Some days you could handle it. You could go, put in your earbuds, and keep your slack-jawed gaping at his perfect form to an absolute minimum, only between sets and while being mostly hidden from view behind a squat rack. Other days he’d catch you while you were already in a spiral, beating yourself up for somehow catching feelings for your best friend. Your perfect, talented, funny, absolutely jacked best friend, who didn’t have any idea about any of this, and you never intended to let him find out.

On those days, you deployed your secret weapon: Chan.

It had started innocently enough: one day when you were feeling way too panicked to be around Changbin glistening in a tank top, you’d texted Chan to see if he could offer to go with Changbin to the gym instead, to put the pressure off you. When Changbin had called to tell you that Chan was coming, you’d said, “Oh, I can’t go if Chan is there.” And something in the slight warble of your voice had given Changbin the wrong idea.

“Oh,” he’d said, a little slowly. “You can’t?”

“No.”

“Because of… Chan.”

“Um, yeah.”

He’d hummed down the line, like he was computing. Then he’d said, “Okay. I didn’t realize.”

You stayed silent, trying to figure out what he meant.

A conspiratorial grin crept into his voice. “I won’t tell, promise. Call you later!”

It took you about thirty seconds of your own processing to figure out that Changbin thought you liked Chan.

It turned out it was easier if you just let him believe that. You never said anything outright, just let him draw his own conclusions, which you didn’t bother to correct. And what was the harm? Changbin was tickled that you liked his bandmate, and you had a bulletproof excuse to skip the gym on days you didn’t feel up to it.

You did end up telling Chan, mostly because he’d gotten fed up one particularly bad week where you’d asked him to cover for you three separate times and confronted you outside the practice rooms.

“He thinks that you like me,” he’d said, confused.

“Yes,” you’d replied.

“Why?”

“It’s just easier this way.”

“Easier than what?”

You’d exhaled through your nose. “Than telling him I can’t go to the gym with him because I can’t see him on the weight bench without picturing him horizontal in other places.”

Chan had choked on the water he’d been taking a sip of, and you’d had to pound him on the back several times before his airways cleared.

“Surely there was a better way to phrase that,” he’d said.

You’d shrugged. “Not a more accurate one.”

Then you’d worked out a deal: you couldn’t call on him more than twice a week, and you had to accept his no if he had schedules or other work stuff.

So when Changbin texted, Gym today? you shot off a text to Chan immediately. You’d just seen Changbin the night before at your regularly scheduled movie night. He’d insisted on feeding you by hand instead of handing you food any time you’d wanted something off his plate, and he’d draped a blanket over both of you, keeping your knees in brushing distance the whole time. You’d basically been a live wire the entire evening, which left you exhausted the next day.

Chan’s reply came a few minutes later: Can’t today, sorry

I haven’t even called on you once this week, you shot back.

You two are killing me, Chan’s next text said. Look he asked me not to come to the gym today

You just sent back ??????

He wants to hang out with his best friend. Sue him.

Something in you softened. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to hang out with him; it was that you wanted to too much. You wanted to keep hanging out with him forever, which meant never, ever letting him know how weird you’d gotten about him inside your brain. But it still struck you like a jolt of electricity to think about him wanting to hang out with you, intentionally.

Okay well thanks for letting me know, you replied to Chan. I’ll manage

And then, to Changbin, you replied, Okay but I didn’t sleep great, go easy on me

He said, No promises, be there in 20

You groaned to yourself and started digging through your dresser for clean workout clothes.

Twenty minutes later, you tore yourself away from reciting some calming affirmations in the mirror (”You are not weird and you can breathe normally around him”) to answer the knock at the door. You opened it to find Changbin, a wide grin on his face.

Even knowing it would be him, you still felt your breath catch.

“Gym time!” he said, bright and a little too loud. “Let’s go, come on.”

You snatched your gym bag and your water bottle off the counter and followed him out, locking the door behind you.

He was whistling as you both hustled down the stairs and exited the building. The sky was a light gray, overcast in a way that made the light bend strangely and the air feel too warm. You were trying to look anywhere but at the outline of Changbin’s thighs in his gray sweatpants.

“You’re in a good mood today,” you muttered as you both strode down the sidewalk.

“Missed this!” he said. “Gym time with you.”

You rolled your eyes, hoping he’d see that if he looked instead of the instant flush of your cheeks. “You saw me literally last night.”

“Yeah, but you haven’t been with me to the gym in ages,” he said. “So this is different.”

