Chapter Text
It takes Renjun three months to lose all sense of responsibility, decency and sanity.
And, considering he’s chosen Donghyuck for this, he should add intelligence to the list of qualities he’s lost since Mark broke up with him.
“Let me go over it for you, once more, just so that you realize how absolutely crazy you sound right now,” Donghyuck says, with the hint of an incredulous, yet mocking smile on his face. “It’s been three months since Mark, our friend, my friend, broke up with you, after you two dated for three years. A perfectly amicable break-up, as far as I know.” A judgmental raise of his eyebrows is proof that now, only now, Donghyuck is questioning the official version Mark and Renjun told everyone. “And suddenly you want me to pretend to be your boyfriend because people think you’re not over him?”
If Donghyuck puts it that way, it sounds like Renjun came out of the relationship wounded.
However, after the constant torture he’s been through in the last few months, Donghyuck’s speech doesn’t seem that insane to him anymore. He’d have laughed at his own idea if anyone had offered it under any other circumstance, but his own experience has been shaping this last resort.
It’s been three months since Mark and he broke up. To be sincere, since Mark broke up with him. Three months of pitiful looks thrown at him, empathetic words and pats on his back – which Renjun despised – and everyone treating him as if he’d break in pieces if just a breeze blew in his direction.
Renjun gets it. He understands why people, including his friends, assumed that he’d be heartbroken for the rest of his life, despite how many times Renjun assured that he’s fine.
It was Mark’s fault that losing him made people think Renjun’s life was over.
Mark had always been perfect.
During three years, he’d been the perfect boyfriend, in a quite public way. He was funny, considerate – one of the main reasons Renjun fell for him at first – and laughed at every bad joke Renjun told even when no one else would. He never forgot a special anniversary, and was so enamored that he made sure to celebrate their hundred, two hundred, and every single hundred anniversary they had. With Renjun’s tendency for danger, he always looked out for him before himself.
On top of that, he was incredibly attractive, that type of attractiveness that made Renjun want to marry him, introduce him to his parents, and buy a house together. And that much to his misery, it made people turn to look at him, whisper behind his back in public spaces, and ask for his number even when Mark was clearly on a date with him.
He kissed like he meant it every single time, and fucked like he was out of this world. Or like he had read the diary Renjun wrote when he was eighteen and his hormones were at their peak.
Renjun supposes that the assumption that he’s a poor abandoned, heartbroken soul is natural.
So yes, Renjun can imagine why Donghyuck, now mindlessly opening Renjun’s fridge for snacks as if this was his house, thinks he’s lost his mind at last. Renjun isn’t so sure he’s wrong, either way.
“That’s exactly what I want, Donghyuck,” he sternly agrees. He glares at Donghyuck as soon as he turns around, after stealing one of Jaemin’s carrot muffins. Renjun will have to account for that later. “I’m serious. This isn’t a joke.”
Donghyuck rolls his eyes at that, frustrated with Renjun’s attempts at convincing him.
“No one expects you to be over Mark, okay?” he insists, dodging the pleasure of giving Renjun a clear answer. “I know he’s going on dates, but he hasn’t gotten over you either.”
Renjun blinks at Donghyuck in shock, and ignores how his heart clenches at that piece of information.
He didn’t know Mark was going on dates. It’s a bit too soon, he thinks. Or maybe not, given that he’s trying to convince Donghyuck to be his boyfriend. Going on dates would be a milder version of moving on, instead of getting a boyfriend, albeit a pretend one.
“Donghyuck.” Renjun sighs, but he’s stronger than the walls Donghyuck is putting up. It was evident that talking him into this was going to be difficult. First, because Donghyuck would have to lie to their friends, and Mark trusts him as though they’re brothers. That’s one of the reasons Renjun needs Donghyuck specifically. Mark won’t believe they made a deal behind his back. “I don’t give a fuck about if I should be over Mark or not, to be honest. I am over him, by the way. I just need you to know if you’re in or not, and if you’re not, I need you to keep your mouth close so that I can do this with someone else”
Judging by the resignation that crosses Donghyuck’s expression, he wishes he could put a fight against Renjun’s emotional denial.
Part of Renjun is curious about why Donghyuck doesn’t trust his words – or any of his friends, for that matter – but he’s praying Donghyuck will comply without asking any more questions.
Renjun is in need of an ally. It feels like the whole world is plotting to bury him and his voice underground.
“You’re so stubborn,” Donghyuck flings at him.
But with the attack, Renjun catches a trail of hope: there it is, acceptance in Donghyuck’s tone.
His complaint brings surrender along.
Donghyuck bites onto the muffin, scrunching his nose like he’s not sure if he likes it, and adds, “Do you even have the guts to carry this idea out? You’d have to kiss me, for starters.”
Renjun has thought about that.
The limits they’ve had with each other belong to a spectrum. Renjun hasn’t been actively thinking about kissing Donghyuck, but they’ve kissed a few times during silly games. Mark never minded, not when it was within their circle of friends. Almost all of them have kissed each other because of dares and bets, and it never meant anything. Only Chenle forbade them to kiss Jeno, even as a joke, once they started dating.
Truth to be told, Renjun has never shared a proper kiss with Donghyuck, just pecks and close-mouthed kisses. Imagining what kissing him would be like is a bit weird. But Donghyuck is attractive – high cheekbones, pretty lips, piercing eyes – and experienced, and Renjun is sure that he can get used to it.
They only need to kiss in public, anyway, so they don’t have to go too deep.
“I’m desperate. You have no idea how Mark looks at me,” Renjun answers, opting for an innocent lie. Donghyuck’s confidence is already over the roof, so letting him know that Renjun is fine with kissing him from time to time won’t help. “With pity. Like he knows I’m never going to get over our relationship and my life is over and he’s the only one that can fix it, which he’s not going to do.”
Donghyuck scoffs at that, entertained, leaning his elbows on the kitchen counter. He looks at Renjun, on the other side of the counter, with a playful leer. “That’s the impression you give, though.”
Renjun doesn’t miss this golden chance. “Thank you. So you agree with me.”
The joy on Donghyuck’s face vanishes as fast as it comes. Teasing Renjun is a knee-jerk reaction for him, and he expected Renjun to counter attack as usual, not to use the humiliation in his favor.
Losing such a small battle seems to make him switch his attitude. He studies Renjun’s face, as though he’s realizing that this is a real proposal and not just a conversation they can brush aside by tomorrow.
Donghyuck swallows the remnants of the muffin in one go, giving himself time to ponder, and then nods. Renjun can almost hear the wheels turning in his head.
“Fine, imagine I say yes and we pretend to date, then what?” he complies, straightening up as though he’d need a better position to argue, or as if Renjun would knock him out if he said no. His nonchalance dims out. “When do we break up? How far do we take it? I’ll have to bring you over for Christmas because Mark always joins and my family-”
It’s February, Renjun belatedly realizes, as Donghyuck rants and details the hundred questions they’d have to cover before sealing any deal. He doesn’t bother to correct Donghyuck: Mark and he broke up before Christmas, and Mark wasn’t in the mood to celebrate either with Donghyuck’s family, and less with Renjun. The previous Christmas Mark didn’t join Donghyuck either, and stayed with Renjun instead since he didn’t go back home.
“Donghyuck, we won’t even reach Christmas,” Renjun interrupts him. He has to raise his voice to make Donghyuck listen, which seems to surprise him. Luckily for the both of them, Donghyuck is perfectly used to entangling in verbal fights with him. “This is just to prove that I’m not hung up on Mark. Once it’s evident I’ll just move on and we’ll say we decided to stay friends because- there was no spark anymore, I guess.”
The way Donghyuck lifts his eyebrows is almost comical. His skepticism, however, is as truthful as it can get.
“That’s unrealistic. I have a spark with everyone,” he claims without an ounce of shame. Leaning his hand on his chest, he assures, “I’m made to be loved.”
Renjun summons his most hateful look just for Donghyuck who, after realizing he’s managed to get on his nerves at last, revels in a wave of satisfaction. Giggling at his own joke doesn’t help to calm Renjun’s nerves – he’d never admit that if this wasn’t such an important deal for him, he’d have laughed along.
“I’m running out of patience here, asshole.”
At the lack of approval, Donghyuck’s enthusiasm deflates in a split second. Donghyuck’s defeat is always kind of cute, no matter if it’s about games, a bet, or just a failed project of his.
Renjun has a theory that contrast is the key. Donghyuck rarely allows others to see his negative emotions, which would be exhausting for Renjun – so when he unravels them for one of his friends and stops pretending he’s an eternal ball of happiness, it feels intimate. Genuine.
Donghyuck frowns at him, and then at the counter, his fingers tapping over the surface nervously. “Why me, though?”
Renjun had a lot of time to craft the perfect response to this question.
When the first sketch of this idea popped up in his mind, he made detailed reviews of all the men in his life that could be considered, and noted down every reason why Donghyuck was a bad option or a good option.
Explaining that Donghyuck is the least bad option would hurt his ego, so Renjun decides to be quite careful with his words.
“Well,” Renjun starts, flashing a nervous smile at Donghyuck. “Jeno and Chenle are together so it’d be ridiculous to ask, and none of our friends would believe it. Jaemin would never agree to this and would probably sign me up for therapy instead.” Donghyuck sends him the ghost of a smirk that clearly tells Renjun that he’s about to look a therapist for him as well. “Jisung can’t even lie to save his own life, and less to Mark, so we’d get caught in one week tops.”
That makes Donghyuck smile, and in consequence relaxes Renjun. He suspects that Jisung might have burst into tears if Renjun had proposed this to him: both at the perspective of saying no to Renjun or having to lie to Mark.
Unlike everyone else, Donghyuck is made of something solid, something unbreakable. The opposite of how Renjun has been feeling for three months.
“You’re a good liar, not dating anyone, and we’re friends. Mark and practically everyone else know it’s more likely for me to date someone I’m already friends with,” Renjun continues. Behind Donghyuck, the kitchen’s clock marks three in the afternoon. Jeno will arrive home in two hours, and Jaemin in three. “I just don’t hook up with random people, and only after three months…”
It could worsen Renjun’s situation. The script is clear for him: he’s too romantic to meet someone and fuck him without getting to know him first. Claiming that he fell for a stranger after breaking up with Mark would create a wave of concern – he can almost hear Chenle telling him that this isn’t him, and that taking revenge by hooking up with new people isn’t going to bring Mark back to him.
However, Donghyuck and Renjun have known each other for six years. They met each other before anyone else among their friends, so there are blank spaces in their story that they could fill, if they wanted to. That seed of doubt is a wonderful thing, a time frame in which no one will be able to tell for sure if they had feelings before Mark appeared in Renjun’s life.
Renjun knows Donghyuck like the back of his hand. If he was to fall for someone, it’d be him.
By the end of his explanation, Donghyuck’s expression betrays his decision. A rush of triumph flows into Renjun, but he pretends that he hasn’t noticed, that he’s taking Donghyuck’s seriousness into account.
“What do I gain from this?” Donghyuck shoots at him.
That’s a question Renjun didn’t prepare beforehand.
“Social points?” he offers, which could be a reasonable point for Donghyuck. Most people are intimidated by him, and Renjun tends to be soft and more approachable after a couple of conversations. Approaching unpredictable Donghyuck, on the other hand, is an adventure every time. “Kissing me? Looking like you’re a good catch because apparently I have good taste in men?”
Donghyuck’s eyes narrow at the comment, and for a moment, Renjun isn’t sure if it’s because of the kissing invitation or the insinuation about his status.
“I am a good catch.”
Renjun gives him a tense smile. There’s a difference between being wanted and being a good catch.
Renjun agrees that Donghyuck could be, potentially, a good boyfriend, but during university, men that tried to date Donghyuck wanted him because he was attractive, unattainable and carefree. Men wanted to prove that Donghyuck would settle for them, regardless of whether they’d have a decent relationship or not. It wasn’t so much about Donghyuck as it was about the game, about feeling special, but jumping into Donghyuck’s space was a call to get your heart broken.
He’s left an infamous trail of emotional corpses behind.
Renjun hums, reticent, before retorting, “Everyone thinks you’re a player, Donghyuck.”
Pressing his lips into a line, Donghyuck falls into silence. It’s a comfortable silence, the end of an argument. Contradicting Renjun makes no sense, as both of them know he’s sought that fame for himself.
Donghyuck broke a few hearts, although unintentionally, but he insists that he’s never had feelings strong enough for anyone to date them for long. There’s a thin line between a player and someone who needs a lot of attempts to find the one, and Donghyuck is lost in between. Not that Donghyuck hasn’t been having fun in the meantime, though.
Renjun can’t blame him. He went through a bunch of awful dates before finding Mark. Correction, before Donghyuck introduced Mark to him.
“Fine,” Donghyuck accepts, determination in his eyes, a challenge in his posture. Renjun claps his hands together, beaming at last, and Donghyuck has to repress a smile. A shadow of surprise crosses his face, as though he didn’t imagine that this would make Renjun so happy. “I’ll date you- pretend to date you. But we need rules and I’m the one making them. I’m not disposed to go through the embarrassment of getting caught just because we didn’t plan this well.”
Renjun isn’t listening anymore when he wraps his arms around Donghyuck with a gleeful noise, almost making him tumble backwards. At first, Donghyuck is hesitant to return the hug, but he’s always prone to affection. It’s easy for him to squeeze Renjun between his arms until he’s complaining about his lack of manners.
Donghyuck’s mood has shifted once Renjun steps away – his reticence has turned into surprised satisfaction. Instead of dwelling into it, Renjun holds his wrist just to drag him to his bedroom. They’re short on time. He’ll consent to all the conditions Donghyuck comes up with, even if they’re unfair, or insane, or detrimental to his well-being.
This is the ray of hope that Renjun has been looking for. He’s not letting go.
Despite Renjun’s impatience, they don’t manage to close their deal before Jeno comes home. He arrives earlier than expected, screaming that he brought food for Renjun and him as he crosses the door. His appearance sends both of them into an unreasonable panic, as though Jeno could see through the walls and read Renjun’s little notebook.
When Renjun jumps onto his feet to go greet Jeno, Donghyuck grabs him by the waist. He doesn’t understand why until Donghyuck winks at him and realization slowly sinks in: they’re alone in his room, Donghyuck isn’t supposed to be here, and Renjun wasn’t expecting anyone for the next hour at least.
His malice is godsend. Before leaving Renjun’s room, he rumples thoroughly their clothes and musses Renjun’s hair like it’s a life or death matter. Renjun retaliates, more to get back at Donghyuck than for their purpose, but Donghyuck is glad to play along.
Coming out from his room in that state is shameful. Just for Renjun. Not for Donghyuck, who walks out with an arrogant touch in his gait and fist bumps Jeno as a greeting. Jeno has already placed three takeaway boxes on the table, and since he’s busy with the food, he can’t hide his shock upon Donghyuck’s presence.
“What were you two doing?” Jeno says, a wholehearted laugh resonating through the living room. “You look like a tiger mauled you.”
“Fell asleep,” Donghyuck casually answers. “I didn’t have to work today.”
There’s no suspicion in Jeno’s eyes or in his words. Not today. Tomorrow, when he finds out that they’re together, this piece of information will slip back into his mind and all the pieces will fit.
For now, Donghyuck only has to sit between them and pretend that this is normal. He only has to explain that he used one of his free days to be at home with Renjun, while he researched for his PhD in silence. Jeno dedicates them a couple of odd looks – it’s not normal for Donghyuck to stay at home with Renjun while he’s working – but he doesn’t question them further.
For now, this is mere practice for the next few months of lying.
In retrospective, Renjun has no idea how he managed to keep a boyfriend for three years.
It’s incredibly hard to set the right time to meet Donghyuck the next day to establish a well-founded story. Renjun’s schedule for his PhD is insane, but it’s not that different from his schedules before he finished law school; Mark had to swallow plenty of days when Renjun would be gone from the face of the Earth and wouldn’t even respond to his texts.
He didn’t have to worry about unread messages once they broke up, so he slipped into a new routine in which he worked non-stop at his department.
That’s why the moment Yangyang, the other PhD student in Mr.Lee’s department, catches him typing on his phone, he sends him a questioning glance. Renjun ignores the clear exchange and tucks his phone back into his pocket, aware that it’s too soon to tell Yangyang about his fake relationship.
“You’re talking to someone,” Yangyang concludes regardless.
Renjun met Yangyang on his second day at law school, and his innocent, pure self back then knew nothing about boundaries or secrets. Though their friendship became healthier with time, it’s no wonder Yangyang can read him like an open book.
However, the scenario changed: Yangyang used to read his mood every morning when they greeted each other at class; now they sit in their office at Mr. Lee’s department, right across the same table, and Yangyang bothers him every fifteen minutes with a new observation.
“I’m not.”
Yangyang clicks his tongue, entertained.
“You are. Take your time, I guess.”
Renjun does. When he gets home, Donghyuck is waiting for him by his building’s entrance, way earlier than he expected. Renjun ushers him inside and steals a chair from the kitchen so they gather around his desk, sitting knee to knee.
Donghyuck’s gibberish is endless while Renjun notes down all the ideas they come up with.
They decide that they’ve been dating for one month, enough time for the relationship to be serious – more than one month is dangerous territory, since Renjun would have needed some time to heal after the break-up. Renjun remembers that all their friends skipped their monthly movie night around that time, which is a perfect excuse to claim that they had their movie night at Donghyuck’s apartment, alone, and that’s when they kissed for the first time.
“We’ll say I kissed you first,” Donghyuck chirps up, writing down Donghyuck attacked first in Renjun’s notes. Then he side eyes Renjun and jokes, “Just because I can’t imagine you taking the lead.”
“We’ll say you kissed me first because you have no shame,” Renjun corrects him. “And no morals.”
They have a long discussion about affection and kissing until they find equal ground. Donghyuck reminds him that he’s already naturally physical, and that if they’re together, he’ll have to amp up that affection. He’s welcomed with resistance – thinking about kissing in front of Mark still scratches Renjun’s discomfort, but he knows that he’ll have to act like a normal boyfriend around Donghyuck.
Their equal ground is taking it slow, mostly because Renjun ignores how he’ll react in public. Kissing Donghyuck in his room or in a place full of people are two different stories, and only one of them drops a strange weight on Renjun’s shoulders.
“You need to know my schedule to the last detail,” Renjun reminds him. His hectic, unbalanced schedule, that includes whole nights researching for his doctorate and showing up at campus at random hours to speak with his team to double check a small fact. “You have to sleep over sometimes too.”
There’s no need for Renjun to ask about Donghyuck’s schedule, as it’s way easier for him.
Donghyuck is the only one among them who got hired even before finishing his degree. The company he interned at offered him a position as a software developer only three months into the internship, and Donghyuck saved himself the need of a master’s degree, or like the most of them, a PhD. Renjun envies him sometimes.
“You should sleep at mine’s too,” Donghyuck retorts, but there’s no opposition to staying with Renjun. He’s been crashing at their apartment for years when it gets too late for him to go back home. But he used to invade Jaemin’s bed since he was the most benevolent, and that won’t be the case anymore. “It actually doesn’t make much sense we’re here all the time when I have an apartment for myself. You know? In terms of- dating, privacy.”
