Archive of Our Own

“—and those, fellas, are the rules. Learn them, know them, live them. Now, I think that’s enough from me; let me pass you on to this year’s Pledge master, Soonie. If you’ve got any questions about your duties, any concerns, he’s your guy." Seungcheol says, gesturing at Soonyoung with an empty solo cup.

Soonyoung lifts his own cup high in acknowledgement, and signals for the new pledgers to gather round.

Stepping down off the crate he’d commandeered for his speech, Seungcheol attempts to make his way through the dense shifting crowd, only to get immediately waylaid by Seokmin, one of the new guys looking to rush tonight.

“Hey, uh Cheol? Quick question, how important is rule number 4?”

Seungcheol twitches his head away, grinning, just short of laughing. “Not fucking around with the other members? I’d say it’s pretty fucking important. Why do you ask?”

A dull flush creeps up into Seokmin’s cheeks.

“No reason. I was just thinking, if there was one rule that got broken a lot, or could be bent a little. It’s that one, right?”

“Eh, no,” Seungcheol says, starting to laugh. “That’s definitely the last rule you should be breaking son; it’s the one that historically causes the most problems.”

Seokmin cocks a brow.

“Yeah? What kind of problems?”

Seungcheol blows out a breath, wondering how to explain the Orgy of 06, which led to the Herpes Breakout in the summer of 06, which subsequently resulted in the Embarrassing College Paper Editorial and Record Drop Outs of 07, but it wouldn’t do to traumatise the kid before he even got a bid.

“Just don’t sleep with any of the members man,” he settles on, patting Seokmin on the back. “It’s really not that hard, and you’ve got a whole campus full of other people you can hit on.”

“Yeah, easy for you to say man; Minsoo told us how you earned than nickname of yours.” Seokmin says in a kind of sideways-smirking way.

Seungcheol scoffs and shoves him gently in the direction of the other pledgers, and heads over to grab a beer from the cooler. He cracks it open and knocks back half of it before sparing a glance around the room.

The house is a disaster approximately 90% of the time anyway, now that it’s bursting at the seams, full of hopeful pledgers, all the boxes and furniture of the guys who’ve earned a room in the house, it’s practically a warzone. Seungcheol’s tripped four times in the last hour just attempting to move around and say hello to everyone.

“Looks like a good turn out.” Junhui points out, pouring out a row of shots on the battered bar cart they salvaged from the dumpster last year. “Probably too good.”

Seungcheol nods, following his gaze. There’s a Beat Saber tourney going on in one corner of the living room, and a concentrated effort to build the largest solo cup tower happening in another, but it’s early yet. More people will be filtering in once it gets dark, and Junhui’s right—they won’t all be able to rush. They’ve only got six spots to fill.

“Hey Choi, can I talk to you for a second?” Someone cuts in then, sounding miffed, and Seungcheol pauses with the beer halfway up to his mouth to cut a glance over at Sehun.

He already knows what the guy wants, and he knows what the answer is gonna be, but he plays the conversation out anyway, courteous, curious.

“Sure. Let’s talk in the kitchen.”

The kitchen is empty for once, which isn’t necessarily a good thing where conversations with Sehun are concerned. It doesn’t seem like the guy’s started drinking yet though, so maybe he’ll be less inclined to run his mouth.

“I want to know what the deal is with the housing situation.” Sehun starts in, almost immediately.

Seungcheol crosses his arms over his chest casually, lifts an eyebrow.

“You’re gonna have to be more specific.”

Sehun blows out an impatient breath, matching his stance.

“I know you can’t tell me who voted for who, but this is my third year man, and it doesn’t make sense that I got overlooked for a room when second years like Soonyoung and Minsoo are getting in. I’ve been here longer. That should mean something. And lets not forget my dad did donate huge money for the charity drive last year.”

Seungcheol curls his lip without realising it, disgusted anyone would have the gall to actually make that argument. Christ, the entitlement of this idiot. Doesn’t he know most of the guys here are riding some kind of scholarship, holding down weekend or summer jobs just to make ends meet? Where does he get off bragging about his rich ass dad like it's going to win him points. 

“So, lemme get this straight. Are you saying your dad donated to the children’s hospital last year, on the condition that you get to live in the chapter house?” he asks, managing a fairly genial tone for how much he wants to smack Sehun in the mouth.

His thoroughly unimpressed expression must be showing on his face because Sehun starts to backtrack, stammering, “No, no—of course not—"

“Oh, thank fuck,” Seungcheol grins and holds a hand over his heart, dramatic and insincere and the furtherest fucking thing from amused he can be right now. “That’s a relief, cause for a second there, it really sounded like you were. And that wound have been a really bad look for you. I’m so happy this conversation’s not going that way.”

Frustration flashes across Sehun’s face, but he seems to choose his next words more carefully.

“I just thought, what with you getting voted as president for a second year, I’d have stood a better chance at securing a room.”

“Why would you think that?” Seungcheol asks, squinting.

Sehun seems surprised to have the question put to him. 

“Cause we’re tight,” He says, stopping short and blinking at him, “We rushed together man, remember?”

That’s a strange take on the situation, Seungcheol thinks, cause all he remembers is trying to shrug the guy off at every opportunity, not wanting to be associated with his douchery, which is something that’s never really happened to him before. He’s always giving people second chances, third chances, unlimited redemption opportunities honestly, because he knows what it’s like to be big and dumb looking and misunderstood. Sehun though, is just as much of an asshole as he comes across. There’s no mischaracterisation happening there.

Seungcheol would rather shit in his hands and clap then call them friends, but he decides to set it aside for now, sticks a careless smile on his face.

