Chapter Text
🏀
“Hey, so, I need a favor.”
No good ever comes from Sunoo’s mouth when he begins a conversation with this statement.
In fact, Jungwon can attest to this with nothing but factual occurrences to prove his accusation correct. After earning a spot on the Yonsei Journalist Club, expanding into a break-out hire at the university’s tabloid in his sophomore year, Jungwon has learnt that no good ever comes from his editor’s mouth, especially now that he is in his final year.
Still, he has to tough it out.
The club is still looking to fill in the role of Vice Editor. While most people agree that it maintains aaaanone of the glory of Sunoo’s current title with two times the work, Jungwon doesn’t exactly care — it’ll look good on a resume under extracurricular activities. Besides, the ultimate goal is to sit on Sunoo’s throne. If this is the pipeline he must undergo, then so be it.
Bracing a hopefully real smile on his face, Jungwon lifts his head up, meeting Sunoo’s startling proximity. Besides working on the university paper, Jungwon is currently juggling a part-time internship at KBS. Since Sunoo allows him to work on both, he isn’t worried about the elder seeing what’s in his working space. Jungwon doesn’t flinch. Only broadens his lips and stops what he is doing, giving him his full attention.
“Hyung!” Jungwon beams. “What can I do for you?”
Before he breaks the seemingly bad news, Sunoo begins to ramble sweetly, eloquently. “Jungwon-ah, wait, did I tell you how great the feedback was on the piece you did about the post-grad music majors who started a band and went viral? We got so many new followers because they went live and said you were such a delight to work with!”
His eyes widen, dry laugh escaping his strawberry-balmed lips. “Oh, right! Heeseung hyung owes me dinner. Thanks for reminding me.”
Here’s the thing about Ash , the unsuspecting band of no ones who made a splash on the internet — not a single person had expected anything of the sort to happen, to be honest. The story of how he knows them is quite boring, but the gist goes a little something like this: Jungwon is a hyung magnet.
He swears he does not do this intentionally, but more often than not, he cannot help when it does happen again and again and again. Two years ago, in the midst of his freshman blues, Heeseung had been a TA in one of his elective classes. He must’ve looked like a cat searching for protection when he walked into the office hours with a list of questions jotted down the previous night.
Much to his chagrin, Heeseung always swears that he was simply too cute.
It annoys Jungwon — he is not trying to be cute for anyone.
Not long after, he had four hyungs, destined to be on his back for the rest of eternity.
That’s where it ends. Their rag-tag group played a multitude of instruments. Sunghoon banged around some drums and Jongseong strummed a guitar until a groovy beat swung into rhythm. Jaeyun mumbled something about venom being sweet, and the next thing Jungwon knew, the video he recorded while being smoked out after two joints had been the only thing he saw on his FYP for weeks on end.
So, yes, Heeseung owes him for giving them an accidental ticket to fame by posting the one minute snippet while high off his ass. Not for the interview, because they sure as hell owe him enough interviews to last a lifetime for the role he played in this.
But, he digresses. Exponentially.
Sunoo is still standing in front of him.
“Hyung,” Jungwon tries again, ignoring the sinking feeling urging him to abort the mission before reminding Sunoo of what he wants to say in the first place, and repeats, “What can I do for you?”
“Right, the favor,” Sunoo brightens over not being the one to circle back to the main topic. “I’m supposed to do a full page interview with the captain of our basketball team, Nishimura Riki.”
Embarrassingly, Jungwon’s only take away from this statement is, “Since when does Yonsei have a basketball team?”
Almost peeved, Sunoo gives him a nasty side eye. “Since forever, Jungwon-ah. We have always had a basketball team. Maybe you need to cover sports more often.” Then, it falls away, back into an angelic haze. Hypnotizing. Jungwon is mildly terrified. “I’m supposed to do this interview with him because he’s apparently being scouted for the American NBA League. Huge things happen around here, apparently.”
That does sound pretty huge, even if Jungwon has no idea what it actually means.
“Right,” He hums. Filling in the blanks comes too easy with regard to what Sunoo’s favor might be related to. Naturally, he asks, “Do you want me to cover the interview for you?”
“No, no, see, the thing is, if it were just an interview as originally proposed, I would’ve been able to dust it out in less than an afternoon,” Sunoo shakes his head, beginning to confuse Jungwon. This is throwing him completely off track.
