Tall, polished windows set in gold-yellow sills spanning the length of at least two regular department stores call out to him, whispering in bittersweet chorus. They want him to empty his savings for the month on some stupid party where it will be too dark for anyone to see what he’s wearing anyway. Is he bitter? Yes. Does he have the right to be? Hell yes. His senior Junho told him to come dressed his best, that he should want to make a good impression since a bunch of alumni and other seniors are going to be there. Youngjae isn’t even completely convinced that he wants to be in Kappa Sigma anyway. It just seems like the college thing to do, and Junho may have twisted his arm about it.

Regardless, here he is, walking through the front door of Club Z, cringing at the ding that sounds out and prompts some shoppers to look in his direction curiously. Some couldn’t care either way and return to what they were doing. Others give him looks ranging from amusement to disgust to genuine confusion. It’s obvious his jeans and band t-shirt combo are to be looked down upon here.

Rich, snotty bastards.

Youngjae is very disappointed that there are as many men as women, thus his excuse of being apart of the stereotypically less fashion-savvy gender is useless. Now, walking around cluelessly touching this and that with absolutely no idea of what any of it is or what to pair anything with is just embarrassing.

Adding to his budding headache, just glimpses of the different clothing pieces tell him that he’ll have to be here for hours just to find a semi-decent outfit. He was born as round as a circle, and even though he lost some baby fat in childhood, traces of it harbor his cheeks, making the tiny shirt holes seem like future humiliation. He also has thick limbs and a flat but soft tummy. No abs. No definition. No chance of him looking good in any of the shear due to his slight but soft frame and not an inkling of hope in the crisper button downs because of the aforementioned reason. It was always easier to resign himself to the ranks of the fashion terrorists and call it a day. Not only is he overwhelmed, but he’s confused, and a bit terrified as well.

To make his situation worse, a handsome, well-dressed man is making his way over from across the floor where women were previously fawning over him, giggling and shoving to get their opportunity at stealing his attention. He pays no mind to the glares they cast at him for that.

His real concern is what he’s going to say to the man when he gets there. He can’t say that he doesn’t need any help because he obviously does. He has a shirt and these insufferable looking shorts in his hands that, even to his inexperienced eyes, don’t match at all. The man will see through that lie in a split second and then he’ll have to put his head in a dark hole and wait for lightning to strike him dead. If he says that he was just looking around he might be met with the same expression he has witnessed twice already today. That expression that clearly says ‘why come if you’re going to touch everything you can’t afford and then leave?’.  He doesn’t think he can handle that a third time.

He may just drop everything and bolt. But then he’ll be looking through his entire wardrobe last minute, getting frustrated that nothing is good enough, eventually just blow the event off and live the rest of his college career as a hermit who never goes anywhere or does anything because he has no friends and can't dress himself properly.

...Okay, so maybe that last part is mostly just exaggerated speculation. But some of it holds true. Youngjae has been wearing the same thing since he was a geeky freshman through senior year. A fresh look is long overdue. He has no idea where to start though, or where he wants to end up for that matter.

Youngjae is still caught up in his internal dialogue when the man finally arrives, having to announce himself twice before Youngjae looks up, conflicted and nervous. He feels like a small child, mismatched clothes in hand and confidence draining from his body. Up close, the man is even more striking. Although Youngjae has no idea what he’s wearing by name, he knows that it looks good. Broad muscles fill up the shirt that would be too tight in some places and too loose in others on Youngjae. Long, built legs compliment his black slacks and shiny, dark shoes top off his whole ‘I’m too hot to approach, but feel free to drool from afar’ ensemble.

“Can I help you?” the man asks with amusement in his voice. He surveys Youngjae’s “outfit” with a speculative expression and raises one eyebrow. “You have a rather particular taste. I’m not judging, but it’s kind of written in my job description to give customers advice.”

“Yeah?” Youngjae says. “And what’s your advice?”

“Lose the shorts and we’ll see what we can do with the shirt…”

“Youngjae.”

The man smiles easily. “Jaebum.”

