“Yeah, baby.”

Chan goes to prep himself, but Jisung wraps his fingers around Chan’s hand on the lube bottle. “Let me?”

Chan almost balks at the request. He hesitates. But then he looks at the way Jisung is eyeing him, like he’s a new piece of music he just can’t wait to get to work on, and he relents. Lets his legs fall open.

Jisung is careful, but he’s quick and efficient, stroking at Chan’s sensitive walls with gentle, calloused fingers. He never moves his eyes from Chan’s face the entire time.

“Jisung,” Chan murmurs when he’s ready, “Now, honey.”

Jisung gulps, then nods to himself. He rolls the condom on with steady hands. He’s laser-focused, intense.

And then he’s inside. Chan’s baby. His Jisung. Inside.

Jisung shivers, looking down at Chan. Sweat beads on his upper lip. He breathes hard.

“Chan,” Jisung whispers. He touches Chan’s face, strokes his knuckles over Chan’s cheeks. “Chris,” Jisung says, hesitant, like he’s trying out Chan’s given name. “Christopher.”

Chan moans. His name sounds like a prayer on Jisung’s lips. An oath. Jisung presses his face into the side of Chan’s neck, his hips twitching like he can’t help but feel the way Chan’s squeezing him, like he can’t help but chase that feeling.

“I’m not gonna last,” Jisung breathes, hot against Chan’s neck. “M’sorry.”

Chan has to swallow before he speaks again.

“It’s okay,” Chan says. He rubs Jisung’s back, cups his ass in both hands. Feels the way his muscles flex as he thrusts rhythmically into Chan. “You’re making me feel so good.”

“Yeah?” Jisung asks, lifting his head to look into Chan’s eyes. He tries out a few more thrusts that make them both moan and hiss. “Hyung likes it?”

Chan holds Jisung’s face, thumbs at the mole on his cheek. “Like it so much. Like you so much. So good for me.”

Jisung exhales shakily. He stills his hips, his cock heavy and full inside of Chan. Chan can feel every pulse, every shift.

“Let me…let…can i…” Jisung swallows. “Can you turn over?”

Chan giggles gently. Everything feels so soft, every word whispered, every touch landing lighter than expected. Chan gets on his hands and knees and Jisung swears. His hands feel overly careful on Chan’s hips, but then he’s inside Chan again and they both moan in tandem.

✵

Chan wakes up with Jisung wrapped around him, spooning him. It’s Saturday, so Chan doesn’t have to be anywhere or do anything. He can just enjoy this moment with Jisung.

Jisung wakes up with a yawn and a gentle press of lips to the back of Chan's neck. His movements are slow and sleepy, and he puts his hand under Chan's shirt. Chan’s lower back twinges. His cheeks heat up at the memory of last night. Jisung’s breath on his neck. His fingers tight on Chan’s waist.

Jisung touches Chan's tummy and Chan reacts without meaning to, arching back to where Jisung is, unsurprisingly, already hard.

"Oh, g'morning," Jisung mumbles gruffly into Chan's shoulder. “Sorry.”

"Hi," Chan says, chuckling. He settles deeper into Jisung's arms. “It’s okay. It’s good,”

Jisung had fucked him so well last night, given him everything he needed, that white-hot bliss of being pounded into until he came. It’s been years since the last time Chan bottomed, and Jisung had performed much better than his predecessor: a man twice Chan’s size that he’d met in the low, blue light of an Itaewon club.

Jisung strokes Chan's body, touching him everywhere, gripping onto him possessively, as he starts to grind slowly against his ass.

"Didn't get enough?" Chan asks.

"No," Jisung groans, pressing his hips forward and digging his hard cock into Chan's lower back. "Never. You felt amazing, hyung."

Jisung gets his hand down Chan's pants and works his cock slowly, hooking his chin over Chan's shoulder.

"Can I?" He asks. Chan chuckles again.

"Yeah, get the lube, baby."

Jisung scrambles out of bed and grabs the lube from Chan's dresser and slips back under the covers surprisingly quickly.

He fingers Chan open expertly (When did he get so good at this? When did he learn so well how to take Chan apart?), and slicks his cock up with lube, puts his arms back around Chan and slides inside, one long slow push that makes Chan whimper.

Jisung fucks him like that for a while, and then sits up, asks Chan to get in his lap as he sits back against the headboard. From there it’s pure, overwhelming sensation, Jisung fucking up in perfect time, as Chan bounces in his lap.

"Oh, fuck, hyung, your ass feels incredible," Jisung pants, and the way he's moving his hips is driving Chan insane.

"You love this, don't you?" Jisung says. "Getting fucked?"

Chan whimpers, a sound he can’t believe came from him, and nods, burying his face in Jisung’s neck.

“Shoulda–oh fuck,” Jisung gasps, canting his hips up and nailing Chan’s prostate. “Shoulda told me. I’ll do this whenever you want.”

After, they spend all day in bed; having sex and dozing off in between rounds. Jisung nags Chan until Chan plays the guitar for him. The strings dig into his uncalloused, out of practice fingers, but it’s worth it for the way Jisung looks at him when he plays. The way their voices wind together, twisting around the melody Chan plays.

“Today was nice,” Chan says in the car later. “I’m sorry there can’t be more days like this."

Jisung’s quiet for a moment, looking out the window at Seoul passing by, at the Han River beside them.

"You don't have to do that, you know," Jisung says, finally. "Apologize for this being the way it is. Just…be happy."

✵

Weeks pass and Chan tries to relax. They're both take not being caught seriously, and nobody seems to notice or care that sometimes Chan drives Jisung home.

Chan’s heart still leaps into his throat whenever another professor sees them together, even if they’re just talking, or walking next to each other.

It’s a Friday afternoon, and Chan’s in his studio. He’s zoning out, gazing unfocused out the window, where rain is pelting against the glass. Jisung’s behind him, working on a paper, fingers flying across the keys. Every once in a while he stops and hums sadly, like he’s unhappy with what he’s written.

Jisung has plans with Minho later, so he’s not coming back to Chan’s place tonight. Chan wishes he could pause time. Hold onto the peace of this moment for as long as he can.

Jisung’s phone buzzes loudly against the wood of Chan’s desk. Jisung dropped it there when he’d walked in and strolled right over to Chan and run his fingers through the back of his hair and complained about a group project Jihoon had assigned.

“Shit, sorry,” Jisung says, tossing his laptop to the side haphazardly and reaching across the space between his table and Chan’s desk for his phone. “It’s my brother. I gotta take this.”

“Do you want me to step out?” Chan asks.

“No, no,” Jisung says with a smile, “It won’t take long. He’s not a big talker.”

Chan returns his smile and goes back to his work.

“Hi hyung!” Jisung says cheerfully when he answers. His face is relaxed, but Chan can see the way he’s fiddling with the hem of his shirt, so he keeps one ear on the conversation. He hears them talk about school, and how Jisung is eating, and how often he’s doing his laundry.

(Never, is the answer to that question. Chan does it. Jisung never remembers to do it on his own, and Chan likes doing laundry, it’s one of those monotonous household chores that helps him distract his hands so that his brain can write music. And now Jisung always smells a little bit like him.)

“No, I’m okay,” Jisung’s saying, “I don’t need any more money.”

“Right now?” Jisung pauses, and Chan can hear the slight smile in his voice when he says, “I’m, um, at a friend’s.”

Then there’s an even longer pause, and when Jisung speaks again, his voice has changed. Very quietly, he says, “Oh.” and then, “How are they?”

Chan turns around, openly watches Jisung now. There’s no trace of his smile anymore. He’s picking at the skin around his fingernails with precise focus. “Umma is healthy?”

“Did they–” Jisung swallows. “Did they ask about me at all?”

Jisung’s face falls. He bites at the side of his thumbnail. “Yeah, no of course. I know they’re busy. Yeah. Yeah, hyung I get it.”

Every word from his brother seems to shrink him. His shoulders fall, his head hanging lower.

When he hangs up the phone, he lets it lay in his lap. He doesn’t look up at Chan, still focused on his fingernail.

“Jisung?” Chan asks. Still no response.

“Hey. You okay?” Chan asks. Jisung looks up with faraway eyes.

“Huh? Yeah,” Jisung says. He furrows his brow, then scratches his forehead, rubbing at the skin over his eyebrow. “My brother…he’s a good guy. I know he’s doing a lot for me, and I’m really grateful. It's just. He’s all business, y’know?”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Chan asks, uncertainly. Jisung shakes his head.

“It’s nothing new,” Jisung says. He’s staring straight ahead, past Chan and out the window to the right. The street below is just streaks of red taillights and glossy black pavement. “It’s the same. I don’t know why I even asked, actually. Since I left, they haven’t…It’s like I died. But I didn’t."

“You didn't,” Chan says. He spins slightly in his chair, his feet on the ground.

“Yeah?” Jisung says. He drags his eyes away from the window. "I'm here?"

Chan's heart shatters at how fragile his voice sounds.

"You're here," Chan says. He doesn't know what else to do. "I can see you."

“It’s so fucked,” Jisung says. “I know I didn’t do anything wrong. I know this is just who I am. But sometimes…”

“You wish you could stop?”

Jisung nods, “I wish I could be what they wanted, you know? Sometimes I think it would be easier to pretend, just so they’d love me again.”

"Hey," Chan says. Jisung looks at him. "Come here."

Jisung slowly gets out of his chair and makes his way over to Chan's desk. He looks so much smaller than he did even five minutes ago. Chan grits his back teeth together so he doesn't say what he wants to say. What he can’t say. Partially because he’s afraid to make promises he can’t keep, and partially because he can’t even say these things to himself.

Fuck them. Fuck them all. They don't know you. They don't deserve to know you. You're better off without them. Let me take care of you. I wouldn’t ask for anything in return. I don’t want you to be anything other than yourself.

"Can I touch you?" Chan asks. Jisung smiles sadly.

"You don't have to ask," Jisung says. He takes Chan's hand and puts it on his own hip. Chan squeezes him, rubbing his thumb against Jisung's tummy. Jisung exhales, soft.

Chan looks up at him. He pulls on Jisung a little. “Get your stuff.”

Chan knows Jisung has plans and he feels guilty for taking him away from his friend, but. Chan thinks. Or hopes. That he can be what Jisung needs right now.

✵

In the car, Jisung turns to Chan and asks, “Remember when I asked you to choke me?”

Chan pauses. “Now?”

Jisung nods, his smile easy but his eyes betraying how much he wants this. Needs it, even. Chan brushes his hair back from his forehead.

"That bad, huh?"