However, Sunoo does not give him any time to process, either. “The basketball coach found out and spoke to Professor Lim, who then changed everything. It’s now supposed to be a six-page spread of everything Nishimura Riki. A long term project, if you will. Maybe half a semester. And it requires quite a lot of time and effort, which, ordinarily, I would take on, but I think my new Vice Editor would be much suited for the task, don’t you think?”
Immediately, Jungwon perks up at the last line of Sunoo’s explanation. Vice Editor. The position is currently vacant. Sunoo thinks his new Vice Editor would be suited for the task—he is in the middle of pitching the mammoth, half a semester long commitment to Jungwon right now.
“Am I the new Vice Editor?” is all he can think about asking, breathless at the notion of being awarded something he has coveted for an absurd amount of time, climbing the ladder one foot at a time.
“Since we live in a so-called democracy, the entire newspaper club members voted yesterday—”
“But, I didn’t get to vote—”
“The point is!” Sunoo firmly slaps a hand against the table. “You won. Majority, if not all, the votes were for you. Congratulations, our new Vice Editor!”
It is, at this moment, that Jungwon acknowledges that he may be working under a mild dictatorship.
“Really?!” Jumping up, Jungwon throws his arms around Sunoo out of sheer reflexive shock and happiness.
The pitch of his voice jumps to an extremely high pitch, bordering an unimpressive squeak. Excitement can be expressed in various ways and the people seated around him will have to accept the byline. Even worse — Jungwon doesn’t actually care about the project he is set to take on regarding Nishimura Riki. He will do it, obviously, time period insignificant to him. All that matters is the news Sunoo has delivered to him. When he realizes how it must look, he detaches himself from the elder, clearing his throat while trying his best not to explode from sheer excitement.
“Hyung, you’re really giving me the title? I’m so honored, thank you so much! I promise I won’t let you down at all!”
Humming, Sunoo pats his back, giving him a quick wink. “I know you won’t, Jungwonie. I’ll need my first draft in a month. You’ve got this.” A fist pumps the air in support, glossy black boba pearls peering back at him mischievously. “Fighting!”
Finally, Jungwon grins, watching Sunoo walk back to his desk. My time to shine has arrived.
🏀
Heeseung and Sunghoon have a gigantic apartment.
For this reason alone (and totally not because it is extremely close to KBS headquarters compared to his own student private accommodation apartment Jungwon resides in by his lonesome), on days where he ends his hours late at the company, his go-to is their couch, already set up for him to crash on whenever he needs it.
At first, they struggled to offer the option to him. Convinced he would be inconveniencing them, Jungwon was insistent on leaving after dropping by for dinner. After falling asleep there a few times, Heeseung slapped a spare key into his hand and Sunghoon began to leave out spare blankets and pillows for him. Once the novelty disappeared, he just made up the couch for Jungwon instead.
Sometimes, collecting hyungs had its perks.
Today, Jungwon rocks up at a whooping 11 p.m, a skip in his step. Letting himself into the apartment is easy. Shoes are toed off, jacket offloaded into the small coat closet at the entrance. A hand runs through his hair as he shouts out a greeting to his hyungs in the living room while picking a bottle of Pocari Sweat from the shelf on the fridge.
He makes his way to the living room, trying to hide how giddy he really is, but to no avail.
Heeseung and Sunghoon look freshly showered, entangled together on the single seater, upper and lower limbs with no official start and end points. They probably had sex before he got here. Good for them. Jungwon is simply too tired, fuelled by an ungodly amount of adrenaline still flooding his veins from Sunoo’s earlier announcement.
“Guess who’s Yonsei Weekly’s new vice editor?”
This gathers their full, one hundred percent focused attention. A little flustering, if Jungwon is being honest, but appreciated all the same.
“No way! Finally?!”
Sunghoon is the first to react, kicking Heeseung off him without a second thought. Leaving behind his befuddled boyfriend, he jumps onto the couch next to Jungwon, knees first, and wraps his arms around his shoulders from the side. Some of the Pocari Sweat merges with the air, spilling into the open web spaces of his fingers.
“Jungwon-ah! I’m so happy for you! Look at you!” Now, he’s shaking Jungwon. Again, he basks in the attention, drinking it in—melts into the warm embrace and pretends it’s not him being consumed by fatigue.