“Yeah, I remember, and I don’t know what to tell you, man. I get one vote just like everyone else, and that’s the extent of my power when it comes to picking who gets to live here. You just didn’t get enough votes.”

Sehun’s face screws up, jeering and doubtful; he still can’t wrap his head around the fact that nobody wants to house-share with his entitled ass.

“Fine, guess I have to take your word for it. But if someone drops out and has to move out, can you see to it that I get first dibs? For old times sake?”

Seungcheol has to roll his lips inward to stop himself from blurting out, what old times you deluded fuck, we were never friends!

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Sehun jerks his chin and struts off, out of the kitchen, shouldering roughly past Mingyu as he’s coming in. Seungcheol is hoping he’s disappointed enough with how this little chat went that he chooses not to hang around long, but he’s not going to hedge his bets.

“What’s his problem?” Mingyu asks, brow furrowing as he rubs at his shoulder.

“Don’t worry about it. He’s always like that.” Seungcheol tells him, turning away to liberate himself a slice of pizza.

Mingyu bounds over, worse than a puppy, jostling him a little as he attempts to eat in peace. His eyes remains huge and beseeching until Seungcheol stops lording over the box and lets him have a slice.

As Chapter president, Seungcheol’s not supposed to have favourites, but it’s kind of hard not to with guys like Mingyu. He just has that way about him that makes him really easy to like. Seungcheol suspects if they were the same age, rushing together, he might have felt a little threatened by the guy, but as it stands he only feels a brotherly sort of fondness.

Which is probably why he's so taken back when Mingyu turns to him and says, completely out of nowhere, “Hey, so—you fuck guys, right?”

Seungcheol rubs his hands on a nearby napkin, trying not to look as sideswiped as he feels. Obviously he needs to organise some kind of sexual health awareness event, to educate the abundance of horny pledgers he's just been saddled with. And maybe he should invest in a loudspeaker while he's at it, cause clearly none of them were fucking listening when he was going through the rules.

“Look man, I'm flattered. Genuinely. But the rules are there for a reason, and as chapter president I gotta lead by example. Also, and I don't want you to take this the wrong way, cause you're a good looking fella, but you're not exactly my type."

“Oh hey, no, I didn’t mean me.” Mingyu laughs, as good-natured as anything. “I was thinking of my roommate actually? Remember that guy I introduced you to the other day? In the quad.”

Seungcheol tilts him a curious look.

“The small n’ scowly one?”

A shit-eating grin starts to spread across Mingyu’s  face.

“Yeah. Jihoon. Is he your type?”

Seungcheol chews on one of his pizza crusts, using it as an excuse to try and figure out how the hell to react to that.

He thinks back on that chance meeting, remembering the shape of the guy’s face, the furrow between his brows that seemed to be second nature to him, the way he kept sneaking looks at Seungcheol from under his eyelashes and blushing. He wasn't very friendly at first, clearly pissed that Mingyu put him on the spot like that, and he was definitely on the shorter side of average, but his pretty face and demure little smile more than made up for that. And his voice—that was thing that grabbed Seungcheol's attention the most— so soft and sweet, coaxed out of his throat like a stray kitten from under a car.

He wouldn’t mind hearing more of it, under different circumstances.

“Yeah, sure,” He says with a nod, “I’d fuck him.”

Mingyu bobs his head along, grinning broadly again, like he’s in a goddamn toothpaste commercial.

“That’s great. Just the greatest news. When can you start?”

That surprises Seungcheol into laughing; he’s not used to guys being this forward. Well, actually, he is, but it’s not usually on another guy’s behalf.

“Not that I don’t appreciate the offer or anything, but uh, is there a reason you’re playing sex broker right now? If the guy’s interested in me—”

“Oh, he is. He really is! He thinks you’re smoking hot.” Mingyu blurts out quickly, then winces. “Shit. I wasn’t supposed to tell you that. Can you please forget I said that?”

Seungcheol quirks an eyebrow, but decides to humour him.

“Sure, why not. Anyway—if the guy’s interested in hooking up, why can’t he just talk to me himself?”

Mingyu shoots him an aggravated look.

“Uhm, cause he’s shy? I did tell you he was shy, didn’t I?”

Seungcheol rubs at the back of his neck, saying doubtfully, “Yeah, you mentioned it, but c’mon—how shy can the guy be? He can still hold a conversation, right?”

“Sometimes.” Mingyu says, eyes studiously avoiding his. “Depends on the person. I know he chats to people online a lot, but he doesn’t seem to really know them, and some of them are hella old and just weird. I’m the only real-life friend he has. I’m the only one he talks to on campus.”

Seungcheol boggles briefly.

“Really? You’re his only friend?”

That seems insane to him. He can’t imagine having only one friend.

“Pretty much," Mingyu smiles awkwardly, "And that’s only cause I forced my way into his life and didn’t give him a choice.”

Seungcheol smiles faintly, picturing how that might have played out easily enough. Mingyu’s the kind of guy who makes ten new friends a day. The kind of guy who could strike up a conversation in an empty room.

“Well, it’s good that he has you, and it’s really nice that you’re looking out for him, but I’m not sure you’re going about it the right way in this instance. I mean, what are you expecting me to do? Fuck the shyness out of him?”

A fast smile takes over Mingyu’s face.

“No, I know. I just thought, maybe if he got out there more, met new people and had new experiences, it would be good for him. And since he responded so, uhm, shall we say, enthusiastically, to your charming good looks, I figured you’d be his best shot at that.”