“I’m flattered,” you said. “It makes that much of a difference?”

“Uh, yeah,” he said, grinning and landing a hand on your shoulder. “You know I like to have someone to witness my accomplishments. What’s the point if no one sees it?”

“If a PR gets knocked down in an empty gym, does it even make a sound?” You giggled. “I bet it does. I bet you cheer for yourself even if there’s no one there.”

“Hell yeah, I do,” he said. “But it is better if it’s someone else.”

“Chan doesn’t cheer for you?” you said.

He chuckled, but something in his demeanor calmed a little. “He does, but I have to cheer for him too.”

“I resent the implication that you never need to cheer for me.”

“What—no, I didn’t—I didn’t mean—”

You elbowed him in the ribs lightly. “Calm down, I’m teasing. I’m not out here setting any records.”

“You’re also not out here tracking anything,” he said. “You’re probably setting PRs all the time and just not realizing.”

“I am actually trying to do less every time I go,” you said. “You’re my biggest obstacle. You keep assigning me squats and putting more weight on the bar.”

“Please, you like it,” he said.

“I resent it immensely and then am proud of myself that I survived,” you shot back. “It’s different.”

“You keep telling yourself that, but I see you flexing in the mirror.”

He was grinning. You forced yourself to laugh, but your face was burning. He’d seen you flex in the mirror? You thought maybe last time you’d checked out your calves and triceps after he’d challenged you to a grueling superset of jump squats and kickbacks, but the idea that he’d seen you checking yourself out made you want to keel over.

You walked in silence for a minute or two, before he finally said, in an even voice, “So when are you going to let me check if Chan’s interested?”

You stumbled on the sidewalk out of sheer shock, and he had to catch you by the upper arm to keep you from falling. You got your feet under you and brushed his hand away, not making eye contact. “Changbin, you’ve got to leave it alone.”

“Aw, come on,” he said, a whine creeping into his voice. “I hate to think of you pining when there’s an easy solution.”

“I’m not pining,” you shot back.

“You won’t be in the same room with him if he’s going to be wearing a tank top,” said Changbin. “Sounds like pining to me.”

You tried not to think about whatever Changbin had on under his sweatshirt. “I’m just being mindful of my limits.”

“Well, it’s limiting us from hanging out together,” he said, scrunching his nose a little. “I want to be able to go with both of you to the gym. Just let me poke around, figure out if he’d be interested.”

“You’re as subtle as a sledgehammer,” you said. “You’d just stomp into the practice room and ask him if he’d want to go out with me.”

“He’d say yes or no and then you’d have your answer!” Changbin huffed.

“I don’t want an answer. Things are fine as is.”

He snorted. “Tell that to your thighs tomorrow when they’re jelly because you haven’t been to the gym in three weeks.”

“Hey, I can go to the gym without you,” you said airily.

You didn’t realize he’d stopped on the sidewalk until several steps later, when the sound of his feet had halted. You turned to face him, finding him rooted in place.

“You’re going to the gym without me?” he said.

You just turned back around and continued down the sidewalk. “I said I can, not that I do,” you tossed over your shoulder.

“Yah!” he yelled. His footsteps slapped on the sidewalk as he sprinted to catch up with you, and you felt him lightly punch you on the shoulder. “I knew you wouldn’t go on your own.”

“Someday I’ll become a whole new person and surprise you,” you said.

“Nah, I like you the way you are,” he said.

Those words socked you in the stomach. You swallowed, trying not to let it show on your face.

When you finally reached the gym, you peeled apart into your separate locker rooms to drop off your stuff. You rummaged around in your bag for a few things, and then you stuffed your bag into a locker and pulled your sweatshirt over your head so you could cram it in there too. You made a silent inventory: earbuds, phone, water bottle, remaining shred of dignity. Ready, I guess.

You exited the locker room, bracing yourself, schooling your face into neutrality. Of course, when you caught sight of Changbin waving you over to where he was, your breath caught, but you swallowed it down. You weren’t going to let the muscles of his raised arm and shoulder, on full display in his black tank top, distract you. You were going to be normal for however long you were here. You were.

You warmed up while listening to Changbin tell you some funny story from the studio as he stretched out. You smiled and laughed in all the right places, nodded at the appropriate moments, asked follow-up questions, all while forcing yourself to keep your head on straight. When he straightened and said, “Okay, I’m going to start with the leg press,” you nodded.