Not wanting to join the party late, Heeseung comes to his senses, crowding around him from the other side. “Jungwonie finally got what he’s been after for so long!” Heeseung sing-songs, catching on to Sunghoon’s rhythm. “What should we do to celebrate? Throw you a party here? Take you to a party? Huh? Huh?”
If Jungwon didn’t know any better, he would think his eldest hyung is about to tickle him. However, this is usually how Heeseung spoke, soft-toned, brimming with gentleness.
“Why does everything always involve a party?” Jungwon pouts, trying to let the bottle find his mouth yet again. Then again, realistically speaking, it’s not like they have anything better to do on a student budget unless everyone acts as a collective, coming together to celebrate. “We can have it at my building’s rooftop. This place is too tiny. Invite whoever, but you’re paying for everything with the revenue those TikToks earned you!”
“Or,” Sunghoon grins, “we could just tell everyone the location and include the tiny detail of them pitching in. Let’s do it this weekend, it’s Wednesday now so there’ll be enough time.”
“Whatever you’d like…” Jungwon feigns disinterest, shrugging them off lightly. Internally, he feels genuinely elation run amok in his stomach. This is what pure happiness must feel like, looming deadlines aside.
“It’s settled, then!” Heeseung bonks the side of Jungwon’s head with his own. “Friday night. Your building rooftop. Prepare to party it up to celebrate! Invite whoever you want, Jungwon-ah!”
An hour later, Jungwon falls asleep on their couch, lights out, full of tired smiles.
🏀
“Holy shit, this is a lot of people.”
Unsurprisingly, Jongseong’s voice is overwhelmed by the sound of TWICE blasting through the strategically placed portable speakers across the rooftop. Behind him, Sunghoon holds a blue and gold can in his hand, mouthing along the song with something along the lines of Cheer up, baby! Cheer up, baby! and it is all Jungwon can focus on.
“I mean,” Heeseung adds himself to the equation, holding his phone to record his boyfriend being silly. “I did post it on Instagram like Jaeyun asked.”
Jungwon feels his jaw slacken. Heeseung has almost three million followers after gaining fame with Ash, but even prior to his new-found musician glory, he was sitting on the upper limit of almost thirty thousand on the count. That had been an outrageous amount then.
Now?
Jungwon feels a wave of lightheadedness wash over him.
“Nice!” Lips twisting into a wicked grin, Jongseong slaps the hand extended out for a high five. “I sent it to one of the undergrads I know and I’m pretty sure he tweeted it to get the word out. Our Jungwonie’s celebration is going to be the fucking best!”
This almost turns him green around the edges, nausea dull in his mouth. Factually, the most Jungwon had done was relay the invite to everyone on Yonsei Weekly’s schedule and, out of common courtesy, messaged the building’s group chat after obtaining permission from the building manager to throw this shindig.
A small event, he promised (lied). I got promoted at work and my friends want to celebrate!
Whoever must live in the penthouse probably despises him right now. Fair enough. Had he been in that person’s shoes, having at least one hundred and fifty people, while more slowly dawdled in, making noise above him would warrant nothing short of several complaints, subjecting the host of said party to a first warning.
Oh God, he’s on the road to being evicted. This is a recipe for disaster. Why did he even agree to this in the first place?
“Shots, anyone?” Jaeyun plows into the small circle, holding a tray of transparent liquid. “I had first dibs on the new bottle and got like. Sixteen fucking shots. Have one! We didn’t pre-game either, so get drunk, beloveds!”
Forced to become a resting pole, Sunghoon screws his face up at the term. “Don’t ever call me that again, seaweed brain,” He shudders, pushing his index finger into the middle of Jaeyun’s forehead.
“Come now, Sunghoonie,” Jaeyun pouts, kissing Sunghoon on his cheek. Outrageously loud and nearly slobbering, all done on purpose to elicit a shriek from him. “Don’t be cold and pretend you don’t love me.”
“I don’t love you! Stop spreading false information, I’ll sue you, Sim Jaeyun!”
Jungwon grabs a shot glass first, throwing the vodka back without flinching. All four of his hyungs stop their usual bickering to see him reach for another, gulping it down with ease. He has a reasonable explanation if they want to hear — he has no intention of getting into trouble with the building manager while sober. The quicker his mind goes, the easier it is to deflect his incoming homeless status.