After twenty minutes of trying on things Jaebum brings to him, Youngjae is over the whole process. He appreciates the man’s well-intentioned determination but he’s on the verge of calling everything off because  nothing is looking right despite Jaebum’s undying optimism.

“Here, last one.” Jaebum’s arm splits through the dressing room curtains with a pair of straight-legged black jeans and a soft blue cotton button-up. He’s skeptical, but puts them and steps out in front of the full-length ready to accept his fate, when he opens his eyes gingerly and is surprised to find that he doesn’t hate the ensemble.

The jeans make his legs look lean, which they aren’t, and the shirt doesn’t make him particularly podgy in any place.

“Good?” Jaebum asks with an expectant grin and a hesitant thumbs up.

“Good,” Youngjae replies.

“Awesome.” Jaebum waves him over to the register and they get on with it. Youngjae is more than glad to get the heck out of there after having sent way too much time already, even if he doesn’t mind being with Jaebum at all.

“So you go to Yeongnam U?” Jaebum asks as he’s ringing up the stuff.

“Uh, yeah. I’m majoring in Music Therapy.”

“Sweet.” Jaebum smiles and Youngjae’s heart does this thing where it feels like it’s going to explode. “So, you wanna, like, help people and stuff? Way cool. I’m only going for Composition so I can write songs and sell ‘em. But that’s noble, Youngjae.”

“Um, noble, okay. Thanks.” Youngjae scratches the back of his neck slightly as Jaebum bags the clothes and taps some numbers in the register. Youngjae pays what he owes and waves the man goodbye as he tries not to look like an animal fleeing its cage on his way out.

                                                 *     *     *    *     *

Parties have never been Youngjae’s forte.

He’s an awkward human being. It was built in him to be that way, he supposes. He’s terrible at small talk, hates being squashed by sweaty, drunk people in dark, loud places. He never knows what to say or do. It doesn’t help that he’s wearing an expensive outfit that doesn’t feel like him at all, doesn’t mold to his body like a good pair of jeans and a graphic tee. So, not only is he struggling to be anyone but himself, he’s also trying to live up to the bigshot persona clothes from Glitz warrant from someone. This was destined to be a horrible idea the second he walked in the front door. Jinyoung and Bambam ditched him, obviously preferring to hang out with their rich, cultured group of friends, leaving Youngjae to fend for himself.

Youngjae doesn’t have to think about what to do; it’s instinct by this point. He pushes his way through the writhing bodies until he gets to the back door.

Worse has come to worst.

As Youngjae is slipping outside into the warm night, a very familiar face clocks on his radar. He doesn’t have anything better to do, so he sulks on a barren swing as he watches through squinted eyes at the bodies suffocating each other on a bench near the back door. Jaebum finally comes up for air, and a girl Youngjae recognizes from his Psych class, Dasom, giggles and hiccups, begging him to come back. He shoos her away, coming to his feet and allowing her time to scramble up herself. She scurries after him like a puppy as he goes inside.

Seeing them together is almost as bitter as whatever is in his cup. He only has to take a sip to decide that the stuff is awful. He keeps drinking, though, because one, he has nothing better to do, and two, it takes some of the hurt away. He’s halfway through it when the air surrounding him becomes more crowded and the other swing’s creaking mixes in with his. As terrible as that sound is, it’s oddly comforting. It reminds him of when he would go to his friend’s house as a child to play. He had this rusty swing set that was probably the most dangerous thing they could find to play on, but it never collapsed on them and they enjoyed each other’s company while using it. He doesn’t question the welcome intrusion.

“The party’s in there,” the voice says. It has some bass, while still being very youthful. Attractive.

“I’m having my own party.” Youngjae shakes his head sadly, taking another sip out of his cup. “A party of one.”

“Make that a party of two.” The guy takes the cup right out of Youngjae’s hand and takes a whig himself. Youngjae isn’t too upset as he follows the thieving hand to a handsome face. Large yet angular brown eyes, a high, straight nose, and thick lips is what he can pick out in the semi-darkness. The stranger lets loose a long, loud sigh and returns the cup. Youngjae takes it apprehensively, sloshing what’s left boredly. He thinks he’s starting to feel it, whatever it is. This is not his first time drinking alcohol, but it’s definitely his first time getting past a few gulps without gagging and passing the wretched stuff to a more willing party-goer, or putting it back.