“Okay. I’ll be on the treadmill,” you said.

He balked. “That’s on the other side of the gym!”

Exactly. “Yeah, well, I’m sure we’ll run into each other.”

His face twisted in displeasure, but he didn’t say anything else.

You split up, him toward one end and you toward the line of treadmills. There were a few people already using them, but luckily there were plenty of open spots for you to pick. Your stomach was doing acrobatics, but some light jogging and a distraction in the form of a show on your phone would be just the thing to settle yourself. You selected a treadmill.

Maybe ten minutes later, just as you had finished a second circuit of light jogging and about half an episode of a show on your phone, your eye caught Changbin, who deliberately strolled into view in front of the treadmills, throwing a wink at you that made the butterflies in your stomach go wild. His sweat had already gathered everywhere, on his shoulders, on his neck, in the hollow of his throat, along his hairline. He made his way to a weight bench in your direct line of sight and started loading plates onto a barbell.

You were stuck watching him as he flagged another guy down and asked him to spot, then lay back under the bar. You tried to go back to your show, the audio still playing in your ears, but it felt very distant as your eyes were inextricably drawn back to him. It was patently unfair, you thought, that he was so mesmerizing. He didn’t even have to do anything, just throw you a wink and be supine, and you were suddenly light in the head and weak in the knees.

You slowed the treadmill and then stopped it, and then hopped off, turning around to find some other exercise to distract yourself with.

It became a pattern: you would move to another part of the gym, trying to focus on something other than your traitorous thoughts, and then Changbin would show up on a suspiciously close machine in your line of sight, making a goofy face and flexing and setting up to do his reps. Then you’d move, and so would he. Every time he moved in front of you, your throat tightened. You didn’t even know why you were so frustrated that you felt like crying, just that your stupidly hot best friend wouldn’t leave you alone.

Eventually, you stomped past him a little too hard, trying to find some corner of the gym where he couldn’t join you, and he caught you by the shoulder as you passed. “Hey,” he said. “Is something wrong?”

Me. Me me me everything inside my head is wrong I hate this I just want to be normal about you but— “Everything’s fine, Bin.”

“Are you avoiding me?”

You swallowed around a lump in your throat. “You’re following me all over the gym.”

“Well, yeah,” he said, eyes roaming your face, confused. “I thought we were hanging out.”

It would have hurt less if he had punched you. You instantly hated yourself for putting all that uncertainty in his voice, for causing his bewildered expression.

“I’m sorry, Bin,” you said, “I’m just… tired.”

“You seem more than just tired.”

Of course he could read that on you. He knew you better than anyone. You cast about for some other explanation, one that maybe trended closer to the truth.

“You ever have those days where you just don’t want to be perceived?”

He shrugged. “Sure, but I had to train those out of me, for the most part.”

“Well, I still have them. Today’s one of those days, you know? I just wanted to be out of the way.”

“You’re not in the way,” he said automatically. “You’re never in the way.”

You scoffed. “Bin, you’ve been following me around the place like a puppy. You can’t tell me you’ve gotten a solid workout in by bouncing around aimlessly.”

He shrugged again. “Who cares? I’m here all the time. I wanted to spend today with you.”

You felt your mouth twitch. He had no idea what that did to you. “I’m sorry. I know I’m not good company today—”

“You’re always good company,” he said, his big hands landing on your shoulders. “It’s okay, we don’t have to force it if you’re not feeling it. Why don’t you let me finish a few things and cool down and then we can go back to your place and order lunch? After it stops raining, I guess.”

You glanced over at the window, suddenly realizing that it was pouring outside. You hadn’t even noticed, as wrapped up in your own brain as you were.

“Does that sound good?” Changbin asked gently.

You scrunched your face and nodded. “Yeah, that’s fine. I’ll… I’ll try to cool down too.”

“For what it’s worth,” he said, turning to the squat rack he had abandoned to have this conversation, “your form still looks good. You can’t even tell you’ve been out of the gym for three weeks.”

Your face instantly flushed. All that, and he’d still seen enough of your half-assed form to compliment it? You muttered, “Thanks,” and headed over to a quiet area where you could stretch out and bring your heart rate down.

