Storytime

Taemin shivers as the AC kicks on, sending cold air sweeping over his bare legs. For a brief instant, it’s enough to catch him off guard, to throw him out of the moment and the anticipation and leave his heart thrumming with adrenaline, all fight-or-flight instinct when there’s nothing here to fight.

He wants, for a terrifying second, to just put on sweatpants and a hoodie and go curl up on the couch to wait for Jinki to get home and greet him with a smile and a kiss. He wants to huddle against him and order food and watch an uncomfortable number of dance competition show episodes and just be content. He wants it so badly. But he wants this more.

All of that, it’s soothing in its own right -- pajamas and takeout and reruns -- but that’s not what he wants right now. That’s not what he needs. He needs Jinki to come in and see him and want him, for Jinki’s eyes to darken and his mouth to curl into a smirk instead of a grin and for him to tell Taemin how pretty he is, how good.

Taemin isn’t dumb -- he knows what he looks like, knows he’s handsome, conventionally attractive, even beautiful sometimes under the right light. He knows that people look at him and want. But he also knows, with a kind of visceral intensity, exactly how shallow all of that is.

Taemin had spent years with men seeing him across a room, across trashy college parties, across bars and clubs, and thinking they had a right to get close to him, voices rough as they told him how pretty he looked -- his hair, his small hands, his thin waist, all of his delicate features.

It makes him uncomfortable even now, long after the fact, a discomfort so strong that it’s almost a tangible feeling, like ants crawling on his skin. As a younger man, it had outright frightened him, so badly that he’d spent years bundling himself up and hiding his features, performing at hypermasculinity. Not because the idea of being pretty was distasteful, but because every time it was pointed out to him, if felt like a thinly veiled threat.

But then he’d met Jinki. Jinki whose voice was warm and smooth and who told Taemin he was pretty with a kind of guileless certainty, meaning nothing at all by it except exactly what he was saying; he thought Taemin was pretty, and he wanted to tell him so. And that really was all there was to it, because Jinki took months upon months to even consider the idea of kissing Taemin, and when Taemin asked him why, afraid of the answer he’d get, Jinki had only shrugged and said, “I didn’t know you yet. Yeah, you’re pretty, but why would I want to kiss someone without actually knowing them?”

Later, the word would come up -- “I think I might be demisexual?” -- but by then the why hardly mattered when every compliment, every casual, “you look pretty in that; it makes your eyes stand out,” or “do you know how pretty you look when you laugh like that?” already had Taemin flushing pink, squirming and trying to understand the wake of uncertain pleasure that swept through him. He was used to ‘pretty’ being a threat, and the flutter in his stomach every time it fell from Jinki’s lips was new and confusing.

And, of course, it only took so long for Jinki to take notice, only took until he was pressing Taemin, fully clothed, into the sheets and ghosting his lips over the line of his jaw, nosing into a spot on the underside where he sighed soft and familiar against Taemin’s throat, adjusting the press of his weight against the flat plain of Taemin’s chest so they were closer together. His lips were warm and a little sticky with some kind of chapstick, and they left damp spots on Taemin’s skin as Jinki pressed soft kisses along the expanse of his throat, drifting absently over Taemin’s adam’s apple and laughing so sweetly when Taemin swallowed instinctively around a moan and it moved beneath his lips.

“You’re so pretty,” Jinki had sighed, and Taemin had whimpered low in his throat, the sound too close to Jinki to hide. And Jinki had looked at him with curiosity and wonder and whispered again, “You’re so pretty like this. I love the little noises you make.”

And Taemin had shivered bodily and felt his flush spread hot through him and tried so hard to bury himself in Jinki as his cock twitched a little against Jinki’s thigh, suddenly taking a very strong interest in the proceedings. They hadn’t gone all the way, had never planned to then, but Jinki had interspersed soft kisses with little praises about how pretty Taemin was, how good he looked, flushed and panting, how much Jinki liked making him moan and how pretty he sounded.

It had taken trial and error after that, time and patience and understanding to find out what Taemin liked and what make him cringe back and why. But Jinki was nothing if not patient, and when Jinki had finally knelt between his legs, looking up at Taemin trembling above him, and murmured, “Look at you, Taemin-ah. Such a pretty cock,” Taemin had come before Jinki’s mouth could even touch him in an embarrassing rush of flustered heat and want.

And Jinki had laughed and nuzzled his inner thigh and whispered, “Fuck, you’re so pretty,” and Taemin had pushed weakly at him in embarrassment and pulled him up into kisses that Jinki interspersed with laughter and little praises and Taemin had felt… he’d felt pretty. He’d felt pretty and safe and not threatened, and he’d felt good.

Slowly, hesitatingly, Taemin had opened up. Feeling pretty for Jinki, feeling pretty like that at all, without some implicit discomfort behind it, made it easier for him to feel more comfortable with himself. Not all at once, and there are still days where it’s not amazing, but then there are days like today. Days where he wants, where he needs, where he finds it in himself to try, intentionally, to look pretty.

It’s okay, mostly, because he knows he could. He could put on those sweatpants and that hoodie and he could curl up on the couch with Jinki, and Jinki would kiss lips stained with takeout grease and laugh, and he would still, even like that, think Taemin was pretty. Which is why, Taemin thinks, he’s perfectly okay like this even as he hears the front door open, hears Jinki’s voice as he calls out Taemin’s name to tell him he’s home.

Taemin swallows thickly. “I’m in our room, hyung!” he calls out, suppressing the ball of nerves in his throat.

There’s a pause, the sound of quiet shuffling like Jinki is moving around near the front door to put his things away -- shoes by the rack, work bag by the front table, keys in the bowl on the front table that they’ve implemented to keep Taemin’s losing his keys down to about once a week instead of every other day. Then there are quiet footsteps on the floor of the living room and Jinki asks, “Tae?”

“Here,” Taemin repeats, giving Jinki a little more guidance, and then-- “Wait, no!”

Jinki’s socked steps halt where they were heading toward the door, and Taemin rushes around for a moment to pile all of his discarded clothes in the corner near the hamper. Close enough. “You okay?” Jinki asks through the door, and the doorknob rattles like he’s taken ahold of it, but he doesn’t come in just yet. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Taemin says, and it comes out a little bit breathless. “Yeah, I’m-- come in.”

The door opens slowly, and Taemin realizes he’s just standing there in the middle of the room. Most people who did this kind of shit probably posed and looked sultry or something. Instead, he just stands there, suddenly unsure what to do with his arms.

“Oh,” Jinki says and-- oh. Okay, yeah. There. Jinki’s eyes are darkening, and his worried expression is twitching into a smirk, and he steps toward Taemin and then past, not reaching out for Taemin, but moving to sit on the edge of their bed. He’s still dressed in work clothes, in his grey slacks and his white button-down. He’s lost the tie, or maybe he was never wearing one, but he’s dressed so proper, and when he sits down, the thick muscles in his thighs strain against the fabric of his pants.