Maybe he’ll end up living with Heeseung and Sunghoon full time. He can use the usual money he pays for rent on quality headphones to drown out the sounds they make while fucking. Small compromises, really.
“Whoa,” Heeseung exhales. “You good there, Jungwon-ah?” There’s an element of shock to his voice mirrored by the others' eyes.
Each of them knows Jungwon is not someone who gets drunk easily — his tolerance is at an all time high and it takes tedious work to make a large volume of alcohol have any effect in his bloodstream.
Unless it’s soju.
Soju is always the outlier.
The song switches out from TWICE to Jungkook. Whoever made this playlist has great fucking taste, Jungwon has to say. Probably Jongseong, if his flushed cheeks are to be taken into account when Jaeyun pats his back, mumbling, oh, you added Standing Next to You for me, thank you!
Simp.
“I’m going to look for Sunoo hyung and maybe I’m going to dance, too,” He informs them. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be around.”
All of it is a lie, in fact.
Jungwon weaves through the crowd, smiling and greeting people who notice him, takes another shot with Chaewon, Sakura and Yunjin, and finds himself hiding out in the stairwell five minutes later, a bottle of vodka, one bottle of soju and a pack of cigarettes in his possession. He’d nabbed it on the way out and navigated himself to the empty flight of stairs on the other side. It’s too loud, too noisy, too not his style. The high from the news of achieving his coveted position had been too distracting. Now, Jungwon is suffering.
“This is driving me crazy,” He whines, running the cap on the soju bottle loose. Pours a full shot glass. Pushes it down all at once. How pathetic of him to be drinking like this all by himself when there are so many people beyond the door.
Still, this is more comforting.
“Hey.”
He looks up, halting while pouring himself another shot of peach soju.
There’s a boy.
A very pretty boy.
Tall, porcelain, gorgeous.
How drunk is Jungwon?
Honestly, he hasn’t had much, but he wishes to wax poetry about the guy that seemingly gets closer and closer at every moment. After all, there is so much Jungwon and the alcohol slowly coursing through his blood is currently looking at. A red bandana tied up around black hair with blonde highlights flattering the short bangs. Then, there’s the plain white loose shirt and hanging leather jacket, baggy jeans and thick-soled Converse highs.
What exactly is this thought process forcing him to scrunch his face up in contemplation when the words register that he is, in fact, sizing up the dude approaching him?
Naturally, the first thing Jungwon should do is reciprocate the greeting with an appropriate hey, dude, or something along the lines of hi, the party is in there, and throw a thumb back to point at the door.
Somehow, he skips all the formality of interacting with a literal stranger, skews his neck up, one hand clasped around the empty shot glass, the other around the green bottleneck, and blurts out: “Why are you so tall?”
Narrowed eyes obstruct his view, blocking him from seeing the way the other boy’s face screws up in pure delight due to his tipsy words.
(Jungwon might have pre-gamed with one of Heeseung’s leftover bottles of Hennessy left in his kitchen cabinet. No one needs to be explicitly informed of this piece of valuable information, though.)
“Why are you so short?” is all Jungwon hears over Jungkook’s voice booming through the speakers behind the door. Akin to being submerged underwater, the voice floats into his ears, deep and smooth, but weirdly boyish, almost shy.
Two questions are more than enough to shatter any residual ice between them into millions of fragments, propelled by Jungwon bursting into peels of laughter. “I’m still a growing boy!” He promises among the uncontrollable bouts of giggles. “I can still have growth spurts.”
A teasing tilt filters into the stairwell, body leaning back against the railing three steps down from where Jungwon sits. “I had all my growth spurts when I was seventeen. My knees hurt so much. Growing pains and all that. Looks like you have to catch up…?”
It takes him two seconds and three uncoordinated blinks to realize what he is being asked. “Do you really wanna know my name?” He hums, pouring another shot. “Is there any fun in that?”
“The mysterious aesthetic doesn’t exactly suit you,” comes a counter argument.
“What does?” He stubbornly demands, tipping the shot back into his mouth. A trickle of the peach flavor escapes from the corner of his mouth. “You just met me, how would you know, anyway?”
“Because you’re cute, honestly.”
Jungwon might fight someone tonight.