Jisung bites his bottom lip and nods again.

When they get back, Chan lays Jisung down in his bed and kisses him. His mouth is sweet and pliant, chasing after Chan’s and allowing him in with no resistance. Chan touches the front of Jisung’s throat. Jisung squirms. “Now, please.”

“Okay,” Chan says, “Okay.”

Chan tightens his fingers, crawls them up Jisung’s throat until he can feel the pulse of blood in his jugular. Jisung’s eyes widen. Chan drinks in the sight of him; his perfect boy, pinned under him, his life in Chan’s hands, keeping time under Chan’s fingertips.

Jisung grabs Chan’s wrist with surprising strength, and for a moment, Chan thinks he’s going to pull his hand away, but instead he pushes down, forcing Chan to grip him tighter.

“Oh fuck, oh honey,” Chan mumbles, “You’re so pretty like this.”

Jisung slowly starts to grind his hips up against Chan’s body above him. He opens his mouth and a wheezing gasp escapes. Chan leans down and presses his mouth to Jisung’s, licking inside. He tightens his fingers again, careful to stay to the sides of his neck. Jisung lets out a strangled puff of air that Chan takes into his own mouth.

Jisung angles his hips up, searching for pressure.

“Do you want me to play with your cock, baby?”

Jisung whimpers, nodding quickly. “Please.”

Chan undoes his pants and takes him in his hand. He keeps one hand tight around Jisung’s cock and another around his throat, jerking him until he comes apart underneath him.

Jisung comes with a hoarse gasp, his face blotchy and the long, pretty column of his throat rubbed red from Chan’s squeezing fingers. Chan can see the outline of his hand, the red angry marks.

"Chan?" Jisung croaks. He curls his body towards Chan's.

"Hm?"

"Are you proud of me?"

Chan bites the inside of his bottom lip. He has a guess at what Jisung is asking from him. And Chan's not strong enough to deny him.

Chan slides his hand down Jisung's back. "Course. M'so proud of you, baby. You're so good."

"Hyung thinks I'm good?"

Something dark swirls in Chan's gut, some strange, fierce twist of arousal and possession. Guilt and attachment, all at once.

"So good, sweetheart," Chan whispers. One tear escapes Jisung's eye and rolls down the side of his face into his hairline.

"Fuck, sorry," Jisung says, his voice rasping. He wipes his face with the heel of his hand. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

"Shh, nothing's wrong with you," Chan says. "Nothing, you're perfect. You were so amazing for me, baby.”

✵

Chan can’t sleep.

He lifts Jisung’s arm and slips underneath, resting his cheek on Jisung’s chest. Jisung hums, rubbing one hand sleepily over Chan’s shoulders, squeezing him.

“Y’okay?” Jisung mumbles, opening one eye slightly.

“Yeah, just, wanted to hold you,” Chan says, “Go back to sleep.”

“M’kay,” Jisung says, closing his eyes again, smacking his lips. “‘Night, baby.”

Chan chuckles. He’s so cute. “Goodnight.”

Jisung doesn’t open his eyes, but he smiles sweetly, and Chan has to fight the urge to kiss him, not wanting to disturb his sleep further.

Chan settles his head back down onto Jisung’s chest. He can’t sleep for a long time, but it's almost enough to just be here with Jisung, listening to him breathe.

Chan doesn’t realize he’s counting Jisung’s heartbeats until he’s already doing it.

It’s hypnotic like a metronome, and Jisung’s skin is soft and warm against his cheek.

Chan keeps time on his watch, waiting for the second hand to count thirty seconds as he counts the steady beats of Jisung’s heart.

Thirty-nine beats. Multiplied by two, that’s seventy-eight beats per minute.

He counts a minute’s worth of beats, then another, his cheek rising and falling with Jisung’s chest.

The next thing he knows, he’s waking up with Jisung still in his arms, and the sun is high in the sky outside.

✵

The first weekend in May, it’s Chan’s turn to accompany the music department students on their annual spring membership training trip. The purpose of the MT was to create a sense of camaraderie among the students.

Essentially, it was a weekend at a pension away from the city. There would be lots of drinking, games and food. Chan’s responsibility there was to make sure nobody got too drunk, and to make sure that everyone came back to campus in one piece.

Chan mostly looks at the weekend as a chance to get more work done on the album he’s producing. He tries not to, but he notices Jisung all the same.

Jisung talks to the other students on the bus. He laughs with Changbin when Chaeyoung drops a cooler on her foot. He runs from Chaeyoung when she gets mad and chases them around the bus. He eats two portions of dinner. He helps do the dishes. Chan notices. He looks at Chan a lot, checking with him after he tells a joke, or when he asks a question.

Hongjoong and Changbin talk Chan into staying up and drinking a beer with them, but when the drinking games start, Chan excuses himself. His room is on the second floor of the pension house, but there are spaces above the walls and Chan lays awake for a long time. He doesn’t mean to listen, but it’s all he can hear. Voices carrying through the rafters. Jisung’s laugh.

Jisung always tells Chan that he doesn’t have friends. He just has Minho. (And Hyunjin. And Changbin, Chan always insists, but Jisung will shake his head.)

Would Jisung be less lonely if he didn’t spend all of his time with Chan? Has Chan been stealing time from Jisung? Has he stolen friends, college experiences from Jisung? What would Jisung’s life look like without Chan? Would he be better off?

Chan’s stomach cramps painfully at the thought and he pushes it from his mind.

Chan’s still up working at three, when the house finally falls silent, footsteps having retreated to their respective rooms. All Chan can hear are crickets and frogs through the window.

Then the floorboards in the hall squeak. Chan sits up, his blankets falling into his lap. A shuffle. A tap on the door. Two taps. Three.

It’s Jisung, because of course it is, because Chan’s pretty sure he’s been expecting this all night. Even though—

“You can’t be here,” Chan whispers. He looks over Jisung’s shoulder, and then leans out into the hall to look the other way.

“Please,” Jisung whispers back. “It’ll only be a second.”

Chan eyes him up and down. He’s in an extra-large zipped sweatshirt with the hood up, and basketball shorts. Chan narrows his eyes and drags Jisung inside, closing and locking the door behind him. Chan already knows how this ends, but he puts up a fight anyway, just to say he did. For his own conscience. “Jisung if someone saw you…”

“I know,” Jisung says. When Chan doesn’t look convinced, Jisung insists, “I knoww. But nobody saw me. Everyone’s passed out downstairs. I’m sorry.”

Chan frowns. Jisung reaches out and touches the bottom of Chan’s shirt.

“I’m really, really sorry, okay?” Jisung pouts. He tugs on Chan’s shirt. “I know it’s a bad idea, I just couldn’t…it was a lot, today. Being on all day. Being so friendly and stuff. It’s exhausting. And being around you and not being able to touch you…I needed you. I need you. To make me feel like myself again.”

“You could have texted me,” Chan whispers. Jisung’s freshly showered, Chan notices. His hair’s still wet, and his cheeks and chest are pink. “This is reckless, Jisung. I could lose my job. You could—”

“I know,” Jisung interrupts. He settles his hands on Chan’s hips. “I’m so reckless. And stupid. I know. I know. Kiss me?”

Chan can’t quiet his heartbeat. He should tell Jisung that he doesn’t need this, that he can live without touching Chan for one weekend. That if it hurts, you push through the pain. Because it’s the smart thing to do. Because you have to. Because it’s safer that way. That was nobody gets outed or fired or expelled.

“Fuck,” Chan murmurs.

Jisung’s humming with energy tonight. When Chan kisses him, he shivers. He opens his mouth for Chan, tips his head back. And then Chan’s hands are on him. And Chan swears, he fucking swears he’s never tasted anything that holds a goddamn candle to the sweet warmth of Jisung’s mouth.

And then Jisung’s dropping to his knees. He walks forward until he has Chan backed up against the door of the little room. Chan’s hand goes right to the top of Jisung’s head.

“Gimme what I need?” Jisung asks. And Jisung’s the one on his knees but Chan feels like the one worshiping, the one touching something sacred. Jisung buries his face in Chan’s crotch, nudging his nose against Chan’s slowly hardening cock through his pants. He looks up at him with those eyes. “Remind me who I belong to?"

“Yeah,” Chan rasps. He runs his hands through Jisung’s silky hair. It slips through his fingers and falls back into place slowly.

"Quiet, though, honey," Chan murmurs as Jisung undoes the tie on his pajama pants and pulls Chan's cock out.

He puts his mouth on it, dragging his lips up the shaft and rubbing them over the tip. It feels incredible, little shocks of pleasure running over Chan's skin. Chan pets Jisung's hair again, breath catching in his chest.

“So fuckin’ cute, so sweet for me,” Chan growls, low. “Needed me bad, huh?”

Jisung nods, humming around Chan’s cock. Jisung opens his mouth further and laps at the head, pretty pink tongue dipping into the slit at the tip, then swirling around it. Jisung's learned exactly what Chan likes, and weaponized it. He peers up at Chan, all wide-eyes and round, innocent cheeks and Chan's cock throbs in Jisung's hold.

Chan strokes his cheeks, tucks his hair behind his ears, all while thrusting his hips forward and back.

Chan can't fuck Jisung's throat like he wants to (like they both want to. it's what Jisung wants, what he came in here begging for), because the noises he makes whenever Chan does that are obscene and incriminating, and the walls here are so thin.

They shouldn't be doing this at all, but Chan loses all reason when Jisung sinks to his knees and Jisung knows that.

“Suck a little harder, baby, yeah, just like that. Good boy.”

Chan tugs on his hair and is rewarded with the sight of Jisung’s eyes crossing while he drools on Chan’s cock and then suddenly Chan is coming, cock throbbing as he pumps Jisung’s mouth full.

"Show me," Chan whispers, letting go of Jisung's hair. Jisung opens his mouth obediently, Chan's cum pooled on his tongue. Chan's heart skips a beat, in awe of his boy, the vulnerable rawness of the look in his eyes. Offering himself up for Chan. "Oh, good boy. Can you swallow for me?"

Jisung closes his mouth, pursing his lips closed. He swallows, keeping eye contact with Chan as his throat works. He opens his mouth after, sticking his tongue out to show Chan that he'd taken it all. Chan beams down at him.

“Better?”

“Yeah,” Jisung says dreamily.

Chan hauls him to his feet and kisses him. Jisung moans. Chan dips his tongue into Jisung's mouth, lapping at his teeth, sucking on his tongue.

He’s working at the strings on Jisung’s pajama pants when there’s another knock at the door.

Chan’s whole world comes to a grinding halt, reality sinking in through the cracks.