You finished cooling down, retrieved your stuff from your locker, and went to sit in the front entrance, watching the rain come down hard. It wasn’t slowing at all; if anything, it was getting worse. The sweat on your skin from your half-hearted attempts at working out was cooling on you and starting to make you shiver, so you pulled your sweatshirt back on, not enjoying the dampness on the inside. But if you had to walk home in the rain, a little sweat was going to be the least of your concerns. At least the rain was pretty. It made the city beyond the window look grayed out, washed clean. You took a steadying breath and followed a single rivulet on the window along its path downward, and then another, and then another.

Eventually, Changbin joined you, his own sweatshirt in place. “Really pouring, huh?” he said, staring out into the rain.

“I’m sorry I ruined our hangout,” you said quietly.

“Hey,” he said gently, “you didn’t ruin anything.”

“Thanks for inviting me. And thanks for understanding me, even when my brain is being mean to me.” It was as close to the truth as you could get.

“Of course,” he said.

On one level, it felt better now that he wasn’t sweating, wasn’t straining, didn’t have his arms and chest out on display. But he was being gentle and kind and all the other stuff that had set off this unwanted reaction in your brain, and now you didn’t really have any distraction from how you’d upset him, how he just wanted to hang out with his best friend and you’d made it weird, even if he didn’t know why. You’d wanted to keep him so hard that you’d started pushing him away. The worst part was that you didn’t know how to stop.

After several minutes, Changbin said, “I don’t think it’s going to slow down anytime soon.”

You sighed. “Guess we better get going, then. I don’t have an umbrella in my bag.”

“I don’t either,” he said. “I’m going to go walk back to my place and get my car, and then I’ll come back and pick you up.”

“What? No,” you said instantly. “That’s like a thirty-minute walk in good weather. You’ll slip and fall or something, and no one will be with you.”

He shrugged. “My shoes have traction.”

“No, no, absolutely not. I’m not letting you walk in the rain for half an hour just to come pick me up. We’ll go to my place. It’s only ten minutes away, and then we can dry our clothes and wait for the rain to stop. Do you have a change of clothes in your bag?”

“Yes, but—”

“Great. Come on.”

Before he could protest any further, you threw the door open and ran into the downpour.

You were instantly drenched, completely soaked through, and the cold of it knocked the air from your lungs for a second. You put up one hand to shield your eyes, so at least you could see through the flood that was coming down, and you sprinted for the nearest covered awning down the sidewalk, Changbin on your heels.

When you made it under the covering, you turned back to him, an uncontrollable grin spreading over your face. “This is ridiculous.”

He was grinning back. “You’re ridiculous! You could be safe and dry and I could be getting my car.”

“Too late now,” you said. “See that green overhang down that way? Next target. Race you.”

You took off again, dashing through pools. Your socks squished with every step you took. You made it to the next awning and looked back. Changbin was way behind you, moving at a jogging pace, joining you several moments later.

“You’re not taking my challenge in the spirit it was meant,” you said.

“I’m not going to race you,” he said, but he was smiling. “You’re going to eat shit on the sidewalk in the rain.”

“Sounds like someone scared of losing!” you said, turning around and pointing. “Overhang in front of that one, next target.”

You raced ahead, hearing the slap of his footsteps behind you even over the pounding of the rain. He was keeping pace with you, which made you run harder. You were almost there, almost under the overhang when you took too long of a stride and your foot slid out from under you, almost as if you’d hydroplaned. Your arms windmilled for a second before a pair of strong hands grabbed you around your waist and hauled you upright.

Changbin pulled you into him, holding you by the waist, his nose half an inch from yours. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m—I’m fine,” you stammered.

“Be more careful,” he said.

Your faces were so close. You were frozen, watching the rain run through his hair, down his cheeks. His eyes unmistakably dropped to your mouth and stayed there for two breaths. Then, as if he had no control over his actions, he leaned forward a fraction of an inch. Then he looked up, a flash of panic crossing his face, some sudden realization crashing in on him.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, pulling back from you.

Your heart thundered in your ears louder than the rain pounded all around you. “Sorry for what?” you found yourself saying, practically yelling to be heard.

He looked at you like he wanted to disappear. “Nothing, never mind.” He turned and began to trudge up the sidewalk toward the overhang, away from you.

You hurried over to his side, keeping pace with him. “Changbin—”

“Just give me a second,” he said, not meeting your gaze.

“Hey, being squirrelly is my move,” you said.

When you both reached the overhang, he ran his hands over his face and through his hair. You carefully watched him, even as he trained his eyes out on the city.

“It’s fine, you know?” you said, your mouth running faster than your brain could go. “You just looked at me, it doesn’t mean anything—”

“To you,” he said, his voice hollow.