Why is this the only thing people have been telling him recently? From what angle is he cute? How humiliating to his stylish brand of large hoodies covered by oversized jackets and matching sweats or jeans. Jungwon is not cute! He tries to be smart casual, really, with a little bounce in his step from his sneakers. These types of trends are all the rage these days, so why is everyone avoiding his main fashion killer moves and calling him cute?
“Again,” The boy hums, incredibly amused. “Trend or not, your face looks incredibly edible. Has no one told you that?”
What?
Did he just say all of that out aloud?
Jungwon clears his throat. “Hey, so. Did I just—”
“Go on a spiel about how you’re not cute but people keep calling you cute recently? Yes, yes, you did,” He unhelpfully supplies.
Amazing. All he can do in response to that is begin to pour himself another shot of soju to drown out the embarrassment, but the other springs into action, extracting the bottle from his hold. “Something tells me I should be the one pouring it for you. Manners and all,” He explains, kind of sheepish and insanely charming. Perhaps Jungwon is on the brink of losing his mind, but only slightly, he swears.
“When were you born?” Jungwon asks, intrigued. Liquid effortlessly flows into his glass.
“I’m twenty,” The pretty stranger provides. “What about you?”
“Twenty-one!” Jungwon giggles. “I’m older, you should call me hyung. I’m older!”
There is an unrecognizable sheen of something in the pretty boy’s eyes that Jungwon cannot seem to fathom. His intuition had been right after all.
“Sure, hyung,” He replies, grinning outwardly.
There’s an adorable burn flushing through his cheeks. Maybe it is also the result of him telling Jungwon that his face was apparently edible. Or, maybe it’s because he’s happy about being younger than Jungwon. The world may never know. However, it’s reasonable to suspect that it is a combination of both.
Then, Jungwon belatedly comes to a realization.
This is the first person he has met in a long time that is younger than he is—even if it’s only one year, it is very significant.
“Here,” He pats the empty space next to him. “Sit next to hyung. You’ve been standing for so long.”
Pretty, tall boy does exactly as he is asked, cramming his legs closer to his body to squeeze into the tiny space next to Jungwon. Awkward, but not dangly. Even from where he sits, Jungwon can see he is filling into his body in good proportions despite being hidden by the oversized clothing.
The tell-tale sound of trumpets leading into a well-known song begins to echo through the crevices of the door. Paint The Town Red clicks into focus, hidden by the muffled mumbling of lyrics and a vibey melody from the boy next to him.
An outrageous urge to say something stupid overwhelms Jungwon. “Wanna pick your poison?” He mumbles, offering the options currently at his disposal. He relieves him by taking the bottle of soju back. Admittedly, he knows it isn’t a lot — beggars can't be choosers.
“Vodka,” He picks without hesitation.
“Nice,” Jungwon mutters. “Hey, so, this is crazy, but my hyungs are in a band.”
Why would he even say that?
“Sweet!” Pretty stranger tilts his neck up, locking his jaw into place when the opening slots between his lips. One swig. Two swigs. A third. Glassy eyes peer back, stung with tears. “Too fast,” He coughs out, defeated. “Hm, about the band? One of my favorite hyungs is also in a band too.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah! Park Jongseong ring any bells?”
Jungwon cocks his head in confusion. “Of Ash fame?”
“Is that what they’re calling themselves? I guess they scrambled after going viral on TikTok. But, yeah. He plays guitar, any type really. He adapts so well. I’d never tell him this, though. I love bothering him.”
“I think we’re talking about the same band,” Jungwon lets out another giggle. “Heeseung hyung, Jongseong hyung, Jaeyun hyung and Sunghoon hyung, right?”
“Jaeyun hyung!” Pretty boy snaps his fingers, hair bouncing behind his bandana at the motion. “I’ve heard that name plenty of times. Good things, always great things. Hyung hardly talks about anyone else, to be honest.”
The music thrums in his veins, buzzing to the rhythm. One look at the bottle of soju in his hands and Jungwon becomes aware that he has almost polished it off to the bottom. Next to him, pretty boy stretches his left leg out, leaning back with the vodka pressed to his lips. His side profile is genuinely jaw-dropping. Jungwon has a problem with turning away from him.
His stomach is bunched in a tangle of horrible knots. Certainly this is only attributable to the alcohol in his bloodstream. Not because the person next to him is ungodly attractive. Definitely not.
“Can I tell you something?”
