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It’s pitch black outside the plane, Chenle’s phone screen glowing a depressing 01:48 as he stares out the window, wide awake. Jisung is passed out on his shoulder, snoring politely in the tiny confines of their seat row, just like Chenle should be right now.
The team is flying from Seoul to southern Alberta for training camp before classes start up and the season begins, and there's no way in hell Chenle's about to go it alone. He knows what’s waiting for him in Canada— or rather, who’s waiting for him. Thanks to some special ad-supported deal with BioSteel, their coach Doyoung secured them a chance to play half a dozen exhibition games against junior teams across the country— most notably, the Mississauga Steelheads.
Mississauga means Ontario, Ontario means Toronto, and Toronto means Chenle will be maybe a thirty minute bus ride (fifty-five with traffic— he’s heard enough horror stories about the 401 from Jisung not to be fooled by Naver Maps’ estimated drive time) away from the very man he’s been studiously working to put out of his head for two years now.
And what better person to bring along with him to chase away unwanted thoughts than the younger brother of said man?
He isn’t pretending to use logic in this situation. Jisung was coming with him whether he liked it or not.
Their university board didn't want to splurge on anything higher than economy even for a sixteen hour flight, but he’s just happy Doyoung managed to finagle an extra ticket out of them for Jisung to tag along, despite not being on the team himself.
“Anything for the little brother of a superstar,” Doyoung had excitedly gushed when Chenle first poised the idea. “Do you think he can get Na Jaemin to come to the game?”
No!!!! Absolutely not!!! Chenle had wanted to scream, but knew that wasn’t the way to go about securing a free ticket. Instead he promised through a tight-lipped smile to have Jisung ask, and then proceeded to break that promise almost immediately. No way in hell.
Sighing at the memory, Chenle raps his knuckles on Jisung’s head to wake him up. Jisung doesn’t budge. Chenle presses two fingertips slightly against both eyeballs, lifting his eyelids to see the whites of his eyes.
Jisung bats away Chenle’s prodding fingers, grumbling, “What.”
“I’m bored.”
“How is that my problem?” Jisung opens one bleary eye, cracking his neck before settling back into position against Chenle’s shoulder.
Chenle smiles. Jisung may act grumpy, but the way he has to bend his head at a severe angle in order to make himself level with Chenle’s frame says a lot more than his words do.
“You’re getting a free trip to Canada, bro, you legally have to entertain me.”
Jisung sighs, long-suffering. “I hate all of you hockey players. You never used to say bro before.”
Chenle actually agrees; he does it specifically to annoy him. “Speaking of hockey players—” he starts, then winces. Real subtle. “Do you think you’ll see your brother when we’re in Mississauga?”
That wakes Jisung up.
Straightening up, he opens both eyes this time. “I mean, yeah. I haven’t seen him since I went to visit last off-season. He hasn’t had time to come home since he got drafted, they always want him to stay in Toronto over the summer to train.”
“Oh,” Chenle says, picking at his fingernail. “That’ll be nice.”
Jisung doesn’t reply. When Chenle looks up, he’s watching him softly, assessing. “Are you finally ready to talk about it?”
“No,” Chenle denies, the word spilling out of him before it even registers as a conscious thought. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Right.”
“Really, Jisung-ah. I’m fine.”
“It’s been over a year,” Jisung replies, even softer this time. Whatever’s on Chenle’s face must really be worrying. “You have to talk about it at some point.”
Wrong. It’s been two years. And— “No, I don’t,” Chenle says. “I don’t even think about him anymore.”
That gets him a snort, and he shoves an elbow into Jisung’s side. “So I guess that means you’ll be fine if I invite him to the game?”
Chenle blinks. “How do you even know about that?”
Jisung rolls his eyes. “Doyoung-ssi asked me directly before we got on the plane because he knew you wouldn’t.”
Chenle elbows him again, hissing under his breath, “Don’t you dare. Do not do that to me.”
He doesn’t manage to keep his voice down successfully enough. Their heated whispers wake a sleepy Donghyuck two rows ahead of them. Donghyuck throws his miniature stuffed penguin at their heads without opening his eyes, then whines until Jisung unbuckles himself from the seat to go hand it back to him, tripping over Yangyang’s outstretched foot on the way back.
By the time Jisung drops back down beside him, Chenle has managed to go through about nineteen stages of grief and settle into a mask of supposed nonchalance. Something he’s gotten remarkably good at mastering over the past year playing hockey for his university, as their entire roster is infatuated with the idea of Jaemin—a South Korean native in the AHL, soon to be NHL—and they all like to bring him up constantly, much to Chenle’s dismay.
Jaemin’s isn’t the only Korean player in the organisation, even if he’s the only one who was born here, so Chenle doesn’t see what the big deal is. He’s also extremely incapable of being objective about it. He can admit that in the privacy of his own head, if not to anyone else. Ever.
“Okay, so here’s the problem.” Jisung scratches his neck. “I already did.”
Chenle’s mask very consciously doesn’t slip. “You did what.”
“I invited him to the game,” Jisung clarifies, at least having the gall to look sheepish as he says it, rubbing the back of his neck. “Hyung was really excited once he heard we were coming to visit, I couldn’t just not tell him.”
“Yes, you could’ve,” Chenle insists, pressing a hand to his temple. Ignoring the ‘we’ part of that sentence for his sanity. “You very literally could’ve done just that, Jisung, what the hell.”
Jisung is almost pouting now. “Again, you’ve been sulking for over a year. Isn’t it time you saw him again? Just to get some closure?”
“I have not,” Chenle denies, scandalised. “I don’t sulk. And it’s been two years, get it right.”
“Okay, moping.”
“I don’t mope either.”
“Wallowing.”
Another pointy elbow to Jisung’s tender ribs, and he shoves his own right back into Chenle which devolves into a mini slap fight complete with heated whispering. Donghyuck’s penguin plushie comes sailing over the seats again, smacking Chenle in the face. Chenle lobs it right back. Smiles as soon as he hears the distinct clack of button eyes striking his target.
Donghyuck’s head springs up in front of them. “Boys. It’s after midnight. Haven’t you heard about this fascinating new concept of beauty sleep?”
“I get enough of it every night, Hyuck,” Chenle says. “That’s why I’m better looking than you. I think you’re the only one who needs it.”
“Your mom needs it,” Donghyuck shoots back, lifting the penguin threateningly yet again.
This time, it’s Jeno’s soft puppy plushie that lands in Chenle’s lap, his head popping up in the row between Chenle and Donghyuck. “How about we all go to sleep? If you wake Renjun up, I’m not defending you.”
“Sorry, hyung,” Jisung apologises immediately.
Chenle echoes the sentiment. He wouldn’t be caught dead apologising to Donghyuck—the boy would be insufferable about it for at least three weeks—but he has a soft spot for Jeno. Everyone has a soft spot for Jeno.
Plus, Chenle doesn’t feel like dealing with a grumpy Renjun right now, or ever.
They settle back down in their seats, Jisung dropping his head back onto Chenle’s shoulders. “Is it really so bad that I invited him? Maybe if you clear the air between you two, you’ll stop liking him.”
“I don’t still like him,” Chenle insists. “I swear. That would be embarrassing.”
It’s technically not a lie. He still loves Jaemin, and it is embarrassing. Jisung just doesn’t have to know which part of the sentence was stretching the truth.
“You’re kind of full of shit.”
Okay, so maybe he already knows.
“Just—” Chenle sighs. “Go back to sleep. I’ll figure it out.”
Jisung doesn’t reply so Chenle stares out the window, watching the rhythmic lights of the plane flash every three seconds. No other lights are visible from this high up, endless dark ocean spread out below them. Maybe the plane will go down before they even get there and Chenle won’t be knowingly walking into a life or death situation.
Seeing Jaemin again. Shit.
-
The thing is—
The thing is, Na Jaemin has been the love of Chenle’s life for the better part of a decade.
Chenle met Jisung in homeroom when he was twelve and Jisung was eleven, immediately taking a liking to the quiet, anxious little boy. Loudly declaring to anyone who would listen that they were best friends now. His blundering tactics worked; Jisung invited Chenle over to play Wii almost every night.
Enter Jaemin, Jisung’s older brother, only a year older than Chenle himself but infinitely cooler. Chenle was obsessed with him from the word go; at thirteen, his voice was deeper than any of Chenle’s ugly, snotty classmates, and he was already growing into his wide eyes and wider smile. At the time, Chenle chalked the obsession up to nothing more than hero worship.
He was the captain of some peewee hockey club in the suburbs, only eight or nine untalented boys hobbling around on second-hand skates. They would’ve lost every recreational game they played, if not for Jaemin. Jaemin was magic. Chenle dragged Jisung along to one of their games, steadfastly ignoring how the other had no interest in the sport.
Jaemin didn’t even bother passing the puck half the time, preferring to dump it in himself and go after it, sniping wrist-shot after forehand after spin-o-rama in a feat way too impressive for some unknown thirteen year old. Chenle’s jaw had taken up permanent residence on the shitty ice rink floor.
That night, he abandoned Jisung in the stands to go gush over Jaemin in the locker room (a makeshift array of cubbies sectioned off by a haphazardly erected wall—there wasn’t a big enough market for hockey yet to warrant anything more elaborate—and compliment him enough times that it should’ve registered as suspicious even to Chenle’s oblivious little mind.
Jaemin had just smiled indulgently, ruffling Chenle’s hair as if he was five years older instead of one, and Chenle had proceeded to turn beet red, stumbling over excuses as he ran out of the room. Away from Jaemin and his flushed cheeks, his too-wide smile.
Discovering that he liked boys wasn’t the life-altering, world-ending, doom-and-gloom type of catastrophic event that Chenle had feared, growing to accept it in a very short amount of time. Helped along by following Jaemin around like a duckling at every possible opportunity, of course. Jisung cottoned on remarkably quickly and—after calling him disgusting for choosing his nasty ass older brother, Chenle, seriously to have a crush on—was there to support him from the jump. Something Chenle was endlessly grateful for, even now.
The obvious next step in Chenle’s one-track mind was to join Jaemin’s hockey team. He threw himself into hockey with a drive only previously spent on video games and pestering Jisung, teaching himself, developing skills over the years solely to impress Jaemin. He came into hockey at a disadvantage, not having played since he was old enough to toddle around in skates like Jaemin had, but his competitiveness and determination worked wonders in that regard.
Jaemin never once told him to fuck off, so Chenle latched himself onto Jaemin’s side like a permanent leech all throughout middle and high school, both of them growing more advanced at the sport as a result— and closer as best friends as well. They ended up joining three different teams over the years and went to hundreds of late night practices just the two of them, running their own drills together in the quiet darkness of the rink.
Jaemin made him better. Chenle liked to think he did the same in return. Somewhere along the way, Chenle’s little baby crush morphed into something overwhelming, something undeniable.
He fell in love with Jaemin in the seconds between shifts on the ice. The first time that Jaemin called him kitty during a game as a friendly, platonic, completely normal bro nickname, Chenle netted three goals and assisted on all three of Jaemin’s, a natural hat trick for them both.
He had been too young to really understand his own emotions, didn’t yet know the mortal shame that came with being in love— that shame wouldn’t come until after Jaemin had left him. Back then, there was only innocent trust. Jaemin trusted Chenle because he was fucking awesome, duh, and Chenle trusted Jaemin right back, going against all the laws of nature and blaring signs pointed in his direction telling him not to.
Chenle was the first person Jaemin quietly told that he was thinking about applying to the NHL draft.
Like, in America. Or Canada. Far, far away from Chenle.
Jaemin’s eighteenth birthday had only been less than a year away at the time, looming like a monster just around the corner as he grew closer and closer to draft eligibility. There was nothing Chenle could do to stop it except cling tighter to Jaemin’s presence in his life while it was still there.
He made Jaemin swear to come home and visit whenever possible, to fly him out to his games for whatever team he ended up with, to text Chenle after every match so they could go over his plays that night. Jaemin had just laughed, readily agreeing to each and every one of Chenle’s demands.
In return, he made Chenle swear to register for the draft as soon as he was old enough, promising to follow him to the NHL so they could live out their dream together. Jaemin’s dream, but it was quickly becoming Chenle’s as well the more they talked about it, as all things concerning the man typically did. Chenle swore on his friendship with Jisung that he’d register the minute the clock struck midnight on the new year, and Jaemin had beamed so widely at him that Chenle knew there was no chance in the world he would ever break that promise. He could only do whatever Jaemin wanted.
That night Jaemin planned their future out right in front of them, whispering nothing has to change, detailing all the ways they would take North America by storm together while wearing the craziest grin Chenle’s ever seen. Hand twisted in Chenle’s tight grip as they sat in the middle of the ice at midnight, cold bleeding through their pads and freezing their asses off.
Things changed anyway. Chenle should’ve known.
Scouts flew in all the way from the NHL to observe Jaemin play over the next few months, watching and scrutinising as Chenle sent him pass after pass to bury in the back of the opposing team’s net, the two of them leading their team to victory every single game.
The whispers grew louder, the scouts increased in number, and Na Jaemin became an Internet-searchable name. EliteProspects projected him to go as high as eighth in the draft, unprecedented for a player outside of Europe or North America.
A number Chenle had a hard time wrapping his head around. His Jaemin, the eighth overall pick. He wouldn’t just be Chenle’s Jaemin anymore.
It got to the point where Jaemin wasn’t as quick to reciprocate Chenle’s casual touches, on and off the ice, and almost never called Chenle kitty where anyone else could hear it again. He learned how to give canned answers to anyone interviewing him, and he didn’t hang out with Chenle as much.
Chenle hated it. ‘No’ had never before been a word in Jaemin’s vocabulary wherever Chenle was concerned.
The draft that year fell in the middle of the summer, some nondescript date that Chenle regarded as his own personal doomsday. Jaemin flew to the combine three weeks before on his own dime, but the NHLPA bought him a plane ticket to Vancouver for the actual draft, and he flaunted it everywhere he went.
Two nights before the plane was scheduled to steal Jaemin away, Chenle snuck out like normal to meet him at the rink for a late night skate. He had stolen a copy of the key from the little old lady who owned it years back, and never failed to use it most nights out of the week just to spend a little extra time with Jaemin.
All Chenle could think about for the past few months was losing him. Losing Jaemin to two countries so far from home that they might as well be on a different planet. Losing Jaemin to another timezone almost directly opposite from his own, meaning he’d be texting good morning when Jaemin texts back goodnight.
Losing Jaemin to an opportunity that Chenle wouldn’t be able to follow him into for at least another year when he’d become draft-eligible himself.
He always followed Jaemin wherever Jaemin went. To different hockey teams, to family movie nights with Jisung and Jaemin’s parents, to the hair salon to help Jaemin dye his hair pink, then white, then pink again, to stupid high school parties where they got wasted on cheap beer, to the Hot Topic in the mall and the Sephora store that Jaemin liked to pretend he was buying makeup from for a girlfriend and not himself— anywhere and everywhere Jaemin went, Chenle always followed. Not being able to this time just might break him.
He got to the rink that night, and Jaemin was already in the locker room, half-undressed and humming under his breath. Some Top 40 hit that sounded like garbage to Chenle’s ears on a normal day, but might as well have been heaven incarnate as soon as it passed through Jaemin’s lips. Swaying his hips back and forth obnoxiously to his own beat, so caught up in his own little world that he didn’t notice Chenle standing in the doorway, frozen like Jaemin just stabbed him in the heart.
Suddenly, fiercely, Chenle hadn’t wanted him to leave. Didn’t know what he’d do without Jaemin by his side, even if it came at the expense of Jaemin’s dream. Maturity had never been his strong suit; he was still a teenager, soon to be alone for the first time, scared at the very real possibility of losing Jaemin.
Chenle didn’t know how long he’d been standing there, but he must’ve made some sort of strangled noise as Jaemin turned to him with his signature over-excited grin, eyes sparkling as he laid eyes on Chenle’s dumbfounded frame.
“Hey, kitty,” Jaemin tossed the usual nickname at him like normal now that they were alone, like nothing, and Chenle couldn’t anymore. He couldn’t.
Nothing mattered, not when Jaemin was about to leave him in two days' time. About to walk out of Chenle’s life and into fame of his own right, about to make history without Chenle. His brain fell flat on the floor in front of them, crossing the room to where Jaemin was still smiling, walking him back into the lockers.
Without giving Jaemin a chance to react, Chenle leaned in and finally, finally kissed him.
For a few brief, terrifying seconds, Jaemin hadn’t responded. Had frozen under Chenle’s inexperienced assault, lips unmoving and stiff even as Chenle kept it up, insistent. Then before Chenle could draw in a breath, could rear back and panic at ruining the best thing in his life, Jaemin melted. Falling forward into Chenle’s body, giving into something forbidden, flipping their positions to envelop Chenle beneath him instead and kiss him harder.
“Don’t leave,” Chenle had gasped into Jaemin’s mouth, crushing his face between his palms with the urgency to get his message across. “Don’t leave me, hyung.”
Jaemin’s hands shook as they wrapped around Chenle’s then-bony wrists, gentle but firm grip as he kept Chenle there, giving back as good as he got.
“Don’t leave,” Chenle pleaded again, mindless. needing him to understand. Needing him to stay. “I don’t want to play without you. Please.”
Jaemin had pulled away to give him a confused look, and Chenle’s heart had hurt. “You’ll be joining me in a year, kitty,” he promised. “And then we'll play together forever. Isn’t that enough?”
Chenle swallowed. He’d never shown Jaemin this much emotion before, and it was throwing both of them off. “Stay here. Please, for me.”
Jaemin had reared back even further, releasing him, looking like Chenle had just spit in his face.
“I can’t,” Jaemin had said, slow. Every word fucking painful. “I thought you understood that.”
Chenle shook his head, immature and bratty. Jaemin had kissed him back, had called him that name again, but wasn’t giving in. Why? He wasn’t about to tell Jaemin he loved him, would rather die than speak those words now, but he couldn’t just give up, either.
All he could do was keep pleading, “Don’t go. Don’t go without me, hyung.”
Jaemin had given him one last small, soft, fucking heartbreaking kiss before stepping back. Releasing Chenle, already several continents away. He might’ve said something, might’ve tried to explain, but Chenle doesn’t know. As soon as he released him, Chenle’s brain stopped processing anything other than immense pain.
“Jaemin,” he had tried once more, but Jaemin was already back across the room, packing up his bag.
Leaving.
Jaemin paused at the door. “See you soon.” And he left without looking Chenle in the eyes, still half-undressed with his shirt in his hands. Left with Chenle’s teenage heart crushed into a fine powder in his spit-slick mouth. Chalky and bitter.
That was the last time Chenle ever saw him in person.
Jaemin got drafted fifteenth overall by the Toronto Maple Leafs, grinning so wildly that it almost cracked his face in two as the general manager shook his hand, then all of the coaches and executives, slipping that ugly blue and white jersey over his perfect head. Cameras flashed, the dark blue contrasted terribly with his mess of pink hair, and that had been that. Jaemin was officially out of reach, out of Chenle’s life forever.
Eight thousand kilometers away, Chenle had watched on a tiny phone screen in the privacy of his room, swaddled in a pile of fluffy blankets and burrowed into one of Jaemin’s old sweatshirts—stolen on one of their many late night adventures—and cried.
He cried until he didn’t have any more tears left to offer the world, and then cried some more when Jisung slipped into his room that night, wrapping his lanky frame around Chenle’s in consolation.
Jisung hadn’t seen Chenle cry before and hasn’t since, too awkward to provide any substantial comfort, but he still held Chenle through the night anyway despite it all. Whispering hesitant apologies even though it was his own brother who broke Chenle’s heart. Chenle never told him the specifics, but somehow Jisung knew anyway. He always knew Chenle better than Chenle knew himself.
Weeks passed, months, then two years.
Chenle never registered for the draft. Jaemin never texted him.
He barely left his room except to go to class and play hockey, praying that it wouldn’t sour for him in Jaemin’s absence. Chenle had really come to love the sport despite only joining in the first place to spend more time with Jaemin.
As he got older, he realised how selfish and wrong his request had been for Jaemin to give up on his dream just to stay and play irrelevant hockey with Chenle in some small-market area, not ever advancing into the fame and notoriety he was meant for.
Somehow, that knowledge didn’t make it any easier to handle the Jaemin-sized hole in his life. It didn’t make it easier to handle how Jaemin never once reached out either. He would never get to apologise, and Jaemin would never make an effort to allow him to.
Jaemin didn’t want him in his life. That much was abundantly clear.
After half a decade of seeing Jaemin almost every day, of playing on his line every game, of spending countless minutes and hours tucked under his arm, the newfound absence was like a constant physical ache.
So Chenle did the only thing that he could think to do: he threw himself back into hockey with commitment, with determination, refusing to acknowledge anything to do with the NHL (or the AHL) as he bag-skated himself every night. Running shootout drills until his knees felt like someone was crushing them and shin splints became the new normal. Bettering himself with each passing day. Trying—and failing—to put Jaemin out of his mind.
He got accepted into Korea University on a U-League scholarship, the first of its kind since the team’s formation. Jisung followed him to the same college, not ready to let go of the friendship that meant the most to him, and life went on.
Quickly making a whole host of new friends on the team, most notably Renjun, Jeno, and Donghyuck— and all the while avoiding the name Na Jaemin like the plague. Until today.
-
They touch down in stormy Calgary at ass o’clock in the morning local time, dashing through the rain to help their equipment manager grab a truly insane amount of hockey bags and large suitcases from baggage claim. Chenle stares out the window in the Uber ride to their hotel and thinks about finally breathing the same Canadian air as Jaemin. Somewhere three thousand kilometers away, and yet the closest he’s been in years.
Jisung apologises when they finally check into their shared room, tentative. Chenle waves him off, pats him gently on the back before dragging him down into the bed. Intent on getting another few hours rest before he has to be a person again. Skin to skin contact grounds him as long as it’s Jisung (who puts up a marginal fight, mostly perfunctory) and he falls asleep easily.
He doesn’t dream of Jaemin.
They’re only given a day for their bodies to adjust to the strange timezone, and then training camp starts up.
The Canadian players gawk at them all throughout camp; during their first four exhibition games, in gas stations on their-cross country road trip, at morning skate, at team breakfast. Chenle learns to tune it out by the third day. They win more than they lose. Chenle picks up seven goals and a sick penalty shot.
It’s three weeks down the road before he knows it and their game against Mississauga, once a nightmare creeping closer in the shadows, looms directly overhead.
Chenle stands in the visitor’s locker room, lost in his own head as his team bustles around him. Too caught up in anticipation of the night to finish putting on his gear. He only startles out of it when Donghyuck crashes into his body, wrapping cold arms around Chenle’s shoulders.
“Who peed in your cereal, Zhong?” Donghyuck mumbles, lips smushed into Chenle’s bare shoulder.
Chenle tries to shove him off, but he doesn’t budge. “No one. Just nervous.”
“You. Nervous?” Donghyuck replies, incredulous. “These games don’t even count. It’s pre-season, and they’re Canadian.” He says the word like it’s something dirty, making Chenle smile. “Only thing you need to be nervous about is choosing who will clean up after we wipe the floor with them.”
“Aren’t Canadians, like, supposed to be really good at hockey, though?” Jungwoo pipes up from somewhere behind them, and gets ignored.
“He’s nervous about seeing his ex again, bro,” Yangyang interjects from across the room. He’s half-dressed in his gear, laying down at his stall with his head pillowed on Hendery’s thigh while Hendery runs through whatever crazy ass pre-game ritual goalies are wont to do. “Y’know, Na Jaemin.”
Donghyuck’s face lights up. Chenle wants to throttle them both. “Oh, Na Jaemin,” Donghyuck croons into his ear. “That piece of ass. Completely understandable, carry on.”
“Decidedly not my ex,” Chenle hisses, managing to successfully shove him off this time before plopping down onto the bench, intent on getting fully dressed. “And he doesn’t make me nervous. That would imply that I think about him. Which I don’t.”
“That’s not what I’ve heard.” Jeno sounds sympathetic as he pats Chenle’s head, leaning over from the stall beside him.
Chenle stares. “Unbelievable. I raised Jisung all by myself and this is how he repays me?”
Donghyuck cackles, loud and annoying. “Please, Jisung didn’t have to tell us anything, it’s glaringly obvious to anyone with eyes. But thanks for admitting to it, Zhong. Makes this a lot easier.”
“Yeah we all know why you hate the Leafs, dude,” Yangyang says, throwing an elbow into Hendery’s gut until he hums in agreement. “You bring it up every time we talk about them.”
“He hasn’t even played for the Leafs yet, so your argument is invalid.”
Jeno winces. “Chenle.”
“No, really,” Chenle insists. “He’s still in the AHL.”
Donghyuck walks back over just to shove him. “Trust a business major to get off on a technicality.”
“I thought you said you didn’t think about him?” Jungwoo asks.
“You’re all wrong,” Chenle sniffs, ignoring anything he doesn’t want to hear. “The only reason I hate the Leafs is because they’re a piece of shit team with no integrity, and that goes for their minor league team as well.”
“They’re both two of the best teams in their leagues right now,” Renjun intones, not even looking up from his phone, already in full gear. Chenle had assumed he wasn’t paying attention to the conversation because he’s a saint on Earth, and Chenle’s favorite human after Jisung. This is a low blow. “At least come up with a believable lie next time.”
“Ge,” Chenle whines, making himself look extra cute with the sole purpose of annoying Renjun. Donghyuck taught him well. Renjun rolls his eyes but chooses not to respond further. Score. “Can we not?”
Donghyuck squints at Chenle for a little while longer, then seems to come to a decision. “Whatever. Na isn’t even the sexiest player in the whole organisation, anyway. You could do better.”
Jungwoo’s eyebrows shoot up. “Who could possibly be more attractive than him?”
“Mark Lee,” Donghyuck and Jeno reply in unison, then whip their heads around to stare at each other.
“Jinx!” Donghyuck crows, a split second before Jeno echoes the sentiment. “Nuh-uh, I won. You owe me a blowjob.”
“I don’t think that’s how this game works,” Jungwoo says. He’s ignored again.
It’s easy to tune them all out, thankful to no longer be the topic of conversation. Normally Chenle’s the second one in the locker room to amp up the antics, but he’s not feeling it tonight. He can get through this. It’s no big deal, just another exhibition game like Donghyuck said. Doesn’t matter who’s in the audience, who might be out there waiting for him.
Fuck, Chenle wishes Jisung was on the team right now, needs him in the locker room and on the ice to help calm him down. He’s tall enough for it, but Chenle’s luck is just piss poor. Of course the brother of a professional hockey player wouldn’t give two fucks about the sport and would likely be knocked over by a stiff wind anyway, let alone a hard cross-check to the back.
Chenle finishes tying his skates and goes to slump his full body weight onto Jeno instead, half-listening to him and Donghyuck bicker about the ethics of his jinx claim. He can get through this.
If he tells himself that enough, maybe he’ll start to believe it.
-
Chenle doesn’t run into Jisung or Jaemin before puck drop, thank god, and doesn’t catch a passing glimpse of a shock of bubblegum pink hair amongst the decently-sized crowd in the stands either. Maybe Jaemin chickened out of coming or had another commitment. The NHL pre-season isn’t slated to start yet so that’s a little unlikely, but Chenle can still dream. Dreams are a wish your heart makes, or however one of the Disney quotes Donghyuck likes to pass off as his own wisdom goes.
The game ends up going pretty well, Chenle nabbing a couple of assists on Renjun’s goals, then on one of Donghyuck’s on the power play before the opposing team answers right back. He doesn’t get a goal of his own until the third period when they’re up 5-2 on Mississauga, nerves settling under his skin no matter how good he knows he is.
As soon as his slapshot hits the back of the net and Jungwoo is twirling him in the air in celebration like a ballerina, that’s when he sees it.
It. Not a person, a ghost. A painful memory. Complicated feelings, late nights, a heated kiss, love marred by the passage of time and what his childish heart considered a betrayal and— wait, did Jaemin dye his hair?
Chenle snaps out of his dramatic moment, almost tripping over his skates when Jungwoo sets him back down. Forces himself to break eye contact with a grinning, black-haired Jaemin on his feet right by the glass. Prime seats. Jisung is right there next to him smiling just as big, but Chenle barely notices.
Jaemin came. Jaemin came, and he looks— proud, proud of Chenle. He has no right to look proud.
Despite the lead, there’s no time to get distracted as Mississauga pulls their goalie in the dying minutes of the third. Chenle swallows against bile rising up in his throat at his first glimpse of Jaemin in two fucking years, and gets back into position. There’s still hockey to play.
No one scores again but they walk away with the win, Chenle too caught up in trying to look normal and unaffected that it takes him a second to register the final horn blowing.
He doesn’t stick around to see Jaemin’s reaction. The first one off the ice and into the locker room, Chenle almost forgets to tap Hendery’s helmet in their standard appreciation move before hightailing it out of there, not even celebrating the win.
His hands are shaking. Why are his hands shaking? He’s been playing hockey for years now, he thinks he would know if he had a hand-shaking problem. Also, why is the air so thin in this stupid, brightly lit locker room? The rink they’re playing in is a lot nicer than the ones back home, shouldn’t they be able to splurge on some aircon and get it pumping throughout the room? He tugs at his helmet with trembling fingers, but the strap doesn’t budge no matter how hard he yanks at it. Everything is too fucking tight all of a sudden, skin crawling with a million little ants under the surface, suffocating him.
Jeno comes shuffling into the locker room thirty seconds after him, immediately unclicking the straps of Chenle’s helmet and cupping his face in his palms right after. “Breathe,” Jeno soothes, and Chenle obeys. Fighting against the violent thing trying to claw its way out of his chest.
They both draw in slow, deep breaths as the rest of the team files in around them, still celebrating and congratulating each other. It’s easier to focus on the here and now with them there, panic slowly receding the same way it came.
“Thank you,” Chenle says as soon as his breath settles in his chest, quiet, and watches Jeno knock his knuckles against his forehead.
None of the rest of the team notice that anything’s up except Renjun and Donghyuck, appearing beside Jeno with twin concerned expressions.
Renjun presses the back of a hand to Chenle’s sweaty forehead, prompting Jeno to drop his, frowning. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, I just got really overheated towards the end of the third,” Chenle says, trying his best to make it believable. “I’m fine, Junnie.”
Donghyuck leans in closer, putting his hand right below Renjun’s. “Well whatever it was, you just feel normal after-game hot now. You sure you’re fine?”
Chenle nods. He knocks both of their hands away, scrunching up his eyes. “Yeah, Dr. Lee. When did you start caring so much? Sap.”
“Wow.” Donghyuck glares. “And here I was trying to be the loving, doting hyung you always accuse me of not being.”
“There’s a first time for everything.”
“The nerve,” he gasps, clutching a hand to his chest as a tactic to make Chenle laugh, and it works. He pinches Chenle’s cheek hard, dancing back out of range of his retaliating swipe. “Fine, but I’ll sic Doyoung on you if you’re lying to me. I’m watching you.”
Grabbing Jeno’s hand, Donghyuck runs off to go get changed, Jeno trailing close behind. Renjun remains, forehead less creased but still obviously concerned.
“Were you really overheated—”
“Yes, but I’m fine now.”
“—or did it have something to do with Toronto’s star prospect sitting right behind the goal who couldn’t take his eyes off of you?”
Chenle stays silent. Renjun nods like he answered anyway.
“Thought so. If you won’t talk to Jisung about it, then at least talk to me.”
“I don’t want to,” Chenle says. “I really, really don’t. I was selfish, and he left. That’s all there is to it.”
“You can’t avoid this forever,” Renjun sighs.
“That’s rich, coming from someone who’s successfully avoided every single problem he’s ever had in his life,” Chenle replies, extra snotty when feeling defensive.
Renjun shoots him a look, but lets it go. “He may have left back then, but he came to see you today. That has to mean something, right?”
“I hate this,” Chenle says. “Stop using logic on me, you know it won’t work.”
“I’m just saying. If I don't know exactly what happened, then the only advice I can offer you is to give him another chance.”
“That’s traitorous advice,” Chenle insists.
“I wouldn’t know,” Renjun says, slow like he’s talking to a particularly stupid child. “Because you won’t tell me why.”
Chenle groans, pulling his jersey over his head. “Whatever. It’s fine, ge. Really.”
Renjun definitely doesn’t believe him but leaves him alone anyway, so. Small victories.
He finishes changing into sweatpants and an ugly grey Bruins t-shirt (he’s not above pettiness), grabbing his phone from the stall and powering it back on. Quickly skimming through all the new notifications. Doyoung makes them turn their phones off at the start of each game, even during intermissions, saying it causes unnecessary distractions. A sentiment Chenle is happy to scoff at normally, but holds an eerie weight today.
Six messages from Jisung catch his eye, all of them congratulating him on the points and the game— except for the last two. The most devastating two. The two that make Chenle want to hide out in the visitor’s locker room until the sun melts and all the birds and people and apple trees die off.
19:39
hyung and I are outside ><
he says he wants to see you ㅜ I’m sorryyy
No. Absolutely not. No way. To quote the great OJ Haywood, nope. Jisung’s ‘hyung’ can take that sentiment and fuck right off. Chenle would rather sit here and let the weeds return him to the Earth eventually. He’s heard about human composting in some American states— the same might apply to Canada, he’s not sure.
He goes anyway.
Clutching his over-the-shoulder bag as a lifeline, Chenle waves off Jungwoo’s curious look (and Renjun’s knowing one) and leaves the locker room. The first thing he sees when he rounds the corner into the tunnel is the ghost from earlier standing next to Jisung, pushing up and down on his toes, too much energy to contain in one body.
Jaemin, but not quite Chenle’s Jaemin.
This Jaemin has an easier stance, broader shoulders, a more jacked chest (whoa), tired eyes, and—strangest of all—his natural hair color, ink-black strands contrasting beautifully against the tight white shirt he’s sporting. A phenomenon Chenle hasn’t seen since his first year of high school when he first tagged along with Jaemin to the salon. Bouncing down the sidewalk beside him on a random day without yaja for them both, just happy to be in his presence. He had wanted bright blue but Chenle insisted on pink; they settled on pink as a ‘compromise’, and Chenle remembers being over the moon at how Jaemin always gave into his every demand in one way or another.
This Jaemin is practically a stranger to him.
Jaemin notices him before Jisung can, turning to face him as he approaches slowly, cautiously. As if reaching out to stroke a lion cub knowing it could snap his arm off at any moment, but still willing to take the risk. Anything to chase that old feeling again.
“Kitty,” Jaemin breathes, barely a whisper. Shaken out of him by surprise. The first word he’s said to Chenle in two fucking years.
“No.” Chenle points a finger in Jaemin’s direction, stopping his advance. He’s mortified to see that whatever shaky-hand syndrome was affecting him in the locker room earlier is back in full force. “No, you don’t get to call me that anymore. Try again.”
Jaemin’s smile slips for the smallest of seconds, then returns in full force. “Lele?”
“No.”
“Chenle-yah?”
“I’m gonna go,” Jisung cuts in for the first time, slowly backing away in the direction of the locker room. “I think I hear Jeno calling me.”
Considering the fact that Donghyuck probably has his tongue down the back of Jeno’s throat in the showers right now, that’s highly unlikely, but Chenle doesn’t bother protesting. This isn’t something he wants to do in front of Jisung, no matter how much it might comfort him to have him there. “Two years since you so much as breathed in my direction, and you skip right to being cutesy? No.”
“I guess that means darling is off the table, then,” Jaemin murmurs, actually having the gall to look disappointed. Unbelievable.
“Jaemin.” Chenle pinches the bridge of his nose. “What do you want? Why are you here?”
The smile slips all the way this time. “I came to see you, obviously.”
“Why?”
“What do you mean, why?”
“Do you want an apology?” Chenle grits out. “Is that it?”
One of Jaemin’s eyebrows shoots up. “An apology? From the great Zhong Chenle? Of course not.”
“Then why’d you want to see me?”
“Do I need a reason? I wanted to congratulate you on the game, tell you I missed you,” Jaemin says, matter-of-fact as if he’s not shattering the cracked alabaster walls Chenle’s been steadily building up around his heart. “And that I’m the one who should be apologising, not you.”
Not what Chenle was expecting, and he’s sure it shows on his face as Jaemin continues.
“I’m the one who left. Who didn’t text, or call, or— anything. I’m sorry.”
“Okay,” Chenle says, desperate to make him stop talking. This is ruining the carefully constructed image in his head on how he views— them.
Jaemin frowns. “Okay, what?” Eyes locked on Chenle’s own as he waits for more words that don’t come.
It’s only as silence falls between them that Chenle realises his hands stopped shaking a long time ago. No matter how uncrossable the void is between them, how uncertain the ground, he still feels safe in Jaemin’s presence. Jaemin is still home for him in some sense of the word. It makes him want to gag. Chenle swallows hard, about to make his excuses and leave, then hopefully not see Jaemin for another two years, when Jaemin speaks up again.
“You didn’t register for the draft.”
“Yeah,” Chenle huffs, dredging up old, familiar anger. Anything is better than falling to his knees and begging Jaemin to stay with him again. I missed you. That had to have been a hallucination. “Kind of hard to live out someone else’s dream when they’re not there beside you to make you do it.”
Jaemin’s mouth flattens into a thin line. “Low blow, kitty.”
“I said don’t call me that,” Chenle snaps, then sighs. He loves when Jaemin calls him that. “Sorry. Listen, I— I’m sorry too.”
“Sorry?” Jaemin echoes. “Why?”
“Sorry,” Chenle repeats, dull. “Sorry for being immature and selfish, sorry for asking you to stay when I knew you didn’t want to, sorry for always bothering you back then, sorry for whatever. Take your pick.”
“I don’t want you to be—”
“And I’m sorry for kissing you,” Chenle finishes. “I’d take it back if I could.”
Jaemin falls silent again, mouth still open on a half-finished thought. It clicks shut so audibly that Chenle can hear it from down the hallway. God, he‘s still down the hallway. Frozen in the same spot that he was the minute Jaemin first called him kit— that nickname.
“You’d take it back?” Jaemin asks after a pause, oddly serious.
Chenle nods. “Yeah.”
Fuck no, obviously not. He’s been in love with this man since before he knew or cared what love was, of course he wouldn’t take it back. Good luck getting him to admit that, though. Jaemin stares at him as if he can read every single racing thought filtering through Chenle’s mind: how much Chenle’s missed him, how Chenle has thought about him every day since, how he’d never in a million years take their first kiss back, how he’s hooked up with a handful of other people since then but never lets them kiss him, still holding onto some stupid, misguided delusion that whispers that’s Jaemin’s. Only Jaemin’s.
“Fine.”
“Fine?” Chenle’s arms fall limp by his sides, tingling from how hard he’d been clenching them.
“If that’s what you’re going with, then I’ll just have to change your mind.”
“What do you mean by that?” Chenle asks, suspicious.
Jaemin grins again for the first time in a few minutes, and something inside Chenle begrudgingly settles. Life isn’t the same when Jaemin’s not wearing his evil, beautiful smile.
“You’ll see.”
Chenle takes a step closer. “I don’t like surprises, Na.”
“You love surprises,” Jaemin dismisses his words with a wave. “Don’t forget, I still know you best.”
There’s so much that Chenle wants to say in response to that, so much that he wants to do. Luckily for them both, he never gets the chance.
“Na Jaemin-ssi!”
Doyoung’s voice squeaks through the long hallway, and Chenle can see him scurrying towards them with a neurotic smile over Jaemin’s shoulder.
“And that’s my cue to leave.” Chenle backs up to shoulder his bag better, turning away. He was really about to— well. Doesn’t matter now.
“Kitty,” Jaemin calls out from behind him.
Chenle twists around with a sharp glare, but it does nothing to deter the easy grin that’s found its way back into permanent residence on Jaemin’s lips. “What?”
“I’ll see you soon,” Jaemin promises. Grinning even bigger when Chenle doesn’t protest the nickname. Jesus, he really should’ve. “For real, this time.”
Chenle forgot how fucking good Jaemin looks in casual clothes, even under shitty fluorescents. He stares for another second, two, then makes his escape.
Doyoung reaches Jaemin before he’s out of earshot, excitedly going through introductions, talking faster than normal. The last thing Chenle hears is Jaemin’s smooth voice intoning, Actually, can I talk to you about something? Let me get my agent on the phone…
-
He doesn’t bother going back to the locker room to wait for the team. Settling onto the charter bus they rented in the back row instead, Chenle shoots off a text to Jisung to let him know he survived against all odds. Jisung has plans to stay with Jaemin for the night, so Chenle won’t get to see him until they’re slated to fly home.
The last day is relatively uneventful, one last afternoon practice before packing their shit, but Doyoung seems over the moon about something, manically smiling and going easier on them than normal. He didn’t even attempt to locate Donghyuck and Jeno when they disappeared right after the game, when normally he would’ve had three simultaneous mental breakdowns if they didn’t check in at the predetermined time.
Chenle doesn’t care what’s gotten into their coach as long as it means optional morning skate is actually optional for once. If he has to lace up his skates before seven in the morning on a weekend one more goddamn time, he will kill himself.
By the time Chenle plops beside Jisung on the plane ride home, his body is thoroughly worn down from exertion, and the season hasn’t even started yet— school hasn’t even started yet. Fuck, he has to take Principles of Marketing this semester. Horror stories about both professors that offer the course run wild amongst upperclassmen in his major.