“What?” you said.

He took off again, no shelter in sight, just a long trek up the sidewalk toward your apartment, still several minutes away. You darted after him, keeping pace. “What do you mean, to me?”

“It’s fine,” he said flatly.

“What is fine?” you said. “Come on, Bin, talk to me.”

“Why?” he said, finally turning to you, coming to a halt in the middle of the sidewalk. “I know the answer.”

“The answer to what?” Your heart was fighting to get out of your chest, but you wanted to hear him say whatever it was he was holding.

“If you’d kiss me,” he said finally.

It took a second for you to fully download his words, and by then he’d nodded and taken off down the sidewalk again. You scrambled after him, splashing through puddles to catch up.

“Bin—”

“We don’t need to talk about it,” he said, eyes forward. “I know you like Chan. It’s fine, I’m not going to try anything, I just—it was a moment of weakness. I know where I stand.”

“Changbin,” you said, flinging yourself into his path. He nearly ran into you, but you caught him by the arms to stop him. He couldn’t meet your gaze.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t want you to know. I wasn’t going to say anything.”

“I don’t like Chan!” you said.

His eyes snapped to yours. “What?”

“I mean, he’s fine, I guess. But I don’t have feelings for him,” you said. “I let you think that because I didn’t want you to figure out that I’m in love with you.”

His breath caught, and he stared at you in disbelief.

You grimaced up at him. “Surprise?”

“Say that again.” You could barely hear him over the rain.

“I’m in love with you,” you said, clutching your arms to yourself. “I’ve been weird today because you’re short-circuiting my brain all the time. I keep asking Chan to go with you to the gym because seeing you in your stupid black tank top covered in sweat makes me want to faint. My back is sore from trying to hold all my muscles in place last night at movie night so our knees wouldn’t touch under the blanket. I’m so stupidly in love with you that I’ve been keeping you at arm’s length because I didn’t want to ruin our friendship.”

He stepped closer to you, and now you were centimeters apart. One of his hands reached out landed softly on your cheek, stroking your cheekbone reverently. Your eyes fluttered closed and you leaned into his palm. Both of you had momentarily forgotten the rain, even as it poured over you.

“I’ve been going crazy,” he said, and even over the rain you could hear his voice shaking. “I’ve been in love with you for months and months.”

“I’m sorry I lied,” you said. “I just didn’t think you’d ever want me the way I wanted you.”

“I want you so bad it hurts,” he said. His other hand came up to your other cheek, and he looked at you like you might be a mirage, about to disappear. It set you on fire, even in the cold.

“You have me,” you said, struggling to be heard over the rain. “I’m yours.”

He leaned in, and you met him halfway. He kissed you like he’d been thinking of it every night, like he already knew the shape of your mouth, the feel of your face cupped carefully in his hands. His thumbs gently stroked your cheekbones, and you melted into him, curling your fingers into the wet fabric of his sweatshirt, pulling him against you until every part of him was pressed against every part of you. The rain came down even harder, if that was possible, as if the sky had opened up further in celebration.

Changbin noticed as soon as you shivered, the cold of the storm soaking you down to the bone. He broke the kiss to wrap his arms around you, holding you to his chest. “We have to get home,” he said. “You’re going to get sick.”

“So are you,” you said against him, muffled.

“You should have let me get my car,” he said.

You scoffed. “I’m glad I didn’t!”

He just chuckled and laced his fingers through yours, his eyes shining. “Come on,” he said. “Race you.”

And he took off, pulling you along with him as a delighted laugh tore out of you. You sprinted to keep up with him, your fingers intertwined with his, neither of you ever planning to let go.

As you rounded the couch and caught sight of his side profile, your heart clenched like it always did. But you steadied your voice as you came to stand over him. “You okay?”

“Mm,” he said, not looking up at you.

You settled down on the couch, a careful distance away from him. Close enough, but not too close. He never seemed to notice your cautious calculations of your proximity, and tonight was no exception. He just stared blankly ahead, brows furrowed, eyes glassy. You weren’t sure if he was thinking hard or trying to form a single coherent thought.

“You look rough,” you said, trying to smirk at him but managing a fond smile. “Is Felix picking you up, or do you want to crash here?”

“Here,” he said simply, and then he looked at you for the first time. “Please.”