Taemin suddenly feels very small and very naked. It’s one of those days, and he wants Jinki to think he’s pretty, and knows that Jinki thinks that Taemin is pretty, so, logically, the idea was to wear as little as possible while not wearing nothing at all. But now he finds himself flustered and shivering in the crop top, the lacy panties, the thin fabric of both making him feel like Jinki can see everything, and he’s a little unprepared for the way Jinki looks at him, not creepy or unnerving or possessive, but like he’s looking at a gift that someone’s given him, pleased and surprised and so, so appreciative.

Taemin breathes out a shaky pant and then manages, “How was work?”

Jinki’s expression flickers, just for a moment, so close to laughter that he almost breaks, and then he tips his head and smirks at Taemin. “It was fine. Would have hurried home sooner if I knew how you were feeling though. You wanna come here?”

It’s a question, genuine, and if Taemin said no, Jinki wouldn’t push it. Taemin doesn’t say no.

He settles into Jinki’s lap, knees spread wide for balance on the edge of the bed, thighs wide around Jinki’s legs, and Jinki steadies a hand on his lower back, holding him carefully in place. His palm is warm against Taemin’s skin, uncovered, a dull heat that pools there near the base of his spine. Jinki doesn’t do anything, just rubs his thumb up and down along the line of Taemin’s spine and looks up at him, raising an eyebrow.

“Jinki,” Taemin whines, a little frustrated and then leans down to kiss him. Jinki’s lips are soft and a little chapped, and he kisses Taemin back in a way that never fails to make Taemin shudder, his mouth moving the way Taemin’s used to around prayers, worshipful and earnest. It makes Taemin melt, and then Jinki actually is moving his hand, sliding it down over Taemin’s waist and chuckling into Taemin’s mouth when Taemin instinctively clenches the muscles under Jinki’s palm. Taemin pulls back with a frown. “Don’t laugh.”

“Why not? Sex can be funny,” Jinki says, and uses his now freed mouth to kiss his way down to Taemin’s throat slowly, speaking between kisses, his mouth occasionally flickering into a grin before he can control it. And then he curves his fingers and moves them across Taemin’s skin in a way that’s not at all sexy, and Taemin jerks away with a helpless bark of laughter.

“Don’t fuckin’-- Jinki, what the hell?” Taemin whines. “Don’t tickle me when I’m trying to seduce you.”

Jinki is smiling, and he pulls Taemin in and turns their bodies so they sprawl onto the bed together, Jinki propped up just a little bit over Taemin as he presses another kiss to Taemin’s throat. “You don’t have to try hard, Tae. You’re-- wow.”

Taemin’s cheeks go pink, but he knows what Jinki cut off, knows why. Jinki is looking at him, and the implication was there, but Jinki knows what he wants, and he’s not giving it yet.

“Jinki,” Taemin pouts, arching his throat a little, right where Jinki’s mouth is, and feeling very proud of himself when he feels Jinki’s lips there a moment later, brushing over the skin and making Taemin shiver.

Jinki smiles. “What?” he asks, and runs his fingers over Taemin’s skin again, not tickling this time, but feeling along the smooth skin of Taemin’s abs, the flat expanse of his hips. “What are you trying to get me to do?”

“Hyung,” Taemin growls, even though it mostly comes out as a whine. “I swear to god--”

He stops, inhaling quick as Jinki’s hands slide over his thighs instead, moving up his skin, a single slow slide without any fabric to impede them.

“I love that you want me to touch you this easily,” Jinki sighs. It takes Taemin’s breath away, and Taemin lets himself sink a little more into it, the knowledge of what’s coming, of what he’s asking Jinki to give him and what Jinki gives so easily. “You’re so pretty, Tae. Love how your thighs twitch when I touch them like this.”

It’s such a nonsense thing for Jinki to find pretty, but Taemin finds himself flustered anyways, legs slipping apart to let Jinki touch the way he wants, and yeah, the muscles in Taemin’s thighs are jumping under the gentle touches. Jinki makes quiet appreciative noises as he curls his hands around Taemin’s thin legs and pushes gently until they’re wide enough that Jinki can slip down, and then Taemin’s muscles are jumping harder under Jinki’s lips, not just his thighs, but his cock too, twitching to life and starting to fatten up, just barely, but entirely visible in the outfit he’s wearing.

Jinki hums and thumbs along the very edge of the lace that slips between the joint of Taemin’s thigh and pelvis. “Pretty,” he whispers again. Now that he’s started, he’s going to give until Taemin can’t handle it anymore. “Tae, are you gonna let me?”

Taemin sucks in a breath like he doesn’t know. In his defense, he only has some idea -- Jinki can be creative. “Let you…?”

“Let me suck you off through these panties. You look so pretty in them. Does your pretty cock even fit in these once it’s hard, Taemin-ah?”

Taemin chokes helplessly on nothing, jerking his head a little, his legs spreading, and Jinki laughs and swipes his thumb up the underside of Taemin’s cock, tip pressing just under the ridge of the head where Taemin likes it. Taemin gasps and lets his hips jerk up, so obvious.

“So beautiful,” Jinki says. “Do you know how pretty you look when I can see exactly how much you’re into this?”

“Shut up,” Taemin whines. “Jinki, please.”

Jinki laughs, but he does as he’s bid, not because he’s actually going to be quiet, but because he very abruptly has a mouthful of lace and Taemin’s cock, and Taemin jerks so hard he nearly hurts himself, fingers flying out to grip into the sheets. Jinki’s mouth is hot and wet and the lace is soft and a little scratchy and getting more and more damp by the moment, and Jinki mouths around the head and sucks hard enough that Taemin’s cock almost doesn’t have a choice but to squirt precum, soaking into the fabric and spreading over Jinki’s tongue. Jinki moans like Taemin just touched his dick, like he’s in heaven.

Taemin brings his hands up to his mouth to hide whatever expression or sound he’s trying to make, because the noise he makes at that is humiliating in the strangely best kind of way. Jinki pulls back just a little to turn his head and nuzzle at Taemin’s thigh before licking a stripe up Taemin’s panties, starting far back enough that Taemin’s breathing stutters.

“Don’t?” Jinki asks, another genuine question, and then, because Jinki is a fucking cheater, adds, “I love how pretty you sound when you feel good.”

Taemin garbles something unintelligible and very definitely not pretty, and nods, reaching down to tug at Jinki’s hair weakly trying to get his mouth back on him.

Jinki laughs. “Greedy,” he says and leans forward to suck him off again, tugging the panties just a little to the side this time, Taemin’s cock springing free of its confinement like it’s making an attempt to get to Jinki’s mouth that much faster. Jinki wraps his lips around it and sucks, a constant suction as he slides his mouth down and down and down, and Taemin moans and tries to work his hips up for more, but Jinki settles his hands on Taemin’s hips, thumbs hooked under the line of Taemin’s panties and palms pushing him flat. He sucks hard, his teeth edging just slightly against the vein on the bottom, and Taemin arches his back with a shout, so very close to coming just from that.

Jinki pulls back with a smile, licking his lips, and Taemin collapses in a heap, looking at him in betrayal.