Chan steps back from Jisung right away, and they stare at each other, frozen in fear.

“Fuck,” Jisung mouths.

Chan can’t even get that far, just feels the icy slush of panic churn in his stomach. Whoever’s outside knocks again.

And there’s no possibility of Chan opening the door. The room is far too small, there's nowhere for Jisung to hide, and Chan hates that he’s let them get into a position where Jisung has to hide.

“Bang-gyosunim?” Chan’s eyebrows raise.

“Changbin,” Jisung mouths, but Chan knows. Chan has to open the door.

He grabs Jisung by the arm and drags him over to the corner behind the door. He opens it, blacking the entrance with his body.

Changbin stands in the hallway. He gives Chan a sleepy wave. Chan can only pray that his anxiety isn’t showing on his face.

“Hi, sir, sorry to bother you,” Changbin says.

“No worries,” Chan says, trying for a smile and hoping it doesn’t look like a grimace. Behind the door, Jisung has his hand over his mouth and his eyes are big and afraid and Chan hates himself. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Changbin says, “I just left my phone charger in the van and you have the keys.”

“Oh,” Chan says. “Oh yeah! Of course.”

He looks back over his shoulder. The keys are in his bag, on the other side of the room. If Changbin takes even a step into the room past the door, he’s going to see Jisung for sure. It takes everything in Chan’s power not to keep glancing at Jisung.

“Wait here,” Chan says, then darts across the room, grabbing the keys and darting back, handing them over to Changbin. “Just give them back in the morning, okay?”

“Yes sir,” Changbin says, “Thank you.”

Chan closes his door and doesn’t breathe until he hears the front door open and close.

“Chan—” Jisung starts, but Chan can’t. He just can’t.

“Get out,” Chan snaps. Jisung recoils and Chan hates himself even more than he did a moment ago. “Now, Jisung, before he gets back inside.”

Jisung slips out the door as quietly as he’d come, and Chan falls onto his bed, covering his ears with the palms of his hands.

✵

The morning after they get back from the MT trip, Chan wakes up to Jisung unlocking his front door. He doesn’t call out, “Hey hyung,” like he usually does, so Chan knows he’s still upset. And he has every right to be. Chan shouldn’t have spoken to him like that.

And no, Jisung shouldn’t have come to Chan’s door, but Chan shouldn’t have let him in. Chan got off on it, on the idea that Jisung had needed to come to him for reassurance. He’d gotten off on the fact that they were only a few walls away from other people. From Jisung’s classmates. From Chan’s other students. Fuck, something is seriously wrong with him. He knows. This is not new information to him. He just can’t believe he let himself drag Jisung along in it for this long.

Jisung climbs onto Chan’s bed and lays down on his stomach next to him, on top of the covers. The duvet makes a little puff sound when he lands. His cheeks are slightly pink, his lips chapped. He’s been chewing on them, Chan can tell.

“Hi,” Jisung mumbles. He’s wearing his pain so close to the surface that Chan can barely stand looking at him, but he forces himself to.

“Hey,” Chan croaks. His mouth feels like it’s full of cotton, and there’s a pit growing in his stomach. Jisung works his bottom lip between his teeth.

“We should talk about it, right?” Jisung says. “I think we’re supposed to talk about stuff like this.”

It takes a moment for Chan to realize that Jisung is asking him because he genuinely doesn’t know, because he’s never done this before. Because other than his high school boyfriend, this fucked-up excuse for a relationship is the only real experience Jisung’s ever had.

Chan wants to hide his face from Jisung. Wants to bury his head under his pillow and go back to sleep until this all goes away.

But he can’t. So he gets up, pulls on a t-shirt and sits back down on the bed, where Jisung is still lying, in socks and jeans and a mustard yellow sweatshirt that comes down to the tops of his thighs.

“Jisung,” Chan says. His tone must indicate some part of how done he’s feeling because as soon as he speaks, Jisung’s eyes widen. Chan can feel his muscles tense. “I’m so sorry. I got scared. I was rough with you. I shouldn’t have done that. Fuck,” Chan runs his hands through his hair, knowing full well he’s messing it up in an unflattering way. “I shouldn’t have even gone on that stupid trip. I could have faked sick, something. Anything. I should have known better than to put us in that situation. I’m sorry. I thought I was stronger than that.”

“It’s okay,” Jisung says. Soothing, like he’s trying to comfort Chan. Chan’s stomach turns. Jisung does far too much of that already. Jisung pushes himself up to sit, crossing his legs and facing Chan. “I knew that. I know you’re scared, hyung. I’m scared too. I’m scared I’ll get you fired. I’m scared someone will find out and somehow tell my dad,” Jisung grimaces. “I just wish you’d tell me, y’know. When you’re feeling scared. What you’re feeling. Then we could deal with it together. I can see that this has been eating at you.”

“No,” Chan says, shaking his head. “I don’t want you worrying about me on top of everything else. I promised I’d take care of it. I promised that you wouldn’t have to deal with any of the consequences.”

“Yeah, well, now that I think about it, maybe that was a dumb promise for you to make,” Jisung says. Chan almost smiles in surprise. “Relationships are supposed to be like that, aren't they? Half and half. Shared,” Jisung hesitates. He looks down at his hands. “My brother says he tells his wife everything."

Chan looks over his face, his dark lashes, the way his lips poke out when he exhales. He’s so hopeful, seeing the best in Chan, in them, always. He’s so goddamn young. Chan sighs. "Jisung…"

Jisung's eyes flash to him, his eyebrows furrowing. Chan’s words die in his throat. That’s different. We’re not married.

“I gotta take a shower,” Chan says instead. Runs away like a coward. He grabs his towel and walks across the hall to the bathroom. He brushes his teeth and takes a too-long shower that he doesn’t remember a second of. His hands are on autopilot, his chest numb and empty.

When he comes back out, Jisung’s in the living room, eating cereal from a box he’d taken from Chan’s cupboard. He’s sitting on the couch, his phone in one hand, cereal in the other.

“I was thinking,” Jisung says. He swallows. Chan flexes his fingers. They feel cold and stiff, even after a hot shower.

"I could transfer to another school," Jisung finishes, looking up from his phone. It takes Chan a moment to process what he’s said.

"No," Chan says, once it sinks in. He crosses his arms over his chest. "Absolutely not."

"Chan, I can—"

"No, Jisung," Chan says. “I don’t want you uprooting your life for me. I don’t want you leaving your friends and your dorm and having to start over somewhere new. How would you even explain that to your brother?”

“I don’t know, I’d think of something, though,” Jisung says with a pout. He crosses his arms, mirroring Chan, and looks up at him. “And I don’t have friends. I just have Minho and you.”

“And Changbin, and Chaeyoung,” Chan says. Jisung glares at him. “Hongjoong, Wooseok, Hyunjin.” Chan lists names off with his fingers. “You have friends, Jisung. People like you. They like being around you. And I’m not forcing you to leave them just so we can keep sleeping together.”

Jisung shrinks a little, and Chan regrets his choice of words. But what else does he say? What else are they? I can’t be your boyfriend. That was Chan’s rule.

“What if that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make?” Jisung says, raising his chin petulantly. Chan’s stomach twinges.

“It’s not one I’m willing to make,” Chan says sadly. Every moment feels like it’s passing too quickly. Chan wants to grab onto them, just to slow time down. Hold onto this time when Jisung is still his. He sits down on the couch, and reaches out for Jisung, but Jisung stands up.

“But that’s my choice,” Jisung insists, talking with his hands, touching his chest, tugging on his sleeves. “It’s my education. I get to make that choice. And all of them, or you?” Jisung shakes his head, and his voice comes out thick, “That’s not even a choice, hyung. I pick you every time.”

“Jisung,” Chan watches as Jisung paces back and forth, up to the open doorway to Chan's kitchen and back again, around the metal coffee table, to the windows. He knows, Chan realizes. He knows what Chan’s trying to do. “Jisung, look at me.”

He blinks in the sunlight, turning back to Chan.

"I think you're right. This has been eating me up. And I can tell it's hurting you, too," Chan says, gently. "And Jisung, I can't. I can't keep doing something if I know it's hurting you. And I know you said you’d choose m…" Chan presses his lips together into a flat line. He can barely get the words out, they make him so miserable. “You said you’d choose me, but you shouldn’t. I’m not good, Jisung. I’m not what you want.”

I’ve done this a hundred times, in my head. I knew this would happen. I always knew this was where we were heading. This is what was supposed to happen. Natural progress. You move forward, you leave me here. You meet someone who is actually right for you, good for you, and you forget about me. It’s for the best, don’t you see?

But Jisung doesn’t see. And Chan’s heart cracks a little more because he doesn’t deserve to be cared about like this. Jisung just stares back at him, icily, his arms crossed. But Chan can see that his shoulders are starting to shake.

“I can’t make up for all those people,” Chan says. He rubs his hand over his lower calf, where he’s got his leg folded up onto the couch. “I can’t be your whole life. I can’t be…anything more than what I am. Your professor. I should never have… fuck. Jisung I’m so sorry. We’re at totally different parts of our lives. You’re just starting and I…I don’t know. I was selfish. I’m getting older and I wanted to feel young again, maybe. But you don’t have a future with me. My life is just empty, Jisung. And yours can be so full, if you’d let it.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Jisung says, voice dripping with acid. Chan jolts, his eyes snapping up. He stares at Jisung. “I’ve never thought you were too old for me. I’ve never once fucking thought that you weren’t enough for me. Do you have any idea how I see you? Do you know how big you are in my mind? How full you make me feel? How whole?”

Something sticks in Chan’s throat. He can’t look at Jisung anymore, not with the way he’s trembling, with the way he’s staring at Chan like he’s more than what he is.

“Chan, damn it, I love you.”

It feels like Jisung’s shoved him. Is that true? He looks at Jisung and realizes that it is, that of course it is. That Jisung loves him so much, has always loved him so much. He feels it wash over him, and it feels like ice. Chan feels nothing, anymore. His skin is numb.

Chan’s throat feels tight, thick, coated with words he can't bring himself to say.

Jisung pants. He balls his fists up by his sides, his shoulders hunched forwards, like he’s trying to protect himself.

From what? Chan thinks. From me?

“Oh,” Chan says. “Oh, Jisung."

"Don't–" Jisung cries desperately.

"Jisung, I'm so s–"

"Please don't!"