You were already feeling a tiny bit warm from the two drinks you’d had, but that warmth blossomed in your chest as he met your gaze. The instinct to swallow it, quash it, drown it until you were sure it wouldn’t surface was second nature by this point. Your throat worked as you said, “Yeah, of course. I’ll set up on the couch and you can have my bed. Just don’t throw up in it.”

You expected a reaction, a remark, a facial expression of any kind, something. But he just gazed at you like he was seeing through you, his dark eyes open, soft. You felt a heat rising to your cheeks, and you looked away, suddenly embarrassed. “Wow, you really are gone. I’ll get you some water.”

As you rose, he reached out and grabbed your hand tightly. “No,” he said, suddenly focused. “Stay with me.”

You laughed nervously, but he didn’t even crack a smile. You sank back onto the couch, closer than before, your palm pressed to his. He didn’t lessen his grip at all, just settled your joined hands on his knee.

“Seungmin?” you said. “Is everything okay?”

He just shook his head, closing his eyes. “I’m mad at you,” he said quietly.

Your heart dropped. “What? Why?”

He took a long pause, as if swimming through molasses for the thoughts, while you silently spiraled. You managed to replay every interaction the two of you had had in the past two weeks in the silence, and you couldn’t dredge up a single thing you could pinpoint as a problem. Finally, he inhaled and said, “You’re driving me crazy.”

“What? Have I been annoying you? I didn’t mean to,” you said.

He stopped short, looking at you blankly. “No,” he said, mildly surprised. “You’re just existing. That’s the problem.”

“Me existing…is a problem.”

“You’re making me feel things. All these things.” It seemed like it cost him a great effort to pull the thoughts out of his head. “I keep thinking about you when I’m not with you. And when I am, I’m losing it. I just look at you and think, that’s my best friend, I can’t ruin it, but if you knew what I was thinking, you wouldn’t want to talk to me anymore.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, and he was still holding your hand. “Seungmin, you’re drunk.”

“Yeah,” he said, suddenly animated. He repositioned himself on the couch in a little bounce, turning so he was facing you fully. His eye contact had gotten intense. “Because when I’m sober it seems like a bad idea to tell you that you make me stupid.”

“I make you stupid,” you repeated.

“Yeah!” he said, but now he was beaming. “Like, none of my thoughts work right. Everything I say sounds stupid around you, because you’re smart. And great. And so beautiful.”

“Seungmin…”

“And now I’m not sober so I can tell you.”

You clasped his hand between both of yours. “I probably wouldn’t say this to sober you, but not everything you say sounds stupid.”

“See?” he said, grinning, pointing at you, approximately at your sternum. “You’re being so nice to me. You’re so nice.”

You closed your eyes and took a steadying breath. You might have been in a dream, or maybe a nightmare. He was throwing out all the things you’d dreamed of hearing, but you could just picture him tomorrow, trademark sarcasm back in place, saying it didn’t sound like him to be pouring his heart out to you, maybe you had been drunker than you thought. He’d smirk at you, but it would be a joke about you, not to you. Just the image caused a lurch in your stomach like you had missed a step going downstairs.

“Seungmin,” you said, “I really… I really appreciate it. But it’s late, you’re tired, I’m tired, and you might not remember any of this tomorrow.”

“Then remind me,” he said, looking at you with wide, open eyes.

“Please stop looking at me like that,” you said. “We’ll talk tomorrow. If you want.”

“But tomorrow-me might not want to,” he said frantically, holding tight to your hand as you tried to release his. “Tomorrow-me might think it’s stupid and a bad idea.”

“Exactly,” you said.

He opened his mouth and closed it a few times, looking like nothing so much as a fish out of water, struggling for the next breath or the next thought, which wouldn’t come. He still clutched your hand like a lifeline. You tried to stand, starting to peel his fingers off you with your free hand. “Seungmin, let go, I’m going to get you some water and then you can go to bed.”

“Please,” he said, and then he pulled you to him, tipping you over into his lap, catching your face in his hands and planting his lips on yours.

You gasped against him, and your brain short-circuited. For a single moment, you didn’t have access to any thoughts, just the feel of him as he kissed you, desperate, heated, like you would disappear if he stopped, and you kissed him back, sighing into his mouth. But when his hand dropped to your shoulder to wrap around you and bring you even closer to him, the engine of your brain revved back up, and everything came crashing back in. Before you could figure out what you were doing, you had shoved him backward, away from you, sending him sprawling on the couch, and leapt up.

“Seungmin,” you said, your hand on your mouth.