He turns to complain to Jisung, mouth already half-open, but Jisung won’t meet his eyes. Hmm. Suspicious. Chenle leans in closer, watching as Jisung backs away without looking at him.
“Alright, spill,” he orders, jabbing him in the ribs.
Jisung jumps a full meter in the air, finally turning to face him with shifty eyes. “Spill? Spill what? What’s there to spill? I don’t have anything to spill.”
His normally deep voice is a tad too high-pitched to be believable. Chenle sighs. Not only was he faced with his not-ex from hell who turned his world back upside down, but now his best friend is acting weird. He just wants to go home.
“Jisung, I’ve known you for half of your life. Do you think I’m an idiot?”
“I do!” Donghyuck’s disembodied voice floats in from behind him, way too cheerful for the late hour. Sounding like he’s on a beach in the Maldives rather than in economy on a cramped airplane. “Ask me instead.”
Chenle tips his head back to see Donghyuck hovering above his seat, wide grin firmly in place.
“No, you don’t. You love me.” Chenle reaches up to flick his forehead, aim slightly off due to the upside-down angle. Donghyuck bats his hand away, but the smile doesn’t leave his face. “What are you so happy about anyway?”
Jeno’s head pops up beside him, also upside-down in Chenle’s field of vision. “Jisungie’s brother gave us Mark Lee’s number.”
Chenle freezes at the mention of Jaemin but neither of them notice, thank fuck. Donghyuck is too busy cooing and pinching Jeno’s cheeks in celebration, hard, rough enough to cause Jeno to smack his hands away in the same way Donghyuck did to Chenle’s. It devolves into a mini-slap fight as they bicker about who gets to text him first, or if they should make a group chat.
Swallowing hard, he turns back to Jisung, acting casual. “So. When did they get the chance to talk to— Jaemin?”
“Umm,” Jisung mumbles. “Right around the time that they followed me out of the locker room begging me to ask him for it and he overheard?”
“And he just, what, gave it to them? Is he crazy?”
Jisung finally cracks a smile at that. “You know he is.”
Chenle chews on his bottom lip in a futile attempt not to smile back. “Yeah, I know.”
“Jaemin’s so cool,” Jeno insists after coming out the loser in the slap fight, wide smile on his face that makes his eyes turn into half-moons. “I hope you guys made up.”
“I’ll never have to see him again, so it doesn’t really matter,” Chenle says.
Based on Jaemin’s parting threat, that's most likely not true, but a boy can dream anyway. He’ll at least have a few months to come to terms with it until Jaemin gets a break in the league’s schedule to make good on his threat. Maybe by then Chenle will be magically cured of any lingering little feelings.
Maybe he’ll sprout wings and get transported to an alternate wing-people universe. Anything is possible.
Jisung gulps beside him, audible to Chenle’s ears, but has his eyes closed and head tilted back as soon as Chenle looks over, headphones firmly in place. Eyeing him for a second longer doesn’t yield anything other than more suspicion.
Sighing, Chenle shuts his own eyes and leans back against the rickety headrest. A trickle of cool air from the tiny fan above his seat hits him just right at this angle. He drifts off to sleep listening to the sound of the flight attendants going over exit strategies mixed with his friends’ voices behind him, and tries not to think of the many, many ways Jaemin could terrorise him from another continent, break in schedule be damned.
-
Chenle takes a week to chill out once they get home and re-adjust to the time zone before the season begins. He didn’t do much training during the summer, and he’s severely paying for it after the few weeks of absolute hell that was training camp.
Jisung is mysteriously absent during his recovery period, claiming to be preoccupied with helping an unnamed friend move and get settled in, so Chenle spends most of it alone in his room, trying to figure out how to make his body stop fighting him. Donghyuck comes over to play League three days before classes start back up and spends most of the time giggling on his phone, eating most of Chenle’s edibles, and stealing more than his fair share of snacks. Not exactly what Chenle had in mind when he invited him over, but he should’ve known.
The fourth time Donghyuck is too busy texting his stupid three-person group chat with Jeno and Mark to save Chenle from the drakes, he finally sighs and quits the game.
Donghyuck doesn’t even notice. Chenle crunches on a potato chip morosely.
His best friend abandoned him all week, his rotator cuff aches, he’s almost out of chips, his lazy high wore off thirty minutes ago, and—oh yeah, how could he forget—there’s still the rather blatant issue of Na fucking Jaemin trying to come back into his life in some way when nothing’s been resolved between them.
No matter how hard he tries, he can’t block the memory of seeing Jaemin again out of his head. A hallway that smelled like sweaty men, the bright, buzzing overhead lights, Doyoung’s slightly unhinged smile and terrifying eyes, Jaemin’s whispered words for real, this time.
Jaemin, Jaemin, Jaemin.
He sounded like he meant it, and Chenle has no fucking idea how he feels about that.
(Batshit terrified, yet somehow still so excited that he could throw up at any second, but also confused and nauseous and upset, but also also a tiny bit turned on, and ecstatic, and anticipatory, and sick, and—)
Anyway, Chenle really has no idea how he feels about that.
One of the only times he’d been willing to talk about what happened between them, he got drunk with Jisung off of cheap beer, then one too many shots of pink lemonade vodka once that ran low, completely ignoring the age-old liquor before beer rule.
They’d ended up at a noraebang where Chenle sang his heart out to Whitney Houston for three hours on end, then puked his guts out in the bathroom. Jisung squeezed bits and pieces of the story out of him over the course of the night, thankfully not remembering any of it. Chenle may be a lightweight, but he remembers every single thing he’s ever done while drunk, and that includes throwing the microphone at the wall and blocking Jaemin’s contact at the very end of the night, without even any pressure from a passed-out Jisung as an excuse.
That was six months ago. Chenle’s had him blocked ever since.
Jaemin can’t get to him if he doesn’t unblock his number, Chenle reasons. But if he doesn’t unblock it, then he’ll never know. Lose-lose situation.
He has his phone out and his fingers flying across the screen before he can chicken out or give it any more conscious thought. As soon as he hits the button, ten million messages flood his inbox, all from Jaemin over the past week.
Chenle squeezes his eyes shut, bracing himself, before clicking on the thread.
08:30
hiiiii 😽
wait.. why won’t my message send
did you block my number 😭😭😭
the heartache
the emotional trauma the mental turmoil
12:01
what if i was dyinggggg >.<
what if i was on my deathbed and the doctor told me i only had time to text one person my last will & testament before my clock expired and that person was you but you had my number blocked and my family thinks i just abandoned them without any word
or
orrr
or what if i was in a saw-type situation 😱 and jigsaw left 1% of battery on my phone just to fuck with me and texting you was what i chose to spend that last 1% on and then i was brutally murdered and you never saw it
12:08
huhuhut get it
‘saw’ it?
09:54
chenleeeeeeyah
kitty
darling angel
unblock meeeeeeeeeeee jigsaw is coming right nowww
this is your last chance
he’s got some sort of metal contraption that i saw on that netflix show dirty jobs
😱
kyaaa he’s gonna skin me like an oyster u better reply right now
09:59
do oysters get skinned
18:13
chenle
11:41
chenle
14:01
😫😫😫
Chenle’s heart rate kicks up higher and higher as he reads each message. God, Jaemin really has zero shame. He almost forgets anything is different between them, gets transported back to the long ass text conversations they used to have at all hours of the day. About hockey, general manager mode in ‘chel, school, the different people Chenle befriended in random places, dumb debates like if whales had necks or not, how they would both kill it in the NHL— anything and everything. Terrible, awful fondness sweeps through him like sifting sand through a screen.
Jaemin’s most recent message was sent only a handful of minutes ago. Chenle chances a reply, tiny granules of fondness still clinging on as his fingers fly across the keyboard. The obnoxious sound of Donghyuck crunching on chips fades away.
14:14
i know i told you not to call me darling
To his credit, Jaemin’s reply comes suspiciously fast for someone who should be deep in REM sleep.
14:15
!!!!
darling 💛💛😫
i knew you didn’t block mee
just playing hard to get, hm?
Chenle checks the time. It’s only two in the afternoon in Seoul so it can’t be more than four in the morning in Toronto. Frowning, he notices all of the odd timestamps from when Jaemin’s been texting him over the past week. Quick mental calculations of the time difference leave him more confused than ever.
15:18
no i did
i’m about to do it again so get some sleepp
bye jaemin
Before Jaemin can get a word in otherwise, Chenle turns his data off so the messages won’t come through again. He can’t quite bring himself to re-block Jaemin’s number, though. The data thing is a compromise. Hopefully with the confirmation that Chenle won’t be replying anymore, Jaemin can quiet his overactive imagination and go the hell to sleep.
“Dude.”
Startled, the phone slips out of his grasp and clatters to the ground. He forgot there were people in existence other than Jaemin, just like back then.
Bending down to grab his phone, Chenle sees Donghyuck with his eyebrows raised, peering at Chenle over his knees from the impossible pretzel shape he’s twisted himself into in the chair. Expression only slightly assessing rather than his normal full-on judgmental look, most likely due to the fact that he’s still baked. Lucky bastard.
“What?”
“You look like you need to pee bad, but you’ve been frowning at your phone this whole time. So, again: dude.”
Chenle sighs. “Jisungie was right, dude doesn’t sound right coming out of our mouths. I think we need to quit hockey.”
Donghyuck cackles, unfolding himself to steal the chip bag back from where it’s lying limp in Chenle’s lap. “Dude,” he places emphasis on the word just to be a shit. “And give Doie a coronary? Where else is he gonna find someone as talented as me? Or someone as… adequate as you?”
Chenle ignores the jab. He knows for a fact that Donghyuck thinks Chenle is amazing, has heard enough compliments from him secondhand through Jeno to not even be fake-offended. “He’d kill you if he heard you call him that.”
“Please.” Donghyuck snorts again, just as unattractive this time around as it was the first time around. “I could strip down to a thong and give Doyoung a lap dance and he wouldn’t even notice right about now. Ouch, you dick, don’t hurt the baby. It’s true. He’s been so high-strung ever since we got back from Canada.
“Has he? I haven’t seen him.”
“Yeah. Man’s got a stick up his ass the size of a flagpole.”
Chenle goes to pinch his nipple again but Donghyuck scoots his chair out of reach, forcing Chenle to consider his words.
“Wait, you saw him during the bye-week? When?”
Donghyuck shrugs, already losing interest in the conversation. Chenle can physically see his attention shifting back to his phone, pinging nonstop with notifications during the brief minute they’ve been talking.
“Dunno. Two days ago, I think? He asked me to clean out a few stalls in the locker room and make it look extra nice before the season starts. No idea why.”
It’s Chenle’s turn to laugh. “Really? And you did it? For free?”
“Free? Hell no,” Donghyuck sniffs. “I made Jeno come with me so we could fulfill my fantasy of fucking in the locker room. If we were gonna be cleaning it anyway, I wanted to make it worth my while.”
“Gross,” Chenle says, flat. “I can’t even tell if you’re joking.” Donghyuck barely reacts, fingers flying across his phone again, smirk playing at his lips. “Stop sexting Mark Lee right in front of me, by the way. You’re awful.”
“Trust me, you’d know if I was sexting Mark. I’d make sure of it.”
“Gross,” Chenle repeats for emphasis. “Why did I even invite you over here if you’re just going to ignore me and steal all my food?” The chip bag comes sailing back at Chenle’s head. He snatches it out of the air with quick reflexes, squawking, “You’re gonna get crumbs all over my room.”
Donghyuck puts his phone back down, frowning. “You know what, you’ve had a flagpole-sized stick up your ass since coming back from Canada too. And not the fun kind.”
“Just— drop it,” Chenle sighs. “Can we get back to playing League?”
“What really happened with Na? Spill.”
“Donghyuck. Please.”
It catches Donghyuck off guard, and he agrees to drop the subject, loading up another round. Chenle preens internally. He’s not above weaponising politeness to get his way sometimes.
Jaemin’s messages burn a hole in his back pocket all throughout the next round but Chenle sticks to his principles, doesn’t take his phone out to text back.
-
Their pre-season meeting falls on the day before classes start up, a Monday this year. Half of the team is already crammed into a tiny huddle room in their shitty rink once Chenle arrives. Most likely the best venue Doyoung could snag for them on short notice, as the rink gets booked up whenever they’re not using it. Hockey always falls to the bottom of the importance tier in the public eye.
Chenle slouches into one of the available chairs in the far corner, chewing on the paper edge of his coffee cup. A whiteboard rests against the opposite wall, covered in incomprehensible scribbles and set plays courtesy of Doyoung.
He sighs, crunching the empty cup up to toss into the nearest wastebasket. Once Chenle turned his data back on yesterday morning after Donghyuck went home—he had wheedled his way into crashing for the night in Chenle’s bed, too lazy to get up and go back home—another wave of Jaemin’s messages had come across his screen.
Jisung won’t text him back for the nth day in a row, apparently too busy with the person he was helping move to remember his best friend exists. On the other side of the Na family, Jaemin keeps texting him at all hours of the day, way too much for the time difference. Chenle’s lost track of how many three-AM-in-Toronto messages that have flooded his notifications over the past two days.
It’s like once Jaemin had implied permission to come back into Chenle’s life, he threw himself into it head first. Half-assing stuff isn’t his style.
“Yo,” Donghyuck says in English, patting Chenle on the head as he drops into one of the metal folding chairs beside him.
Chenle squints at him. “Yo,” he repeats slowly. “Where’d you pick that one up?”
Jeno bounces over a second later to flop in his own chair on the other side of Donghyuck. “Yo guys!”
“Great, it’s spreading.”
“Sorry that you don’t have a hot professional hockey player teaching you new lingo,” Donghyuck simpers.
Mark Lee. Of course. Everywhere Chenle goes, the world likes to remind him of how prominent Jaemin’s presence in his life is and how he’ll never escape it, even after two years.
“He’s never even met you two, why did he agree to this?”
Jeno drags his chair closer so he can lie down with his head in Donghyuck’s lap. Donghyuck turns an uncharacteristic bright red but doesn’t stop him, hand coming up to tangle in Jeno’s hair and pet him. “We can be very convincing.”
Chenle watches Donghyuck smirk in response and wants to gag. “Jesus, you sent him a sex tape, didn’t you? You’re awful. Terrible.”
“Noooo,” Jeno denies vehemently.
Chenle decides he doesn’t believe it for a second. “Yeah, you absolutely sent him a sex tape. Unbelievable.”
Jeno snickers, tucking his face further into Donghyuck’s thigh, who shrugs with a peaceable smile on his face.
“Yo, what up?” Yangyang says, popping up out of nowhere with Hendery and Renjun in tow, a ballpoint pen hanging out of his mouth as they fill the remaining empty chairs.
Chenle is on the verge of making a scene. “Come on, you don’t even have Mark as an excuse. Speak normally.”
Yangyang looks at him like he’s crazy. “Who the hell is Mark? This is just how I talk.”
“Yeah, loser. Yangyang’s right, you need to loosen up,” Donghyuck chimes in.
“I didn’t say tha—” Yangyang starts, but Donghyuck keeps going.
“I know you’ve got that stick up your ass and everything, but you’re starting to reach Doyoung-levels of uptight-ness.”
Jeno giggles, eyes shut in bliss from getting his head scratched. “Where is he, anyway? It’s too calm in here.”
Almost as if on cue, Doyoung bursts into the room before Jeno can finish his sentence, startling him out of Donghyuck’s lap. Hair in disarray and a crazy grin fixed firmly in place, Doyoung looks deranged as he scans the room for something, doesn’t find it, and runs back out while still muttering under his breath.
Everyone is silent for five seconds after his departure until Donghyuck pipes up. “He looks like someone hit him in the head with a rock and now he can’t stop smiling.” Yangyang falls out of his chair laughing.
It barely registers to Chenle, an irrational feeling of apprehension and dread creeping up on him. The only time he’s seen that neurotic smile before, Doyoung was rushing down the hallway towards J—
No. There’s no way. Best not to even consider it.
The pieces start falling in place. He picks the evidence out of thin air like numbers and words swirling around his head. Jisung’s mysterious unavailability over the past week, his claim of ‘helping a friend move’ (probably code for hanging out with his brother), Doyoung forcing Donghyuck to clean up the locker room in preparation for the season, Jaemin’s parting comment to Doyoung in the hallway…
Chenle sits up very straight in his chair, voice faint as he calls, “Hendery. Hendery.”
Hendery startles out of whatever he’s doing, which Chenle’s pretty sure is just staring with his mouth half-open at Yangyang fellating the ballpoint pen. “‘Sup?”
“Do you still have that vodka stashed away in your locker?”
“Nope, sorry,” Hendery denies, not apologetic at all. “Drank it after we lost to Yonsei in the playoffs last year.”
Chenle tips his head back to hang off the edge of the folding chair. “Oh good, I get to deal with whatever this is sober.”
Hendery looks confused, but Chenle waves him off. Maybe if he ignores it, it won’t come true. Miracles have happened before.
Doyoung comes running back into the room, still grinning madly as he claps his hands together. “Everyone! Thank you for coming, sorry for the mess in here. Let’s jump right in, we’ve got a lot of exciting news to get to.”
He starts going through his pre-season speech, a bunch of mindless bullshit about coming together as a team and setting a good example for any new players they may meet this year, especially with how special they are. Doyoung doesn’t name anyone in specific, but the feeling of dread only increases as Chenle’s throat closes up. It’s easy to half-tune the rant out as he tries to calm himself down.
If Chenle’s irrational fears and connect-the-dots investigative journalism are correct, then there’s a ninety-percent chance that Jaemin is involved somehow, and a fifty-percent chance that he’s actually in the building. There’s no way to pull out his phone and frantically berate Jisung until he can squeeze the information out without getting caught, so Chenle resigns himself to his fate.
Doyoung wraps up his speech almost a full fifteen minutes earlier than last season, which is a bad omen if Chenle’s ever heard one. Yeah, this is happening. This is happening right now.
“So please give a very warm Tigers’ welcome to your new teammate, Na Jaemin!”
Wait. Wait wait wait wait wait. New teammate.
What the hell, Chenle thought if anything Jaemin was just here to terrorise him, or at the invite of Doyoung to get them motivated, or maybe to do a little light mentoring before fucking off back to Canada for the NHL pre-season.
Teammate. Is he hallucinating? Was the last edible he split with Donghyuck yesterday some form of mind-altering LSD/PCP combo instead of shitty weed obtained from Jaehyun's on-again, off-again boyfriend?
Before Chenle can pinch himself or bolt out of the room, or maybe seek medical attention, Jaemin walks through the door with his hands in the pockets of unfairly tight jeans, smiling wide and open-mouthed. The room immediately erupts into chaos. Everyone springs out of their chairs in confusion and excitement, crowding around Jaemin and Doyoung as they all talk over each other.
Chenle stays seated, still trying to wrap his mind around Doyoung’s words, around Jaemin’s presence in the room and what it could mean.
The team loves him instantly, save for maybe Donghyuck. Jaemin has Jeno wrapped around his little finger in a matter of seconds, or maybe it’s the other way around. Either way, the two of them figure out that they’re soulmates, much to Donghyuck’s increasing displeasure. Jungwoo’s a friendly puppy on the worst of days, already hanging off of Jaemin’s shoulder after Jeno and Donghyuck move away, and Hendery doesn’t seem to care either way. Renjun and Yangyang take a more cautious approach, but both warm up to Jaemin after a minute or two.
Renjun maybe a little too much, as Chenle catches a once-in-a-lifetime blush sweeping across his cheekbones when Jaemin whispers something with a teasing grin. He’s too far across the room to make out the words, but knows it can’t be anything good.
He can’t take any more.
The humid August weather drenches him like a disgusting wet blanket as soon as he shoves past the front door, baggy shorts sticking to his legs like a second skin, not willing to stay inside in the cool air and watch the rest of his team become friends with the one person in life who manages to keep hurting him over and over. It’s times like these that he wishes he smoked. Just to have something to do with his hands, an outlet to focus unfamiliar nervous energy on.
Chenle leans back on the shoddy brick of the rink’s walls, eyes slipping closed against a brilliant sunset, and lets himself drift. Jaemin. On his team and already corrupting them on the first day. Bending them to his will like he does everything else in life. Jaemin is a force of nature—
“Hey, kitty.”
A force of nature and the damn devil. Chenle opens his eyes, pushing off of the brick to face the direction the voice came from.
Jaemin has the audacity to wave at him, quick and adorable, before slipping his hands into his pockets again. Big smile on his face like he just won a playoff game.
“Why.”
The grin slips for a split second. “Why what?”
“Why are you here,” Chenle stresses. “Like. What is going on? You’re supposed to be on another continent, not in some rundown rink play-acting like you’re a student.”
Jaemin walks closer, standing awfully close to him as the streetlights cut on underneath the steadily darkening night sky. “Weren’t you listening to our coach?” Stressing the vowels of our when he speaks. “I am a student. I’m on the team this season.”
“This can’t be legal.”
Jaemin shrugs, looking very much like the cat who got the cream. It’s as sexy as it is fucking annoying. His jeans don’t even seem loose enough for him to have his hands in his pockets, seriously. “I had my agent look into it. It’s all legal.”
“But—” Chenle sputters. “You’re an NHL player. This is college hockey. How the hell is it legal?”
“AHL player,” Jaemin corrects, smug. Chenle is about ten seconds away from strangling him. “Minor league. Since I haven’t actually played for the Leafs yet, there’s nothing stopping me from finishing out my college career, y’know?”
He finishes by wiggling his eyebrows, and now Chenle is a cool three seconds away from strangling him. It’s an enticing fantasy. Chenle’s always wanted to get his hands on Jaemin; he guesses it doesn’t matter which way, in the end.
“What about your contract? How is your team okay with this?”
“My entry-level contract just ended,” Jaemin says, casual as ever even as he shoots down all of Chenle’s arguments. “It was time for a renewal, so I decided to finish college first. I’ve been taking classes online for a few years. The credits are transferable here and once the season ends, I’ll re-sign with Toronto.”
“But aren’t there, like, laws against this sort of thing?” Chenle is still in a state of disbelief. “What about the collective bargaining agreement?”
Jaemin leans in, as if conspiring with him. “My agent read through it, obviously. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t okay. I’m not eligible to play in the NCAA, but there’s no rule against a Korean college. It’s never happened before— we’re making history.”
“Great,” Chenle says, despairing. “After I get my degree, I’m blackmailing the commissioner into creating a new rule so this never happens again. Trust me on that.”
“Kitty,” Jaemin admonishes. “I’m starting to get the feeling that you didn’t like your surprise.”
“You can’t tell me that coming to play for some random university team in a country that doesn’t give a fuck about hockey is better than possibly playing in the NHL alongside Auston Matthews, mind you. And Marner, Nylander. Tavares, you used to love Tavares.”
“You still remember that?”
“I’m being serious.”
Jaemin steps even closer, reaching out a hand that Chenle dodges. “I have another fifteen years to play there. If you won’t register for the draft, then I’d rather play with you one last time over anything else.”
Chenle stares at him for a good ten seconds. “Dick. That was— oh my god, how can you just say stuff like that with a straight face? I hate you.” He buries his face in his hands to hide the undeniable flush threatening to creep across his cheekbones.
A hand wraps around his wrist to tug one of them off of his face. Chenle’s head shoots up immediately, startled. The touch burns. It’s the first time Jaemin has touched him in more than two years. The first time since— since they kissed, since Chenle tried to crush Jaemin’s dreams for his own selfish needs. Now here Jaemin is, crushing his own dreams (Not crushing, the amused Jaemin in his head whispers, overly honest. Not if it means spending time with you. Chenle punches the Jaemin in his imagination square in the jaw) without Chenle even having to ask.
“I told you that you’d see me soon,” Jaemin says, quiet. Too intense. “I’m just keeping my promise.”
Stupid, pretty eyes peer into Chenle’s like he can see the depths of Chenle’s soul. After years of not being on the receiving end of that gaze, it leaves Chenle breathless with how out of practice he is at dealing with it, caught in the tangled web. He’s forced to take in Jaemin’s appearance for the first real time tonight.
The harsh lighting in the hallway back in Mississauga didn’t do him justice. Standing this close under the last dregs of the sunset, his cheekbones look as if they could cut glass, black hair ruffled with remnants of leftover product caked at the edges. Something so human that it tugs at Chenle’s traitorous heartstrings. It gets worse when he breaks their eye contact, dropping to rake across firm muscles underneath Jaemin’s t-shirt.
Dizzy, he realises Jaemin could probably bench-press three times his body weight now. That sure hadn’t been a thing when they were in high school.
“Don’t think this means that we’re friends again,” Chenle eventually says once he re-finds his voice, several seconds too late.
“I think that’s exactly what it means,” Jaemin says. He brings Chenle’s wrist up to his mouth, brushes a barely-there kiss against the pulse point. Chenle’s heart falls out of his ass, frozen. Whatever Jaemin was searching for in his eyes, he seems to have found it. “Or else you wouldn’t have let me do that just now.” Another kiss, this time to the back of Chenle’s hand. “Or that, either.”
A psychopath who followed him halfway across the world, standing in front of him like nothing’s changed. No time to process what just happened, to yank his hand away, to even try replying or shooting him down before Jaemin is releasing his arm and stepping back, nonchalant.
“See you at practice tomorrow, kitty.”
When Jaemin leaves, he takes the last of Chenle’s sanity with him.
-
After hunting down Jisung and threatening his life for not warning him about Jaemin, then having a mini freak out in his room for several hours until they both fall asleep watching some mindless slice of life anime, Chenle goes to his first day of classes. He was right to be worried about Principles of Marketing, but the rest of them go well enough.
Class drags on and on, and on, finally finishing around three in the afternoon. He goes straight to the food court in the student center, intent on stuffing his face with as many starches and carbs as possible before Doyoung’s strict meal plan gets distributed at practice tonight. Last year, it had been fifteen pages long, single-spaced when printed. The greasy fries he’s currently funneling into his mouth are the last modicum of fun food he’ll be eating for months, if Doyoung gets his way.
Once Chenle has successfully held a proper funeral for his taste buds, he heads straight home to grab his hockey bag before hightailing it to the rink. If he’s lucky, he’ll get a few hours of ice time on his own before having to deal with Jaemin.
Jaemin.
All day long, Chenle has been doing his damned best not to think about him, about how he literally followed Chenle here to what, prove a point? Torture him? There’s no clear answer on why Jaemin shut him out in the first place. They still haven’t talked about the kiss; if Chenle gets his way, they never will.
He needs a good support structure to fall back on— but Donghyuck may be his only tentative ally in the self-proclaimed war against Jaemin. There’s also a very real chance that Donghyuck may put on the acting performance of his life just to stay in Jaemin’s good graces, therefore remaining in Mark’s as well. Jisung is out for obvious reasons and Renjun can’t be trusted. Jeno is a tentative option, but Donghyuck would also rather die than upset Jeno, who obviously took a liking to Jaemin based on what he saw yesterday, so Donghyuck is out as well.
Back to square one.
Chenle takes his time lacing up his skates and taping his stick, lost in thought. Both his foolproof plan of getting here early and his luck go to shit the second he steps onto the ice and is met with Jaemin already in full gear, skating around in one of their university jerseys. How he got a custom jersey made already is beyond Chenle, but it stinks of Doyoung’s evil plotting.
How long has this been in motion? How long has Chenle been in the dark? He makes a mental note to terrorise Jisung some more.
The biggest sense of déjà vu slams through him the minute their eyes meet. A callback to all those sleepless nights sneaking into the rink after hours and skating circles around each other, practicing random shooting drills, talking about everything under the moon. Chenle was an idiot to think that he could handle this. He won’t survive Jaemin, not again.
Jaemin has no such qualms. He waves at Chenle, racing over immediately to skate loops around him.
“Ki-ttyyy,” Jaemin sings, exaggerated cuteness making his voice all pitchy. “Hi.”
Chenle bites back a sigh, checking Jaemin lightly with his stick to try and distract from the redness of his face. They haven’t even done anything yet. “Hi. Don’t use that name too much.”
Jaemin pretends like the hit knocked him off balance. “Ouch, bruiser. You got strong while I was gone.”
“Shut up, idiot,” Chenle actually laughs before checking him again, harder. Jaemin stumbles back for real this time before catching himself.
“Damn,” Jaemin wheezes. “You hiding any other secrets I should know about?
Chenle hums. “Shoot some pucks at me, maybe you’ll find out.”
Jaemin grins, wild. “You’re on.”
The goal is already set up at one end of the ice. Jaemin follows instructions beautifully, skating backwards and lobbing shots Chenle’s way from the word go.
A thrill rockets through Chenle’s body on the first goal he buries off a cross-ice pass from Jaemin. It’s practice and there’s no goalie, but it feels like a victory in its own right. This is what he missed, this is what he wanted, even if Jaemin had to metaphorically drag him here kicking and screaming. A chance to play with Jaemin again, to just be on the ice with him, existing in the same space, the same realm. It was stupid and selfish of him to expect Jaemin to abandon his dreams but, through some miracle or other, Jaemin still deemed him important enough to come back for.
Maybe… maybe Chenle can let himself have this. He loops around the net and fires a pass up to Jaemin, who snipes a nasty wrist shot into the net that would’ve beat any high-caliber goalie.
Chenle whistles as he goes to retrieve the puck, impressed. “Damn, that was dirty.”
“Dirty, huh?” Jaemin teases, trying to steal it back from him. “Tell me more.”
“And feed your ego even further?” Chenle scoffs. “Not a chance.”
Jaemin sinks another one once Chenle shoots him the puck, backhanded but just as nasty as the first one.
“Alright, wow,” Chenle says, mildly impressed. “Maybe just this once.”
Surprised laughter bursts out of Jaemin. He skates over to tap his glove against Chenle’s helmet, wide grin in place. “I’m amazing, right? Best you’ve ever seen?”
“Your modesty is refreshing,” Chenle says. “See if I ever play with you again.”
It’s an empty threat, and they both know it.
“Chenle!” Doyoung’s voice sounds from right behind Chenle’s back. He does not startle. Doyoung must’ve skated onto the ice without either of them noticing, too caught up in the exhilaration of playing together and bickering like old times. “That was amazing, I’ve never seen you like this. You’re officially on Jaemin’s line. We just need to find you both another winger.”
Jaemin laughs in delight, tapping Chenle’s skates with his stick. “Hear that, kitty? Sounds like we’re gonna keep playing together after all.”
At least he can blame his red face on the exertion this time.
Their first practice speeds by without incident— aside from Doyoung distributing his meal plan, which goes over about as well as an anvil to the cranium, especially with Yangyang and Jungwoo. Luckily Chenle already made his peace with it after eating the funeral fries earlier that day.
Doyoung wrestles half of them into different jerseys and sets up a scrimmage, runs through different line combinations as promised to find Jaemin and Chenle a winger. Throws a rotating cast of players onto their line’s right side, cycling through all of them to look for a good fit. None of them seem to click the same bone deep way that Jaemin and Chenle do.
Yangyang always takes up the mandated annoying role of winger way too easily, drawing attention but hogging the puck, and they don’t end up producing a lot. Donghyuck has zero on-ice chemistry with Jaemin as they yell at each other about executing plays, even though he successfully gets the puck onto Chenle’s stick a few times, and he works better on Sungchan’s line anyway. Jungwoo is amazing, but he takes too many of what would be surefire penalties in a regular game, and embellishes every hit laid on him like his life depends on it.
They finally find magic with Renjun who played center last year— thankfully for the sake of the team he’s versatile enough to fill either role. Small and fast, able to dart through defenders and fire shot after shot onto black tape.
“We’re gonna be amazing,” Jaemin promises after the scrimmage finishes. Bumping gloves with Renjun before cuffing Chenle on the back of his head. Their team won by a wide margin.
“Obviously,” Renjun replies, would-be scathing if not for the tiny smile on his lips. “You’re here, aren’t you?”
Chenle watches the way Jaemin’s face lights up at the praise and decides to steal the laces from Renjun’s skates after practice as punishment. Traitors in The War Against Jaemin™ will not be tolerated.
-
Jisung comes to more and more practices than he did last season. He says it’s because he wants to see Jaemin—
“Rude,” Chenle says. “I’m your best friend. Was that not enough of a reason?”
“No,” Jisung says, and leaves it at that.
—but Chenle suspects several ulterior motives. Jisung, for all that he appears to be an innocent little (humongous) angel, is the most gossip-driven man Chenle has ever met. Seriously. It’s a blessing most of the time whenever Chenle wants to insert himself in his teammates’ business, but a curse as soon as it concerns him and Jaemin.
“For someone who claims to be over my brother, you sure do spend a lot of time looking at him,” Jisung comments. He’s perched on the team bench, leaning over the side of the boards in plain clothes, head pillowed on his arms. Calm expression on his face while intent on ruining Chenle’s mood.
“Go away,” Chenle sighs, stickhandling the puck back and forth to make it look like he’s keeping busy while they talk. They’re supposed to be running drills, but Jisung gets fidgety if Chenle doesn’t come talk to him every thirty minutes. “Why are you even on the bench, anyway? Players only.”
Jisung shrugs. “Doyoung-hyung let me sit here. Said I’m practically a part of the team at this point.”
Chenle fumbles on his next move, finally tearing his eyes away from Jaemin as he fires pucks past a terrified Jaehyun subbing in goal for Hendery. “Doyoung-hyung? God, you’re such a leech.”
“He loves me,” Jisung says. “I brought Na Jaemin here.”
“Don’t say his full name like he’s not your brother,” Chenle mutters.
“And you don’t try to change the subject.”
Chenle groans, giving up any pretense of looking busy in favor of slumping next to Jisung against the boards. If he’s lucky, Doyoung will notice and drag him away to bagskate him. Anything is better than this conversation.
“Fine,” he starts. “B—”
“Chenle! Get over here,” Doyoung yells. “I want you working on puck control with Donghyuck.”
Saved by the bell. Chenle shoots Jisung a faux apologetic look as he skates away. “Sooo sorry, duty calls.”
Jisung mouths something probably not very nice at him— or he says it out loud, but Chenle’s too far away to tell by now. Already skating right past Jaemin’s insane little accuracy competition that he’s having with himself (to the detriment of Jaehyun’s health), determined not to look at him as Chenle passes by.
That goes to shit the second Chenle gets in his vicinity and Jaemin taps his ass with a stick. He whirls around, about to do— something, he doesn’t know, when Jaemin grabs his jersey instead and pulls him in closer.
“Looking good out there, kitty,” Jaemin murmurs.
“I haven’t even done anything yet,” Chenle protests, a little breathless despite himself. He isn’t used to Jaemin’s casual touch anymore. “I’ve just been bothering Jisung-ah for the past fifteen minutes.”
“You always look good,” Jaemin says, unapologetic.
Chenle’s distinctly aware of Jisung’s eyes on them from the bench, of Jaehyun’s confused (and slightly relieved) expression as he registers why he’s no longer getting hammered with pucks, of Donghyuck impatiently waiting for him further down the ice.
“I know,” Chenle says. “You, uh. Your jersey looks… clean. Really clean. Got to go, bye.”
He keeps his eyes to himself for the rest of practice, focused on retaliating against Donghyuck for mocking him again and again. The same can’t be said for Jaemin.
Practices turn brutal over the next two weeks as they adjust to the new members in their midst— most notably, Jaemin. Aside from the way Doyoung has been riding them way harder than last year, having Jaemin back on his line fuels Chenle in ways he doesn’t want to look too closely at.
Their first game of the season arrives in a whirlwind of activity. Their line doesn’t score during the first two periods, but it almost doesn’t matter. The pure thrill of looking down the ice and seeing Jaemin’s brilliant grin is a rush Chenle’s not used to feeling anymore. Hasn’t since they were both dumb teenagers keyed up on adrenaline, orange gatorade, and the exhilarating knowledge that out there no one could come close to touching them. No one would even dream of it.
He missed this so much. How the hell is he supposed to let Jaemin go back to Toronto at the end of the season?
Above it all, there’s still the teensy, tiny, unresolved fact that Jaemin left after Chenle practically assaulted him in the locker room and then didn’t speak to him for around eight hundred days. No big deal, really very inconsequential. Not like it’s all Chenle can think about whenever Jaemin is so much as breathing the same air as him.
Doyoung taps him on the back halfway through the second period, signaling him to hit the ice. Jaemin nudges Chenle in the ribs with his glove, leaning in.
“Ready to go?”
Chenle inhales through his nose, deep, and elbows Jaemin back. He can dwell on it later. “Get me the puck, and I’ll get you a goal.”
If Chenle thought Jaemin’s grin was dazzling before, it’s almost blinding now. “Fuck yes, there’s my kitty. Let’s go.”
True to his word, Jaemin steals the puck almost immediately after they hop over the boards, sending the cleanest pass his way for Chenle to bury in the back of the net without even thinking. Jaemin crashes into him in celebration, yelling in his ear, pulling Renjun in when he comes to join the fray. Chenle leans into his excited touch, eyes closed, heart thrumming.
He hasn’t been this happy in two years. It’s legitimately terrifying.
-
Several games pass in this fashion, steadily working to lull him into a false sense of security. Chenle tries to do good on his midterms by studying (lie) but really spends all his time alternating between hiding from Jaemin and hanging out with him— begrudgingly, of course. Tricked by Jisung most of the time, or at least that’s the story he’s sticking to.
The beauty of playing in a college league in a country that has mostly yet to see the joys of their sport is that most of their road games are close enough in location that hotels usually aren’t a necessary evil. All of the universities in the U-League are based in or around Seoul. When they play Kyunghee, Hanyang, or Kwangwoon, they get to go to sleep in their own beds the same night.
But when they play Yonsei, all bets are off. The rivalry between their university and Yonsei has withstood the tests of time, denying all logic when it comes to local interest in hockey. The crowd is always electric, the chants are loud as hell, the cheerleaders are in top form, and there’s always a fight or two on the ice, fists flying as time whittles down.
Doyoung has managed to convince the board to splurge on a cheap hotel each time in order to prepare them, to whittle their focus into a fine-tuned machine with no outside distractions to throw them off their game. The roommate assignments have been set in stone since last year; hockey players are superstitious on the best of days no matter what level they’re playing at, and they like to have a routine. Deviation from that routine is rare.
Chenle has been rooming with Jungwoo since the very beginning, which is a blessing in its own right considering they both have the same pregame rituals. Eating half a sandwich (tomato and cheese sandwich for Jungwoo, grilled chicken for Chenle), taking a nap all curled around each other for no less than two hours, then listening to the same songs on the way to the rink— Jungwoo plays a lot of Men I Trust while Chenle is partial to Chanmina himself.
They’ve only lost a handful of games since starting their interlocked routine, so he thinks it’s working pretty well.
Their first game against Yonsei falls more than halfway through the semester, distribution of teams on the schedule all clustered together this year. Chenle barges into the hotel room like a man on a mission. Just a few minutes ago, Jaemin tried sweet-talking his way into being roommates with him instead, and Chenle would rather get his nap on before Jaemin can find a way to set whatever evil plan he’s cooking up in motion, breaking their routine.
Jungwoo is already lounging on the queen bed, one arm supporting his head as he scrolls through what sounds like TikTok, all of his belongings strung throughout the room in a tornado’s path. “Yoooooo,” he says, the word barely audible through a seven second clip of a Flo Milli song on loop.
Chenle stops in his tracks halfway through pulling off his jacket to shoot him a weak glare. “Stop that. It won’t catch on.”
“Already has,” Jungwoo says. He locks the phone and tosses it to the side, making grabby hands at Chenle. “Hurry uppp, it’s time for our nap.”
“You’re such a needy baby,” Chenle complains.
Jungwoo snorts, rolling his eyes. “That’s rich coming from you.”
“I resent that.”
Kicking his shoes off and throwing his bag down only takes a few seconds, and then Chenle’s jumping on top of Jungwoo and snuggling into his chest. Jungwoo curls around him without any awkward shuffling, so used to their little tradition by now that they already know the ideal placement of their bodies for maximum comfort.
“We only have an hour. I have psych homework that I need to finish.” Jungwoo’s voice is muffled by a mouthful of Chenle’s hair.
Chenle’s head snaps back up. “Homework? You’re switching up on me for homework? How could you betray me like this?”
“Not betrayal, baby, it’s my junior year,” Jungwoo giggles. “Shit's getting serious.”
“You’re breaking our routine. We’re gonna lose the game now,” Chenle whines, burying his face further into Jungwoo’s shirt.
“No, we won’t.”
“We’re gonna lose and it’ll be all your fault.”
“Blame my professors, it’s not my fault!”
Chenle reaches up and pokes Jungwoo’s face. “Is too.”
“Is not.” Jungwoo catches his finger, shoving it back towards him.
“Is too.”
“Am I interrupting?” A third voice startles Chenle backwards, rolling off of Jungwoo’s chest. He looks over to find Jaemin in leggings and an oversized sweatshirt, leaning against the doorframe, eyebrows raised. Looking quite constipated, if Chenle’s being honest. Then again, Jaemin always has terrifying expressions on his face— this is no different.
“How the hell did you get in here?”
“I have my ways,” Jaemin says, lips curling into a lazy grin. He swipes an extra key card through the air. “Again, am I interrupting something here?”
“Nope!” Jungwoo chirps, waving at Jaemin. “Just napping. Hiii, by the way.”
“Hiii,” Jaemin replies dutifully. “Mind if I steal Chenle away? There’s been a last minute roomie reassignment.”
“What?” Chenle hisses. “I told you, not possible. I always room with hyung before games against Yonsei, and we always nap together first. It’s part of our routine.”