Seungcheol stares at him, tongue running over his teeth, trying not to look too chuffed by the compliment, not really succeeding.

“Well, I’m very flattered, and I won’t lie, I did think he was pretty cute.”

Mingyu grins engagingly.

“I know, right? He’s such a cutie, and he’s totally slept on.”

“And I do have a thing for shy boys—"

“And they don’t come much shyer than Jihoon, trust me.” Mingyu cuts in, leaning in with a smile. He rocks back on his heels, expression sobering a little. “So whaddya say, man? Can we lock this deal in? It’s a win-win situation you’ve got on your hands really. You’ll double your initial investment in no time, and at minimal risk to your prime assets.”

Seungcheol fights to keep a neutral expression on his face.

“Why are you pitching it to me like some kind of stock broker who’s about to shaft me out of my life’s savings?”

Mingyu shrugs again, hands deep in his pockets.

“Sorry, I’ve been listening to this business strategy podcast before bed and some of the bullshit jargon is worming its way into my vocabulary, but I swear I’m not trying to shaft you. Jihoon is worth the effort man; he just needs a little warming up, and you’re already half way there from the look of things. Just... please, give him a chance.”

Seungcheol twists his mouth, mildly sceptical, but mostly intrigued by Mingyu’s commitment to getting his friend laid. He’s a proactive wingman, you have to give him that much.

“Alright. I guess I could invest a little of the Choi Charm.”

Seungcheol didn’t realise he had developed a reputation as a fuck boy until the end of his first year in college, and by then, there wasn’t much he could do but lean into it.

As far as he was concerned, it wasn’t some big thing. It wasn’t like he went out every night looking to get laid. He didn’t wear his love bites like a badge of honour, he didn’t think the endless friend requests and scroll of numbers in his contact list made him look cool or something. He never once bragged about his body count like it was something to be proud of.

It wasn’t like that.

It was just, he would be out at a party with his boys, and someone would say—hey, check out so and so, bet you couldn’t get their number—and being the always up for a challenge guy that he was, there was nothing else to say but okay, bet.

It was just a bit of fun, the kind of shit any college guy got up to with his friends watching from the side-lines, egging him on, and the thrill of success was usually more rewarding than anything that might have happened after. It only became a running joke because it never seemed like he had to try very hard to score, and people paid attention to that, how naturally flirting his way into someone’s pants came to him.

The summer after his first year, he’d got a job at a well-established bar. Not far from the metro stop, frequented by recent twenty-something graduates new to the city. It was good money and very sociable hours, and it made it easy to hook up pretty much any night he wanted. It was a near perfect way to kill time and earn some money for the upcoming year, and there seemed to be no reason to change things up.

Then his manager called him into the back office, sat him down, and told him if he didn’t get his shit together and wise the fuck up, he had no choice but to fire him.

Seungcheol blinked, raffled through his mind trying to figure out what he’d done. He couldn’t think of anything in particular, so he asked cautiously, “What did I do?”

His manager shot back, “Have you seen our Kakaomaps reviews recently?” Not giving Seungcheol a chance to answer, he continued, biting off the words, “No, of course you haven’t if you’re sitting there like a kicked puppy. Alright, pull out your phone and check. Look at the reviews for this place.”

Seungcheol did just that, body stilling and eyes widening as he scrolled through six, seven, eight pages of posts that read like a blog forum for stalkers.

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ Does Seungcheol still work here? Can you ask him to call me please? Tell him it’s Sandara :)

★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ Fuck you man. I thought we had something special.

★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ Terrible service. Bartender was really rude and never called me back :(

★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ You whore! My fiancé came in to kick your ass and you fucked him too?? What’s wrong with you?? Now he wants a 3some or the wedding is off!

★ ★ ★ ☆ ☆ CALL ME PLS SEUNGCHEOL. I LEFT MY PARTNER FOR YOU! WE CAN START A LIFE TOGETHER!

★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ “Cheol”, or whoever the fuck you are, you better watch your back. You slept with the wrong man’s fiancé.

★ ★ ★ ☆ ☆ Drinks were on the pricey side for that part of town, and the decor was pretty dated, but the solid piece of eye candy working behind the bar more than made up for it.

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ The doctor says I may never walk straight again, but I have no regrets. 🍆

★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ Dickhead bartender stole my GF from right under my nose. When he gets bored with her, tell him to give me a call? 🥺👉👈

★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ Not good for a first date. My rizz could not compete with the handsome waiter behind the bar :(

★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ Came here for pre-dinner drinks with my bf of five years. Left him at the bar to take a call, and came back to find him blowing the bartender in a bathroom cubicle.

It went on like that for a while, but Seungcheol had to stop reading. He couldn’t afford for his face to get any redder.

“Look, I get it. You’re a good looking guy, you’re in the prime of your life—so what if you fuck around a bit? Who are you really hurting? But the reality is, this kinda lifestyle, it has a way of catching up with a guy. In ways I don’t think you’re prepared for.”

Though he knew it was hopeless, Seungcheol tried to defend himself, saying weakly, “I use protection. I get checked out.”

But his manager just sneered. “With your body count, I hope you fucking do. But that’s not what I meant.” His manager continued, his voice still hard but with some of the anger dragged out, “I meant psychologically, emotionally. One day you’re gonna meet someone special, someone you will want to call back, and this fuck boy reputation you’re cultivating is gonna come back to bite you in the ass.”

Seungcheol nodded, promised not to flirt with anymore customers, and went back to his shift, feeling out of sorts. It was a well-intended intervention, and he understood where the man was coming from, but the thing is, he just didn’t really believe any of that applied to him.