He was staring at the ceiling from where you’d knocked him over, not bothering to sit up. “I’m… I’m sorry,” he said flatly.

He looked like he’d completely malfunctioned. The desperate energy from before had evaporated, and he looked blank, like he wasn’t processing anything. His eyes had gone entirely dull. He didn’t look at you.

“We will talk about this tomorrow,” you said, a little more firmly than you felt.

He didn’t respond.

You thought maybe he just needed a moment, so you went to the kitchen and poured him a glass of water, taking a big swig of it yourself before you brought it back over to the couch. He didn’t even blink when you returned, even when you hovered over him, blocking his view of the ceiling.

“Seungmin? Are you okay?”

“Mm,” he said, barely a murmur.

“You need to drink some water.”

“Mm.”

No movement. Seungmin’s internal operating system had clearly stopped working. You set the glass of water down on the side table next to him and headed to the linen closet to get yourself some blankets and pillows. When you returned to the couch and dumped them on the far cushion, Seungmin hadn’t moved. The glass of water was untouched.

“If you die in my apartment,” you said, “I will kill you.”

He gave the barest of nods.

Sighing, trying not to remember how the last few minutes had felt, you tugged him up into a sitting position and then, when he wouldn’t give you his hands, you grabbed them yourself and hauled him to his feet. Thankfully, it seemed that he could stand and walk on his own, if a little unsteadily. With both his hands in yours, you steered him around the couch and into your bedroom, positioning him carefully through the door frame so he wouldn’t bump into it. He just followed listlessly, moving because you were pulling him, like his confession had cost him every bit of his agency and he was entirely spent, wrung out. You gently pushed him down to sit on your bed, and then you retrieved the glass of water from the living room and put it in his hands.

He looked at it blankly, like he didn’t know what to do with it.

You sighed loudly, but you were also burningly aware that exasperation with Seungmin was the constant companion to your feelings for him. You couldn’t have one without the other. And he looked so helpless, so lost. So you took the glass gently from his hands and held it up to his lips. “Drink,” you commanded, and tipped it slowly.

His gaze floated up to meet yours, a spark of something there. Your cheeks flushed, but you held the water to his lips until he’d had several sips, and you tried not to stare at his mouth. Then you tipped it upright and set it on the nightstand.

“Lie down,” you said, stepping away from him.

Without breaking eye contact, he leaned over and landed on the pillow.

“I’ll be on the couch,” you said. “If you need anything, yell.”

“’Kay,” he murmured.

“We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“Mm.”

“Hang on a second.” You darted out of the room, back into the living room, and grabbed the blanket he’d stolen off your bed. Then you returned and unfurled it over him, covering him with it. He looked small in your bed, nestled in your favorite blanket.

Before you could think better of it, you reached out and squeezed his hand. “I really do want to continue this discussion tomorrow.”

“Mm.”

You tore yourself away, turned out the lights, closed the door behind you, and threw yourself on the couch, trying not to spiral about whatever tomorrow would bring.

* * *

You awoke the next morning to sunlight streaming through the windows, a puddle of drool on your pillow, and the click of the lock on your bedroom door.

You instantly sat up, wiping your face. The events of the previous night played in a sped-up reel in your head, making your stomach do a somersault. You tried to smooth down your hair as you padded over to the door and tried it. It wouldn’t budge.

“Seungmin?” you said. “Did you just lock yourself in my room?”

There was no response, but you could hear shuffling footsteps on the other side.

“Seungmin, unlock the door.”

“Seungmin can’t come to the door right now,” you heard him say, maybe a few feet away from the door. His voice sounded shaky.

“Open. The. Door.”

“Can you pretend I died?” he said. “It’s probably best if you pretend I died.”

“If you die in my room I still need to get in,” you said, grabbing the knob and rattling the door ineffectually. “Open up.”

“Here lies Kim Seungmin,” he intoned, and you grinned despite yourself. “He died as he lived, being a true idiot.”

“I’ll give your eulogy,” you said through the door.

“Noooo,” he said, and you heard him approaching the door. It sounded like he had braced himself against it with both hands. “Anyone but you. You know me too well.”

You both paused for a moment, and you tried to glean any insight from the soft shifting of his feet, the sound of his breath. “Are you okay?” you said finally.

“No,” he said instantly. “I’m… I’m sorry. I fucked up.”

Your stomach turned leaden. Of course. He regretted what he’d said the night before. He wanted to take it back as drunk nonsense. And you knew that you’d let him, and you’d never, ever speak of it again. You were glad you hadn’t let it get any further than it had.