"I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing to me!” Jisung shouts. “I’m not some little kid you have to take care of! And I’m not fucking sorry! For any of it. You understand me. You see me, and I see you too and I know you don't think I do, I know you think you're all mysterious, but you let me in and I know you now," Jisung says. "I know how soft you are on the inside. And I know you love me too,” Jisung says, even though his voice breaks when he says it. “I know how full to the fucking brim of love you are. And how scared you are of anyone knowing. Even me! Which is stupid! I know what it feels like to be loved by you, and I liked it so much. So please. Just. Don't apologize."

Jisung crouches down to the floor, digging the heels of his palms into his face. Chan feels powerless to help. He’s frozen in place. He wishes everything could be different. He wishes he could be different.

Chan gets off the couch, crosses the room to where Jisung is crouched. He gets down on his knees, so he's on Jisung's level.

They’re both quiet for a moment and then Jisung shakes his head, stares at the floor in front of his feet. "We're breaking up. Aren't we?"

Chan sits down, hard, on the living room floor next to Jisung. He crosses his legs. He doesn't say anything.

"Chan?" Jisung asks, looking up at him, his eyes rimmed with red, "Tell me I'm wrong. Tell me that's not what's happening."

Chan just shakes his head. "I can't, I'm sorry."

Chan pauses. He'd just apologized again, the one thing Jisung had asked him not to do. It's like he can't help it. He just is sorry. He's so sorry. But Jisung doesn’t seem to notice.

"Fuck," Jisung says under his breath. He wipes at his eyes furiously, sniffling. "Fuck!"

Chan feels hollowed out. He scoots closer to Jisung on the floor. He doesn’t touch him, but he’s close enough that they can feel each other’s body heat. Be in each other’s orbit one last time.

“I don’t think I can do this anymore,” Chan says. He stares up at the ceiling. “I’d never forgive myself if you got in trouble because we were together, or if I was the reason someone thought less of you. I want you to—”

“Okay! I get it,” Jisung interrupts. Chan looks over at him. He’s hunched further forwards, his stomach pressed closer to the tops of his thighs. “You don’t have to keep going. You have made your point.”

“Hey,” Chan says gently, trying to get Jisung to look at him. He doesn’t. “I’m not trying to hurt you, I’m just trying to explain.”

“Well, I understand. I’ve always understood. You don’t have to explain anything. You’re scared,” Jisung says tonelessly. “Scared of everything.”

Even through Chan’s numbness, that stings.

“I just thought…” Jisung trails off. He shakes his head. “Nevermind. Doesn’t matter.”

Jisung stands up, leaving Chan on the ground. Chan looks up at him. His usually expressive face is stony, betraying nothing. It kills Chan to be the one who’s making him shut down like this but he has to do this. It’s better this way. He tells himself that again. It’s better this way. Better in the long run.

“Okay. Well. Every second of this feels like actual hell. So I am leaving,” Jisung says, plainly. He stuffs his hands deep into his hoodie pockets. “You don’t have to worry about me being weird at school or anything. If you were worried about that.”

“Jisung, please,” Chan starts. “I just—”

“Nope, I think that’s it,” Jisung says. He starts to back up towards the front door, his hands held up in front of him protectively. “I can’t take anymore, Chan, please.”

Chan stares at him for a long, awful moment, and then nods. Jisung turns quickly, hastily ties his shoes and then he’s gone.

Chapter Text

Five Days Later:

“It’s over,” Chan says to Nayeon on the phone. He’s walking home from buying groceries, his tote lighter than it had been this time last week. It’s raining, wind whipping at Chan’s face as he crosses the street. “Me and Jisung.”

“Oh,” Nayeon says. “I’m really sorry, Chan.”

“Really?” Chan asks. He sniffs. It’s almost summer, but this rain is freezing his nose and the tips of his ears. “I would have thought you’d be pleased.”

Chan crosses the street quickly, dodging the deep puddles by the curb, then cuts down the side street that leads to his apartment.

“C’mon,” Nayeon says. “Don’t pretend I’m that cruel. I know how much he means to you.”

The side street gets narrower, and Chan has to move aside to let a scooter pass. He walks by his favorite restaurant in the neighborhood just as someone is leaving. She leaves the door open for a moment, and a gust of warm air reaches Chan. Inside smells heavenly, but Chan only casts it a glance. He can’t stop. He’s got to go home and finish cleaning up the vocals on the recording one of his artists has sent him. And then grade assignments. He’s two steps ahead, not looking back.

“What happened?” Nayeon asks. Chan doesn’t know what to say at first. There’s a silence that goes on for a beat too long. “You don’t have to talk about it. I know I was really harsh before, but if you wanna talk, I’ll listen.”

“No, it’s okay,” Chan says. “I’m fine. I’m more worried about him, to be honest. He’s been fine at school, I think. A little bit quiet, but he’s coming to class, so that’s something.”

“Give him time,” Nayeon says. “He seems tough.”

“He is,” Chan says. The rain is soaking through the canvas of his sneakers. He can already feel his socks getting wet.

“What about you, though?” Nayeon asks. “Are you eating?”

Chan looks down into his shopping bag. Microwavable rice containers, package of sausages, and half a dozen eggs.

“More or less,” Chan says. “I’ve got the basics.”

“Okay. Well,” Nayeon coughs. “Let me know if you need anything?”

“I will,” Chan says. He wipes rain out of his eyes. “Thank you, noona.”

✵

Five Weeks Later:

It’s July, and Chan’s stopping by Nayeon’s company to pick her up for dinner. Nayeon insisted on it. She’s been all over him recently, which is how he can tell that she’s really worried about him.

He brought dinner for the girls, just chicken from the takeout place down the street, and it’s worth coming up here when the girls all burst out of their practice room and spot him waiting in the hall with food for them.

“I knew I smelled something deep-fried,” Ryujin says, drumming her hands on Chaeryeong, who’s beaming at Chan. Yuna lights up. “Is that for us?”

And when Chan says yes, they erupt into shrill screams and profuse thanks. They chat with Chan as they lead him down the hallway to the break-room, excitedly telling him about the new choreography they’ve been learning. Chan smiles as he lets their chattering voices wash over him.

“You look sick,” Yeji says nonchalantly as they all dig into the takeout boxes Chan opens on the table for them. “Are you sick?”

Nayeon comes in, surveys the scene, and shakes her head, collapsing into a plastic chair, her legs spread. “Don’t be rude, Yeji.”

“I wasn’t!” Yeji complains. “I was just wondering, god!”

“S’okay,” Chan says, and then to Yeji, “And no, I’m not. I’ve just been working a lot lately.”

“I hear that,” Ryujin says, tapping her chicken leg with Chan’s in a sort-of toast. “Me too.”

Chan laughs, and Nayeon smiles, shaking her head.

“Thank you,” she mouths to Chan. He just shrugs, brushing it off with a smile and a wave of his hand.

Chaeryeong drops herself onto the couch next to Chan, and Jisoo climbs onto her lap, ignoring Chan in favor of tearing into a chicken wing.

“Thank you for the food, Chan-oppa,” Chaeryeong says politely. Jisoo nods ferociously, covering her mouth with her hand as she chews. The other three girls are arguing about some mistake one of them made during dance practice. Nayeon clears her throat and looks at them pointedly.

“Oh!” Ryujin says, turning to face Chan again, “Thank you.”

“Yeah!” Yeji pipes up, putting her chin on Yuna’s shoulder, “Thank you, oppa. The chicken is delicious.”

“Get off me!” Yuna whines, shoving Yeji away. “Why is your chin SO pointy? What is wrong with you?!”

Yeji just cackles and snatches up another drumstick.

✵

They leave a half an hour later, after Nayeon’s had a chance to fret over the girls, make sure they had everything they needed for her night off, and that they knew what time the car was picking them up to take them to the dorms and what time they had to wake up for their schedules in the morning.

“Seriously, thank you,” Nayeon says when they’re leaving the building. Chan holds the door for her. “It’s always nice to see them just get to be kids, you know?”

“Oh, shit,” Nayeon says, and then she does something Chan never sees her do; she blushes. Chan looks around for the cause and sees a woman approaching the building, her steps quick. She’s wearing casual workout clothes and a floppy, dark red beanie on her head. Her arms are out and she’s small, but she looks strong. Like she could probably take Chan down in a fist fight.

“Who’s that?” Chan asks, holding a hand up to shade his eyes in the sun. Nayeon elbows him sharply in the ribs. “Ow! What the—”

“Hi unnie!” The girl says as she catches up to them. She’s beaming at Nayeon. “Just gonna go get some practice in before I rehearse with the girls. I hope that’s alright!”

“Sure, no problem,” Nayeon says, her voice musical and soft. Chan looks between the two of them, his eyebrows raised. “Go right ahead.”

“Who’s your friend?” The girl asks, turning her charming smile on Chan, who can’t help but return it. Nayeon looks surprised for a moment, like she’d forgotten Chan was there.

“Ohh, this is Chan. He’s…he’s my cousin.” Chan desperately tries to keep control of his face. “Channie, this is our new choreographer, Kim Yerim.”

“Nice to meet you,” Chan says, politely. He’s still smiling and he keeps himself from looking at Nayeon so he doesn’t start giggling, because he’s finally understood what’s happening here.

“You too!” Yerim says, and she smiles like she means it. She turns back to Nayeon, “See you tomorrow?”

“Of course! Have a good night?” Nayeon says.

Yerim smiles one last time and disappears inside the building.

“Your cousin?” Chan says incredulously. Nayeon shoots him a deadly look.

“I didn’t want her to think we were together. Don’t say a word,” Nayeon says, storming off, a blush high on her cheeks. Chan hurries to catch up with her, casting a single glance back at the company building where Yerim is pushing through the second set of double doors. He opens his mouth.

“I said don’t!”

“I’m not saying anything,” Chan says, biting his lip to contain his smile. “She’s pretty.”

✵

Five Months Later:

It’s December again, and Chan only knows time is moving forward because it has to be. It’s the only way time is allowed to move.

But it feels like the clock is moving backwards because he’s in the same place he was in three years ago: working two half-jobs he likes but doesn’t love, and dating a girl he’s attracted to, but doesn’t love. Not really.

There are a few differences this time, of course. The girl is Rosie, and the reason he doesn’t love her has nothing to do with her.

In fact, he cares about her a lot, just not in the way that she seems to care about him. He cares about her the way he cares about Nayeon, the way he cares about Byulyi, about Yerim, who has become a more permanent fixture in Chan’s life since she and Nayeon started dating.

Chan’s mom loves Rosie, which is a benefit. She’s the first girl he’s introduced to his family in over a decade, and she’d charmed them all because of course she did, because that’s what she does.