“I’m Yugyeom, by the way.” The stranger--Yugyeom, kicks off and begins to swing gently. The creaking gets louder.

“Youngjae.” He follows the other’s lead. The warmth growing inside of him as the liquor works its way through his system mixed with the cool breeze he unearths once he starts swinging is creating a strange synergy around him. The night becomes a little more bearable. Yugyeom is handsome, has a nice voice as well.

“So, Youngjae-hyung. You out here for a reason?” Yugyeom asks.

“Yeah,” Youngjae says, coughing to clear his clogged throat. The alcohol causes it to burn a little, but it’s just comforting warmth after that. “I’m kinda bummed about something. And I don’t really like parties. This is my frat. I would just go to my room, but there’s probably someone having sex in it. So…” He twirls the cup some more, distractedly.

“Yeah, that could get awkward.” Yugyeom laughs quietly. Another nice sound. It’s sweet, something Youngjae feels rather than just hears. It bounces along the night breeze and takes over his muddled senses.

“What about you?” Youngjae asks.

“Same, I guess. Bummed. Not one for parties,” Yugyeom says. “My friend asked me to come because he wanted to find someone here and didn’t want to look like a loser waiting around by himself. Now I’m the loser by myself. That asshole.”

“Friends suck,” Youngjae muses. He raises his nearly empty cup. It sways lightly in his loosening grip. Whatever was in it and the little bit left is strong. “Toast to the decent people left on the earth.”

So they toast to each other and drink the night away, buried in what they can handle. Surprisingly, considering his sheer height, Yugyeom is a lightweight and Youngjae has to stop himself from overdoing it because the younger had reached that point a while ago, sleepily humming tunes to songs and occasionally pairing them with the wrong words as Youngjae piggybacks him to his dorm.

The air is sweetly warm, whispering across Youngjae’s bare chest as he rummages through his drawers for some less sweaty clothes, goading on the beads of sweat as they collect uncomfortably in the crevices of his body and force him to crack the window more and more.

After tugging Yugyeom’s uncooperative limbs into cooler, cleaner clothes, Youngjae slips in beside the tall freshman, slightly distressed to find that he fits perfectly as if it were in some predestined scheme for the younger to toss one of his long, heavy arms over Youngjae’s torso, anchoring him temporarily.

“He’s a little funny-looking,” Yugyeom whispers suddenly to him. Youngjae can safely say that he is both startled and extremely peeved because how long has this ingrate been awake and why couldn’t he walk his goliath ass back to his own dorm? He’s just about ready to give it to him when the soft murmur is broken by a snor, a snuffle, and nothingness, only to repeat again a minute later with different words. Something like ‘but, cute too’.

And Youngjae realizes Yugyeom is sleep talking.

And sleep insulting him, too. This bastard.

“Hyung,” he babbles, pulling Youngjae closer. “Toast.”

Youngjae would be more livid if Yugyeom weren’t so damn cute.

                                           *     *     *    *     *

The next time Yugyeom is drunk off his ass is at Youngjae’s induction to Kappa Sigma. His newly dubbed crush is sitting right in his lap, a hard drink of something swaying in his unreliable fingers, as they’re at the table trying to keep something down besides liquor.

It isn’t going too hot.

More than half surrounding the stupidly large table are drunk out of their minds, and the other half are swimming in varying states of less severe drunkenness, but not completely lucid all the same. Youngjae is one of the few who are still upright, and he’s not gung ho on the thought of having to carry Yugyeom across campus not a second, or third, but fourth time. He’s a sloppy drunk and bad drinker, barely able to hold his fluids after about three cups of something.

“Hyung, bathroom.” Yugyeom paws at Youngjae’s chest with a pout, wrinkling his dumb, new shirt purchased at (where else, honestly?) Club Z. “I have to peeeeeeee.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Youngjae grumbles miserably, helping Yugyeom to his feet, and pulling the boy over to the stairs. As they’re going up Youngjae thinks that his “wonderful induction night” can’t get suckier; then he and Yugyeom reach the first landing, padding mutely over the hardwood as they turn and commit to climbing the rest to get to the top, and Youngjae hears a gross noise upon reaching the second floor.