“I don’t know,” Jungwon replies, grinning. “Can you?”
“That’s terrible.” Still, the corners of his lips extend into a smile. “May I?”
“Go for it!”
“I’m technically not supposed to be at this party or drinking anything… potent? I have something huge going on tomorrow, which is why hyung didn’t even invite me to this thing. He told me to sit still and sleep, rest. I couldn’t, though. I’m just so nervous.”
“Wait,” Jungwon’s thoughts swivel from one end to the other end. “Are you gatecrashing?”
“No, what?!” He laughs, raspy and full, making the knots settle deeper into his stomach, dipping into the acid, rolling until it becomes corrosive. “I live in this building. I have an official invite from the person hosting this party, whoever he is.”
Jungwon’s teeth strain hard in a grin, cheeks blushing out. He chalks it down to the alcohol.
“So you’re not supposed to be painting the town red, huh?”
“Not tonight, no,” He admits. “However, this is helpful. I’m not there, but here is more than good enough. Company isn’t too shabby, either. I’d really like to know your name, though.”
All Jungwon can do in reply to it is mouth along to the lyrics, she a devil, she a bad lil’ bitch, she a rebel, throwing himself back into the wall when a wave of exhaustion washes through his body.
“Hyung,” Pretty boy actually whines softly, pouting around the now empty bottle of vodka. Normally, Jungwon would be concerned, but there was one quarter of the bottle left when he brought it along with him. It does not take away from how the younger’s lips look adorably puffed out in a fully-fledged pout.
Why isn’t he actually giving him his name?
Jungwon doesn’t know. He’s just trying to draw the teasing out as long as possible. Not once in his life has Jungwon been the older one for non-official things. In his inner circles, all he’s ever been is babied.
For one night, he’d like to see how it feels to be his hyungs.
“Are you from here?” Jungwon asks suddenly, studying pretty boy’s face closer. “Wait, no—I’m not trying to be offensive, it’s just a question—a really stupid question, this is how I know I’m drunk—”
“Calm down.” There’s a hand loosely placed on his knee. A sharp rush of shivers shock his spine straight. Glassy, blurry vision doesn't help in this situation, making him see the younger look incredible under the dim stairwell lighting from a single, dying out bulb. “I’m originally from Japan, but I came here to study. My Korean is good because I’d already been learning for years.”
“Still,” Jungwon grumbles, “it wasn’t my place to ask and I did. I’m really sorry.”
“God.” Pretty boy turns to him, endeared. “I know this is probably the last thing you want to hear, but… You’re really so cute!”
Discarding the now empty bottle of soju and shot glass, Jungwon does the unthinkable, ignoring the way his stolen pack of cigarettes tumble down a few steps when he launches himself off the wall, landing directly on the younger’s lap.
He takes hold of the leather strings dangling from the collar, the zip tract digging into his knuckles from the force he holds it with, and brings him closer.
“I’m telling you,” says Jungwon. The sweetness of the peach mingles with the tart vodka in the most alluring manner. They are so close, Jungwon’s forehead grazing the bandana keeping pretty boy’s hair back. His eyes are wide, expressive, sparkling with unmasked joy. If Jungwon moves a centimeter closer, their noses will bump into each other. “I’m not cute.”
“Yes, okay, this isn’t cute,” He concedes. “You sitting on me is plain hot.”
Eyes widening a touch, Jungwon’s grip becomes looser, but does nothing to move away. “Hot as in temperature because I’m crowding you, or hot as in…?”
“If you’re not going to fill in my blanks, I’m not filling in yours,” He counters. “Can I… Is it okay…”
“Tell me,” Jungwon encourages him. There’s a flicker of hesitancy behind the struggle, so Jungwon does lean in, their noses sliding softly together. How drunk must he be for this to be happening? Jungwon never does things like this, yet here he is, acting on a fool’s drunken whim.
Hands hover over next to his waist, eyes motioning to it. “Do you want to touch me?” asks Jungwon. He receives a nod. “Go ahead—wait, I just jumped on you, it was supposed to be threatening—”
“I like it,” Pretty boy interrupts him. On either side of his waist, he feels two synced gentle pinches branding into his skin. “I really, really like it. Don’t overthink this.”
“We’re both drunk,” Jungwon bites his lip. “Even if we don’t remember this, I don’t want you to be uncomfortable if I do anything you might not like.”