Renjun stares at his notebook, feeling the flush expand over his cheeks. He doesn’t know why shyness rushes through his system. The fact that Donghyuck vacillates for one second at the insinuation of their privacy, as if it’s a delicate matter, flusters him.
“Yeah, you’re right,” Renjun whispers. He doesn’t mind spending some nights at Donghyuck’s apartment - he may appreciate the solitude, even, when his head is running in circles. “We still need to put on a show here sometimes, though. At least in the beginning.”
Donghyuck leans his chin on his hand, sends him a short, mischievous smile. He looks almost angelical with the last rays of light of the day splattered across Renjun’s spacious room.
It’s a mere mirage: Renjun is close to regretting this deal, just on the basis it makes him nervous how much Donghyuck is starting to enjoy the idea.
“I can’t wait for the show to start,” he confirms, lowering his voice on purpose. Renjun rolls his eyes at his attempt at being seductive, but that encourages him further. Donghyuck knows him too well to assume that Renjun doesn’t secretly find it funny. “It’ll be fun. I can force you to watch On rainy days every week with me.”
Renjun wouldn’t call it fun. Lying to all his friends sounds terrifying. It’s a bit funny, however, that Donghyuck’s first thought about their deal is that they can watch his favorite show together.
“Don’t get too excited,” Renjun warns him, but he concedes a smile. His smile reflects on Donghyuck’s expression as well, and draws him in until he’s completely into Renjun’s space, an elbow sinking on the notebook’s page. “We have to talk about seeing other people.”
That erases Donghyuck’s smile in one blow.
“I figured we’re exclusive.” He gives Renjun a subtle shrug, yet allows a hint of surprise in his eyes. “I don’t think you’re the type to propose an open relationship, so that would make the guys think you’re going through a worse crisis than they thought.”
Even though Renjun wasn’t intending to take that path, Donghyuck has a point.
Renjun is infamous for falling in love, for seeking stability and commitment, and not leaving any room for doubt. The mere thought of sharing Donghyuck leaves an uncomfortable taste on his tongue. Renjun needs to feel loved as if there was no one else in the world. He needs people to know that he’s being loved that way, too.
But he knows that he’s forcing Donghyuck into a deal that will put chains on his life, and it’s worth a discussion.
He needs to be sure.
“Do you think you can take it? Even if it’s only for three or four months?”
Renjun’s lack of faith doesn’t settle well with Donghyuck, who scrunches his nose in offense, leaning back on the chair.
“Renjun, be serious,” he says, crossing his arms over his ribs. If Renjun wasn’t familiar with Donghyuck’s hurt ego, he’d say he’s insecure. “I’m being a good friend, doing you a favor, taking care of your reputation. Don’t question my self-control.”
Renjun has the option to explain himself. He chooses not to.
“I hope I don’t have to question it.” He spins his seat to look at Donghyuck better, a bit more lighthearted. Still, he raises his index finger at Donghyuck, “Because if you fake cheat on me, I’ll make a scene.”
“Chenle would probably strangle me in my sleep if I cheated on you,” Donghyuck points out, which isn’t so far from the truth. “Imagine dying for a lie, I’m not risking all that.”
Chenle threatened Mark in the beginning of their relationship, as ridiculous as it was to think about it now. Mark and Chenle became friends in the span of the last three years, and in consequence, though Chenle promised he’d take revenge on Mark if he hurt Renjun in any way, that turned out to not be so plausible.
Renjun had been scandalized at the time – afraid that Chenle’s threats would repel Mark. After Mark hurt him, even if unintentionally, Renjun admits that it’d have been nice to have a friend who would have this back in an unconditionally crazy way.
Renjun would have loved to badmouth Mark after breaking up, an irrational urge that died down after the first month. It doesn’t matter that Mark wasn’t to blame. He’d needed to rant and cry his heart out with all the frustration and rage brimming inside him, and he hadn’t been able to do it. Every one of his friends was close to Mark. They all loved him. They weren’t going to choose sides, and Renjun’s tantrum would have been strange.
“Okay,” Renjun whispers in the end, but his thoughts have pulled him away from the conversation, and he doesn’t remember what Donghyuck said.
“You have to relax for this to work, Renjun.” Donghyuck reminds him. “You said I’m a good liar, and I agree. But you aren’t.”
Renjun is hoping that most of his nervousness will be interpreted as guilt. For dating so soon after a break-up. For dating Donghyuck, within their group, when that could cause final deterioration to their friendships.
Being evasive may be effective for a while, but at some point one of his friends will try to sit him down and talk about what’s happening.
“I’m trying to relax. Let’s just-” Renjun tilts his head towards the door, unable to say the exact words.
Donghyuck’s glee is palpable as he gets up and tugs Renjun by the arm. The scene they’ve prepared for Jeno has been planned with care, but Renjun’s heart speeds up as they walk across the hall and into the living room.
His insane, desperate idea is about to become real. Making out with Donghyuck on his couch is the point of no return for them. Once Jeno catches them in the act, he won’t keep his mouth close.
Even if Renjun or Donghyuck beg for privacy, Jeno will at least tell his boyfriend. Chenle would smell Jeno is keeping a secret for him in a matter of minutes, like a dog, which will work wonders in Renjun’s favor.
And Chenle may hesitate during a few days, but he’ll end up telling Mark out of his sense of loyalty. Renjun suspects he’ll consult Jaemin first before taking that step, and so Jisung will be the last one to know about the new gossip.
Donghyuck lets go of his arm to peek through the living room’s window, silently checking if Jeno’s car is already in the driveway. Given his calmness and the subtle disappointment in his eyes when he turns around, there’s no trace of Jeno yet.
Renjun lingers around the couch. They agreed to use the couch for their show because it’s opposite to the end of the hall, so anyone who comes into the house spots the couch when they arrive home. It’s a way to ensure that Jeno doesn’t miss them.
Renjun’s heart isn’t beating in his ribcage anymore: it’s hammering. He has no idea how to stop it, or how to conceal his nervousness, and Donghyuck is already starting to sense it. It’s clear by the way he eyes Renjun, with a subtle twitch playing on the corner of his lips.
There are high chances that Donghyuck will turn this into a worse and a better experience at the same time. But Renjun trusts him. He trusts that Donghyuck will never step on his boundaries.
When Donghyuck approaches the couch with a couple of strides, instead of sitting down himself, he shoves Renjun onto the couch first with an entertained laugh.
“Down, baby,” Donghyuck sing-songs, delighted at the deer look Renjun dedicates him from below.
The shiver that runs down Renjun’s spine is out of pure irritation. “Don’t make jokes now.”
But the adrenaline slipping through his veins makes his voice shake, and he can’t muster any strength to fight Donghyuck, to assure him that this isn’t funny.
Donghyuck doesn’t give him the chance, either way.
“It’s not a joke.” He leans forward and guides Renjun onto his back, climbing on him without any second thoughts. “I’ll have to use petnames from now on, the sooner the better.”
Donghyuck’s knees sink at both sides of Renjun’s thighs, and when Renjun looks up at him, he feels sort of agreeable. Maybe because having Donghyuck on him is one of the biggest threats of nature, and his instinct tries to keep him alive. The couch is big enough for the two, but not big enough for them to respect each other’s space.
“Baby is fine.”
Donghyuck raises his eyebrows at that, pleased. There’s no intention to engage in a conversation right now, however; he slides his knees down Renjun’s thighs, enough to slant forward, setting his palms next to Renjun’s arms.
The posture leaves Renjun completely caged, with Donghyuck looking down at him, the smile slowly vanishing from his expression.
“This is weird,” Renjun mutters. “I’m pretty sure we look awkward.”
Donghyuck scoffs at that, indignant, which translates into yes, but I won’t admit it.
“We don’t,” he protests, but the denial never comes. They can’t even kiss in this position, since Donghyuck is making too much of an effort to not fall face flat on him. “Open your legs, this is too uncomfortable.”
Opening his legs for Donghyuck should be a well-thought-out decision, but Renjun’s mind is in a haze. His uneasiness leads him to blindly follow Donghyuck’s request, and they fumble for a second before Donghyuck’s hips are between his legs and Renjun’s thighs are pressed into his sides.
Donghyuck is wearing sweatpants. That’s the first thing Renjun notices. Not for a moment did their choice of clothing cross his mind, but now that he can feel everything inside Donghyuck’s sweatpants, he regrets not asking him to wear jeans instead.
Renjun hasn’t had such intimate contact with anyone in three months. It’s a menace to his sanity. And fuck, he’s never felt Donghyuck’s dick before.
The reality of this plan is dwelling on him at a dizzying pace.
“It won’t take Jeno long to arrive,” Renjun murmurs him, words barely coming out through the tension in his tongue. “Maybe ten minutes.”
Donghyuck smells like linen, and underneath that, a touch of lemon can be noted. It urges Renjun to pull him closer, but it’s an urge that he suppresses with a rush of panic. Donghyuck’s gaze dances on his face, void of judgment, but when he halts on his cheeks for longer, Renjun is positive he’s blushing.
“I know.” Donghyuck takes a discreet deep breath, which Renjun only feels through the rise of his abdomen. They're so tightly pressed against each other. Donghyuck hides his lower lip into his mouth, a little anxious bite, before whispering, “We should- I’m going to kiss you, is that okay?”
A knot grows in Renjun’s throat in the span of a second. Donghyuck's not the type to be so considerate, or so Renjun thought - the truth is that he ignores how Donghyuck behaves in his intimacy. Because this is still intimate, even if it’s fake. Donghyuck could be sweet or careful, a contrast to his explosive personality, and Renjun would have never guessed it beforehand.
Renjun can’t bring himself to speak, not with the certainty that his voice will betray him, so he nods.
Donghyuck lowers himself onto his elbows, a subtle way to go slow on him, the weight of his body pressing harder against Renjun. His gaze roams from Renjun's eyes to his lips, and back to his eyes, as though he needs to explore a bit before diving in.
The silence in the living room is deafening when Donghyuck’s lips meet his. White noise. It's a mere touch, lips against lips, a tentative contact to make sure nothing happens between them - no pushing back, no scary reactions.
But then it becomes deeper, Donghyuck's lower lip between his lips, a plea for space. Renjun lets him in: he parts his lips just enough for Donghyuck's pretty mouth to fit against his, warm and delicate and overwhelmingly poisoning.
It's way different from the few times they kissed before, as friends.
This time is real, Donghyuck's breath mixing with his, their lips sliding against each other's to find each other’s rhythm, discovering at last how the other kisses – when it’s not meant to be a ploy to mess around, when there’s intent behind their kiss. Donghyuck shifts his weight onto one of his elbows, bringing his other hand to Renjun’s face, and cups his cheek to guide him deeper into the kiss.
Renjun can’t help but moan a little when Donghyuck’s pinky caresses down his neck, leaving goosebumps behind. A wave of embarrassment hits him, but then Donghyuck is licking between his lips, and Renjun finds himself responding to the request. When their tongues meet, it’s Donghyuck’s turn to moan, its vibration hooking into Renjun’s system like a blade.
Rapidly breathing, Renjun entangles his hand in Donghyuck’s hair to make sure he doesn’t draw away. His other hand fists the hem of his top, but Donghyuck redirects it, bringing it to his ass without an ounce of shame – that reminds Renjun of what they’re doing, reminds him they have to look like they’re familiar with each other’s body.
The sound of the entrance door closing is just a disturbance in the background.
Donghyuck kisses like he’s a temptation sent from hell. It goes straight to Renjun’s guts, tensing up his legs, sending a tingling down his body that he knows too well. Donghyuck’s hips push down, keeping Renjun in place, and then forward: that’s when it becomes too much, the shock of Donghyuck grinding against him, the shock of how Renjun himself is letting this happen.
The thud of Jeno’s bag falling on the floor is what tears them apart, slightly – just in time for Renjun to witness how Jeno, who dropped the bag out of surprise but didn’t stop walking, trips over said bag. He dives onto his knees and hands with a groan, miraculously saving his face from the hit, and then looks at Donghyuck and Renjun with wide eyes, dumbfounded.
Renjun shoves Donghyuck off him, his worry replacing all their plans. “Oh my god, are you okay?”
Donghyuck groans in protest, but when Renjun glances at him, he can feel that he’s holding his laughter back, his lips smacked against each other until they turn white.
Renjun is going to murder him. He’s not supposed to be laughing at Jeno’s accident, even if it’s funny, because he should be concerned over getting caught.
“No,” Jeno mutters, but he’s not answering Renjun. The fact that he raises to his feet in a couple of seconds is proof that he hasn’t hurt himself, at least not physically. His mind is another story, as he runs both of his hands through his hair and then pulls at it, his stress materializing as a deep scowl. “No, no, no. No. I’m dreaming.” He breathes out, unsure, and announces, “I have to pinch myself.”
Jeno doesn’t pinch himself, but he stays frozen in place, blinking as though he’s about to wake up from a nightmare – as though Renjun and Donghyuck will vanish from the couch if he tries hard enough.
“Dude,” Donghyuck complains, smoothering his top in an attempt to look a bit decent. “I get the surprise, but isn’t that a bit too much?”
In all honesty, Renjun expected a milder reaction – maybe shock, followed by confusion and a cascade of questions, but not denial.
“Are you kidding me?” Jeno says, his incredulous stare travelling between Donghyuck and Renjun. Upon finding only resignation and calmness, Renjun swears he starts to pale. “What’s going on here?” He looks Donghyuck dead in the eye and flatly states, “You can’t hook up with Renjun.”
It’s a strange statement, lost between an order and a fact, that riles Donghyuck up. Renjun can tell by the way he tenses up, the subtle tap of his foot on the floor, his hunched, relaxed back straightening up at the prospect of a fight.
Donghyuck doesn’t obey orders. Telling him what to do is the fastest path to either get into an argument or make him do the opposite. Renjun has used this to his advantage before, but Donghyuck is too smart to fall for it all the time; it has to be a believable trap.
This isn’t a trap, however, and Renjun has to set a hand on Donghyuck’s leg to stop him from standing up.
“Why not?” Donghyuck shoots at Jeno.
At the same time, Renjun clarifies, “We’re not hooking up.”
Renjun’s words catch Jeno’s attention, perhaps because it’s easier to ask questions than to justify why he feels so conflicted over Renjun and Donghyuck sleeping together.
“What do you mean you’re not hooking up? I’ve just seen it with my own eyes.”
That’s all Renjun needs to know to understand why Jeno disapproves of this. He has a hunch that his explanations won’t be convincing enough for him anyhow: if he’s uncomfortable with them having sex, a deeper relationship will mean more trouble. Sex is easy to hide. A relationship isn’t.
“We’re dating,” Renjun confirms, trying to sound firm and confident. He’s surprised at the composure he finds within himself, at how he manages to look straight into Jeno’s eyes, at how his big, fat lie seems plausible. “As in, we’re together.”
There’s a long pause as Jeno processes the news. A pause of several seconds that extends for so long that it starts becoming weird. Donghyuck even glances at Renjun with a questioning look, as if to ask if they should stay quiet until Jeno gives any sign of life, or ensure that he’s not having a seizure. Given how Jeno’s face twists into indignation and a shadow of what could be crying, Renjun fears that he’s going to pass out at best.
But they stay quiet, and when Jeno speaks, all he concludes is, “No.”
Donghyuck responds with a profoundly offended look. “Yes.”
“Could you sit down?” Renjun nearly begs Jeno, noticing the way Donghyuck has shifted forward, ready to confront Jeno. There’s a thin line between pretending and starting a real argument, and since their plan isn’t going as smoothly as they expected, Donghyuck is inclined to the second option. “We’ll explain.”
“I’m not sure if I want to know about this.” Jeno shakes his head, but hesitation crosses his expression. Escaping from this situation isn’t an option, since he’d have to keep the secret and therefore betray his friends’ trust. And more important, his boyfriend’s trust. With an uncomfortable cough, he stares at Donghyuck and spits a last warning, “Mark is going to murder you, dude.”
Jeno is full of surprises - both positive and awful ones. And Renjun hasn’t psyched himself up for the latter: mentioning Mark in this scenario is a low blow, even if he’s not dating Donghyuck for real.
It sets the expectation that there are rules about who Renjun can date, a perception that he belongs to Mark in a way, even after he abandoned him.
His frustration is plastered on his face - Renjun knows because he can feel the tension in his jaw, and because Donghyuck squeezes his thigh in reassurance, or maybe to restrain any outburst he may have.
Donghyuck is doing just slightly better than him: the assumption that Mark can control his love life has gotten under his skin, but he keeps calm for Renjun’s sake. Or so Renjun thinks.
“I’d like to see that.”
Jeno opens his mouth with an immediate retort that, ironically, never comes. His silence dilates enough for Renjun to remember that he’s the mature one, in theory, among the the three of them. Though that could be up for discussion after embroiling everyone in this mess.
“No one is going to murder anyone.” Renjun stares into Jeno’s eyes with more bravery than he thought he could fake. “I’m capable of making my own decisions and Mark doesn’t have a say on who I can date.”
It’s logic. Any counterattack Jeno can throw at him will be based on emotional reasons, and a scowl ripples his expression as he realizes. Mark doesn’t own him just because he dated him first, as much as it could hurt him to see Renjun with Donghyuck.
Renjun bets that it won’t hurt, and only his ego will be scalded.
“Is this serious?” Jeno says, his voice tilting into surrender. He steps over his bag, dodging it, and sits on the couch opposite of them, shoulders hunched. His disappointment scarily resembles that time he failed all his mid-terms, but Renjun hopes he doesn’t feel as bad. “I just- can’t wrap my head around why this would happen.”
This time Jeno’s intentions are honest, but they make Donghyuck point his index finger at him.
“Okay, now you’re pissing me off.”
The threat that doesn’t faze Jeno.
“Donghyuck, calm down,” Renjun warns him. He forces him to lower his arm, tucking his hand against his tummy. “This isn’t about you.”
Jeno’s mouth twists into an uncomfortable gesture.
“Fine, speak.” He glances at his forgotten bag, as though he laments all the mess, but there’s no trace of guilt in his eyes. He focuses back on Renjun only - he knows that he can’t trust Donghyuck to act with decency in a situation like this. “I’m giving you ten minutes. And after that, I’m giving you one week to tell everyone about it. One week without sleeping is all I can take.”
One week is an overestimation, and Jeno won’t resist the temptation of telling Chenle. Maybe it will happen by accident, but it will happen soon. Renjun has known Jeno for so long that he can almost schedule his patience, make a graph, and prepare a presentation on how their secret will spread around.
Donghyuck holds Renjun’s hand, their fingers entangling over his leg. It doesn’t feel forced, and when Donghyuck tightens his grasp to encourage him, Renjun is certain that he made a good choice.
Donghyuck is intense, explosive, and even chaotic at times, but he’ll accompany him to hell itself if Renjun asks him to.
It takes two days.