His list of priorities had always been brutally short. He had no plans to “settle down” after college. He’d fall back on his degree if he never got drafted, get a 9-5 job if it came to it, but he didn’t like thinking in the future tense beyond his lifelong dream to play professional baseball.

Long term relationships, commitment—they just weren’t on the agenda for him, and it was hard to imagine wanting someone so bad he’d stop looking at everyone else.

Then Mingyu introduced him to his nerdy little roommate.

He first bumps into Jihoon completely by accident, no intention behind it.

He just happens to spot him out of the corner of his eye when he swings by the library to meet with his project partner, and recognises the skittish movements, the hesitant posture. He doesn’t even remember what drew his attention over to the coffee kiosk in the first place, but it’s bemused fascination that keeps him watching because Jihoon is just so damn weird.

Instead of queuing up for a coffee like everyone else, he has chosen to hide behind a pillar and poke his head out every few seconds, eyes rabbiting around, almost as if he’s waiting for the crowd gathered to thin out. Each time he summons the nerve to approach the kiosk, someone else appears and joins the queue, and he scurries right back to his hiding spot without placing an order.

This goes on for ten minutes before he just finally gives up on getting his coffee and sulks his way upstairs.

It’s kind of hilarious.

It’s kind of really sad.

It kind of reminds Seungcheol of his first week in college.  

He thinks back on all those years go, staring with huge eyes at the masses of students, getting lost in the sprawling campus grounds pretty much every day. He was endlessly entranced by casual academic atmosphere, the unexpected freedom to sit in hallways at three in the morning, the way the professors never took roll or cared if he showed up to class. He remembers how he sat elbow to elbow with perfect strangers, feeling pretty quiet and shy, pretty much the opposite of how he’d been in high school.

It took him about a week to snap out of it and feel like himself again, realise he was having the time of his life. Jihoon though, doesn’t look like he’s having the time of his life. He looks anxious and afraid, and Seungcheol can’t even begin to imagine being in his second year and still feeling that way.

A guy that shy could slip between the cracks without any effort at all. Without even meaning to.

“Hey, Romeo, pay attention.” Soo-ah, his project partner says, kicking him under the table.

Seungcheol looks over at her, and that familiar half-annoyed flatness in her eyes, and is sure to flash her a smile, opting for the path of least resistance.

He usually enjoys group work, but Soo-ah hasn’t made it easy. She seemed to have formulated a low opinion of him before they’d even met, and no amount of friendly banter or charming smiles have made a dent in that amour. Hell, the first time they met up outside class she was quick to point out, “Just so you know, I’m lesbian”, like she thought he was gonna try something. His attempt to diffuse the moment with a joke “Hi Lesbian, I’m Seungcheol” went down about as well as you’d expect.

“Hey, you had a hard time in high school, right?” he says, after ten minutes of watching her strategize this group project that, as of yet, seems to involve no contribution from him at all.

Soo-ah stops scribbling to glance at him sharply, distrustful.

“I don’t appreciate that you just assumed that when we didn’t even go to the same school.”

Seungcheol gestures in a pacifying manner.

“Buy you did, right? You were one of those shy, academically inclined kids in school?”

Soo-ah’s lip curls, a gouging kind of look.

“Yes.”

“Cool, so how long did it take you to settle into college life and start making connections? When did you like, break out of your shell and put all that high school shit behind you?”

Eyeing him suspiciously, Soo-ah answers cautiously, her tone dropping a notch or two, defensiveness thawing out of her.

“I...I don't know. It was probably a gradual thing that developed throughout the first year. If I had to pinpoint the exact moment things started working out and I felt like I’d finally grown into myself, I would say it was when I met my girlfriend. So I guess, around the six-month mark probably.”

Seungcheol hesitates, fingers flicking the pages of the book before him. 

“So... someone in their second year should be pretty well adjusted, right? They should have like, established a core group of friends and feel comfortable socialising by now.”

Soo-ah tips her from side to side, the line of her mouth taut; not in total agreement by the looks of it.

“I’d like to think so, but some people just have a harder time of things. Especially when it comes to making friends. It can be hard to find people on your wavelength, people who just accept you for who you are. If you’ve been hurt or disappointed enough times, you might stop trying.”

Seungcheol can feel himself frowning deeply, not liking the sound of that. He isn't sure what he was trying to learn from her, but if anything she’s given him even more to think about just now.

“If we’re done divvying up the work, I’m gonna head upstairs and make a start on some research.” He says abruptly, starting to pack his things. “I’ll send you my ideas later, and maybe we can meet up to discuss them next week.”

Soo-ah treats him to a long moment of hostile scrutiny under which he determinedly does not blink, and then she sniffs imperially and hands over the second page of notes.

“Okay. I suppose you can cover these points, but I want to see what you find by Thursday at the least. We should have settled on a title and submitted out abstract by the end of the month.”

Seungcheol nods and waves her goodbye.

He thinks about stopping at the kiosk first to grab a couple coffees, but he can’t be sure of what Jihoon wanted to order. Probably best to break the ice first, make sure he’s dealing with a welcoming nerd, then he can get Jihoon that drink.

Mingyu wasn’t lying about Jihoon. For the most part.

The shy, socially awkward bit turned out to be true, but the jury is still out on everything else, because the guy is all about mixed signals, apparently.

When Seungcheol approached him in the library he did a whole lot of blushing and stuttering and anxious fidgeting—all the trademarks of a guy with a crush. But he also did a lot of blushing and stuttering and anxious fidgeting when he was speaking to the elderly librarian, and then again with the janitor when he swung buy to collect their empty coffee cups, so it clearly wasn’t indicative of anything. Blushing seemed to be his default reaction to everything, actually, so Seungcheol was going to need some other sign to confirm he was interested. No point putting the effort in if it's not going to get him anywhere.