“I’m already breaking the tradition,” Jungwoo says, shrugging. “What’s a little more rule-bending amongst friends?” Then, to Jaemin, “He’s all yours.”
Chenle sighs, tipping his head back. “Really not helping there, Woo.”
“Aw, you consider us friends already? I’m touched.” Cocking his head, Jaemin motions for him to follow. “Come on. You can get your pre-game nap in with me instead.”
“In your dreams,” Chenle mutters just to keep up appearances. He definitely will if given the opportunity— and it’s actually specifically part of his own most frequent dreams, but it’ll be a cold day in Jaemin’s hometown (hell) before he admits that right now. “So who’s rooming with hyung, then?”
Jaemin’s grin widens. “His favorite person. I have it on good authority.”
“I’m his favorite person,” Chenle protests. At the same time, Jungwoo perks up and asks eagerly, “Shotaro?”
Renjun walks through the door before Jaemin can answer, animal ear headphones hanging around his neck, designer duffle bag in tow. “I’ll pretend like I didn’t hear you naming one of the cheerleaders instead of me.”
Jungwoo somehow perks up even more, but his smile is less excited. “Injunnie! Come nap with me, c’mon c’mon. Hurry up, we have less than an hour now.”
“Well?” Jaemin motions at Chenle again. “That’s our cue. Get up, princess.”
Princess, Jungwoo mouths at Chenle, wide-eyed and mocking. Letting out a long-suffering sigh of his own, Chenle resigns himself to his fate, grabbing his bag and shoes and following Jaemin out of the room.
Jaemin’s room is pretty much the exact same as Jungwoo’s, the sheets on the bed in the middle already pulled out from their corners and bunched up. Chenle doesn’t bother unpacking this time around either, just shoves his belongings onto the ragtag armchair and re-slips his shoes off, grabbing his toothbrush to quickly use in the bathroom. Cheeks flushed in the mirror as he stares at himself while scrubbing his teeth. There’s no way he’s about to lay next to Jaemin with breath smelling like the kale smoothie Doyoung forced down his throat earlier.
Jaemin is already laying on his back on the bed and scrolling on his phone by the time Chenle gets back, breath smelling like the kid’s sparkly bubble gum toothpaste he stole out of Jaemin’s toiletry bag. He doesn’t look up to get Chenle to come to him, but Chenle goes anyway. Like a magnet, a force of gravity, Chenle will always seek him out. Drawn to him again and again. That’s what got Chenle in this mess in the first place all those years ago.
He crawls in the bed with more care and grace than he’d normally afford for something so simple, ends up on his own back with a scant few centimeters separating his body from Jaemin’s. The small gap so uncrossable in the moment that it might as well be an active battlefield.
Silence reigns. Chenle hears Jaemin lock his phone with a click and toss it onto the nightstand.
Napping with Jungwoo always feels like an extension of Chenle’s own body, both so comfortable that they barely even notice how they get tangled up together. Napping with Jaemin is an otherworldly beast that Chenle’s going to have to learn how to slay in the next fifteen seconds or less. The furthest thing from platonic or casual or even remotely in the realm of being okay, no matter how much he may want it in secret.
“This wasn’t how you were lying with Jungwoo,” Jaemin finally points out, the bastard.
“What, you want to cuddle?” Chenle fires back.
“Yes.”
Damn. Bluff successfully called, Chenle throws a leg over Jaemin’s. Lets Jaemin pull him under an arm until he’s tucked into his side, body still tense. “Happy now?” he mumbles.
“Ecstatic,” Jaemin confirms, voice a pleased rumble. He doesn’t sound anything other than completely sincere. “Relax, okay? I won’t bite.”
“Not worried about biting, I’m more worried about you strangling me in my sleep.”
Jaemin squeezes Chenle’s shoulder. “And ruin your pretty neck? Not a chance.”
Aaaarrrghhhhh, Chenle thinks and hopes it doesn’t come out of his mouth. Jaemin’s eyes on him always feel like too much no matter the situation, but it’s doubled— no, tripled when they’re close together like this. Pressed up against each other in a goddamn bed, to make matters even worse. In order to avoid Jaemin’s serial killer eyes (shining beautifully under dingy hotel lamplight) and stupidly teasing words, Chenle rolls half on top of him, burying his face into the fabric of his sweatshirt.
“Just— sleep, Jaemin,” Chenle says. “We have to be at the rink in a few hours.”
Jaemin hums. For a minute he doesn’t say anything else, and Chenle mistakenly thinks that’s the end of it. He’s in the middle of congratulating himself for a job well done, surviving yet another weirdly loaded conversation, when Jaemin quashes any hope that had been building.
“I missed you,” Jaemin admits, abnormally loud in the tense quiet of the room. Just comes right out and says it, no hesitation. “I missed this.”
“Ha-ha,” Chenle says. He’s terrible in situations like this. “Aha-ha-ha-ha. Right. Yeah.”
“Are you phonetically laughing right now?”
“How could you miss this?” Chenle asks, mildly panicked. “We’ve never slept together before.” A pause. “Okay, I can feel you trying not to laugh, dick.”
A truly heinous cackle bursts out of Jaemin’s chest, shattering the awkward tension and jostling Chenle around unpleasantly. Chenle lifts his head up, squints up at him. He can see the backs of Jaemin’s molars. Why are all of his teeth so sharp?
“Yeah, yeah. I know, I’m hilarious.”
“And adorable,” Jaemin says, still laughing before settling down. “I meant that I missed you. Playing hockey with you, but also just being with you.”
If a pen drops three rooms away, Chenle would be able to hear it. “Oh,” he manages. “Well. You’re the one who left.”
“I know. Of course I left, it was the NHL. But I wanted you to come with me and— you didn’t.”
“How was I supposed to know that?”
“What? But… we talked about it,” Jaemin replies, sounding bewildered. “The draft. You registering and following me there. We planned it all out together. You’re the one who didn’t follow through.”
“Yeah,” Chenle says. Are they finally going to talk about this? Right now? The k-word? He can’t look at Jaemin. Dropping his head back down, he buries his face back into Jaemin’s chest, next words coming out muddled. “And then I kissed you, and you left, and then didn’t talk to me for over a year. So, again, tell me how I was supposed to know.”
It’s out in the open now.
No take backs, no amnesia button on a watch from Kingsman at Chenle’s disposal to zap Jaemin with, no older Chenle from the future appearing in a retro time machine to stop him. Saying it where Jaemin can’t see his face is the only way he’ll ever be able to bring it up, even while literally laying on top of the man himself. Chenle’s blood is racing in his veins. Fuck.
In lieu of an immediate response, one of Jaemin’s big hands drags up Chenle’s waist, coming to a stop settled between his shoulder blades, pressing against the knobs of his spine. A comforting, warm weight as Chenle practically shakes out of his skin in anticipation. Jaemin is the only person in the world who somehow manages to make him feel nervous of all things, again and again.
“It was two years, actually,” Jaemin whispers.
Chenle can hear the edge of mischief as he throws the words Chenle used to say to anyone who asked right back in his face. He’s never been above being a hypocrite, though, so—
“Is that the hill you’re willing to die on? Because that can be arranged.”
“I’m kidding, princess, calm down,” Jaemin says, smiling for sure as he buries a hand back in Chenle’s hair. Touch so calming that Chenle doesn’t have it in him to complain. “I wish I could’ve changed the way it happened, but I can’t.”
“Why didn’t you call me? Or text me, email me, send a letter in the mail— hell, you could’ve talked to me through Jisung like a game of telephone if you really wanted to.”
Jaemin sighs, scritch-scratching above Chenle’s ear just right, slowly re-draining the energy and courage Chenle used to ask the question right back out.
“I don’t know if you’d want to hear it.”
“Obviously I want to hear it,” Chenle mutters. “I just asked, didn’t I?”
“Are you forgetting just how well I know you?” Jaemin whispers. Chenle can feel his breath against his forehead, suppressing a shiver. “You’d ask even if you didn’t want to know. So determined to act like you’re not afraid of anything.”
“You don’t know me.”
“Chenle-yah,” Jaemin replies, and oh his voice is so fond, it feels like a tight fist around Chenle’s heart. “I know you better than anyone else in the world.”
Finally looking back up at him, Chenle’s eyes fall on the equally fond smile pulling at the corners of his lips. His lips. Red and full and so, so inviting, incredibly close to Chenle’s own. All Chenle would have to do is crawl a little further up Jaemin’s chest, press their mouths together in the way that he’s wanted ever since he discovered what a crush really was.
Chenle wonders if Jaemin tastes like the spicy chips he saw him eating on the bus to the hotel, or the disgusting banana gum he’s always chewing on during practice despite Doyoung’s tiring rants. Wonders if he’d like the taste of the gum more if he was licking it out of Jaemin’s mouth.
“I remember you saying you’d take the kiss back if you could,” Jaemin teases. “But here you are staring at my lips.”
“Yeah, well, I could’ve been lying,” Chenle quips, shoving his head down again, embarrassed at being called out. Jaemin doesn’t appear to be a mind reader, but Chenle wouldn’t put it past him. He’s so weird. “So. There’s that.”
“Good.”
“Good?”
Jaemin’s hand cards through his hair just a bit rougher than the last stroke. “Good,” he repeats, as if it’s as simple as that. “I’m glad you didn’t mean it. I wouldn’t want you to take it back either.”
Well. There’s no possible response on Earth that Chenle could come up with that would sound anything other than pathetically relieved and needy. Instead, he leans his head up into Jaemin’s touch. Not enough to allow Jaemin to see his face again—the emotion there is embarrassing enough for him to feel, let alone the amount of raw humiliation that letting the reason behind said emotion see it would bring—but enough to get his point across.
Jaemin makes a pleased noise low in his throat. “You really are such a kitty.”
“I’m not.” Chenle can barely talk. The air feels tense again.
“Yes, you are,” Jaemin says. “Affectionate only when it’s on your own terms, like right now. Or you’ll just hover in someone’s general vicinity, being all sneaky, slinking around until they take the hint and give you affection while you act like you don’t want it.”
“Now that’s just blatantly untrue.”
“Sleepy, territorial, playful,” Jaemin continues, unfazed. “Beautiful.”
Beautiful!!! What the hell, actually. He’s ignoring that until he can get a handle on the situation. “I’m not even being affectionate right now, so the basis of your entire argument is wrong. Your hand just feels nice and I don’t feel like moving.”
Jaemin doesn’t respond, but Chenle can sense the smile he’s trying to suppress as easily as if it were blown up on a fifteen-meter billboard and stuck in the middle of their university’s campus.
“I’m serious,” Chenle protests. Not a whine.
“Hmm. But you are beautiful, though.”
If Jaemin plugs one of those tiny TikTok microphones directly into Chenle’s brainstem right this minute, all he’d hear are blood-curdling screams and loud television static, maybe some zombie growling for good measure. He can probably feel Chenle’s erratic heartbeat through where their chests are slightly misaligned but still pressed together.
Shit, it’s been a good fifteen seconds and Chenle hasn’t replied. He has to think of something normal to say— quickly. Is there any normal reply to that at all other than please kiss me right now, you bitch?
Chenle wracks his brain. “If you think cats are beautiful, you’re a furry.” Nailed it.
A laugh startles its way out of Jaemin’s mouth. “For you, baby? I’d consider it.”
“Aiyaa, shut up,” Chenle bemoans, way too fucking flustered for his own good. How does Jaemin have a response to everything, even when he thinks he’s won. “You’re awful.”
Jaemin tugs on his hair, prompting him to lift his face back out of its hiding spot. Looking at Jaemin’s expression puts him in a mental chokehold. There’s an edge of light teasing, but he’s also somehow deadly serious, focused. Like Jaemin meant every word that came out of his mouth over the past ten minutes. Chenle doesn’t know what to do with that.
Jaemin opens his mouth to speak, more world-shattering shit meant to tie Chenle’s stomach in knots, but Chenle beats him to it.
“Can we sleep now?”
Jaemin doesn’t physically deflate, but Chenle can still see the equivalent of the wind dropping out of his sails. He lets Chenle’s head fall back down onto his chest. “Told you. Sleepy, just like a cat.”
“So let your kitty take a nap,” Chenle says, heart kicking up a storm. “And we can go kick ass tonight.”
The fingers in Chenle’s hair tighten for a half-second before smoothing back out. “Sleep, then,” Jaemin whispers, soft. Too sweet for the brief tension of his hand. Chenle doesn’t have the presence of mind to manage anything beyond an inquisitive noise. “I’ll wake you with enough time to get ready.”
“Way ahead of you,” Chenle yawns.
He’ll be out like a light within four minutes tops. The bed is warm, the hotel’s aircon is in peak form, the blankets tangle around their legs nicely, and Jaemin’s hands sap any wakefulness from Chenle’s body like there’s a spigot stuck in him.
It’s the best pre-game nap he’s ever taken.
-
They win the game against Yonsei 7-4. Jaemin gets a hat trick, two goals coming off of Chenle’s passes and one empty net. Chenle scores two of his own, both from Renjun, ending the night with five points despite any ritual-switching or nerve-wracking conversations beforehand.
He doesn’t want to talk about it.
-
Jaemin is smiling at his phone.
A big, dumb, goofy smile. The kind that makes his eyes warmer than the literal sun, genuine joy and elation radiating from every atom of his body. The kind that puts his annoyingly perfect teeth on display, blinding everyone in his field of vision. The kind Chenle sees on the ice when they score together, or when Chenle catches Jaemin looking at him when he thinks Chenle isn’t paying attention.
The kind usually reserved for Chenle and Chenle alone.
After their conversation in the hotel the other day, he thought something would have shifted, even if only in Chenle’s head. But nooo, Jaemin is still treating him the same as always (flirting distantly in a way that Chenle can’t ever tell if he’s being serious or not) and smiling at something that is decidedly not Chenle.
It’s fine. He can be an adult about this. Maybe college has made him mature, if he really thinks about it.
“Jaemin isn’t going to magically drop dead if you keep staring at him like that, you know,” Jisung says.
“It’s a scientific possibility.” Chenle stares harder, just because. Overloading Jaemin with so much maturity that it’s going to bubble up and spill out of his mouth. “You like science. Ever heard of spontaneous combustion?”
Jisung drops his head onto the open textbook in front of him. Most of the team is crowded around one fairly massive table in the campus library, all piling on top of each other to prep for exam week— and if most of the team is there, then obviously Jisung is too.
Chenle wishes he would join the team as something trivial like an assistant equipment manager, just for the sole purpose of giving him an excuse to constantly tag along.
Every time Chenle tries to get him on board, Jisung clams up, throwing out excuses like I don’t know the first thing about hockey equipment, I’m literally a computer science major, what if I send you on the ice with the wrong stuff and you get hurt and die?, or Jeno says I’m welcome at team events any time, I don’t need to be on the team, might I remind you my literal brother is here?, or I have anxiety, Chenle, you know that. The answer’s still no. Stop trying to show me Quora forms about Bell Let’s Talk Day, I’m not joining—
Whatever.
Donghyuck slings an arm around Chenle’s shoulder, leaning in to loudly whisper, “You’re being super obvious, by the way. If you were a spy, you’d be sniped after thirty seconds.”
“Yeah, you’re lucky he’s too caught up in his phone to notice,” Jeno chimes in.
“Caught up in his phone,” Chenle mutters. “Irresponsible.”
Donghyuck makes an oooh-ing noise into Chenle’s ear. “Someone’s jealous and bad at hiding it.”
“I’m about to dump Jeno’s coffee in your lap.” Donghyuck sticks his tongue out at him while Jeno moves the cup out of immediate reach, and Chenle has half a mind to grab his tongue, sanitary practices be damned. “All I’m saying is we’re here to study, and he hasn’t even so much as opened a textbook in the last forty minutes.”
“You haven’t seriously studied a day in your life and now you wanna preach to us about it? Sounds an awful lot like jealousy to me.”
Chenle’s fingers legitimately itch for Jeno’s coffee, like, a physical sensation and everything. He can almost visualise the dark rivulets running down Donghyuck’s pretty open-collared shirt.
Jeno doesn’t give him the chance. “Jaemin-ah!” he calls. Several heads turn his way including Jaemin’s (surprised) and Chenle’s (panicked), but most are from irate students at other tables. One of them holds a finger up to his mouth and makes a loud shushing noise. Jeno ducks his head, sheepish. “Sorry, sorry!”
“Rude man who shushes,” Donghyuck whispers, quieter this time, then breaks out into high-pitched giggles that negate the whole thing.
Jeno shoves Donghyuck, jostling Chenle by extension as he apologises to the student again before waving at Jaemin to come closer.
“What are you doing,” Chenle bites out. Watching as Jaemin says goodbye to Renjun, packs up his stuff in preparation to move. “Don’t call him over here. I don’t want to see his stupid smile from up close.”
“Don’t lie,” Jeno says kindly. “It doesn’t suit you.”
“Hiii everyone,” Jaemin sings quietly once he walks over, holding out a fist for Jisung to bump. “Jeno, Donghyuck, Jisungie.” A pause, then he smirks at Chenle. “Darling.”
Chenle is starting to think Jaemin likes calling him nicknames just to prove that he can. He keeps his eyes trained on his laptop, despite the fact that the screen went dark ages ago.
Jaemin dumps his stuff on the table, a calculator and protractor falling out next to a book about political theory—what the fuck is he even studying—before sliding into the empty chair on Chenle’s other side, dropping a casual arm around his shoulders. It’s impossible to miss the way he knocks Donghyuck’s arm off in the process. Probably unintentional.
“What’s up?”
“Wellll,” Jeno says, extra cute, shooting a quick grin at Chenle. “We wanted to know why you’re smiling so big at your phone.”
“Oh, that? Mark separated his shoulder last night in a game against the Jets.”
Silence.
“And you’re… happy about that, hyung?” Jisung asks after a minute, slow.
The easy smile drops off of Jaemin’s face. “What? No, it’s not that bad, the doctor said it’s only type one. I’m happy because—” He stops to point at Jeno and Donghyuck. “And you both are gonna want to hear this— because it means he’s got a few weeks off to recover and he agreed to come visit.”
“Visit?” Donghyuck shrieks. “Visit you? Visit here? Mark Lee is coming here?”
Jaemin nods. “They put him on IR. He’ll be here next week once all the doctor’s visits are over and done with.”
Donghyuck looks over at Jeno, twin shocked expressions on their faces. They stare at each other for a few seconds. Without speaking, they both start frantically shoving textbooks and pens into their respective bags, standing up in a rush.
“Where are you going?” Chenle asks, bewildered.
“To prepare!” Jeno tosses over his shoulder, already getting dragged away by Donghyuck’s signature grip on his wrist. “Sorry, gotta go, love you, bye!”
“You have a whole week!” Chenle yells after them, but they’re already gone. He turns to Jisung instead. “Did he just tell me he loves me?”
Jisung shrugs. “It’s Jeno.” Touché. “So, Mark’s coming? For how long?”
“Yup! A few days, at least,” Jaemin says. There’s that stupid fucking smile again. Never mind the fact that Chenle never thinks it’s stupid when it’s directed at him. That’s an entirely different situation. “I’m so excited.”
“Me too,” Jisung says. A small smile creeps onto his lips, the traitor. “I haven’t seen him since he was still on the Marlies with you.”
“Ah, those were the days,” Jaemin sighs, wistful. Chenle’s getting progressively more annoyed by the second. He shrugs Jaemin’s arm off of him, pretends to be busy writing in his textbook. “Mark’s too good, they only kept him down in the minors for a few months.”
“Yeah, unlike you,” Chenle mutters, more than a little snippy.
“Ouch.” Jaemin fakes an arrow to the heart. “Is someone jealous? Is my precious little Chenle-yah jealous?”
At that, Chenle looks back up. He won’t stand for being called jealous twice in a row, no matter how the endearment makes him feel. “Excuse me?”
Jaemin’s pleased face is so fucking close to his own. He tosses his arm back around Chenle’s shoulders. “Don’t worry, kitty. You’re still my favorite.”
“That’s— I wasn’t—”
“You know I only have eyes for you,” Jaemin continues.
He knows Jaemin’s just teasing to get a rise out of him, okay, he knows— but Chenle still feels himself starting to get flustered again. Which is honestly embarrassing as hell, how does Jaemin keep doing this to him? Trying to knock Jaemin’s arm off again doesn’t do anything. Jaemin just clings tighter, bringing Chenle’s face even closer to his neck.
Chenle’s face has to be the color of Jisung’s maroon history textbook by now, lying abandoned in front of him as he watches them struggle in amused silence.
“I’m not worried or jealous, you prick” Chenle finally grits out. “Just stating facts. Now get off of me.”
“Hmm,” Jaemin hums into his ear. “No, I don’t think I will.”
“Jaemin. Off.”
“I’m good where I am.”
“I need to study.” Chenle wouldn’t be able to name one thing he’s supposedly been studying, but that’s beside the point.
“Well...” Jaemin pretends to think it over. “Call me hyung and I’ll let you go.”
“Jaemin. Stop touching me.”
Jaemin ducks his head even closer to Chenle’s ear, lips practically brushing skin as he whispers low enough that Jisung can’t hear, “You didn’t seem to mind me touching you in the hotel.”
Fuck.
Chenle stands up abruptly, putting some distance between him and Jaemin as he throws random shit scattered around the table into the tote bag Renjun bought for him. “I have to go.”
“Go where?” Jisung asks.
Oh, now he decides to jump in. Jisung is trying his best to appear confused and/or concerned, which is how Chenle knows he’s full of shit and secretly enjoying this. If it were genuine emotion, he’d look like he has to go to the bathroom. It runs in the family— Chenle clocked the same expression on his brother’s face in the hotel when Jaemin saw him with Jungwoo.
“Finals are coming up soon,” Jisung continues. “You have to stay and study with us.”
“No, I really don’t,” Chenle says, grabbing his old ass laptop. He doesn’t look at Jaemin. “I can handle it on my own.”
“You sure?” Jaemin’s voice is dripping with satisfaction. “Are you a big boy now or do you want me to come and, ah, help out?”
Chenle brandishes his laptop’s charging cord at Jaemin like a knife. “You and your euphemisms can stay right here, thank you.” Then, looking at Jisung, he turns his voice super cute in a way he’d normally never be caught dead doing. “Bye, baby!”
It serves a dual purpose of making Jisung wrinkle his nose in disgust and causing amusement to slip right off of Jaemin’s face. Success. Chenle walks away feeling like he might’ve won— even though he’s retreating and Jaemin thinks he’s jealous of Mark Lee. He’ll take his victories where they come.
-
The team plays a nasty game against Hanyang—Yangyang drops his gloves with two separate players late in the third after one of them plows into Hendery after a whistle, and still manages to come out the clear winner, sending a pretty clear message never to touch their goalie—and Chenle bombs his macroeconomics quiz (seriously, who gives a pop quiz the week before finals), and then Mark arrives the following Friday.
Chenle stops in his tracks when he sees him walk in the locker room, being pulled along by a familiarly excitable Doyoung.
First of all, Mark Lee is gorgeous. Chenle never bothered searching him up online, which is something he sorely regrets right about now. If he had, he would’ve been prepared for…this.
Arm wrapped in a sling and a sheepish smile on his pretty face. Big puppy-dog eyes that could rival Jeno’s, deep brown and beautiful. Long white-blond hair that falls perfectly over his eyes, dark jeans pulled tight over the best hockey ass Chenle’s ever seen. Like, wow. His thighs are no joke, either.
Jaemin practically throws his helmet into his stall before bouncing across the room to gently pull Mark away from Doyoung and into his arms. Shoving his face in Mark’s neck and squealing in glee even as Mark tries to fight him off with one hand.
Okay, so it’s possible that Chenle may be a little jealous. He hates when Jaemin or Donghyuck are right about things, but the man has an ass like that and all of Jaemin’s affection at present— fucking sue him, who wouldn’t be jealous. Once the evil haze clears from his vision, he sucks it up and heads over to say hello. No use in letting Jaemin think he’s affected in the slightest.
“You’re gonna separate my other shoulder, man, be careful,” Mark is saying when Chenle gets close enough, laughter lacing every word.
“My baby is hereee,” Jaemin sings, uncaring. “He’s here, he came to visit meee.”
“Hey,” Chenle interrupts. “Mark Lee, right? I’m—”
“Zhong Chenle!” Mark blurts out. Already wide eyes somehow getting even wider. He steps out of Jaemin’s embrace to grab Chenle’s hand in a bro shake. “Finally! I’ve heard, like, sooo much about you.”
“Alright, alright, stop there,” Jaemin orders, trying to pull Mark back to him. “That’s enough.”
Chenle feels a vicious little thrill run through his veins. “No, no, keep talking. Tell me more.”
Mark grins as big as his (beautiful) eyes. “You were the only thing Jaemin talked about last year, dude. It was all ‘Chenle loves chel, we used to play together every weekend’ and ‘I can’t get a tattoo on my ass, Chenle would kill me if he wasn’t there for it’ and ‘When Chenle gets drafted, I need to take him to this steakhouse’. Thought he’d never shut up.”
It’s like winning the lottery on a ticket he thought he’d lost in the wash. Jaemin kept tabs on him even when they weren’t in contact. Talked about him to his team and his friends, still wanted him to join the draft after everything. He had hinted in the hotel— but Chenle never expected direct confirmation from someone this close to the source. Chenle looks over at Jaemin, half-expecting him to be furiously trying to cut Mark off again, denying everything, but he’s just staring at Chenle in silence. Defiance in his eyes, chin tilted up.
As if to say yeah, and? What are you going to do about it?
Swallowing, Chenle clenches his fists. Fights with everything he has against the urge to say fuck it and jump Jaemin in front of everyone. His rational past self from thirty minutes ago would think it’s a bad idea, but Chenle’s had his ego fed since then; any and all rationality is lying dead in a ditch somewhere. In fact, he’s having a hard time parsing out the reasons why he shouldn’t jump Jaemin.
“Really,” Chenle says. Not a question, voice low. He takes a small step closer to Jaemin.
“Yeah!” Mark chirps, blissfully unaware of whatever cataclysmic event he just might’ve just set into motion. “I think I heard your name come out of his mouth more than my own.”
“Is that so?” Chenle takes another half-step closer.
Jaemin tilts his head, taking his hands out of his pockets. Extending a hand to wrap around Chenle’s thin wrist, just as overwhelming as the last time, loose at first but getting tighter with each second. There’s too much weight to his gaze for Chenle to be comfortable, too much warm pressure on Chenle’s arm to be anything other than marginally turned on in a very bright and public locker room, two professional hockey players standing right next to him, his whole team somewhere in the vicinity.
They could be in the quantum realm for all Chenle cares.
“Uh, yeah. Haha,” Mark laughs, awkward. Sounding as if he’s leagues away rather than a scant few centimeters.
Doyoung claps Mark on the shoulder out of nowhere. Chenle practically jumps out of his skin, dislodging Jaemin’s grip from his arm in a heartbeat, itchy as he rubs his own hand across it. There’s no way Doyoung has been standing here the entire time; he must’ve walked away and come back at some point during their conversation. At least that’s what Chenle is choosing to believe for his mental health.
“You won’t have that problem here,” Doyoung promises Mark. “With two hotshot players in our midst, my team won’t leave you alone for a second.”
Mark looks terrified at that.
As if on cue, Donghyuck picks that moment to walk in the locker room, having stayed on the ice after with Jeno. He freezes in the doorway much like Chenle did, mouth falling open.
“Jeno. Jeno,” Donghyuck says over his shoulder, voice becoming progressively more high-pitched. “Jeno Jeno Jeno, get in here right now.”
Jeno’s head pokes over Donghyuck’s shoulder, hair all mussed from his helmet, and stares at Mark, shocked.
Mark waves his free hand at them both, a patchy blush already spreading down his neck. “Um. Hey guys!”
“Think we should give them some privacy?” Jaemin murmurs into Chenle’s ear.
Chenle jumps, not realising Jaemin had crept even closer while he was distracted. “Jesus, you move like a fucking panther when you want to.”
“Mhm. It’s why I’m so good at my job,” Jaemin says. He drops a hand to Chenle’s waist that sears right through his jersey.
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
“Shut up, Chenle-yah,” Jaemin laughs. He doesn’t pull his hand away, instead steering Chenle away from Mark and Doyoung, back towards their stalls across the room. Donghyuck’s loud ass voice carries through the room after them, bombarding Mark already. “It’s true, you know.”
“What, you’re a panther?” Chenle snorts. “Thought you played for Toronto, not Florida.”
“Very funny,” Jaemin deadpans. “No. What Mark said.”
“Oh.”
Jaemin smiles. “Yeah. Oh.”
“You say that, but you still won’t tell me why you didn’t try to talk to me after you left.”
“Because I’m still not convinced you really want to hear it.”
Chenle shrugs Jaemin’s hand off of him, annoyed despite himself. “I think I deserve to. You owe me that much.”
Jaemin tucks two fingers back in the hem of Chenle’s jersey, quiet as he tugs on a loose thread. They just played sixty minutes in one of the coldest buildings in Seoul, but Jaemin’s fingers are like a space heater when they brush against Chenle’s waist. He sighs, takes a deep breath. Opens his mouth.
Loud commotion erupts as Jungwoo and Yangyang notice Mark, running over in excitement to say hello. The moment breaks; whatever it had been, was about to be, is gone now.
“I better go rescue Markie before someone eats him,” Jaemin says.
“I don’t think he wants to be rescued,” Chenle says, still frustrated. Every time they try to have this discussion, they get cut short— be it by one of them changing the subject or by a cute twink currently getting pawed at by Jeno while Donghyuck and Yangyang talk his ear off. “Tell me what you were about to say.”
Jaemin tilts his head, appraising. “How about this: I’m taking Mark out tonight to Itaewon. Come with us to the club around eleven, and I’ll tell you then.”
Chenle swallows down the irrational way that the phrase I’m taking Mark out makes him feel. “Deal. But you can’t run away again, you have to tell me.”
“Me, run? From you?” Jaemin raises an offended hand to his heart. “Princess, I would never.”
Untrue— Jaemin ran away from him to literal Canada. “We’ll see about that.”
He waits for Jaemin to extract an increasingly flustered Mark from Jeno and Donghyuck’s tight grip and drag him out of the locker room before raising his voice. “Everyone!” Then, when the whole team looks his way, “Meet up in Itaewon at eleven! We’re doing a bar crawl and Jaemin’s buying.”
“Fuck yes,” Yangyang cheers, and the rest of the team echoes the sentiment.
Chenle ignores the chaos that erupted with his declaration, makes a beeline for where Renjun is sitting in his stall talking to Shotaro quietly in Japanese, both not having moved to greet Mark. Chenle didn’t even know Renjun knew Japanese. He kicks Renjun’s foot a couple of times until Renjun deigns to look at him.
“You. Me. Your apartment. Right now.”
“You know I’m dating someone, right?” Renjun asks.
“Very funny, ge, I need your help,” Chenle whines. “Also, no you’re not. You would’ve told me.”
“No I wouldn’t have, but fine,” Renjun relents. “Go cool down on the bike for a bit and meet me out front.”
Turning back to Shotaro, Renjun picks up the conversation where they left off. Chenle isn’t fazed, running to do as instructed. Game on.
-
Chenle knows how to dress himself nicely when he needs to— kind of.
In his mind, his sense of style is unmatched; the chance just never arises for him to bring it to life properly. He prefers loose, comfortable clothes and gag shirts found in local thrift stores over anything remotely sexy or designer, but that’s only because he’s a hockey player in university. Dressing to impress isn’t necessary here.
During freshman year, Chenle wore the same ‘meat is on the menu’ Hannibal shirt and baggy black joggers to every single chem lab in a row until his lab partner started getting seriously concerned and tried to report him to the professor. Whatever, the guy couldn’t even handle his chemicals properly, always getting methanol and acetone confused even though they were clearly labeled in size twenty-eight Times New Roman font. He had bigger things to worry about than whether or not Chenle was going to slice and dice him.
Tonight, Chenle has a specific goal in mind— and even with his self-proclaimed eye for fashion (which Donghyuck likes to call delusion), he needs someone with an eye for slutty fashion.
Sometime over the summer, Renjun went from nerd malewife hockey player to nerd malewife whore hockey player. Chenle suspects Jeno had something to do with it (aside from Renjun’s roommate Ten’s obvious influence), but he doesn’t feel the need to look too far into it. His only goal here is to get Jaemin to sit up and take notice; that way Jaemin won’t be able to resist telling him what he wants to know.
Despite two years apart, Chenle still isn’t used to Jaemin saying no to him.
“I can literally see my own nipples,” Chenle says, poking at his chest.
Renjun’s head pops up behind him in the mirror, looping a tight gold chain around his waist under the shirt. “That’s kind of the whole idea.”
“But they’re so prominent.”
“What did you think was going to happen when I handed you a see-through shirt, they’d just disappear? You’re not a Barbie doll.”
“Fuck you, take that back.”
“Right,” Renjun intones. “You’re definitely a Barbie doll. My mistake.”
Chenle nods, satisfied. “Actually, I’m more of a Bratz doll. They have nipples, right?”
“You’re not going to have nipples in a few minutes if you don’t shut up.”
“Gege,” Chenle coos, delighted. “You’re so mean.”
Renjun doesn’t reply, having had enough. He spent the last ten minutes wrestling Chenle into an outfit that Ten plucked out of his own closet, as Chenle is a bit too big to fit into any of his own sluttiest clothes. After the dust cleared, Chenle found himself in a sheer, long-sleeved black shirt with flowers running across the mesh fabric tucked into practically painted-on black jeans, now cinched with a thin gold chain thanks to Renjun’s tireless efforts. A thin black choker with a small metal ring is looped around Chenle’s neck, matching the tiny hoops in his ears.
Jisung invited himself over at some point and has been lounging on Renjun’s bed watching the whole process. Long limbs positioned awkwardly so his legs are dangling off the side, munching on the takeout Ten ordered for them before he left.
(“This is for Renjun,” Ten said once the food arrived. “Hands off.”
“But Jisung’s still growing,” Chenle had replied, eyes big and wide. Pleading. “And I just played a full hockey game, I’m starving. Please.”
“Renjun only.”
As soon as Ten left the apartment, Chenle had thrown one of the boxes of chicken at Jisung’s head and tore into the second one himself. Renjun just sighed, let it happen, and started on the side dishes.)
“Nice belt,” Jisung comments. Renjun tilts his head in acknowledgment.
“Last chance to come with meee.” Chenle throws his best pleading eyes Jisung’s way. Just like with Ten, they have no effect. What the hell is Jeno’s secret?
“No thanks,” Jisung says. “I’d rather not witness you try to fuck my brother.”
Chenle’s mouth falls open while Renjun lets out a quiet laugh.
“I’m not trying to fuck him. If I was, I would’ve succeeded by now, obviously. That’s an insult to my sexual prowess.”
“Who says ‘sexual prowess’ out loud?” Renjun mutters, yanking a dark purple belt tight through Chenle’s pant loops. If the gold waist chain didn’t already give him the corset look, the belt would’ve done the trick with how tightly Renjun clasps it.
“Your nipples are literally out and you’re telling me you’re not trying to get some?” Jisung asks in disbelief.
Chenle whirls around to face Renjun. “See?”
Renjun rolls his eyes. “Do you want me to get you a different shirt?”
“No,” Chenle says, maybe too quickly. He covers his exposed nipples as extra protection. “Go get changed, this one’s fine.”
Renjun walks off muttering something that sounds an awful lot like Bratz doll. Satisfied, Chenle turns his attention back to Jisung, about to keep badgering him. Jisung doesn’t let him get that far.
“Either way, clubs make me feel like I need to pee and I have a project due in two days that I need to keep coding,” Jisung continues. “I think I’ll pass.”
Chenle shrugs. “I’ll get you laid one of these days.”
“No you won’t, but thanks anyway.”
Flipping Jisung off gets him a piece of chicken thrown at his head, which he leans down to scoop up in a hurry before Renjun finds out and kills them both. By the time he’s done wrestling with Jisung in retaliation, it’s almost time to leave. They’re not running late just yet, but when Chenle’s involved it’s always a close call. Years of hockey have left Renjun used to changing in a rush and they’re out the door in ten minutes, banishing Jisung back to his dorm.
Chenle fires off a quick text to Jaemin one-handed, his other currently occupied with Renjun dragging him down a crowded street to the metro.
22:45
hyung where are we meeting?
22:45
hyung?
kyakyakyak finally
if you keep talking like that i might want you to meet me at my apartment instead
22:45
jaemin shut up 😭😭😭😭 just give me the club name
22:46
say ‘pretty please, hyung’ 💚
22:47
i WILL strangle you, just saying
22:47
boner killer
22:48
oh you’re really not into that? such a shame
22:49
kitty..
22:49
club location
waaa pretty please, hyung 😇😇
22:49
[location attached]
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Renjun says.
Chenle visibly startles, looking up from his phone to find that they’re already standing in a moving train. He even has a hand gripping the bar above his head. When did that happen? Had he even swiped his transport card?
The tips of his ears burn. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out. Jaemin just gave me the name of the place—”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Renjun pulls Chenle in closer, dislodging his grip on the overhead bar. Willingly touching him and switching languages, which is how Chenle knows this is about to be a Serious Discussion™. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you smile every single time you text him. Or talk about him. Or think about him, I can tell.”
“I do not.”
“Chenle.”
“No really, I don’t,” Chenle protests. “You have no way of proving that.”
Renjun levels him with a look so flat that he feels a chill run down his spine. Probably just from the winter air through his mesh shirt, nothing else. His nipples are out and trains are chilly.
Chenle holds his stare for as long as possible until warning sirens start blaring in the back of his mind. “Okay, so I might like him a teeny tiny little bit again. But you're not allowed to make fun of me or tell anyone else, or I swear to god—”
He leaves the threat open-ended. Renjun doesn’t even flinch. “You never stopped having feelings for him,” he corrects.
“Semantics. Anyway, so what?”
“So what?” Renjun repeats, mildly incredulous. “He’s going back to Toronto once the season’s done and you’ll be stuck here alone again. That’s what.”
Groaning, Chenle lays his head on Renjun’s shoulder, buries his forehead into the scratchy fabric of Renjun’s own slutty shirt. It’s telling how dire the situation is that Renjun just lets it happen, despite the fact that he can probably feel Chenle’s hot breath on his body— in public, no less. A little old grandma in a wool sweater sitting two rows in front of them gives Chenle the stink eye.
“I knowww,” Chenle groans. “You think I don’t know that? You think that isn’t all I can think about whenever I look at him? Trust me, I know.”
Renjun scratches his head in consolation. “Then why do you flirt with him all the time?”
Chenle sighs, leaning into it. “Old habits. Plus, he starts it most of the time.” He pauses. “Weren’t you the one who told me to give him another chance in the first place?”
“I meant maybe talk out any lingering resentment or unresolved issues, not act like you want to suck his dick at all times.”
“Ugh,” Chenle says with feeling. “I was just following your advice. If you think about it, this whole thing is your fault, really.”
Renjun doesn’t rise to the taunt. The rhythmic rocking motion of the train fills the space all around them, comfortable silence falling into place. Chenle closes his eyes again, lets the metro guide his thoughts. Like it or not, Renjun’s right. Jaemin is leaving at the end of the season. It seems so far away right now, still with winter break and a whole other semester to go, but Chenle knows the time will fly by when he’s not looking.
“I just don’t want you getting hurt again,” Renjun breaks the silence.
Chenle takes a deep breath, standing up straight. Plastering on a winning smile. “So sweet, JunJun,” he simpers, pinching Renjun’s cheek. “You must really care about me.”
Renjun bats his hand away. “I’m serious, you were insufferable to be around when you two weren’t speaking. I’m just looking out for the team.”
“You can’t lie to me, I know you care sooo much.”
“Fine. I do care,” Renjun says, cutting off Chenle’s attempted teasing. Damn, it really is serious. “So listen and be careful. This doesn’t seem like it’ll end well.”
God, he hates it when Renjun hits him with bullshit like logic and facts. “I know,” he finally says. “I will, I promise.”
“Swear on our friendship.”
“Ah,” Chenle coughs. “Now that I can’t do. I’ve done it in the past and it didn’t really work out that time—”
“Chenle,” Renjun warns.
Chenle concedes immediately—how is a man this small so damn terrifying—and holds his pinky out for Renjun to grab. “I swear.”
Renjun nods, seeming satisfied as he yanks his finger back. Chenle looks down at his phone again.
22:49
see you soon 😻❤️
He hopes he knows what he’s doing as well.
-
Incheon has always been the spot to party on the weekends, famous for any type of bar or nightlife that a college student could ever want, even a few tourist-driven microbreweries and non-sleazy gay clubs.
Safe to say the location that Jaemin sends him is none of the above.
For one, it’s on the very edge of the city near the docks. There aren’t many lights on the street that aren’t either dead, dying, or sputtering like someone nearby is performing a seancé. They have to cut through an alleyway after leaving the metro, and Chenle is pretty sure he just saw a rat the size of a large chihuahua gnawing at some garbage left out next to a few crates and a rusty bicycle. He clings to Renjun, pretending to stumble.
“I swear, Huang Renjun, if you get me killed I’m taking you down with me.”
“Jaemin was literally the one who gave you the directions, not me,” Renjun mutters, foraging ahead. Chenle clings tighter.
The bouncer lets them through with little fuss once they make it to the door, though Chenle would be more suspicious if they hadn’t been allowed in. A club of this caliber can’t possibly boast exclusivity.