One of his main drunken characteristics is to overthink. Heeseung always tells him this, which is one of the reasons they don’t let him drink too often. Sober Jungwon already does enough overthinking. Drunk Jungwon has a tendency to want to make his poor brain explode if he tries hard enough.
“You good with it?”
“So good,” Jungwon nods, fast. “You? Are you okay with…?”
Suddenly, the hands at his sides slide, the smoothness of the jacket felt along his shirt until palms rest at the small of his back. Jungwon is brought closer, chest smacking straight into—
“Jungwon,” He finally gives in, throwing up a white flag. “My name is Jungwon.”
“Ni-ki,” He hears, clouds amalgamating in a heaven formulation at the press of their chests. He can feel Ni-ki’s cheek glide along his jaw as Jungwon’s hands release the lapels, roaming up and up until they settle at his shoulders to steady himself. “Your name is pretty. Jungwon. Jungwon. Jungwon.” He says it. Tastes it. Rolls it around on his tongue a few times before he decides that he really likes it.
“Hey,” Jungwon breathes out shakily, smacking Ni-ki’s shoulder. “That’s Jungwon hyung to you, understood?”
“Loud and clear,” He hears. “Jungwon hyung.”
“You can do whatever you’d like, but… No kissing, okay?”
Ni-ki looks up, curious. “Okay, no kissing,” He agrees without additional fanfare.
However, the peace does not last long. Jungwon sucks in the loudest, sharpest inhale of his life when he feels teeth run along his pulse point. It’s a weird dance between experimentation and knowledge; the edges of Ni-ki’s teeth traversing new territory with practiced precision, but tentative caution. He dives in further, the softness of his lips trailing above the lines. A few seconds later, he stops, plants a kiss, and bites into Jungwon’s neck.
His teeth are sharp.
Jungwon has never been on the giving or receiving end of a hickey. All his life, he assumed it was too showy, an extreme display of affection that had no business being so revealing of intimacy. Now, he sort of gets it — Ni-ki sucks and licks and times the way his fingers run up and down Jungwon’s back as a perfect adjunct. In these moments, his body liquifies, turning into nothing but skin and bones at the whim of a single set of teeth cutting deep enough to draw blood.
How wonderful. Jungwon cannot help but sink his fingers deeper from the nape of Ni-ki’s neck, curling into his hair. Letting out a tiny moan only spurs him more.
“We should—” Jungwon struggles to think. “We should get out of here before someone interrupts us.”
“My place is literally just down the stairs?” Ni-ki breathes out into his neck, clearly with no intention to let himself unlatch from Jungwon in any way.
“Shit,” Jungwon mutters. “Penthouse, really? I’m so sorry about the noise—damn, okay, you’re really good with your teeth.”
“Wrap your legs around my waist, hyung,” Ni-ki requests. Jungwon does exactly as he is asked when he moves a little forward to give Jungwon enough room to position himself comfortably. “I won’t drop you, I’m kinda strong.”
“Kinda?” Jungwon teases.
He gathers the bottles and glass without a second thought, shoving the abandoned pack of cigarettes into his pocket. He’ll need to return those to Sunghoon later, but then again, he doesn’t think his hyung will mind.
“Very,” He confirms. Excitement courses through Jungwon like never before when Ni-ki’s hands scoop under his knees to lift. “Let’s go.”
🏀
The sun is bright in the sky when Jungwon wakes up the next morning.
The sun in his bedroom is the first oddity noted. All his life, from his childhood bedroom to his rented apartment, Jungwon has gray curtains that are always drawn every night before going to bed, only to be opened by himself the next day.
He will never leave them open on purpose.
The next thing he notices, is the walls.
Posters of Shinee’s KEY and BTS’ j-hope are the first thing he sees, which is evidently strange since, even if he has no posters in his bedroom, he is more of a Shinee Minho and BTS Jungkook kind of person, but that’s just him. However, it goes beyond there simply being K-Pop posters taped up (very aesthetically to match the grayscale walls—nothing like the white of his own bedroom).
Basketball posters, he assumes, based on the uniforms and names of teams, also crowd most of the wall space. LeBron James, Kobe Bryant, Tim Duncan, Bill Russell, Michael Jordon — Jungwon is literally reading the names in these posters, he, honest to God, has not a clue who any of these people are because he isn’t into this scene at all. There are also two orange balls with black lining he knows are classic features of the sport itself.