Then they come across each other again, in Jihoon’s dorm this time, when Seungcheol swings by to pick up Mingyu for a party, and he’s forced to backtrack on that decision cause Jihoon, well....

He’s fucking cute. Alright.

He’s a real cute little nerd. And maybe there’s something wrong with Seungcheol, but the painfully shy, awkward thing—that just takes the cuteness up a notch, sets his teeth on edge and makes everything he does feel immediate, rushed.

He can’t explain the appeal of it. He never thought he’d go for a guy like that, a guy so anxious he couldn’t look him in the eye. It just seemed like so much hard work, but by that point he'd already decided this shy boy was worth a difficult conversation or two, and then, then Jihoon laughed for him, laughed at something he said, and it was like something inside him that usually sits these moments out, stood up and paid attention.

Even if it doesn’t go anywhere, even if he walks away from this with nothing more than a rushed hand job in the corner of party, he wants himself some shy nerd action.

It’s here, at this point, that things start to go awry, that’s he’s forced to eat some humble pie for every thinking it could be that easy. Because Jihoon is not just any shy boy, he is the shyest, and evidently, the most oblivious of boys.

Seungcheol had honestly been expecting to make out with him approximately ten seconds after he laid the charm on, but for some reason entirely out of his control, that just didn’t happen. Which is kind of a first for him, and yeah, okay, that’s probably coming across incredibly cocky and self-assured, but it’s also the truth. He’s never had to try very hard to get someone into bed. He usually just flashes a smile or quirks a brow to get the message across; at the most he’ll drop someone a wink, but all that seems to go right over Jihoon’s head.

Every time Seungcheol bumps into him—whether it be alone or in a group, out in the quad or the quiet of the library—the second he does anything remotely flirtatious, the guy gets all awkward and stunned, starts spouting the most random shit, some crazy off the cuff non-sequitur that has Seungcheol irretrievably losing his train of thought. It must be some kind of shy man’s defence mechanism, cause by the time Seungcheol’s brain kicks into gear again, and he remembers what he was trying to say, the moment has passed and Jihoon has slipped away somewhere. Just gone.

So Seungcheol gets to thinking—maybe he’s coming across too strong? Maybe he needs to warm the guy up, ease him into the whole flirty back and forth. But he quickly finds out trying to hold any sort of conversation with Jihoon is one huge exercise in frustration.

They could be talking about something as benign as the weather, and Jihoon will spend most of the time just staring off into space over his shoulder, or down at his shoes, or just off to the side, and Seungcheol can tell he’s not trying to be rude and dismissive about it, but it’s still distracting as fuck. Seungcheol’s looked behind himself twice out of reflex before he realized there wasn’t anyone there. Jihoon just can’t seem to look him in the eye and string a sentence together.

He’s starting to think he should just be upfront about it, slip into the guy’s DMs and just ask—hey, you wanna fuck or what?—make it unmistakable what he’s angling for. But he can’t seem to find the guy on the usual forms of social media. He’s not on Instagram or Facebook or Snapchat, so if that’s going to be his strategy moving forward, he’s going to have to be really up front in person.

(He doesn’t know why he’s still trying, to be honest. He could go out on any given night and score without much effort. There’s no reason for him to be keeping at this, stubborn and self-destructive, refusing to accept this hand the universe has dealt him. Except that, something about Jihoon’s indifference rankles, like a small splinter in his side that only seems to embed sharper and deeper with each attempt.)

The next time he bumps into the guy Jihoon is standing outside the lecture hall, waiting to be let in for a class that probably doesn’t start for another thirty minutes. Everything about him signals a desire to communicate even though all he manages is a tiny awkward wave, like he’s not sure if Seungcheol remembers him.

Seungcheol abruptly decides to do something about that.

He looks him up and down and lets Jihoon know he's doing it, let’s him feel the appraisal. He stops himself short of doing anything ridiculously obvious like licking his lips or waggling his eyebrows, but Jihoon still gets all flustered when he closes the distance between them.

“Jihoonie, hey, just the guy I wanted to see.” He says, flashing his troublemaker smirk.

It’s confusing, the way Jihoon smiles and blushes for him, but also starts to fiddle with the strap of his backpack, dodging opportunities to meet his eyes. Seungcheol doesn’t know what to do with those mixed signals, doesn’t know what’s working and what’s not, but he doesn’t let it deter him. He steps in closer, plants a hand on the wall and leans in, liking how he can curl in over Jihoon, shield him from view.

“That shirt looks good on you, but I bet it would look better on my bedroom floor.” Seungcheol says, all smug and a little too on the nose perhaps, but hey—at least now he's left no room for interpretation.

Jihoon has to know now what he’s angling for. He must finally get it. That’s why he’s lifting his head and blinking a little, why he’s giving his best smile, all sweet wide eyes and a colour of surprise on his cheeks as he answers, “Thanks. My mom got it for me. I don’t know where she bought it though, but I can ask her if you want one for yourself.”

Seungcheol blinks, manages a placid smile, even as brain does a doubletake—What? No, no that’s not how this is supposed to go.

For a moment all he can do is stare at him, his mind crystal-clear and working overtime, trying to figure out how he’d misplayed this so badly. The Universe seems to have a sense of humour that he just can’t get behind.

He casts about for the right thing to say, but all he manages is a stilted, “Uh, okay.”