Smoke fills the air more than oxygen as soon as they step inside, thick and tacky, limiting Chenle’s field of vision until his eyes adjust. The pulsating strobe lights don’t make it any easier, and neither does the giant crowd already in the club. It had looked almost deserted on their walk over; most students they passed were going to the more popular clubs in the area— all these people must be the product of the seancé, Chenle reasons.
Somehow through it all, Chenle catches sight of Jaemin across the club, holding a tumbler in one hand and standing in a small half-circle with Mark, Donghyuck, and Jeno. Looking for all the world like he’d rather be doing anything other than third-wheeling.
That all changes once he locks eyes with Chenle.
Chenle takes a breath in, coughing as soon as the smoke hits his lungs. He barely notices. Jaemin’s chest catches the flashing lights, turning his quite frankly ridiculous pecs shades of bright blue, then green, then a sensual red. Chenle blinks twice. The deep V-cut in Jaemin’s shirt exposing all those muscles on display still stares back at him. Shit.
“I see them,” Renjun raises his voice in Chenle’s ear, tugging him in close. Chenle drags his eyes away from Jaemin’s chest back to his eyes, notices the narrow slant. Notices something else lurking in there, as well. He needs a better look. Renjun guides them through the crowd towards Jaemin, and the emotion in Jaemin’s eyes becomes even more apparent.
Hunger. Like he wants to take Chenle apart and stitch him back together, piece by piece. It would be terrifying (and confusing) if it wasn’t so mind-blowingly sexy. All of Renjun’s advice leaves Chenle’s head as if it never existed in the first place. If he leaves this club without doing some serious flirting, it’ll be a miracle.
“Wow,” is the first thing Mark says when Chenle and Renjun arrive.
Except he isn’t looking at Chenle. Not even looking at Jaemin, Jeno, or Donghyuck, who are all crowded around him with various degrees of closeness; Jaemin is the furthest, still staring at Chenle like he wants to hunt him for sport, and Donghyuck is the closest, one arm leaning on Mark’s uninjured shoulder and the other around Jeno’s waist.
Mark’s not looking at them. He’s looking at Renjun.
Renjun sticks out a dainty hand. “Hi, I’m R—”
“You’re so tiny,” Mark blurts out. “Like, okay I know I’m small by NHL standards but you— how do you even play hockey? Wow.”
Instead of getting offended or murderous or any other number of reactions that Chenle would typically expect from Renjun in a situation like this, Renjun laughs. Like, straight up giggles with a faint hint of blush to top it all off, just like after he met Jaemin. He hasn’t even had a splash of alcohol yet unless he was sneaking sips in his closet earlier.
Knowing Renjun, it’s a fair possibility.
“Wow,” Mark repeats for the third time, obviously enchanted.
“What,” Donghyuck says, faintly incredulous at first, then growing more annoyed as he yanks his arms away from both Mark and Jeno. “What the fuck?
“Huh?” Mark asks.
“I’m tiny, look at me!” He spins around like a ballerina. “Like a little princess! And Jeno can be tiny too.” Donghyuck elbows Jeno in the ribs. “Come on, puppy, make yourself tiny.”
Jeno proceeds to drop onto all fours in the middle of the goddamn club, peering up at Mark wordlessly as the bass thumps.
Donghyuck shrieks. “Not like that, not in public! The floor is probably so dirty, god—”
“Um,” Mark says, face equally as red as Donghyuck’s. “That’s— yeah.”
“You’re barking up the wrong tree there, Lee,” Yangyang chimes in. Chenle didn’t even see him cut through the crowd with most of the team in tow, too preoccupied with the heat of Jaemin’s stare dragging down every centimeter of his body. He cocks his hip out more, watches Jaemin’s dark eyes track the movement a half-second later. Intoxicating. “Renjun has a thing with Jungwoo.”
“I do not.” Renjun denies, indignant.
Sungchan cuts in. “I thought Jungwoo had a thing with Shotaro.”
“Seriously? The cheerleader that he’s always arguing with?” Yangyang asks in disbelief.
“And wrestling with!”
Yangyang shoots a suspiciously silent Jungwoo a look. “Damn, go Woo.”
Mark looks back and forth from each person, flitting between Jeno (on his haunches on the floor, dear god) and Renjun (still blushing but also waiting for this conversation to be over) before finally landing on Chenle. “Do they do this a lot?”
“Do who? What?” Chenle replies, absent-minded.
Jaemin still (still!) hasn’t taken his eyes off of Chenle once. Hasn’t even spoken a word since Chenle and Renjun arrived. It’s a lot to process all at once; if Chenle isn’t careful he’s going to do something stupid, like push Jaemin into the nearest booth and climb into his lap in front of everyone. He’s about fifty percent certain Renjun wouldn’t try to stop him.
“Talk about someone like they’re not right there in front of them.”
“Sure, sounds good.” Chenle didn’t hear a single syllable that came out of Mark’s mouth.
“Right…” Mark says. “Word. Thanks, man.”
Chenle brings a hand up to lift the hem of his shirt, slowly exposing the chain, the belt, and then his stomach as if by accident, a casual move. Jaemin’s eyes track the movement like he tracks the puck on the ice. Using his freaky preternatural hockey abilities for pure evil.
Only the knowledge that Jisung would be right (and would be insufferable about it— he did learn from Donghyuck, after all) stops Chenle from getting hard in the middle of a damn club, stops him from dragging Jaemin away to get his hands on him.
Chenle drops his shirt back down and pulls Donghyuck away from Jeno and Mark. “Shots. Shots?” he says, a bit frazzled. Not looking at Jaemin anymore. Donghyuck nods in furious agreement; they take off in the direction of the bar without a backwards glance, abandoning a confused Jeno and Mark in their wake.
It only takes two fruity pink shots each of something that Donghyuck finagles out of the bartender for him to start complaining.
“Unbelievable,” Donghyuck mutters, tossing a third one back like it’s water. Chenle matches him, not wanting to be left out or to think about the man whose eyes he can still feel on his back. “Stupid, so stupid, after all the conversations we had he goes and does that right in front of my face, and Jeno’s face, Jeno’s cute little face. If he acted like that over Renjun then I can never introduce him to Shotaro, he’d probably try to pick him up and run away with him—”
“What could you possibly be mad about right now?” Chenle asks. He won’t lie, he wasn’t paying that close of attention to what went down, what with Jaemin looking at him like… that. “You’ve got all your boys in one place.”
Flagging the bartender for two more of whatever the fuck Donghyuck ordered gets him a faintly incredulous look in return, but he ends up with the requested shots in the end. It’s not his fault Donghyuck is a menace whenever alcohol is involved.
Donghyuck shoots him a shrewd look over the top of his glass, lethal combined with the tight leather jacket pulled across his shoulders. Too calculated for his supposed level of drunkenness, especially since he had already been holding two drinks when Chenle arrived. Damn, Chenle needs to develop a crazy level of tolerance if he’s going to keep drinking with the gremlin.
He should be fine for now, though. Hopefully. He takes the shot anyway.
“All? Not both?” Donghyuck asks, danger in his tone.
Chenle barrels ahead, never good at reading any warning signs, even less so when there’s liquor coursing through his veins. “Yeah. Jeno, Mark, now Renjun—”
“Renjun is not my ‘boy’ you bitch,” Donghyuck vehemently denies, using air quotes on the word boy. “Jeno is, and Mark was supposed to be, but it looks like he wants Renjun as his ‘boy’ instead.”
Chenle’s eyes follow the motion of his hands, enraptured— turning dismayed when he sees them grab the next shot and down that one too. He follows in Donghyuck’s footsteps dutifully again. Maybe not the best idea.
“Please,” Chenle says once the alcohol is done burning the fuck out of his throat. “Don’t act like you wouldn’t bend him over the nearest relatively flat surface if he ever looked at you twice.”
“I’m not talking about this with you,” Donghyuck sniffs. “He’s your best friend.”
“Wrong, Jisung’s my best friend,” Chenle points out. “Plus you seem like the type of guy to have a degradation kink, and Jeno and Mark sure aren’t going to play along with that. So, Renjun…”
Donghyuck uses one hand to shove Chenle’s face away, raises two fingers on the other to call the pretty bartender over yet again. “Aren’t you busy pining over a man you can’t have? Stop talking.”
Chenle recovers and clumsily slaps them down before she sees. “No more shots for a while, demon. Or at least bring a round to everyone else so we can all drink together.” He can’t really remember why they came over here in the first place— not a great sign, he’ll admit. “Staying at the bar is getting kind of boring.”
Two of Donghyuck’s slim fingers go right back in the air as soon as the words are out of Chenle’s mouth, the bastard. Words are exchanged, maybe some light flirting, and a large tray of the same toxic pink shots appears in Donghyuck’s hands before Chenle knows it. Maybe the alcohol is hitting him a lot faster than he thought.
Standing up off of the barstool further proves his point, almost swaying before catching himself. Donghyuck mutters something nasty, grabbing his card back from the bartender.
“Take those over to the team,” Chenle orders. “And don’t cause any unnecessary problems with Mark or else Jaemin will kill you. And I might let him.”
He locks eyes across the room with the man himself, staring him down. Oh yeah, Chenle realises. That’s why. The team must’ve migrated after Donghyuck and him left, all together in a large booth just off the dance floor. Jaemin lounges on the edge, sipping on something clear in a tall glass. How they got access to a booth is beyond Chenle.
“I would wipe the floor with him,” Donghyuck grumbles, but does as he’s told, only wobbling a little bit as he carries the tray of shots through a crowd of people. Muttering under his breath all the while.
“You underestimate how much of a psychopath that man is,” Chenle calls after him.
Unlike what he told Donghyuck, he needs another drink, like, right now. Turning back around so the eye contact is cut off, he comes face to face with the bartender.
“Is he going to be okay?” she asks, concerned.
Chenle stands up straighter, pulling on a veil of sober-ness. “Oh yeah, he’ll be fine. He had some bad American food when he was a kid and now he talks to people who aren’t there. Totally normal, no need to call an exorcist.”
Her laugh doesn’t sound customer service canned— a massive win in Chenle’s book. Making friends comes easily when he’s been on hockey teams for years but there isn’t an official women’s team at his university, so his friend group now consists of a bunch of sweaty men and Jisung. A bartender that’s obliged to talk to her customers presents a good opportunity to expand his social circle.
It makes sense at the time. Kind of. He’s had a lot of shots.
Chenle leans in closer. “Hey, I never got your name—”
“Kitty.”
The bartender’s mouth doesn’t move when the word sounds in his ear, a deeper voice than expected. Her eyes do get wider, though, darting behind him. Strange, but Chenle rolls with it.
“Kitty, huh?” he muses. “Funny, ‘cause that’s kind of my name too. Not my name-name, you know, not the name on my birth certificate. Like, I’m not Thai. Are you Thai? But it’s my name in the sense that I respond to it. Well, only one person uses it, and I probably wouldn’t respond if anyone else tried it, but it’s still—”
“Kitty.”
Her mouth still doesn’t move as Chenle’s drunken ramble gets cut off in that same deep voice. She shoots him an apologetic look, walking away. Pours a beer from the tap for another customer that flags her down, but doesn’t respond further. Okay. Officially suspicious.
Chenle turns around. Jaemin is standing literally right behind him, way too close. He sags back against the bar, surprised.
“Whoa. I was just thinking about you,” Chenle says, dazed. “How did you do that?”
“Oh really?” Jaemin asks, grabbing the empty shot glass from Chenle’s fingers, setting it on the counter out of reach. Amusement rolls off of him in waves. “How much have you had to drink, baby?”
“Baby,” Chenle whispers to himself, straightening up. “Do you want to dance? I wanna dance.”
Jaemin’s smile gets wider and wider. “You’ve been avoiding me since you got here, but now you want to dance? Yeah, you’re drunk.”
“I’m perfectly sober,” Chenle insists. The rest of Jaemin’s words register. Avoiding him… the memory materialises. “And that's 'cause you promised to tell me why you cut me off after you left.”
Jaemin’s eyes search his face. “You know what? Fine, let’s dance.”
Chenle allows himself to be tugged away from the bar, waving over his shoulder at not-Kitty and blessedly getting a wave in return.
There are people all around them but Jaemin weaves through them like he has a magical map and a force field. Not letting anyone so much as bump into Chenle as they find their way to the middle of the dance floor, trailing in Jaemin’s wake like a stumbling puppy on a leash.
Chenle’s competency kink is thriving. He might also be done drinking for the night.
Jaemin finds a seemingly satisfying spot on the floor, bringing them to a stop as they crowd together and start— well. What they’re doing can’t really be called dancing, considering the fact that Chenle is waving his body around like a car dealership inflatable man, anything to draw a laugh out of Jaemin. Not one to be outdone, Jaemin follows his lead.
The floor is packed, a tight crush of people pressing in on both sides and making it hard to keep this up for too long. Chenle wraps his arms around Jaemin’s shoulders, pulls him in close. Too close to be considered entirely platonic, but Chenle thinks they left that behind the moment Jaemin laid eyes on him tonight and never looked away. Dead and buried right next to his ironclad will to keep resisting Jaemin.
Jaemin stops dancing, watching him from closer than they’ve been all night, all semester. All year.
“Dance, Jaemin,” Chenle says through the thumping bass. Jaemin grips Chenle’s hips tight in return. Even under the shitty lighting and smoke, his eyes are easy to get lost in.
Chenle feels a bit like a defenseless rabbit seconds away from being pounced on by some sort of large cat. Maybe a leopard. Do large cats eat rabbits? Can he be a rabbit and Jaemin's kitty at the same time? And can he still be considered defenseless if he’s been baiting Jaemin all night, whether unconsciously or not? Questions to be considered once he’s not under the influence, for sure.
“Why are you looking at me like that,” Chenle breathes, leaning in even closer to make sure he’s heard. Too preoccupied with the warm blanket of Jaemin’s attention to really phrase it like a question— and not sure he wants an answer in the first place.
Jaemin gives him one anyway. “You look stunning. Did I not tell you that yet?”
“Sweet talker,” Chenle accuses.
“Only for you.”
“Liar, you flirt with anything that moves.”
“Don’t call them cute names, though.” Jaemin twirls him around, dipping him like they’re at a fucking wedding or something. “That’s just for you.”
It makes Chenle blush. He’s blaming it on the alcohol. “You called Jeno cutie three days ago.”
“Aiya, you were keeping track?” Jaemin teases. “That was Jeno, it’s different.”
“What about Mark?”
“Mark's my baby,” Jaemin dismisses. “I raised him from birth.”
Chenle hums, amused. “And Donghyuck?”
Jaemin stops moving, smile slipping off of his face. “Donghyuck? When have I ever—” He cuts himself off when he realises Chenle’s about to burst out laughing, tipping forward into Jaemin’s chest. Chenle can’t see his face like this, but the smile creeping back in his voice is clear as day. “You almost had me there.”
They sway to the music in silence for a few moments, music threading through all around them, Chenle’s brain all fuzzy from allowing himself to be this close to Jaemin without a proper excuse. There was some level of plausible deniability in the hotel room, on the ice, even in the library.
But this? This is all him.
“Tell me what you promised you were going to,” Chenle says. “Why you didn’t try to talk to me, after.”
Jaemin hesitates. They’ve completely stopped any pretense at dancing now, standing still in one spot while bodies move around them. “You don’t know what it was like,” he finally starts. “The pressure. Don’t get me wrong, I love the city, I love my team, and Mark, but it was getting to be too much to handle.”
“Too much,” Chenle repeats, confused. This isn’t what he asked to hear and he wants to protest, but if Jaemin deems it important enough to lead with, then he'll listen. He can't promise any advice given while several shots deep will hold much weight, but he'll listen. “What d'you mean?”
Jaemin’s hand settles on the back of his neck.
“There’s a reason most people don’t like playing in Toronto. The media is—” He laughs, but there’s no joy in it. It sounds wrong. “They’re a lot, to say the least. You make one mistake and they jump down your throat, turn public opinion on you, say something nasty about your work ethic. They don’t care about what you do right if they view you as a disappointment in some way.”
Chenle lets him talk, crowding in closer. Jaemin’s other hand slips under his shirt in the back, plays with the chain at his hips, making him shiver at the light brush of fingers.
“And trust me, they viewed me as a disappointment. Mark was drafted a year after me but got called up a few months in, and now he’s playing on Tavares’ line when I couldn’t even make it out of the minors in two years—”
“Wait,” Chenle cuts him off, frowning. “That’s normal, though.”
Jaemin thinking anything other than the world of himself feels wrong. He’s supposed to be a force of nature, cocky and talented and so, so sure of himself that it drives Chenle crazy as much as it settles him down. Even through the haze of liquor in his veins, he finds the words to protest with.
“You do realise most players don’t make it to the NHL until years after they’re drafted, and some never do, right? It’s you, though, so I also know it’s different, you have to be the best. But it’s okay, hyung. It’s okay that you haven’t done it yet, because— you will. I know you will. You can do whatever you want, I know— I know you, too,” Chenle finishes, somewhat lamely.
Jaemin watches him fumble, two fingers slipping underneath the edge of his neck choker, tugging. “Thank you, kitty,” he says, low.
Chenle swallows. “Do you believe me?”
“I believe you.” He sounds like he means it. Chenle swallows again and Jaemin’s eyes drop to his neck, fingers still pulling lightly, a hint of a suggestion.
Chenle tips his head back the slightest amount, just enough to give Jaemin more room to work. He tells himself it’s only until Jaemin starts talking again, starts telling Chenle what he asked to hear, but it’s worth it for the way Jaemin’s eyes snap back up to meet his.
It finally registers just how close together they are pressed together like this, the focused slant of Jaemin’s eyes. The rest of the world dematerialises.
Flashing club lights, thumping music that sounds like something straight out of a Fast & Furious movie, the stupid ever-present smoke obscuring his vision, and stale smell of cheap beer— all of it fades into the background, greyscale in its unimportance. Chenle’s whole existence can be boiled down to the dry warmth of Jaemin’s hand on his neck, the searing heat of Jaemin’s other hand on his back, how prickly his skin feels where Jaemin’s eyes sweep over every centimeter of his face, the fullness of lips barely half a breath away from his own.
Jaemin is going to kiss him. Chenle would bet his wife and house on it, if he had either of the two.
“Yooooo, Nana!” Mark pops up out of nowhere. Chenle startles, would’ve stumbled back if not for Jaemin’s hands keeping him locked in place.
“Hi, Markie,” Jaemin says. His thumb presses harder into the small of Chenle’s back, the other leaves the choker to dig into a knot in his neck. Ohhh fuck. “What’s up?”
“I’m—” Mark hiccups twice, then forges ahead, “I think I need to go, man.”
“Right now?”
“Umm, I think so.”
Jaemin’s eyes slip closed for a second, almost frustrated. “Fine,” he sighs after a pause. “Go say goodnight to your boyfriends and then I’ll take you home. I have to talk to Chenle first.”
Mark’s eyes widen. He doesn’t even protest the boyfriend comment, less than sober. “No, no! You don’t have to take me!”
“Mark, what— I brought you here, I’m not just going to abandon you.”
“Ah,” Mark says, tugging at his collar. “You see. About that…”
This doesn’t sound like it’s going his way. Chenle had been mere seconds away from kissing the actual love of his life, again, and from what little attention he’s paying to the conversation it sounds like Jaemin is about to leave him, again.
He so cannot cope with this right now— better to leave first rather than look pathetic or desperate, two things that he definitely might be.
Using the grip Jaemin has on him, he leans in closer. “This was fun, hmm? But if you’re leaving, I’m going back to the bar. I still have to learn the pretty bartender’s name.” Chenle makes sure it’s only loud enough to be heard by Jaemin through the music. He pats Jaemin’s shoulder. “I’ll find you tomorrow, you can tell me then.”
Chenle does stumble a bit after pulling away without the anchor of Jaemin’s hands keeping him in place, turning to head to the bar to do just that. Praying he can thread through the packed crowd without Jaemin’s help this time.
He doesn’t make it far.
Jaemin pulls him back by the waist, bodies now aligned from chest to thigh, Chenle’s back to Jaemin’s front, Mark long forgotten. One of Jaemin’s big hands splays out across his stomach; the other flexes on his hip in a tight grip. No room to give even if he wanted to get away.
Chenle tilts his head back to look sideways at Jaemin, almost blind with the shockwave of sudden arousal— which in hindsight does not help how dizzy he is.
Jaemin gives Chenle a look so incendiary that he’s surprised his eyebrows don’t burn off from the sheer heat of it. “We’re not done yet, you’re not going anywhere,” he murmurs, lips brushing the sensitive skin of Chenle’s ear, nose pressed hotly into his temple. “Be a good kitty for me and stay.” Then, to Mark, “What do you mean?”
It’s telling how drunk Mark is that he doesn’t even bat an eye. Or he’s just used to Jaemin, which is also a distinct possibility.
Sober-Chenle would feel a little bit of irrational jealousy at that, maybe a tiny amount of indignance, but Drunk-Chenle’s brain fizzled out of his ears right around the exact moment that Jaemin put his hands on his waist. The lights are on in his head but no one’s home.
“Okay, so like you know how I’ve been talking with Jeno and Donghyuck? Constantly?”
“Mhm, I’m aware,” Jaemin drawls.
“So, turns out they kind of like me? Like, romantically? And want me to go back to their place?”
Chenle’s body vibrates with secondhand laughter transmitted through where they’re pressed together. He vaguely hears Jaemin say something faux-incredulous in return. Mark talks a lot, from what Chenle can tell after exactly two meetings with the man himself, but right now he can’t understand any more words coming out of either his or Jaemin’s mouth.
Not when Jaemin is steadily rubbing nonsensical patterns into Chenle’s abdomen through his shirt, resting his head against Chenle’s temple, humming in response to everything Mark says. They’re around the same height but the way Jaemin makes himself fit against Chenle’s back awakens something primal in his brain, something irrational and hot. Sometime near the end of Mark’s rant, Jaemin tucks a hand underneath the hem of his shirt, strokes lightly across Chenle’s ribs, thumbing along the chain. Presses his fingers in between each divot, holds him there firm and steady on the off chance that he tries to run away again.
Chenle swallows back an involuntary whimper, feeling more than hearing Jaemin’s breath stutter in return.
“Sounds like you’ve got your hands full,” Jaemin says. Chenle’s a tiny bit gratified to hear an undertone of gravel leak through, proof that it’s not just him who feels out of his mind right now.
“Uh, yeah. You too,” Mark blurts out, eyes finally fixed on where Jaemin is feeling Chenle up in public. Jesus god, if Chenle remembers any of this tomorrow he won’t be able to look Mark in the eye. “But I’ll see you tomorrow, then?
“Be safeee, Markie,” Jaemin sings. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
Mark blushes as he claps Jaemin on the shoulder, disappearing into the crowd in search of Jeno and Donghyuck. The sudden absence of his presence leaves Chenle reeling. All alone with Jaemin, no clue whatsoever as to what happens now. As long as it involves kissing in some shape or form, he’s so down. His heart is thumping so violently it might break through his rib cage and flop onto the dance floor right in front of them.
“And then there were two,” Jaemin whispers. Too loud to technically be called a whisper, but his mouth is on Chenle’s ear and he can’t think of anything else other than the fucking tease of his words, his hands, the hint against his ass of what feels like—
Chenle has to kiss him. “I have to kiss you.” Okay, no brain-to-mouth filter. Got it.
Jaemin sucks in a breath. “Not here, baby.”
Right, Jaemin’s kind of mildly famous, even if no one in this club gives a fuck about who he is, and they shouldn’t be kissing in the middle of a crowd anyway. Looking around, Chenle spots a door leading into some kind of employees-only area. He detaches himself from Jaemin’s grip, makes a beeline for the door through the crush of people with Jaemin’s wrist in his own grip this time. Not turning around to look at him, or else he might tug him down onto the ground in front of the entire seedy nightlife population.
Chenle pulls out one of the pins Renjun stuck in his shirt and jams it in the door’s lock. It misses the mark once, twice. Hendery taught him how to do this last year with wild eyes and out of character patience, then refused to answer any questions about where he learned himself. It pays off now even with Chenle’s admitted lack of coordination, the lock mechanics clicking promisingly on his third try.
Jaemin re-plasters himself to Chenle’s back while he works, hands running a distracting pattern up and down his sides, but the second Chenle gets the door unlocked he’s the one shoving Jaemin through. A light flickers in the tiny corridor, the equivalent of a television advertisement for murder, and more than a few cigarette butts are scattered on the floor. Obscene graffiti litters the opposite wall in multiple languages.
None of that matters as Chenle kicks the door shut behind him, pushes Jaemin up against the closest wall and finally, finally fucking kisses him.
It’s everything and nothing like Chenle remembers.
Their kiss from before the draft wasn’t like this. Maybe it’s due to the way time has wiped away all intricacies, but all Chenle has from that moment is a half-formed memory of sweat pooling on his neck and Jaemin’s cracked lips moving brokenly against his, their combined inexperience all too palpable.
All of that goes out the door the second Jaemin’s lips touch his. Overpowering heat and steady precision, quite frankly too much precision for the amount of alcohol he assumes Jaemin has already had tonight, the entirety of Jaemin’s attention laser-focused on driving him out of his damn mind. Fuck, Chenle doesn’t let any of the people that he’s slept with kiss him, hasn’t been kissed in over two years now— his own inexperience is just like that night but he barely even notices, swept up in the riptide of Jaemin’s lips, his tongue, his teeth.
Jaemin tastes like sugar, like comfort, smells like green apple shampoo and clean cologne and something darker. A hint of rich aftershave that probably costs a ridiculous amount of money, way overpriced under the guise of luxury. It also probably says something about Chenle that the fact just turns him on more. His hips snap up against Jaemin’s, unconscious, and Jaemin’s breath comes faster where it washes over Chenle’s face.
“Shit, Chenle,” Jaemin whispers against Chenle’s lips. “Chenle-yah—”
Chenle lets out a half-moan into the kiss, unbidden, so on board with Jaemin saying his name while kissing him like it’s their last night on earth, but it jolts Jaemin out of whatever reverie he’d been in. Cupping his face with two large, warm hands, Jaemin tries to temper the kiss into something slower, softer. Chenle isn’t having it. He whines, another high-pitched noise of displeasure this time, pitching forward even closer even with no room left between them.
“Wait, hold on—” Jaemin tries again, pulling away slightly.
“Shut up,” Chenle orders, going back in for the kill.
He turns the kiss back rough, wet, too much spit and tongue as he fights for coordination through the cloud in his mind. Nothing could make him give this up right now, not even the way the world tilts alarmingly on its axis. Jaemin’s tongue in his mouth is the most potent drug on the market, and Chenle wants more, more.
Jaemin softens the kiss again, making it chaste. Chenle has half a mind to hiss against his mouth like the cat Jaemin always accuses him of being.
“Kitty, baby,” Jaemin whispers, pressing short kiss after short kiss on his lips. “Darling, we need to talk about this. You wanted to know why—”
There’s zero chance that Chenle is about to let that happen right now, despite what information he may or may not have wanted earlier. He bites Jaemin’s lower lip hard, drawing out a sharp noise that lets him lick his way back into Jaemin’s mouth. “No more talking,” he insists. “Just kiss me.”
“Chenle,” Jaemin groans, giving in as if he can’t help it before pulling away again. “Listen to me.”
“What happened to ‘kitty’?” Chenle sneers, tugging on Jaemin’s shirt. He switches tactics, widening his eyes, pouting the smallest amount in a calculated move. “Please, hyung. I really, really want you to kiss me. Don’t you want to?”
If they stop to discuss this, Chenle might come to his senses, and that isn’t a risk he’s willing to take right now. Not when Jaemin is closer than he’s been in two years. Not when he has Jaemin right where he wants him. Fuck, he wants every chance he has at remembering every detail of this tomorrow. Wants to commit Jaemin to memory so when Jaemin inevitably leaves him again, Chenle will always have the warmth of his mouth against his own.
“Do you not want me?” Low blow, maybe, but a genuine question all the same.
It only takes mere seconds of hesitation, Jaemin’s eyes searching Chenle’s face, the way he’s pleading with Jaemin to just shut up and take what’s being offered, before Chenle feels Jaemin nod—feels him give in—and then his world turns upside down again.
Jaemin drops one of the hands on Chenle’s face to his waist instead, shoves him forward as he reconnects their lips. Walking him backward blindly until Chenle hits the graffitied wall hard. Before his head can snap back against the concrete, Jaemin cradles the back of it, lacing fingers in his hair to tilt him up for an easier slide of a kiss. Body firm against Chenle’s, so different than the gangly teenager of a few years ago, muscley and toned in ways Chenle can only dream of himself.
He tries to drink in everything that Jaemin’s changed, everything that he missed over the years. Healthier hair that feels so soft between his fingers, a beautiful mole Chenle forgot about until his nose bumps up against it, the freckles that only come out when the murder-light hits Jaemin just right.
Jaemin doesn’t give Chenle a chance to get used to the rhythm, to feel like Chenle’s doing anything other than floundering in his arms, against his lips, under his teeth. Breaking off every few seconds to press a kiss onto the corner of his lips, then the bridge of his nose, his cheeks, between his eyebrows.
“God, your mouth,” Jaemin whispers against his brow. “You don’t even know—”
Heat spreads up Chenle’s neck and across his cheekbones at the way Jaemin is treating him. Like something precious, special. Something more than just a rushed makeout session in the employee hallway of a packed club. He tugs him down for another kiss, frantic. Needing to taste him.
Jaemin’s tongue is soft even with the sheer amount of teeth he uses, biting and sucking and licking and kissing until Chenle’s mouth gets sore, lips tingly, bruised, and then keeps kissing him after that, again and again.
No amount of rational thinking is enough to make him give this up. The consequences of his own actions can come later. Gasping into Jaemin’s mouth, Jaemin kisses him deeper.
Somewhere further down the hallway, a loud noise clatters. Someone dropping a cup or breaking a window, or maybe a zombie invasion— could be anything with how little attention Chenle is paying right now.
Jaemin stops anyway, pulls back just enough to have room to speak. “Come home with me,” he says, breathing hard. He thumbs at Chenle’s swollen bottom lip, shot to hell. “We need to talk.”
His voice is halfway wrecked. Chenle knows the feeling— his own brain is wrecked, he can’t string together two thoughts for the life of him. Footsteps sound in the distance, likely someone coming to investigate the noise. Their time is running out. Chenle has a decision to make, something that seems further and further away from the realm of possibility the longer he stares at Jaemin’s earnest, unblinking face.
“Chenle,” Jaemin tries again when Chenle doesn’t answer. “Kitty.”
Footsteps sound closer this time, like the culprit is right around the corner, and the gravity of the situation finally clicks into place.
Chenle panics. He doesn’t even bother saying goodbye, or sorry, I’m sorry, or please run after me and make me stay.
He just leaves.
Leaves Jaemin standing in the hallway, confused, kiss-bitten, hand outstretched but not quick enough to catch him. Barreling back through the door where he picked the lock earlier, out into a massive crush of bodies, weaving through the crowd until he finds a familiar face.
“Renjun. Renjun,” Chenle urges, pulling his friend away from a giggly Jungwoo. “We have to go.”
Renjun frowns, looking worried. Pushing Chenle’s hair out of his eyes, he scans Chenle’s body as if it might tell him something. “Are you okay? Are you drunk?” Renjun’s eyes narrow in on Chenle’s disheveled state, his wrinkled shirt. His obviously fucked up lower lip. “Where’s Jaemin?”
“Let’s go, gege,” Chenle says, half-pleading. “I want to go home.”
Extremely out of character, but maybe that’s the reason Renjun gives in so quickly, bidding the team goodbye and not asking any more questions. He clings to Renjun the entire way out of the club and through the streets, and Renjun lets him curl into his side on the train ride home. Chenle closes his eyes and tries not to think.
-
Saturday morning finds Chenle with the hangover from the lowest, darkest pits of hell.
He proceeds to lock himself in his room, cutting off contact with anyone and everyone. Life experience and college hockey have taught him that the best solution to a hangover is to chase it away by getting as day-drunk as he can manage. Today’s materials? Half a fifth of vodka and a suspiciously smelling old bottle of sake from the back of his sad excuse of a liquor cabinet, as well as one disgusting watermelon buzzball. There’s no practice today and an early afternoon skate tomorrow, so Chenle has enough time to recover and contemplate his existence before he has to be a person again.
Renjun tries calling him a few times around noon, but Chenle is well and truly sloshed by then and doesn’t answer, shooting off a quick text instead. The last thing he needs right now is more judgment— he’s got enough of that in spades inside his own head.
What the fuck was he thinking?
Actually… Chenle knows what he was thinking. That Jaemin had been staring at him all night, that he’d been staring right back, that Jaemin had looked so beautiful under shitty strobe lights and through Chenle’s drunk goggles that turned everything rose-tinted. That he didn’t really need the excuse of being drunk to find Jaemin beautiful, or to want to kiss him, and that there was nothing in the world that could’ve kept them apart after Jaemin put his hands on Chenle’s body.
The more appropriate question is what the fuck is he going to do now? What Jaemin said at the club, right before Chenle basically threw himself at him, has been rattling around in his head all morning. If he had been sober, he could’ve handled the situation better, could’ve stopped himself from ruining their friendship all because he couldn’t keep his own tongue in his mouth.
Chenle downs a sip of sake, cures himself of a hiccuping fit by holding his breath until his face turns bright red, and grabs his clunky old laptop that his mom got him several years ago. After a few clumsy tries, he gets his password right, pulling up two different search engines, four hockey news-related websites, and the homepage to YouTube. Dimming the brightness to something that won’t assault his strained eyes.
Fuck, he’s really doing this. For two years, he avoided any mention of Jaemin or Toronto, even going as far as to mute his name on social media and no longer watch NHL games in his free time. There was just too high a chance that a commentator would say something offhand and Chenle would be catapulted back to sticky summers spent at the rink with Jaemin, autumn nights spent slacking off on homework in favor of playing video games until well after midnight while Jisung slept on the floor next to them.
Taking a deep breath, he starts with a simple Google search. Naver would probably work, but given how little the country cares about hockey, Google is his best bet.
Na Jaemin, marital status: single, August Leo, number thirteen for the Toronto Marlies, drafted 15th overall in 2020 by the Toronto Maple Leafs. Never played a game in the NHL outside of the pre-season, not a whole lot of points in the AHL, good puck-handling skills but… a general disappointment?
Frowning, Chenle clicks the article with those two words in the headline. The stupid spinny wheel goes around and around. Chenle jiggles his leg, waiting for the high-quality translator service that he pays a considerable amount of money for to run through the whole page. General disappointment. He might have to take out a hit on whatever reporter had the damn nerve—
The page loads. It’s pretty cut-and-dry, mostly about how the Leafs used their first round pick on a player who already ‘abandoned’ the team after only a couple seasons in the minors, not even allowing himself the chance to crack the roster.
Chenle scrolls further, clicks one of the related articles linked underneath. Waits a few more minutes for it to process, stomach churning.
This one goes further in depth on the muddy legality of Jaemin playing for a college team after signing a two-way contract and playing in the minors, how the NCAA bans situations like these from happening, how it’s unfair to players both in Chenle’s league as well as players in university leagues outside of the country.
The information is pretty much the exact thing Jaemin told him a handful of months ago, standing outside the tiny rink at sunset, except Jaemin had put such a positive spin on it that it was almost infectious, impossible to see in any other light. This article doesn’t paint it in another light— it drenches it in pitch black paint and a scarlet A and slaps it on the internet for everyone to see.
Chenle takes another large ass gulp of the out-of-date sake and clicks onto the next link, then the next one.
Jaemin’s less than stellar point totals in the AHL. How he didn’t get called up alongside Mark even though Mark was drafted after him. How Jaemin got drafted higher than Mark but was performing worse. How something seemed to be missing from his game over the last two seasons that wasn’t missing when he played in high school. How Jaemin’s situation is a grey area in the CBA, how it isn’t fair, how the commissioner should step in and terminate Jaemin’s rights for the good of the organisation and the NHL in general.
Article after article, Chenle waits for the translation to load, seething in silence. When he gets too angry, he switches to YouTube instead.
All postgame interviews and intermission panel clips are entirely in English, the talking too fast and too Canadian even for Chenle’s adept language skills to firmly grasp. Finally, he stumbles on one sports report of two ugly-looking men with a transcript attached that he feeds through his translator service, then clicks on the video to play alongside as he reads.
The first man starts quacking away in a voice like he swallowed a toy car. Chenle wants to throw up.
Na was told in no explicit terms that he’d be playing in the NHL this season and he gave all that up to what, chase a little college dream? Play a little shinny against players so far beneath him that it’s almost laughable? If he’d stayed to develop down in the A, he wouldn’t need that college degree to get a job when he can be playing professional hockey for the next one or two decades. He gave up the NHL, man, to go play in a country without even a semblance of a professional league.
The second man chimes in.
I hear you loud and clear. South Korea’s U-League is an F-List organisation that barely passes as a functioning university league at this point. Their playoffs aren’t even strictly against college teams, for crying out loud! Practically anyone can join as long as they have the numbers and the equipment. It’s a farce.
True! I didn’t even know they had a league until Na announced he was leaving. Not one NHL player has ever come out of their mediocre little league, compared to the high pedigree of the NCAA or even some leagues in Canada and Europe. College hockey doesn’t really matter outside of those markets.
What if he can’t rise back even to the bare minimum level he was in the A after a year off, Jeff?
Well I’ll tell you one thing, Timmy, he won’t ever make it to the NHL if he keeps this up. He might not even make it back to the AHL. We haven’t considered what’ll happen if he stays in South Korea longer than just one season.
Toronto will have lost yet another first-round draft pick for absolutely nothing. They should trade Na’s rights away while they still have the chance; at least they could get some sort of return instead of more disappointment. Speaking of first-round prospects, at least Mark Lee is still killing it on the Leafs and not being led astray by his best buddy. Drafted last year but already made it to the show, just like Matthews. Too bad about that injury, though, but he’s only week-to-week. He should be back soon.
Actually, I saw on Twitter that a fan spotted Lee at Pearson Airport waiting for a flight to Seoul a couple of days ago. Could trouble be brewing in Toronto?
I knew it! I told you, Na’s a bad influence. He’s going to drag the team down, including Lee. I’ll say it again, just trade him already while they still have his exclusive rights. Need I remind you what will happen once the deal expires? He contributes nothing —
Chenle exits out of the tab, sick to his stomach. These lowlife assholes are laying into Jaemin for no fucking reason, spreading lies, making up rumours, inciting panic— because of Chenle?
Jaemin came to Seoul to play with him, and now all of the Toronto media thinks he’s a waste of time, space, and money. Chenle is ruining Jaemin‘s life just by existing. Jaemin gave up hundreds of thousands of dollars and a professional career for a chance to play by his side again, all because Chenle didn’t follow him to the NHL like originally planned, excluding all outside factors.
If he confesses to Jaemin that he’s in love with him—that he never fell out of love with him—and Jaemin responds positively, which is a bit of a leap in and of itself, Jaemin might not want to go back to Toronto. Or, worse, he’ll still go back at the end of the season anyway and break Chenle’s heart, even if that’s what Chenle should want for him. He’ll be thousands of kilometers away (again) and Chenle will be alone (again).
And by the smallest, slightest chance that Jaemin would agree to go back to Canada but still want to be with Chenle, that wouldn’t work either. Some people in the world might be built for long distance but Chenle isn’t one of them.
There’s no magic solution, no best case outcome where he ends up happy.
He has to let Jaemin go.
Shit fuck damn fuck shit shit. Chenle runs through every curse word that he knows in his head, first in Mandarin and Korean, then English, then the few German words that Yangyang taught him. Scheiße. He has to set boundaries between them, revert back to the way they were before the kiss— fuck, the kiss. He’ll never get to kiss Jaemin again.
There’s still enough time left in the day to drink more while hashing out a plan to ruin his own life. Both the Renjun and the Jisung in his head chastise him for his decision, but Chenle ignores them. Jaemin texts him later in the afternoon. Deleting the message without even reading it is the only course of action, or else Chenle will break his newly formed ignore-Jaemin plan before he even has a chance to execute it.
-
The next day, Chenle nurses yet another hangover while putting his plan into motion. He walks into practice with his pounding head held high, fully ready to let Jaemin go. Ready to avoid Jaemin, to put some distance between them again so they can go back to being normal friends. Ready to let Jaemin leave at the end of the season so he can keep kicking ass at what he does best.
Chenle is a level-headed, well-adjusted adult. He can do this.
Everything is as it should be.
And then fifteen seconds pass by after he walks in and he makes eye contact with a moody Jaemin already on the ice. Jaemin’s eyes widen and his stick falls loose by his side, completely missing a pass that Renjun sends his way as he skates forward, looking like he’s fully intent on coming over to where Chenle stands, turned to stone.
Fuck. He can’t do this. He was lying to himself so bad.
Chenle turns around and walks out of the arena, blowing off a confused Mark on his way out. ‘Walks’ is a loose term, because acknowledging that he’s running away with his tail between his legs is too much to ask of his brain right now. It’s a tactical retreat. That’s what Chenle repeats to himself as a mantra on the ten minute walk to Jisung’s dorm, hockey bag still unopened and slung over his shoulder.
“I can’t do this,” Chenle says, barreling past Jisung as soon as he opens the door.
Jisung rubs his eyes, yawning exaggeratedly. “Hello to you too.” He looks at his wrist where a watch would be, but isn’t. “Do you know what time it is?”