Chan brought her as his plus one to Hannah and Daniel’s wedding in August, back in Sydney. Chan’s mom cried tears of joy all day, and Chan remembers the sinking feeling in his stomach when he’d looked up from slow-dancing with Rosie, her cheek against his chest, and seen his mom watching them, a watery smile on her face.

He and Rosie were an accident. Chan needed a date for the wedding, and Nayeon was working, so Chan called Rosie. It was supposed to just be as friends, but after all the dinner and cake and dancing, they’d gone for a walk on the beach and kissed under a sky full of stars. And Chan had let himself forget about Jisung, just for a night.

It’s casual, between them. They live in different cities, and they both have busy work schedules. No need to commit to anything big right now. It’s fun, and it’s easy. And Rosie’s so beautiful that Chan can’t believe she even wants to be with him. He’s lucky, he knows.

But there’s still Jisung.

Jisung, who Chan swears, gets more beautiful every single day. Jisung, who Chan sees all the time, but who still makes Chan’s heart skip literal, multiple beats when he sees him.

Sometimes, before they remember their respective places, Chan will catch Jisung looking at him and they’ll have a moment like they used to, secret and only theirs, until Chan shakes his head and Jisung turns away.

Jisung’s technically done with his senior year as of today, and in a few months he’ll graduate, and Chan won’t have to see him anymore.

Chan overheard him and Changbin a few weeks back talking about how they were planning on doing their military service right after graduation. And even though it’s strange to realize that a year ago, Jisung would have told Chan that too, it’s a good thing. Chan thinks it’s a good thing. Forces himself to think, even as he worries.

No, it’s good. It’s good because Jisung will be far away and Chan can stop feeling like he’s being gutted every time he sees him and go back to his normal life. Only.

Only what’s waiting for him there?

Chan’s been taking medication for his insomnia, and he doesn’t have The Nightmare anymore. Which is good, of course. He’s sleeping eight hours a night every night now. Which is good, too. Of course it’s good. Only.

Only Chan doesn’t dream at all anymore. And that flat black terror that used to creep up on him out of nowhere has become a flat black nothing that he sinks into every night.

That’s what’s waiting for him tonight. Rosie’s not staying with him right now, so he’ll be alone. He just has to get through the dinner party he and the other music department professors are hosting for the graduating seniors.

Chan tries not to look at Jisung, tries not to remember a year ago, this day exactly, Chan was letting Jisung up to his apartment so that he could take his virginity. He wonders if Jisung remembers that it’s today, wonders if Jisung notices all the anniversaries that pass, all the dates that Chan remembers for no reason other than to torture himself with, he guesses.

September 5th, the day he met Jisung for the first time, the first day of classes Jisung’s sophomore year. Nineteen and baby-faced, hair in a choppy mullet tucked behind his ears, eyes eager and always tracking Chan at the front of the classroom.

October 15th, the day Jisung kissed him for the first time, his lips waxy from vanilla-flavored chapstick.

And today. December 13th. Again. Chan tries not to look at Jisung so he doesn’t remember what it felt like to be inside him, what it felt like to be the first one to have him. So he doesn’t remember the soft exhale, the back-of-his-throat whine Jisung had let out when Chan pushed his fingers in (just one finger, and only up to the knuckle, squeezing him so tight, was all Jisung could manage at first). Tries not to remember the look in Jisung’s eyes.

Chan can feel Jisung looking at him now, so he takes a big gulp of cold water and turns to Jihoon, talking to him about his plans for break instead. He can feel his ears burning and wonders if Jisung can see.

Chan makes it through dinner and out onto the sidewalk. He even sticks around and says goodbye and congratulations to everyone, including Jisung. He feels Jisung trying to hold eye contact with him for longer, but Chan breaks away first.

Chan waits for the traffic light to change. In his coat pocket, he turns his keys over and over in his hand. He loops his thumb through his keyring. He bites down on the side of his tongue.

One block north and then a turn right to where he parked his car, and then he'll be on his way home. Alone, since Rosie is staying at her own apartment until next week.

The traffic lights change and the last few cars breeze through the intersection. The last car drives too close to the curb and startles him. He takes a step back and almost backs into the person behind him.

"Bang-gyosunim?"

Relief is the first thing Chan feels at the sound of Jisung's voice. Followed quickly by dread. Chan turns around.

"I thought you were going home with Changbin?" Chan says, too fast. Chan had seen the two of them leave together, heading in the direction of the nearest bus stop.

Jisung shakes his head. "He's going home for winter break. His dad's picking him up."

Chan doesn't know what to say so he doesn't say anything. Jisung looks exhausted.

"Minho and Hyunjin are gone too. Please. I don't…" Jisung bites at dead skin on his bottom lip. He cocks his chin up, like he’s trying to seem confident. Like it took something from him to have to ask for this. "I don't want to be alone."

Chan looks back across the street. The traffic lights turn green again. He’d almost made it. He sighs. He knows the truth now, doesn’t he? That he’s only been able to resist for this long because Jisung hadn’t asked.

Chan jerks his head in the direction of his car, casts a quick glance behind Jisung to make sure Hwaitaek is not still standing outside the restaurant. He’s gone.

"Come on, then."

✵

Chan lets Jisung into his apartment. He doesn’t know what to do now. He doesn’t know how to be alone with Jisung anymore.

Jisung turns around slowly, surveying the space. He’s wearing a jacket that’s bottom cropped right at the curve of his hip. His legs look extra long tonight in his high-waisted jeans, and now that he’s taken off his Docs, Chan can see his mismatched pink and purple socks. Chan’s chest aches at the sight of them.

“It looks the same,” Jisung says, turning back to Chan. He looks tired, the skin under his eyes dark like bruises.

The last time Jisung was here, Chan assumed it would be the last time, but here Jisung is again, and Chan can’t stop staring at him like an idiot.

“Can I—”

“I’m just gonna—”

They both start speaking at the same time, then stop. Chan’s cheeks flush.

“Go ahead,” Chan says with a smile. Jisung tentatively smiles back.

“I was just gonna ask if I could use the bathroom.”

“Oh, yeah,” Chan says. “Y-yeah. Of course. Please.”

Please was probably a bit much, and Jisung raises an eyebrow in amusement.

“Just go,” Chan says, his cheeks flaring. "You know where it is."

Jisung shuts the bathroom door and Chan turns on the light in the living room and sits down heavily on his couch. He leans his head back until it bumps against the wall.

Jisung is in his apartment. Jisung is in his apartment. Right now.

Why the fuck is Jisung in his apartment? Why did Chan let this happen?

What’s his plan? Does he really think they can spend time together platonically? And if not, what’s his move? Is he really about to cheat on Rosie? Chan’s never been unfaithful before. It’s a low bar, he knows, but it’s one he’s always easily stepped over all the same.

And what if all Jisung really wants is a friend? What if Jisung doesn’t want Chan at all anymore? What if he only sees Chan as his professor now and he’d genuinely just needed company?

And isn’t that what Chan wanted, after all? Shouldn’t that make him feel something other than empty, something other than achingly sad?

“Hyung,” Jisung says. Chan jumps, startled from his thoughts. Jisung’s standing in the doorway, his hand up in front of his chest. “Why do you have this?”

Chan notices the hyung before he notices what Jisung is holding. Jisung has only called him gyosunim since the breakup. Unfailingly polite and professional.

Then Jisung lifts his hand and opens it and Chan sees the rectangular glass bottle with it’s round silver top and his heart fucking sinks.

It’s Jisung’s cologne. Not his exact bottle. But the exact same brand, the same scent: clementine and honey. About a month ago, Chan had a particularly rough bout of missing Jisung too much, and he’d ordered it online in a moment of weakness.

Rosie definitely thinks it’s his, and Chan hadn’t thought about the fact that it was sitting on a tray in his bathroom, tucked behind the cologne he usually wears.

He’d been so distracted by Jisung being in his apartment (Jisung is in his apartment, oh god, oh god) that he’d forgotten that he’d left evidence of his own weakness just laying around. Tangible evidence that’s now nestled in Jisung’s curved palm.

“Did I leave this here?” Jisung asks, turning the bottle over in his hand and eyeing it curiously. It’s at least halfway empty.

“No,” Chan says. He leans his head back against the wall again. Too tired, too exhausted to pretend to be anything other than what he is: lovesick. “You didn’t.”

Jisung’s eyes stay fixed on Chan’s, his expression unreadable. He comes closer until he’s standing over Chan. Chan’s heart thuds his chest so hard he swears he can hear it.

Jisung sets the bottle down on Chan’s coffee table without looking at it, the glass clinking against metal.

Jisung takes another step forward. He puts one knee up on the couch, next to Chan’s thigh. He hesitates for only half a second, then climbs into Chan’s lap.

Chan’s arms go right around Jisung’s waist. Muscle memory.

“Jisung,” Chan groans, his fingers spreading out over Jisung’s ribs. It feels so right to have him here again. Chan touches the side of Jisung’s neck. At the brush of skin, Jisung twitches. He cups Chan’s face in his hands, rests his full weight on Chan’s thighs. (Right where he belongs, right where he should stay, should always be.) And Jisung opens his mouth, just parts his lips to sigh and in his mind Chan’s already tasting him, but. But, “I’m with someone.”

“Is she here?” Jisung asks, and Chan half wants to strangle him for that, half wants to fuck him for it. Jisung sits up and looks around the room performatively, using the motion to slip further into Chan’s lap, to settle back down snugly on Chan’s crotch.

“No,” Chan says. His mouth is millimeters from Jisung’s jaw. His hands are pushing up Jisung’s shirt, nudging the fabric up so slowly with his palms and spread-out fingers that he could almost pretend it’s unintentional. But it’s not, and neither is the way Jisung is stroking the sides of Chan’s neck with his thumbs. “She doesn’t live here.”

Chan doesn’t know why he tells Jisung that, why he doesn’t say what he really means, which is, “I’m so sorry,” which is, “she’s not you,” which is, “I miss you so much I don’t know what to do.”

Jisung nudges the tip of his nose against Chan's cheek, rolling his body into him.

"Tell me to stop," Jisung says. "If you don't want this. Tell me to stop and I'll go, right now."

“No,” Chan says. Chan reaches his hands up and sinks his fingers into Jisung's soft hair, holding his head between his hands. His breathing feels ragged in his chest. “Don’t. Don’t you dare.”

Chan kisses him, brushes his lips against Jisung’s until they catch together and he presses forward. Jisung moans into the kiss and goes boneless in Chan's grip, sagging against his chest.

Chan lets go of his hair and wraps his arms around him instead. He flicks his tongue into Jisung's mouth, the taste of him so mouthwatering that Chan moans.