Two days of absolute tension at home when Jeno, Jaemin and Renjun sit at the table to have dinner, with long silences that make Jaemin ask them if they’ve fought; when they gather for a movie before bed and Jeno shifts uncomfortably on the couch every time he catches Renjun texting someone; when they’re in the middle of a casual conversation and Jeno thinks something sounded way too suspicious – like an innuendo – even though Renjun would never be so shameless.
And on the third day, as Renjun is having lunch alone on a random bench on campus, he receives two messages at the same time. One comes from Chenle, a sweet what the fuck huang renjun. The other message is an apology from Jeno.
Renjun narrows his eyes at the screen, divided between satisfaction and concern. This is the only relaxing moment of the day for him: a break of half an hour before he has to go back to researching, enclosed in his office with Yangyang. In spring, he always eats outside to enjoy the sun on his face, though occasionally he gets curious bees and a short-lived heart attack. In winter, he sacrifices his health to get some fresh air, just like today.
The last thing he wants to do during his break is arguing with Chenle. Especially because Chenle has known him since Renjun was six years old, and it’s harder for Renjun to lie to him. When he came up with this idea, Renjun knew that Chenle could uncover their scam in a matter of days – they have to be careful with him.
Renjun swipes the messages away, and right as he does, there’s an incoming call with Chenle’s face plastered on the screen. With a sigh, he sets his lunch box on the bench. Chenle won’t stop calling if he ignores him.
As soon as Renjun picks up, Chenle aggressively asks, “Where are you?”
He’s in the car, Renjun notices, judging by the white noise in the background, which is terrible news. Chenle had classes today, but he’d texted in their group chat that he’d stay at home working on a project – he shouldn’t be driving, or asking about Renjun’s whereabouts.
“On campus?” Renjun shoots back, unsure. And then, to avoid having Chenle drive all the way to campus to meet up with him, he stresses, “I’m working.”
That excuse flies over Chenle’s head, over his priorities. “I’m coming over, we have to talk.”
“Chenle, I don’t have time. We can talk any other time.”
It’s the wrong response.
There’s a noise of offense coming from the other side of line before Chenle rants, “Yes, of course we can, and you could have told me about Donghyuck any other time. But here we are, my boyfriend lying to me and you and Donghyuck lying to everyone. Any other time is now.”
Despite Chenle’s protests, Renjun can’t ditch his responsibilities to give his friend a bunch of explanations that will be dismissed. He’s not disposed to get a scolding from his department one year into his doctorate over his fake love life.
“It’s just Donghyuck, you know?”
“It’s Donghyuck,” Chenle repeats after him, his emphasis giving it a new meaning. “Our Donghyuck.”
“You’re being just as dramatic as Jeno,” Renjun flatly states. They seem to be rubbing off on each other. Renjun bets they’re going to be gossiping about him for months. “Why don’t we get dinner together?”
That idea soothes Chenle’s impatience, though his tone of disapproval doesn’t fade away, “Define together. You and I? You, Donghyuck, and I? You, Dong-?”
Renjun frowns to himself, staring at the trees in front of him. “You want Donghyuck to join?”
“Not really.” Because as Renjun suspected, Chenle isn’t demanding a talk to fight or to convince him they should break up. He’s most likely going to repeat for hours that Renjun has lost his mind and ask every detail about how Donghyuck tricked him. “I just want to know what’s going on inside your head to understand why you’re doing this.”
That’s the same exact wording Chenle uses hours later, after they’ve ordered in one of their favorite restaurants, and Renjun is making an effort to stay firm upon Chenle’s judgmental stare. The restaurant is buzzing tonight, which helps Renjun to latch onto the noise, certain that no one will pay attention to them. If he says something wrong – or something terribly true – Chenle will be the only witness.
“There’s nothing wrong with this,” Renjun tells him.
Even though Chenle hasn’t insinuated that Renjun is making a mistake, his opinion is crystal clear.
“Of course there is,” Chenle disagrees. He leans on the table, elbows on the edge and his hands interlaced over his mouth. “This is worrying. You’ve known Donghyuck for six years, and you spent half of them with Mark.”
And yet, Donghyuck appeared first in his life. That’s what bothers Chenle: Mark being a second choice during all this time. It’s almost insulting that his best friend would deem him the sort of person to look for a replacement and date him for three years. The doubt hurts more coming from Chenle, who had to listen to all his complaints and disastrous theories until Renjun found out that Mark reciprocated his feelings.
“You’re worried about loyalty?” Renjun hears himself say, a sip of anger trespassing. “I’m single now - I was, anyway. I wasn’t entertaining any thoughts about dating Donghyuck when I was with Mark.”
Whether Chenle believes him or not, he doesn’t doubt him further. Instead, he takes another route, “And before you started dating Mark?”
The question catches Renjun off guard. It’s a purposeful question, based on all the information Chenle holds on them.
Renjun met Donghyuck on his first year of university through a volunteering organization for a soup kitchen. Both of them were terribly young and clumsy, but Donghyuck had the same enchanting glow back then he has now.
Renjun found him attractive for reasons beyond his cute smile and his high cheekbones. His ability to connect with people had astounded Renjun, had even made him a bit jealous; on top of that, he always was the first one to show up on the volunteering days and the last one to leave.
But he wasn’t the only one that found Donghyuck interesting. People were drawn to him as if he was a natural force from the universe - inescapable.
Donghyuck was as charming as messy, unstoppable and unstable. He was an incredible friend, but not a good partner. In two months, Renjun had started to see the pattern, how Donghyuck’s relationships began and ended: with a spark that came out of nowhere and died without any reason, appearing and disappearing under the same conditions. Donghyuck left men behind as though he’d never known them.
Nothing out of the norm, though. Most of Renjun’s classmates mimicked that same behavior, just without the charming part.
Donghyuck had insinuated a couple of times that they should go on a date, and both times Renjun had brushed the invitation off. The way he asked — giving Renjun a way out — was proof he could sense his reticence. He expected the rejection. The casualness was what had allowed them to become friends later on, once Renjun understood that Donghyuck wasn’t going to insist and he could trust him to keep boundaries.
Renjun clears his throat and tells Chenle, “That doesn’t matter.”
Chenle gawks at him.
“Oh, fuck,” he sentences, racking his eyes up and down Renjun’s face. “You liked Donghyuck first?”
Renjun can feel a nervous twitch in his left eye.
“I didn’t say that,” he retorts, but oh, he admitted to it. He’s surprised that Chenle forgot how much he used to talk about Donghyuck when he first met him, but he reckons that six years and a long-term relationship is enough to forget Renjun could look at other men. “I simply thought he was attractive, but at the time we weren’t compatible or looking for the same thing.”
Chenle stops at that, narrows his eyes at Renjun, looking for the breach in the wall.
“Now you are compatible and looking for the same thing?”
In their fake relationship, Donghyuck is definitely willing to settle down. Renjun has no idea if that applies to Donghyuck’s real plans, but he doubts it.
“Yes.”
“You talked about it,” Chenle says, but it’s an open question.
“Yes.”
The waiter arrives with their food, interrupting Chenle in the middle of his interrogatory. Chenle magically switches to his polite mode for a few seconds, helping the waiter to make room for the plates. However, once they’re alone again, he doesn’t touch the food, his eyes fixing on Renjun with a dozen questions.
There’s a punch of desperation, or maybe hope, when he adds, “If you’re so sure about this, the two of you, why haven’t you told Mark?”
It’d be easy to assume that they decided to keep it a secret because they were just having fun. Telling Mark that they were fucking, to end it two weeks later, would be insensitive. That’s what Chenle is hoping for.
“Look at your reaction, Chenle. You must know what happened with Jeno too.” Renjun feigns a sigh, as though he’s tired of the situation - the truth is that there’s adrenaline in his veins and a plea swirling inside his head. “We’ve been together for two months, and we were enjoying it. We didn’t want drama.”
Chenle’s disappointment is so unmistakable that Renjun nearly feels guilty.
“Who initiated it?” he continues, looking at a point behind Renjun. It seems like a rhetorical question because, as soon as Renjun opens his mouth to share his prepared answer, Chenle says, “It was him. But he didn’t get Mark’s approval before or anything, right? He just-”
“Not this again. We don’t need Mark’s permission to date.”
There must be a distinct flavor in Renjun’s tone, one that manages to halt Chenle’s judgment. He inhales and clenches his jaw, evaluating Renjun’s seriousness. In all honesty, Renjun expected him to handle this situation with more maturity – but only the indignation in Renjun’s voice brings some logic to his emotions.
Chenle breathes in and out a few more times, trying to be careful with his words this time. “What if it doesn’t work out?”
It won’t work out. Donghyuck and Renjun have an expiration date. Assuring Chenle that they’re in love and their relationship is solid would be a problem later on, but at the same time Renjun has to pretend that he believes in this relationship, that he loves Donghyuck.
“Then it doesn’t work out, but I’m still going to try,” Renjun concludes. The immediate spark of surprise in Chenle’s eyes is beyond unexpected. But so is Renjun’s determination. It’s been three months of avoiding difficult conversations and refusing to share his feelings, and Chenle must have anticipated that same avoidance for tonight. “It won’t be the end of the world.”
Instead of giving up, Chenle says, “You and Mark breaking up already felt a bit too much like the end of the world for all of us.”
This is the first time he admits it out loud. They’ve been trying to take care of Mark and Renjun separately, and they’ve been tiptoeing about how this was affecting the whole group.
It was becoming harder to gather all of them together; while Renjun was forcing himself to not cancel any plan, Mark was shameless about it. If Renjun joined the plans, the likelihood of Mark dropping them was high.
Upon Renjun’s shock, disguised as indifference, Chenle sighs, “I’m just worried, okay? Donghyuck hasn’t mentioned anything about wanting a serious relationship before, and I don’t want you to get hurt. If he’s being honest, that means he’s waited all this time just because he wanted you, so if this goes awry, it’ll be a mess.”
His first reflex is to contradict Chenle, but he suppresses that urge and closes his mouth instead. His perspective is interesting, albeit useless because Donghyuck doesn’t truly want him. It’s valuable to some extent because now Renjun knows the possible doubts his friends will have about them: no one will assume he cheated on Mark, but they will suspect Renjun and Donghyuck had feelings for each other.
“See, I understand your worry,” Renjun continues, not disposed to back off. “But worrying isn’t going to change the fact that we’re together, and we’re not breaking up just because all of you are worried.”
Chenle pauses at the veiled accusation. “That’s not what I want.”
It’s a lie in many ways. Chenle would never influence him on purpose to make such an important decision, wouldn’t blatantly tell him that it’s the best for him, but his words still betray his inner wishes. Exposing all the problems their relationship could cause is a tool to make Renjun hesitate and reconsider if it’s worth it.
The decision is easy for Renjun, however. The attention, which was on him and his supposed inability to move on, has already shifted to a new set of problems.
He’s starting to understand why Donghyuck enjoys creating chaos in such a tidy, asphyxiating world: when you’re the one who doesn’t fit, it’s the only way to go unnoticed. Set the world on fire and no one will look at the burning man.
Renjun plays with the chopsticks between his fingers, as though he doesn’t care about this conversation, and then stares into Chenle’s eyes, “Then stop acting like it’s what you want.”
Word runs faster than expected, but after his talk with Chenle, no one else bothers to discuss the situation directly with him.
At first, Renjun assumes that the situation is too complicated for them to reach out without processing it first, that they don’t know how to react. He discovers the underlying reason might be quite different when Donghyuck tells him all their friends have talked to him instead. Except Mark.
After a couple of days, Renjun understands they’re not avoiding a confrontation: they’re resorting to Donghyuck because they unconsciously put the blame on him. It’s a new version of treating Renjun like he’s some delicate creature that will break down at the first word.
He despises the feeling that they might think Donghyuck could have taken advantage of him at his weakest.
Given that Donghyuck refuses to share what went down with Jaemin, Jisung and Jeno, Renjun can solidify his suspicions. No matter how much Renjun insists, Donghyuck knows keeping it private is for the better; Renjun returns the favor by not asking if they made him feel like he betrayed the pillars of his friendship with Mark.
On Wednesday, Donghyuck picks him up from campus after a long, tedious phone call in which he insists they have to go on a date tonight. His true intentions are hidden behind a veil of lies, but Renjun decides to play along for the sake of pretending; he can’t make up that he’s going on dates with Donghyuck if he stays at home all week.
Besides, hanging out with Donghyuck has always been a good way to de-stress from his PhD. Renjun knew what he was getting into when he fought to have Mr. Lee welcome him into his department. His now tutor barely accepted any students, and he’d even insisted Renjun should jump into the workforce right away.
Renjun knows better than that: maybe he could sign with a decent firm and have a stable job, but researching first under Mr. Lee is going to give him reputation, contacts and the entry to a top-notch firm. On top of that, only Mr. Lee would admit extravagant thesis like Renjun’s. No one else would have agreed to tutor someone whose PhD was about developing a strategy to incorporate polyamorous relationships into the legal system.
So, in a way, when he sees Donghyuck’s relaxed, bright face after a long day of staring at his laptop’s screen, he feels way better.
He’s parked right in front of the faculty, even though in theory he shouldn’t, and has his window rolled down.
“Hello there, pretty,” Donghyuck tells him; he smiles when Renjun rolls his eyes, but all he wants is other students to hear him, and he easily achieves that.
Donghyuck flashes a malicious smile from the driver’s seat as soon as Renjun jumps inside. After so many years of dealing with his antics, Renjun is used to this behavior, but his guts still twist with anticipation. Donghyuck’s wearing all black, a cap covering what seems his messy hair, a look so casual that Renjun feels overdressed.
“Don’t look at me like that,” is the first warning Renjun offers.
It’s destined to be ignored.
“I’m not looking at you like that,” Donghyuck fights. However, his smile widens, showing a row of cute, small teeth, and Renjun knows that gesture too well to believe him. “Ready for our date?”
“Just by your tone I’m terrified.”
“Good.”
Once Donghyuck starts the car, Renjun doesn’t pressure him to reveal where they’re going. They drive through the nucleus of the city for a while, surrounded by the lights of the buildings, the shops and restaurants and the cars around them, and then Donghyuck takes a few turns and ventures to calmer parts of the city.
They talk about insignificant things, about Donghyuck’s boss, about how bad Renjun is doing with his thesis, about how their favorite chicken place raised prices; but the conversation inevitably ends up rotating about their plan, and Renjun can’t hold back. His curiosity pricks his pride, but it’s not painful enough to listen to it.
“Hasn’t Mark said anything yet?” Renjun asks, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.
His attempt is unnecessary, because he doesn’t have to hide his feelings in front of Donghyuck, but that’s a reflex by now.
Donghyuck glances at him with discretion, just for a second, before staring at the road again.
“No,” he says with a hesitating tint – one that reveals he wishes the answer would be different. “Two days of absolute silence.”
Mark was the last one to know, and unsurprisingly, it was Jisung who told him. Renjun doubts that if Mark needed an outlet, he opted for Jisung: his need to protect him wouldn’t let him put that pressure on Jisung, even if he offered.
Renjun tends to assume that Mark doesn’t need consolation, since the break-up was his decision, but the reality is that if he sought consolation, none of their friends would be a safe option. Chenle is Renjun’s childhood friend, Jeno is dating Chenle, and Jaemin is extremely close to him after so many years living together.
Donghyuck was, and could have been, the friend Mark relied on.
“That’s not normal,” Renjun says. He bites down all the suppositions that threaten to come out. The last thing he wants is to harm their friendship, even though he knew this was a risky move. He truly thought Mark wouldn’t care that much. “You should reach out.”
Donghyuck shrugs at the idea, and then shifts uncomfortably on the seat - the first sign of tension that he’s shown, and which he rapidly hides.
“I’ve tried, but he’s not answering. I think we’ll have to wait until movie night to catch him off guard.”
Considering how often they’ve been skipping movie night and given the last news, Renjun can perfectly imagine everyone cancelling.
“That’s not a very nice way to approach him.” Because if Mark is ignoring Donghyuck, it’s clear that he’s not ready to discuss it with him. Renjun wouldn’t outright affirm that he’s angry at them, or pushing them away out of disagreement. It’s possible that he merely needs time. “I can call him too, do you think it’s a good id-?”
“No way, Jun,” Donghyuck cuts him off, a little alarmed, his eyebrows rising with skepticism. He glances at Renjun for a split second, as if to make sure he heard correctly. “Don’t call him, that’s terrible. He knows he can’t control what you do and it’d be an asshole move for him to even try. But he’s mad at me because I’m not supposed to- get with his ex.”
Yet Donghyuck accepted this insane idea after a few explanations, and neither thought it’d cause major problems. Maybe minor problems that Renjun was disposed to tackle on.
“You shouldn’t feel bad,” Renjun assures him, but there’s a tight knot in his throat. “It’s not real.”
As much as Mark’s feelings could be valid and reasonable, Donghyuck isn’t dating Renjun for real. Technically, he’s not betraying anyone. They could accuse him of being inconsiderate for playing into Renjun’s schemes, but nothing else.
“Yeah,” Donghyuck agrees with a sigh. His hands clench around the steering wheel a couple of times, an attempt at calming his nerves. “Just trying to be a good friend.”
Donghyuck isn’t talking about being a good friend to Mark. If he got into this mess, it was because Renjun needed him, because after months of refusing to talk about his feelings, Renjun had come clean. It’d have been unrealistic to think his desperation wouldn’t affect Donghyuck.
Feeling lightheaded, Renjun reaches across the hand brake and squeezes Donghyuck’s thigh. Renjun has a hard time expressing his gratitude, but that gesture is enough for Donghyuck to understand.
He still tries to look for the right words to reassure Donghyuck: maybe that if their relationship becomes a bigger problem, they could say the truth, but the mere thought of stopping this now makes Renjun uncomfortable. It’s the first time in months that he feels supported, taken care of. He doesn’t want to renounce that so soon.
“We’ve arrived,” Donghyuck announces.
Impatient, Renjun peeks around, and he leaps out of the car as soon as Donghyuck finishes parking.
It’s impossible to not recognize this place: there’s a small, delicate bridge in front of them, under which a light river flows. He’s been here with Mark. There are stairs that lead down to the platform by the river, with small led lights on the floor that illuminate just the right amount to see, but leave enough shadows to hide kisses and touches.
It’s quite a famous place for couples to hang out. There’s no one in the zone Donghyuck parked, however.
When Donghyuck approaches him, he’s grinning, aware that Renjun would have recognized the place. His silence is a clear trick to keep the mystery, but he slips his hand into Renjun’s, intertwining their fingers. Donghyuck’s hands are sweetly warm compared to the cold of the night, and Renjun finds himself clutching them by instinct.
“When you said a date, I thought we’d be letting people see us,” Renjun murmurs, with no strength to complain.
It feels out of place to even insinuate that Donghyuck shouldn’t have brought him here.
Donghyuck leads the way down, not letting go of him as they walk down the stairs. “We are.”
“I can barely see you here so-” Renjun starts, repressing his laughter. But it all makes sense when Donghyuck fishes his phone out and turns on the camera, his smile wider than ever. “We came all the way here to take pictures?”