“It’s like two in the afternoon, how were you still asleep?”
“Stayed up studying for finals until really late,” Jisung sighs. “They start tomorrow, remember?”
“That’s the least of my worries right now,” Chenle dismisses.
Jisung raises his eyebrows. “Really,” he says, dubious. “Because if I remember correctly—”
“Ask me about the club,” Chenle orders, flopping face-first onto Jisung’s bed.
Jisung settles in beside him, places a hand on Chenle’s shoulder. “How was the club?”
“Terrible. Awful. Amazing. I kissed your brother and then ran away.”
“I knew it,” Jisung says. Chenle raises his head, suspicious. “I knew something happened. He’s been bugging me to ask you why you haven’t texted him back.”
“Wow, and you didn’t? Thank you.”
“Well,” Jisung says, scratching his head. “I kind of just forgot, to be honest?”
Chenle giggles hysterically, rolling onto his back. He opens his arms for Jisung to join him, which Jisung flat out refuses, so cuddling one of Jisung’s stuffed animals will have to do for now. The medium-sized red panda looks inviting. Chenle grabs it and buries his face into the belly.
“I don’t know what to do now.” His voice comes out muffled through the plushie. “I have to avoid him until he goes back to Canada, but I don’t know if I have the willpower for that.”
“Avoid him? Why can’t you just tell him how you feel?” Jisung asks, confused.
Chenle groans. “Because I just can’t. It’s a long story. The fate of the nation rests on my shoulders.”
“Uh-huh,” Jisung says. “I definitely believe that.” He gets off the bed with one last pat to Chenle’s shoulder, padding over to the rice cooker. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”
Chenle’s head pokes up. “Really, I’m not kidding. Not even our nation! Another one!” Then, seeing Jisung fiddling with the rice, “Wait, can you make me some? My stomach feels like it’s eating itself.”
Jisung rolls his eyes (Chenle can just tell, even when his back is turned) but sighs, digging out some more rice to add. “If you want someone to cook for you, you’re asking the wrong brother.”
“Arrrggh,” Chenle says out loud, flopping back onto Jisung’s bed. “No more Jaemin talk. The fate of the nation, remember?”
“Ah, right.” Jisung indulges him. “How could I forget.”
They fill up on rice and graham crackers, a true college student’s feast. Studying is so far removed from being Chenle’s forte but he enlists Jisung’s help just this once, knowing he has his first two finals in the morning, and he’s able to push The Jaemin Situation™ out of his head at least for tonight.
It’s not easy, per se, to avoid Jaemin once Chenle puts his mind to it, but it isn’t as awful as he had been expecting. He doesn’t block Jaemin’s number, but doesn’t open any of the volley of messages Jaemin sends him over the next few days either. Finals are a good excuse for him to retreat into a tiny little introverted turtle shell, running away from any and all social interaction other than with Jisung. He has five exams in total, all scattered throughout the week.
Mark is due to go back home on the second day of finals. Jeno and Donghyuck are taking him out with the rest of the team, but Chenle knows Jaemin will be there and begs off.
He’ll see Mark again someday. Maybe.
Chenle crushes his Macroeconomics final (and gets a C+ in Principles of Marketing, but who’s counting?) on the morning of their last game against Yonsei before break. Doyoung rents a few hotel rooms like normal and Chenle clings onto Jungwoo as if handcuffed together, dragging him away to share a room again. Making sure to latch the security chain before Jaemin can find his way inside, only with a few seconds to spare. Jaemin keeps knocking as they settle down to take a nap, but Chenle dodges all of Jungwoo’s questions until he eventually stops.
Jaemin is fucking determined. He tries to corner Chenle in the locker room before the game twice, but Chenle sinks his talons into Jungwoo again, making excuse after excuse before disappearing with him.
“You know, he’s gonna start thinking we’re sleeping together if you keep this up,” Jungwoo says conversationally, leaning back against the wall in the janitor’s closet Chenle pulled him into. A mop rests by his head that looks like it’s seen better days.
“Please don’t say that to me right now,” Chenle mutters, poking his head out of the door in time to catch Jaemin leaving the locker room in full gear, looking around with a frown on his face. “Coast is almost clear, we can leave in a little bit.”
“So dramatic. Can I go put my pads on now, or do you need Jaemin out of the building first?”
“Pragmatic, not dramatic.”
“It’s adorable that you think that, but you can’t avoid him forever,” Jungwoo says unhelpfully. “You’re on the same line.”
Admittedly, he has a point, but it’s not like Chenle can just walk up to Doyoung and ask to be taken off of Jaemin’s line for no reason. The man would laugh in his face. And the only other option is giving in and talking to him about it, which is so not a smart decision. Chenle would get around three to four words out before climbing on top of Jaemin and licking his jawline.
It’s enticing. Chenle banishes the fantasy to the back of his mind.
They still perform like magic once Chenle steps on the ice a bit later, Jaemin notching two goals off of set plays, both from Chenle. The first time the puck hits the back of the net, Jaemin slams into the boards and shoots him a heartbreaking smile— quickly dimming as soon as Chenle doesn’t reciprocate.
He could be scoring even more in the NHL, Chenle thinks, and makes a conscious effort not to smile back, skating off to go celebrate with Renjun instead.
He leaves the ice as soon as the game ends, the rest of the team still celebrating while he’s pulling off his pads. Furiously unlacing his skates and shoving his gear into his bag, almost giving himself whiplash with how fast he changes clothes.
“Chenle.”
“Shit,” Chenle hisses. He didn’t hear Jaemin come in, too caught up in tugging his sweatshirt on. “Um.”
“Why won’t you talk to me?” Jaemin asks, helmet hanging loosely by his side.
The man got two goals tonight and still looks like the team bus ran over his grandmother. Chenle can’t be that important to him, he probably just feels slighted that Chenle didn’t fall all over himself at the chance to be another notch on his bedpost. Or, worse, Chenle’s lying to himself and avoiding him is actually causing Jaemin pain. Both options leave a bad taste on his tongue.
“What’s there to talk about?”
Jaemin stares. “Are you kidding me?”
“No,” Chenle says, edging closer to the door with only his tote bag slung over one shoulder. If he abandons the rest of his hockey gear here instead of putting it away, he’ll be more aerodynamic in getting away from Jaemin. He makes a note to text Donghyuck later and bribe him into cleaning it up.
“You kissed me and then ran away.”
“Technically we kissed each other,” Chenle points out, then makes a mad dash out of the locker room past a bewildered Jeno coming off the ice.
Jaemin must have changed into normal clothes just as fast as Chenle did, as he’s barely out of the rink parking lot before Jaemin’s cryptid-like figure appears outside, running after him. Following Chenle all the way to Jisung’s dorm room, despite Chenle putting in his airpods (already his third pair in two years) to drown out any attempt at talking and running across campus faster than his legs allow him to on a normal day.
“You really do have to talk to him sometime,” Jisung says, bodily shoving Jaemin out of his room per Chenle’s telepathic request, ignoring Jaemin’s whines about being a blood traitor. God, he loves Jisung.
Jaemin still hasn’t given up, knocking different rhythms on the heavy wooden door that come through muffled just like at the hotel. The noise complaints leveled against Jisung tomorrow are about to be crazy.
“You’re just saying that ‘cause he’s your brother.”
“No, I’m saying it because you’re an idiot if you think you can dodge him for the rest of the season.”
Jungwoo tried telling him the same thing. Chenle isn’t listening. “Watch me,” he says, panting from all the running.
Jisung flicks his nose. “Whatever. Want to put on a movie while we pretend to study?”
Chenle nods, grateful. Still out of breath. “Please.”
-
Chenle speeds through his Financial Management exam with ease, his last final of the week before he’s finally free. The team doesn’t play again until January, but Doyoung sent out a text about a mandatory skate to be held Friday morning after everyone finishes their respective finals, a last goodbye before winter break starts the next day.
There’s no way Chenle is about to go, consequences be damned. Doyoung let him off the hook the last time he skipped practice with some lame excuse about needing to study, but he probably won’t be as lenient this time. Chenle doesn’t really give a fuck, if he’s being honest. Being around Jaemin while Jaemin is giving him the kicked-predator eyes is getting unbearable when all Chenle wants to do is give in.
He can’t give in.
Besides, what’s Doyoung going to do, kick him off the team? No way in a million years.
He’s throwing different shit into suitcases for his flight home tomorrow when there’s a knock at his door. Practice is probably in full swing by now, there’s no possible way it could be Jaemin. Chenle opens the door without checking first.
It’s Jaemin.
Arms crossed, eyebrows furrowed, hair windswept from the walk across campus Jaemin, looking sexy as hell in a jersey thrown over his normal pants.
“You should be at practice,” Chenle blurts out.
Jaemin’s eyebrows draw further together. “So should you.”
Silence falls, and Jaemin keeps staring, focused.
“Riiight,” Chenle says after a handful of seconds. “How about I meet you there?” He tries to close the door before Jaemin can respond, but Jaemin shoves a foot in it.
“Kitty,” Jaemin sighs. “You can’t avoid me forever.”
“Everyone keeps telling me that, but I think I can,” Chenle hisses, shoving uselessly at the door even harder. It doesn’t budge. “Fine,” he relents, opening the door only enough to send Jaemin an unimpressed look. “What.”
“What do you mean what?”
“Do you not know what ‘what’ means?”
“You’ve been ignoring me all week. Ever since we kissed.”
Chenle would rather chug a whole liter of whatever toxic sludge Donghyuck ordered at the bar and then play a full sixty on the ice than have this conversation right now. “Wow, it’s like a role reversal of two years ago.”
Jaemin cracks a faint smile at that, pushing insistently at the door. Chenle doesn’t give in.
“Let me in, Chenle.”
Damn, Chenle really needs to work on his resolve if his plan has any chance of working out. He shuffles back a few steps, allowing Jaemin to slip past the threshold. Watching as Jaemin’s eyes roam over his haphazardly packed suitcase, his shitty laptop half thrown in its case, socks in piles over his floor, finally coming to a stop on Chenle himself.
“Why won’t you talk to me?” Jaemin asks.
“There’s nothing to talk about. We were drunk,” Chenle lies. “It’s okay, I know it didn’t mean anything, so we can just forget about it—”
“I wasn’t.”
Chenle stops. “You weren’t what?”
“Drunk,” Jaemin clarifies. Still staring Chenle down, intense as ever. “Tipsy, sure, but I switched to water halfway through the night. I wasn’t drunk, Chenle. Of course it meant something.”
Mind sputtering like a dying engine, Chenle tries to digest this new information.
It doesn’t change anything. It can’t change anything. Jaemin has to go back to Canada once the season ends, has to leave Chenle behind— anything else would make him feel guilty until the end of time. And for that alone Chenle can’t give in, can’t tell Jaemin how he really feels, even if it meant something. Even if it meant everything.
“That doesn’t matter,” Chenle lies again. Unconvincing to his own ears, so he grasps at more straws. “You wouldn’t even tell me what you promised you would, so there’s really nothing to talk about—”
“I’ll tell you right now,” Jaemin swears. “Just stop running.”
He tries to reach out but Chenle almost leaps out of reach, nauseous. The longer they stand here, the worse chance Chenle has at sticking to his guns. If he lets Jaemin touch him, kiss him, he’ll be ruining Jaemin’s career even further than he already has. Ruining his future too, because there isn’t a chance in hell Chenle will be able to let him go after that.
If sacrificing his own happiness will allow Jaemin to run free and continue to chase his dreams without Chenle trying to hold him back again, then so fucking be it.
“Just—” Chenle stops, tries to think. “I need time.”
It’s a last resort; if Jaemin won’t leave just based on denial alone, then maybe Chenle can turn to stalling. Anything to get Jaemin off of his back long enough to build up some tolerance, grow a backbone. He’s not holding out hope for falling out of love— two years of not speaking couldn’t even accomplish that.
But tolerance? That’s an achievable goal.
Maybe.
Jaemin frowns. “How much time?”
“I don’t know,” Chenle answers honestly. “I’m going to my parents’ house for break. You should go be with Jisung and your own parents, okay? We can talk later.”
It takes a lot of pushing and shoving—some metaphorical, some physical—but Chenle eventually manages to kick Jaemin out of his dorm. The look on Jaemin’s face when he closes the door on it is going to haunt him for the next few weeks. Tolerance is no longer looking like a goal within reach.
-
Winter break is not the much-needed reprieve Chenle had hoped it would be.
He spends the flight to his parent’s house playing Bejeweled in zen mode on his phone, determined not to think about Jaemin. Literally, the entire flight. It works wonders; by the time the plane touches down, he’s reached level forty-three and has only fantasised about Jaemin running after him in the airport and bodily preventing him from getting on the plane two separate times. A mild success, all things considered.
After the initial excitement of seeing his family (and his precious baby dog) again, boredom creeps back in fairly quickly— and with it, thoughts of Jaemin. His parents moved back to China the minute that Chenle started university, meaning he doesn’t have any friends in the area to distract him. Chenle’s mom is happy to see him, but she’s got a vacation planned to another province that she jets off to fairly quickly, dragging his father with her and leaving him alone again.
Not having hockey or school to focus on makes Chenle realise just how much time he really spends in his own head. It only takes a week for him to crack and call Jisung, locked in the privacy of a guest room he’s been staying in.
“I’m going crazy.”
“You’ve been crazy for years, don’t sell yourself short,” Jisung’s voice crackles through, muddled like he’s far away and talking through two tin cans on a string.
“No, really, I think I’m losing it,” Chenle says, flopping onto the bed. “I can’t come back to school. I’m voluntarily admitting myself to a mental ward.”
“Doyoung-hyung would drag you out of the hospital kicking and screaming.” There were some odd shuffling noises right before Jisung’s voice had sounded again, then a hushed whisper right after, tinny and echo-y like—
It clicks. “Oh fuck you, am I on speakerphone?”
Chenle yanks the phone away from his ear and starts smacking the microphone, knows it’ll make an obnoxious noise on the other end. By the time Chenle puts the phone back to his ear, Jisung’s voice is coming through crystal-clear. “No,” he lies. “Of course not.”
“Don’t tell me Jaemin is listening in.”
“Okay. I won’t tell you that.”
“You’re the worstttt,” Chenle groans. “You used to be such a little sweetie, what happened?”
“Please never call me that again,” Jisung deadpans.
“I called my best friend to gossip about his brother and what does he do?” Chenle continues, unbothered. “He lets the subject of all my complaints eavesdrop on a private conversation.”
“You know, when you put it into words like that, there’s this Victoria Justice song that I think you’d actually really like.”
“I will kidnap you and abandon you in a nearby forest.”
There’s a muted “Wow, kinky,” in what is clearly Jaemin’s voice and then Chenle hears shuffling again. Less like speakerphone noise and more like someone’s trying to grab the phone away from a very determined Jisung.
“Make him go away or I swear I’m hanging up,” Chenle threatens, rolling onto his back. Holding one hand above his head to examine his cuticles while waiting for Jisung to do as he’s told.
Jisung’s put-upon sigh is audible. “You say that like it’s an actual threat,” he mutters. Chenle magnanimously chooses to ignore it. Once Jisung confirms that Jaemin has been forced out of his room, he continues, “He misses you, you know. It’s not his fault this time.”
“Why would you say that to me when you know how I feel,” Chenle bemoans. It comes out weak, stomach twisting into knots.
Jaemin misses him. Life-altering information, and yet somehow so right that Chenle doesn’t doubt it for a second. He finally got Jaemin back in his life and now he’s trying to ruin it barely a few months later—for Jaemin’s own good, his brain reminds him—but Jaemin isn’t letting him go this time without a fight. Chenle squeezes his eyes shut, feeling sick. Tolerance. It’s almost laughable.
“Again, he’s literally my brother.”
“What am I, a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of your shoe? Are you going to keep dragging my lifeless body against the dirty sidewalk? Maybe scrape me off in some grass somewhere right next to where a dog took a dump?”
“You only get this annoying when you’re actively trying to avoid something,” Jisung says, long-suffering. “Come on, it won’t kill you to talk about it.”
“You don’t know that,” Chenle mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And you never try to make me talk about my feelings, what the hell— is Jaemin still there? I swear, if he’s still listening—”
Jisung sighs. “Chenle, no. It’s bothering you, so I want to hear it. That’s it.”
He deflates instantly, getting to his feet to pace the room. There isn’t a good place to start.
“Jaemin wasn’t drunk when we kissed,” Chenle word-vomits. “He told me that and I told him I needed time, but I don’t know what I actually need. ‘Cause I don’t know if he likes me-likes me or if he’s just humouring me, but I kept asking him to tell me something, and he wouldn’t tell me and I guess I’m not actually trying that hard, because then he tried to tell me again and I said no— but what if he tells me he doesn’t like me? Or worse, what if he does like me and has feelings for me? We can’t be together or else Canada will hate me. Fate of the nation, remember.”
Jisung is quiet for twenty whole seconds, during which Chenle almost bites through his tongue, pacing the room. “The way your brain operates never ceases to amaze me.”
“Well,” Chenle says. “Thank you. Also I hate you.”
“No, really, how did you come to any of these conclusions? None of that made any sense whatsoever.”
“It made sense.”
“No,” Jisung says. “It did not. First of all, be glad you’re not going into a career where you’d need public speaking as a tool in your professional belt. Second, he definitely likes you. He’s been too insufferable for that to be anything other than true.”
“Fuck,” Chenle whines. “This is so worst case scenario.”
“Let me get this straight.” Jisung’s words are slow. “I just told you my brother—who, might I remind you, you’ve been in love with for as long as I’ve known you—likes you back, and you’re… upset?”
“I already told you,” Chenle insists. He flops down on the bed again to cradle his phone against his ear. “Canada will hate me if we get together. I can’t handle being hated by an entire country. They have access to resources I can only dream of.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“It really does make sense in my head.”
“I’m sure it does,” Jisung replies, peaceable. “But I’m not in your head, thank god, so you’ll have to elaborate.”
Chenle knows he’s just indulging him; this isn’t going anywhere helpful, and there’s still the very distinct possibility that Jaemin might’ve tapped the phone lines and has been listening in the entire time. He wouldn’t put something like that past him.
“Never mind,” Chenle says. “Just— I think I have to go. I can hear my mom calling me.”
“I thought you said she was on vacation?”
“That must’ve been someone else’s mom.”
Jisung starts quietly humming Best Friend’s Brother as he hangs up the phone, and Chenle has to take several deep breaths.
One on hand, Jisung just confirmed-confirmed that Jaemin likes him, fucking score for his past self, damn. On the other— again, nothing has changed. He’s at an impasse, and the only solution is tried and true: keep ignoring it until he physically can’t anymore.
The week of Christmas is a sad affair. His parents are still in Guizhou so he goes shopping for gifts for his friends alone, talking to the random people he meets in different stores. Stumbling down the snowy white streets and looking at all the pretty lights should be therapeutic, but it just leaves him feeling empty and lonely inside once everyone he talks to eventually walks away.
If Jaemin were here and everything was normal, like how it was before he left for Canada, Chenle would be hanging off of him and dragging him down the crowded streets. Pulling him in front of every storefront to ooh and ah at the colorful displays, stealing sips of iced coffee that Jaemin would’ve insisted they stop for despite the frigid weather, running his mouth about the logistics of holiday shopping.
If Jaemin were here, Chenle would have pulled him into an alleyway and kissed him breathless within the first three minutes, normalcy be damned— and therein lies the problem.
Even though he’s smack in the middle of his foolproof ignorance plan, he still buys Jaemin a Christmas gift.
The last department store he visits boasts of a fifty-percent off holiday sale on tacky sweaters, stopping Chenle short. A sweatshirt catches his eye with a cute drawing of a calico cat frolicking in a grassy meadow in the right corner on the front, and a witty pun on the back. So painfully Jaemin that Chenle can’t just walk by without buying it.
It’s perfectly normal and rational to buy a gift for someone he’s not speaking to. And is in love with. And can never be with, not if he really cares about him.
He texts Renjun to get a second opinion, but just gets called an idiot for his troubles. Chenle chooses to interpret it fondly, maybe even lovingly if Renjun’s feeling generous, and purchases the sweatshirt anyway.
Jaemin, to his credit, leaves Chenle alone as desired— for the most part. He sends a dry ‘merry christmas’ message on the morning of, complete with one sad, lonely emoji, no casual flirtation of weeks past to be found. It should feel gratifying that Jaemin respects him enough to give him the time that he asked for. It should feel like a win.
Instead, it feels like Jaemin’s on the verge of slipping through his fingers again, entirely by a design of his own making, and Chenle just wants to scream.
-
Moping around the house only works to make time go by even slower, so Chenle says goodbye to his parents and bumps his flight back to Seoul up a few days.
This time around, he spends the flight convincing himself that he has a handle on his impulse control, that he won’t just run to see Jaemin the minute the plane touches the ground. He won’t go straight to Jaemin’s parents’ house without dumping his stuff back in his dorm room first.
Jisung opens the door to his family’s home, takes one look at him, and rubs his eyes so hard Chenle thinks they might fall out of their sockets and clatter to the ground.
“Of course you came back early without telling anyone,” he says, opening the door wider. “I won’t pretend like you came here for me. He’s upstairs.”
Chenle drags his luggage across the threshold, dropping his wallet and keys into the tin by the door. Easy as clockwork, even if he hasn’t regularly done this since high school. “I could’ve just missed you too much to stand being apart for another three days.”
“He’s been moping around worse than you,” Jisung continues, ignoring him. “Do you know how exhausting it is to have a clingy older brother constantly whining in your ear?”
“No, but I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.”
“Chenle,” Jisung says, grave. “Fix this. And say hello to my parents before you go defile their son.”
“There won’t be any defiling,” Chenle huffs. “I just want to talk.”
“Right, just like how you weren’t trying to get laid at the club with that outfit.”
“You’ve gotten snippier since I’ve been away.” Chenle sticks his tongue out. Before Jisung can retaliate, Chenle gives him the off-ice equivalent of a facewash while he tries furiously to fight him off.
Narrowly escaping death by way of Jisung’s skinny ass arms, Chenle makes a beeline for the kitchen to do as he was told, cackling when Jisung gives up the chase.
Jisung and Jaemin’s childhood home has always been massive. Chenle remembers playing capture the flag in their spacious backyard when he was younger— Jisung would grow bored within fifteen minutes and disappear inside, so Jaemin always ended up letting Chenle win, rubbing his knuckles into Chenle’s head every time Chenle bragged about it.
Their parents are lovely as ever, ecstatic to see him once he reaches the kitchen. He preens under their attention— but at this point, all he wants is to see Jaemin. Every cell in his body is screaming at him to go find him, even though Chenle has no idea what he’s going to say. Bidding them goodbye (and promising he’ll eat more this semester, waving off their mom’s fretting), Chenle carefully tucks the sweatshirt he bought under one arm and heads up the mahogany staircase, heart in his hands, brain nowhere to be found.
The entire range of human emotion passes over Jaemin’s face when he swings the door open and Chenle is standing on the other side.
“Um,” Chenle says. “Hi?”
“So your definition of ‘needing time’ is two weeks,” Jaemin finally says, stepping back so Chenle can come in. He closes the door behind Chenle, leaning back against it. “Nice to know for next time.”
“No, I didn’t come here to talk,” Chenle denies. “I just— brought you a Christmas gift.”
He feels the beginnings of a blush threaten to cross his cheeks, quickly biting down on the inside to focus on the pain instead to ward it off. Jaemin is the only person in the entire world who could make him even the slightest bit embarrassed about anything.
Jaemin raises an eyebrow, eyes darting to the fabric tucked under Chenle’s arm. “You didn’t have to.”
“Well, too late.” Chenle shoves the unwrapped sweatshirt at him, watching as Jaemin inspects it with a soft smile on his face, hands practically burning by his sides as Jaemin tugs it over his head. Itching to reach out and touch.
“Thank you,” Jaemin says once he resurfaces, painfully sincere. “I love it.”
“Great. Bye,” Chenle says, spinning on his heel to try and make his escape.
Jaemin stops him. “I got you something too.” Walking over his desk, he grabs a sleek black box amongst the clutter.
“And you said I didn’t have to get you anything,” Chenle accuses. “While knowing you already had something for me.”
Jaemin turns back around with the box in an outstretched hand, cheeks red. Hair sticking up like someone just ran a hand through it and tugged as hard as they could, and isn’t that a distracting thought. Above all, clothes that Chenle bought him sitting pretty stretched over his broad chest, like he’s Chenle’s Jaemin again.
Like he’s Chenle’s, full stop. This was a terrible idea.
“Kitty?” Jaemin’s face is the picture of innocence, still holding the box out in Chenle’s direction.
Chenle sighs, scrubbing a hand across his eyes. “What is it?”
“Open it and seeee.”
Taking the box from Jaemin’s hands and making sure their fingers don’t touch, Chenle opens it to find—
“What the fuck,” he breathes. “What the actual fuck.”
Inside the box sits the most gorgeous watch Chenle’s ever laid eyes on, be it in person or on the luxury websites he scrolls for fun sometimes during lectures, fantasising about one day being able to afford one on his business degree dime and not just from his family’s money. The face is a beautiful midnight blue with gold hands and a few diamonds, complete with a minuscule clock set in the middle showcasing the crescent moon that currently hangs high in the sky. Small golden stars litter the background.
“It’s a Baume and Mercier.”
“How much did this cost?” Chenle demands, running his fingers along the dark blue alligator band, same matching shade as the face. Damn, it’s a nice timepiece. He shouldn’t even be touching it.
Jaemin shrugs. “Not too much.”
“Jaemin. There are eight diamonds set in the face. It legitimately displays the phases of the moon, like, with pictures. How much?”
“What’s the point of making all that money if I can’t spend it?” Jaemin deflects. Chenle’s heart is still vibrating erratically behind his rib cage, and the way Jaemin smiles doesn’t do anything to stop it, sleazy and proud of himself. “Plus, you said you needed time, so…”
Chenle looks back down at the watch, turns it this way and that way in his hands, fascinated. “God, that was a terrible pun. But fuck, look at this.”
“Hey, your gift had a pun on it too,” Jaemin points out.
“I’m torn between punching you for that cheesy ass line and climbing you like a tree for buying me something this nice.”
He’s not looking at Jaemin when he says it, still caught up in the watch—on top of the eight (eight!) diamonds on the face, there are smaller diamonds encrusted around the rose-gold edges, and Chenle’s always gotten distracted by shiny, pretty things—but he still hears Jaemin’s sharp inhale, still sees him take a step forward out of the corner of his eye.
“Kitty.”
“No,” Chenle says as a pure reflex, eyes still locked on the watch. “I told you I didn’t come here for that.”
This is the most expensive thing he’s ever owned. Jaemin bought it specifically for him and won’t even tell him how much money it cost. The amount of blood in his head is exactly zero blood… units… or whatever. He can’t think. A truly crazy amount of diamonds sitting pretty on his wrist in plain sight, hard evidence of Jaemin’s claim on him. It’s so fucking—
“Then why did you?”
“You expect me to be able to think right now, let alone talk?”
“Chenle.”
“Shhh,” Chenle shushes. “The watch and I are having a moment.”
Jaemin doesn’t protest again at first. When Chenle tears his eyes away from his new favorite thing in existence, the first thing he sees is a satisfied smirk tugging at Jaemin’s lips despite his complaints. Something dark swims just out of reach behind his eyes, a mystery that Chenle wants to step forward and unlock despite the whole reason he’s trying to put some space between them. It takes all of his willpower to crush that want into submission.
“So you like it?”
“Trust me, I like it.”
Jaemin flutters his eyelashes. “Want me to help you put it on?”
Chenle shoots him a sharp look, but Jaemin just chinhands at him to really tie it all together. “…Fine.”
He makes the whole process way more erotic than it needs to be, swiping a thumb over the deepest of Chenle’s veins as he locks the clasp. Turning Chenle’s wrist over delicately so they can both admire the face.
“So,” Jaemin drops his voice. “Is it time for that talk yet?”
“Just—” Chenle bites his lip.
It’s so tempting to give in, but he has to stay strong. He should keep denying it, shut Jaemin down, proclaim friendship as their only future together—if that—but the watch is messing with his head. Jaemin saw it, thought that would look good on Chenle, and spent god knows how much money on it even when Chenle wouldn’t talk to him. Try as he might, he can’t get the words out.
“I just need more time,” he finally settles on.
Jaemin takes a step back but doesn’t let go of him, lightly bringing his wrist up to chest level so the light catches the diamonds. Jesus. “Then I’ll buy you another watch,” Jaemin says in that same low tone.
“Hyung,” Chenle almost whines. “That’s not funny.”
Jaemin’s eyes slide closed, looking for all the world that he’s trying to get a grip on himself. Chenle knows the feeling; who knew watches made him aroused? Or Jaemin buying him things, or just Jaemin in general— that last one is probably the most accurate.
“More time,” he repeats, rolling his shoulders back. Quiet at first, then louder for Chenle’s ears to pick up. “Alright. Fine. For you.”
Chenle’s wrist is warm long after Jaemin releases it and guides him to the door, eyes following him all the way out.
He leaves without saying goodbye to Jisung, goes back to his dorm to dump all of his shit on the floor, and takes the longest shower of his life— only after carefully nestling the watch back in its satin carrier, of course. Once his cheeks are scrubbed red and his hair is sticking out every which way, he searches up the watch online while still wrapped in a towel.
Four million won, give or take a couple hundred thousand. Just give, actually. The international shipping alone must’ve cost a fortune added on.
It takes everything in his willpower not to immediately jerk off wearing it.
That willpower lasts exactly two hours and twenty-nine minutes, which is about two hours and twenty-four minutes longer than Chenle was expecting in the first place. He’s kind of proud of himself.
-
The second semester starts off with more of a whimper than a bang. Chenle’s classes are somehow even tougher this time around. One of his professors looks like she was alive to witness the fall of the Qing Dynasty and has a teaching method so archaic that he’s honestly surprised she made tenure.
At least Donghyuck is in his Statistics lecture with him, though Chenle’s not sure if that’s a blessing or a curse. He’s been moping ever since Mark went back home; there’s a fifty-fifty chance he’ll spend the entire semester whining in Chenle’s ear and copying off of Chenle’s homework.
The playoff grind is in full swing as soon as they play game after game, winning way more than they lose, and Chenle wears the damn watch every single day of his life. During practice and at games, he takes to carrying around a small lockbox in his bag that he got off Gmarket to store it in for safekeeping.
Yeah, it’s that serious.
Jaemin’s face did a funny thing the first time he saw Chenle walk into their first practice back from winter break wearing the watch, and it’s done the same funny thing every time since. Around twenty-five percent of the reason why Chenle does it.
The watch seemed to have opened some sort of floodgate. Jaemin keeps respecting Chenle’s wishes for more time—whatever that means, Chenle doesn’t even know, he truly is just stalling at this point—but he also makes it impossible for Chenle not to think about him.
First, it’s a large coffee waiting outside his door as he’s heading to class, an iced vanilla latte with an ungodly amount of sugar just the way Chenle likes it. Chenle picks it up, inspects it. The ice hasn’t melted in the slightest. Jisung must’ve given Jaemin his class schedule, a fact he only grumbles about a bit while sipping on the coffee. It’s delicious.
Chenle peeks out his door the following morning before class, but there’s nothing waiting for him. He pretends he isn’t disappointed, ignores the pit in his stomach as he waits in a long ass coffee shop line on the ground floor of the Business building. Contemplates texting Jaemin despite himself, but holds strong.
The next day, another coffee rests in a tumbler on his door mat. Chenle almost trips after opening the door, not expecting it and still rubbing sleep out of his eyes. He stares at it for fifteen seconds, not moving a muscle— then makes a split second decision, grabbing his phone, snapping a blurry shot to post to his Instagram story with three fire emojis.
Chenle shoves his phone down deep in the slinky pocket of his basketball shorts. Three hours later, the story has 103 viewers. A coffee waits for him outside every day after that. Chenle tries to tell himself he didn’t play right into Jaemin’s hands.
Next comes the small snacks sitting in his stall before practice, or popping up in his backpack at odd times. Times when he didn’t even notice Jaemin around him planting the gifts. Santa Claus has nothing on a determined Jaemin trying to be sneaky, so he’s not entirely surprised.
It’s mostly small things here and there, cup ramen or special chocolates not sold in the country, nothing on the same scale as the watch that almost never leaves Chenle’s wrist.
The stick ramps it back up.
Yangyang is the first person to see Chenle’s brand new hockey stick, wrapped with a droopy-looking yellow bow and resting up against his stall. No one else has arrived at the rink yet. Chenle came early hoping for another bagel, almost expecting it; instead, he got something way better.
“Wow,” Yangyang says, whistling. “That’s some sugar daddy you’ve got.”
“I don’t have a sugar daddy.” Chenle examines the stick. High-grade optimised carbon fiber, an XE taper, dual carbon bridge in the blade— top of the line, same brand that the professionals use. He feels lightheaded. Jaemin.
“Pretty sure you have a sugar daddy, babe. That’s an expensive ass stick right there.” Yangyang sounds sympathetic as he says it, patting Chenle on the back. “God, I wish that were me.” He peers over Chenle’s shoulder where Chenle is rubbing his thumb against the gift label, a small white tag that reads for my kitty. “Maybe it isn’t for you, ‘cause your name’s not Kitty. But Ten-ge always calls me that so I can just go ahead and take it off your—”
Chenle shoves his wandering hands away. “I’ll legally change my name if it means I get to keep this, don’t think I won’t.” His current stick isn’t faring so well, wasn’t even made that well to begin with. This is so high of an upgrade that it makes him a little nauseous. “Shoo, I’m having a moment here.”
“Just saying.” Yangyang throws his hands up. “If you ever get tired of him, send him my way.”
“That’s not very likely,” Chenle mutters.
The rest of the team starts trickling in one by one, first Jungwoo, Jeno, then Jaemin.
“Nice stick,” Jungwoo exclaims, grabbing it to examine the wrapping. Chenle resists the urge to yank it back. It’s his. Jaemin bought it for him.
The benefactor himself is watching the whole thing from his stall across the room, pretending like he doesn’t care about what’s going on, but Chenle knows better, would be able to pick the feeling of Jaemin’s eyes on him out of a sample size of millions. He’s had enough experience, after all.
“I know,” Chenle says, way too belated.
Jaemin smirks, choosing that exact moment to pull his shirt over his head, the fucking menace.
Listen, Chenle has been in enough locker rooms over the years to know the drill front to back by now. Looking at each other’s bodies or comparing dick sizes is so not okay, no matter how much Donghyuck tries to insist otherwise. His teammates are just that— teammates. A solid, platonic barrier, a firm line drawn in the sand. Gross men in their late teens and early twenties that Chenle has absolutely zero invested interest in. Not even Renjun, who’s so beautiful that Chenle fell flat on his ass on the ice three seconds after meeting him for the first time last year.
But. Jaemin.
Jaemin, who is so obviously taunting him right now with his broad chest, his sharp collarbones. Who bought him the nicest stick on the market, who’s been buying him things to communicate that he’s still here for Chenle despite Chenle’s insistence at pushing him away. Who filled out over the years to the point where his muscles have muscles, almost putting Jeno’s sculpted model frame to shame.
Who’s shamelessly flexing every single one of said muscles in his upper body under Chenle’s blatant, mildly flustered stare.
All of Chenle’s inhibitions got flushed straight down the rink’s toilets the minute he saw the stick for the first time. Pectorals, deltoids, trapezoids, whatever— clenching and rippling in a manner too pointed to pass off as natural. Skin shining in a way that suggests even Jaemin’s sweat is beautiful. Dangerous.
His body looks fantastic in the ugly yellow of their locker room, would look even better lounging on Chenle’s bed in his room, or maybe at a club with tequila dripping down his abdomen and a line of salt resting along the literal valley in between his pecs. Chenle could walk over there right now, push Jaemin down into his stall and straddle him, or drop to his knees in front of everyone and spread Jaemin’s thighs apart, sink his teeth into the soft skin there—
“I’m definitely gonna steal this from you,” Jungwoo asserts, shoving the stick back in Chenle’s hands before turning away. “Better take it with you when you leave.”
Jungwoo’s words work to startle him out of stage four of developing the single-handedly most ill-advised erection on the face of the planet. Chenle can’t even chirp him back before he’s out of earshot, already across the room chattering away to an unsuspecting Renjun.
God, what if poor Jungwoo had seen and thought it was because of him?
Actually he’d probably be flattered and maybe a little into it, which is a whole other bullet added to the arsenal that Chenle needs to dodge right now. Rotating the stick in his hand, he closes his eyes, running through a flipbook in his head of the most non-sexual things in the world.
Jaemin walks over right as he’s cycling through a rapid-fire memory compilation of every time Daegal has thrown up on the carpet over the years. Thankfully Jaemin put his jersey on sometime during Chenle’s mid-grade mental crisis.
“I’m still not talking to you,” Chenle blurts out, suppressing a full-body wince.
Jaemin raises his eyebrows, slow grin appearing on his face. “I just wanted to ask if I could borrow some tape to wrap my stick with. I’m out.”
“Oh,” Chenle says. “Yeah, go ahead.” Then makes another of his signature tactical retreats straight out of the locker room.
Awful. Safe to say avoiding Jaemin is not going well. No one other than Jisung or Renjun realise anything is different between them, which is a small miracle. It makes sense, if Chenle thinks about it. Jaemin still scores an insane amount of goals off of Chenle’s passes and vice versa. They don’t give up any soft goals when their line is on the ice. Not even Doyoung notices that anything is off.
Jaemin keeps hovering in his peripheral, either staring or lurking or a special brand of both. On the bus ride to their next game across the city, Jaemin plops down in Renjun’s usual seat next to him with his airpods already in, not saying a word. Chenle spends the whole ride reminding himself why he can’t lay his head down on Jaemin’s shoulder, curl into his side for a quick power nap. It’s getting harder and harder to keep the charade up.
Winter bleeds slowly into spring, late snowfalls arriving in March and blanketing the entire city. Midterms come and go, classes get harder, Chenle spends less time studying than he should— everything eventually blurs together, hazy.
Every time Chenle is on the verge of giving in to his own selfishness, to Jaemin, he takes a step back. Reminds himself of what’s at stake, of the conviction behind his decision. It gets harder and harder as the season progresses and Jaemin stops giving him as much space, starts stepping his game up.
Their final match against Yonsei falls a few weeks before the playoffs begin. Chenle snatches his hotel key out of Doyoung’s hand, intent on stealing Jungwoo away and locking them in like last time, but he can’t find the sneaky fucker. He catches sight of what looks like the back of Jungwoo’s head disappearing around a corner before Jaemin blocks his path almost immediately.
“We’re rooming together,” Jaemin tells him.
”We’re doing no such thing.” He cranes his neck, trying to see around Jaemin’s big ass head, but the glimpse of Jungwoo must’ve been a mirage.
Jaemin rolls his eyes. “Come on, I already cleared it with Doyoung-ssi.” He tries tugging Chenle along the patterned carpet, but Chenle digs his heels in.
“What makes you think I’d agree to this?”
Jaemin finally stops attempting to drag Chenle by force, turning back to stare him down. He doesn’t release Chenle’s wrist. “I gave you time,'“ he points out. “A lot of it, actually, even though you wouldn’t talk to me or explain anything. Or let me explain anything. Time’s up.”
“Now’s not the right time,” Chenle tries.
Taking a step closer, Jaemin turns Chenle’s arm over so his watch is facing upwards. Even the dinky light fixtures in this shitty hotel hallway catch the diamonds set in the face. Damn, Jaemin always knows just what to say— never mind the fact that he hasn’t said anything yet.
“Say ‘time’ one more time, kitty…”
“You just said it,” Chenle points out.
Despite himself, Jaemin stares a little longer at Chenle in silence, then huffs a resigned laugh. The sight breaks Chenle out into giggles.
“Fine.” Chenle pulls out of Jaemin’s grip, laughter tapering off. “But we’re not talking right now either. I want my pre-game nap.”
Jaemin looks pleased with himself. Unfortunately, it’s a good look on him. “When, then?”
“I don’t know.” Chenle sees Jaemin frown, about to open his mouth to argue. It stresses him out. All Chenle’s convictions always seem so convoluted and far away whenever Jaemin gets too close to him. “I don’t know, Jaemin, isn’t this enough for now—”
Jaemin ushers him towards their room again, this time without any fight from Chenle. “Tonight after the game.”
That is definitely not enough time, but it’s not worth arguing over. He’ll find a way to get out of it later; he always does. Right now— sleep.
They’re in the same hotel every time so Chenle doesn’t pay attention to the layout of the room, dumping his bag in its usual spot before beelining to the bathroom to get ready to nap, removing his watch as he goes.
Jaemin is laying in bed in the same position from last time when he gets back. All he had then was a two-year-old memory of a few innocent kisses— light work compared to the vibrant memory of the club. Now, Chenle could describe in full detail the exact way Jaemin’s mouth felt against his own, the way his body felt. Strong arms that caged Chenle in, full lips that dragged over every centimeter of skin that Jaemin could scheme his way into gaining access to, smoke that filled Chenle’s lungs right alongside the overwhelming smell of Jaemin’s expensive cologne. Seeping into his nose and probably scrambling his brain cells.
How he’s supposed to lie next to Jaemin and act like nothing ever happened, like he’s unbothered, Chenle has no earthly idea.