Chan grabs the back of Jisung's shirt for real, pulling it up to expose his soft tummy that Chan has to touch, to feel the way his muscles jump under Chan’s palm. Jisung breaks away from Chan's kisses only for long enough to take his shirt the rest of the way off and drop it onto the floor. Then he's back on Chan, kissing him again, bumping their noses together.

Chan reaches between them to undo the buttons on his own shirt, suddenly sweating, his thumbs slipping. Jisung takes advantage of the moment and kisses Chan's jaw and sucks on his neck, right below his ear.

He scrapes his teeth against the side of Chan's neck, and Chan's breath catches in his chest.

Jisung's hands wander over Chan's chest, down the planes of his abdomen. Like he’s remembering, like he’s admiring what he’s missed. Chan knows he’s doing the same.

"Fuck," is all Chan manages to say when Jisung's warm fingers wriggle under the waistband of his jeans and brush the base of his cock. He’s already hard, already so hard, since Jisung set his ass down on Chan’s lap.

Chan tries not to think about the fact that this is the most turned on he’s been in months, that Rosie never gets him feeling like this.

Nothing compares to Han Jisung, pretty and powerful and half-naked, just for Chan again.

Chan slides his hands down Jisung’s body and grabs his ass, yanking him closer. Jisung makes such a delicious sound that Chan has to do it again, harder this time, smacking him over his black jeans. It has the desired effect; Jisung moans and puts his lips on Chan’s again.

“Please,” Jisung whines, “Oh, please, hyung.”

“What do you want, baby?” Chan drawls, the pet name accidental, but it’s out there now, out there and Jisung is sucking on Chan’s earlobe. Jisung is grinding down against Chan’s erection, still straining in his jeans. The pleasure is sticky and hot, rolling down his spine like drops of sweat, sinking into his skin like the rays of a midsummer sun.

Jisung’s sharp little teeth sink into the skin below Chan’s ear and Chan sucks in air. He tightens his fingers in Jisung’s hair, hard enough that Jisung winces.

Chan pulls harder, gritting his teeth. Jisung whimpers, screwing his eyes shut, “Ah, ah, hyung.”

Good. Chan's brain thinks. His head feels fever-hot. Good. I hope this hurts, because you're killing me.

“I asked you a question, Jisung,” Chan admonishes. He grabs Jisung’s hip with his other hand not tangled in Jisung’s hair, pins him in place. Chan forgot how good it felt, to actually have Jisung in his control. Nothing matters except for this. How could it?

Chan hauls him to his feet by his hair, pulling harder than necessary, lifting him higher than he can stand so his heels lift up off the ground and he gasps in pain.

Chan's being rougher than he was before, but Jisung was always begging him to go harder, to hurt him more, so Chan tries. Chan feels like he's losing his mind, losing his grip on reality, and Jisung is gone but he's here right now, and this is a mistake that Chan is furious with himself for making and still, he does not stop.

Reality's edges feel slippery, hard to grasp, so instead Chan sinks his nails into Jisung's skin and he holds on.

He picks Jisung up easily, and Jisung wraps his long legs around Chan's waist. Jisung kisses him again as they walk. He tosses Jisung, roughly, onto the bed and tears his own shirt off, his hands trembling.

Jisung removes his own clothes hastily, but gets stuck taking off his jeans. Chan finishes getting undressed first and yanks Jisung's pants off, almost tearing them, threads popping.

And then he's on Jisung, exposed skin pressing together.

"Want you," Jisung says between kisses. "I need you. I need you so bad. Need you to fuck me, please fuck me please, please please."

Chan kisses him deeper, drawing their hips together, grinding his cock alongside Jisung's.

Chan leans back and bites Jisung beneath the collarbone, making him howl and squirm, his cock throbbing between them. He sinks his teeth in deeper, not hard enough to break the skin, just bring it up between his teeth so that Jisung will have a big, bite-mark shaped bruise on his chest for days.

Chan didn't ask if Jisung was seeing anyone who would care if he came home covered in Chan's marks. Right now Chan doesn’t care about that, and it doesn’t seem like Jisung does either, not with the way he’s scratching at Chan’s head, pinning him in place against his chest, his hips kicking up.

"Turn over," Chan gasps. He feels like he’ll die if he’s not inside Jisung, needs him in some terrifyingly primal way.

Jisung gets onto all fours, his wrists trembling to hold him steady.

("I think you just like making me get on my hands and knees for you," Jisung said to him, once, teasing and light. He’d laughed after, eyes full of teasing joy.)

“Can I spank you?” Chan hears himself ask. Jisung nods.

"Please. I need it. N-nobody takes care of me like you," Jisung agrees, his cheek on the bed, his ass in the air, presented for Chan. "Nobody does it right."

The implication that Jisung has been with other people, that other people have fucked him now, makes Chan see red.

And it hurts, aches behind his teeth, claws up the back of his throat.

I thought you were mine? Chan wants to say but that will just hurt more, and Chan can't talk, he's been with Rosie for half a year now. And it's not right but it's fine. And Chan's not happy but he's okay.

He won't be okay after this, he knows. This isn't pushing on a bruise, this is peeling off a scab, tearing into flesh and leaving it bleeding behind. But what else is he supposed to do? It's Jisung. And it's too late but Chan can see it all, now. A backwards trail map. Chan loves him. Chan loves him and it doesn’t make a goddamn bit of difference.

Chan hits him hard. The sound echoing, sharp, around the room. Jisung jolts forward and moans.

"That what you want?"

"Y-yes, thank you," Jisung says hurriedly. Chan almost smirks. He’s still so polite. It makes Chan just as crazy as it always did. “Again, please.”

"Good boy," Chan says. Jisung squeaks. Chan slaps him again, harder, the fat on his asscheeks jiggle. Chan slaps him lower down, on his upper thigh, just to see that jiggle too. "Good fucking boy."

Chan walks forward on his knees until he’s right up against Jisung’s ass and he wants–, he fucking wants to say, “I missed this. I missed you,” but some things you don’t say, even if they are true so instead Chan opens his mouth and what comes out is,

“Tell me who, huh?” He spreads Jisung open. Rubs his thumb over Jisung’s hole. "Who did you let fuck you?"

"A boy. Boys," Jisung says, shaking his head. "They were nobodies. Just…just boys."

"Just boys?" Chan says. He spits onto Jisung's hole, then rubs his saliva around with his fingers. "Is that why you're back here? Because you were tired of boys?"

It’s easier, isn’t it? To spin this narrative. To make this about sex and not about them, not really.

Chan sucks on his first two fingers. He smacks Jisung again, holding him open with his other hand. He sinks his middle finger into the second knuckle. Jisung yelps. His hole tightens around him, tries to push him out but Chan pushes back, stroking the silk-soft walls inside.

"Needed someone to put you in your place," Chan says. Chan looks him over, miles of unblemished, soft skin, only a few moles scattered across his body. So many places for Chan to mark up. Satisfy his sick need to make damn sure every inch of Jisung is his again.

"Needed you," Jisung pants. Chan pushes his finger further inside. "Only you."

Chan pushes in farther, stuffing another finger in, too. He aims right for Jisung's prostate, and is pleased to find it easily, his body remembering Jisung's like they'd never ended.

And he shouldn't but he wants to ask, he wants to know. How many?

Chan leaves only to get a condom, but Jisung’s already trembling like a leaf when he gets back, still waiting obediently on hands and knees. Chan hurries to get back on the bed and smooth a hand down his side.

“Hey, hey,” Chan says, dropping his voice low and gentle, “You okay?”

“Yeah, Christopher,” Jisung says in English. Chan’s stomach flips. “Wanna feel you.”

And there goes any hope Chan had about letting this just be sex. And how could it be? He’s stupid for even trying. This is Jisung. (My baby, Chan thinks, my baby, my baby.) He lines up and pushes his cock inside.

After, Jisung lays on his back, panting, his stomach rising and falling, and Chan feels the walls closing in on him as the high from his orgasm retreats, because it’s over, it’s over and Jisung is going to leave again and. And.

And Jisung is crying. His heaving breaths melting into sobs, tears welling up in his eyeline and falling down his cheeks.

Chan moves towards him across the sheets. Takes his arm and slips it underneath Jisung and pulls him into his arms, letting his head nod against his chest. Jisung grabs at him, burying his face in Chan's neck and crying, his tears wetting Chan's skin.

"Its not fucking fair," Jisung says between jagged breaths. "I just, I just want-–"

"I know," Chan murmurs, touching Jisung's cheek, brushing his hair back. "I know."

"You're here?" Jisung asks, wet, tear-streaked cheeks. "You're really here?"

"I'm right here," Chan says, tightening his arms around Jisung. Chan kisses him on his sweaty forehead. All of Chan’s resolve is gone. He lets them have this moment. Then another. And another. "M'right here, I promise. I'm so sorry."

"Hurts so fucking much," Jisung says. He grips Chan so hard his fingernails pinch Chan's skin.

"I know," Chan murmurs. His heart is breaking. "Me too."

Should have turned him away at the door. Should never have let him in. Shouldn't, shouldn't, shouldn't.

Chan tilts Jisung’s chin up and swipes his thumbs under Jisung's eyes and holds his face between his hands.

Shouldn't kiss him, should tell him to go, should, should call him a cab, should tell him this can't —

Chan touches his lips to Jisung's, his top lip wet with tears and snot and Chan doesn't care. Jisung's lips tremble and he lets out another sob. Chan swallows it, slipping his tongue into Jisung's mouth, brushing over Jisung's tongue with his own.

Jisung bites down, teeth scraping Chan's bottom lip, and wraps his arms around Chan's neck, squeezing. They're tangled together, facing each other. Jisung kisses him and kisses him. Chan slips his knee between Jisung's legs, pressing his thigh against Jisung's cock. Jisung shivers.

"Again," Jisung whimpers against Chan's mouth. "Wan' you again. One more time, just one, please, I—"

“Shh,” Chan slides his hands down Jisung's sweaty back, to soothe, but also to bring him closer, crush his body against Chan's. His cock twitches to life as Chan grinds up with his thigh.

He slips his hands back up Jisung's back, over his shoulders, tangling in his hair. He pulls, disconnecting their mouths, arching Jisung's neck back. Chan's eyes search Jisung's face.

Shouldn't shouldn't shouldn't

He kisses Jisung again.

"Okay, honey, okay," Chan says, "I’ve got you."

✵

Chan ends things with Rosie the next day, sitting cross-legged in an empty bed that smells like Jisung and sex.