“I...I like your shirt too.” Jihoon stammers, shoulders up in a tight shrug. “Green really suits you.”

Seungcheol skates his eyes over the other guy’s face for a moment, finding it hard to stay on track. A dumb grin is apparently the only viable response.

“Thanks. It’s...it’s my buddy Junhui’s, actually. I stole it off him last year cause I like this shade of green. It’s my favourite colour.”

The corner of Jihoon’s mouth curls up in a careful little smile.

“That’s nice. My favourite colour is red. But like, a deep maroon red. I’m not sure it would really suit my complexion, but I like to wear it anyway.”

Seungcheol bobs his head stupidly, barely registering the words, eyes focusing on the curve of Jihoon’s mouth rather than the content.

He can’t believe this is happening again. He can’t believe he came here with his game hat on, pulled out all that stops, and Jihoon still managed to sideswipe him. If there was any justice in the world, he should have his tongue down Jihoon’s throat right now, but instead they’re actually talking about their favourite colours, like they’re two kids sharing snack time at preschool.

It’s actually fucking insane.

What the hell is he supposed to do now?

“Maroon is cool,” He blurts out, still off balance but aware he’s been quiet for too long. “I’ve never seen you in maroon, but I think it would definitely suit you. I don’t really buy into that whole colour theory bullshit honestly. People should just wear whatever colours they want.”

A faint grin flickers across Jihoon’s face, and he blinks a few times, like he’s just as confused by this wholesome little interaction of theirs. They continue to consider each other for a moment, sharing a doubtful, expectant silence, until finally Jihoon averts his eyes, clears his throat.

“Anyway, uhm, I should probably head inside. I want to get a good seat.”

The words seems to spring up between them like a hastily built wall, and it takes Seungcheol a moment to make sense of them, to realise Jihoon’s not moving away because he can’t. Seungcheol’s literally boxing him in against the wall, and he needs to back up.

“Oh, yeah, sorry. Uh, see you around I guess.”

Jihoon gives a little nod, hitches up his backpack and then scurries off to class.

Seungcheol can only watch him go, feeling frustrated beyond belief, but ultimately, and perhaps even stupidly, hopelessly endeared.

He’ll never admit to it out loud, but the time-honoured tradition of “Hell Week” is one of Seungcheol’s favourite things about being in a frat. Or more precisely, being in charge of one.

The days of hellacious trials of endurance and cruel and unusual punishment are long gone of course, but it doesn’t mean the new pledgers get an easy go of things. You can still run them through their paces, still make them work for their bids, you just can’t endanger their lives in the process. That leaves a lot of leeway for some serious humiliation.

Like for instance, making them clean the house top to bottom dressed in the skimpiest of maid outfits. It’s embarrassing for them, sure, but it’s also the quickest way to weed out the overblown egos, the guys who can’t laugh at themselves, cause if you’re going to fill a house with a bunch of rowdy, fun loving guys, it’s best to do it with the super chill ones.

Seokmin definitely seems to fit the bill; an easy target where hazing is concerned, and yet completely immune to humiliation. Even now, with the guy on his knees, scrubbing the tile grouting clean, he’s cracking jokes, trying to make Soonyoung laugh while Soonyoung does his best to look stoic and unmoved as he supervises him.

Mingyu’s another easy choice to keep around, and that’s not just cause Seungcheol’s his designated “Big Brother”. It’s cause he’s literally up for anything, treats every day like a colossal dare, and blessed with the same goofy why-the-hell-not attitude as a golden retriever.

Unlike all the other new guys, who only donned their maid outfits when they arrived at the house, he rolled up already wearing his, which means he had to walk the 20 minutes from the dorms looking like an idiot, and he still waltzed in wearing a smile.

That’s the kind of vibe you want to cultivate in a frat house.

“Nice legs. What time do they open?” Seungcheol says through a mostly straight face as he watches Mingyu drying the dishes.

It’s all part and parcel of the hazing routine, getting leered at, but it doesn’t really work on guys like Mingyu. He just levels him a crooked grin over his shoulder and flips up the back of his skirt, flashing his ass.

Seungcheol chokes out a laugh and brings a hand up to shield his eyes.

“Jesus, dude. You know you’re allowed to wear underwear, right? No one’s stopping you.”

“Eh. Forgot to do laundry.” Mingyu says with an easy shrug. He doesn’t look embarrassed in the slightest.

He rinses off the last plate and sets it on the drying rack with the others, then steps aside to let Seungcheol inspect his work.

There’s about a week’s worth of dishes here, deliberately left to accumulate for this very ritual, but for all his prior whining, Mingyu seems to have powered through them in no time at all, and done a good job too.

Seungcheol can’t think of another chore to give him, but he can’t very well let him off the hook just yet.

He dunks his hand into the dishwater for a second, and pretends to deliberate.

“Hmm. Water’s not hot enough. Looks like you’ll have to wash them all again.”

Mingyu tosses his head back on a groan, “Aw, c’mon, gimme a break man. I shouldn’t be punished for my efficiency.”

Seungcheol wraps an arm around his neck and leans in to whisper in his ear, “Well, consider it payback for trying to set me up with that bonafide cock tease. We don’t technically have a rule against that, but I’m thinking of making one.

Mingyu laughs quickly, without thinking, before he stops short, his expression casting sharply into uncertainty.

“Wh-who are we talking about?”

Seungcheol leans back against the counter, arms crossed over his chest, glaring good-naturedly at his friend.

“Your roommate? Jihoon? You said he was a done deal, that he just needed a little warming up, but that’s just not true, is it. The guy’s not even defrosted yet, Gyu. I’ve been flirting with him for like a solid week, and he’s not reacting to any of it like people usually do.”