Jaemin looks up from his phone when Chenle doesn’t move after half a minute, still frozen in the bathroom door. Unlike last time, he actually holds his hand out to beckon Chenle over like a baby demanding to be picked up— and Chenle goes. He’s spent long enough denying himself; one simple nap next to the man won’t hurt.
Fitting his body next to Jaemin’s is both easy and life-threatening, Chenle’s blood rushing hummingbird-fast in his veins. He buries his head on the pillow, face pressed against Jaemin’s shoulder, prompting one of Jaemin’s hands to card through his hair. He needs a haircut soon.
Jaemin breaks the silence first. “You’re thinking so loudly.”
“Kind of impossible not to, that’s how brains work.”
“Wow,” Jaemin says. “I had no idea.”
“You’re such an ass,” Chenle mumbles, fist clenching in the front of his shirt. “Go to sleep.”
“Only if you promise we’ll talk after the game.”
Squeezing his eyes shut, Chenle tries one last time. “There’s nothing to talk about yet, I’m not ready.”
The hand in his hair stops moving abruptly. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not.”
Jaemin rolls him over onto his back, looming on top of him with hands pressed to either side of Chenle’s head, eyes fixated on his mouth.
He freezes, caught in Jaemin’s forcefield. Tensed and alert, body ready to run even when he really, really doesn’t want to. The steady supply of willpower that Chenle has been mining the last few months is all dried up, sapped over and over again to avoid getting himself into a situation much like this one. There’s nothing left to do. Nowhere left to go.
When Jaemin leans down, lips parted, Chenle closes his eyes and waits for the inevitable.
It doesn’t come. Chenle re-opens them to find Jaemin looking at him half in wonder, half in satisfaction, both halves annoying as hell. “You still want me.”
Fuck this. “No I don’t.”
Jaemin smiles. It’s not a sweet smile. “Chenle,” he says, dripping condescension. “You’ve never been able to lie to me before, what makes you think you can start now?”
Chenle sputters, small beads of sweat starting to form on the back of his neck, animal instinct telling him he’s pinned down by an apex predator and should be baring his throat, playing dead.
“Fuck you, I lie to you all the time.”
“Not successfully,” Jaemin laughs. “Not since we were kids, anyway.” He bends down even further but doesn’t try to capture Chenle’s mouth (which is not disappointing), nipping a light bite at the tip of Chenle’s chin.
Instinct wins. Tossing his head back against the pillow, he gives in to the instinctive urge.
“You want meee,” Jaemin drawls against the jut of throat, and Chenle clenches his fingers in Jaemin’s hair.
“I don’t,” he insists. “This doesn’t mean anything.”
Jaemin keeps kissing down his neck, stopping to nose along his collarbone. Brushing his lips over the bone as if asking a question. If Jaemin’s knee were to move around three centimeters forward, there’d be no use trying to lie anymore. The evidence of Chenle’s want would be clear as day. He can probably sense it anyway, the way Chenle’s hand clenches in his hair, the short, punchy little breaths that rattle around in his throat. Jaemin tugs his shirt collar down, sucks a kiss right over his sternum, and Chenle drops his hand to clench in Jaemin’s own shirt. Pulling him forward to rock against him, hips making contact.
A knock at the door. “Hellooo? Chenle?”
Chenle freezes again, body locking up as he tries to shove Jaemin off of him. Unfazed, Jaemin looks up at him, pupils shot to hell. He can definitely feel how hard Chenle is, fuck. “Who is it?”
“It’s Jungwoo!” The voice pauses. “Can I sleep here? Renjun kicked me out. Apparently I talk in my sleep, but you’ve never complained before, so…”
Jaemin’s doing that thing where he stares Chenle down without blinking, as if paying the utmost attention to ensure Chenle doesn’t disappear the second his eyes close.
“Chenle?” Jungwoo calls again.
“One second,” Chenle raises his voice, finally succeeding in pushing Jaemin off of him. Looking at Jaemin, he drops it again. “No funny business. Got it?”
Jaemin doesn’t reply, rolling over onto his back, one hand tucked behind his head just to show off the flex. Ugh. Halfway to the door, Chenle shoots him a final look. Jaemin just raises a lazy eyebrow as if to say who, me? and motions at him to open the door.
Jungwoo’s fluffy hair pokes through first after the door opens. Scanning the room, pausing when he lands on Jaemin. “Oh! Hey, hyung. What are you doing here?”
“You know how it is,” Jaemin bats his eyelashes at Jungwoo. “Everyone wants to sleep with Chenle.”
“Oh,” Jungwoo says, eyes wide. “Oh.”
The miserable cocktail of emotion in Chenle’s stomach adds another ingredient. Sighing, he thumps his head against the door once it closes behind Jungwoo. “Just get on the bed, Woo.”
Sorry, Jungwoo mouths at him where Jaemin can’t see it. Chenle shrugs. There’s nothing to be sorry for; if anything, Jungwoo stopped him from making a very poor decision. It didn’t seem to deter Jaemin much though, still lounging like a spread in some racy magazine designed specifically to fit Chenle’s tastes.
He pushes Jungwoo in the direction of the bed, mind racing as Jungwoo starts chattering away to fill the silence, and makes sure he doesn’t end up in the middle before they fall asleep.
-
Chenle escapes from Jaemin’s (and Jungwoo’s) clutches by sneaking out of the room before they wake up, pleading with Doyoung to get the bus driver to take him to the arena early. He’s already on the ice with their trainer by the time the rest of the team arrives for the pre-game. Jaemin’s stare feels even more pointed and insistent than usual, which is crazy.
No time to talk before puck drop. Chenle counts his blessings.
Jaemin scores like he has something to prove, one goal after another, after another. Chenle keeps getting him the puck, keeps forwarding Renjun’s passes his way. Every goal, Jaemin looks at him with a surefire promise in his eyes. Chenle doesn’t bother avoiding his stare; Jaemin already found out everything he wanted to know earlier today.
His after-game shower feels like cowardice instead of a reward to his tired body like normal. Spending extra minutes under the spray until he can’t hear the excited chatter of his teammates outside in the locker room anymore, fingers getting all pruney and shriveled while Chenle deliberates back and forth over the next course of action.
He doesn't reach a decision by the time the water temperature turns to ice. At least Jaemin lets him towel off and get dressed before pouncing, even if he is leaning up against Chenle’s stall and watching the entire time. It’s the little things.
“So,” Jaemin finally starts. “You ready to talk now?”
Chenle keeps shoving his gear in his bag, making sure his watch is safe in its little lockbox. “Am I allowed to say no?”
“No.”
“Then why bother asking,” Chenle mutters. He sighs and turns around, facing Jaemin head on, just a couple of centimeters apart.
“No more of this,” Jaemin says. “Stop pushing me away.”
“But—”
Jaemin’s hand that comes up to pull Chenle in closed is hot coal, scorching the skin like he dipped his hand in a vat of melted gold before touching him. “No buts.”
“You’re such a bad influence on me, hyung,” Chenle half-whines. Closing his eyes in hopes of regaining some semblance of control is a lost cause with Jaemin’s proximity to his body. He’s not kidding when he says all of his control has been used up over the past few months avoiding Jaemin. “I’m trying so hard to resist you, but you make it fucking impossible.”
“There’s an easy solution here: stop resisting.”
“You don’t understand,” Chenle insists. “I won’t ruin your career. I can’t do that to you.”
Jaemin frowns. “Wait, what?”
A door slams from somewhere outside the locker room, two muffled streams of voices fading in and getting progressively louder, reminding Chenle of where they are.
“Not here,” Chenle says, shouldering his bag. “Can we go somewhere else? The last thing I need is the team walking in right now.”
Jaemin nods, taking Chenle's bag from him, and Chenle follows him out.
-
Jaemin’s apartment feels so grown-up compared to Chenle’s shitty little single dorm. It looks lived in and just so Jaemin, despite only having been here since the summer. The one year age gap between them has never felt as stark as it does right now. Chenle is a second-year college student with attachment issues, two gaming consoles, and three different brands of packaged spicy noodles, and Jaemin is a professional hockey player with a three-piece sectional in his living room, what looks like a glass display of collectible watches on the table right next to it, and— a cat?
“What the hell, Jaemin?”
“Hmm?” Jaemin looks over from where he’s hanging his coat on the rack by the door, blinking at a haughty orange and white cat twining through Chenle’s legs.
Chenle blinks in return. Tries to tell himself that a man owning a literal coat rack doesn’t do anything for him. “You didn’t tell me you had a cat.”
“Oh, Markie? You never asked.”
He stares. “You named your cat Mark?”
“I named him Mark-ie,” Jaemin corrects. “Not Mark.”
“Because that’s so much better,” Chenle mutters. He drops to his knees to hold out a hand for the cat—Markie, apparently—to sniff, biting back a smile when he’s accepted after a few cursory head bumps.
Leaning back against the door with his hands in his pockets, Jaemin laughs. “Are you jealous again?”
“‘Again’ would imply that I ever was. And no, I don’t care.”
Jaemin sees right through him, smiling while watching Chenle scratch from behind Markie’s ears up to the top of his head. “Look at my two favorite kitties getting along so nicely,” he coos. “He likes you.”
“He shouldn’t,” Chenle says. “I wouldn’t be good for him.”
“He likes you,” Jaemin insists. “And he doesn't understand why you think that because you won’t talk to him.”
Chenle gives one last gentle rub to the side of Markie’s face, getting back to his feet to face Jaemin. “If we have to do this, I’m not using the cat as a medium.”
“You’re no fun.”
Jaemin pushes off the door and heads through a cut-out doorway in the far wall, nodding for Chenle to follow. They end up in a pretty big-sized kitchen for a supposed university student apartment, though Chenle supposes that’s another thing professional hockey money can buy. Chenle leans against one of the soapstone countertops, smoothes his hands over the surface to settle his mind. Across the kitchen, Jaemin grabs them two glasses from a nice matching cabinet, shoving them under his massive refrigerator to dispense ice and water.
If the coat rack by the door was doing it for Chenle earlier, the combination of everything in this kitchen is making him sweat.
“So,” Jaemin says once he’s settled onto a barstool at the kitchen island. “Talk.”
Chenle is sitting on top of the island half a meter away, legs dangling back and forth as his heels knock against the side. He takes a sip of ice water to buy himself some time. Where the hell does he even start? “You first. Why’d you cut me off?”
Jaemin lets Markie hop up on his shoulders, settling in as he chooses his words carefully. “What you asked before I left, why I didn’t try to talk to you— it was so hard to stay away. I thought I’d betrayed you, broke your trust,” he explains. Chenle stays silent; that was exactly what he’d thought. “I wanted to text you so many times I lost count. You heard what Mark said—the real Mark—about how much I talked about you. But I wanted to give you the chance to cool off, to stop hating me—”
"I never hated you,” Chenle interjects.
“Kitty,” Jaemin says, faintly amused. “You probably hated me so much.”
“I didn’t, I just acted like it. It was better than the alternative.”
“What was the alternative?”
Chenle snorts. “Nice try. You first, keep going.” Confess his undying love to Jaemin right here, right now? Unless there’s a hidden camera crew waiting to proclaim that it was all a joke once it inevitably goes south, there’s no way in hell. “Why wouldn’t you talk to me? Why’d you keep avoiding the question?”
“Because I was in love with you. That’s why,” Jaemin says, blunt as ever.
If Chenle’s brain hadn’t already melted last night when Jaemin almost kissed him, it would be leaking out of his ears in liquid form right now. Those hidden cameras are looking more and more likely with each passing second. He forgets how to breathe.
Jaemin was in love with him. Jaemin was in love with him.
The world keeps spinning and Jaemin keeps talking, but Chenle’s still stuck on that tiny little detail. Not like it completely uprooted the entire foundation of the past decade of his life, ripping the moorings out at the seams. When did Jaemin start to feel that way? When did he stop?
Had he stopped at all?
Chenle squeezes his eyes shut until bright spots of color swim behind them. He tunes back in.
“And then you didn’t register for the draft,” Jaemin is saying. “I knew at that point I should’ve said something, but I really did think you hated me and it was too late.”
“What changed?” Chenle asks, quiet.
He’s still reeling, trying to wrap his head around the fact that Jaemin might still love him (!!!). All of this in the face of his ever-crumbling resolve to ignore whatever’s happening between them, to keep a blurry line of friendship drawn in sand steadily being eroded away by insistent waves. There’s no way to come back from this, not anymore.
Jaemin smiles, setting his glass down on the counter in favor of reaching out to rest a hand on Chenle’s knee. Fingers wrapped firmly in place. Despite the chill of the drink he’s holding and the clamminess of nervous sweat—Jaemin was in love with him, he cannot stress this enough—prickling on the back of his neck, Jaemin’s touch is a bonfire on his skin.
“You came to Canada.”
Chenle puffs up his cheeks. “Not to see you. It was for training camp.”
“I know that, dummy.” Jaemin’s eye roll is fond. “But Jisung came with you, and he sold you out to me after like two minutes.” He taps a random pattern against Chenle’s skin.
“Of course he did.” Jisung is such an awful friend. Chenle loves him. “What did he say?”
“I probably shouldn’t tell you, I want him alive tomorrow,” Jaemin says.
“The odds of that are dropping every second.”
Jaemin pouts. “He said a few things, but mainly that you missed me and that I needed to fix things. It worked out, didn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Chenle says. It did, but that doesn’t change the fact that— “And I ruined your career because of it.”
“I still don’t know what you mean.”
Chenle shrugs Jaemin’s hand off of his knee, hopping to his feet to get more water as a pretense of looking busy. “You gave up playing on the biggest stage in hockey to come here. Toronto kind of hates you and it’s all because of me.”
Whatever Chenle’s expecting Jaemin to do or say in response to that, it’s not breaking out into giggles that are poorly muffled by his own water glass. The cat jumps off of his back, disgruntled by the movement.
Chenle can relate. He stares at him, affronted. “What about that was even the slightest bit funny?”
“First of all,” Jaemin starts, still laughing. “I didn’t ‘give up’ the NHL for you, baby. I hadn’t even played yet when I left. Also, I told you my contract was ending and I was up for another one, which I can still sign at any time. Like when I go back at the end of the season.”
Crunching on a piece of ice—crushed like gas station ice, the best kind, of course Jaemin would have that setting on his fridge—and leaning against the fancy ass refrigerator in question, Chenle mulls his words over. So Jaemin is planning on returning to Toronto at the end of the school year. That alone assuages at least one of Chenle’s fears, if not the rest.
“Second, you’re awfully sure of yourself, hmm?” Jaemin teases, getting to his feet and stalking over to tower over him against the fridge, one arm above his head. The bastard isn’t even taller than him; Chenle has around a centimeter in height advantage, but Jaemin throws his weight around in a way that makes him seem larger than everyone around him.
Chenle straightens up, forehead creasing. “Hey, you so came here for me and you know it.”
Jaemin cocks his head, and Chenle realises just how close together he brought them by standing up straight. Not even on purpose, which might be the worst part. He just gravitates towards Jaemin. “Are you sure? Maybe I just wanted to be closer to Jisung-ah.”
“He’s not even on the team. You wouldn’t have joined if it was only for him.”
“Mhm, but he goes to this school and I like hockey.” Jaemin shrugs. “It’s a possibility.”
His t-shirt brushes against Chenle’s skin with the movement, ticklish, and Chenle likes the way it makes their skin touch for a second.
“You were in love with me, though.”
“Yes,” Jaemin says. Simple. No elaboration.
Swallowing, Chenle drops his eyes to think of how to reply, and ends up with a stellar view of Jaemin’s arms peeking out of his shirt, biceps tensed from the way he’s leaning. He licks his lips almost unconsciously, eyes flicking across Jaemin’s chest.
“That’s not fair,” Jaemin complains, low.
Surprised, Chenle looks back up. “What?”
Jaemin’s eyes are narrowed in on his mouth. He drops the hand above Chenle on the fridge to press fingers into Chenle’s hip instead, intent. Focused. Oh. Chenle traces his tongue against his bottom lip again, slower this time, more deliberate.
If it were possible for human beings to growl, Jaemin would be right now. “I’ve laid all my cards on the table, it’s your turn now. You need to make up your mind on what exactly you want from me, kitty.”
This is all happening very fast and very right now, too right now for Chenle’s liking. They barely resolved anything between them, touching briefly on the fact that Jaemin was apparently always planning on going back to Canada, only to discover that Chenle was worried about him abandoning his career for nothing.
And that he loved Chenle, of course. No big deal.
For all that he loved hearing it, it doesn’t fix their situation; Chenle will still be left behind when Jaemin leaves, no matter what past or present love is rattling around in Jaemin’s mysterious head. The logical choice is to not to make it worse by giving in to something he can’t have, not really— at least, not after the season ends.
Chenle lives in a completely different country from his parents, his only kiss has been with a man who left him immediately after, he’s been on the ice against opponents who want to take him down most of his life— and yet this is the most nerve-wracking situation he’s ever been in. Just a few more seconds to think. Let his brain run through every possible outcome before denying all facts or evidence, making a decision based solely on impulse.
“Show me the rest of the apartment.”
“Now?” Jaemin’s voice is incredulous. He pulls his head back, frowning, and Chenle finally has room to breathe. He darts under Jaemin’s arm and sidesteps him, backing up towards the kitchen door. “Seriously?”
“Fine, I’ll do it myself,” Chenle says, escaping.
The first door he opens leads into a laundry room with an in-unit washer and the next is a full-sized marble bathroom. Chenle very determinedly doesn’t check to see if there’s anything more advanced than a heated floor, ignoring all the panels on the closest wall if only for his own sanity. He’s already ninety-five percent likely to give in to Jaemin, if he’s being honest; the tiny appreciative voice in the back of his head does not need any more ammo.
Third door— jackpot.
Jaemin’s apartment is nice, but his room is even nicer. It smells like a mix of his rich cologne and caramel apple once Chenle walks in, the latter scent emanating from a wax burner Chenle spots on the tall dresser. Everything is in off-white tones with a muted yellow accent, right down to the bedsheets and lampshades. Speaking of the bed, maybe Chenle shouldn’t be surprised that Jaemin has an honest-to-god headboard made from what looks like real wood and a duvet cover, but he is anyway.
“You’re not supposed to leave the wax burner on when you leave the house,” he says, off-handed.
Jaemin stops short from where he’s been looming creepily behind Chenle’s back ever since following him in the room, hands hovering like he’s about to grab him again. “What?”
“It’s a fire hazard.” Chenle walks over to the still-burning fire hazard and unplugs it. Waving the cord in Jaemin’s direction. “And here you almost had me convinced you were competent.”
“You don’t think I’m competent,” Jaemin confirms, the line of his mouth moving like he’s torn between a frown and a smile. He crosses to where Chenle is standing next to the dresser and bullies him against it, almost caging him in just like at the club. And in the kitchen. And in all of Chenle’s dreams.
“What is with you and pressing me into the nearest flat surface—”
“I’m very competent,” Jaemin cuts in like Chenle wasn’t even talking.
“Prove it.”
Jaemin giggles. He tips his forehead to rest against Chenle’s, fully smiling now. “Has that ever worked for you?”
Dick!!!!, Chenle wants to yell in his face. And then kiss him. “It’s working now.”
“Have you decided what you want?”
There’s no possible way to get what he really wants.
What he wants is for Jaemin to stay with Chenle forever, to play with Chenle forever, to go back to Canada and advance his career where he’s meant to be, to never leave Chenle again, to leave right now and never look back so Chenle doesn’t try to force him to stay again, impulsive and indecisive and wanting.
“You know what I want,” Chenle says. His hands are literally clenched tight in the front of Jaemin’s shirt, legs intertwined. If he didn’t want to be in this position, he wouldn’t be, and Jaemin knows that.
Jaemin dips his head down to nose along the line of Chenle’s neck, lightly tracing over skin. The faintest hint of a tease just like in the hotel, but it still drives Chenle insane. “You asked for time, I gave it to you. Now I’m the one asking. Tell me.”
Chenle groans, annoyed and keyed up and so, so turned on. He’s been riding the knife’s edge of arousal all day, for weeks, for months, ever since Jaemin got him the watch. Ever since he kissed Jaemin in the club, ever since Jaemin came to Seoul for him.
Denial hadn’t taken it away and neither did forced ignorance; whatever game they’ve been playing has always been a losing game for Chenle, if he really thinks about it. There’s nothing left to do except forfeit. Throw his cards on the table right there with Jaemin’s, a measly pair of twos next to Jaemin’s royal flush.
“I was in love with you too,” he says eventually. Jaemin’s eyes widen, like he wasn’t expecting such an easy concession. Chenle’s tired of running. “I want you, I want you so much it’s actually kind of annoying so please, for the love of god, will you kiss me already—”
He doesn’t have to say anything else.
There are hands everywhere, twisting into Chenle’s hair, running up and down his face, digging nails into his waist when his shirt gets rucked up. His own hands end up somewhere buried in the back of Jaemin’s shirt, pulling him impossibly closer until there’s no space left between them, accepting the bruising kiss Jaemin gives him.
“I never thought I’d get the chance to do this again,” Jaemin feeds the words directly into his mouth. Cupping his face in his palms, big hands against his jaw as Jaemin leaves kiss after kiss along the seam of his lips, the hinge of his jaw, the tip of his nose. High on his cheekbone, then again on his mouth. Jaemin obviously didn’t forget the way Chenle likes to be kissed.
He can’t muster up a response, almost putty in Jaemin’s hands. He didn’t think they’d ever get to do this again, either.
“Thought all I had for the rest of my life were a few— memories—” Jaemin continues between all-consuming kisses, almost angry. “Your taste is so addicting, it drove me fucking crazy just thinking about it.” Practically biting through Chenle’s bottom lip, then following up with soothing swipes of his tongue, a combination of aggression and overbearing sweetness that only Jaemin could make appealing. “But I have you now, kitty, all mine.”
“Shut up, shut up.” Chenle feels like he’s losing the plot a little the more Jaemin keeps talking, raw. Flayed open for Jaemin to see. “Just kiss me, Jaemin, seriously.”
The way Jaemin ignores him makes him even hotter under the collar. “You taste just as good as I remembered.”
Jaemin pulls him away from the dresser and against the closest wall, tugging Chenle’s shirt off over his head on the way. Hastily pulling it off but still making sure Chenle’s head doesn’t fall back against it just like last time, cradling his skull like he’s something precious.
“You’re so—” Chenle stops himself. Jaemin doesn’t need any compliments to make his head swell up bigger than it already is. Admitting that yeah, he’s actually pretty competent after all, would not do Chenle any favours right now.
“So what?” Jaemin doesn’t stop trailing kisses down Chenle’s neck, now bare of any annoying fabric in the way. Pausing to leave a savage bite in the dip of his collarbone, probably just to hear him hiss, bruising right down to the bone. Jaemin spends extra time licking at the skin there just to torture him, probably leaving one hell of a swatch of color to discover tomorrow. “Hmm?”
“You’re such a feral animal,” Chenle says instead. “Do you have a biting fetish? Is that it?”
“What big teeth I have,” Jaemin drops his voice. “All the better to eat you with, my dear.”
Chenle’s does end up thunking his head against the wall this time, rough and exasperated without Jaemin’s hand to cushion the impact. “Little Red Riding Hood? Really, hyung?”
“What?”
“Am I supposed to be the innocent victim?” Chenle asks in disbelief. He ignores the way his breath hitches when Jaemin dips lower, almost dropping to one knee to lave a wet tongue over his nipple before coming back up.
Jaemin giggles once. “You, innocent? Never.”
Chenle bites down on a retort about how Jaemin’s definitely the wolf as Jaemin goes back to exploring with his mouth and hands. Hockey-worn calluses drag across the surface of his skin, mapping out what makes him shudder, the ways Jaemin can make him tick. Touching him like he’s trying to learn Chenle’s body, commit it to memory in case Chenle runs away again.
A brush of Jaemin’s finger across Chenle’s abdomen makes his stomach twitch involuntarily, a kiss to his sternum draws breath out of his lungs faster. The scrape of fingernails across his nipples elicits a half-broken whine from his throat, bitten off before it can embarrass him too bad. Jaemin’s hand freezes on his chest, face suddenly a hell of a lot closer than it was a few seconds ago.
“Don’t hide your noises,” Jaemin presses. “Not from me.”
He drags a nail against the bud again but Chenle doesn’t give him the satisfaction of reacting, swallowing down a whine again.
Jaemin’s eyes narrow. “Don’t make me have to pull them out of you, kitty.”
“So sure of yourself,” Chenle snips, throwing his words from earlier back in his face. He pushes Jaemin backward. “Who said I’d let you do anything to me?”
Grinning wildly, Jaemin tugs his own shirt over his head, advancing back over to Chenle, not giving him a moment’s reprieve. “I know you want me now, remember?”
“Doesn’t ring a bell.”
He kicks his baggy pants off before Jaemin can make contact again, stands there in just his underwear before Jaemin’s hungry stare. Jaemin whistles, loud and obnoxious as he traps Chenle against the wall again. Hands gripping his hips tight, one thumb dipping under his waistband, eyes creeping up his body in an exaggerated leer. Chenle’s skin prickles with the attention.
“I think you’d let me do a whole lot to you.” Jaemin drops a kiss on his lips. A smile creeps across his face when Chenle doesn't protest. “See, baby?”
“Take your pants off.”
Tossing his head back, Jaemin barks out a laugh. "You only want me for my body.”
He releases Chenle with a satisfied smile, obediently stepping out of his pants as Chenle does the same, tugging Chenle over to the well-made bed and crawling on top of him. Kissing horizontally is already way better than standing up— Chenle may not have much to compare it to, but Jaemin has already ruined him for anyone else. It’s amazing, really, how being able to feel all of Jaemin’s skin against his is enough to drive every sentient thought clear out of his head.
The mood turns lazy, kissing just to kiss, no real goal in mind. Chenle basks in it while Jaemin continues learning his body, legs tangled with his own, resting all of his weight against him. Knee snugly inserted between Chenle’s thighs to give him something firm to rub against. Lips sliding together almost gently if not for the way Jaemin’s sharp teeth come into play every minute or so.
“Such a pretty little mouth.” Jaemin kneads Chenle’s chin, thumbing at the swollen bottom lip that he just got done biting. ”Be loud for me, okay?” he requests, sweet like a toothache.
“Not a chance.” Chenle tries retaliating but Jaemin slips two fingers in his open mouth, rough fingers running along his tongue mid-sentence, hooking them behind his molars so Chenle’s jaw hangs open at the hinge. Any noise bubbling up in his throat at the sensation has no way of being suppressed, nowhere to go but out into the air.
“Good,” Jaemin praises as soon as he whines, sounding happy with him. “You finally learned how to listen.”
Chenle resists the urge to kick him in the side, letting his eyes fall closed as Jaemin pulls his fingers out of his mouth, smears the wetness against his lips.
“Already so messy for me,” Jaemin chides, somehow managing to make it sound like the deepest of compliments.
Chenle doesn’t resist the urge this time. “Hurry up, hyung.”
“You little menace,” Jaemin hisses. He pulls back and rubs his hip where the ball of Chenle’s foot just made heavy contact, catching Chenle’s ankle with his other hand. Using the grip to flip Chenle onto his stomach, all without breaking a sweat. “Be patient. I want to take my time with you.”
His underwear gets pulled down slowly, drawn out when Jaemin lavishes kisses across his upper back. Taking his time apparently means driving Chenle crazy with restlessness. Sauntering over to his dresser to grab lube and a few condoms, drizzling it on his fingers like he has all the time in the world, slowly and steadily working in one finger after the other. Rubbing mindless, soothing patterns on the base of Chenle’s spine, wrapping a fist around his dick every few minutes to make sure it doesn’t flag. Using way too much lube to be considered anything other than unnecessarily excessive.
Jaemin laughs when he tells him as much.
“I like it wet,” is all the explanation he’s given, and Chenle really doesn’t feel like arguing right now. Hasn’t felt like arguing ever since Jaemin stuck his fingers in Chenle’s mouth, especially when the answer makes his stomach clench around four of Jaemin’s fingers, smile turning wicked.
Applying pressure to Chenle’s side, Jaemin guides him to lay on his back. Manhandling Chenle without giving any kind of warning, again, expecting him to just go along with it— and he does. One firm hand wraps around his thigh and presses it against his belly, keeping him open and on display for Jaemin to slip slick fingers back inside. He purposely avoids Chenle’s prostate other than a few light brushes just to watch him squirm, the bastard.
“How do you want to do this?”
Never mind. Chenle might have to argue just based on principle. “Are you being serious right now?”
Jaemin raises his eyebrows. Defensive but definitely amused, god, he’s so annoying. Chenle loves him too much. “What? I’m making sure we’re on the same page. I want what you want.”
“I’m in your bed with four of your fingers inside of me, and about a good half-minute away from pushing you over and doing it myself,” Chenle says, squeezing his eyes shut. “What about that screams different pages to you?”
Jaemin’s smile is practically a leer this time. “Communication is key, baby.”
Christ, why is this the man he decided to devote his life to. Chenle gives his dick a sad look, erection not having flagged at all. No accounting for taste, he guesses, even if it’s his own. “Jaemin, I like you and everything, but if you ever,” punctuating the word with a sharp jab to Jaemin’s solar plexus, “ever use Doyoung’s coaching rhetoric in bed again, I’m walking out.”
Jaemin giggles, high-pitched and delighted, tipping forward to press kisses all over Chenle’s face, making Chenle scrunch his nose and close his eyes. “That’s an empty threat. You’re not going anywhere.” Fingers still inside of Chenle, never stopping, finally going deep enough to make Chenle’s spine tingle.
He pulls back, but Chenle tugs him in again. “Kiss me more.”
“Greedy,” Jaemin teases. “You like my kisses that much?”
Chenle blames the elation that comes from the dual sensation of Jaemin pressing against his prostate and Jaemin’s sweet, probing kisses for what comes out of his mouth next when Jaemin lets him up for air. “You’re the only person I’ve ever kissed,” he sighs, eyes still closed. “Can you blame me for wanting more?”
The fingers stop moving, then pull out of Chenle entirely. Chenle opens his eyes and his mouth, feeling terribly empty, ready to either berate Jaemin some more or congratulate him on taking the hint to get a move on, maybe steal another kiss— but stops when he sees an almost constipated expression on Jaemin’s face.
“You’re a virgin?”
Chenle gapes at him, caught off guard. “No I’m not a virgin, Jaemin, what?” Jaemin has the audacity to frown at Chenle’s words, as if mad that his answer was no.
“You just said you hadn’t kissed anyone else,” he points out.
Chenle rolls his eyes. “Yeah, kissed, not fucked. I’ve slept with plenty of people.”
Jaemin’s mouth tightens for the briefest of seconds then smoothes out again, a trick of the eye. “How many?”
“Does that really matter?”
Jaemin’s eyes narrow with the non-answer. He stands up to tug his underwear off—his dick is obnoxiously perfect, Chenle realises, almost dizzy with how pretty and big it is, he may have a newfound thing for that—before crawling back on top of Chenle, ripping open one of the condoms laying discarded on the bed beside them, keeping eye contact the entire time. Using even more lube on his hand to stroke himself without saying a word, then lining his dick up with where Chenle is wet, open, waiting for him.
“Tell me,” Jaemin says, all heat.
“T— Three, fuck,” Chenle gasps as Jaemin slides inside of him with the concession, slow but so, so steady. Obnoxiously perfect, still, but not just for show, making him squeeze his eyes shut.
“Four now,” he says. “I’m the last one.” Words stated like pure fact, and it’s impossible for Chenle to do anything but nod his agreement, carving nail imprints into Jaemin’s back as he keeps pushing forward. Only giving Chenle a few seconds break before bottoming out. “Kitty,” Jaemin’s voice is tight, a rogue vein in his forearm sticking out as he holds himself up on top of Chenle.
Chenle nods again even though he doesn’t know what the question is, moving to paw at Jaemin’s arms. Running his hands up and down to get a good feel for the soft skin, willing his body to relax. Jaemin opened him up so thoroughly that it’s hardly a stretch, but the strain is always still there no matter how good the prep was.
“Can I move?” The words are whispered into Chenle’s ear directly and his eyes snap open, not even realising they had fallen shut as he tried to get a grip.
“Yeah, yeah, just— kiss me again,” Chenle orders.
Jaemin makes an aing noise in his ear, nipping at the lobe. “Cutie. Ask nicely this time.”
Yeah, right.
For all the resistance Jaemin is supposedly putting up, he goes so willingly when Chenle reaches up to tangle impatient fingers in his hair, pulling him sideways to slot his mouth against Chenle’s instead. He licks Chenle’s tongue with an adorable eagerness only matched by Chenle himself, making sure he’s well and truly kissed before finally starting to move his hips. Never disconnecting their lips as Jaemin pulls back enough to leave just the tip of his cock inside of Chenle, then pushes back in in one rhythmic motion, smooth and guided. Again and again.
Sweat gathers under Chenle’s back and runs down Jaemin’s high-thread count sheets, already messed up from the wasteful amount of lube Jaemin drizzled all over the both of them earlier. He can’t complain, though, as it just means the slide is a fucking dream, so easy and downright wet that Chenle bets Jaemin can feel it through the condom. Can feel how Chenle is literally dripping for him.
Chenle moans with the thought, reaching down to stroke himself in time with Jaemin’s movements— stopped by firm fingers on his wrist.
“No, baby,” Jaemin says, somehow managing to sound sympathetic, acting like he’s not getting off on whatever little power trip he’s on right now. “Just like this.”
Every time Chenle tries to touch himself (like hell is he about to listen to Jaemin without putting up some sort of fight) or lets his eyes slip closed, overwhelmed, Jaemin pauses. Stills his movements, ignores Chenle’s complaints until Chenle relents or opens his eyes again to stare directly into Jaemin’s as he starts moving again. It’s frustrating as all hell, but it’s also the hottest thing that has ever happened to Chenle like, ever, so he rolls with it.
Jaemin’s eyebrows knit together as he drives his hips forward, still holding eye contact but concentrating on— something, Chenle doesn’t know, maybe on not coming early or on avoiding Chenle’s prostate on purpose again. The same face he makes when he’s extra focused on the ice, and isn’t that a horrible realisation to have, oh god. Chenle is never going to be able to look directly at him during a game ever again.
“What’s so funny?”
Chenle didn’t even realise he had laughed out loud. “You— You look like—” Stuttering, great. No need to worry about Jaemin’s ego getting bruised; his head might swell to the size of a small island if Chenle can’t get his words out. “Like you’re reading a play, or, or trying to score a goal.”
Jaemin slows his thrusts, staring down at Chenle incredulously. Torn between a frown and a smile again. “You’re thinking about that when I’m literally inside of you?”
“What can I say?” Chenle squirms when Jaemin doesn’t move. Dick, he’s just watching Chenle, not helping at all. “Maybe good hockey just does it for me.”
“I’ll show you what does it for you,” Jaemin mutters.
Chenle exhales in a rush, about to tease him again, but Jaemin uses his distraction to move back down down the bed, tugging Chenle down with him right after. Essentially pulling Chenle back onto his cock in an obscene display of strength, wow. Hello, lightheadedness. If Chenle could somehow get even harder, that would’ve done the trick.
“Fucking hockey players.” Chenle stifles a whine, hands coming up to pull Jaemin’s hair. At least like this he won’t be tempted to try to take himself in hand just to disobey Jaemin again.
“Yeah, you’re fucking a hockey player,” Jaemin snickers. He finally bumps against Chenle’s prostate head on with the new angle, each stroke hitting it without even trying.
“Stop talking,” Chenle moans. Yeah, the new angle is really working for him. He tosses his head back against the pillow, not in danger of banging it on the headboard anymore thanks to Jaemin’s actions. “You talk so much.”
Jaemin leans down to bite at Chenle’s neck, sucking harshly over the bruise he already left on his collarbone earlier. Chenle’s skin is tender, sensitive, and it goes right to his gut. Like this, Jaemin can’t go as fast, but he makes up for it by going even deeper than before, continuing to drive Chenle insane on every slow grind in.
“Might I remind you that you started it,” he says into Chenle’s throat.
His voice is the picture of composition, sounding like he might as well be directing traffic in the middle of the city. Not even the slightest bit winded or breathy. Entirely in control of all of his faculties even while fucking Chenle deep, a light sheen of sweat covering his back that Chenle can see over his shoulder, muscles flexing obnoxiously— god. Chenle hates him.
“I hate you,” Chenle says.
Jaemin has the audacity to laugh mid-thrust. “You don’t hate me.” Matter of fact. “Otherwise you would’ve let other people kiss you.”
“I’ll— get on that tomorrow.”
“No, you won’t.” Jaemin’s voice is all fake sympathy yet again, drenched in concern that he lavishes all over Chenle’s body with his mouth, his hands. “You’re not leaving this apartment ‘til we’re done. Doubt tomorrow will be enough.”
“Whore,” Chenle practically moans the word out.
The mouth on his throat is so distracting, making his knees shake where they’re splayed out on the bed to make room for Jaemin in between his thighs.
Jaemin laughs again, just as genuine and surprised. Delighted to have Chenle like this. “You want me to be your whore, kitty? Sure, we can do that.” Finally snaking a hand around the base of Chenle’s dick, he twists his wrist in a way that suggests calculated torture. “Call me more names.”
“How are you still talking,” Chenle gasps. The touch is too much after going so long without, warm palm covering his entire length on every stroke, so much stimulation that he goes dizzy with it. “You’re so weird.”
He’s going to be a pile of Chenle goo tomorrow, sore and tender and tired, but it’s worth it for the way Jaemin instinctively knows how to work his body. How to keep the mood light between them, how to wring Chenle dry until all he can think of is feeling good. Of Jaemin.
Jaemin works him up further and further, fingers rubbing insistently right under the head of his cock, dangling him over the edge— then stops.
Chenle’s eyes snap open, wild. He was so close already. “Why—”
“Register for the draft.”
Jaemin’s eyes are dead set on his own, the kind of intensity that rabbits Chenle’s heart rate up three notches on a normal day. Staring at Chenle like he’s reading a play again, or reviewing game tape, which still should not be as spine-tingling as it is. Yeah, next time they’re on the ice together, Chenle’s going to get hard at the drop of a hat.
“Oh, fuck you,” Chenle whines, batting his fist hard against Jaemin’s sweaty chest. “Come on, I was so close.”
Jaemin does the worst thing he could possibly do; he pulls out, eliciting yet another embarrassing whine deep in Chenle’s chest as he flips Chenle onto his stomach. Hooking an arm around him, Jaemin hauls him up to rest against him back to front, both on their knees. Chenle feels like he’s dangling in the air, suspended. Jaemin collects his wrists behind his back with the other hand, nudges the head of his cock against Chenle’s ass just to tease. Slides back in with one continuous thrust, punching the breath straight out of Chenle’s lungs.
He has no leverage like this, wrists caught in Jaemin’s tight grip. A callback to the way Jaemin held him on the dance floor a couple of months ago, except with way more skin-to-contact and Jaemin’s annoyingly big dick driving him out of his mind.
What was so funny a few minutes ago? Chenle can’t remember for the life of him.
“Register for the draft,” Jaemin intones again, this time directly into Chenle’s ear.
The angle doesn’t allow his lungs to pull in any breaths deeper than surface-level, turns everything hazy, heady. Leaving him extra susceptible to Jaemin’s personal brand of terrorisation, enjoying every second of it.
“That’s filthy fucking pool,” Chenle complains, shivering. He’s amazed he even has a voice left, no matter how shaky it is. “You can’t pull that on me right now.”
Jaemin presses the sweetest kiss to a spot right under his ear, sucks the skin between his teeth until Chenle chokes on a moan. “I think I can. If you want to come, say you will.”
He hasn’t even considered it, doesn’t have the mental capacity to think about it right now, he can’t just blindly agree. They resolved almost nothing before Chenle snapped and demanded that Jaemin put his hands on him, and it’s coming back to bite him in the ass right now.
“No,” Chenle says. “I won’t say it, I won’t— just fuck me, come on Jaemin—”
“Brat,” Jaemin almost sneers, snapping his hips forward as hard as he can. Chenle’s eyes roll back in his head. The pace he sets for the both of them is punishing, unhinged in its urgency. “Fine. Maybe you don’t need to register for the draft,” he croons low and sweet, fake fake fake. “Maybe you can just come back to Toronto with me.”
“What do you mean,” Chenle breathes, but Jaemin isn’t done.
His hands are so warm on Chenle’s body, infectious heat and sweat rocketing up their shared body temperature, making his next words even filthier. “I’ll take you back with me, keep you in my apartment so you can take my cock whenever I want. Won’t need to play hockey anymore, won’t need to do anything except be ready for me, stay open for me to bend you over and slide into you.”
God, what—
Chenle garbles some nonsense or other, suddenly so close to coming again that he can feel the blood rush in his eardrums, see his own thoughts swimming behind his eyelids. Jaemin talks so much shit in his daily life, of fucking course he would run his mouth here too. Composed, almost calm as he breaks Chenle into tiny little pieces and stitches him back together with filthy words— but rearranged, more Jaemin’s than he was before.
And, just Chenle’s luck, of course he likes that too.
Jaemin coos, mean. “Oh, kitty.” His voice is finally showing signs of strain. “You won’t have to worry that pretty little head about anything anymore, hm? I’ll get you a little collar or something, yeah— keep you with me—”
Chenle wasn’t lying to Jaemin earlier; he has slept with other people, okay, he’s not inexperienced, but none of those times have ever felt quite like this. Like the third rail of the metro has come alive under his skin, live wire sparking with no control. Threatening to engulf everything in its vicinity in flames. Bits and pieces of Jaemin’s words play out on super eight film behind his eyes, searing the images directly onto his brain.