It’s dark, loopy, a little hot, and Youngjae can still outline Jaebum’s body pressed up against someone else’s at the beginning of the corridor, just before a long stretch of darkness absorbs anything remotely tangible into an indecipherable blob of mystery.

Youngjae aches that much more because it’s a guy he’s got his hands all over in the sticky shadows, meaning Jaebum is bi, swings both ways, and he probably would never even want to take a whack in Youngjae’s direction.

What makes it all worse is Yugyeom starts whining again, reminding Youngjae that has a new responsibility to deal with, cute sweet Yugyeom who Youngjae is almost sure likes him back. He helps the boy, finally, to the bathroom, switching the light on and pulling the toilet seat up so he can relieve himself.

Youngjae looks on with a mixture of fondness and guilt as he takes out his phone from his jeans pocket, looking away briefly to check the message from Jackson left hours ago.

i know ur butt hurt from the lecture, but jaebum’s gonna be at ur tea party later, sooooo ;););) use protection -wang jackass, 5:34pm

Youngjae sends a quick text back, a digital middle finger, before he’s focusing on Yugyeom again, watching glassily as he fumbles for soap to wash his hands and zoning out simultaneously, thinking back to the lecture in question from earlier.

Youngjae had come into his Music Theory hall with a little smile on his face from serial texting Yugyeom. It had been two weeks since the sleepover incident and they were really hitting it off. Yugyeom, Youngjae’s polisci angel, is also into reading for pleasure, so they were texting about a book they had both read just that summer, crying over the fact that the author isn’t going to release a sequel until the following Spring like a couple of nerds.

He had nearly tripped over someone from having his nose stuck in his screen. That someone turned out to be Jaebum sitting like an Adonis statue and outshining everything in Youngjae’s view. He cursed silently under his breath and scurried past the man, pretending not to hear his pleasant greeting in favor of crowding his body into a ditch and suffocating on his own damn inadequacy.

Instead he just fled a few rows down and drowned in his own awkward sorrow. It had been his own idiocy that forced him to retell all of this to Jackson, because what had Youngjae imagined him doing different from what he usually does? Which is insert new names and post anything remotely amusing that happens in his sorry little life to SNS.

Youngjae shouldn’t have been surprised to see the trials of Jaebin in his twitter feed later, along with a comment by Jaebum, ‘cute’, to which Jackson replied with ‘very’.

So Youngjae isn’t talking to Jackson right now. He couldn’t even if he wanted to because he’s too busy holding onto Yugyeom and ushering him back downstairs, past where Jaebum and some other dude were just sucking face among other things.

                                            *     *     *     *      *    

It’s at another party that shit finally hits the fan. Youngjae is on the couch with Yugyeom on his lap. He has a hard on and the younger’s weight on top of it feels good, really good. He’s doing this twisting thing that makes it feel even better. Summer air, the bass of the music, and his boyfriend’s sweet lips are all sensations that vibrate across his warm, damp skin. He would say it were a perfect night, if only Jaebum weren’t in his head kicking up a disgusting fuss.

He’s trying to give Yugyeom all of his attention, as the boy is licking into his mouth as eager as a puppy, hands playing with the little hairs on the back of Youngjae’s neck, gentle yet urgent. It shouldn’t be hard to do. Yugyeom has his long, supermodel legs swung over Youngjae’s lap, knees weighed into the couch on both sides of him, and his bum is skipping on top of Youngjae’s clothed erection, torsos brushing. It shouldn’t be hard at all to dwell solely on his sweet boyfriend’s playful hands, his busy hips, and intoxicating scent all spawned from some unfathomable source out to end his very existence.

Yugyeom is stunning, and he wants Youngjae, possibly even more than the older wants him if his breathy moans and insistent whines hold any bearing. So the fact that he’s sitting here, hot boyfriend grinding on his lap, thinking about Jaebum, has him reorganizing his priorities. Youngjae has no time to clear his mind though, because Yugyeom must sense it as his hips stop rolling and he stares down at Youngjae with a little frown that the older wishes he could just kiss away.