Mingyu blinks a couple times, eyes big and muddy-looking, straining to understand.

“Why? What’s he been doing?”

Seungcheol itches his cheek against his shoulder, thinking, shit, where do you fucking start?

“Well, at first, he used to just freeze up when I talked to him, or got a little twitchy, but now he actively panics, or runs in the opposite direction before I can even say anything. And that’s not even a joke. The other day I bumped into him coming out of the library toilets, and he literally did a 180 and ran back inside.”

Mingyu’s grin flashes like lightning across his face.

“Yeah, that’s Hoonie alright. Bless his heart.”

Seungcheol eyes him thinly.

“So you mean that’s normal for him? He does this with other people too, it’s not just something I’m doing?”

“Yeah, pretty much.” Mingyu snorts, bobbing his head. “He was like that with me too at the start.” His expression tightens then, like he’d just remembered something important, and he reaches into his skirts to pull out his wallet and fishes a battered looking card out from under the clear sleeve. “He uhm, he used to hand these out to people when he first met them, but he stopped cause the dicks in our dorm kept posting them on random notice boards and teasing him about it.”

Seungcheol takes the card, flipping it through his fingers. It’s like one of those cards businesses hand out to advertise their services, except the cleanly printed message reads —Hi, I’m Lee Jihoon. I suffer from social anxiety, but I’d like to get to know you. I may appear quiet and nervous, and at times I will not be able to look you in the eye, but I am not being rude. Please be patient with me and hopefully we can be friends :)

Seungcheol reads it over three times before he whips his eyes up to glare at Mingyu.

“Dude...what the hell? You said he was shy, not that he had social fucking anxiety. You think maybe you should have warned me about this before I started hitting on him on a daily basis?”

Mingyu’s expression contorts for a minute, reluctantly guilty.

“I didn’t want to discourage you from trying. A lot of people hear those words and just stop interacting with him altogether. They think he’s too high maintenance, but he’s really not. He’s actually the complete opposite. He has such a hard time making friends, he’s happy when people just smile at him. And I’m pretty sure nobody has ever tried to flirt with him before, so he’s probably really overwhelmed and confused by the attention.”

Seungcheol shakes his head slowly, thinking, understatement of the century right there. Confused doesn’t even cover it. The guy looked deer-in-headlights petrified anytime Seungcheol walked his way, and no fucking wonder! He has a literal fear of social interactions and Seungcheol spent a week not so subtly suggesting they fuck.

Christ on a bike.

“I’m sure he’ll come around soon though. Keep at it.” Mingyu says, interrupting his thought process.

“Keep at it?” Seungcheol scoffs and looks at him incredulously. “I’ve been making an ass of myself all week, man. Don’t you think I got better things to do with my time.”

Mingyu raises his brows at the mulish look he throws at him, but just shrugs equably.

“Fair enough. Guess it wasn’t meant to be.” He swats Seungcheol on the shoulder. “Thanks for trying though. Maybe the next guy he has a massive crush on will have better luck.”

Seungcheol rubs at his shoulder, lips curling in a disbelieving sneer.

He’s not sure if Mingyu genuinely believes that, or he’s just using the right words to make him feel like a loser and spur his competitive side on. Either way, the thought of someone else hitting on Jihoon and inadvertently having conversations about his favourite colour, bothers him to no end.

He doesn’t want to begin to process why that might be.

“Maybe you should just give him some time and space to figure out what he wants for himself. I appreciate you’re his friend and all, and you want to be a good wingman, but how can you be sure he even wants to get laid?”

Mingyu scrunches his face up in denial.

“What guy doesn’t want to get laid in college?”

Seungcheol tucks his hands into his pockets, rocks back on his heels.

“I dunno man. I hear a lot of people aren’t interested in having sex. They prefer to connect with others in a less intimate more platonic way.”

The face scrunch doesn’t let up.

“Who are these people? I don’t know these people. Do you know these people?”

“No. But just cause we don’t know anyone personally doesn’t mean they don’t exist. Asexuality is a thing. Jihoon could lean that way, and he just hasn’t felt comfortable enough to confide in you about it. It would definitely explain why he kept dodging all my advances like his life depended on it.”

One of Mingyu’s shoulders hitches up.

“I don’t think so. I’m his best friend; I think he’d tell me if he was asexual. He tells me everything.”

“Oh yeah? Then what’s his favourite colour?”

Mingyu starts to laugh, “I dunno. I’m his best friend now, not his best friend in kindergarten.”

Seungcheol glares good-naturedly, arms crossed over his chest.

“Well, for your information, it’s maroon. And his favourite day is Friday, and his favourite animal is a Zebra.”

Mingyu snorts and shakes his head slightly.

“I’m starting to see why you didn’t have much success. Instead of hitting on him, you just asked him a bunch of dumb questions.”

“Hey, shut up,” Seungcheol huffs, poking him in the chest. “I tried my best, okay, and that’s saying a lot. I’ve literally never in my life had to work so hard for it before.”

“What’s all this about?” Soonyoung’s voice suddenly comes from behind him, making Seungcheol start. He has somehow snuck up them, spy-quiet and right out of nowhere, and the look on his face tells Seungcheol he’s heard entirely too much.

“Don’t tell me the unthinkable finally happened. Has Fuck Boy Choi finally found someone who doesn’t want to sleep with him within ten minutes of meeting you?”

Seungcheol shoots him a dark look. This is not a new line of commentary, and it gets old.