He doesn’t tell her, and he tries to convince himself that it’s to protect Jisung, but he knows, deep down, that it’s just his own shame.

She doesn’t cry, but her voice gets quiet and shaky and Chan knows her well enough to know that she’ll cry later, when she’s by herself.

“I’m sorry,” Chan tells her, “Rosie, I’m so sorry. I have a lot of work to do on myself before I can be with anyone else, I think. It’s not your fault.”

✵

In February, Chan watches Jisung graduate. Sees him stand with his brother while his brother's wife takes photos of them. Sees Jisung's nephew, walking now, take unsteady steps towards Jisung’s outstretched arms.

Jisung's parents don't show.

Chan runs into him in the hallway afterwards, still in his navy-blue robes, diploma under one arm, texting someone and smiling down at his phone.

"Jisung," Chan says before he can think better of it. Jisung looks up and when they make eye contact, Chan’s stomach drops into a freefall. He clears his throat. "I just wanted to say congratulations. I'm really proud of you. You worked really hard and you, ah. You did well. You deserve it."

And Jisung smiles. It's a little mournful, but sweet nonetheless.

"Thank you," he says, dipping his head. “Chan.”

Down the hall, the bathroom door opens, and Jisung’s brother comes out. Barely casting Chan a glance, he waves Jisung towards him, nodding his head towards the exit. Jisung stands up and Chan swears he looks taller than he did a few months ago. Is he taller than Chan now?

His shoulders still look small, and it’s all Chan can do to stop himself from taking Jisung in his arms, giving him a proper goodbye. But he can’t risk touching Jisung while his brother is watching them. Chan’s sure he would give himself away, somehow. That he’d hold him too tenderly, too naturally, too long.

So Chan nods instead, indicating that Jisung should go. They both know, anyway. It doesn’t have to be said. Doesn’t have to be expressed. They know.

Jisung gives him a small smile and a half-wave. He leaves and Chan doesn't see him again for a long, long time.

✵

✵

Five Years Later:

It takes Chan years, a rescue dog named Prince, a change in friends and scenery, a career shift and a lot of hard conversations with himself to get here.

Well, not here, to Nayeon’s kitchen. That only took a five minute walk, since they live so close now. But here:

"I'm gay," Chan says, his fist planted on Nayeon's new marble countertop. She turns, braid swinging, holding onto her fridge door handle. She stares at him, sizing him up with her mouth slightly open. She narrows her eyes.

"Okay?" She says. She lets the fridge door close, snapping open a plastic container of green grapes. She waves one in his general direction. "Didn't we already know this?"

"Yes, but I mean I'm gay. I'm not interested in dating women. I can't see myself ever being in love with a woman," Chan says. "Because I like men. Do you get what I mean?"

Nayeon nods. She pops another grape in her mouth and chews thoughtfully. “This is a big moment for you.”

“Yes, it is,” Chan says. He crosses his arms.

Nayeon bites down on the grape she has in her mouth and picks another one. “Would you like me to say something?”

“I mean, you don’t ha-ave to,” Chan says. He hears his voice reaching the pitch it only gets when he talks to his best friend. Or Hannah, sometimes, if they’ve spent the whole week together and start acting like kids again. In other words, he’s whining. “It’s just something I’ve been working towards for many, many years. Not a big deal or anything.”

Nayeon seems to consider this, bobbing her head and pursing her lips thoughtfully. “I’m very proud of you.”

“Thank you,” Chan says, cracking a smile.

“I saw this coming,” Nayeon says, eating another grape.

“Thank you?” Chan says, laughing. Nayeon raises one corner of her mouth.

In the background, the shower shuts off. Chan leans across the counter and steals a grape from the tupperware container Nayeon’s holding and pops it in his mouth triumphantly. Nayeon bats his hands away and complains.

Yerim emerges from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, wrapped in a bathrobe, her hair up in a towel.

“Oh, lovely!” Yerim says, kissing Nayeon on the cheek. She has to get up onto her tip-toes to do it. “Our boyfriend is here. Hello Chan.”

She winks and Chan grins at her. It’s impossible not to love Yerim.

Nayeon looks disgusted, but Chan’s learned by now that’s just how she expresses affection. Well, it’s how she expresses affection to Chan, who she sometimes calls “the brother she never wanted”.

(Chan wouldn’t want her any other way, wouldn’t love her this much if she wasn’t exactly who she was, and he knows she feels the same way about him. She’s his big sister in every way that matters.)

If it’s Yerim, Nayeon’s affection looks like feeding grapes to her by hand, or brushing her hair out while she sits on the floor between Nayeon’s legs, or spoiling her with expensive jewelry.

“Can I tell her?” Nayeon asks Chan.

“Yeah,” Chan says, laughing, “You’d tell her after I left anyway.”

“True,” Nayeon nods. “Honey, Channie just came out to me.”

“Yeah?” Yerim asks, getting her face serum out of the fridge and applying it with her ring finger rubbing in gentle circles. She looks at Chan expectantly.

“I just said I feel like I’m finally comfortable with describing myself as gay,” Chan says. He’s only blushing slightly as he says it. He’s forty now. He’s not embarrassed about who he is anymore. (And he’ll keep telling himself that until it feels true. Until it is true.)

“Oh!” Yerim says. She flaps her hand in Chan’s direction. “Oh! This is something to celebrate!”

“Thank you! I thought so too,” Chan says. Nayeon rolls her eyes.

“Babe, do you think…” Yerim looks at Nayeon, raising her eyebrows until they almost reach the towel on her head. Chan waits for her to finish, but she doesn’t, and somehow Nayeon seems to understand what she means.

“Yes!” Nayeon exclaims. Chan looks back and forth between the two of them, confused. They do this all the time, now that they live together. Speak without speaking. It drives Chan nuts. Chan’s caught them doing it in rooms full of other people, locking eyes for just a moment when everyone else is looking away, and breaking out into giggles.

“Do you think he’s ready?” Yerim asks seriously. Nayeon pretends to eye him up, rubbing her chin with her thumb and forefinger.

“I do,” she says, finally. She nods.

“Uh,” Chan says, frowning, “Ready for…what?”

Yerim looks pointedly at Nayeon, then turns to Chan and smiles. She looks far too devious for someone as cute as she is. “To come to a party with us.”

✵

The party turns out to be a release party for Nayeon’s girls. They just had a comeback, and it’s already doing well on the charts, and they took home an award on MNet last night. Chan’s proud of them, of course. But they have three comebacks a year, and this party is at Nayeon’s company building which means that it is, technically speaking, a work party.

He’s been here for an hour, and Chan can’t figure out why Nayeon invited him, and why she and Yeri made such a big deal about him coming. Chan’s been in the industry long enough now that he knows most of the people here. It means he’s not lonely, at least, but it’s almost ten and Chan’s feet hurt and all he wants to do is go home and see his dog.

He’s about to go and try to find Nayeon to say goodbye and probably, What the fuck did you bring me here for?, but he's interrupted by Ryujin, who steps into his path and grabs him by the upper arms.

She and the other girls are wearing black pleather tonight, covered in straps and harnesses.

"Oppa," Ryujin demands. She’s kind of bouncing on her feet. "Have you seen Nayeon-unnie? My feet are killing me and I'm five minutes from peeing my pants. Like tops."

“I’m looking for her too,” Chan says, then cocks his head. "Wait. You… need Nayeon to tell you you can go to the bathroom?"

"No!" Ryujin says, smacking him in the upper arm with her clutch. Every time he sees the girls, one of them ends up hitting him. Every goddamn time. "I'm sewn into my outfit and I couldn't fit scissors in my tiny purse, so she has them."

Chan's about to open his mouth when she gasps and turns around. "Never mind!! I see her!"

Chan laughs to himself as she pushes past him and jogs over to Nayeon, who's just walking back into the room with a group of friends.

Behind him, someone calls his name.

"Chan?"

Chan's heart stops. He turns around and it starts again, double time. His mind is completely blank, and Han Jisung is standing in front of him.

"I thought you might be here," Jisung says. He’s smiling? "I mean, I was hoping you’d be here. I'm glad."

Jisung is standing in front of him and Jisung is glad. Chan blinks.

"What…what are you doing here?" Chan asks.

Jisung's brow furrows, "Nayeon never told you?"

"Never told me what?"

"I work for her," Jisung says, "Or with her, I guess. I work at her company. I've been there almost six months?"

Chan looks over at Nayeon, where she's standing with Yerim, looking back at Chan. They both immediately look away, pretending to be engrossed in conversation. Suddenly, it all makes sense, and Chan has to laugh at their audacity.

“She didn’t tell you,” Jisung says. “Did she?”

“No, she did not,” he says. Chan shakes his head, still laughing.

Jisung smiles at him, fondness in his eyes. And wow, wow, wow. Chan’s heart feels like flowers blooming. Feels like a fresh fall of snow in the middle of the night.

He owes Nayeon dinner for this, he knows. Owes her a lot more than that. Owes her a life. Owes her whatever one smile from Han Jisung is worth. Which is a lot. Which is everything.

“They didn’t want me to know you’d be here, I think,” Chan says, “They were probably worried that I wouldn’t come if I knew.”

“Well,” Jisung says, cocking his head. “Would you have?”

Chan hesitates. Jisung watches him, his face open and curious.

“Yeah, I would have,” Chan says. Jisung relaxes, almost imperceptibly. “I don’t think I would have been able to stay away.”

I thought about you every single day, did you think about me?

“Me too,” Jisung says. He leans forward, like he’s telling Chan a secret. “This is the eighth outfit I tried on. I thought Minho was gonna kill me.”

“You look great,” Chan says. He glances back over to Jisung’s group of friends and sees Minho regarding them with narrowed eyes. A few of Jisung’s other friends that Chan doesn’t recognize see him looking and look away, but Minho stares him down. He can still feel Nayeon and Yerim’s eyes on him. And probably Ryujin’s too, at this point. It doesn’t bother him the way it used to, people looking. Let them look. He wouldn’t sacrifice a single second of Jisung’s attention for any of them. “You picked the right one.”

“Thanks,” Jisung says. “You look nice, too.”

Chan’s not sure how true that is. He knows he’s showing his age now, more than he was five years ago. He’s got crow’s feet by the corners of his eyes, and a whole curl of his hair right at the front has gone gray. But Jisung’s not looking away from him. In fact, Jisung seems to be drinking him in, eyes tracing over the planes of his face. It makes Chan’s toes curl in his shoes, joy blooming in his chest like ink in water.

“Thank you,” Chan says.

“How are you?” Jisung asks. “Really, how are you?”