“You’re probably really mad at me,” he said, “and I get it. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m not mad at you,” you said, softer than you’d meant to.

“You’re not?” he said. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you said.

“I think you should be mad at me. I think you should yell at me. I’ll let you hit me if you want. In the stomach, though, so the others don’t ask me why I have a black eye or a broken nose.”

“Seungmin, I’m not going to break your nose.”

“Okay,” he said, “but are you going to want to break my nose? Because if I find out that you didn’t take me up on this opportunity when I gave it to you, I’m going to be upset.”

“You’re going to be upset if I don’t try to break your nose?”

“I’m going to be upset if you tell me you’re fine but you stay mad at me,” he said simply.

“Stop saying I need to be mad at you. Open the damn door. I need to see that you’re all right.”

The lock clicked and the door swung open. Seungmin stood in the doorway, breathing labored, eyes wide and confused. “Why are you being so nice to me? I basically attacked you, and you’re just trying to make sure I’m in one piece?”

“Attacked me?” you repeated. “Seungmin, what do you even remember from last night?”

His face turned beet red, and his gaze dropped to the floor. “I… I remember kissing you. And I remember you having to push me off you.”

You waited for him to continue, but he fell silent. He started to inch the door closed again, but you put your foot in the way. “That’s it? That’s all you remember?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “I’m really, really sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. I really get it if you hate me and you don’t want to see me anymore. I can go.”

You ran a hand over your face and pointed into your room. “Sit down,” you said.

He followed your lead, placing himself in your desk chair while you sat on the bed, on top of the blanket you’d given to him the night before. You sighed and drew one knee to your chest. “That’s really all you remember,” you said, trying to figure out how to get into it.

“Yeah,” he said. “Why? Did I do something else? Was it worse?”

“I guess it depends on your definition of worse,” you said. “You… said a bunch of stuff.”

“Oh, God,” he said, burying his face in his hands. “What did I say,” he mumbled through his fingers.

You took a deep, shuddery breath. “You were saying all this stuff about how I was driving you crazy, but like… in a way you liked. And you were really excited to tell me, because you might not want to do it while you were sober. And you wouldn’t let go of my hand.”

He looked like he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole. “Oh, God.”

“And I tried to get you to agree to just go to sleep and talk about it later, but you got kind of panicked, like this was your one chance.”

He groaned.

“And yeah, you kissed me, but I wasn’t mad, I just didn’t want you to do something you were going to regret. And then you just shut down entirely. But yeah. That’s all that happened.”

“Oh, that’s all?” he said with a mirthless little laugh. “I’m not sure I could have done any worse.”

“It’s fine,” you said automatically.

“Oh, yeah, it’s definitely not going to be weird now that you know I’m in love with you,” he said.

Your breath caught in your throat. “In love with me?”

He looked up at you, startled. “Isn’t that what you said I said?”

“I… I mean, yeah, but… I just thought… you know, drunk talk.”

“Drunk talk,” he repeated. “I mean, yeah, sure, but… drunk words, sober thoughts, all that.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Wait, you thought I was… kidding?”

“Or just you didn’t know what you were saying,” you said.

“I mean, it sounds like I knew exactly what I was saying,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “I was just saying it out loud, to you. I never wanted to ruin our friendship.”

“Me either,” you said quietly. “That’s why I was trying to get you to sleep it off. So I could see if you still wanted to… talk about it.”

He looked at you, eyes wide, processing. Then, very slowly, he said, “I would if you would.”

“I would,” you said. “I would, very much.”

He let out a breath in a whoosh, and his whole body sagged in relief. “Oh, my God. So I didn’t ruin us? I didn’t lose you?”

“No,” you said. “In fact, now you’re going to have trouble getting rid of me.”

He grinned. “Oh, you’re going to regret that. You’re going to be absolutely sick of me.”

“If I was going to get sick of you, I’d have done that a long time ago.”

“But I’ve been on my best behavior,” he said, crossing the room and flopping on the bed beside you. “I’ve been suppressing everything. Now? You thought I was weird and clingy last night? You haven’t seen anything yet.”

“Try me,” you whispered.

He reached out and very carefully took your hand, interlacing his fingers with yours as if memorizing the shape of them. His gaze met yours, and it burned between you. “I know we have a lot to talk about, but could I… do you mind if I kiss you? For real this time?”

“Please,” you said softly.

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