Jinki laughs. “Trust me,” he says, and pulls Taemin in, circling his fingertips over the head of Taemin’s cock for a moment.

Taemin jerks helplessly. “Please,” he says, because yes, he does, and he’s far gone enough to not care how he gets it. Jinki moves to hover over him, pushing the crop top up so it bunches under his arms, baring his chest for Jinki to wrap his lips around one nipple and suck hard. Taemin writhes. “Please. Jinki, please.”

Jinki sucks harder, tongue flicking hard until Taemin is arching almost obscenely, and only then does he pull back, nuzzling at Taemin’s abs. “You make it so hard for me to choose. I want to taste you so badly, but how am I supposed to watch how pretty you look when you come for me? You know how much I love seeing you come.”

Taemin shudders. “Jinki,” he says. “I want-- I-- I wanted--”

The words are gone, frustratingly so, and he curls his hand into Jinki’s again and pulls his hand down, between his legs. The panties are covering him there, just enough, but Jinki barely has to move them from him to feel the slick slide of lube around Taemin’s entrance.

Jinki groans quietly. “Taemin,” he breathes and slides one finger in. It goes in so easily, and Taemin presses down to meet him with a moan. “Did you do this?”

Taemin nods. It’s an obvious question, but the way it’s said is more rhetorical than anything, and Taemin is only agreeing because he wants Jinki to praise him for it. Jinki goes, his low moan praise enough, and then he goes ahead and adds anyways, “Wish I could have seen. Were you wearing this already? No, probably not. Your panties weren’t that soaked.”

Taemin goes very, very red and pauses, shakes his head slowly. “Not-- not like…”

Jinki pulls back at once, gathers him in and presses soft kisses to his face. “Didn’t mean it like that, baby,” he whispers, because he knows that Taemin hates when people just talk about imagining him in sexual situations, painting their own images of what he’d be doing like he’s just some fantasy for them to play out however they want. “Wanted to see exactly how you’d do it. I don’t need to imagine shit about you. You’re right here.”

Taemin shivers under him, settling easily, but his voice is a little less floaty, a little more hesitant when he says, “I can show you.”

Jinki kisses him, slow and deep. “Show me then?”

Taemin doesn’t even move from under him, just spreads his legs like he had before Jinki got home and hooks the panties to the side. He doesn’t need as much lube this time, but he still grabs some from the night table for authenticity and squirts it onto his fingers, pressing one inside with a choked-off moan. 

Jinki is watching him intently, drinking it in, clearly enamored, and it helps to finish calming him, helps him find the headspace where he wants to show Jinki hs good he looks, how pretty. He pushes in another finger with a soft mewl. His fingers are short, thin, don’t fill him very much. He can shove four inside of himself and still feel stretched beyond his limits at the first press of Jinki’s cock. He loves it.

He rushes a little, going to push another finger inside, knowing he’s still stretched from earlier, but what he’s not expecting is for Jinki to slide his finger back in instead, thicker than Taemin’s own and stretching him more than he expected, driving the air out of him in a rush. Taemin ruts down against it helplessly, his own hand falling still, and Jinki laughs.

“Taeminnie,” he reminds him.

Taemin just shudders and pulls his hand free so he can better buck back against Jinki’s hand. “Can show you with your hand,” Taemin gasps. “I rode my fingers. I can ride yours. Jinki--”

Jinki moans, long and low, and leans down to kiss him again, lips meeting his, and Taemin lets himself go utterly slack as Jinki kisses him like it’s a prayer, lingering on and on until Taemin’s chest hurts from lack of air and his hips are stuttering. And then Jinki gives him a second finger to ride, and Taemin lets out a raw moan and grinds down against them, twisting his hips just right, just enough to make Jinki’s fingers brush past his prostate. It’s a slow build, low and burning in his gut, but it’s worth it, Taemin’s lips parted in heaving pants, his head tossed back as he tries to cling ineffectively to Jinki for purchase as the pleasure builds to a roar.

And then Jinki curls his fingers, and Taemin inhales quick and sharp and stuttered, buckling a little until he’s not even riding Jinki’s hand, he’s just grinding his hips in slow, needy circles as Jinki crooks his fingers to rub inside of him, leaving Taemin a shaking mess.

“Look at you, Taemin-ah,” Jinki says, that same way he always does, and Taemin would give anything in the world to heat that pride, that affection, that love in Jinki’s voice when he says it, but right now all he can do is whimper. “Look at how pretty you look right now. Your cock is dripping for me. Are you gonna let me taste?”

Taemin jerks slightly and then, hardly even coherent, “With the-- like the lace. Jinki--”

“Taemin-ah,” Jinki breathes and tugs Taemin’s panties back so that his cock is pressing against the seems, bound by the pretty black lace that had made Jinki’s eyes darken, and Jinki is slipping down and down, and his mouth is hot and wet and the lace is soft and scratchy and Taemin wails helplessly, so close to the edge as Jinki sucks hard and massages his prostate with slow insistent strokes.

Taemin is seizing up a little, muscles one long line as his entire body quivers, vibrating with the sensation, the pleasure, and he’s gasping out hiccuping sobs, and Jinki sucks hard, cheeks hollow as he slides off of Taemin’s cock with a loud pop of suction. His voice is warm and smooth, and he curls his fingers up, moving them in slow circles and he croons, “My pretty boy. So good for me.”

And Taemin is gone. All the tension unwinds like a spring being loosed, and there’s too much there, too much of a feeling, and Taemin thinks he might yell, or maybe he just whimpers Jinki’s name, but then he’s coming, long sticky strings of it that soak into the panties and leaves smears on his thighs, and drip free onto Jinki’s hand as he draws it slowly out of Taemin. Jinki brings his hand to his own mouth and sucks some of it off his skin and Taemin shudders, equal parts turned on and a little grossed out.

Jinki grins, rolling over to curl Taemin into his arms. He is kind enough to tug the panties off of him, tossing them at the hamper, but then Taemin is just in his arms, and Jinki’s cock is hard against his thigh, but Jinki doesn’t seem too bothered to do anything about it. Taemin curls into him. “Thanks,” he says quietly.

Jinki laughs. “I love you,” he says. “You know I think you’re pretty in like… holey sweats and old college tees, right?”

Taemin thinks about his alternative and smiles. “I know,” he says, “But thank you anyways.”

“Where are we going?” Jonghyun laughs, turning their head to press their face into Jinki’s neck. Their skin is flushed and warm, and they’re so soft like this, so sweet. Jinki is so in love it aches a little.

He pulls Jonghyun closer, turning his head back as well and pressing a soft kiss into Jonghyun’s hair. “It’s a surprise,” he says. “If I tell you, then it’s not a surprise anymore.”

He pulls back just enough to see the little pout on Jonghyun’s lips, the way Jonghyun clings to him and looks up at him with such pleading eyes and god. God, Jinki almost melts for them, so simply, so easily under just a look. But then Jonghyun’s face breaks and they’re laughing, tipping back into Jinki’s touch and whining softly in embarrassment. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” Jinki asks, genuinely curious.