He’s not even into petplay, like, what the hell.
“Jaemin,” he says, urgent. Scrabbles at Jaemin’s stomach behind his back, clumsy where Jaemin still has his wrists in a hold. “Jaemin—”
“Call me hyung.”
“Hyung,” Chenle moans. Jaemin could probably tell him to rob a bank right now and all Chenle would be able to do is comply. Which bank? How much, what time, and does he have to wear a Dalí mask? “Please, just— I’m close again, don’t you dare stop.”
“You know what you have to say,” Jaemin sing-songs.
“Conceited, power-hungry— narcissistic fuck—” Chenle grasps at straws trying to provoke him but Jaemin just laughs again, loud. Happy.
“You say the sweetest things, kitten.” Kitten. That’s so supremely worse than kitty. Chenle thinks he might pass out, if given the opportunity. “Just say one more for me and you can come.”
Chenle’s hands are released but he barely notices; they fall limp by his sides. Jaemin uses the hand not wrapped around Chenle’s chest to trail down his tensed stomach, coming to a stop when he grabs Chenle’s cock in a loose hold. The lightest suggestion of sensation, just another tease.
“Hyung,” Chenle swallows, trying to be good and not grab Jaemin’s hand, rut into it like a desperate animal. As it stands, he manages to reach up and grip Jaemin’s forearm, almost begging, “Hyung.”
“Say it.”
Chenle was always going to give in. He just couldn’t give in too easily, lest it get to Jaemin’s head. Playing the long game. At least, that’s his story and he’s sticking to it.
“I’ll do it,” Chenle bites out. “I’ll register, I’ll come back with you and— and I’ll play with you forever, we’ll— we’ll be so good together, they won’t know what hit them, they won’t ever say anything bad about you again, I swear— please.”
“Good boy,” Jaemin murmurs, pleased. He tightens his fist around Chenle’s cock, starts stroking in earnest at the same time that his thrusts pick back up, focusing cruelly right under the head, always paying attention to what Chenle likes. “Thank you, baby. You can come now.”
Chenle comes like he’s on a hair trigger, clenching hard around Jaemin inside of him, spilling everywhere. It gets him a hissed curse in his ear that barely registers as Korean, Jaemin’s hips stuttering as he chases his own peak. The edge of oversensitivity chafes something awful, sharp and icy, but somehow Chenle’s into that too.
He’s into everything when Jaemin is the one showing it to him.
“Shit—” Jaemin whispers, pushing Chenle back down on the bed. Fucking him faster now, more desperate. Chenle goes as if his puppet strings were cut, letting Jaemin do whatever he wants. Turns his face sideways against the crumpled pillow, keeps clenching tight for him. “You’re so pretty like this, so perfect.”
“Jaemin-hyung.” Chenle doesn’t have anything to say, just wants to shape his mouth around Jaemin’s name.
That’s all it takes for Jaemin’s hips to fuck in deep once, twice, and then he’s groaning low in his chest, rutting slower and slower, dragging his orgasm out. Jaemin collapses on top of Chenle’s back, still inside of him as they let out twin groans.
A minute slips by, then another. Sore and sated.
“Baby,” Jaemin whispers, kissing the back of his neck where an insane amount of sweat has gathered. Scrapes his teeth down further to suck a kiss onto his shoulders, his spine. “So good to me, baby. Baby.”
Chenle gathers all of his remaining energy to grunt in reply. “Heavy.”
Jaemin pulls out with one last light bite to the base of Chenle’s neck. Chenle’s really coming to like the sharp bite of teeth in his skin, Pavlovian conditioning.
He takes care of tying off the condom and wiping Chenle down carefully, soft towel sweeping across his fucked-out limbs splayed out on the bed where Jaemin put him. Resolutely not reacting when Jaemin drags whatever cloth he grabbed over his thighs, something coiling in his gut at Jaemin’s inhale, eyes staying closed. He allows Jaemin to drag the covers up to cover his ass before moving off and around the room, finishing the clean up out of range.
More time passes in the same syrupy way, and then Jaemin’s back on the bed, crawling on top of Chenle again to kiss across his shoulders again, his spine. Chenle stretches into it, warm. Tired. The kisses drop further down.
“How are you feeling?” Jaemin murmurs.
“Mmmrrngh,” Chenle replies, as eloquent as he can manage. It’s not time for real words yet.
Jaemin laughs softly, fond. “Good.” Pressing the words lovingly into the small of his back. “You can register this week, then.”
Chenle tries not to tense up, only managing it due to Jaemin draining all of the restless energy out of his skin moments before. Guess it’s time for words after all. “That wasn’t just dirty talk, huh?”
“No.”
“Hyung,” he croaks, swallowing. “I don’t know if—”
“You said you would,” Jaemin says, steady and matter-of-fact. But calm, like he knows Chenle will give in. Damn. “Please, Chenle. I’m not losing you again.”
Damn, times two.
The more Chenle thinks about it in his lazy, post-coital brain, the more it makes sense. Jaemin isn’t giving up on the NHL to stay with Chenle, isn’t abandoning his dream another season by remaining in Seoul— and this way, Chenle wouldn’t have to give him up either. Jaemin could go back to Toronto, back to his ambitions, and Chenle could actually follow this time.
He wouldn’t be left behind again. No long distance to worry about.
There’s still a whole multitude of problems with the idea to consider— abandoning his own college career, leaving his friends behind, moving away from the country he grew up in even if it’s not the country he’s from, being on an opposite timezone from most people he cares about including his family, likely going to a different team than Jaemin. It’s a lot to think about, especially considering their present situation.
Chenle takes a deep breath. “Listen, Jaemin—”
“Don’t,” Jaemin says, too quiet. “Don’t say no right away. Think about it.”
“Jaemin,” Chenle starts again, trying not to smile. It’s hard not to feel giddy; he sounds like this matters a whole fucking lot to him. Jaemin really does want him in his life. Jaemin was in love with him, Jaemin wants him. “If I do—”
“When.”
“If,” Chenle stresses. “And that’s a firm if— if I say yes, you don’t even know if I’ll go to your team.”
“The Leafs will take you,” Jaemin replies, dismissive. Still bestowing small, slow kisses on Chenle’s back. “I know they will.”
“Toronto is— oh,” he breaks off, eyes slipping shut at the light scrape of teeth on a particularly sensitive patch of skin. There’ll for sure be a bruise there tomorrow to match the one on his neck. Drifting off underneath the movement of Jaemin’s mouth makes it hard to focus. “Toronto’s been so good recently, they’re not going to pick very high in the draft. We wouldn’t get to play together even if I did register. I’d have to move to fuckass Ohio or something.”
“Baby,” Jaemin says, amused. “Trust me, you won’t go that high in the draft. Toronto will get you.”
There’s only time for one last soft, biting kiss before he twists out of Jaemin’s grip, maneuvering onto his back underneath Jaemin’s legs to face him, propping himself up on his elbows. The sheet slips with the movement and Jaemin’s eyes follow it, catching over exposed skin before Chenle can pull it back up to his hips.
His first sight of Jaemin knocks most of the fight from his body. Jaemin looks wind-swept, lips kiss-bitten and slightly swollen from Chenle’s thoroughness, hair a complete mess. Eyes dark when he tries to meet them, locked on Chenle’s exposed stomach, flushed and ruddy and still a little wet from coming all over himself barely ten minutes ago, no matter how good the clean up. The flush deepens against Chenle’s will. Jaemin must’ve pulled his boxers back on while Chenle melted into his sheets, but he’s still half-naked from the waist up and—try as he might—Chenle isn’t immune. Even less so when he’s obviously fresh off of giving Chenle the best sex of his life and in the middle of begging him to follow him across the world.
God, this is not how Chenle thought his weekend would go.
“And what the hell do you mean by that?” Chenle asks.
Not offended, not really, but he can’t just let that slide no matter how scrambled Jaemin’s dick made him. Which is a pretty considerable amount— something he will never, ever tell the man himself. Better to put on a front like he’s not sore and fucked out and so, so satisfied that it’s honestly a little crazy.
“Hmm?” Jaemin hums, tracing a thumb across his hip bone, fingers like magnets to his skin.
He could fall asleep like this. Chenle smacks the hand away in a bid to regain control of the situation, but it’s weak, cursory. Jaemin reaches out again. He doesn’t try to stop him this time. “What do you mean I wouldn’t go that high?”
“Oh.” Jaemin blinks twice, catching on. “Because you wouldn’t.”
“I’m amazing,” Chenle declares. “I’d go top ten, for sure.”
“Kitty,” Jaemin sings. “You’re so cute. Have you been paying attention to the draft class this year?”
Chenle crinkles his nose. Smiling, Jaemin straddles his legs, reaching out to pinch his cheeks once he’s comfortable. “Oof, you really are heavy. But no, I haven’t. Didn’t have any reason to.”
“They’ve got talent like you wouldn’t believe,” Jaemin says, shrugging. “Bedard, Fantilli, Michkov… Carlsson, Yager, Benson.” He lists them off using his fingers like the names are supposed to mean something. Chenle suppresses the urge to lean up and bite the shit out of them so he can’t ever play hockey again. “Plus, you’re relatively unknown, you haven’t registered yet, and you’re not in your first year of eligibility. I guarantee the Leafs will get you.”
Chenle lets the silence hang for a few seconds once Jaemin finishes speaking, still looking pleased with his own logic. “Are you done crushing my spirit yet?”
“I can keep going if you want.”
“I'd be first overall and you know it.”
Jaemin giggles, tracing his fingers along the seam of Chenle’s lips. “So cute. And so delusional.”
“You just stuck your dick in me, you’re supposed to lie to make me feel better about myself,” Chenle insists.
Wrong move. Jaemin’s grin gets bigger as he leans forward, guiding Chenle to lay back flat against the bed again, bracketing Chenle’s head with his toned arms. “Mhm, I did, didn’t I?” He rocks his hips forward once, more of a teasing grind than anything with intent. Letting Chenle feel where he’s already filling out in his boxers again. Stupid athlete stamina. “And I’ll do it again, if you ask nicely.”
“Maybe I’ll let you,” Chenle says, tilting his head up to brush their lips together— pulling back before Jaemin can seal the kiss. “If you admit I should go higher than you did in the draft.”
Jaemin’s smile drops like he wasn’t expecting that. Using his momentary confusion, Chenle swipes his legs out from underneath him, graceless with the way the blanket hinders any real ability. It still does the trick; Jaemin tumbles down, sprawling across the bed sheets. Chenle slides out from underneath before he gets crushed.
Recovering quickly, Jaemin grabs Chenle’s sides, yanking him back and eliciting a shriek. Play-fighting quickly devolves into wrestling, which further unravels into a flurry of arms, legs, and sheets. He’s pretty sure Jaemin takes a knee to the gut at one point, but it feels so good to finally be messing around with him like this again that neither of them really notice.
Chenle comes out the victor, obviously. Perching on his new throne of Jaemin’s hips, he can feel Jaemin’s dick nestled against his ass, harder than before. Chenle’s an athlete too; he’s right there with him— but too pleasantly sore to entertain the idea of Jaemin fucking him again, no matter how tempting.
“Maybe I’ll fuck you, if you ask nicely,” Chenle muses, half-teasing.
Jaemin brings his hands up to grab Chenle’s waist, still breathing heavily, so pretty spread out underneath Chenle this time. He doesn’t look too upset at the change in position. Heat emanates from his palms and warms Chenle from the inside out. “Maybe,” he starts, voice low. “Maybe I’ll let you.”
No condition follows the words, no if or but first. Chenle gapes at him, hypnotised and hard as a fucking rock. Tension hangs thick in the air, time stretching as they stare each other down. Jaemin grinds upwards once, just as slow as the last time, but Chenle refuses to break.
“So ask nicely, then,” Chenle says. Arching his back as he leans down, he rucks their hips together, lips less than a breath apart. Jaemin’s hands clench his waist tighter. “Hyung.”
Jaemin’s eyes go half-lidded, and Chenle knows he’s got him exactly where he wants him. “Please.”
“Please what?”
“Little shit.” The fondness in Jaemin’s words belies the curse, tightening his hold even further. Eyes never leaving Chenle’s mouth as he slips two fingers in, presses them down on Chenle’s tongue. Drags them back along his teeth in a way that has Chenle’s eyelids fluttering shut. “Please fuck me, kitty.”
If Chenle could smile around the intrusion, he would be grinning ear to ear. No more draft talk.
-
The team gets a week’s break before the playoffs begin and Chenle’s beyond fucking thankful. They went through so many condoms that night that his back (and the entire lower half of his body, really) desperately needs the time off to recover. Jaemin didn’t let him out of his sight or his apartment the entire weekend, only taking breaks from kissing to reheat some leftover mandu in his freezer.
He’s still limping when he rolls into his Stats class Monday morning. Donghyuck sits slouched in their usual row of seats, texting in what Chenle assumes is his little Jeno-Mark groupchat with an ugly enamored smile on his face. It slips as soon as he sees Chenle hobble over then slots right back into place, even uglier this time. If pressed, Chenle would describe it as ‘shit-eating’.
“You dog,” Donghyuck croons while Chenle plops into his chair, cackling when he winces. “You absolute stud.” Donghyuck leans over to poke at the bruise on Chenle’s collarbone, phone forgotten on the table in front of him. “Finally got laid by someone other than your sad string of hookups, hm?”
“How do you even know about that?” Chenle attempts to flick his forehead.
Donghyuck dodges it, picking his phone back up to wave it in the air. “Jisung has a big soft spot for Jeno and Jeno exploits it, then tells me everything he learns. Duh.”
“I should’ve known.”
“So how was that professional hockey player dick? I’ll show you mine if you show me yours, etc etc.”
A girl that had been about to sit next to Chenle wrinkles her button nose, picking her laptop decorated with Sanrio stickers back up to move a couple seats further down the row.
Chenle sighs. “You’re gonna get us kicked out.”
“It’s statistics,” Donghyuck says, as if that’s answer enough. “No real big loss there.”
He does as he’s told for once, though, going back to his phone, and Chenle is able to have a moment of self-reflection before their professor starts talking.
Sneaking out to go to class before Jaemin woke up this morning was probably a dick move. As was forgoing a note or even a text, but he made Jaemin a pot of his own coffee and left it by the stove, so that should’ve been enough. Jaemin doesn’t have classes on Mondays (Chenle may or may not have learned his schedule by heart, just like back in high school) and Chenle’s done after Statistics, so he’s planning on going right back once he’s done.
He uses the boring lecture to zone out and give the draft more thought. In the light of day, it’s not as pretty of a solution. All the problems that flitted across his mind last night return in full force, ten times stronger than before. Despite whatever he told Jaemin, Chenle never thought he would go to the NHL. Not growing up, not after Jaemin left him, and not at any time during the past two years, that’s for damn sure.
Leaving college, the country, his family, his friends, his team, Renjun, Donghyuck, Jisung— fuck, Jisung. It’s a big commitment. Not a decision to make lightly.
But it’s Jaemin. Chenle knows what he wants, and it’s always Jaemin. He just has to decide if wanting Jaemin is worth giving up everything he’s ever known for uncertainty.
Ugh. He hates making decisions.
After class finishes, Donghyuck allows him to escape out the door with a few more demands for details and a consequent promise to wring them out of Jaemin next time if he doesn’t spill. An empty threat, as far as Chenle’s concerned— tentatively. Donghyuck seems a little too wary of Jaemin still to ask something so blunt, but Chenle has no doubt in his mind that Jaemin would tell him if flat out asked.
Half a second after Chenle lets himself back into Jaemin’s apartment, he’s got an armful of the menace in question. Fighting for his life as Jaemin buries his hands under Chenle’s shirt, tucks his face in Chenle’s neck.
“What are you doing, fucking scenting me like a dog?” Chenle tilts his head back for easier access anyway.
“You’re wearing my clothes,” Jaemin murmurs. Nose dragging across his throat.
“Y— Yeah,” Chenle stutters, eyes slipping shut. Aside from the fact that this is practically a dream come true, barring any uncertainty over what else this is, it also feels insanely nice. “You used my only shirt to wipe your face yesterday and I needed to go to class.”
Humming low in his throat, Jaemin bites down on the bruise he left over the weekend. Chenle hisses, but doesn’t protest. “I didn’t say I didn’t like it.”
“Figures,” Chenle gasps. “Freak.”
Jaemin lifts Chenle’s wrist up, presses a kiss against his pulse. Right under the watch that Chenle made sure to wear today, eyes meeting Chenle’s as he does it. Keeping intoxicating eye contact as his tongue slips out the slightest amount to drag along his vein.
“Bedroom,” Chenle insists, just the right amount of high-pitched. “Right now, hyung.”
“You don’t wanna talk about this first?” Jaemin scrapes his teeth over another vein next. “Or the draft?”
“We can talk later, just—” Chenle breaks off.
Now that he’s got a taste, he can’t let him go. I won’t have to, a small part of Chenle’s brain whispers. He was in love with me, wants me to get drafted, wants me to play with him. Wants to be with me. The thought provokes him further, not content with waiting for Jaemin to stop teasing anymore.
Without giving him a chance to continue, Chenle takes matters into his own hands, dragging a wildly grinning Jaemin down the sparse hallway. He only feels half-bad about locking Jaemin’s cat out of the room, sure there’ll be scratching at the wooden door within ten minutes and wanting to get on with it.
Jaemin fucks him so well that Chenle forgets anything outside of their little bubble. Still half-dressed, only enough time to roughly shuck off his sweatpants and boxers before Jaemin pulls him backwards onto his lap, stretches him out just like that. By the time he slides inside, one big hand cupping Chenle’s throat gently, whispering what Chenle is coming to realise is Jaemin’s own special mix of filth and praise into his ear, Chenle’s brain is already halfway to melting out of his ears and spilling across their bodies.
They don’t get around to talking about it.
-
Eventually, Chenle needs to go back to his own dorm to change clothes, start on his homework— and think more about Jaemin’s casual life-changing request.
(“You could just keep wearing my clothes,” Jaemin had suggested, looking way too pleased with that option for Chenle’s mental health, and had gotten shut down faster than he could blink.)
Jisung is sitting on Chenle’s bed in the dark when he gets back to the room, laptop cradled in his lap.
“Shit,” Chenle curses after flipping on the light, jumping a full person’s length in the air. He clutches his pearls. “Christ, I forgot I gave you a key.”
“You also forgot about lunch yesterday, but it’s fine,” Jisung says, never taking his eyes off the screen.
Chenle’s eyes widen as he kicks off his shoes. Lunch. He did forget, despite them making plans barely a week ago. “Jisungie, I’m so sorry, why didn’t you text me?”
Jisung shrugs, still not meeting Chenle’s eyes. Fingers flying across the screen like how they only do when he’s coding; Yangyang always likes to joke that he’s hacking into the mainframe. “Figured you’d remember that I existed eventually.”
Chenle groans, moving Jisung’s computer to a safe place before launching himself at him, twisting them around while Jisung shrieks at him.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Chenle says, pursing his lips to try pressing kisses on Jisung’s face, knowing he won’t succeed, which is the sole reason why he does it. Jisung fights him off like it’s a death sentence, as planned.
“Al-right,” Jisung complains, succeeding in shoving Chenle away (none too gently). “I forgive you, weirdo.”
“Good,” Chenle says. He rolls off of Jisung, presenting him with the laptop again, which Jisung snatches out of his hands in a split second. “Because IIIII,” pausing for dramatic effect, “…might’ve slept with your brother.”
Chenle throws his hands up to protect his face, curling into the fetal position. After a few seconds pass and he’s not being assaulted by Jisung’s bony but abnormally strong fists, he looks up to find Jisung staring at him in slight amusement.
“Yeah, obviously.”
“Wait.” Chenle frowns, sitting up straight again. “You knew?”
Jisung rolls his eyes, patting Chenle on the shoulder. “You haven’t been home in a few days, you’re wearing Jaemin’s favorite shirt, your neck looks like you’ve been mauled, and you skipped out on brunch. I can put two and two together.”
His neck looks like…
How had he forgotten? Embarrassed, Chenle prods at where he knows the bruises are, one from the first night and the rest added on by Jaemin’s ministrations earlier. Bad idea; the area is still tender, a little ice wave of arousal racing down his spine. Chenle yanks his hand away. Something to explore on his own later, definitely not right now.
“Well. He also wants me to register for the draft.”
Jisung finally looks surprised. “Whoa,” he breathes.
“Exactly. Whoa.”
All that can be heard for is the ticking of Chenle’s watch, the shuffling of bed sheets as Chenle flops back down beside Jisung. They don’t talk for a few minutes, laying in solidarity. Jisung breaks first.
“Are you gonna do it?”
Chenle hesitates. “I don’t know yet, it’s a lot to consider. I haven’t had time to think about it.”
Jisung cracks a smile. “Okay, so you are.” Chenle looks up, caught, so he continues, “The look on your face tells me enough, even if you haven’t thought about it yet.”
Fidgeting with the watch band, twisting it around on his wrist, Chenle lets silence fall between them again.
He doesn’t want to leave Jisung, or to leave in general, but this is what he’s been waiting for. Not the draft specifically, but a chance to have Jaemin in his life forever, a chance to keep playing together. Chenle from high school would be yelling and screaming in his own face right now, pleading with him to just do it.
“Will you be mad? If I leave you and go to Canada?” Before Jisung can reply, he hurriedly adds, “Or, um. America, I guess.”
Jisung takes a breath, seeming to give it serious thought. Chenle loves him, loves how deeply he thinks about the world, how he’ll consider anything Chenle asks him like it’s the most important question ever, no matter how stupid. A phantom pain blooms in Chenle's side. Like the promise of a future ache, a ghost for now that will develop fully as soon as Jisung isn’t in arm’s reach anymore.
They grew up together, inseparable despite any surface-level bickering, never apart from each other for more than a week or two at a time. Living on another continent would shatter that.
“No, I wouldn’t,” Jisung finally says. “I know how much he means to you, and how much it would crush you if he left but you stayed.”
Chenle swallows. “Yeah.”
“Plus, it’ll give me an excuse to go visit hyung more often.”
“Visit me too, dickface.”
“And visit you,” Jisung replies in monotone. “I don’t want you to go, but I get it.”
Chenle shifts on the bed, scooting closer to lay his head on Jisung’s shoulder. “You could come with me, you know. We could be roommates.”
“You’ll make new friends, you don’t need me there.”
“I’ll always need you,” Chenle says, as honest as he can be. Unable to keep the words in as soon as they cross his mind.
It’s a shot in the dark, but Jisung doesn’t immediately annihilate any hope. “Yeah,” he replies, sounding far away. “Right.”
Chenle closes his eyes, swallows down the emotion in his chest. For once, the silence between them isn’t comfortable, the kind that comes with years of close friendship and knowing everything about each other. It’s too loaded for that.
“What will you do if you get drafted by a different team?” Jisung asks.
“Go play in traffic,” Chenle says, and gets shoved off of Jisung’s shoulder. He follows through in order to break the tension, rolling off the bed entirely even though the shove wasn’t that hard. “Owww,” he whines from the floor. “I’m kidding. I don’t know. Be absolutely insufferable until they have no choice but to trade my rights to Toronto anyway?”
Jisung shakes his head. “Why do I have no trouble believing that?”
Chenle’s head pops up over the side of the bed, pillowing it on his folded arms so he can peer up at Jisung.
“I’ll miss you, you know,” Chenle says, quiet. Jisung meets his eyes in surprise, and Chenle knows it’s because he never says anything remotely close to being sweet. Before Jisung can make fun of him, he keeps talking. “But like, no homo.”
“Oh my god,” Jisung groans. “I actually won’t miss you at all.”
“And that’s because you’ve decided to come with me, right?”
“…I’ll think about it.”
“Wait,” Chenle shrieks, getting to his feet. “Really? Really really?”
Jisung smiles just a little. “I said I’ll think about it. I don’t have anything tying me here except my parents, and they’ll probably just follow us if both Jaemin and I are living in a different country. I can finish college anywhere— most of my classes are online anyway, and Jaemin was taking some too. So.”
“Oh my god,” Chenle says, giddy. “I’m really registering for the draft. Fuck. I’m going to the NHL.”
“And if it doesn’t work out, you can always go back to school.”
“I’ll have an associate’s degree at the end of this year, I’ll be fine,” Chenle dismisses.
“Not much you can do with an associate’s degree,” Jisung muses. “Associate grocery store bagger, maybe.”
Chenle sits on his hands on the bed so as not to whack Jisung in the head. “You’re supposed to be encouraging me.”
“Ohhh,” Jisung says. “Um. In that case… I really hope you make the team.”
They stare at each other for a handful of incredulous seconds until Chenle keels over laughing. Jisung laughs with him, quieter than Chenle (which isn’t a very hard standard to achieve) but no less happy. “I’m kidding. If it’s what you want, then I’m happy for you.”
“It is.” Chenle pats him on the shoulder. “If Jaemin’s there and you’re there, I think it really is.”
-
Chenle’s back has fully recovered by the time they have their next practice, everyone dead set on getting ready for the playoffs. He submits his official recognition of draft-eligibility to the NHL front office, fields a whole volley of questions about his current team and college status, and then shoves it clear out of his head to deal with later.
Doyoung rides them so hard at practice that Chenle wouldn’t be able to think about it even if he wanted to. Gives them so many drills that his rotator cuff aches something awful by the halfway point.
“You’re hiding something,” Renjun says, pulling up beside where Chenle is bent over in exhaustion near the boards.
Their line just spent the last thirty minutes practising one single play, and Renjun had watched with obvious suspicion every time Jaemin stole the puck off of Chenle’s stick instead of waiting for the pass, too much touching involved to be considered platonic.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Chenle lies.
Jaemin skates by at that moment and Chenle tosses him a gatorade bottle, receiving a stick tap to the butt, a blown kiss, and a thanks babe in return. He turns back to Renjun, cheeks redder than before.
Renjun has the most judgmental, pinched expression on his cute little face. “Still don’t know?” he asks, snippy. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was going to,” Chenle insists. Lie, he wasn’t, not yet at least— but only because he wouldn’t know how to. Renjun had been so judgmental and worried before Christmas. “We just haven’t really seen each other since it happened.”
Renjun sighs, flicking Chenle’s visor so he knows he’s forgiven. “I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you again that he’s leaving in a month or two.”
“Umm,” Chenle says. “About that…”
Renjun takes the news that he’s decided to try for the NHL well enough— a.k.a he doesn’t try to jersey Chenle and cut his throat with a skate blade, which is all Chenle can really ask for in the end. Donghyuck doesn’t react to the news quite as nicely. By the time practice finishes, Donghyuck has tackled him to the ice in no less than three very dangerous moves and refused to actually address the root of the issue.
No one else needs to know just yet (knowing Donghyuck, Jeno will find out approximately one minute after practice ends), at least not until Chenle starts making real concrete plans. With how playoffs are lurking around the corner right along with finals, the rest of the team doesn’t need any distractions to throw them off their game.
Hell, Chenle doesn’t need the distraction, and he still can’t figure out what the fuck he and Jaemin even are. It’s not as big of a problem as Chenle would’ve originally assumed— they continue to not talk about it, of course, but also continue to sneak away to make out at every given opportunity.
In the library studying with the team for their upcoming finals? Chenle lies and says he has to go to the bathroom only to meet Jaemin deep in the dusty stacks, pressing him back against the Polar Exploration section to steal the very breath from his lungs, getting lost in the way Jaemin licks his teeth like he’s trying to swallow Chenle whole until Jeno sends him a bunch of very confused, very worried ??? :( texts.
After practice when Doyoung is giving his standard pre-playoff rant that sounds suspiciously like it was ripped straight from the intermission speech in Goon? Chenle spends the entire time staring Jaemin down, chewing obscenely on his mouth guard until Yangyang shoves him over and tells him to knock it off, and they sneak into the showers instead, Jaemin dropping to his stupid exhibitionist knees to actually swallow Chenle whole with the entire team barely four meters away.
After they win their first playoff game against Kyunghee in a 9-5 barn burner? They go out with the team and Chenle pulls Jaemin into the same club hallway that they shared their first (second) kiss, a mop wedged through the door handle this time to hinder any unwanted interruptions.
“What are we doing?” Chenle whispers.
“Well,” Jaemin says, pausing to leave a wet kiss on Chenle’s helix, bypassing the shell in favour of sticking his tongue directly into his ear. “I don’t know about you, but I was about to get you off for that sexy ass goal you had in the third, unless you had other plans.”
“Smart ass,” Chenle gasps, tugging Jaemin’s hips even closer. Jaemin makes him feel ten degrees hotter and five times more unhinged than he should be, getting under his skin in the worst way. “I meant— what are we— oh.”
“What are we what, baby?” Jaemin coaxes. He nips at Chenle’s chin, kissing downward.
“What— shit, do that again.”
Jaemin grins against where he’s sucking yet another mark on the jut of Chenle’s throat, biting down harder until Chenle can’t keep his moans quiet any longer, has to shove Jaemin to his knees.
Whatever. He’s going to the literal NHL for the man; any relationship questions can wait until later.
-
Whoever scheduled the U-League’s playoff run at the exact same time that most universities are gearing up for final exams deserves a special place in hell. Luckily, exams don’t begin for real until well into the second round, if they make it that far.
Between hard practices and classes Chenle has no business taking, somehow it slips his mind to tell Jaemin about his decision.
“You registered.”
Chenle drags his head out of his laptop (a brand new Macbook Air with 512GB of storage, courtesy of Jaemin himself. Chenle had sucked the soul out of his dick for over an hour in thanks, edging Jaemin until he was practically begging Chenle to come, a rush that went straight to his head) to find Jaemin standing at the other end of the table, hands splayed out on the surface dramatically like he’s talking in a board meeting.
“What?” Chenle rubs the strain out of his eyes.
He’s been in the library staring at stupid Quizlet for two hours. Studying and Chenle are not friends on a normal basis, so the fact that he’s even doing this at all is too much.
“You registered for the draft,” Jaemin repeats, stalking closer around the side of the table. “And didn’t tell me.”
“You never gave me a chance to tell you,” Chenle insists. “Every time we’re together, I end up with your tongue down my throat or vice versa.”
Jaemin looms over Chenle’s sitting form, threading a hand in Chenle’s hair to tug his face upwards. It truly is Pavlovian, how quickly Chenle gets turned on whenever Jaemin so much as breathes near him or shows him his teeth, let alone does this. Any quiet chatter and rustling of papers in the background fades away.
“And you couldn’t have paused for five seconds to slip that little piece of information in there?” Jaemin asks, all condescension. “Am I that good of a lay, kitty? Fucked you too dumb to remember how to speak?”
“No, I couldn’t,” Chenle says, ignoring the ever-loving shit out of the last part of that sentence. They’re in the library. Other students are literally sitting a couple of tables away, he cannot get hard. He refuses. “Who even told you? Was it Jisung? Renjun? Donghyuck?”
Jaemin’s sleazy smile which had been building steadily drops clear off his face. His fingers tighten in Chenle’s hair, eliciting a wince. The inside of Chenle’s mouth goes dry with how much he wants to be kissed.
“Donghyuck? You told Donghyuck before me? Are you serious?” Jaemin’s lips shape the word Donghyuck the same way Donghyuck says Canada, full of disdain and disapproval.
“Um,” Chenle hesitates. “No?”
Less than three minutes later, Jaemin has a hastily-stolen chair wedged under the bathroom door, a bag full of Chenle’s school stuff shoved haphazardly into it that he places lightly on the floor, and a very whiny, willing Chenle sitting on top of the sink counter, legs spread as Jaemin pushes his way between them to kiss down his neck.
“Don’t leave another mark,” Chenle gasps, stifling a low moan as his words just cause Jaemin to bite down again. Not even the coldness of the granite countertop bleeding through his shorts can temper the feeling of Jaemin’s mouth on him. “Ah, you can’t— the guys—”
“Hm? Use your words,” Jaemin murmurs, lips moving to suck on another spot higher up. Right over the internal jugular vein, a bitch to cover up if Chenle were to try.
“Asshole,” Chenle breathes. “Yangyang said he’d start charging for bruises after the last time.”
Jaemin hums. “I’ll pay whatever fines they give you. At least that way they’ll know you’re mine.”
“Am I?” Chenle mutters.
Of course that’s what gets Jaemin to stop mauling his neck and pull back. The skin feels tender and wet in three different places. Chenle knows he’ll be pressing against them again when he’s alone in his dorm later.
“You are,” Jaemin asserts, too intense for the brightness of a random campus bathroom. The bright lights and stark white of the stalls contrast with the depth of his eyes, staring at Chenle like he can see into his brain. “You’re coming to the NHL with me.”
“And that makes me yours?”
“Yes,” Jaemin says, simple. “You’ve always been mine.” He brings a thumb up to swipe across Chenle’s lips, blows warm air against them intentionally. Goosebumps crop up on the back of Chenle’s neck. “You’ve been mine since we first kissed, and you know it. You told me that yourself.”
That’s not exactly how Chenle remembers that conversation going, but he has to kiss him for it anyway, has to drag Jaemin in by the nape of his neck, curling his fingers around it as he dives right in, all wet heat from the word go. Has to lick every centimeter of his mouth as if sucking the taste of Jaemin right from the source. Grind their hips together as best he can with what little leverage his perch on the counter gives him, the outline of Jaemin’s erection in his sweatpants pressed snug against his own trapped in mesh basketball shorts. Getting lost in each roll of his hips as Jaemin groans into his mouth, cups his face with both hands.
The bathroom door rattles hard in its frame like someone walked into it body-first, not expecting some horny idiot to have stuck a chair underneath the handle.
Chenle wrenches away from Jaemin’s mouth, almost smacking his head back against the mirror. He would’ve entered his concussion era if not for Jaemin tugging him forward at the last second. Always anticipating Chenle’s every need, no matter how impulsive or small.
“One minute,” Jaemin calls, voice scratchy beyond repair. Still holding Chenle protectively, eyes trained on Chenle’s swollen, wet mouth. He sounds like someone fucked his throat, not like he just engaged in some light kissing.
“Dude,” a muffled male voice replies from beyond the door. “Not cool, bro. Not public bathroom etiquette at all.”
It takes some convincing on Chenle’s behalf but he manages to get Jaemin to back off and waltz out of the bathroom, head held high even with a full-sized chair in his arms. The annoyed student who had been banging at the door watches in disbelief as Chenle scurries out right after him, fingers tangled in the back of Jaemin’s shirt like a leash.
The guys give him shit about his two new darkening bruises in the locker room the next day, jeering and teasing like expected. Jaemin is all smiles as he turns over fifteen-thousand won per mark, neat bills pressed into Yangyang’s hand while whispering something into his ear. Whatever it is, Yangyang turns a color Chenle didn’t think was possible for a human being before scurrying away back to Hendery.
“I don’t think he’ll be taking any more of my money,” Jaemin says later, standing in front of where Chenle sits in his stall.
He runs a heavy thumb across the highest of the marks, presses inward a little. Gives Chenle what Chenle likes to affectionately call his ‘sexy cannibal’ look; like he’s thinking about the best way to cook and eat Chenle, but in a very deeply sexy way. A feat only Jaemin could pull off. Chenle tried explaining it to him one time in order to get him to tone it down, but if anything Jaemin just upped his staring game to the point where Chenle had to drag him somewhere less public so they wouldn’t get banned from his favorite coffee shop.
Jaemin’s still flushed from a hard practice ahead of their next playoff game, but the exertion just makes him look more delicious than usual, dangerous. Red suits him.
Chenle knocks his hand away so he can finish unlacing his skates. If Jaemin tries to do it again, he’ll let him. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re terrifying?”
“Every day of my life since I turned sixteen.” Jaemin doesn’t miss a beat. “You were the first person, if I remember correctly.”
Standing up doesn’t get Jaemin to back off and neither does turning around, still looming in Chenle’s space. His hands find their way to Chenle’s hips as soon as he yanks off his practice jersey, lips following to land along his bare shoulder as Jaemin plasters himself to his back.
Chenle swats at him, hisses, “Jaemin.”
“Can you go be gross somewhere else? The locker room is sacred,” Donghyuck complains.
Chenle didn’t even notice him walking over to them, similarly half-undressed but looking mighty disgruntled. “That’s mighty brave coming from you.”
“Don’t be mad at us just ‘cause your boy toy isn’t here,” Jaemin drawls, pulling Chenle in closer.
Donghyuck mimes throwing his cup at Jaemin’s face. “Don’t be stupid, Jeno’s right there.” Motioning at where Jeno is sitting in his own stall, already changed and scrolling on his phone.
The sound of his name has Jeno perking his ears up. “I think he’s talking about Mark, baby,” he says, so earnest that it hurts. Donghyuck looks down at him with the most exasperated, besotted expression.
“Come on,” Jaemin whispers. Chenle hadn’t even tried to pry himself out of Jaemin’s grip again. “Let’s get out of here.”
“No. You’re not fucking me and I’m not fucking you,” Chenle says. “Not ‘til playoffs are over. I don’t want to explain to Doyoung why his favorite line is out of commission when we lose.”
Jaemin makes a big show of pouting. “Renjun’s on our line too, he can start pulling his weight.”
“I already pull my weight. Leave me out of this.” Renjun’s bored voice floats in from somewhere behind Chenle.
He should probably be more bothered that the whole team knows what he and Jaemin get up to now, but he can’t quite bring himself to care. It’s not that Chenle likes Jaemin being possessive of him or showing him off, but. It’s kind of exactly that.
“No. And stop smelling me.”
Jaemin doesn’t stop, doesn’t even have the decency to act guilty as he presses his nose against Chenle’s neck. Traces a path back towards his ear, inhaling deeply once he reaches it.
“You smell good.”
“I smell like sweat and ice rink,” Chenle says, flat.
“Mhm. And me.”
Chenle finally succeeds in pushing Jaemin off of his back. Perhaps a shade too harsh, but Jaemin can take it.
Jaemin tries to squish his cheeks next, making kyakyak noises all the while. “You’re so adorable when you pretend to be mad at me.”
“Fine, I’ll come over.” Chenle gives in. He always gives in eventually, and he’s pretty sure Jaemin is starting to cotton on to this little fact. “But we’re not doing anything.”
Jaemin’s eyes are big and guileless. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“And you’re cooking for me in the morning.”
“Of course.”
“Grilled chicken sandwich, no tomatoes, light mayo.”
“It’ll be the best pre-game meal you’ve ever had,” Jaemin promises, but Chenle’s already dragging him away.
They fall into Jaemin’s bed with Chenle wrapped around his back, knees tucked into the back of his legs, holding him close. Jaemin hums one of the songs on Chenle’s chill playlist, the one Chenle usually puts on when Jaemin comes over to his dorm and he doesn’t want to scare his neighbors with the sounds getting dragged out of him. Chenle falls asleep in mere seconds. Drifts off to the feeling of contentment and Jaemin’s sweet melody in his ears.
So yeah, they don’t need to talk about it. This is enough for now.
-
Three well-dressed older men are sitting in the stands at center ice when Chenle skates on during warm ups for the second playoff game. They’re not the typical crowd that shows up for them the times when there’s even a crowd at all, which are mostly games against Yonsei.
These men are wearing nice dress shirts with slacks, and one even has a dark blue blazer tying it together. Also, two of them are white with greying hair to match, sticking out like sore thumbs amongst the smattering of younger college kids. It’s pretty obvious that they’re some sort of officials, maybe working for the NHL or a specific team.
One of them nods at Jaemin when he skates by, furthering Chenle’s suspicions. He follows Jaemin over to the bench. “Who are those men?”
“What men?”
Chenle takes off one of his gloves and smacks Jaemin’s shoulder with it. “You’re such a bad liar.”
“Alright, alright,” Jaemin soothes. “I might’ve made a few calls to the Leafs once you registered for the draft.”
Chenle stares. “And told them what?”
“That I’d come back and sign with Toronto next season if they agreed to scout you.”
“That’s— That’s bribery,” Chenle replies in disbelief. “There’s no way you have that much sway.”
Jaemin finishes squirting gatorade into his mouth, shooting Chenle a brilliant grin. “It’s called negotiation. I can be very persuasive.”
“Jaemin.”
“And I also had some help from Mark,” Jaemin admits. “He told them you’re an excellent playmaker and the future of the league. I didn’t even ask him to say all that, he just panics when put on the spot.”
“He’s never seen me play!”
“I showed him game tape last year from when we played together.” Jaemin tosses the empty gatorade bottle behind the bench, shoving his mouth guard in as he wiggles his eyebrows at Chenle. “Come on, princess,” he slurs around the yellow plastic. “Go show ‘em why you were worth all that talk.”
Toronto’s scouts show up to two more games, watching Chenle as he tries not to shit himself on the ice, determined to put on the best performance of his life. During the fifth and final game against Kyunghee, different white men in suits show up and sit in a neat little row with a great view of Kyunghee’s net. Munching on stale nachos and plastic cheese as Chenle collects yet another hat trick on the season.
“Those yours?” Chenle nods at the men as they’re lining up for the start of the third period.
“No,” Jaemin says, worried. Eyebrows creased, mouth twisted in a little moue of disapproval as he stares them down, as if just now noticing their presence. “Different team’s scouts, most likely. They must’ve heard about you.”
“Oh,” Chenle manages. “Oh. Okay.”
So he just scored three goals in front of men who could potentially convince their teams to keep him away from Jaemin. Noted.