Donghyuck nods, and proudly corrects him, “Couple pictures. We’re making our instagram debut.”
The response in Renjun’s system is so sharp that it’s alarming. His heart beats in his ears for a few seconds as realization settles: dating for months involves many things besides letting their friends know. Posting their fake relationship for the world to see feels shockingly real, and so do all the consequences that come with it. Their lie has to extend to all the parts of their lives. Donghyuck’s siblings will probably ask him about it.
“Sure,” Renjun says, but he sounds so nervous that it makes Donghyuck frown. He forces a small smile of reassurance, which seems to fix Donghyuck’s worry. “What were you thinking?”
Donghyuck’s stare flicks to his mouth, and then he swifts around to glance at the river. “Pose on the edge, I’ll run to you. It’s going to take multiple shots so we can change the pose a bit.”
His confidence is all Renjun needs to follow the orders. He untangles his hand from Donghyuck’s and strides to the edge, leaning out to the river out of curiosity. It’s too dark to distinguish anything, and when Renjun decides to desist, he’s already found a good anchor of calmness within himself. He spins on his heels just in time to see that Donghyuck has just finished setting up his phone on one of the steps.
“Okay, ready!” he shouts.
When Donghyuck runs to him, the situation is too funny for Renjun to contain his laughter. Donghyuck skids to stop next to him, torn between laughing along and trying to not fall into the river, and rushes to pose with him. He sets his arm around Renjun’s waist, pulling him closer, his head slanting towards him. When the first shot clicks, Renjun is still laughing – Donghyuck sinks his fingers into his ribs so that he behaves, but it has the opposite effect.
Two, three, four shots. Donghyuck slides his hand under his chin, and Renjun looks at him, confused. Five. Donghyuck’s lips are on his, tender and warm. His hand presses against Renjun’s back to keep him in place, as though he fears Renjun will push him away. Six, seven. It’s so easy to kiss Donghyuck, so natural, that Renjun forgets they’re supposed to pose for the camera. He runs a hand up to Donghyuck’s nape, his fingers getting lost in his messy hair, and softly pulls at it, making him gasp into the kiss. That gasp travels straight to Renjun’s guts. Eight. With a tilt of his head, Donghyuck licks into his mouth, asking to go deeper. Renjun allows him in without hesitation, impatience vibrating in his veins as if he hadn’t kissed anyone in years. Nine. Renjun doesn’t want to end this, and neither does Donghyuck, whose hand tightens on his chin with a hint of desperation. Trying to squeeze out every millisecond before it’s over.
Ten. Donghyuck draws away with the noise of the last click, and Renjun opens his eyes, chasing Donghyuck’s mouth by instinct. The cold of the night replaces the warmth of his lips, reminding him where they are.
The silence that hovers over them is far from tense. It’s comfortable. Or perhaps it’s the effect of Donghyuck’s arms around his waist, the soft spark in his eyes as he looks at Renjun, as though they haven’t just kissed without minding how the pictures would turn out.
“You caught me by surprise,” Renjun murmurs, the taste of Donghyuck’s lips still on his.
Donghyuck scoffs, but his usual arrogance feels subdued, a shadow of what it should be. “Renjun, kissing your boyfriend shouldn’t be surprising.”
“Stop that,” Renjun complains, though the joke lifts a weight off his shoulders.
Letting go, Donghyuck motions for him to check the pictures with him. Since Donghyuck keeps the phone at the level of his hips, Renjun has to tiptoe to peek over his shoulder, his chin hooking on Donghyuck’s neck.
“They’re good,” Donghyuck decides.
Renjun blinks down at the screen, trying to process how strange is to see himself kiss Donghyuck. The pictures are incredible, however: they look like a real couple, clearly in their honeymoon phase, but with the added familiarity of having known each other for years.
“Maybe a bit too good?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Donghyuck asks. To Renjun’s surprise, he doesn’t stop to analyze his words, too busy making sure the photos are convincing. “Let’s try again. I think we can do better.”
Renjun backtracks his steps, watching Donghyuck set his phone in the same exact way. If he was curious before, now he’s just nervous, shifting his weight from one leg to the other as he waits for Donghyuck.
This time Donghyuck doesn’t bother to pose for the camera. This time, neither laughs. When Donghyuck reaches Renjun, still with his back facing the camera, he grabs him by the coat and draws him into a kiss. Even though there’s not much time for Renjun to react, he clutches the back of Donghyuck’s hoodie, his fingers shaking with impatience, a rush of courage within.
He doesn’t know when the set finishes; all he knows is that they kiss longer than that, no clicking sounds in the night, their rushed breathing loud and clear as they wrap themselves around each other.
It’s Donghyuck who shatters their kiss, softly cradling Renjun’s face as he steps back. When he opens his eyes, however, his attention travels down to Renjun’s collarbones – avoidance isn’t foreign to Renjun, and so he releases Donghyuck from his hold without a word.
Donghyuck doesn’t propose a third round, but once he picks up his phone, he tugs Renjun with him.
They sit on the river’s platform for a while, legs dangling in the air, talking about nothing and everything. Only when Donghyuck ends up melting into Renjun’s side, looking for warmth, do they decide that it’s too cold to stay out for longer.
“You should sleep at mine’s tonight,” Donghyuck tells him in the car. “Jaemin and Jeno will notice you didn’t go back home, and I’ll drive you to campus tomorrow morning.”
Accepting the invitation is easy. Donghyuck has a spacious, newly bought mattress that Renjun hasn’t had the chance to enjoy often, and since his apartment is closer to the campus, Renjun will be able to sleep for longer tomorrow. He orders food for the both of them while Donghyuck drives, to make sure they’ll eat as soon as they arrive.
By the time they hit the bed, their exhaustion is palpable. Not even Donghyuck is active enough to bother him: he insists on taking a couple of pictures of Renjun in his bed too, which turn out to be a mess of sheets and blurry smiles as they fight, and then he sets the most bizarre one as his phone background.
“It’s just normal that I have my boyfriend as my background,” he defends himself.
Renjun can’t contradict him.
That same night, when they burrow themselves in Donghyuck’s bed, Renjun listens to him rant about the pictures by the river. He lets him choose the ones that will naturally invade everyone’s feeds, the ones that will cause chaos for the next few days in their circles.
There’s a purpose to Donghyuck’s choice, or so it seems as a new post appears in Renjun’s feed. When he checks them, his heart hammers inside his chest.
There are four pictures: in the first one, Donghyuck is a blurry spot running to him; in the second one, they’re laughing, with blinding smiles and intertwined hands; in the third one they’re sharing a sweet kiss, and though they weren’t posing for the camera in that moment anymore, it looks like they were.
The fourth picture, however, sends a shiver down Renjun’s spine as he slides his fingers over it. It must have been the last picture they took: only Donghyuck’s back can be seen, but he’s leaning forward, completely lost into the kiss; and then there is Renjun, fisting his hair with one hand, the other fisting his hoodie with so much strength that Donghyuck’s clothes are completely wrinkled.
Looking at the picture brings back the sensation of Donghyuck’s lips on his, a memory that pushes Renjun to glance at him. Under the dim lights of the room, Renjun studies Donghyuck’s pretty profile for a second, the subtle frown of focus, his fingers rapidly moving on his phone’s screen.
Renjun looks away, twirling on his side and away from Donghyuck. There’s not enough oxygen in his lungs, and though he knows Donghyuck will wrap around him at some point tonight, he needs to breathe on his own first.
He doesn’t even realize he’s still holding his phone until a private message from Jisung pops up. Renjun isn’t ready for reactions or for disapproval yet. That’s the reason a wave of relief washes over him when he reads Jisung’s words.
Woah, Jisung has sent, along a surprised emoji, these are very pretty.
It’s undeniable that they are. Renjun doesn’t have the mental strength to look at them again, too troubled by the way his insides twist, and limits himself to sending a smiling emoji to Jisung.
It’s Donghyuck, Chenle had said, our Donghyuck.
Renjun leaves his phone on the bedside table and closes his eyes, aware that he won’t manage to fall asleep just yet. There’s no going back now. He breathes in, trying to ease the rhythm of his heart, trying to remain firm on the decisions that he’s already made.
He doesn’t know for how long he ponders about if this is a mistake or his salvation. Having Donghyuck by his side is a game changer, and even now, as Renjun curls up in his bed, he wishes he could have this every night. After three months of being enclosed in his own head, it’s liberating to share this lie with Donghyuck.
“Mark has texted me,” Donghyuck whispers.
The news dies in the silence of the room, palpitating between them like a taboo. Renjun squeezes his eyes shut, unable to say a word. There’s nothing he could say now, no way he could explain the terror that swims through him within a second. They’ve been waiting for Mark to react, but this is final: a final sentence to what will happen to their friendship.
It’s impossible for Donghyuck to not know that he’s awake, but after waiting for a few seconds, he shuffles back onto his side. Even though Donghyuck ignores the reason, he understands that Renjun isn’t ready to face this problem tonight. Renjun hears the noise of the phone being placed on the table, and then Donghyuck softly commands his smart lights to turn off.
When the darkness engulfs them, Renjun has only one certainty: as much as Donghyuck pretends, he isn’t ready to face the consequences either.
Donghyuck fulfills his promise of driving him to campus in the morning, even makes breakfast for the both of them, but he doesn’t mention what happened last night. Not a word about the pictures, not a word about their friends’ reactions, not a word about Mark.
Renjun wonders if he should bring it up, wonders every second until Donghyuck has dropped him off. But he feels ignoring Donghyuck yesterday took away his right to ask. His lack of insistence means that If Donghyuck has already talked to Mark, he’s decided to not share it with him.
Maybe Donghyuck is just overwhelmed by the situation.
It’s understandable. During the next three days, Renjun himself receives a crazy amount of messages. He expected his close acquaintances to ask about Donghyuck, but he didn’t imagine how many other people would pry into their business. Even some of Donghyuck’s exes try to interrogate him to make sure that they’re dating and not just fooling around. A couple of them don’t seem very content of being right about them after all this time, though Renjun isn’t sure what they’re talking about.
At first Renjun answers to keep up appearances, but when he realizes how many people just want to know if they’ve lost their shot with him or with Donghyuck, he stops being so cooperative.
The night before movie night, Donghyuck shows up at Renjun’s with his bag, announcing that he’s sleeping over, and Renjun decides to mention this strange phenomenon.
He’s stuck at his desktop, working on his thesis, while Donghyuck lazes around in his bed, watching On Rainy days on his phone. He’s already changed into his pajamas and taken the time to visit Jaemin and Jeno in their respective rooms, as a warning to let them know that he’d stay the night. After a couple of hours of waiting for Renjun to complete his work, when it’s evident that Donghyuck is melting into boredom, Renjun indulges in conversation.
“That’s funny. At least a dozen guys blocked me,” Donghyuck says when Renjun finishes relating about everyone who bothered him during the week. “I think they were giving you a considerate amount of time to mourn for the break-up and I pissed them off.”
Renjun laughs at that out of embarrassment, because he’s sure there are many other reasons why Donghyuck might have gotten blocked, and then protests, “I wasn’t talking to any guys.”
“You sure? I think you might have not realized you were talking to guys,” Donghyuck retorts. Renjun lifts his head to send him an annoyed look, but Donghyuck is delighted with his reaction, grinning as he twirls on the bed. “Losing the ability to flirt is an effect of being in a long-term relationship.”
“I suppose you’re not talking from experience.”
“Rude. Fuck you.” Donghyuck frowns at him, now on the losing side as Renjun throws his head back and openly laughs. For Renjun, pushing his buttons is too easy to miss the chance, but Donghyuck is never prepared for it. “Lend me your phone. Let’s see who’s right.”
Very convinced that he hasn’t given anyone leeway to flirt, Renjun shrugs. He throws his phone across the room, which makes Donghyuck shriek and protect himself with his arms, even though the phone neatly lands next to him.
Donghyuck wastes no time, sitting up to check Renjun’s phone.
His first reaction while scrolling down his messages is to whistle, impressed. Then he sends Renjun an evil look just for theatrical purposes. It’s hard to not blush at the subtle insinuation in Donghyuck’s expression, but no matter how full Renjun’s inbox is, that doesn’t mean he was flirting with anyone.
“Jun? Totally trying to score,” Donghyuck begins with a sigh. Renjun spins his chair to study his expression, but Donghyuck is already deep into his special research, and Renjun starts regretting allowing him full access to his messages. “Jacob? Seriously, Renjun, he invited you to his house.” Renjun opens his mouth to protest, because Jacob just asked for help with his - okay, maybe he didn’t interpret that one well. “I’m blocking them, by the way.”
That sets off Renjun’s alarms at last: there’s a thin line between fooling around and Donghyuck turning his social life into a less, and right now it’s blurred under his antics.
Renjun closes his laptop in resignation and warns him, “Hey! Don’t block anyone!”
“Hyunjin? Totally blocked, what the fuck, you’re not talking to Hwang Hyunjin.”
Donghyuck’s disobedience is a given, so Renjun leaves the desktop and runs to the bed to stop whatever he’s actually doing. Donghyuck rolls over and hides the phone under his tummy, and Renjun climbs on his back, trying to slip a hand under him. However, Donghyuck is tightly pressed against the mattress: he doesn’t move an inch at Renjun’s attempts, and just giggles when Renjun tickles him to break him.
“Be reasonable, okay?” Donghyuck whines, still laughing. He raises his hips in an attempt to push Renjun off him, but that leaves the phone unprotected and in consequence he falls flat on it again. “We went public. It’s normal for you to block guys that are trying to get into your pants, because you love me and they’re disrespecting me.”
Renjun doesn’t know how to explain how ridiculous that sounds. However, his opinion is skewed. Mark was never the jealous type, and relationships’ limits are bound to be different with every person. In all honesty, no one that knew Mark tried to hit on Renjun while they dated. They all knew that there was no opportunity to distract Renjun, not even a little, from his perfect boyfriend.
Donghyuck’s limits are different, stricter, as much as they’re fake.
“Or maybe our relationship is based on trust and you wouldn’t be insecure about this,” Renjun fights, and even though he means to uphold his posture – both metaphorically and literally – he gets off of Donghyuck and lies next to him with a pout. Donghyuck deadpans at his reasoning, which is enough of an answer, and Renjun prompts him, “Let’s do the same with your account then.”
The spark of contentment in Donghyuck’s eyes tells Renjun that he’s made a mistake.
“Sure,” he sing-songs, terribly agreeable. That’s never a good sign. He reaches out for his phone, unlocks it and places it on Renjun’s palm, no secrecy behind his actions. “It’s going to take you a few hours, though.”
Renjun can’t repress a grimace. “You’re gross.”
Between work and his busy social life, Renjun is certain that Donghyuck doesn’t have a lot of time to flirt with men, and less through messages. He’s always been the sort of person that prefers being face to face, to test the chemistry and the spontaneity. But that doesn’t stop other people from trying, and that becomes quite evident when Renjun opens his account.
“You can’t insult your boyfriend, I should be perfect in your eyes,” Donghyuck rants, unconcerned with what Renjun could find. Part of his attention is still on Renjun’s phone, but as soon as he catches Renjun slipping over the bed to return to his desktop, he grabs him by his sleeve. “Don’t go back to work, it’s late. I’m sure you’ve done enough.”
Renjun’s automatic reflex is to groan, “Donghyuck-”
Donghyuck’s fingers twirl around his sleeve, pulling him back to the bed and rendering his complaint futile. His excuses are fated to be disregarded.
“Are you going to look me in the eye and lie about all the work you haven’t done?” Donghyuck challenges him.
Renjun has been focused for hours, plus the hours he spent on campus today, and it’d be foolish to try to demonstrate otherwise. Renjun can afford resting, but when he’s in a working mood, he spends whole nights researching non-stop.
It’s harder to mistreat himself now that Donghyuck has invaded his bedroom, and confessing his bad habits is out of question. If Donghyuck got to know he skips sleep on purpose, Renjun wouldn’t sleep alone in the next three years.
Donghyuck interprets his silence as surrender, adding another tug towards the bed. “I thought so.”
Shoulders deflating, Renjun begrudgingly says, “Let me put on my pajamas first.”
Content with his triumph, Donghyuck releases him from his clutches and returns to the more important task of blocking men that flirted with him. Renjun decides that if he has to unblock anyone, he’ll do it tomorrow when Donghyuck isn’t around to keep an eye on him. Fighting him will take a considerable amount of effort, and Renjun doesn’t have any reasonable explanations to unblock people other than fearing a confrontation. However, if anyone asks about it, he can blame Donghyuck for being possessive. He’s all covered.
Renjun doesn’t bother to hide from Donghyuck while he changes clothes; six years of friendship have led them to see each other naked way too often for Renjun’s liking. Even though he prefers having privacy, undressing in front of Donghyuck doesn’t feel unsafe. He doesn’t even spare him a glance until Renjun is climbing on the bed on all fours.
“I’m done with your phone,” Donghyuck announces, welcoming him with a satisfied smile. Upon Renjun’s lack of response, he merely watches him pull the covers to slip inside. His disappointment is palpable when he asks, “You’re already going to sleep?”
Happily tucked under the covers, Renjun laughs at his expression. “Didn’t you say it was late?”
“To work.”
“But not to entertain you?”
“Exactly. I knew you’d understand.”
But Donghyuck imitates him, crawling towards him to slip under the covers as well. Renjun has almost turned on his side when he catches Donghyuck pressing his hand against the mattress, in a very particular spot that Renjun is familiar with.
Donghyuck forgets about getting under the covers with him. That much is evident by the glint of interest in his eyes. “Oh, your bed-”
The bad, terrible hunch that stabs Renjun’s chest is so powerful that for a moment, he wonders if asking a simple question is dangerous.
“What are you doing?”
Donghyuck lifts his head like a dog that has been caught eating cake. Almost as though he forgot Renjun was there with him. But then he presses his hand against the mattress again, the squeaking of the bed becoming louder, and his gaze sparkles with the beginning of an idea. That idea sharpens as soon as he bounces his whole body on the mattress, moving it under Renjun’s body as well.
The squeaking is undoubtedly characteristic.
“You know?” he says, very slowly, an attempt at being careful that doesn’t go unnoticed under Renjun’s radar. “It’d make so much sense if Jeno and Jaemin heard some noise tonight.”
“No.” Renjun pushes the covers off, his sense of decency ringing in his ears. Even though Donghyuck is one arm away, it feels like he’s too far away, like Renjun won’t be able to get a hold of him before disaster strikes. His voice is tinted with horror when Renjun hisses, “Donghyuck, don’t you dare.”
Predicting Donghyuck’s movements is instinctive for Renjun; stopping him, on the other hand, is impossible. All Renjun manages to do is shove him on his back with the force of his panic, but it’s too late: Donghyuck has already moaned out loud, a dragged-out, long moan that can’t be mistaken for anything but sexual.
Renjun slaps his hand over Donghyuck’s mouth, which doesn’t work very well to suppress the next moan that vibrates in Donghyuck’s throat. It sounds deeper, more guttural, and in the time it takes Renjun to process his mistake, Donghyuck has hooked his legs around his hips, switching positions. Donghyuck has him flat on his back in the blink of an eye.