“You know what,” Jonghyun protests, pushing lightly at him until Jinki relents into a burst of laughter of his own, curving his hand over Jonghyun’s waist and running his thumb along the skin just under the edge of Jonghyun’s shirt. It’s soft under the pad of Jinki’s finger, and the whole thing makes Jonghyun breath stutter, just a bit. Jinki smiles almost helplessly, and Jonghyun makes that same whining noise again. “Stop!”

It clicks then, all at once, but Jinki can’t help it then, the way the looks deepens as Jonghyun blushes and giggles under it. Jinki can’t help how infatuated he looks, how much Jonghyun means to him, even if it somehow makes Jonghyun act so shy. They’re lovely.

“Close your eyes, Jonghyunnie,” Jinki says, and Jonghyun squints at him for a moment before doing as they’re told, closing them tight. Jinki sees them try to peek only seconds later and laughs. “Closed. We’re almost there.”

Jonghyun’s eyes fly open and they turn around to look out of the windows, but Jinki only shakes his head and covers their eyes very carefully with a hand. Jonghyun pouts and pushes against his arm and it turns into a little tussle that distracts Jonghyun long enough that their uber pulls up to the curb.

Jinki beams, thanking the driver and sliding out. Jonghyun follows and then pauses, head cocking a little like a particularly cute puppy before they ask, “Jinki?”

“Do you like it?”

The summer air is warm and a little heavy, and it’s late enough in the evening that the summer crickets have started chirping in the long grasses along the sides of the path, but ahead of them the skyline is lit with color. The sun is beginning to dip towards the horizon, staining the sky just a little orange, but in front of it, the sprawl of tents and rides and booths spreads out in front of them.

Jonghyun looks at him, smiling that uncertain smile they get sometimes. Happy, but unsure of why they’re being given it, unsure that they deserve it, and therefore fretting over their own happiness. Jinki knows from experience that if he lets it go on too long, Jonghyun will work themself up, because for all that he feels it with every fiber of his being, Jinki still hasn’t managed to convince Jonghyun of how much they really do deserve every good thing in the world. Jinki knows he can’t give them, not as he is, not yet, so for right now this will have to do.

Jinki reaches down, knotting his fingers into Jonghyun’s and smiles. “Come on,” he says, and leads Jonghyun through to the entrance, handing over the tickets he’s had for days now, and pulls Jonghyun down the rows to the very first ride that Jonghyun stops to look at.

It’s some spinning, whirling thing that makes Jonghyun dizzy, clinging to Jinki’s arm after and looking a little wide-eyed, but they’re laughing. They’re laughing so beautifully and brightly that Jinki’s heart squeezes. He’s never been so certain of anything in his entire life as he is of the fact that he wants Jonghyun in it desperately.

The ferris wheel is too high, and they both get a little bit dizzy with the ground so far beneath them. They go on it again though, holding hands at the top this time, because Jonghyun wants to see the last of the sunset, the way the world is stained pink and orange for a long few minutes as they go slowly round and round, seeing the sunset in waves until between one cycle and the next, it disappears.

The sky is purple by the time they get off of the ride for the second time, and it’s too light still and too close to the city to see any real stars, but there are a few satellites, a couple of bright faux-stars. Jonghyun ignores them though, instead finding the brightest speck of light, just above the sunset, and pointing. “Venus.”

“Which one is that?” Jinki asks. He knows, vaguely, but Jonghyun is better at space and astrology stuff than he is. Plus, their eyes light up when they talk about space and the moon and crystals and all of that stuff, and Jinki would give the world to see that expression on Jonghyun’s face forever.

“It’s the love sign,” Jonghyun says, and Jinki squeezes their hand. It feels fitting. And then Jonghyun adds, “I want ice cream.”

Jinki is so weak for them. “Dippin’ Dots?” he asks, and relishes the way Jonghyun’s smile lights up the night.

They go and find snacks -- popcorn for Jinki and kettlecorn for Jonghyun, because it continues to be one of their biggest food debates, and Dippin’ Dots for them both. Jonghyun gets brain freeze and Jinki laughs at them a little and kisses the cold off of their lips in apology for laughing. Jonghyun’s lips are sweet and a little sticky from where beads of ice cream have melted, and Jinki loves them so much.

Jonghyun sighs against his lips. “What’s all this for?”

And there, that question, that spark of nerves. Because Jinki can’t give everything, not yet, so for right now…

“I had a whole plan,” he admits. “A whole thing. I was going to bring you here and we were going to go on a date, and I was going to… well.” He’s flushing a little. “I didn’t exactly have the money to get the ring yet. I forgot my student loans were going up, and I didn’t budget quite right…”

“The ring?” Jonghyun says, and they look so bewildered for long enough that Jinki’s stomach swoops. And then there’s recognition in their eyes and they blurt out, “What?”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Jinki says. “I mean, I’m not really asking, what with the no ring thing but…”

“Ask me,” Jonghyun says, and oh, oh no.

“Don’t cry. Hey, Jonghyunnie, baby, don’t--” Jinki says, hesitant, reaching out to wipe their tears away.

Jonghyun turns their face into Jinki’s palm and presses a kiss there, sweet and simple. “I’ll say yes. Just ask me.”

Jinki’s heart jolts. “Then I will,” he says softly. “When it’s right. When I plan a little better and everything works out, I will. And you’ll say yes?”

Behind them, slightly mistimed, the firework show starts up, and Jonghyun jumps about a half a foot in the air before tumbling into Jinki’s arms, startled by the noise. Jinki can’t help but laugh again, startled himself, but Jinki isn’t exactly easily scared or startled, and it’s easy to hold Jonghyun’s small frame, cradling them in his arms until they relax some, their heart rate calming and their breathing stabilizing.

They whine a little, embarrassed by their own fear and the way Jinki had laughed, but they don’t leave his arms. Jinki turns them slowly, twists them so they can see the fireworks, brighter than the single glowing planet and all the satellites.

There are people gathering closer to get a good view of the show, and the fireworks themselves are loud, all high pitched whines and sharp, cracking explosions, so if Jonghyun answers the question, Jinki doesn’t hear them. But he’s pretty sure he feels them nod against his chest, and they gather his left hand in theirs, splaying his fingers wide and running their fingertips over the second-to-last finger.

“One last night, all together,” Jonghyun says. They’re laying out under the stars, the bed of Minho’s old pickup truck laid flat and blankets stashed everywhere. Gwiboon’s and Jonghyun’s cars are both parked at the bottom of the hill where they arrived a little later, but they’ve joined Minho now, curling up in the nest of his truck. It’s late spring, but the nights are still just chilly enough that Jonghyun feels justified in how he curls into Minho’s side, soaking in his body heat like a sponge.

Beside them, Gwiboon smiles, legs propped up on the rounded metal that protects the wheel, and takes another swig of vodka out of the bottle before handing it over Jonghyun to Minho. Jonghyun has learned better, by now, than to ask for more -- he doesn’t want to be drunk before everyone is here.