“It is about Jaebum?”

Youngjae blanches.

“Y-you know Jaebum?” From where? How?

“Not personally.” Yugyeom sighs. “But I hear Jackson-hyung talking about him and you get...weird. Like, your mind freezes and I could never figure out why. And, believe me, I’m not being conceited here. Just speculative. But I’m on your lap, damn near dry humping you, and nothing. Your little man downstairs has been limp for the past ten minutes. Is it because I’m not attractive enough or-”

“No, not at all.” Youngjae reaches up to cradle Yugyeom’s face and bring him down for a kiss. His lips are soft and warm and sweet, but even when he’s connected to him, his polisci angel, his mind is on Jaebum. Yugyeom pulls away with this sad look in his pretty eyes and Youngjae is on the brink of smashing something because those sad, pretty eyes are his fault.

“Do you like him...more than me?” Yugyeom asks, looking as if he’s choking up a bit.

Youngjae hates himself because he doesn’t even have the balls to say ‘yes’.  

“Look, hyung. I like you. A lot. But I can see you need to do some thinking right now. So I’m gonna go.” Yugyeom presses a kiss to Youngjae’s forehead just as empty as his lap when Yugyeom slinks away.

Everything hurts.

This party is stupid.

Jaebum is stupid.

The only thing Youngjae can think to do to clear his head is get so drunk he can’t remember his own name.

He gets very close. He only remembers that Jaebum is stupid and that his dorm is on the east side of campus. He’s stumbling through the dark, eyes only half-way open as the world flies by in clips of sensations. Loud noises. Questionable smells.

Somehow he ends up in a warm building. On an elevator. Tripping through the hall. Banging on a door.

“Youngjae?” It’s truly sick that Youngjae recognizes that voice even when he’s supposed to be blown off his ass tore down.

“Asshole.” Hiccup. “Y-you, you--fuck you.”

“Youngjae, you okay?”

“What do you think, asshole?” Hiccup. “Just...just, I like you dammit!”

“You what?”

That’s when he passes out.

                                           *     *     *     *      *  

Food doesn’t taste the way it should. Youngjae’s stomach is gurgling and his head is making very loud music without his permission, against his will really.

“Good job, dummy.” Jackson scoops more soup into his bowel and pats his head placatingly, shit-eating grin full force. “Jaebum knows you’re hard for him and he still wants to take you out. You know, you definitely come off as the prunish, incompetent type. But you’ve got skills after all.”

“I’m not hard for him.” Youngjae fusses uselessly as he spoons the soup into his mouth and tries to keep it down.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, bud.”

                                         *     *     *     *      *  

Youngjae is sitting in class a few days later when his phone starts ringing against his pants. After a few moments of awkward fumbling and thanking the heavens that he remembered to change his ringtone back from whatever crap Jackson put on it, he manages to turn it off without looking at the screen.

By the time he gets out of class, he’s completely forgotten about the call. In fact, Youngjae also forgets to turn his phone back on. Which is why he’s sitting in a baggy t-shirt he’s had since middle school, paired with athletic shorts that he exclusively uses for lounging and his one-time-a-year trips to the gym. He flips through the channels, pausing on a predictable drama as the stereotypical rich-guy takes the stereotypical poor-girl to buy some tacky name brand clothes for the first time in her life. As if the girl didn’t already own an iPhone 7 Plus.

What is completely not predictable is the knock on the door that comes right as the girl trips and falls dramatically into the main lead’s arms.

Youngjae scratches his head. Did I order pizza?

When he opens the door, instead of the rich and savory smell of Italian pie, Youngjae is greeted with a crisp and cool cologne. When he looks up to look Jaebum in the eyes, the first thing that comes to mind is, “Are you wearing a turtleneck under a dress shirt?”

Jaebum just laughs. “I said I’d pick you up at seven. I’m fifteen minutes late. Sorry.”

“That date thing is tonight?”

“Yes, the date thing is tonight. Forget?” Jaebum puts on a thinking face. “Weird. Just a few days ago someone was banging on my door like the sky was falling, confessing their undying love-”

“I said, and I quote, ‘I like you dammit’. Hardly anything undying about that.” Youngjae hopes the sass can distract Jaebum from his inner-chaos. “Let’s go.”