They struggle against each other, which creates a new series of suspicious noises that can definitely be heard through the thin walls. In less than one minute, Donghyuck has turned the tables and is pinning him on the mattress, and when he sits on his stomach, his weight drags a groan out of Renjun. The way that sound makes Donghyuck smirk unnerves Renjun, but it’s offset by how silly Donghyuck looks with his messy hair and his rubber duck pajamas.
Donghyuck leans down to his level and assures him in a whisper, “This is a lost battle.”
Conscious that if they break the spell, they’d be showing themselves up, Renjun responds in the same tone, “I have to face them tomorrow!”
“So have I,” Donghyuck retorts, unimpressed. At this point in their lives, they've heard too many explicit stories from each other, and Jeno and Jaemin won't be horrified at another one. “You’ve never fucked Mark here?”
Renjun blinks up at him, unpleased with that question.
“Of course I’ve fucked Mark here, but it’s not the same because-”
Renjun bites onto his lower lip, choking the explanation that was on the tip of his tongue.
It is the same. The only difference is that this would be his first time with Donghyuck. If he’s true to himself, he has to admit that on his first time with Mark, he didn’t worry about how loud they were for a single second.
He was too absorbed in the moment to care about other people. So if he’s in love with Donghyuck, he should apply the same rules, the same behavior; maybe they should be more inconsiderate, since Donghyuck is a whole demon on his own.
In fact, after they've supposedly been hiding their relationship, this new sort of freedom has to be an inflection point. There isn't a better way to inaugurate that than making their friends think they're having sex.
Much to Renjun's disgrace.
“You’re bringing me breakfast to the bed tomorrow,” is all Renjun offers as resistance.
Donghyuck nods with enthusiasm, Renjun's misery his joy. Given that he's putting himself through awkward situations, Renjun guesses he owes him some entertainment, some permission to take the reins.
“I’m taking the headboard,” Donghyuck announces, not needing Renjun's input. It’s a miracle that he's noticed that Renjun’s headboard is loose enough to smash it against the wall. It’s a curse for Jeno, however, since his wall is the one that will take every hit. “Go to your spot.”
Renjun murmurs a trail of curses under his breath, on his way to the squeaking spot on his mattress.
“Five minutes,” he warns Donghyuck, because he doesn’t intend to ridicule himself for longer than necessary.
“No way. I can go way longer than that,” Donghyuck scowls at him with a mixture of offense and incredulity. Renjun is about to remind him that this isn’t real sex when Donghyuck proposes, “Thirty minutes.”
“Ten.”
“Twenty.”
“Fifteen.”
Donghyuck’s displeased glare is so insistent that it makes Renjun roll his eyes at him. That’s the cue for him to understand that Renjun won’t back down from this last argument.
“Fine,” Donghyuck says with contempt, his fingers hooking over the headboard. “You’ll regret the last five.”
Renjun doesn't bother to find out what he means, but ten minutes later, when Donghyuck’s eyes glint with anticipated malice, he regrets every deal they’ve ever made.
In the morning, Donghyuck’s alarm is the first disruption that tows Renjun from a placid, deep dream.
The second disruption is the lack of warmth from Donghyuck’s body, which was pressed against his back and disappears as Donghyuck rolls over to grab his phone.
Curling in on himself, Renjun stays still, while Donghyuck mumbles some grumpy complaints about how early it is. Donghyuck has never been a morning person. But Renjun appreciates that there’s at least one moment in the day when he’s not a ball of optimism and energy.
As soon as the noise of the alarm dies, Renjun feels Donghyuck’s arm around his waist again. He’s still under the covers, and though he’s snuggling back into their previous position, this time he sinks his nose against Renjun’s nape.
Donghyuck notices he’s awake by how Renjun tenses up at the proximity. Instead of greeting him good morning, he offers, “You snored so loudly.”
“I don’t snore. You snore,” Renjun snaps, which makes Donghyuck smile against his neck. There was only one period in his life when he snored, and it was because he was taking sleeping pills. He’s a light sleeper, so any noise coming from his own mouth would wake him up in an instant. He throws his arm backwards to pat Donghyuck’s thigh and demands, “Breakfast.”
Donghyuck groans, almost as though he expected Renjun to forget about last night’s promises. “You’re so mean. I’ve just woken up.”
Renjun happily threatens him, “I can be meaner.”
That’s enough to activate Donghyuck’s self-preservation instincts, though he makes sure to plant a sonorous kiss in Renjun’s shoulder before leaving. Renjun grants himself the joy of sleeping for longer, but once Donghyuck is in the kitchen, it’s hard to not hear his friends’ voices. It’s either Jaemin or Jeno, but not the both of them; that still kicks Renjun’s system into motion, since he’s not prepared anything to face them today.
Considering how harshly Donghyuck moved the headboard last night, to the point Renjun ended up face down on the bed to stop laughing, there might be a few comments from his friends.
It takes Donghyuck at least half an hour to return to the room, and he has to walk the way back and forth a couple of times to bring all the food. Renjun’s appetite starts crawling through his stomach the moment he spots the kimchi eggs, but Donghyuck slaps his hands and tells him to wait until he’s joined him in bed again.
Both of them sit on the covers to eat, Donghyuck’s knee over his like he’s a puppy that needs contact at all times. Since they’re sharing several plates and Donghyuck put honest effort in the breakfast, Renjun decides to indulge him.
“Jaemin asked about you,” Donghyuck informs him while they eat, a mess of hands and arms entangling to reach for the food. Renjun is used to sharing, so it doesn’t bother him. He’s had a lot of time to mold to his friends’ personalities, to become generous and to learn to receive other people’s generosity. “Told him my baby is too tired to move just yet.”
“Disgusting,” Renjun says, with no actual disgust in his tone. The promise of food makes impossible for him to be mad at Donghyuck’s shenanigans. “What else?”
“He kinda congratulated me.”
Renjun pretends to gag at that piece of information. It’s unnecessary for him to ask why Jaemin would congratulate Donghyuck, but he innocently tends to think his friends are better than the average guy that pats their friend on the back for fucking someone.
Part of him suspects it’s due to the show Donghyuck created yesterday. If Jaemin had just heard normal noises, he’d have been condemned to act like nothing happened.
Donghyuck always likes going beyond normal limits.
“God.” Renjun munches on his food with enthusiasm, and Donghyuck leans forward to take a better look at his face. That’s his silent way to prompt an opinion. “I refuse to discuss this cavemen behavior.”
The mere refusal draws a smirk on Donghyuck’s face. It’s satisfying enough to know that Renjun is embarrassed. Even a fake relationship strokes Donghyuck’s ego, but Renjun is no one to judge; it’s the intrinsic playfulness in Donghyuck.
“It’s movie night tonight,” he continues, switching the topic to appease Renjun for once. “Jaemin said we’re going to Chenle’s house.”
That’s important for all of them. They’ve been switching movie night among their houses for years, but Renjun knew that, if this time Mark’s house was chosen, joining without permission would feel disrespectful. And asking for permission would feel odd.
Renjun ignores what Mark texted Donghyuck. But the fact that Donghyuck didn’t volunteer that conversation to him after days means that it wasn’t positive. Doing movie night at Chenle’s house is a relief.
“You get off earlier than me, right?” Renjun asks him.
To his surprise, Donghyuck catches his unsaid words, “I can pick you up anyway.”
That would make Renjun feel like a burden. Donghyuck would have to go to work, then to campus, skipping his rest time and his evening shower, just to drive them both to Chenle's house. Donghyuck will need to be well rested, will need to psych himself up before meeting Mark. His mind shouldn't be preoccupied with taking care of Renjun.
“We should arrive separately,” Renjun concludes in the end. He needs an excuse to dissuade him. “It’ll be smoother?”
Donghyuck shrugs at that, unconvinced, but he doesn’t fight it. The air between them shifts, a pinch of tension that wasn’t there before – that Renjun hasn’t felt in days.
It's obvious that Renjun needs his own time to ponder about how he’ll handle the situation. If Mark wants to talk to him, Renjun doesn't trust his self-control: his emotional instability could bring him to many stages, and none of them are optimistic.
Preparing some answers beforehand will help him to fix his ideas, to remember that he has to lean on Donghyuck and not say anything that will rip their plan apart.
But Renjun decides to keep those thoughts to himself.
He’s been conditioned to expect people assuming that he fears facing Mark because he still has feelings for him. Donghyuck is no exception. However, knowing that he went this far to convince everyone he’s over Mark, Donghyuck may not dare to question Renjun. He has no right to.
And yet, Renjun feels the urge of explaining every detail of his feelings to him, just so that he understands, just so that he trusts. An urge that is subdued on the tip of his tongue.
Donghyuck won’t care. Donghyuck won’t believe him.
Even though Renjun makes an effort to focus on his work, he suffers eventual spikes of anxiety during the day. He has to wipe his sweating hands a couple of times, trips over his own feet on his way to the cafeteria, and spends an overwhelming amount of time in the bathroom because the nerves are twitching in his stomach.
Yangyang kindly offers him soju at midday like that’d be the solution to all his problems. Or like he could actually get soju at their faculty. Renjun doesn’t put it past him.
Maybe Renjun cares about confronting Mark. He’s never been someone that faces his problems as they come. That’s the reason he didn’t see the break-up coming. Or the reason he didn’t cry for the first two weeks, but on the third he couldn’t even leave the bed without feeling like the world was crumbling down around him.
Renjun can’t tell for how long he hasn’t been in love with Mark, but it’s still terrifying that he isn’t in love with him. From the start to the very last minute of their relationship, Renjun never treated him any differently – his acts of love remained intact, their routine as exciting as always, and their memories piled up faster than ever, as if they were bottled in an eternal lovebirds phase.
With perspective, Renjun realized that there was something intrinsically wrong about that: relationships were supposed to change and grow. Just like they, themselves, had done.
Mark had broken up with him with something akin to an excuse, but also a statement that revealed his future wasn’t entangled with Renjun’s: he was finishing his master’s degree this year, and he already had a job offer in another city. He wasn’t planning to stay in the city to wait for Renjun.
They could have made a sacrifice, shifted into a long-distance relationship, but Renjun could see in Mark’s eyes that he wasn’t even going to propose it.
Renjun didn’t want to put that idea on the table, either. Their puppy love wasn’t cut for sacrifices.
Mark would have had to compromise his career and reduce his options for at least another three years, until Renjun finished his doctorate. After that, Renjun could have made a sacrifice to follow him wherever he wanted, but Mark’s sacrifice came first.
Renjun is sure that, if his heart had assured him that Mark was the love of his life, he wouldn’t have even doubted about asking him to stay. Until that moment, he thought that selfless love was the purest form of love.
But maybe the purest form of love was one that wouldn’t make him afraid of asking for big chances, a love that could adapt, twist, break and mend just so that they could be together. Definitely a love that was bigger than a career.
When the evening hits, Renjun’s nervousness worsens until he’s dizzy. Every time he checks the clock in his office, his only concern is that Donghyuck must already be in Chenle’s house. He texts him a few times without asking uncomfortable questions, just to see if he’s perched on his phone, but Donghyuck doesn’t even read his messages.
Only when Renjun is picking up his things to leave, does Donghyuck message him an impatient, when are you coming? Given that he ignores all the other messages, and goes offline as soon as Renjun reads his, he may not be in the best position to engage in conversation.
Renjun knows how to detect the warning signs, and Donghyuck’s behavior is crystal clear. He waves Yangyang goodbye and nearly speeds all the way to the bus.
It’s stupid to worry over Donghyuck when Renjun isn’t there, but he can’t help the cloud of concern that strangles him. He’s responsible for persuading Donghyuck into this situation, so he’s responsible if he gets hurt.
Chenle’s apartment is on the seventh floor of a huge building, so when Renjun arrives, he slides into the elevator to check himself in the mirror. Processing his own distress in the reflection is eye-opening: he breathes deeply to calm down, fixes his messy hair, and prays that the rosy tint on his cheeks will fade away.
Even as he stands in front of Chenle’s door, his lungs are agonizing for oxygen. When the door opens for him, he swears his heart rate goes insane until he recognizes Jeno.
“Who invited you?” Jeno jokes, standing in the way on purpose.
Renjun sends him a judging look that, however, falls flat due to his agitation.
“Your soon-to-be husband,” Renjun retorts, just to give him a heart attack.
The way Jeno’s eyes widen at the word husband becomes the only piece of joy in Renjun’s day.
“He’s not my-” is all Jeno manages.
Jeno is too shocked to react as Renjun pushes him aside and walks into the hall. He drops his bag in the designed place by the entrance, since he’s familiar with Chenle’s nagging when they don’t respect his house rules.
After a moment of hesitation, Jeno follows him, shoulders hunched in disappointment at the inability to fight Renjun over his relationship status with Chenle. Or maybe he notices Renjun’s mood and decides to not create more problems. Or maybe he knows that he’s about to find trouble-
Renjun scans the living room to get a general grasp of the situation. Chenle is lying on the couch, covered by a blanket that Jisung is pulling at, murmuring a protest about how Chenle doesn’t need it all for him. Jaemin is busy bringing snacks to the table, oblivious at how some of them are falling behind him.
Mark and Donghyuck are sitting in the kitchen, alone. The living room is connected to the kitchen, only separated by some columns and a pretentious arch, so Renjun can spot them. They’ve chosen the farthest spot in the kitchen, where their conversation is barely a whisper among the commotion in the living room.
Renjun steps forward, trying not to draw his friends’ attention before he can get a good glimpse of his boyfriend and his ex-boyfriend. All Renjun can see is Donghyuck’s back and Mark’s expression, but that’s enough to give him a whiff of what’s happening. Mark is speaking fast, way too fast, with a sort of intensity that Renjun has only witnessed during their fights. He never argued with his friends the way he did with Renjun, but it’s never too late for a first time. Eyebrows furrowed, he’s enumerating something with his fingers as he talks to Donghyuck.
Donghyuck isn’t quiet, however. While his gestures are dramatic, they’re also alarmingly contained. He’s shaking his head, holding Mark’s wrist as though he wants to stop his reasoning. And though he’s clearly interrupting Mark every three words, neither is showing a lot of enthusiasm to listen to each other.
It’s overwhelming to think for how long Donghyuck has been trapped in that fight. Renjun forgets his sense of self-preservation and instead of greeting his friends, he just waves his hand at them on his way to the kitchen. Chenle screams a rude comment about his manners, but his offense is long forgotten as Jeno approaches him.
Mark sees him first. Surprise splatters across his face, knocking him out of the conversation with Donghyuck instantaneously. The shift is so abrupt it makes Donghyuck spin around. His reaction is the complete opposite: a blow of relief that sucks his tension away.
It’s so hard for Renjun to look away from him. He aches to clutch that mutual relief, to focus on Donghyuck and forget about anyone else. This feeling of dependency that strains in his chest is a bad symptom.
“Hey,” Renjun says, smiling at Mark. He caresses the kitchen counter in what seems a casual, relaxed movement, but every step towards them feels huge. “How’s it going?”
Mark returns the smile, but he doesn’t bother to hold it for long. He avoids Renjun’s stare before breathing out, “Hey.”
Donghyuck catches him, his arm surrounding Renjun’s waist and his hand perching on his hip. For Renjun, it feels like a barrier of protection, a safe veil around him. And then Donghyuck’s mouth is on his, a tiny, quick peck that leaves butterflies flying all over his face, his fingertips, and his guts.
Renjun clenches his jaw. It’s just another of spike of anxiety, a consequence of kissing in front of Mark. New habits he has to get used to.
“Hi, baby,” Donghyuck tells him, and it’s sweet, careful. When Renjun meets his eyes, there’s worry in them. So ironical, considering Renjun was trying to be the savior for once. “Did you have a good day?”
Whether because their display is suffocating or because Mark doesn’t want to participate, he excuses himself. He pats Donghyuck’s back before leaving, a reflex that’s so ingrained him that his mind can’t skip it even after arguing. It seems like his affection for Renjun wasn’t that ingrained, because he doesn’t bother to acknowledge him.
Renjun can’t blame him or, for that matter, demand him to act decent. He can’t promise that he’d have been nice if Mark had introduced a new boyfriend in the span of three months and kissed him in front of him. Cordiality would have been his best effort.
Donghyuck tugs at his hip to hold him closer, and Renjun blinks at him, sinking into the comfort of being together after a long day. Their act should be over, but Donghyuck cups his chin and draws him in for a kiss; a kiss that is more than a peck, warm and languid and even a bit intense. It’s unexpected, but reasonable: they’re supposed to be affectionate, to want to kiss after not being together for the whole day. Renjun revels in the burst of sensations that travels through his body.
Donghyuck’s arm around him and a soft kiss is all he needs to quiet down the rowdy concern in his head.
When they part, Renjun recognizes that same sentiment in Donghyuck’s face. He tucks a strand of Donghyuck’s hair behind his ear, letting his fingers ran down his neck afterwards. Donghyuck’s hair smells like lavender tonight, rather than the usual subtle scent of lemon.
“What happened?” Renjun whispers, unwinding his real voice at last. He sneaks a hand behind Donghyuck’s back, and rests the other in his neck. It’s a good position to let their friends know that they shouldn’t be interrupted. “What did he tell you?”
Donghyuck’s annoyance is latent as he says, “Bro code stuff.”
That’s the last explanation Renjun imagined. A bro code in their group is laughable. Only Chenle has shown signs of jealousy, of setting limits when it comes to Jeno. Everyone else, albeit respectful, wouldn’t impose a past relationship to limit them. Mark could have given Donghyuck a thousand excuses – that it was too soon, that he was still processing the break-up, but not affirm that Donghyuck owed him loyalty.
“I didn’t know we had a bro code,” Renjun protests. It’s unfair for them to set rules that were never there. That sense of loyalty can’t be protected on a one to one basis because, in a way, all of them owe all their friends loyalty. “Like, I’d not be surprised if you started dating Jisung or Jaemin or-”
“I get it, Renjun,” Donghyuck interrupts him with a sigh. His lips curl up into a smile for a moment, as though the idea of dating Jisung or Jaemin is funny. “We’re very susceptible to hooking up with each other. Absolutely no morals in this group.”
And yet, everyone is somewhat shocked that Renjun and Donghyuck are dating. Renjun thought he understood their dynamics, and overall his friends’ values, but he’s starting to suspect there’s a piece of information missing in his foundations.
“Yes, that’s why the bro code is odd,” Renjun insists. Donghyuck’s attention wanders off, perhaps to avoid continuing the conversation. Even if Renjun doesn’t agree with Mark’s complaints, Donghyuck must still be feeling remorseful. That’s how Renjun realizes that Donghyuck needs other sort of support, “Are you okay?”
Renjun rubs his thumb against his jaw, a tender touch that brings Donghyuck’s eyes back to him.
Donghyuck nods, unsure. “I think so.”
Renjun glances back at his friends, ever so discreetly.
Jisung is peeking at them with curiosity. Jaemin has accommodated in the couch next to him, and even if he’s not so nosy, Renjun catches how he looks at them from time to time, like he’s dancing between indifference and gossiping.