The point of all of this is that Jungwon is not in his room.
It is, in this moment, that Jungwon realizes all he has on is a pair of boxers.
Boxers that are, most definitely, not his own.
The covers are a cool gray, with more pillows of different sizes Jungwon knew were possible. Squares, rectangles, body-length (the type people use to cuddle), you name it and Jungwon swears it is either behind him or next to him.
He has navy blue sheets.
The furniture is made up of neutral tones, anime manwhas volumes, magazines, DVDs and countless trophies stacked neatly. There’s even a signed sports jersey (likely basketball) framed and hung up.
Jungwon has dark wood. Uncluttered shelves with textbooks and class supplies. Old clippings of newspapers, files of articles he has written in the past pasted in for preservation. Books, fiction and non-fiction. Music, albums, vinyls, cassettes.
This is not Jungwon’s room at all.
Immediately, he sits up, the bird’s nest on his head shaking on impact, and pulls the gray sheets up to his naked chest for cover. A water bottle sits with a bottle of pills on the side table.
“Hello?” He calls out.
No reply.
Frantically, his hand shoots out to feel the other side of the bed. Dead cold, as if it has been empty for hours.
It’s eleven a.m.
How the hell did he oversleep at a hook-up’s place?
“Oh, my God,” He moans into the sheets. “I’m so fucked. I’m so fucked. How did this even happen to me?”
He remembers a little from last night. Escaping to sit on the stairs away from the party. A pretty boy. A red bandana. TWICE, Jungkook, Doja Cat. Stealing Sunghoon’s Marlboro Menthols. Downing soju. Sitting on a lap. Teeth on his skin. Hands on his waist. Vodka so close to his lips. Jungwon, Jungwon, Jungwon. Jungwon hyung. Legs wrapping around hips. Hands keeping him steady while walking down the stairs. Entering an apartment. Being pressed against a door. His shirt sliding down his arm.
“I’m so fucked!” He cries out, panicked.
Hurriedly, Jungwon moves with unmatched quickness. Now that he knows there is no one else in the apartment, he doesn’t have to worry about sneaking out without being heard. Clothes fly back into his body — his shirt and jeans had been folded and laid on the desk chair. He doesn’t think he’ll ever return these boxers, they belong to him from now onwards.
Sleeping with a random stranger called Ni-ki who happens to be one year younger than Jungwon is. Is he actually trying to catch a case?
Okay, twenty is legal, he’s overdoing it a little, but the sentiment remains! As far as he is concerned, no one is going to find out about this and Jungwon will spend the rest of the week simultaneously cursing and praying — the former for doing something this stupid, and the latter in the hopes of never seeing Ni-ki again in his entire life.
Once his clothes are on, Jungwon pops the pill bottle open and chucks two into his mouth for the headache he has been nursing since he woke up, and crushes the entire bottle of water in one gulp. Alright, he had been extremely thirsty. Good to know.
He’s about to sprint out without looking at anything else, but a yellow square page is stuck to the side table. Spotting his name written down makes him jump. He snatches the note, feels panic whiz through him again when he finds the sticky pad, and jots down something quickly with a spare pen.
Ni-ki, thank you for the painkillers! I’ll leave now, don’t worry, I didn’t steal anything!
Jungwon
P.S. Okay maybe I did — I’m taking the boxers, bye.
Then, Jungwon sprints out of the penthouse, runs into the empty elevator, and slams his floor quickly.
When he enters the safety of his apartment two minutes later, he gracelessly drops onto the couch and yells into a pillow until his voice turns hoarse, the note left for him tucked into his pocket safely.
🏀
Good morning, Jungwon hyung! This is Ni-ki :)
I left out some painkillers and a bottle of water for hyung because I know hangovers can be a real terror! There’s a few cans of coffee in the fridge, feel free to help yourself to any of those if you feel like it! I really wanted to be there in the morning to thank hyung for being so good to me last night. I had the best time, and…
If hyung ever feels like meeting up again, please feel free to call me, I’ll write my number at the end! Again, no pressure! Aha, just… Just offering, y’know?
I had to go because today is a really big day. Hopefully I get good news. Gonna call you my cute new lucky charm if things go well!
Again, thanks for last night! I really needed that!
Ni-ki 🖤