“You always say it so dramatically,” Gwiboon says, pursing her lips a little and shifting her legs from the wheel to Jonghyun’s lap. “You act like we’re going to be apart for the rest of our lives.”

“Six weeks,” Jonghyun says, frowning at Gwiboon’s nonchalance. “That’s 42 whole days that I’ll be alone.”

“Not all alone,” Minho says, squeezing him gently. “You’re gonna have Tae.”

Jonghyun flushes a little. “That’s true. Where is--”

The sudden gleam of headlights cuts him off before he can finish his sentence, and Gwiboon perks up a little, lifting her head to watch the beaten-up sedan drive slowly up the road before pulling up on the shoulder. “Speak of the devil,” Gwiboon says.

“Well, one devil,” Minho says sagely. “Jury’s still out on what side of that line Jinki falls on.”

Jonghyun laughs brightly, leaning his head back against Minho’s shoulder, and when he tips it forward again, Jinki and Tae are both out of the car and heading up the small hill towards them. Tae breaks into run halfway up the hill, half diving into the truck beside Minho and making grabby hands for the vodka. Minho hands it over with a laugh, letting Tae take a swig big enough to make them cough, and Jonghyun frowns intently at them.

“Jonghyunnie,” Tae says, beaming, and Jonghyun almost, almost melts, but he holds strong, crossing his arms. Tae’s smile, if possible, widens. “What’s wrong, Jonghyunnie?”

Jinki has arrived by now, and he leans over the side of the truck to press a kiss to Gwiboon’s lips before he clambers up himself. “What’s wrong,” Jinki says, “is you prioritized vodka over your boyfriend.”

Taemin cocks their head for a moment, blinking, and then laughs. “I get Jonghyunnie all to myself for six whole weeks,” Taemin says. “I promise you’re going to be sick of me by the time everyone gets back.”

Jonghyun flushes pink, but he’s at least honest when he says, “Never.”

“I’m sick of you already,” Jinki teases as he worms his way in to press a kiss to Jonghyun’s cheek.

Taemin doesn’t even pretend to be offended, just takes another sip of vodka and hands it over to Gwiboon. “You weren’t sick of me when you wanted to make out in the McDonald’s drive-thru line while we had to wait for food.”

Jinki shrugs. “You’re a good way to pass the time.”

“You got McDonalds without us?” Gwiboon says, staring at Jinki in betrayal. “Jonghyun, you might have been right. This might be our last night all together because I’m going to murder the both of them.”

“I got McDonald’s for us,” Jinki says. “There’s McNuggets for everyone in the car and a bunch of fries. But if I brought them now, how would I ever know if you love me for me or for nuggets?”

“I 100% love you for nuggets,” Taemin chirps, settling into the blankets pointedly.

Minho sighs fondly. “I’ll go get them,” he says, and nudges Jonghyun up so that he can slide to the end of the truck bed and get up.

Jonghyun goes with a pout, but Jinki extends an arm quickly and Jonghyun settles into the new grip with a smile. “I love you for more than nuggets,” he says, laughing a little.

“I hope so,” Gwiboon laughs. “I don’t think nuggets as a relationship basis will last the long winter. Well, summer.”

“Gwi,” Jinki says, a little chidingly, if only because Jonghyun is pouting again, the reminder aching in his chest. “Jong, we’ll be back in like a month and a half. It’s just summer break. I’d say you’ll have Tae, but I don’t think that’s a comfort.”

“Hey!” Tae says, and Jinki hides a smile as he sways a little, rocking Jonghyun with him in a soothing motion.

“I’m going to miss you,” Jonghyun admits quietly, just in time for Minho to get back and hear. “I’m going to miss all of you.”

“Hey,” Minho says gently, at the same time as Gwiboon sits up and reaches through Jinki’s space to brush Jonghyun’s hair back gently, the two of them in tandem. “We’re here, okay? Maybe we’re not going to be able to meet up for a few weeks, but we’re always here. A call or a text away.”

“It’s not the same,” Jonghyun says, a little whiny now, but the very real threat of tears in his eyes makes it clear that he’s not just acting. “You aren’t here-here.”

“Jonghyunnie,” Tae says, and their voice is just serious enough to make Jonghyun listen. “I know. I’m gonna miss them all too. But they’re all still gonna love you, no matter how far away they are. And we’re all here, right now. So let’s just…” He tapers off, shrugging. “Yeah.”

“That was surprisingly sappy,” Jinki says, but he’s smiling, and he reaches out to tug Taemin in for a kiss.

“Tae’s right,” Gwiboon says, making a face. “We’re here, okay? And in six weeks we’ll meet back up right here.”

“Yeah,” Jonghyun says, and he’s still a little teary, but Jinki hugs him close and Gwiboon and Minho settle in, and Taemin leans heavily against Jinki and Jonghyun both, and Jonghyun knows they’re right about one thing at least. In this moment, he does feel incredibly loved.

In the morning, they’ll all go their separate ways: Jinki, Gwiboon, and Minho will all go home to see their families for the summer, and Jonghyun and Taemin will go back to the city to spend time with theirs. They’ll be apart for weeks, and Jonghyun always handles this time badly, but they’ll be back together soon.

Jonghyun has always had nightmares. Ever since he was a little kid, he’s struggled with a mixture of insomnia and dreams that give him reason to stay awake anyways. He doesn’t mind too much. He’s learned to get by on little enough sleep. It even helps him, maybe, when he becomes a trainee and then an idol, a member of SHINee.

They’re run ragged too often, especially comebacks, and it take a toll on everyone -- Jinki’s smile is a little dimmer in the mornings as he struggles to wake up, to get everyone in place, to be the leader he’s expected to be; Kibum is a little more prone to snap, the exhaustion weighing heavy on his already sarcastic nature; Minho slumps when he comes in the door, the expectations of so many of the friends he looks up to weighing on him heavily; and Taemin clings to every ounce of sleep he can get, dozing on other members shoulders long after he should have woken up because he looks so young when he sleeps like that and anyone who might think to wake him has a soft spot for him a mile wide.

Its very hard, Jonghyun thinks, not to have a soft spot for someone like Taemin.

Jonghyun possibly survives the best on so little sleep. It takes its toll, sure -- not being able to sleep until four a.m. is hell when they’re expected to be up and ready by five. But a part of him is used to it too, and if anything he just spends his days softer, a little more sluggish, clinging to members to keep him awake and fully earning the fan assumption that he’s touchy with the members. It isn’t like it’s not true.

But more than anything, Jonghyun appreciates their patience. Their protectiveness. When they joke about sleep habits on recordings like any of them ever get quite to a deep enough sleep to enact them very often, the worst Jonghyun gets is jokes about sleeping with his eyes open. No mention of the times he wakes them from an already too-short rest with night terrors that leave him shaking and yelling out.