Renjun doesn’t have to uphold a certain image right now: his worry for Donghyuck is genuine. To his friends, it’ll just look like they’re having a sweet moment after a long day of being apart.
Renjun concludes, “He’s mad at you.”
Squeezing his eyes shut, Donghyuck mutters a low yes. There’s resignation in his tone, acceptance even: unlike Renjun, he expected this reaction. It’s a mystery why he played along Renjun’s plans if he feared this would be the backlash.
The only other choice was abandoning Renjun to his luck.
“He’s mad at me,” he confirms, and once that’s on the table, it’s just natural for him to sputter all he’s been holding back, “thinks I’ve been waiting for you two to break up to take advantage of my position. I knew- I knew some things about what Mark thought about your relationship and I guess he doesn’t think I can be unbiased, or that I haven’t told you about all that because that’d have given me a better chance-”
The cascade of information is too much for Renjun to take in, but it’s also too much for Donghyuck to handle. Renjun sets a hand on his chest, right over his heart, and Donghyuck glances up at him in slight surprise. His heart is racing, even though he’s not the one with an angry ex-boyfriend, even though he’s not the one who’s just learning that his ex-boyfriend was complaining about their three-year-long relationship instead of talking to him.
It almost feels like Renjun is telling himself, “Breathe. Speak slowly.”
Donghyuck obeys, grasping onto his words for a clearer mind.
“I’m sorry,” he muses. “That was an intense conversation.”
There are many questions that dance in Renjun’s mind. Curiosity bubbles up, as inconsiderate as it is: part of him wants to know what Mark said about their relationship, but he’d have to ask Donghyuck to betray his friend’s trust. Donghyuck is already in a difficult position for him.
Renjun’s duty is to listen. “Go on.”
Receiving permission catches Donghyuck off guard, as though he’d assumed Renjun wouldn’t hear him out, but he composes himself fast enough.
“So of course he says the trust between us has taken a hit. If I have feelings for you now it means I had feelings for you long ago, or I wouldn’t be risking it all for you.” Donghyuck squeezes his waist, taking a deep breath for a couple of seconds. “That also means that I didn’t tell him that I liked you which is fucked up between friends and he says he deserved to know – that he wouldn’t have judged me or pushed me away because of it.”
Mark’s thoughts are logic, but not entirely honest.
Renjun knows him: he’s always been fine with his friends giving Renjun affection because there was no threat to their relationship. Donghyuck being in love with him would have been a game changer. Because Donghyuck came first into Renjun’s life. Because Donghyuck was close to him, and Renjun loved him. Because Mark was logical, but not entirely void of jealousy.
Renjun remembered, especially in the first phases of their relationship, that Mark lost his sense of politeness when he thought a guy was approaching him for reasons other than academic.
“That’s not fair. If that scenario was true, you’d still have the right to keep your feelings to yourself,” Renjun tells him, trying to not deepen into the hypothesis. It was a small argument over power. Power to control, to have information, to ensure that everything stayed within Mark’s reach. “It’s not like you’d have done anything. As in- imagine you actually liked me while I was dating Mark, would you have tried to date me after we broke up?”
Something shifts in Donghyuck’s expression. Something unrecognizable.
“Renjun,” Donghyuck starts. The question is still settling in as he points out, “You’ve just said that you’d expect any of us to date each other.”
That breaks any stiffness in the atmosphere, any previous tension, and Renjun laughs out loud, head thrown back. Donghyuck holds onto him as if Renjun would slip away otherwise, but he smiles at the sound of his laugh.
“Point taken.”
For a moment, they swim in the first calm silence of the night. His friends’ chatter has died down, and Renjun knows, for a fact, that they’re being listened to. One of them turns up the volume of the TV just to pretend that they’re not spying on them, but it’s too late for Renjun to buy the act.
Renjun leans forward, purposefully lowering his voice to offer, “We can leave if you want.”
He’s not sure what they’d do, but this is his only approach to protect Donghyuck: to rescue him from his guilt and give him a safe space to rest. Maybe they could stay in Renjun’s room and watch a movie by themselves, and forget about difficult conversations and threatened friendships. Maybe they could discuss Mark’s words until Donghyuck had convinced himself that he’s not a bad friend for dating Renjun. Or maybe they could sleep, and hope that tomorrow is a better day for the both of them.
Donghyuck smiles at his proposal. Not a smirk. Not a single shade of jeer in his lips.
“Now that’s what a boyfriend would say.” Before Renjun can understand why that would make him happy, Donghyuck shakes his head and assures him, “We can stay. I miss movie night, anyway.”
Even though Renjun missed movie night as well, he didn’t miss staying over until two in the morning and waking three hours later to research about the in and outs of polyamory.
This time is different, because Donghyuck proposes sleeping together in his apartment and makes breakfast for him in the morning. If Renjun arrives to campus later than usual because he’s cozy under the sheets, no one has to know. Donghyuck drives him to his faculty and sends him off with a kiss, and promises to let him breathe tonight.
Renjun’s sleepiness takes over at midday, while he’s waiting for Chenle to show up in the cafeteria so they can eat together. Jisung and Mark were invited too, and while Jisung opted out last minute because he had a group assignment that ran longer than expected, Mark declined the offer from the start. Renjun prefers not to think about it. If Mark isn’t ready, Renjun isn’t going to push his buttons just yet – he will, if this state of mind starts to look like it won’t budge.
All of them need time to recover from the first confrontation.
Chenle walks into the cafeteria with his sunglasses on and his backpack slung around one shoulder. It’s clear he didn’t get more sleep than Renjun did, but he’s in a better mood.
“Party this weekend,” is the first thing he announces upon greeting Renjun. He plops down on the seat in front of him, takes his sunglasses off, and adds, “At Jisung’s house.”
At Jisung’s frat house. Renjun is fascinated that he’s survived for four years in that house. Renjun hated the frat with intense passion in the beginning, mostly because everyone was older than Jisung and Renjun didn’t approve of the treatment he received at times. Throughout the years, he learned to relax and allowed Jisung to handle his own issues and himself.
The parties were wild for a while. The party always started at the frat, but they never knew where it would end. Renjun had found himself in strangers’ houses, basements, and raves in hidden, isolated spots too often to be normal.
Renjun hadn’t been a party person until he set foot in university: then he sped through three years of partying to compensate, while juggling law school. The natural consequence was that by his third year, he was mostly done with that lifestyle, and joined when he had enough energy or when all his friends were attending as well. Most nights, staying with Mark at home looked like a more appealing plan.
Jisung’s seniors are gone from the frat now, however, and the intensity of the parties has switched in a drastic way. They’re acceptable for someone who has to get up early and work on the next day.
Still, Renjun sends Chenle a severe look and informs him, “I don’t want to go.”
His friend draws the most terrifying, feline smile.
“You’re coming. Don’t think you’re better than us just because you’ve graduated. Technically you’re still on campus like the rest of us.” With the only difference that soon Renjun will have to take on TA tasks, and become a tutor for some of the people who will be in those parties. He’ll have to protect his image at some point, and Chenle is going to make the most out of the time he has left. He’s already lost Donghyuck. “Also, you owe me.”
Before Chenle can explain himself, Renjun has the certainty that it’s about Jeno.
He raises his eyebrows at Chenle, entertained, just to hear the threat, “Don’t talk to Jeno about marriage again, he panicked and we had to talk for two hours about the timings in our relationship.”
Renjun would love to hear the whole story: what happened after they left, if Jeno jumped into the topic as soon as movie night was over or he tiptoed around it. It’s fun to mess up with them sometimes, and since Jeno is incredibly reactive, the results are instantaneous.
“I’d panic at the thought of marrying you too,” Renjun shoots.
Chenle leans forward to flicker his forehead, a glare to accompany. “He panics because he thinks you know I’m going to propose.”
It’s a justified suspicion. Chenle and he have been friends for so long that, if Chenle was to buy Jeno a ring, he’d resort to Renjun’s advice right away. Renjun would be the first one to know, the one to guide him through the big, terrible world of engagement rings, and the one who could drop a hint by accident.
Instead of playing along, Renjun taps Chenle’s shoes with his own and teases, “Aren’t you?”
They haven’t talked about this while being sober, but Renjun is aware that Chenle remembers the conversation they had last year during Jaemin’s birthday. It was mostly about how Jeno was the love of his life and Chenle wanted to make it official, but Jeno was scared even of smaller steps such as meeting his parents.
“Not now,” Chenle mutters, much to Renjun’s surprise. There’s an air of offense in his stare, reproach at the mere fact that Renjun would dare to ask such a question. “We’re still studying and- I don’t think he’ll be ready for a while. When he’s ready.”
The direct confession throws Renjun off. Chenle isn’t joking around, which is what Renjun was attempting, and he coughs uncomfortably before saying, “Yeah, so… I’m just putting the thought into his head so he gets used to it.”
Chenle sets his elbows on the table, leaning into Renjun’s space. It feels threatening, and it turns out to be exactly that when Chenle announces, “Okay. Go on. I might ask Donghyuck about his thoughts on marriage.”
Renjun feels his own eyelid twitch in nervousness. Shifting the topic to Donghyuck could seem innocent to anyone else, but not to Renjun. There’s a purpose here that Renjun hasn’t grasped, and he must detect it before Chenle can embroil him in a trap.
Feigning indifference, Renjun assures him, “That’s not going to scare him.”
It’s the wrong answer.
“Really?” Chenle’s smile is back with full force, his voice going high with interest. “You’ve been dating for one month, and you’ve already talked about this?”
Donghyuck should be scared of any mention of marriage, and so should be Renjun. It’s not realistic for them to discuss the possibilities of getting married so soon, since they should have been focused on the impact their relationship was bound to have in their lives.
Besides, Renjun doesn’t remember Donghyuck ever expressing any wish of getting married in general. It hasn’t been a priority in Renjun’s life either, and though Mark and he never set a deadline for that step, it was very much implicit that they’d eventually get married, once out of university.
If Renjun had no rush with Mark, it’d be ridiculous to put the idea on the table for Donghyuck.
“We haven’t, but as you say, one month. There’s no pressure,” Renjun quickly says, gulping down his own panic. He makes a note of mentioning this to Donghyuck later – he doesn’t want Chenle asking the same question and getting a completely opposite response. Renjun furrows his eyebrows, a pinch of confusion breaking his calmness, before staring into Chenle’s inquisitive eyes. “Why are you being so nosy with Donghyuck and me?”
There’s no denial. Renjun hit the bull’s eye.
“Things looked really tense with Mark last night.”
Renjun has to bite back the hundred responses that would plant the seed of doubt in Chenle’s head. Sincerity isn’t a smart card right now.
Chenle saw enough last night while they watched the movie: Renjun and Mark didn’t talk in the whole session. Donghyuck and Mark didn’t even glance at each other after their initial fight. Their friends put effort to loosen the tension among them, but after realizing it was hopeless, they ignored the big elephant in the room as well.
Rolling his shoulders back to calm himself, Renjun defies him with a, “Your point?”
Chenle’s eyes soften, just a little, just enough to placate his words. “He still loves you.”
There’s no uncertainty around that. Renjun knows that Mark still loves him. He couldn’t love Renjun for three years and lose all feelings in three months. However, whatever is left of their initial feelings isn’t enough to give themselves a second chance.
Renjun represses a resigned sigh, trying to put on his most determined façade.
“And I still love him,” he admits, and his words are so void of emotion that he senses the disappointment in Chenle within one second. He meant to provoke a more emotional reaction, and Renjun is granting him calmness. “But he’s not my person.”
Chenle tilts his head like an animal trying to make out his words. “Donghyuck is?”
It’s, again, a malicious question to test how truthful Renjun is. Chenle knows that every bone in Renjun’s body is a romantic one, but he’s far from delusional. His fear of getting his heart broken is way bigger than his capacity to idealize a relationship – less with Donghyuck, who’s been swinging through short-lived relationships for years.
Voice strained with insecurity, Renjun decides, “He may be.”
That’s the best he can offer without dissecting his lie for Chenle. Still, the reaction is so immediate that Renjun is sure his answer didn’t matter.
“Weird. How come you didn’t realize Donghyuck was your person for six years, and you’re realizing just now?”
His tone doesn’t settle well with Renjun. Or maybe it’s the fact that these are too many questions in a row, questioning his relationship with Donghyuck even though they’ve been acting like they planned. Their act has gone beyond what their friends could see: Donghyuck driving him everywhere, making breakfast for him, texting him for hours while he’s on campus.
Renjun is making Donghyuck sacrifice so much of his life that Chenle’s skepticism bothers him. If this relationship was real, Renjun would start having second thoughts about it, little wounds of insecurity.
That’s the reason Renjun allows his face to reflect what he’s feeling, including all the discomfort this conversation is causing.
“I think the fact that he shoved his tongue in my mouth helped. You know what also helped? Perspective. When you find out that your boyfriend has been stringing you along for three years, with no intention of actually committing and knowing he’d break up with you sooner or later, it changes how you see people. It makes a lot easier to know who’s being sincere.”
Chenle’s shock lasts for a few seconds. “Renjun-”
“Go get your food,” Renjun cuts him off. He signals to the counter, since Chenle seems to have been absorbed by their conversation and forgotten about his lunch. “I only have fifteen minutes left, come on.”
There’s an apology in Chenle’s tongue, but another stern look from Renjun is enough to silence him. It doesn’t mean Chenle is convinced: just that if Renjun and Donghyuck are serious about each other, then he’s crossing a line by acting like this.
Chenle has always liked exploring his feelings. His insistence is proof that Renjun’s behavior isn’t following a fixed pattern, and Renjun values that information.
As soon as Chenle darts for the food, Renjun breathes again. He shoves his hand into his bag and fetches his phone, where more than ten messages from Donghyuck are waiting for him. They’re not important, but Renjun replies to all of them with enthusiasm before sending the important bits: a warning so that Donghyuck doesn’t talk to Chenle until they’ve sorted this out.
Their lie needs another layer to cover them up.
They promised they would give each other space tonight.
Yet, when Renjun finishes his shift, Donghyuck has sent him three different questions about having dinner together, and he’s too hungry to decline. He runs to the bus stop under the rain and mopes for half an hour until he’s in front of Donghyuck’s apartment.
Even though Donghyuck gave him a pair of keys this morning, he still opts for ringing first. It turns out to be a good decision because Donghyuck is half-asleep when he opens the door, already in his plaid pajamas and his hair sticking everywhere.
Donghyuck greets him with a slow, bashful smile, a gesture charged with guilt for sleeping while Renjun was working. Renjun appreciates this, though, since Donghyuck’s high energy would be harder to deal with after a long day.
That doesn’t stop Donghyuck from coming closer and leaving a peck on Renjun’s lips, almost like a habit. The warmth of his lips is fascinating, leaves Renjun speechless for a couple of seconds; then he’s stepping forward, and Donghyuck cups his face between his hands, ready to take him in.
They kiss deeper this time, but it’s still just lazy lips and an unexpected chance to explore each other slowly.
Renjun has no idea why they’re kissing.
Donghyuck’s mouth fits so well against his that dizziness bubbles up in Renjun’s head. It’s not a sensation, Renjun notices one second later, because Donghyuck holds him by his waist to stabilize him and smiles into the kiss, their noses bumping as they break apart.
Renjun wonders if he should kiss him again. It feels especially intoxicating tonight, for some reason, a source of warmth after Renjun escaped from the cold outside. He doesn’t dare to. Donghyuck tucks his hair behind his ear, his sleepy stare glinting with the first sign of worry.
“All good?” he asks, as though he can intuit Renjun’s uneasiness.
Renjun came all the way here with one purpose, and though lying to Donghyuck feels tempting, he decides to be responsible.
He steps back, kicking his shoes off by the door, and announces, “Chenle suspects.”
“What?” Donghyuck says, unable to hide his surprise. Renjun understands him: they haven’t had any slips. It doesn’t make sense for Chenle to suspect them. “How do you know? Did he tell you?”
Renjun closes the door behind him and follows Donghyuck inside. Donghyuck tugs at his coat as he leads him to the kitchen, but he’s trembling a little. To Renjun’s joy, Donghyuck has already ordered food for them and scattered it all over the kitchen’s table. Somehow he knew that Renjun would prefer to eat dinner in the kitchen and go to bed right away, which is surprising.
“He’s asking too many questions,” Renjun explains. He shakes his coat off his shoulders and drops it in one of the chairs. Donghyuck doesn’t mind getting a bit messy, and Renjun is too tired to waste his energy on being tidy. “Doubting that I don’t have feelings for Mark. Doubting that I love you.”
Donghyuck lets out a strange laugh, like he’s not sure if that’s funny.
“Right. What could he have seen that made him suspect?”
Going into a deep analysis of his friendship with Chenle could explain all the reasons that might have given him a hint about their fake relationship. However, laying his heart out will be exhausting. Donghyuck doesn’t need to know so many details about how Renjun’s feelings towards men work, anyhow; that’s dangerous information whether he uses it or not.
“I have no idea, but he knows me too well,” Renjun says. Dodging Donghyuck’s hesitation is harder: when he props himself on the chair, Donghyuck is already looking at him, eyebrows raised. “Maybe we’re too believable to be believable.”
Donghyuck scoffs, running a hand through his hair. “Man, here we go. What does that even mean?”
Renjun had half an hour to think about that one. Donghyuck’s questions are easier than Chenle’s.
“We’re too stable considering we’ve been together for one month.”
Taken aback at the explanation, Donghyuck hesitates before handing him his chopsticks.
“We’re supposed to be passionate in the beginning of the relationship. Stick together like leeches.”
In theory, they should be spending most of their time enclosed in their bedrooms, fucking. Renjun thinks they’ve been acting out that part pretty well, since he’s been sleeping at Donghyuck’s apartment for days since they came out as a couple. Donghyuck’s insistence to pretend that they were fucking in Renjun’s room also gave them credibility points, but just with Jeno and Jaemin.
“Passionate, not stable,” Renjun agrees.
Donghyuck drags his chair and sits next to him, close enough for their thighs to be pressed against each other. Renjun feels an invisible hand around his throat for a second, but then he reminds himself that this is normal for Donghyuck. He likes contact. He needs to touch his friends, always and under any circumstances.
When they eat in restaurants and it’s only the two of them, Donghyuck always takes the seat next to him instead of taking the one in front of him. He does the same with Mark and Jeno, and occasionally with the others, depending on how much space they reclaim.
“I don’t know.” Donghyuck shrugs, poking at a piece of chicken. Unlike Renjun, he doesn’t seem to be hungry, or perhaps he’s too worried about getting caught in their lie to think about food right now. “It makes sense that we support each other in this situation, since no one else is openly supporting our relationship.”
That’s a good point; even though some of their friends haven’t opposed, none of them has approached Renjun to assure him that he could count on them. Renjun knows he can, but he supposes that promising that out loud would be a way of taking sides.
Donghyuck clicks his tongue, “But if you want passionate, I can give you passionate and messy and very unstable.”
Renjun turns to look at Donghyuck, whose expression has transformed into a clear suggestion.