Chan’s stomach clenches. He’s not proud of the person he was when Jisung knew him. He’s trying to be kinder to himself now. Hides away less. Spends more time with Nayeon, Yerim, and their friends. Jihoon’s been a good friend to him, too, and he and his boyfriend, Mingyu, invite Chan over for dinner once or twice a month. His new apartment in Gangnam has two bedrooms, and one is always reserved for Hannah, Daniel, and the twins.

“I’m good,” Chan says, smiling. He straightens his shoulders. “I produce full time now. I left the university the year after you did.”

“I know,” Jisung says. He looks bashful. “I mean. I know about the producing. I still buy all your albums. The one you did with Kim Seungmin last year?” Jisung sucks air in through his teeth, and shakes his head approvingly. “Totally genius. I think I’ve listened to Lighthouse a thousand times.”

“Thank you,” Chan says, his ears flushing. “I kind of wondered. I mean. I wonder. Every time I write a song, I wonder what you’ll think.”

“Every time?” Jisung asks. The way he goes quiet and breathless, it feels like he’s asking Chan a different question entirely. “Still?”

“Still, yeah,” Chan answers. He shrugs one shoulder. “Maybe always.”

“Oh,” Jisung says. His lips part. Chan wants to touch him. Wants to cup his face in his hands and pepper kisses all over his cheeks. Wants to touch his thumb to the fullest part of Jisung’s bottom lip. Wants to pinch the edge of his sleeve, just to make sure he’s really here.

“What— um. What about you?” Chan asks to fill the silence. Asks so he doesn't say, Oh there you are. Look at you. Wonderful boy, blessed boy. “How are you?”

“M’okay,” Jisung says with a shrug. “I make enough to pay my own rent, now. Still live with Minho, though. If that wasn’t obvious. I did my military service after I graduated, and then I was working at a restaurant for a while before I got the job with Nayeon-noona. She’s terrifying, by the way. Like, don’t get me wrong, I like her a lot, and I look up to her so much. But, yeah. Terrifying.”

Chan giggles. “Yeah, I know. That’s my girl.”

Jisung looks at him with such tenderness that something in Chan’s chest caves in. What a miracle, he thinks. What a gift. He’s the luckiest person in the world, probably.

“I have a dog,” Chan blurts out, then blushes. Just to say something. Just to say something he knows will make Jisung happy. Jisung straightens up.

“You have a dog?!” Jisung half-shouts. Behind him, a few heads turn in his direction. He keeps his eyes on Chan. “Hyung, that's amazing! You always wanted a dog. What kind?”

“She’s a rescue so I’m not really sure,” Chan says. “Her name is Prince. Do you want to see a picture?”

“Obviously!” Jisung says, and Chan giggles. He takes out his phone and shows Jisung his lockscreen, which is Prince with her head cocked to the side, her slightly folded ears pointed straight up. She’s a warm, light brown color, with a pointy nose and big paws that she’s never quite grown into. Chan loves her. “She’s so beautiful, hyung.”

“Thanks,” Chan says. He smiles, his heart glowing like Jisung’s complimenting his real child.

“Maybe I could meet her sometime?” Jisung asks eagerly, then his face drops and he blushes. “Or. Sorry. That’s a lot. We haven’t seen each other in forever. I didn’t mean to–”

“No, it’s fine,” Chan says, “I don’t mind. I’d like that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, Jisung,” Chan says. Jisung beams.

“So. What are you up to?” Chan asks. Jisung looks at him incredulously.

“Right now?”

“Yeah, right now,” Chan grins.

“Uh, I’m at a work party,” Jisung says, a grin spreading across his face too. “With my boss. And her boss,” Jisung nods his chin towards where a well-dressed woman is talking to the CEO, “Aaand my roommate,” Jisung nods back at where Chan assumes Minho is. He doesn’t look. Jisung’s eyes flick down to Chan’s mouth. “And you.”

“Sounds boring,” Chan says.

“Incredibly,” Jisung says. His eyes are on Chan’s again, and full of that Jisung sparkle. Full of life. Chan wants to drown in it. Chan wants to kiss him.

“Thought so,” Chan says. He feels buoyant. Light as air. “Wanna leave?”

Jisung's eyebrows shoot up, and he slowly smiles. "Absolutely I do."

"Really?" Chan asks, slightly incredulous. He doesn't even mean to ask. Jisung giggles.

"Yeah, Chan-hyung," (The sound of his own name on Jisung's lips again is indescribable. Leaves Chan wondering if anyone else has ever pronounced his name correctly because surely nobody says it the way Jisung does.) "Let me grab my stuff and say goodbye to my friends. Don't–"

Jisung reaches a hand out towards him and then drops it again. "Don't go anywhere."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Chan says, smiling.

✵

Im Nayeon:

where did you go last night

Im Nayeon:

chan!!! you have to tell me

Im Nayeon:

you owe me and you know it

Im Nayeon:

i never lied

you never asked

Im Nayeon:

idk that really sounds like a you problem

tell me you’re not happy

Im Nayeon:

i saw your face, channie

tell me you’re not on cloud nine right now

Im Nayeon:

what did you talk about?

Im Nayeon:

i know, bud

everyone knows

by everyone i mean me and yerim we talk about it all the time

and what do you mean what do you do?

you tell him

Im Nayeon:

who cares what i think, this is about you and him and nobody else

Im Nayeon:

Yuck.

fine, if it matters, i give you my blessing you deserve to be happy, chan

and either way

jisung deserves to know

Im Nayeon:

luckily that's not up to you

it's up to him

you just make sure he has all the facts (i.e. that you love him) and he can decide for himself if you deserve a second chance or not

and I don't know him that well but ive seen the way he lights up when I mention your name

and I saw the way he looked at you

✵

Chan and Jisung meetup after work a few times over the next few weeks. Just as friends. Chan knows Jisung’s not dating anyone. And he thinks, (he hopes), that Jisung still loves him. Chan feels it, anyway, when he’s around him. He just hasn’t worked out how to tell him that he loves him back, that he’s always loved him back. Hasn’t worked out a way to ask if it’s okay if they start again. If they try one more time.

Tonight, after Chan pays for dinner just so Jisung will look at him and say, “Thanks, hyung, really.” Chan follows Jisung out of the restaurant and listens to him talk about his stressful job running errands for the real producers at the company.

“Give it time,” Chan says. “You’re a ‘real producer’, too, whatever that means. You’re one of the best musicians I know. They’ll see it, too. Just be patient.”

Jisung opens his mouth, then closes it again. A slow smile spreads across his face, his eyes cast down. He shakes his head like he’s laughing at himself.

“What?” Chan asks, watching his face. His breath fogs in the air.

Jisung blushes. “It’s nothing. Just. Forgot how good it felt when you compliment me.”

Chan smiles and Jisung nudges him with his shoulder, giggling nervously. Jisung’s solid, stronger than he used to be, and he pushes Chan out of step. Chan laughs.

Chan doesn’t want this night to end, he realizes. He doesn’t want to say goodbye to Jisung and see him again in a week, maybe two.

He wants Jisung in his bed and he wants to wake up next to Jisung in the morning. He wants Jisung’s time. His laughter, his comforting presence. He wants Jisung. All of him, the way he is.

He has a life, and he wants to share it with Jisung.

Chan brushes his knuckles against Jisung's. His heart leaps into his throat. Staccato beat under his ribcage. As naturally as he can manage, he gathers Jisung's hand in his, slipping his fingers between Jisung's.

Jisung stops dead. Chan walks a step ahead, holding on to Jisung's hand. Jisung stares at him, his lips parted, his eyebrows drawing together.

"Is that okay?" Chan asks. Jisung falters, and for a moment he's Jisung as Chan first met him: young and eager, unsure of himself.

"Are you kidding?"

Chan squeezes Jisung's hand and smiles. "Dead serious."

Jisung blinks rapidly, his cheeks coloring.

"Of course it's okay," Jisung says, his voice thick. He starts to walk again. He smiles, slow, his nose crinkling. He rubs his thumb over Chan's. "Been waiting."

✵

Chan battles with breakfast. It's something that he's been meaning to get to, in his new character arc. Learning how to cook. He's not quite there yet but he can make kimchi jjigae and have it taste almost as good as his mom's.

"Hi," Jisung says cutely as he sidles up to Chan at the stove, not quite touching him but hovering near, resting his palms on the counter, fingers turned backwards so he can grip the marble edge.

Jisung rubs at an eye, squinting at Chan. Behind them, Prince lets out a little yip from her dog bed in the living room.

"Try this," Chan says, holding his spoon up for Jisung. Jisung's eyes track the spoon, then detour to Chan's face, before he dips and eats the offered spoonful.

"That's good!" Jisung says. His eyebrows raise. "Wait, that's actually good!"

Chan laughs, "Was the 'actually' really necessary?"

Jisung laughs too. God, Chan loves making him laugh. He missed it. He doesn't plan on wasting an opportunity to do it ever again.

He doesn't want to waste any more opportunities, not with Jisung, anyway. He's far too important. Chan knows that now.

"Hey, Jisung?" Chan says, tapping the spoon on the pot and resting it on the counter. Jisung's halfway to the door, on his way to pet the dog, but he turns back around, stifling a yawn with his hand. Chan takes him in: his sleep-messy hair, his ratty old t-shirt, his bare feet on Chan's kitchen tile.

Jisung cocks his head. A small, curious smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. Out the window behind him, the sky is a clear, vibrant blue. "Hm?"

Chan shakes his head, grinning. And there's no way it can be this simple, there isn't, but. But Chan opens his mouth and he finds that it is.

"I love you."

Jisung blinks hard. "What did you just say?"

Chan laughs. He finds it even easier to say the second time. "I love you, Jisung."

"Oh," Jisung says, considering. "Yeah?"

"Yeah, I love you. I love you so much. I've always loved you. I never stopped. How could I? You are, by far, the best thing that's ever happened to me and I'm so sorr–", and then he's got an armful of Han Jisung, colliding solidly with his chest. "Oof."

Jisung squeezes him, arms around his back, face buried in his neck. Chan laughs, lowering his arms around Jisung, too.

Jisung mumbles something into Chan's throat.

"What was that?" Chan says, jostling Jisung from side to side. Jisung lifts his head with a dramatic suck of air.

"I love you, too."

Chan giggles again, cradling the back of Jisung's head and kissing him softly. "Good, I'm glad we established that."

"Me too," Jisung says, nodding sagely. His eyes fill with tears. "It's good to know these things."

Chan closes his eyes and holds Jisung to him, feeling the sun on his face.