The first time it happens, it’s Jinki who wakes him. They all share a room, and Jinki sleeps like the dead, but the first sound of panic from any of then and Jinki is waking Jonghyun with a gentle grip on his shoulders, pulling him into his arms while he tries to remember how to breathe normally. None of them talk about it for days after, not until it happens again and this time it’s Minho, already up to go exercise, his low voice murmuring to Jonghyun to try and pull him back to reality.

Jonghyun has to admit, eventually, his sleep patterns, and the others all take it in stride. The only one who seems mostly unaffected is Taemin, able to sleep through anything. Jonghyun’s a little grateful for that.

But then it happens months later while the others are out -- Jonghyun doesn’t know where. They’re shooting something, they all have schedules, and Jonghyun is somehow off, blessedly.

Taemin is supposed to be at school, maybe, but there was something in the set of his shoulders, the way Jink had had to drag him back from the practice room at nearly 2:30 in the morning, and after Taemin had finally slept, Jonghyun had heard Jinki’s voice, raw and exhausted, tell Kibum to, “just let him sleep. One day won’t hurt him. A few more hours to rest.”

That had been before Jonghyun fell asleep at 3-something, and he doesn’t know what time the others left, only that when the dreams come, he wakes up to an early-morning sky and the feeling of the bed shifting. He panics for a moment, the content of the dream escaping like smoke but the feeling settling like stones in the pit of his stomach, but then there’s a familiar shape wrapping too-thin arms around him, tucking too-thin legs between his own, and Taemin’s breath spills against the back of Jonghyun’s neck.

“Let’s sleep,” Taemin says, so groggy that Jonghyun’s racing heart skips a painful beat and then can’t seem to find the rhythm to go as fast as before. “I’m here. Just let’s sleep now, hyung.”

Jonghyun does. He doesn’t know how, but at some point he falls asleep wound up with Taemin, and he doesn’t wake until early afternoon, when the others come in from their schedules.

It becomes a habit of sorts. The others have woken him from nightmares in their own ways, but there’s something about the way Taemin does it, just slinking into bed with him, too tired to stay awake even long enough to wake him, just settling against him until Jonghyun’s body wakes itself up to recognize someone else’s presence.

Even when they move, when they no longer all five share a room, Taemin is the one to insist he stay with Jonghyun (if only by dragging Jonghyun into one of the rooms and plopping their stuff down). And Jonghyun wakes up with Taemin in his bed more often than not, more often than he’s even sure he’s having nightmares.

It seems almost like a natural progression -- Jonghyun wakes up with Taemin in his bed one day and the next Taemin crawls into his bed before Jonghyun is even asleep and pulls him down with that same little, “Let’s sleep.”

But this time Taemin’s arms and legs are shaking faintly, muscles twitching from exhaustion and overexertion, and his voice sounds so thick and so close to tears that Jonghyun knows Taemin well enough to know he’ll never shed. And who is Jonghyun, really, to deny Taemin?

He doesn’t know when it starts being every night, doesn’t know when it starts being Taemin crawling into his bed at bedtime, Taemin’s bed more used for clothes storage than anything. Even Kibum makes a crack about Taemin just sleeping in Jonghyun’s bed to avoid doing laundry, but both Jonghyun and Taemin know it’s the other way around.

Jonghyun doesn’t know when it starts, but he realizes, after a while of it, how few and far-between the nightmares have become. The insomnia is still there, isn’t going to go away, but there’s something about it, something about the strange new kind of normalcy of shuffling to his bed and slipping in only to be absorbed by Taemin’s clinging hold, so much touchier at night than he is during the day.

And maybe, maybe, that’s why Jonghyun has no idea when the rest of it starts either, when he starts waking up from different kinds of dreams, ones of Taemin’s lips against his own, soft at first, the way Taemin always is in the mornings, and then growing greedy, impatient and demanding in the way Taemin can be when he wants something, whether of himself or someone else. Jonghyun wakes from dreams where Taemin kisses him until Jonghyun can’t breathe, until he’s shaking and gasping for air into his mouth, and Taemin is there, holding him, breath warm and sticky against the back of his neck. Jonghyun wants.

The worst part is, he can’t even shy away from Taemin. He doesn’t know how when they’ve made this a part of everyday life, when Taemin sleeps in Jonghyun’s bed and no one questions it, no one thinks twice. He doesn’t even get a chance to try before Taemin is blinking at him, slow and heavy-lidded in the morning, mumbling, “You’ve been having more dreams lately.”

It’s more perceptive that Taemin has any right to be, and Jonghyun’s breath hitches for a moment before he remembers why Taemin is in his bed at all. “Yeah,” he whispers. “It’s not a big deal though. I’ve had worse.”

He’s had so, so much worse than dream of Taemin’s mouth on his. But Taemin frowns at him like Jonghyun is suffering and touches his hand gently, delicately, so much less clingy here in the daylight than he is at night. “Is something wrong?”

Jonghyun shakes his head. “No. No, I’m… I’m okay, really,” he says, and then because he’s stupid and selfish and makes terrible life choices, he adds, “You being here helps. A lot.”

Taemin’s smiles is surprisingly shy, the way it is when people give him unexpected praise. “I’m glad,” he says, and it’s so utterly genuine that Jonghyun’s breath catches. And then Taemin’s touch is gone and he shuffles away and Jonghyun is left with a sense of breathlessness that he’s not used to, that he had thought was confined only to the moments after dreams.

But now it’s daylight and Jonghyun finds himself looking at Taemin’s mouth, finds himself wanting. He finds himself imagining that feeling, and then some horrible masochistic part of him lets him crawl into bed with Taemin each night. More and more, he can’t sleep. He watches Taemin in the darkness, wonders what it would be like to just-- not that he would ever. Not while Taemin is asleep. Not when he doesn’t know if Taemin wants like he does. And he does want, so badly it starts feeling like an ache in his chest.

He’s distracted again, groggy in the mornings and sluggish through the day, and Jonghyun has to keep looking away from Taemin to keep Taemin from catching him staring every time he looks over. He doesn’t know why he’s trying to hide, but there’s something there, some fear that if Taemin catches him, if he has to say, then he’ll lose everything. He’ll go back to an empty bed and nightmares.

He doesn’t know if that’s better or worse than the lack of sleep, but he can’t think of a reason good enough to want to lose the feeling of Taemin’s arm sliding loose over his waist and pulling him in when Jonghyun climbs into bed that night.

He watches Taemin’s face in the dark, the sleepy shift of Taemin’s features as he settles. He’s beautiful. He’s got lines on his cheek where the pillow has dug into his skin and his hair is rumpled and has most of his makeup taken off but there’s eyeliner smudged around just his right eye, making him look like a lopsided racoon and his arms are warm and safe and he’s so beautiful.

“Jonghyun,” Taemin whispers. No hyung. No sleep-slur in his voice. “Let’s sleep. Why won’t you sleep with me?”

He hopes that Taemin ignores the obvious shiver at those words, the way guilt flashes across Jonghyun’s face for mistaking them, even for a moment. “I am,” Jonghyun lies, nuzzling into Taemin’s hold like a show. “I’m right here.”