“Wait.” Jaebum stops him with a hand on his chest. Youngjae isn’t screaming. The tea’s done. “You wanna change into something less, sporty?”

“Where are we going?”

“Secret.” Jaebum sing-songs. “Just get dolled up and meet me at my car, okay? I’m parked right out front.”

“Okay…?”

Youngjae slides in Jaebum’s car about twenty minutes later. He spent ten minutes having an existential crisis and the other ten minutes running around forsaking everything in his wardrobe before deciding on jeans so black they can almost pass for slacks and a white button down that he tucked in them.

Jaebums glances over for a second. He hesitates a moment, and then reaches over to grab Youngjae’s hand. “You look really handsome tonight.”

Youngjae frowns. While he appreciates the sweetness, he can’t help but feel a little bit overwhelmed. Youngjae tries to sneakily untangle their fingers so he can wipe off the sweat that is slowly gathering in his palms. When he goes back to rap Jaebum’s hand once more, however, it’s already back on the steering wheel. Youngjae sits, staring at the hand for a moment before realizing Jaebum is talking again.

“—just opened but I heard it’s really popular. I thought you would like it. There’s a live band and everything. Your clothes are fine too.”

“Oh really?” Youngjae perks up again at hearing there’s a live band. He imagines a hipster club, the perfect opportunity to see Jaebum at his sexiest: when dancing. As his mood lightens, he gets chattier, going into a story about Jackson’s latest antics.

“We’re here.”

Shit.

Youngjae was expecting fancy, but he wasn’t expecting this. It looks like somewhere people who sneeze money frequent. The kind of place with little personal packs of fruity smelling soap in the bathroom that they’re not even afraid of people stealing because who would be caught pilfering little soaps when they have hand-made, hypoallergenic imports from Milan? Jaebum is smiling again when the maitre'd leads them to their booth and Youngjae’s breath is no longer with him. He just listens as Jaebum tells him the name of the restaurant, something European, and Youngjae can only nod and smile. Looking down at his menu, he sees that it’s all written in French, maybe, or Italian, except the prices. Youngjae actually gasps out loud when he takes in the digits, which fails to go unnoticed by Jaebum.

“Are you okay?” Jaebum asks sweetly. He smiles and reaches his hand across the table. When Youngjae just meekly nods, Jaebum asks, “Are you ready to order?” He then calls for the waiter in a voice that would have Youngjae drooling, if he wasn’t still trying to figure out what everything meant.

“Are you ready to order, sir?” the waiter asks. Youngjae can’t help but feel relieved that the waiter speaks Korean, at least.

“Yeah, um, I’ll just have… This,” he decides, pointing at one of the menu options. Hopefully it doesn’t taste like shit.

Jaebum orders, the waiter goes, and they sit in silence. Youngjae’s not sure if Jaebum thinks it’s an awkward silence or if he’s enjoying the music, and the tapping of his fingers gives no hint to either. Youngjae perks up in excitement to see their waiter returning with their food. And then he realizes that this date is really and truly just meant to be a prolonged hell as he takes in the cucumbers lining a plate of greens.

As the dinner wraps up with both Jaebum and Youngjae claiming to be too full for desserts (although they both also still have piles of food left on their plates) Youngjae reaches into his pockets to be left with emptiness. Or really, nothingness, because he doesn’t actually have pockets. Or his wallet. Or his phone to pay with apple pay. Or anything at all. Youngjae panics and looks up to explain himself to Jaebum, only to find that Jaebum has already paid for their meal.

Walking back to the car, Youngjae speaks up, “That was a pretty nice first date, I guess.” He can’t help but cringe at how insincere that sounds.

“You know what. I have to confess something,” Jaebum declares, turning to him.

“What?” Youngjae can’t help but think, This is it, this is the moment. He’s going to say he never wants to see me again.

“I actually, really, really don’t like—“

Oh shit here it comes.