“Don’t go overboard, Donghyuck,” Renjun says with an affectionate laugh. It’s not difficult to imagine what Donghyuck could do; he’s prone to chaos, and an expert at involving everyone in it. Renjun nudges Donghyuck’s shoulder to warn him, but he’s still curious. “What are you thinking?”
Donghyuck sways his head playfully, like he needs to ponder about it first. “Just play along with whatever I do, yeah? We can change Chenle’s mind this weekend.”
That’s the confirmation that Donghyuck already accepted going to the party, but Renjun reckons it’s a good opportunity. It’s the first time they’ll be together in public. Even if they prefer to stay home, it’d be a bad strategic move to not show up. Renjun is relieved that he won’t be alone, too.
“Sure,” Renjun complies. Donghyuck drops his chopsticks, giving up on eating with him, and rests his head on his shoulder instead. Renjun wonders why he’s so tired, but he merely pats his hair and lets him be. “You’re not going to make a scene and fight me and then make out with me, right?”
Donghyuck laughs a raspy laugh, but the lack of bickering on his part betrays his intentions.
“Now that you asked, no.” Renjun pinches his side, hard enough to make him jump in pain. Donghyuck protests, “I was joking!”
“Just in case.”
Silence engulfs them after that, and Renjun focuses on his food while Donghyuck watches him. He can feel Donghyuck drift off to sleep from time to time on his shoulder, the arm around his hips slackening and tightening, but he decides that he’s enjoying Donghyuck’s quiet presence too.
When there’s no food left, shaking Donghyuck awake sets a pinch of remorse in his guts. Donghyuck doesn’t complain. He drags his feet over the floor as they clean up, even if Renjun insists he should head to bed first.
Crawling into bed together awakens both of them, and by the time Renjun has taken a shower and changed into Donghyuck’s lent pajamas, Donghyuck is waiting for him with round, attentive eyes.
With a strange pressure in his chest at the attention, Renjun dodges his stare, which proves to be impossible once he’s under the covers. Donghyuck rolls onto his side to look at him, perching a hand on Renjun’s hips; coming face to face, Renjun can’t help but smile.
“We weren’t supposed to sleep together tonight,” Donghyuck mutters, a quiet, soft afterthought.
There’s a slight sensation of anxiety that Renjun doesn’t know where it stems from.
They can't continue sleeping together every day, not even for their ploy. Renjun can't even explain why they keep falling into each other’s beds for no reason.
“I know.” Renjun shuffles over the bed to come closer, hums as Donghyuck holds him tighter. “Do you need space?”
Given that Donghyuck is the one who usually has to offer space to other people, Renjun’s question seems out if place. It takes Donghyuck some time to understand that his concern is genuine, that Renjun is worried he’s stomping on his comfort without permission.
“I’m fine," he says. He rubs his thumb against Renjun's hip bone, drawing tiny circles. “I sleep better when you’re here.”
Words entangle in Renjun’s tongue. Words entangle with the loud beating of his heart, a whole marching band that deafens every other noise. Donghyuck’s warm brown eyes are firm on him, waiting for his retort.
For once Renjun is speechless.
He sleeps better with Donghyuck next to him, too. Maybe it’s because Renjun never liked sleeping alone in the first place, not even when he was a kid. On top of that, Donghyuck always cuddles up to him first, and that’s a relief for Renjun. He’s used to accepting initiative, but not to creating it.
“Good,” Renjun whispers. He ventures into Donghyuck’s tender eyes, so many questions marching through his head that he doubts he’ll get any sleep tonight. “You can kick me out any time.”
Donghyuck’s lips expand into a smile. They’re full and red, and Renjun’s attention is drawn to them like there’s nothing else in this room for him to look at. Renjun thinks about their kiss by the door. He thinks about their kisses by the river and their first kiss on the couch.
He barely notices the way Donghyuck stops breathing. And when he manages to tear off his gaze from Donghyuck’s lips, he discovers that Donghyuck isn’t doing much better than him: he’s staring at Renjun’s mouth as well, with a shade of fascination in his pupils. He’s stopped caressing Renjun’s hips, sliding his palm up and against the curve of his waist.
“Can I kiss you?” Donghyuck murmurs.
There’s a roar in Renjun’s ears, the blood of his heart rattling through his body.
It feels like they’re seeing each other for the first time after six years. It feels like Renjun is facing the boy that asked him out during their volunteering activities all over again, except now Renjun knows every detail about him: every mole of his body, from his face to his thighs; his rough voice and his puffy eyes when he hasn’t slept enough; his bad, indiscreet jokes when he wants to lighten up the atmosphere; the way he hides his smile when he doesn’t want to lose an argument that he’s already lost; his tendency to watch after everyone while pretending that he’s not.
Renjun already knows it all, except one thing.
Donghyuck blinks at him as Renjun’s silence lands between them. There’s panic in his eyes. Realization. They don’t have strict rules, but they’re not necessary to know Donghyuck shouldn’t be asking to kiss him right now.
He withdraws from Renjun’s body with a spasm, his face contorting into regret. “Sorry, I-”
This is Renjun’s fault. He should let Donghyuck apologize, anyhow, and protect the few boundaries that will draw healthy limits between them. But a lie isn’t a healthy foundation for anything, and the memory of Donghyuck’s mouth on his, his tongue lapping against his lips, is beyond overpowering.
Renjun curls up his hand into Donghyuck’s top, stopping him, and whispers, “Come here.”
There’s shock in Donghyuck’s face. Over that, the relief in his eyes clicks in Renjun’s chest as well.
They come together with one swift movement, Donghyuck’s hand sliding against his face and Renjun grabbing onto his waist. His fingers tremble until he gets a good grasp of Donghyuck, but his nervousness isn’t so easily subdued as Donghyuck’s warm breath caresses his lips.
Renjun closes his eyes, revels in that interminable moment between nothingness and a kiss – between logic and Donghyuck’s lips. There’s white noise rumbling from his chest to his head, and he pulls at Donghyuck’s clothes to beg him not to move away again.
He welcomes Donghyuck with parted lips, a perfect space for Donghyuck’s lower lip to fit between them. The sensation of joy that travels down Renjun’s body is as mesmerizing as instantaneous, but it slows down his reaction. But then he moves against Donghyuck’s mouth, presses hard enough to send a message, and Donghyuck opens for him as well.
Renjun can’t hold back the sigh that slips into Donghyuck’s mouth, a sigh that makes Donghyuck breathe through his nose for a second. He softly nips at Donghyuck’s lower lip, impatience vibrating in his veins. It’s fascinating to see how Donghyuck allows him to drag his lower lip between his teeth, a moment of indulgence before he’s holding Renjun’s face to take the lead again.
Renjun doesn’t cower when their tongues meet. He fists Donghyuck’s hair to tug him closer, and then Donghyuck is rolling onto him, hooking a leg over his body to cage him against the bed.
Thrill bursts inside him, but he doesn’t have time to ponder about what they’re doing.
Donghyuck hasn’t stopped kissing him, and when the weight of his body crushes Renjun against the mattress, he moans a little. He’s not sure how Donghyuck finds the way between his legs this time, but it feels like a flashback to their first kiss, Donghyuck’s hips putting him in place.
Tonight, they’re not meant to be interrupted. There’s no end to this, unless one of them manages to wring out of their little mess. The mess is intricate and evil, though, a whole monster to take down.
Renjun runs his hands down Donghyuck’s back, tracing the curve of his spine. He’s feeling brave, and when he dares to caress over Donghyuck’s ass, he can feel the tweak of a smile in their kiss. Donghyuck draws away to peck the corner of his lips, his lower lip, his upper lip, until Renjun tilts his chin up and their mouths meet in unison again.
The tightness in Renjun’s guts is familiar, but Donghyuck being the cause of it is foreign. Exciting. It doesn’t matter if it’s wrong, or if it’s a mistake. Renjun needs to feel this for once, and regret it later.
He gives Donghyuck’s ass a tentative squeeze, which works wonders for the both of them. Donghyuck understands the request, perhaps remembers what Renjun is missing, and grinds against him. He does it slowly, enjoying how their bodies tense up, how their kiss becomes an exchange of panting for a moment.
Feeling his hard-on through the pants makes Renjun’s cock twitch, because it’s the second time he’s gotten Donghyuck hard with just a kiss, because he’s made Donghyuck hard in the first place. Because Donghyuck has been his friend for six years and it turns out he wants to fuck him, and it’s a bit too much to take in, and maybe Renjun should have fucked him when he had the chance-
Renjun doesn’t even have to ask for more: Donghyuck rubs on him once, twice, and then they’re desperately grinding against each other, their rapid breathing the only noise in the silence of the apartment.
Renjun moans in the next kiss so loudly that he senses Donghyuck’s body tightening at the sound. He holds Donghyuck down with his legs, pressed against his dick, getting dizzy at the thought of how easy it’d be to get rid of their pajamas.
The last thought Renjun has is that he’s seen Donghyuck naked countless times, but he’s never seen him hard. And it’s a bit scary that he has an inner, uncontrollable need to discover how Donghyuck will moan once he’s inside him, and the certainty that he can make Donghyuck feel better than he’s felt in his whole life.
Renjun’s feelings twist and turn and splatter through him. It all happens too fast: the rush of fear replacing his adrenaline, the pleasure of rubbing against Donghyuck giving space to doubts, hesitation, and the embarrassment of letting Donghyuck see him so vulnerable.
They’re so close that Renjun has to turn his head to break the kiss. And Donghyuck doesn’t understand, pecks his jaw instead until Renjun breathes out, “Wait-”
Perhaps because Donghyuck is on edge as well, one word is enough to freeze him. He props himself up with a heavy breath, eyebrows furrowed as he stares down at Renjun. His eyes are frenetic, as though he’s looking for a wound in Renjun’s face, as though he’s sure that there’s something wrong – that he did something wrong.
Regret pulses in Renjun’s chest, but pulses harder between his legs.
“Are you okay?” Donghyuck asks him, his hoarse voice vibrating in the little space between them.
Renjun has been better, that’s for sure, but the truth is that this could slip into the top five of exciting situations he’s lived in the last year. It could make it to the confusing decisions list too, though.
“Yes,” Renjun assures him, winding up his hand through Donghyuck’s hair.
The touch of his fingers relax Donghyuck like they’re magical, but that moment of fascination ends as Donghyuck adjusts against him – adjusts so that they’re not so intimately connected. Renjun lets his legs fall to the sides, self-conscious of how he was still surrounding Donghyuck’s hips in complete tension.
Renjun’s aware that honesty is his best weapon now, “I just need to stop.”
Donghyuck bites down on his lower lip, stopping himself from saying whatever is on his mind, and nods in acceptance. There’s no point in pressuring him, mostly because the chances of Donghyuck asking a profound question in this moment are quite high, and making out with him was overwhelming enough. Renjun prefers to live in ignorance for now.
With a sigh, Donghyuck disentangles from him and drops on his back. Renjun can’t help but take a peek at the tent in his pants, which is followed up by a trail of curses in his head. If he was brave enough he’d pull Donghyuck back onto him in the next three seconds, but Donghyuck may not accept such behavior. Not after Renjun told him to stop.
Instead, they look at each other in silence, waiting for their panting to soften and the heat to dissipate. There’s red on Donghyuck’s cheeks, and red in his parted lips, a stark contrast against the white of his pillow. Renjun wishes he could kiss him again, maybe roll over on him and pepper his face with safe, innocent kisses.
Donghyuck’s thoughts must not be all that different from his, because the first thing he mutters is, “You’re pretty.”
Renjun isn’t foreign to compliments, and less from his friends – he’s lost count of their slurred, nice words when they’re drunk and of how many times he’s had his face squished between Jeno’s hands because he was cute – but this is different. With Donghyuck’s eyes roaming all over his face, a sparkle of devotion in them, this feels like crossing a suicidal line for the both of them.
Yet the smile that blooms in Renjun’s lips is unstoppable. “I know,” he says, just to get a rise out of Donghyuck. “Should make kissing me easier.”
Donghyuck’s lips mirror his smile. “Actually, makes it a bit more difficult,” he admits with feigned sheepishness. “To just kiss you.”
If Renjun had felt his high coming down seconds ago, those words shoot him to misery again. Sweet, confusing misery. Donghyuck doesn’t need to explain it further, but Renjun refuses to stomach all the implications.
This isn’t a little flirting game made to tease Renjun, to try to fluster him for fun. Donghyuck will pounce on him if Renjun gives him another chance, if there’s a next time.
But he must already know that. They’re drunk on each other, but Renjun feels delirious, his pants still straining against his erection and his heart beating in his ears. He has no idea how he managed to put a halt to this. He fucking hates that he found a way to sabotage it.
“Fuck,” Renjun whispers to himself. “Should have stopped sooner.”
Donghyuck opts for silence, but his stare is loud. He devours Renjun’s face in by inch, licking his lips, and then shamelessly scans him down, stopping only at his neck and at the tent inside his pajamas. His attention doesn’t linger for long, but it’s enough to make Renjun’s anticipation shake.
Then he nonchalantly reports, “I need a cold shower.”
The laugh that crawls through Renjun’s chest is only a false alarm, a consequence of his own nervousness.
Blinking at Donghyuck’s sincere proposal, he says, “Okay.”
The smirk that ensues is a lot more familiar to Renjun, and even though a mischievous Donghyuck is supposed to be a menace, Renjun feels comfortable this way. A Donghyuck that insinuates he’s dying to sleep with him is unknown territory, but this one – he can survive another night with this Donghyuck.
Sitting up, Donghyuck dedicates him a last look charged with contempt, and echoes, “Okay.”
By the time he’s back from the bathroom, Renjun hasn’t fallen asleep, but he’s decided to pretend that he has. Still, Donghyuck’s arms find their way to hold him throughout the night.
Renjun needs a shot.
That’s his first conclusion upon setting foot into Jisung’s frat at midnight – a strategic time he chose to avoid awkward encounters with no distractions or interruptions. The first hours of a party are always filled with complete, logic conversations and the need to be normal until the daze kicks in.
Even though his plan worked, because the house is brimming with people and Renjun will be able to slip out of any uncomfortable conversation, he didn’t count on the fact that he’d be the only sober person by now.
Donghyuck walks in tow, looking a lot more confident than Renjun. Some people stare at him as soon as he’s inside, but Renjun can’t blame them: it’s been a while since they went to these parties, and since the partying population has changed, they don’t know Donghyuck. Watching him walk in with his jeans and leather jacket and his black, messily styled hair, eyes devouring every inch of the place like it belongs to him, is a captivating experience.
Renjun’s initial scan doesn’t bring good news. Chenle and Jeno are on one of the couches, pretty entangled with each other but still respecting people’s consent to not see them get racy. Jaemin is suspiciously crouching over a table with another guy in what seems a private conversation, but Renjun has never seen the guy before. Jaemin has bad ideas when he’s tipsy, so he doesn’t want to know what’s going on. Mark is talking to a bunch of people in a circle, drink in hand, cheeks swollen with laughter.
It takes longer for Renjun to find Jisung, since he’s lost among the dancing multitude. He’s dancing with a junior – Renjun would bet all his money on it – that is looking up at him with heart eyes. It’d be cute if it wasn’t because Jisung is completely oblivious at the interest, more focused on having fun and dancing.
Renjun slaps Donghyuck’s tummy with the back of his hand to get his attention. He doesn’t need to turn to know that Donghyuck wasn’t looking at him, anyway, but when he does, Donghyuck is dedicating him a confused look.
“Gonna save that one,” he tells him. Donghyuck follows the direction of his stare, analyzes the situation Jisung is in, and bursts into laughter, which translates into sure, go.
They don’t need to put on a show until his friends have spotted them, and so Renjun is free to roam around. Once they get caught, once Chenle sets his eyes on them, his night is bound to revolve around Donghyuck.
Making his way to Jisung, Renjun deliberately avoids meeting anyone’s eyes. He’s afraid that he’ll bump into a familiar face or that he’ll look around and Mark’s gaze will already be etched on him.
Unashamed, Renjun dances around Jisung and presses their backs together, which earns him the reaction he was looking for. Jisung spins around to check who’s touching him, astonishment in his eyes until he recognizes Renjun. He greets him with a shy, angelic smile, and embraces Renjun with an asphyxiating hug. Judging by the amount of strength he uses, he’s drunk enough to not control his limbs.
“Jun!” he shouts, vibrating at his presence. He backs away, but leaves his hands on Renjun’s shoulders. Jisung always makes him feel so tiny, and tonight is no exception. “Wasn’t sure you’d come. Did you drag Donghyuck here too?”
Renjun nods at that, feeling his lips jerk with an irremediable smile, and informs Jisung, “I need a shot.”
The junior that was dancing with Jisung glares at him over his shoulder – and though he may not have bad intentions, Renjun responds with a challenging raise of his eyebrows. Even though he has nothing against the cute guy with a crush on Jisung, Jisung values his opinion like it’s sacred. It’s not smart to throw dirty looks at him, since Renjun can simply snatch Jisung away forever.
“You should start with beer,” Jisung proposes instead, so slowly that it’s hard for him to conceal his concern. He’s aware Renjun hasn’t done parties in a while, and this sudden request is a warning of his mental state. Instead of answering, Renjun gives him a blank look for several seconds and Jisung sighs. “Fine, let’s go.”
Renjun merrily clings to Jisung’s arm all the way to the kitchen, asks about his day, the junior, and if he missed something interesting. Using Jisung as a shield that opens the path for him is quite convenient, but once they reach the locked, empty kitchen, Jisung shakes him off.
Not bothering to consult with Renjun first, Jisung chooses one of the many bottles in the kitchen counter and pours him a shot.
Renjun swallows it in one go, scrunching his nose at the taste of vodka, and waves his glass at Jisung again, “Be good to me, I have to catch up.”
With a dramatic roll of his eyes, Jisung complies with another shot, and then another two, and closes the bottle. He grabs the soju instead and darts for the fridge, from which he pulls out beer. Renjun bites down any protest because at least Jisung is indulging his wishes to go strong, and because swimming through the night on a shot basis will have him on his knees in a couple of hours.
“You’re lovely, you know that?” Renjun compliments him as Jisung hands him the drink.
Before Jisung can doubt the sincerity of his words, the kitchen’s door opens and Jaemin walks in, all teeth and wit. He’s followed them here, there’s no need to ask him. He’s resolute as he strides to Renjun and squeezes him between his arms, nearly knocking the drink off his hand.
“Look who’s here!” he announces, as though Jisung couldn’t tell with his own eyes. Unlike Jisung, Jaemin isn’t drunk yet – but he’s intoxicated on the atmosphere, which can be a worse factor for him. “Is there any reason you look so pretty tonight? Are you trying to seduce someone?”
Renjun snorts at the insinuation. “It’s important to keep the passion up at all times.”
“Renjun, respectfully, I think you need less passion,” Jaemin reproaches. “You’re at home at intervals of fifteen minutes every three days now. I’m starting to consider not asking you to pitch in for the rent.”
So they’ve been paying attention, Renjun rejoices. That implies they’ve been talking about Renjun’s whereabouts. Donghyuck will be so happy about this.