Taemin shakes his head. “You never sleep,” he says, but his arm is tightening protectively, fingers pressing into Jonghyun’s back. “You never sleep anymore. You don’t dream, really, but it’s because you don’t sleep. What are you so afraid of?”

Jonghyun could lie. He should lie. But he doesn’t. “Losing you.”

“I’m right here,” Taemin says, voice taking on just a touch of confusion. “Why would you lose me?”

Jonghyun shuts his eyes, wishes he could feign sleep now to get out of this, but he can’t, not when Taemin is leaning towards him in the dark like he can’t get close enough and Jonghyun’s breathing is speeding, leaving him halfway to breathless. “Taemin….”

“You aren’t going to lose me,” Taemin said, voice whisper-quiet but utterly vehement. “Not ever.”

“I would. If you knew what I dreamed about.” Jonghyun hates himself, clearly. The words aren’t supposed to come out, but they do, and then Taemin is pulling back, and god, fuck.

“Is it about me?” Taemin asks, so on the nose that Jonghyun wants to flinch. Maybe he does, he doesn’t know, but Taemin can clearly read something in his expression or his body language, because he asks, “Is it the nightmares about me? Or is it the other dreams?”

Jonghyun stills. The other dreams. Taemin is drawing a differentiation, and he doesn’t know where the difference lies, only that there apparently is one.

Taemin has the gall to look away, almost demure for a moment, before he looks back up, looking at Jonghyun like he’s gathered himself. “You… you used to moan sometimes, in your sleep. And you… I mean… you’re not exactly…” He sucks in a breath like he’s embarrassed and then gestures weakly. “I sleep through a lot, hyung, but not… it’s hard to sleep through when you sound like that.”

Jonghyun lets out a pathetic noise of humiliation, moving to cover his face like he might be able to hide, and squirming to move away. Taemin’s fingers tighten, just for a moment, like instinct, like he’s going to hold Jonghyun here. He lets go, just a moment later, but it appears to be a conscious decision, the choice not to trap Jonghyun.

He does reach out though, fingers curling around Jonghyun’s hand to pull it away from his face, and his voice is soft when he asks, “Is it about me?”

And Jonghyun should and could lie, but he’s in too deep now to stop the quiet, “Yes,” from slipping out. To stop his heart from sinking like it knows he’s just ruined everything. To stop his body from aching at the thought of whether he’ll even be able to sleep alone after so long.

Taemin shivers, makes a tiny little noise, and then curls his arm back around Jonghyun, tugging weakly. “Okay,” he says, and then, “I’m still here, hyung. Let’s just sleep now.”

Jonghyun doesn’t know what that means or where they’re headed, but he closes his eyes and presses into Taemin, lets Taemin maneuver him until his arms are around him, his legs tucking between his own. His breath is warm at the back of Jonghyun’s neck, and then there are lips there, a wordless question.

“Hey!”

Jonghyun huddles lower into his hoodie, half to hide from the cold, but mostly to hide the way his cheeks and ears are flushing pink at the familiar voice calling out to him. Jonghyun goes this way every day, taking a shortcut through the school’s old practice stadium to get to his dorm, and he knows that Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, the soccer team practices here, taking advantage of the relative peacefulness.

He also knows that the soccer captain calls out to him every week, and every week Jonghyun flushes and pauses as Choi Minho jogs over to him, all legs and sweat-soaked practice jerseys and a smile that makes Jonghyun’s voice lodge in his throat, and Jonghyun, inevitably, bolts.

It’s embarrassing is what it is, and the first few times he was worried Minho would take it personally except that Minho is in his advanced literature course and somehow Jonghyun has managed to actually smile at him then when Minho isn’t sweat-soaked and smiling. Of course, the moment Minho smiled back, Jonghyun had blushed, but… he had tried at least. Enough to encourage Minho to try and talk to him three times a week.

Enough that every time Minho says his name, he pauses in place and looks up at him and takes a deep breath and tries to process something more than legs and sweat-soaked jersey and smiles. Something more than the deepness of his voice and the slight breathlessness as he calls out, “Hey. Hey, you’re-- you’re in my lit class, right?”

Jonghyun squeaks nervously and swallows tightly, taking a quick step away, and Minho stops in place. “I’m sorry, am I… am I freaking you out?”

Jonghyun shakes his head tightly and then stops and sucks in a breath. “Wait, I mean-- yes. No. Wait. I’m… lit class, yes. You’re not--  I mean…”

“Not freaked out?” Minho says, laughing softly, that smile spreading wide across his face and Jonghyun struggles to quell a nervous little noise. “It’s nice hearing your voice for once.”

Jonghyun fails. The noise comes out as a squeak and then he’s mumbling something high and tight and unintelligible and dashing off towards his dorm, not stopping his run until he’s in his dorm, slamming the door behind him and collapsing in a breathless heap, his cheeks flushed with exertion and embarrassment.

When Minho smiles at him in lit class the next day, Jonghyun has to stop himself from melting into his chair.

It’s another week and a half before Jonghyun talks to Minho again. Not for lack of effort on Minho’s part. It’s the same cycle, the same routine. Minho calls out to him and, fueled by embarrassment and panic, Jonghyun bolts.

It’s not until the next Friday that Minho catches him just a little off guard, sprinting halfway towards Jonghyun before he ever calls out, and Jonghyun’s mind goes blank with how close he is and how wide he’s smiling.

“Still not freaked out?” Minho says gently, and Jonghyun swallows and manages to shake his head, just a little. He’s not. He’s really not. Nervous and embarrassed and kind of easily flustered by cute boys, but he’s not freaked out. Maybe he should be by Minho trying to get his attention every day, that kind of persistence, but Minho always lets him go, never chases after him, and Jonghyun doesn’t really have to come this way. They both know it.

Jonghyun blushes and shrugs his hoodie up a little higher. “No,” he whispers. “I’m not--”

“Good,” Minho says, and then, “Do you think I can get your name?”

Jonghyun opens his mouth and tries to get out something intelligent. Minho is smiling at him encouragingly, and Jonghyun’s brain melts and whatever he chokes out is nothing near his name.

Minho’s brow furrows. “I’m… I’m sorry?”

Jonghyun shakes his head. “No, it’s-- it’s fine. It’s-- I’m--”

“Choi!” Someone across the field is waving an arm in the air for attention, trying to call him back. “Stop flirting and come practice! We have a game tomorrow!”

Minho goes pink. Just a little, just around the ears, but he goes pink and all of a sudden all the blood is in Jonghyun’s ears and he takes a step back and--

“Wait,” Minho says with the kind of voice that makes Jonghyun expect a hand around his wrist. But Minho doesn’t reach for him, just smiles awkwardly. “Wait, please don’t run away again.”

Of everything, it’s that that makes Jonghyun speak up. “I didn’t run away,” he says and he’s only pouting a little. Really. “I… I just…”

Minho laughs, deep and low and so pretty that Jonghyun is pretty sure someone just knocked all the breath out of him because it escapes in a quiet, “oh,” of sound.