“—Western food. And I don’t know if maybe you don’t like it either because you didn’t eat much of your food either, I noticed, but the restaurant had nice reviews, and I wanted to make this really special, and you didn’t respond to my texts so I wasn’t sure in the first place if you would like it or not but I thought it would be okay because Jackson recommended it, but then again Jackson trained in France for a year so he probably likes french food? But I just—“

Youngjae has to stop him there. “Wait. I just. I don’t like cucumbers, but I can’t read French.”

“Oh.”

“And I actually turned my phone off today so I didn’t get any of your texts, which is why I’m dressed like trash, as always, and you look so sleek and good and everybody thinks that you’re too good for me because you are literally in a turtleneck and dress shirt blazer leather pants suede shoes combo thingy and I’m not. Maybe I should have let you dress me again, ha ha.” Youngjae finishes with an awkward laugh.

“Oh.”

“I also don’t have pockets. Or anything. Except some lettuce stuck in my teeth that I can’t get out.”

“Oh.”

“So, yeah.”

“Oh.”

Youngjae isn’t sure how to proceed anymore. I mean, he thinks, I literally just told him I had lettuce stuck in my teeth. There’s an awkward pause, and then Youngjae says, “So do you want some bingsu?”

“Yes. A classic Korean dessert.”

Youngjae returns home that night with a smile on his face. He can’t help but blush as he thinks about Jaebum. About how cute Jaebum looked when he got a brain freeze from eating too fast. How cute he looked when he lost at the arcade Dance Dance Revolution game to a seven year old and pouted about it. How cute he looked when he had pepper paste smudged on his cheek when they got spicy rice cake for dinner, round two. And especially how cute he looked when he ran away after placing a peck on Youngjae’s cheek at his front door.

Jaebum’s really not chic and sexy at all, Youngjae decides. He’s just a ball of fluff.

As Youngjae lays on his side to get comfortable for bed, he fishes out his phone to send a message to Jackson.

you’re not a complete ding dong. the date was nice. -you, 11.03pm

                                           *     *     *     *      *  

“Jackson. When I said you could plan our date, I meant that you could pick a nice restaurant or movie for us to go to, heck, even an amusement park. Why is there a script?” Youngjae doesn’t know what to do with the packet of paper he holds in his hands. He looks over at the similar copy that Jaebum has (but with different highlights) and decides the only thing left to do is go out and plant some trees. Maybe they can plant two trees together in the name of love. The sound of Jackson slapping his Director’s Copy of the script onto the table whips him out of his daydreams.

“It’s not a script!” Jackson protests. “It’s just suggestions for the theme?”

Jaebum has already started flipping through the book, questioning, “Did you get this from the morning drama that Youngjae likes to watch? The lines are literally the same.”

“What? No! Don’t be ridiculous!” Jackson protests, flapping his hands back and forth, as if that will help dispel any claims of plagiarism.

“This is literally a ‘the rich guy takes the poor girl shopping for better clothes scene,’” Youngjae deadpans. “This is so cliche. I can’t believe I’m the poor girl with bad taste in clothes.”

Jaebum pauses from where he’s flipping through the book. “But you do have bad taste in clothes.”

Youngjae rolls his eyes and throws his hands up in exasperation, “That’s it, we’re breaking up.”

“NO!” Jackson gasps. “Not after all the hard work I put into getting you two together! If anything, at the very least go on this date, and then I made a reservation for this really nice restaurant where you can have a steak dinner, and then you guys can break up as Youngjae throws a cup of water in Jaebum’s face, and it’ll be perfect!”

“What the hell is wrong with you, Jackson,” Jaebum groans. “Let’s just get this over with.” He reaches out and grabs Youngjae’s hand, asking for a final time, “You ready?”

Youngjae laughs and follows along as Jaebum tugs him out the door.

Jackson trails behind them, oohing and ahhing at their cuteness. “And! If I’m cliche, then you cute little assholes are cliche, too! Don’t think I’m gonna forget how you two first met! I asked the manager for a copy of the CCTV tapes!”

“You know,” Jaebum whispers to Youngjae as he looks back at Jackson, trailing along behind them, “I know it’s a little early to be thinking about marriage, but it looks like we’ve already adopted a kid.”