“I’m just saying, if you want to flub the game…take their eyes off of you… now would be the time,” Jaemin says.
Chenle laughs. “It’s kind of too late for that.”
“It’s never too late,” Jaemin says, and skates backwards when the referee blows the whistle. “We’re gonna win anyways, just don’t score again. And maybe fall down a little bit.”
Chenle salutes him, watching as Jaemin wins the face off but doesn’t pass him the puck. Tanking his own game is technically immoral or lacking integrity or whatever, but he’s so past the point of caring. He trips and falls on purpose as soon as Renjun passes his way, losing the puck as a result, and looks up in the crowd while skating behind the net to see one of the scouts frowning.
“Stop sucking on purpose,” Donghyuck shouts at him from the blue line as he goes off for a shift change.
Chenle flips him off as best as he can with gloves still on. Next time he’s on the ice, he dives when one of Kyunghee’s defensemen brushes by him. As he heads to the box for embellishment, he notices the scouts conversing with their heads bent together. Success.
The second round heats up faster than the first once they knock Kyunghee out 4-1, and the final round after that is as much of a bloodbath as two college teams can manage.
Chenle keeps burying goals on every night that Toronto sends their scouts, then sabotaging himself when Jaemin points out any other team’s men. After each game he goes over to Jaemin’s apartment where most of his nights are spent now, getting more tangled up in each other’s lives than ever before. Daytime is for staring off into space during class while everyone else reviews for finals, then hitting the gym way more intensely than he ever did before the draft was a possibility.
His parents congratulate him when Chenle tells them the news, asking when he’s coming home for the summer first so they can celebrate properly.
Jungwoo wins the final round for them in overtime, slamming himself into the glass excitedly where a smiling Shotaro is leading the crowd cheers, and Chenle spills over the boards in his haste to be with the team. Someone pops a cheap champagne bottle that came out of nowhere, spraying the entire team as if they just won the Stanley Cup as they celebrate.
It may very well be the last time Chenle gets to be on the ice with his team—his family, as Dom Toretto would say—so he closes his eyes against all of their happy faces, tries to take in the moment as best he can.
Donghyuck crashes into him. “We fucking won,” he yells into Chenle’s ear, shaking him out of his reverie before skating off to go bowl Renjun and Jeno over.
When Chenle opens his eyes, Jaemin is already looking back where he’s wrapped around an excitable Jeno, wearing the most maniacal grin Chenle has ever seen on his face— and that’s saying something. It feels a bit like victory, a lot like their future, and everything like coming home.
-
Chenle’s second year of college is over before he knows it, and preparations for the draft start up in full force.
Jisung doesn’t want to live alone but he also isn’t willing to be a perpetual third wheel, so they agree on a spacious condo where they can each have their own space. They haven’t signed the final leases just yet. Chenle is too hockey-superstitious to jinx himself to that degree, even though it’s a superfluous line in the sand compared to all the others he’s crossed in the past few months.
Jaemin makes arrangements to go back to Canada a week after classes end, needing to start training again and sign a new contract with the team.
He won’t let Chenle go the night before he has to leave. Clinging to Chenle where he’s taken it upon himself to make a nest out of Chenle’s shirt, bunching it up around Chenle’s chest so he can nestle his head into his bare belly. Like he can crawl inside of him if he tries hard enough.
Chenle prods at his head for the third time in ten minutes. “Hey. Seriously, don’t you want to go see Jisung-ah? You’re leaving tomorrow.”
“I said goodbye to him this morning at breakfast,” Jaemin dismisses, not bothering to look up while he speaks. “He’s coming with you, isn’t he? I’ll see him then.”
“You sound so sure that I’m going to Toronto.”
That gets Jaemin’s attention. “You are, kitty. How many times do I have to tell you—”
“Yeah, yeah.” Chenle pokes his nose. “Whatever. You may be terrifying but even you can’t persuade an entire team’s board of directors to draft an unknown player all by yourself.”
“You vastly underestimate my skill set,” Jaemin replies, very serious and grave.
Chenle fights the urge to drag him up and kiss the sarcasm out of his voice. Silence falls between them again, comfortable as Jaemin amuses himself drawing characters with his fingers on Chenle’s stomach.
“I’ll miss you,” Jaemin says, quiet.
Still tracing patterns into soft skin. It dawns on Chenle that he’s drawing the character for Na followed by his jersey number.
Swallowing, Chenle doesn’t answer. Just gives in and tugs Jaemin up to eye level, kissing and holding him until all the worries leave his brain.
Chenle hits the gym hard once Jaemin packs up his entire apartment and leaves for Canada, most days spent working out or at the rink. He hires a skills coach to help him train every other day.
On the days the coach doesn’t show up, Chenle FaceTimes Jaemin, leaves his phone propped up on the bench with his airpods in so Jaemin can give feedback.
He FaceTimes Jaemin a lot, actually, even when not training. Calls him when Jaemin’s cooking dinner, when Jaemin wants to watch a movie together and doesn’t believe in the concept of NetflixParty because he can’t see your face which is the half the reason I called in the first place, while grocery shopping or laying in bed or walking home from Jisung’s house— basically any time Chenle misses him but doesn’t want to admit it. After two years apart from the man, Chenle thought he would’ve had a better handle on it.
“I signed my contract today,” Jaemin says one night, casual.
Chenle is laying upside down on his couch scrolling an article about potential draft rankings. Last time he checked, Jaemin was stirring something thick and creamy on the stove, soothing bubbles in the background providing some form of ASMR. He swipes back to the FaceTime screen fast as hell to see Jaemin’s entire face filling the camera, grinning widely.
“You didn’t tell me,” Chenle scolds. “We’ve been on this call for how long now, an hour? And you’re just now mentioning it?” Jaemin’s eyebrows shoot up and down like a wiggly caterpillar, and Chenle resists the urge to groan. “You suck. What did you sign for?”
“I knew you only wanted me for my money.”
“Jaemin.”
Jaemin fake-pouts. “Five years, two and a quarter million each.”
“Fuck,” Chenle says faintly, feeling like he’s about to pass out. “How much is that in won— actually, you know what? Don’t tell me.”
“Enough to buy you anything you want, darling,” Jaemin says, grinning again.
Chenle would perjure himself in a court of law when asked if he blushes at that. “I’m about to have a contract of my own, I don’t need you to buy me things.”
“When are you going to stop acting like you don’t like it? I know you remember the, ah, enthusiastic thank-you gift you gave me for the Macbook. I think about it every night in the shower, almost as wet as your mouth—”
“Stop right there. We are not doing this on FaceTime,” Chenle declares. He exits out of the call screen to further his point. “No way.”
Jaemin laughs, bright and loud. “What, you don’t want to have sweet, nasty e-sex with your loving boyfriend?”
Boyfriend. They never had that discussion. Chenle scrubs at his arm, all the hairs standing up at once. “I cannot believe you just said the word e-sex to me right now, hyung.”
Jaemin hums. “Probably shouldn’t call me hyung if you don’t want said e-sex.”
“Oh my god.”
It’s quiet for a minute, only the sound of Jaemin clicking buttons on the stove, then moving around. Chenle refuses to swipe back to the camera screen, determinedly scrolling his Instagram feed instead. Jaemin posted a new photo on his public account a couple of hours ago, a shirtless picture of him in a rooftop pool with a few other players. The CN tower stands proud in the background. Chenle clears his throat. Since returning to Canada, Jaemin’s body has only gotten tighter, an obvious sign that he’s working with professional trainers again.
I was in love with you. Boyfriend.
Register for the draft. The Leafs will take you.
Chenle is so caught up in his head that any rustling noises in the background don’t register at first. Not until Jaemin’s breathing grows too fast to be natural.
There’s no way it’s what it sounds like.
“Are you—” Chenle sits up straight on the couch. Swiping back to the FaceTime call where Jaemin has his head tilted back against his own couch, eyes closed, shirt lost somewhere behind him. Just as ripped as in the Instagram picture, Jesus. “Are you jerking off right now?”
“Just thinking about the noises you made.” Jaemin’s shoulder moves up and down in the frame. “How much I wish I was there with you right now, how pretty you would sound begging for me.”
Chenle swallows, mouth drier than it was a minute ago. “I wouldn’t beg.”
“You already have, baby,” Jaemin says, voice low as he slits an eye open to look at the camera. “And you will again, I promise.”
“You’re awfully confident,” Chenle replies, weak.
Jaemin smiles. “I just know you.”
Damn. Chenle’s already hard. Shutting his eyes against the pretty picture Jaemin paints on his phone, Chenle props it up on the coffee table so he can ease his shorts down, mesh fabric sticking to his skin in the shitty Seoul summer. There’s no lube nearby because he’s a normal human who keeps it hidden in his bedroom, and like hell is he about to go hunt for it right now, possibly giving himself time to come to his senses, so. Spit it is.
“For the record, I can’t believe we’re doing this.”
Chenle lifts a hand to lick a flat stripe over the palm. Jaemin watches with narrowed eyes, ignoring every word he says.
“Yeah, get yourself wet for me. Lick it again, one more time— there you go,” Jaemin murmurs. “Good, baby, you listen to hyung so well.”
“Jaemin,” Chenle complains.
His turn to ignore the way Jaemin’s words make him full-body shiver, heart beating faster. If he licks his hand once more before finally wrapping it around his cock, it’s not because Jaemin told him to. It’s because he likes it wet too, that’s all. He still has to choke back a curse at the first touch; doing this on his own never usually feels this good.
“What’s the matter, kitty?” Jaemin has propped the phone up on something, entire upper half now on display for Chenle’s hungry eyes as he strokes himself in tandem. “Cat got your tongue?
“If you make another cat reference, I’m hanging up. Furry.”
Jaemin ignores him again. “Faster.”
Chenle rolls his eyes when Jaemin isn’t looking, trying to hide the way his breath speeds up with his strokes. For a moment, there’s only the sound of their breathing, Jaemin’s body on display, filling his phone screen.
If Jaemin were here, he’d be teasing Chenle again and again, leading him to the brink like the pied piper before yanking it away, drawing noise after desperate noise out of Chenle’s throat with no thought for his mental well-being.
“I want to get my mouth on you,” Jaemin says, almost conversational. “After finding out how you taste, it’s all I think about without you here. Hook your pretty little legs over my shoulders and just hold you there, take my time.”
“Shit, hyung,” Chenle whispers. “You could, I’d let you.”
“You’d let me, hmm. So generous of you.”
Chenle allows his eyes to fall closed so he doesn’t roll them at Jaemin again and ruin the moment. He wouldn’t put it past Jaemin to squeeze an apology out of him before they continue, always knowing when he’s at his most vulnerable and willing to exploit it if there’s something to be gained, like Chenle’s sanity or the last of his patience. A pretty prize for Jaemin to keep tucked in his back pocket, for his eyes only.
“You’d want my fingers too, of course,” Jaemin continues to murmur. He’s not even stroking himself anymore, hand gone still as he watches Chenle with dark eyes. “Nothing’s ever enough for you, I know your own hand sure isn’t. Probably haven’t had a decent orgasm since I left.” He pitches his voice lower as Chenle’s breath comes faster. “Not enough, right? You need me there, baby?”
His hand is just fine, actually, is getting Chenle closer and closer the longer Jaemin sneers in his ear, but what comes spilling out of his traitorous mouth is much more honest. “Want— want you, yeah.”
Jaemin’s breath punches out on the exhale. “What do you want? Tell me.”
“Want you here,” Chenle insists. “Want everything you just said, want you to touch me. God, Jaemin—” He’s so close.
“God, huh? That’s a new one,” Jaemin croons in his ear. “Is that what I am to you, princess?” Despite the obvious tease in his voice, his eyes are focused and greedy, taking in every move Chenle makes. “Look at how your watch looks in the light like this, fucking perfect.”
Chenle comes without any warning, doesn’t bother trying to hold off for propriety’s sake or like he would have to if Jaemin was here. He squeezes his eyes shut, tries to control his breathing.
Jaemin curses, watching as Chenle drops back down to earth, starting to stroke himself again. “Talk to me.”
Panting hard, Chenle drops his head back against the couch, lazily staring at the camera. There’s cum all over his shirt. “What d’you want to hear?”
“Anything, whatever you want. Just—”
“The bruise you left on my thigh is still there.”
There’s a second of silence and then— “Fuck,” Jaemin groans, twisting his wrist. “How?”
Humiliation and arousal go to war inside of Chenle, hating how the humiliation only adds to the heat in his stomach even after he already came. “I’ve been pressing my fingers into it when I— whenever I think of you. So it won’t fade.”
Jaemin’s hand speeds up, slick sounds growing louder as he nears his own end. “Show me.”
Chenle obliges without a second thought. Picks his phone back up, passes the camera over his spent cock lying against his wet thigh, right next to the mark Jaemin sucked weeks ago. Countless minutes spent between his thighs, his skin between Jaemin’s teeth, worrying and working the area until Jaemin was satisfied. The natural progression of time has left it a sickly yellow, a faded, mottled display. Stuck forever in the stopped process of healing, but still there, as promised. His determination made sure of that.
“Fuck,” Jaemin moans again, sounding more wrecked now than because of anything else they’ve done tonight. He brings the camera closer to his face, cutting off Chenle’s view. He looks hungry. “Look at you, princess. So good, you have no idea. Made for me, you were made for me and you know it, you’re mine, yeah, love being mine so much that you kept—”
“You’re mine too,” Chenle cuts him off. “Don’t forget that. Next time I see you I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” Jaemin asks, almost desperate. “Tell me, kitty.”
“I’ll bite my own bruise so far and deep into your skin that you won’t even have to poke at it to get it to stay.”
Whatever else he was going to say gets lost to the wind as Jaemin tosses his head back, hand moving almost painfully fast. It must be pure agony, sheer bliss, and Jaemin lets out a guttural unhinged noise when he starts to come.
He drags it out as long as he possibly can. Chenle watches it all, arousal still buzzing under his skin, faint and ever-present.
“Yeah,” Jaemin laughs after a minute, lazy. Sated. “We’re definitely doing that more often.”
-
Time seems to speed up as the draft lurks closer. Late spring and early summer pass by in a blur of FaceTiming Jaemin and hitting the gym, bending his body in ways it was never meant to bend. Running drills on the ice until his feet feel like falling off, and then running some more. Jisung gets more and more excited about moving to another country with him, taking more initiative in securing the proper education visa than Chenle’s seen from him in anything else over a decade of friendship.
The month of the draft arrives with a haze of warm rain and heat waves, and with it brings the combine in Buffalo. Chenle stays at Jaemin’s condo in Toronto for the event, putting his passport to good use.
He arrives three days early, too excited by his first time in Canada and the promise of seeing Jaemin again to bear being apart any longer, and they spend the next forty-eight hours attached at the hip. Not even bothering to go out and sightsee in the city that’s soon to be (maybe) his new home, too caught up in seeing each other again to leave the apartment. It’s like grade school summers all over again. Playing games at all hours of the day, sneaking a doughnut or two when they thought they could get away with it, laying down together talking about everything.
The only difference is the christening of Jaemin’s bedroom (and his very large kitchen, and the real granite table in the dining room, and his stupid rich person shower with five different water stream settings), but even that played a role in Chenle’s fantasies from back then. They don’t fuck the night before the combine, Chenle too keyed up and nervous to settle down long enough to even think about getting hard.
Jaemin shushes him when he tries to explain. Pulls him in close and just holds him, limbs intertwined together in his king-size bed until Chenle’s heart calms to a normal rate.
Markie is curled up into a ball on Jaemin’s stolen pillow, abandoned near the foot of the bed. Chenle knows from experience that the cat will make his way to lie on Jaemin’s face halfway through the night just to be annoying.
“Leafs management will be there tomorrow,” Jaemin says, keeping his voice soft enough not to break the peace.
“I know,” Chenle says, equally quiet.
The white walls of the condo catch the sun’s dying rays quite nicely, situated on the eleventh floor of one of Toronto’s many high-rises. Hues of deep yellow and orange paint their clasped hands as Chenle raises them above his head, studying every line and divot embedded in the skin there.
Jaemin pulls their hands towards his face, brushes a kiss on Chenle’s knuckles. “From what I’ve heard, some other teams are interested in talking to you too.”
“From what I’ve heard,” Chenle mimics. “‘Cause NHL insiders definitely talk to you about this stuff, I’m sure.”
“They do,” Jaemin insists. “I’m very charming. They all love me.”
Chenle drops their hands, rolls over so he can prop his head up on Jaemin’s chest. Digs his chin into the squishy part. “I’m not signing with anyone else, I don’t care.”
Jaemin rolls his eyes. “Do you honestly think I’d try to convince you to go to another team?”
“No,” Chenle replies. “You’re too much of a possessive dick for that.”
“You’re the sweetest when you’re being a little hypocrite, baby,” Jaemin says, and pinches his cheeks hard.
Chenle slaps his hand away even harder but Jaemin is relentless when he wants to be, pinching the other side.
“There,” he coos, pleased. “Now your cheeks will be nice and rosy for tomorrow so management will fall in love with you.”
“You’re such a weirdo,” Chenle sighs, laying his head back down on Jaemin’s chest— after biting his nipple, of course.
“You love me,” Jaemin declares. “Go to sleep, okay?”
Chenle doesn’t reply, wide awake.
The combine itself is nerve-wracking beyond relief.
Jaemin drives him there bright and early before the sun is even up, famed 401 traffic slowing their already far drive down even further. He falls asleep to the sensation of Jaemin’s hand rubbing comforting circles over his knee, sweet sounds of his favorite songs on Jaemin’s fancy sound system in the background.
All the training he’s been putting himself through ends up paying the fuck off, though; the endurance and strength testing that certain trainers throw at him is absolute hell on Earth, but all stuff that Jaemin had prepared him for. He’s poked and prodded by around eight different medical officials before ultimately being given a clean bill of health, then goes on to kick ass at the skills testing, sniping shot after shot even off the ice.
Compared to the fitness testing, the actual communication aspects of the combine are the easiest part. Chenle’s English is pretty good, and he could make conversation with a houseplant— it doesn’t even matter that half the people are there for the sole purpose of judging his ability and the other half are being judged.
He talks to and shakes hands with so many players that he loses count. Fantilli and Carlsson are nice enough to stick out in his memory, noting their names from Jaemin’s soul-crushing (but now comforting) words a few months earlier. Michkov walks right by him without speaking, and every time he sees Bedard the poor kid is being swarmed from every side by no shortage of prospects, management, and reporters alike.
It’s not until Chenle sits down in the conference room, awkward and nervous in one of Jaemin’s ill-fitting gameday suits, that the reality of the situation hits him.
Six teams want to meet with him today. Six.
The chair he’s sitting in is going to have a permanent sweat stain in the shape of his ass once the day is over.
Some of the men that enter the room from time to time are recognisable as the scouts who showed up at his games, teams that he can now identify as Carolina and Buffalo, and others he’s never seen at all from Columbus, Edmonton, and Las Vegas.
If Las Vegas tries drafting him, he’ll threaten to jump off a casino rooftop in front of their entire board of directors in order to change the trajectory of their lives. Buffalo on the other hand wouldn’t be the worst city to go to, considering its close proximity to Toronto, but he still doesn’t want to be anywhere that Jaemin isn’t. Chenle wants a chance to play with Jaemin, not just see him once or twice a week whenever they can swing it, sometimes less depending on road trips and farm teams and just bad fucking weather.
He turns his brain off as soon as the Leafs’ assistant coach starts talking to him, operating solely on autopilot, and doesn’t turn it back on even after Jaemin picks him up from the venue well into the night.
“So? So?” Jaemin pries once they’re back in his condo, bouncing around like Jeno usually does. “Tell me everything, right now. Did they love you? Are you gonna be a Leaf? What teams talked to you?”
“Hhrnngh,” Chenle manages, and goes to bed.
-
The draft sneaks up on him, his life after coming back home an endless cycle of planning with Jisung and training until suddenly it’s time to board the plane to Nashville. His parents opted to stay in China instead of going with him, which kind of stung, but he already said goodbye to them in private during a nice half-week vacation. Instead, he convinced his other support system to tag along.
“Do you think they’ll give me both pretzels and cookies if I ask really nicely?” Donghyuck asks, bouncing up and down on his heels in the security line.
Jeno stands just behind him, slumped forward precariously against Donghyuck’s back. They all spent the last day trying to adjust their sleep schedule to American time, and Jeno seems to be suffering the most.
“Hyung,” Jisung sighs, patterned neck pillow already firmly in place as he rubs at his temples. “It’s a seventeen hour flight. They’re going to serve you actual meals, not just pretzels.”
“Okay, but I want options,” Donghyuck says. “I want the meals and the pretzels, and the cookies.”
“I’ll give you my cookies if you stop talking,” Jeno mumbles.
Donghyuck pats him on the head, shifting so Jeno can rest his head on his shoulder as the line moves. “Thank you, puppy,” he simpers. “But no, you’re still growing. You have to eat all your food.”
Jeno squints up at him. “I’m less than two months younger than you.”
“Aigoo, so cute.” Donghyuck scratches his head, and Jeno doesn’t protest again, eyes slipping closed.
Chenle is too busy having a silent panic attack to pay any of this close attention. The next time he comes back here, it won’t be his home anymore. It’ll be to pack up the rest of his shit and figure out the optics of shipping all of his belongings overseas. Or, even worse, he won’t have been drafted at all and he’ll be coming back as a failure. He’ll never get to play with Jaemin again.
The line moves forward, but he’s still stuck in his head.
“Are you okay?” Donghyuck asks, quiet as to not alert Jeno and Jisung out of their apparently very deep conversation about the pros and cons of Global Entry.
Chenle nods.
“Are you lying?”
Chenle nods again.
Donghyuck shifts Jeno’s head off of his shoulder, guides Chenle to place his there instead. Eyes closed, Chenle goes, letting the gentle rocking soothe him as they shuffle forward in the line, falling asleep as soon as they settle in their seats on the plane.
He doesn’t even get to see Jaemin in order to dissuade his fears once they deplane in Nashville a crazy amount of hours later, late in the evening. Jisung drags him straight to the hotel that all the prospects are staying at, wanting to wash off the airport grime, and Jeno and Donghyuck fuck off somewhere to go kidnap Mark. Chenle doesn’t even know why Mark is in Nashville, but it had been a major selling point on why they both wanted to come along in the first place.
And to support Chenle, of course. But mostly the Mark thing.
Jisung takes his sweet time in the bathroom, so Chenle breaks into his adjoining room and flops onto the bed, checking his phone.
A handful of congratulations and well wishes on Instagram. Two texts, both from his mom asking if he made it there safely. One notification from his bank app, alerting him to the overpriced keychains he bought from the Nashville airport. Nothing from Jaemin. No flight details or information about when he should be landing, no good luck messages, not even a well-intentioned dick pic.
“Jisung!” Chenle calls in the direction of the bathroom, tossing his phone on the nightstand. “Get ready, we’re going out.”
-
Chenle’s original plan had been to get wasted beyond his wildest dreams in order to chase all of his thoughts away, but Mark looked so overwhelmed dealing with a shitfaced Donghyuck and Jeno, so he took it upon himself to stay sober and help him out. Very responsible, he knows.
Something Jeno had both loudly and profusely thanked him for multiple times. Chenle just patted his head, amused, and dumped a tipsy Jisung into the booth next to him. Jisung never goes out, only came this time because Chenle practically dragged him, and had exactly two shots before getting all blushy.
They make it back to the hotel in one piece, passing several would-be draft picks in the lobby. Chenle slumps against the elevator wall, checking his phone again. One interesting email about a new show coming to Netflix that he bookmarks. Still zero new messages from Jaemin.
“Right on,” Jisung mumbles once Chenle starts complaining out loud. “You tell him.”
“I’d tell you about my plan to kill him, but since you’re related I don’t know if I should.”
Jisung hums, eyes lighting up when the elevator dings on another floor, mimicking the noise out loud. “Good point. Placebo denia-something, and all that.”
He finally breaks first.
22:29
ass
Jaemin’s response is too fast to be anything other than intentional.
22:29
hi princess
heh
was waiting for you to text me
22:30
are you serious
you could’ve texted me first im literally getting drafted for you
are you in nashville yet?
22:31
first of all how did you do italics over text 😫 you’re so talented euaaaa
second, no i like messing with you too much <3
Chenle groans. Of course his last question was ignored. He shoves his phone in his pocket when the elevator opens on their floor, pulling Jisung into his room and dumping him on the bed. Tugs Jisung’s shoes off before tucking him in, already asleep the second his head hits the pillow, snagging a few aspirin from Jisung’s toiletry bag to leave on the bedside table. By the time Chenle finishes performing best friend duties, there’s another text from Jaemin waiting on his lockscreen.
22:34
third, when are you coming back? mark said he left you half an hour ago
Pausing in the hallway outside his own room right next to Jisung’s, Chenle rests a hand on the half-opened door. Does that mean…
Jaemin yanks the door open the rest of the way and pulls Chenle through before he can finish the thought, pressing him up against the hastily closed door. Kissing him before Chenle can start berating him again.
They’ve only been apart a couple of weeks, but it feels like forever.
“Hi, baby,” Jaemin breathes into his mouth, all sincerity. “I missed kissing you.”
Always spoiling Chenle with his affection. “How the hell did you get in here?” Chenle asks, too giddy to remember to be mad anymore.
“It’s cute that you still ask questions like that,” Jaemin teases, kissing him again.
It turns sloppy fast, both too desperate for anything requiring finesse, breathing too heavily to make the kiss something other than fast-paced and heated right from the jump. Chenle doesn’t remember exactly how Jaemin’s tongue ended up in his mouth but he sucks on it with avid determination, sweeps his own into Jaemin’s mouth on the next breath in.
Jaemin gets their underwear shoved down at the speed of light right there against the door— or maybe Chenle’s just not paying that close attention, caught up in the feeling of Jaemin’s lips on his, the affectionate, mocking words Jaemin mumbles into his mouth. The softness of Jaemin’s skin under his hands.
“Really, hyung? Right here?” Chenle wouldn’t be himself if he didn’t lodge a complaint anyway, despite being so very down to do this right here.
“Right here,” Jaemin confirms, tangling their fingers together to take both of them in hand. “Missed you so bad, kitty,” he pants against Chenle’s temple, lips smudging skin as he fucks into their combined grip. “Don’t know how I lived two years without you. Never letting you go again.”
Chenle squeezes his eyes shut, hips stuttering. “You’re the one who left.”
That startles a laugh out of Jaemin. “God, you’re never gonna let me forget that.”
The words are so fond that Chenle doesn’t have it in him to be repentant. Shoving his free hand into Jaemin’s hair, he drags him down for another desperate kiss. Licks Jaemin’s lips insistently until he gets the hint, speeds up the pace of their hands. Chenle breaks the kiss, tucking his head under Jaemin’s chin to bite at the skin there. Overwhelmed with the sensation of Jaemin’s hands on him no matter how familiar it's come to be.
Jaemin comes first with a drawn-out grown into the night air, so fast that Chenle would have half a mind to tease him for it if he weren’t right there with him, extra worked up after being apart from Jaemin again, even if just for a few weeks. Jaemin drops his grip while Chenle is still panting, riled up and on the edge, drawing their hands up instead to feed him the wetness on his fingers.
“There we go,” Jaemin croons. “Just like that.”
Pressing his fingers against Chenle’s teeth, running the callused pads across Chenle’s tongue, almost exploratory. Chenle lets him do it, eyes half-lidded. The sight must do something to Jaemin despite just having come, as he wraps an urgent hand around Chenle’s cock again just on the pleasurable side of rough, eking a gasp from Chenle’s slick mouth.
“Can you come like this? Already?” The question is accompanied by a harsh tug.
“I don’t know,” Chenle replies, a little mindless. He drops his head sideways onto Jaemin’s shoulder, looking up at him. “Yeah, if you want me to, yeah.”
Jaemin’s eyes narrow, leaning in impossibly closer. Thumb brushing against the head of Chenle’s dick, rubbing at the bundle of nerves there. Chenle’s gasp gets lost in his neck.
“So pretty when you’re desperate for it, sweetheart,” Jaemin murmurs. “Practically eating out of the palm of my hand. And you say you’re not a kitten, baby, just look at you.”
“Don’t say shit like tha—ah,” Chenle tries to chastise him. Cut off by a particularly rough stroke, like Jaemin’s trying to steal his words before they have the chance to leave his mouth.
“What was that?” Jaemin’s tone is smug, too smug. “Hmm?”
Chenle grits his teeth. Draws his hand up from where he’s been clenching his fingernails into Jaemin’s waist to rub at a nipple through his shirt, then twists.
A low moan is ripped from Jaemin’s throat. “Brat,” he whispers, hand fumbling for the light switch by Chenle’s head. “Come on.”
Dim light floods the room, illuminating the out-of-date appliances and patchy carpet.
On one hand, the dark had given everything an illicit aura, made it feel almost wrong to have their hands all over each other in some random hotel room. A glimpse into their future together if tomorrow goes to plan: messing around in different cities all across the continent, celebrating wins and comforting each other after losses, trying to keep quiet knowing their teammates will be right down the hall. Foiled by Jaemin’s exhibitionism and Chenle’s own inability to not be into everything Jaemin wants. It’s a good-looking future.
On the other hand, the light gives Chenle an admittedly great view of Jaemin’s disheveled hair and rumpled shirt, strong arms bulging where they’re poking out, now half-hard dick hanging out of his pants that were barely tugged down in his haste to get his hands on Chenle.
Yeah. The light is better.
Jaemin steals another kiss, leading him to the bed and pushing him down to rest against it, legs hanging off the edge. Not wasting any time before dropping to his knees and swallowing him down.
Chenle gasps, sitting up ramrod straight from the sensation. The movement almost dislodges him but he wraps a firm hand around Chenle’s hip, sucks him down further until his nose is bumping skin. Hand flying to clamp on Jaemin’s nape, Chenle holds him there without conscious thought. Jaemin’s throat flutters around him— he’s probably snickering, the dick.
“Dick,” Chenle pants.
Jaemin pulls off long enough to grin up at him, unapologetic. Still stroking Chenle with one hand, tapping the head against his lips. “What’s wrong?”
“You’re filthy.” Chenle wipes excess saliva off of Jaemin’s lips, already sloppy with it. He closes his eyes against the picture Jaemin paints. “And insane.”
“You get off on it.”
It’s not a question. Chenle swallows, guiding Jaemin’s mouth back around him, fucking into that warm wetness— and Jaemin lets him. With the smallest graze of sharp teeth, a reminder, but it just gets Chenle there faster. Hips twitching as he rides it out, coming before he even has a chance to consciously think about it.
After, Jaemin pulls his underwear back up but tugs both of their pants off. He curls around Chenle like the cat he’s always accusing him of being, buries his head in Chenle’s stomach in what’s quickly become his favorite nap position. It’s nice, quiet in the low lighting. Easy to drift along in the silence, to get Chenle’s mind off of the fact that his entire future will be decided tomorrow night.
Speaking of—
“What are you doing?” Jaemin mumbles into his belly, displeased with all the shuffling around as Chenle grabs his phone. “Stop moving, pillow.”
“Checking my projected draft ranking,” Chenle replies, absent-minded. He scrolls through an article from Daily Faceoff, then one from Sportsnet. “They don’t even have me listed as going in the first round.”
Jaemin nips his stomach.
“Ow,” Chenle complains.
“Stop looking at that.”
“But—”
Jaemin bites him again. “No buts. The Leafs will take you.”
Chenle tries pushing Jaemin’s head away, but he latches his teeth into the flesh even further. “Jesus, you really need to get your teeth blunted down. They feel like vampire fangs.”
Grinning, Jaemin releases him, head springing up to show off two rows of pointy white, flushed cheeks making them pop even more. “You weren’t upset about that a few minutes ago.”
Chenle shoves his fingers in Jaemin’s mouth rather than responding. Jaemin tries talking around the intrusion, but it comes out garbled all to hell. Luckily he has years of practice speaking Jaeminese; he’s ninety-five percent confident Jaemin was repeating the Leafs will take you. It’s become a steady mantra in Chenle’s head whenever he feels worried, a call and response he’s well acquainted with by now.
“The Leafs will take me,” he repeats. Jaemin looks inordinately pleased. “I know you blackmailed the general manager. You can’t lie to me.”
Jaemin presses his sharp teeth into Chenle’s index finger ever so softly. A faint mockery of a bite, more to get Chenle’s attention than anything else. Withdrawing his fingers, he wipes the spit across Jaemin’s cheekbone.
“Of course I did,” Jaemin says. “How else was I gonna make sure I keep you by my side for the rest of my life?”
Chenle doesn’t blush. To imply otherwise is blasphemy. “What kind of dirt do you have on him?”
“Hmm.” Jaemin pretends to think. “I don’t know if I should say.”
“Tell me,” Chenle chants, prodding Jaemin’s forehead with two fingers. “Tell me, tell me. Tell me. Hyung. Tell me.”
Jaemin laughs and swats his hand away, rolling them over so Chenle ends up underneath him instead. Looming over him all creepily, he crawls up Chenle’s body like a sexy slinky, lifting one hand to slowly drag Chenle’s mussed shirt up over his hip bone. Traces a faint line there, snapping the band of Chenle’s boxer-briefs before leering at him, so close that he can feel Jaemin’s breath.
Chenle just came his brains out not even ten minutes ago, but Jaemin somehow manages to turn him on again already. Something about the man activates the basest urges under his skin.
“Well,” Jaemin murmurs. “Let’s just say I saw him wearing something that would be more fitting in a Victoria’s Secret catalog.”
Any heat that had been blooming under Chenle’s skin fizzles out and dies. “I’m sorry,” he says, trying not to burst out laughing in Jaemin’s face. “Are you trying to tell me Kyle Dubas wears frilly little panties to bed?”
Jaemin pouts, over-exaggerated. Eyes sparkling. “What, you don’t believe me?”
“No.”
He shrugs, lets Chenle’s shirt fall back down. Flicks Chenle’s nose before rolling onto his side facing away, sighing, “Whatever. It could be kind of hot, is all I’m saying.”
Chenle stares at his back. “Jaemin. What the fuck.” No response. Jabbing his fingers into Jaemin’s side doesn’t elicit one either. “What do you mean by that.”
“Shh. Sleeping.”
“You didn’t even brush your teeth, stop pretending.”
“Sleep, kitty,” Jaemin sings in a cutesy voice, but gets up to presumably steal Chenle’s toothbrush. “You’ve got a big day tomorrow.”
-
Nashville is buzzing with energy, excitement almost tangible in the air. The arena is packed tight with draft hopefuls and excited parents, big league officials and tired-looking sports journalists. Bright stadium lights illuminate the sheer magnitude of cameras and media everywhere, making him sweat in his stuffy new suit (actually his this time, a gift from Jisung). Analysts and executives litter the draft floor, talking on the phone or chatting with other teams, exchanging picks and players live in person.
Chenle has never experienced something quite like this before. His English, already pretty good, has gotten even better over the summer so any conversation trickling in is easier to follow than ever.
Donghyuck, Jisung, and Jeno are all piled into the tight row of seats next to Chenle but he makes sure to save one beside him for Jaemin, who was gone before he woke up this morning like a cheap one night stand. Didn’t reply to any of his texts, either.
Frowning, Chenle fires off another one. Tries to act normal.
18:47
i see dubas but he doesn’t have a panty line
lying liar
18:48
where are you?
No response. Okay, screw acting unaffected.
18:51
hyung where are youuuu seriously
this isn’t funny there’s only like ten minutes left
He jiggles his leg up and down impatiently. Another minute passes, still no response.
18:52
if you don’t show up in the next five minutes i’m walking out
i’ll do it >:( you know i will
Of course that’s what causes Jaemin to reply.
18:53
relax baby
i’ll be there when you get called!!!
trust me, i won’t miss it
18:53
what does that mean
18:54
hyung what does that meannn 😭😭
18:55
patience, kitty
retract your claws, you’ll see soon enough 🥰
good luck 💚 you got this
The next time Chenle sees him, he’s planning on wrapping his hands around Jaemin’s neck, squeezing as tight as he possibly can—
“Stop muttering death threats under your breath, you’re scaring the poor prospects,” Donghyuck says, waving at an admittedly nervous-looking teenage boy a few seats to Chenle’s left.
Chenle can’t remember his name. Heidt? Stenberg? Gautier? All three? Could be anything.
The first round starts and with it the first pick, all the pomp and circumstance surrounding Bedard drawing some of the pressure off of Chenle’s shoulders. There’s chaos and applause, everyone clambering for a close-up shot of history being made.
The second pick goes, then the third. No one comes to sit next to Chenle. No beautiful cryptid sneaks his way onto Chenle’s row of seats, whispering overly polite apologies to the people he’s crossing in front of, maneuvering around legs clad in nice trousers and dresses. Chenle’s least favorite person in the world doesn’t drop down beside him, sneak a kiss behind his ear in the guise of whispering well wishes, snake a hand underneath his suit jacket to ruck up the fabric and get fingers on Chenle’s bare skin in front of thousands.
“Where’s your damn brother?” Chenle mutters under his breath.
“No idea.” Jisung looks just as lost as him, a worried set to his eyebrows as he pulls out his phone and starts texting.
The screen isn’t visible, but Chenle hopes the message Jisung sends reads something along the lines of I’m disowning you and burning all your stuff unless you come here and calm my dearest most treasured beloved best friend down right now.
Philadelphia picks ninth, Detroit picks fifteenth, Winnipeg takes Štrbák at twenty-sixth who Chenle remembers was super welcoming towards him at the combine, responding kindly to Chenle’s numerous attempts at conversation even though neither of them were speaking their first languages. Heidt-Stenberg-Gautier goes to St. Louis, which Chenle is only forty percent certain is in Missouri. It’s hard to keep track as he spent so long ignoring the NHL, bitter and upset. To think that he might be playing there next year or the year after is mind-blowing.
The picks go surprisingly fast, the first round wears on, and Chenle almost chews a hole through his fingernail. Jisung tries to stop him at some point but Chenle threatens to gnaw on his hand instead, successfully scaring Jisung away as well as another random prospect’s parents sitting in front of them.
Jaemin still doesn’t show.
Before he knows it, Boston is ushering their thirtieth pick off the stage, a crisp black and yellow jersey tugged over his excited face. And then Kyle Dubas takes the stage, trailed by Leafs executive after Leafs executive, followed closely by the coach and then—
Na fucking Jaemin. The worst person in existence.
Coincidentally, also the love of his life, though that was up in the air a few minutes ago when it looked like Jaemin was a no call no show for something Jaemin himself was making him do. Maybe not the best way to think about the literal NHL, something ninety-nine point nine-nine percent of hockey players can only dream of, but Chenle has his priorities set. He got into this sport for one reason, one person alone; he’s only here in the first place for that exact same reason.
That reason is currently sauntering on stage without a care in the world, despite any bad press he received over the past year. Looking sharp as hell in a black suit jacket perfectly tailored to fit his waist, and pants that must be padded somehow, because there’s no way Jaemin magically grew an ass overnight.
Whispers fill the air as he comes on stage. One of the people in the stands behind him leans to talk to his wife, speaking loud enough for Chenle to overhear. “Makes sense, the Sens had Tkachuk announce their pick a few years ago right after he was drafted.”
The woman murmurs in agreement, starts to reply, but Chenle has stopped listening. Surprised he even managed to listen for that long with how loud his brain is buzzing.
Jaemin being on stage while the Leafs make their pick without telling Chenle about it can only mean one thing.
He’s going to Toronto. Holy shit, he’s actually going to Toronto. Jaemin did it.
Vivid images of their future together flash across his eyelids when he closes them.
Cooking pasta together in Jaemin’s giant kitchen as Chenle tries not to burn water, Jaemin feeding him sauce off a wooden spoon to taste test the salt level, getting distracted as Jaemin lifts him onto the countertop and kisses him until he can’t even taste the chili paste anymore. Family dinners with Jisung and their parents at one of the many overpriced restaurants in the city, Jaemin coercing Chenle into holding hands under the heavy tablecloth, their own little secret even as Jisung kicks his legs under the table knowingly. Scoring a goal off a beauty of a pass from Jaemin and hearing the city chant their names, jumping into Jaemin’s arms on the ice in celebration, blinded by the brilliance of his smile and the roar of the crowd.
It’s everything they planned out together before Jaemin left, finally about to come to fruition.
Jaemin steps forward to speak into the microphone. Looks right up into the section where Chenle is sitting, body numb, ears not functioning, and then Jisung is tugging him out of his seat and talking excitedly into his ear that still isn’t working. Donghyuck pulls him into a sweet hug before Jeno does the same, ushering him down the stairs after patting him on the head.
Somehow, Chenle ends up on the platform, miraculously not stumbling on his way up the stairs as he pulls his suit jacket off. He shakes hands with the entire operations staff, tries not to bow to a panty line-less Dubas, accepts the same blue and white jersey that he cried watching Jaemin put on three years ago with excited hands.
Sound gradually filters back in right around the time that Jaemin starts walking towards him on stage, looking even more clean-cut and delicious up close. Polite clapping, the blaring of the in-arena music that sounds like an off-pitch marching band, the rustle of fabric as it drags over his ears, big white maple leaf sitting proudly on Chenle’s chest.
Jaemin grins, wide and maniacal, everything that Chenle loves about him. He sticks out a hand for Chenle to shake, palm catching against Chenle’s, warm and soft. Perfect.
“Hi, I’m Jaemin,” he says, low— just for Chenle’s ears. “We’re gonna play together forever.”