“It’s okay,” Minho says. “I don’t mean to make you nervous, I just… I really want to get to know you.”

Jonghyun squeaks, and maybe it’s ridiculous, but all that comes out is, “Why?”

Minho bites his lip. “I see you come past here every day and you always look so… like you’re off in your own world? But-- you get that look sometimes in class and it’s always before you make a really good point about something. And I’ve heard the points you make. You care and you’re passionate and I want to… to learn more about you?”

It trails off into a question and now Minho is flushed pink, and Jonghyun is gaping because somehow he was expecting something else. Some comment about him being small or about how he looks or… or something that wasn’t that. Suddenly he feels a little ridiculous for being caught up on Minho’s looks and his demeanor and--

“I like your smile,” Jonghyun breaths out like a defense, trying to pull something that isn’t just Minho’s looks. “I like how much you seem to genuinely enjoy stuff.”

It takes a beat and then Jonghyun realizes how ridiculous that is without context and tries to will himself to sink into the ground. But Minho is grinning at him now, face lit up with embarrassed pleasure and maybe it’s not quite so bad.

“I’m Minho,” Minho says, and then, tossing a look over his shoulder, “Will you come to the game tomorrow? Maybe we can get smoothies after if we win?”

“And if you lose?” Jonghyun says and then is startled into a laugh by how genuinely affronted Minho looks at that suggestion.

But Minho’s disgruntled expression fades quickly into a soft smile and he laughs. “Then maybe we can go get smoothies to make me feel better about my loss?”

Jonghyun ducks his head, just a little. “It’s… it’s Jonghyun.”

Minho looks confused, just for a moment, and then he’s beaming. “Tomorrow?”

Jonghyun meets his soulmate on a Friday. He should be at work, but they’re in the middle of a transition period and there’s not quite enough to do to justify keeping his team at work the full eight hours, so they got sent home at three o’clock. It’s too nice of a day to waste driving home and sitting in his living room though, and even though he’s still in slacks and a dress shirt, he finds himself at the beach at five o’clock on a Friday afternoon.

He kicks off his shoes and tugs off his socks in the car to keep from sacrificing them to the non-existent mercy of beach sand and walks down to the water’s edge, sand pushing up between his toes. He does his best to roll up the legs of his slacks, but he’s pretty sure they’ll end up damp anyways. He’ll just have to wash them out this weekend. No big deal.

That’s probably what leads to the decision to just flop down in the sand, feet and calves getting wet with every wave. He rolls up his sleeves to his elbows and undoes his tie, loosening the collar of his shirt and undoing the top couple of buttons.

It’s peaceful out here, and Jonghyun sighs and stretches out, letting the water lap at his feet and looking up at the sky. It’s cloudless and blue. Probably. It’s the exact shade of grey that makes Jonghyun assume it must be from the descriptions that his mother and sister and a few of his friends have told him. But only about half of his friends have found their soulmates, and Jonghyun isn’t one of them.

He lets out a soft sigh, wriggling his toes in the water, and looks out over the water, listening. The beach is mostly empty this time of day, but there’s an old man a little further down playing with his dog, a mother with two very young children making sandcastles, and a group of what looks like college students shoving each other. It’s the kind of day Jonghyun would write about if he could, but there’s always something missing in his writing.

They live in a world where love is a rainbow after all. Where happiness is yellow and sadness is blue and anger is red and people use emotions to describe color because there’s nothing else to compare them to. But Jonghyun doesn’t know what colors look like, has never seen one, and he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to use those comparisons when he doesn’t know the exact shade of blue to describe the feeling of falling in love with someone from afar and never speaking to them because of the fear that when they speak back, his world will still be grey. Is it the color of the sky or the ocean or a still, silent pond? Somehow, without color, none of those concepts quite relate to that kind of heartbreak.

Jonghyun closes his eyes against the memory and the grey sky, and takes deep, slow breaths of warm salt air. He only has a few minutes left until sunset, but he doesn’t really have much of an appreciation for it. Instead he listens to the dog bark and the children giggle and the mother call after her children. He listens to the sound of the college students shoving and laughing, a single laugh bright and piercing against the sea air.

Jonghyun smiles to himself despite everything, humming quietly, trying the find words to describe the sounds around him, the joy and delight of that sound. He pushes himself to his feet, digging his toes into the wet sand as he walks forward, taking slow steps into the water, letting it wash up closer and closer to his knees and taking deep breaths, focusing on the feelings: the slight chill at the bottom of the water, not as sun-warmed as the waves or the top few inches; the heaviness of the waves beating against his knees, just strong enough to give him pause.

These are real, are tangible, and Jonghyun smiles out at the water, watching as it glitters and gleams and—

“Hey, you okay?”

Jonghyun turns around, blinking, vision swimming a little and sees one of the college students, and boy with light hair and dark eyes, a scar through his eyebrow and a quirk at the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah,” Jonghyun says. “Yeah, I’m—“

The boy is blond. Jonghyun chokes on his own words. The boy is blond and his lips are pink and his cheeks are flushed from running and the sting of salt air, and the sand behind him is gold and glittering with shells, and Jonghyun knows what all of those colors mean now. He lets out a soft, broken sob.

The boy laughs. The boy laughs and it’s loud and bright and piercing, and Jonghyun doesn’t think about the color yellow, but he feels something warm in his chest as the boy stumbles into the water and moves to him, water soaking into his skinny jeans as he approaches Jonghyun. The water around him is blue and white, lights sparkling off the water in bright flashes and Jonghyun wants to look, to see, to understand the colors, but he’s mildly in shock and he can’t stop looking at the boy who is stepping into his space and curling a large hand around his arm below his elbow and laughing, “Your tie doesn’t match your pants at all.”

Jonghyun gasps out a breathless noise of laughter and confusion and then the boy is kissing him and Jonghyun whines into his mouth, startled but unprotesting, leaning in and tipping up into the kiss and—

“Oh, oh fuck, I’m sorry,” the boy says. “Was that okay? I didn’t mean to just like— just your lips are so pink.”

“Y-yes,” Jonghyun whispers, and then, “Wait, no. No. What’s your name?”

The boy laughs again, nudging against him, and Jonghyun’s heart is racing as the boy teases, “You first.”

Jonghyun sighs softly. “Jonghyun. It’s— yeah.”

“Jonghyunnie,” he laughs and god. God. “It’s Kibum.”

“Kibum,” Jonghyun says and it feels like music on his tongue.

“God,” Kibum breathes, and then, “Look. Jonghyunnie…”

He turns Jonghyun gently, and Jonghyun gasps and steps back into Kibum’s space, eyes wide and mouth falling open. The sun is spilling orange and pink over the ocean, deep and blue and vast in a way that he hasn’t appreciate until now.

But Kibum’s arm slides tentative around Jonghyun’s waist, and Jonghyun hesitates just for a moment before he leans back into Kibum’s hold. There are things they’re not saying here, things that they haven’t even discussed, but right now Jonghyun is lost for words except to breathe, “It’s so pretty.”