“I’d love that.” Renjun takes a good chunk of his drink in one go, and deems it enough for the effect to kick in. With a playful nudge, Renjun teases him, “You miss me?”
Jisung has wandered all the way to the door to lock it again, perhaps fearing that strangers will be curious to see why the forbidden zone is now open. Being secluded in the kitchen, only the three of them, makes Renjun content: like it’s a little game in which he’s hiding away with his friends.
“Yes,” Jaemin confesses out loud, a drop of seriousness sliding into their conversation. He rests against the counter, looks down at Renjun and says, “Donghyuck hogging you makes me feel like we’ve jumped into an alternative universe.”
“I’m afraid it’s not entirely his fault, sorry.” Renjun has the decency to grant him an apologetic expression, pressing his lips together. “It’s a lot easier to sleep in his apartment because he drives me to the faculty in the morning.”
Renjun’s words dwindle into silence, neither Jaemin nor Jisung acknowledging what he’s just said. The shift in the air is subtle – the signs, not so much. His friends exchange a solemn look that sends a shiver down Renjun’s spine, a look that leads him to stare between them.
It takes Renjun one second to understand why Jisung is leaning against the locked door, why he locked it again in the first place, and why Jaemin followed them here.
Setting his drink on the counter, Renjun straightens up and sputters, “What’s up?”
Jisung makes a gesture with his chin so that Jaemin takes the reins, inviting him to go first. Renjun can’t help but squint at them, his heart dropping to his stomach at the speed of light. The last thing he planned when dating Donghyuck was getting ambushed by his friends for an intervention.
“Just want to start by saying that I totally support your decisions,” Jaemin starts, squeezing Renjun’s hand into his. Renjun stares down at their hands, dumbfounded; the situation is moving faster than his brain. “And I’m very happy because Donghyuck looks happy and so do you, and as long as it stays that way, I won’t ever say or do anything that could upset you.”
After the initial news broke out and no one except Chenle demanded explanations, Renjun assumed this conversation would never happen.
“But?”
It’s Jisung, nervously shifting his weight from one leg to another, who says, “But you should talk to Mark about this.”
There it is. Arguing with Donghyuck wasn’t enough and it wasn’t the end point. The fact that Jaemin and Jisung cornered him to advise him to speak to Mark about this implies, undoubtedly, that Mark has poured his heart out.
Mark would find this little intervention a bit too aggressive. That’s how Renjun knows that Jaemin and Jisung are taking a big risk on their own will.
Renjun opts for the truth, “I’m giving him space.”
“He doesn’t need space,” Jaemin retorts, shaking his head. He seems to respect Renjun’s stance, but his effusiveness proves otherwise. Maybe Mark had enough space for three months. “He needs you to explain that you haven’t been using him as a placeholder.”
Staggered, Renjun shout-whispers, “Of course I haven’t!” Even though the knot is in his stomach, out of the blue there’s nausea travelling up his throat. “Fuck, is that what he thinks happened?”
It is, over all, unfair. It makes Renjun want to kick his feet in frustration and curse for a whole hour.
Mark was the one who laid the break-up on the table. The one who, as Donghyuck mentioned, had started going on dates first – and the only one, since Renjun never had to go on a date with Donghyuck, despite what everyone must think. He’s the one who had time during the relationship to consider that their commitment wouldn’t last beyond university, while Renjun was immersed in their normalcy.
Even though there are no villains in their break-up, Mark insinuating that Renjun used him until he could have Donghyuck feels like a way to shift the blame.
“We know you wouldn’t do that,” Jisung hurries to clarify, nervous at the expression in Renjun’s face. “He doesn’t. You specially should know how easy is to doubt everything once a relationship is over.”
Renjun takes a deep breath that doesn’t help with the tension around his neck. Caring about Mark as a friend is a newfound obligation that Renjun wasn’t planning to tackle yet, but time runs faster than his emotional readiness.
He has to be the mature half here, even if it’s just to make sure that Donghyuck and Mark’s relationship doesn’t erode because of him. It kind of sucks.
“I’ll talk to him,” Renjun hears himself say, his voice betraying how furious he is. Approaching Mark tonight isn’t an option, though, because they came to the party for the sake of their lie and because Renjun needed to unwind some stress. “Tomorrow?”
The question catches Jisung off guard, as he’s taken aback by Renjun’s strong tone.
Jaemin is there to soften the process, giving him a reassuring squeeze before agreeing, “Tomorrow.”
“Great. Can you unlock the door now?”
Jisung complies, a blush on his cheeks, and Renjun struts out without looking back. This is the chunk of immaturity that he allows himself. He deserves it after the emotional raid.
Stepping back into the party is soothing. Someone turned up the music and there are more people dancing rather than drinking and talking. This scene is perfect for Renjun to fit in, and he doesn’t hesitate to dance his way among the multitude, looking for Donghyuck. He’s starting to feel the first sparkle from the shots and the soju, but he forgot his drink in the kitchen and there’s no amount of money that could make him return.
Renjun finds Donghyuck pretty quickly.
He’s dancing with Beomgyu, a guy that dated Chenle for a while. He’s keeping a safe distance, though, dancing more with himself than with Beomgyu. Renjun senses something akin to pride in his chest, and a twisted drop of possessiveness. Going to a party could be a test to see if Donghyuck, who technically doesn’t owe him loyalty and could stop their little act anytime, would be faithful to his word. And he’s passing with honors.
When Renjun is close enough, they meet eyes over a girl’s shoulder, and Donghyuck’s expression glows with happiness. He’s offering his hand before Renjun can even dodge the last couple of girls to get to him – but he accepts the offer, letting himself be towed into Donghyuck’s embrace.
Donghyuck twirls him around and presses against his back, his arms fastening around Renjun’s hips.
“Oh, wow,” Donghyuck whispers, mischievousness transpiring through every word. “What’s your name, Mr. hot guy? Is this your first time here?”
Renjun laughs at his attempt to flirt, but he appreciates how Donghyuck’s joke sweeps all his concerns at once. There he is, back into his arms, giggling over a stupid roleplay, pretending that this is for him.
“I want to dance,” Renjun tells him, resting his head back on his shoulder.
It’s hard to look into Donghyuck’s eyes in this position, but he lets Renjun know his opinion by planting a peck on his cheek. Rather than a sweet gesture, it feels obscene – long and intentioned – on Renjun’s skin.
“Only with me, I presume.”
Renjun doesn’t have to confirm it: the mere request is all Donghyuck needs to suck him into his bubble.
It starts as a silly exchange, a bunch of smiles and swaying in unison, while Donghyuck forces Renjun to turn for him several times just to tease him. But they only need three songs for their movements to become lazy, for the distance between them to disappear, and Renjun finds himself thanking the universe for the fact that Donghyuck wore jeans tonight.
There’s no shame in their proximity, in the familiarity with which Donghyuck presses their hips together. They’re doing this for people to see, Renjun remembers. It’s a show. The way Donghyuck roams his hands over him, the way they sing to each other and laugh – nose to nose – or the way Renjun pulls him into long kisses, are just for display.
It doesn’t matter that Donghyuck’s body makes heat pool inside him, or that it sends shivers down his spine, or that has him about to whine and moan against his lips.
Jisung briefly joins them during a Selena Gomez’s song, until Donghyuck wraps his arms around Renjun again and he realizes that, maybe, his friends’ focus isn’t on sharing the night with him.
Renjun realizes he’s going too far with Donghyuck only when he feels his fingers clawing on his ass. He’s too drunk for this, and too drunk to be responsible if Donghyuck insists, so he pushes him away with a smile. Wringing out from his hold is quite difficult, and Donghyuck lets him go after dedicating him a horribly wicked look.
“Need another drink,” Renjun tells him, which is partly true – chugging down another drink is a bad idea, but he’s going to do it anyway.
On a wobbly walk to the kitchen, he runs into Jeno, who is kind enough to raise his beer up to his lips and free him from the hard task of finding the kitchen. They stay together for almost a half hour, talking and laughing and trying to dance, but soon Jeno notices that Renjun isn’t in the best state to move around and decides to lead him to the couch.
It has to be fate that Donghyuck is already there, alone and casually typing on his phone, thighs spread open and his gaze unfocused. He’s far from sober, but Renjun admits that he’s doing a lot better than him. The situation is beyond ideal: there’s no one on the couch except him, and Chenle is a few steps away, positioned to have them in his range of vision.
Donghyuck and Renjun carry equally silly smiles on their smiles as soon as they lock gazes, and his fake boyfriend puts down his phone to welcome him. Jeno is careful as he hands Renjun over like he’s a baby, but he doesn’t miss the grateful glance Donghyuck sends him.
Renjun climbs on the couch and without an ounce of shame, he drapes himself over Donghyuck. He accepts the affection with a good spirit, though he has to adjust Renjun’s leg over him so his knee doesn’t rub directly against his crotch. Both of them laugh at his evident move, and Renjun pretends to go for his crotch a couple more times.
Jeno leaves them with an awkward smile, flustered at their behavior, and Renjun hangs off Donghyuck as though he’s forgotten the concept of self-love.
Head tilted up and flashing a wide smile, Renjun greets him like they haven’t seen each other in days, “Hi, baby.”
It’s the first time Renjun uses the petname on him, despite how many times Donghyuck has already weaponized it. Donghyuck doesn’t question the sudden change of mind, just plays with Renjun’s hair and tucks it behind his ear as he evaluates the situation.
“Hi cutie,” Donghyuck says, and then presses a kiss on the top of his nose. Renjun actively has to stop himself from preening. “You’re a bit drunk.”
“I am.” But he’s comfortable, content, and having fun for the first time after months of just working and thinking about his failed romantic life – and his social life, too. “I haven’t felt this good in a while, though.”
There’s understanding in Donghyuck’s eyes, but silence at his confession. Maybe Renjun is being more honest than he should.
“Can you put your hands on my shoulders? Behind my head?” Donghyuck proposes in a whisper, bouncing back to their plan. He’s already secured his grasp around Renjun’s waist, yet Renjun has to trouble to stay put. He follows Donghyuck’s orders for a better position, and finds out that he’s depending completely on him for balance. Donghyuck giggles at the realization spreading on his face. “Sorry, it’s for realism. Now it looks like you want me and not like I’m just holding my drunk boyfriend.”
“I’m going to beat you up later,” Renjun assures him, a threat to silence his own head.
Donghyuck seems to find that idea very entertaining, his lips flattening to show a beautiful smile. Renjun wonders how people aren’t all over him when he looks this beautiful tonight. He hopes it’s because they realized that he’s Renjun’s.
“I’m doing you a favor, please focus,” Donghyuck chides him, but their usual banter has softened, and Renjun doesn’t have the strength to come up with a witty comeback. Donghyuck strokes his hair out of his face and adjusts his palm under his jaw, gaze flicking down to his lips. “Now kiss me.”
Renjun doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s been waiting for a chance to kiss Donghyuck again since he ventured to look for another drink, thinking about running back to Donghyuck. There’s a spark so warm about Donghyuck, so addictive, that kissing him feels like his descent into madness. He doesn’t even hear the music anymore as he melts against Donghyuck’s mouth, the beating of his blood louder in his ears than in his heart.
Their kisses are messier now, since Donghyuck is just as drunk as him, but there’s a new shade of honesty in them. Donghyuck hooks his hand in the back of Renjun’s thigh, shifting him closer to his lap. Renjun swears he’s about to lose all sense of decency for a few seconds.
Renjun cups his face with one hand to keep their kisses under control, his palm rubbing against Donghyuck’s stubble. That’s a new discovery that doesn’t help with the knot in Renjun’s guts, but he loves it. He presses his thumb against Donghyuck’s chin, and then replaces it with his mouth, his sensitive lips against the rough tickling of his stubble.
“You didn’t shave,” Renjun mutters.
Donghyuck stares at him for a second, during which he seems to struggle to understand that Renjun is speaking to him. His thoughts are elsewhere, in Renjun’s mouth, in the desperation with which he’s gripping his leg.
“Sorry,” he mutters. He heavies a slow breath, his chest deflating as though he was holding back. “I forgot. Bothers you?”
The question is so absurd that it maddens Renjun. He loves Donghyuck like this, raw, real, a version of him that is used to staying behind doors. Renjun likes the privilege of having his version of him where everyone can see. But he also enjoys him when he’s wearing only tracks, with dark, messy hair entangled, eyebags from the lack of sleep. There’s something deeply hooking about him – about that vulnerable version of his, in contrast to the unattainable version of himself that he’s crafted for the world.
The filter that keeps Renjun’s self-preservation skills untouched is gone.
So when he looks into Donghyuck’s eyes, feeling his own face contort with indignation, he sputters, “You’re so fucking hot.”
There’s electricity between them. Electricity in Donghyuck’s incredulity, in the rare, immediate blush that spreads on his cheeks.
Renjun’s sincerity feels forbidden, but it’s too late to take his words back. Donghyuck’s surprise feels ridiculous, however, because anyone in their sane mind would find him hot. It’s just that Renjun isn’t supposed to.
Renjun has had eyes for only one person for years, and Donghyuck never dared to question that. Reality lingers between them now, their old debts and unresolved issues blossoming into their perfect crafted lie.
Attraction can be ignored, but not erased.
Panting a little, eyes fixed on Renjun’s mouth, Donghyuck warns him, “You’re being a menace.”
Renjun knows, but Donghyuck isn’t the only victim of this. Renjun is tempted to make a few irreversible decisions that include dragging Donghyuck to Jisung’s room and unzipping his pants, and maybe going on his knees, and finding out how Donghyuck will look at him once he discovers that Renjun can make him come only with his mouth.
Instead he lifts his leg again, his thigh brushing against Donghyuck’s dick through the jeans. He presses against it, elated at how quick Donghyuck’s responds to him; he’s already hard, Renjun notices, either from his words or from their previous kisses. The pressure leads Donghyuck to halt, glassy eyes and a faint gasp in his throat.
But Donghyuck doesn’t move his thigh away, lost in his eyes, and Renjun says, “I think you’ll have to make me behave.”
Donghyuck’s incredulity fuses with clear arousal, pupils dilating at the invitation. The pink in his cheeks isn’t innocent anymore, not out of surprise, and so isn’t the newfound strength that he uses on Renjun’s thigh. Renjun’s skin is so hot, but Donghyuck’s burns him.
Despite how close they are, it doesn’t feel enough. Even when Donghyuck’s breath tickles Renjun’s lips, it’s underwhelming compared to how much Renjun wants from him.
There’s not much coherence in Donghyuck either, because all he murmurs is, “Fuck, Renjun.”
It’s Donghyuck’s turn to kiss him, no consideration as he opens up Renjun’s mouth with his tongue. Renjun hears himself whimper, and a tiny voice in his head that tells him that this is how someone would kiss him while fucking him, not on a couch in a frat party in front of everyone. But Renjun forgets that too, shifts over enough to straddle Donghyuck, and grinds down on him. That has Donghyuck moaning into their kiss in a split second, the vibration hot and wet in Renjun’s mouth.
And then there’s a hand on his shoulder, one that doesn’t belong to Donghyuck, fingers dipping into his collarbone. They break away with an embarrassingly humid noise just to look up at Chenle’s apologetic expression, which shows a degree of disgust as well.
“Hey, guys,” he greets them, as though he’s walking into a meeting room with his boss. “I called a taxi for you two, yeah?”
The rush of frustration that swings through Renjun is childish. He’s aware of this. But tonight was meant to be a light, fun night, and on the contrary his friends are determined to ruin it for him. He was so close to having Donghyuck.
“Who said we wanted to leave?” Donghyuck protests first, much to his shock. Those are the exact words in Renjun’s mind.
Chenle disregards Donghyuck’s question after sending him a judgmental once-over. Then, he gazes into Renjun’s eyes and tugs him back by his shoulder, not disposed to let him win this argument.
“I’m protecting your reputation. You’re one minute away from fucking on this couch.”
Under other circumstances, such as sobriety and imposed celibacy, Renjun would have room to feel humiliated. It’s hard to fence off Chenle’s accusation when Donghyuck’s hand is still on his ass and he’s in direct contact with his dick. Of course Renjun wouldn’t have fucked him here, but they were about to go a bit further than what the public decency law allows.
The ride back home is a blur, proof that Renjun didn’t time his drinks well. It’s not characteristic of him to drink to the point of not being able to open his eyes in the taxi, though he decides to take a little nap, his cheek squished against Donghyuck’s arm. Maybe Jeno’s beer wasn’t just beer, but he was already too gone to notice the taste.
Donghyuck’s balance as he guides Renjun into his flat is impressive, albeit not perfect. They crash into the foyer table and knock one of Jeno’s lamps over, and even though Donghyuck pretends to be the responsible one between the two, they end up giggling in the way to Renjun’s room.
When Donghyuck loosens his grip around his waist, Renjun takes that chance to jump onto his bed, landing face down and then turning over with a laugh. Donghyuck approaches him with a resigned smile, pulls at his shoes so hard that he drags Renjun along for a moment. Renjun can’t even hold onto the covers, but Donghyuck is kind enough to not tug him all the way to the floor. Once his feet have been liberated, Donghyuck hovers over him to help him with his clothes – and Renjun understands he’s not trying to get him naked in that sense, but he still lurches for Donghyuck’s clothes as well.
To his joy, Donghyuck doesn’t foresee his intentions and collapses on him, and by the time he realizes what’s happening, Renjun is kissing into the crook of his neck. Donghyuck breaks free from him with a grunt, tumbling back onto his feet.
“You’re drunk,” he reminds him, a frown on his face. Renjun tries to prove otherwise by curling a hand around the hem of Donghyuck’s leather jacket, but he misses it entirely and fists the air. “Renjun.”
“So are you,” Renjun points out. “And we’ve already-”
“No,” Donghyuck repeats, more firmly this time. He sounds exasperated, like it pains him to reject Renjun, but he pointedly avoids meeting his eyes. Renjun wonders if he could convince him, if he just drove him to stare at him underneath, perhaps if he made puppy eyes at him or gave him a pout – not a sexy move, but Renjun vouches for its effectiveness. “You can barely stand on your own. I’m not sleeping with you.”
Renjun’s hope plummets.
“You’re no fun.”
“Shut up. I’m the most fun you’ve had in your life.”
Renjun hums at that, petulant, with the drunken certainty that not confirming it is a witty choice. Certain that it makes him mysterious, despite how desperate he’s been all night.
He complies with Donghyuck’s attempts to prepare him for bed, though he rolls over the mattress a few times just to make his life more complicated. Once Donghyuck tucks him in, Renjun watches him undress in front of him with hungry eyes. Donghyuck ends up throwing his jacket at his head so that he can’t stare, and Renjun is so drunk that by the time he gets rid of the damn jacket, Donghyuck has already changed into his pajamas.
Despite how terrible, uneventful Renjun’s night turned out to be, his consolation is that Donghyuck allows him to cuddle up to him. Renjun is content enough with resting his head on Donghyuck’s chest, there where he hears his heartbeat, and Donghyuck’s hand intertwined with his over his abdomen.