“This is a private conversation, hamster cheeks. And don’t you have pledgers to supervise? Pretty sure you fucking do.”

“Ouch. Looks like I hit a nerve,” Soonyoung says, rubbing idly at his cheek, a tinge of humour in his voice. He divides a look between them, as though waiting for someone to correct him. When nobody does, he grins his serial killer grin. “Wait—seriously? You’re actually being blue balled by someone? That’s crazy! Who is this guy? I have to meet him. I need to shake hands with the guy capable of resisting Choi Seungcheol’s big dick energy.”

Mingyu looks over at Seungcheol uncertainly, like he’s not sure if he should be fuelling his curiosity by answering.

“Uh, well his name is Jihoon, and he’s my roommate. I introduced them a couple weeks ago—”

“A couple weeks!” Soonyoung breathes in hard, prior jubilance turning into genuine concern as he turns his gaze to Seungcheol. “You’ve known someone for two weeks and still haven’t fucked them? Are you okay man? Oh my god, are you dying?”

Seungcheol heaves a tired sigh, feeling embarrassed heat touch his cheeks, the tips of his ears, but Soonyoung’s already moving on, whipping his attention back to Mingyu.

“And you knew about this and didn’t say anything? What the hell, Gyu. What happened to Rule number 3—no huge secrets?”

Mingyu chuffs a laugh, scratches the back of his head awkwardly.

“Uh, sorry man, I wasn’t aware this was like an unprecedented occasion. I didn’t realise Cheol was such a player.”

Seungcheol shoves his tongue into his cheek and says, “I’m not.”

“Oh, don’t listen to him.” Soonyoung snorts, tossing a companionable arm around his shoulder, “Our boy Cheol here is the ultimate player. The OG triple OG college fuck boy. It’s actually incredible how fast he can get someone in and out of someone’s pants. That’s how he earned his nickname, you know. Panda.”

Mingyu scratches his head and looks between them, obviously baffled, before turning to Seungcheol, “Actually, I’ve been meaning to ask you about that. Panda?”

“Because he eats shoots at leaves. Get it? He eats, shoots and leaves.” Soonyoung explains, poking him in the side and laughing uproariously.

Mingyu joins him after a moment, when he finally gets it, and Seungcheol wants to be mad at them, but well—

It is an excellent nickname.

It’s typical really, Seungcheol thinks, that things should start to get interesting the second he decides to throw the towel in.

He almost has to wonder if there is something supernatural at work, because he went from having to actively seek Jihoon out, to suddenly noticing him everywhere he looked. Across a baseball field, through the chain-link; eating lunch by himself at the far side of the quad; in the library, fingers flying over his laptop keyboard; the familiar shape of his maroon hoodie shrinking down a corridor when he stepped out of a lecture. He’s still scurrying about, still scowling, still so goddamn skittish, and yet, Seungcheol always has to stop and stare for awhile, feeling like he’s going nuts because—Did the guy get cuter?

Jihoon even comes to one of his games, and they go get food together after, and yes, it’s more than slightly awkward, and yes, Jihoon tries to hide behind his menu 80% of the time, but Seungcheol is getting used to it now—the unpredictable conversation, the open-ended conclusions. He’s gotten so used to it in fact, it’s easy to just roll with it, sit back and let himself notice all the things he overlooked about the guy in his rush to reach the finish line.

Like, how adorably flustered Jihoon gets over the tiniest thing. How he relaxes slowly in Seungcheol’s company, unfurling from a tight little rosebud into a blushing, pretty flower the longer they sit there chatting. He especially likes the anxious, self-aware way Jihoon watches him when he thinks he’s not looking; how he tries not to look at any one feature for too long, but somehow his gaze always lingers on Seungcheol’s lips.

Huh.

Maybe Mingyu was right.

Maybe the guy is just very shy, and just needs a gentle touch. And maybe, just maybe, Seungcheol is the best suited to fuck the shyness out of him after all.

The idea starts to grow on him over the next few days, so much so, when movie night comes around and the projector starts playing up, instead of calling Wonwoo for help like he usually would, he says, “Hey Gyu, why don’t you get Jihoon over here to help us out. He’s good at this technical shit, right?”

Mingyu starts to protest, “I don’t think that’s a good idea man; he’s not good with crowds,” then he sees the look on Seungcheol’s face, and starts to smile, “Oh, wait, is it back on? Aw, yeah! Okay, gimme a minute. I’ll get him here.”

He runs off eagerly to make the call, prompting Junhui to level him a quizzical look.  

“Uhm, what was that about? Who’s Jihoon?”

“He’s Gyu’s roommate.” Seungcheol replies shortly.

“And, I might add, the guy Cheol’s been trying and failing to fuck this past month.” Soonyoung supplies cheerfully, through a mashed up mouthful of peanut M&M’s.

That has a few of the guys perking up, looking over at him all expectantly for confirmation. Had Seungcheol said nothing, they probably would have lost interest and gone back to bickering amongst each other, but for some unfathomable reason, like an idiot, he rises to the bait.

“Hey, shut up. I wasn’t really trying, okay. It was a half-assed effort at most. If I was trying, it would have happened.”

And just like that, everyone is ragging on him casually and affectionately, wanting to know more. They want to know who this “saintly creature” is, and how he’s managed to evade Seungcheol’s devilish charms, acting like his inability to get someone into bed is a huge cataclysmic event. A sign of the apocalypse.

Seungcheol grins and bears it for a while, thinking—this is so dumb. But then finally Jihoon arrives up at the house to fix the projector, and Seungcheol—well, he’s feeling a little giddy about the whole thing, if he’s being completely honest. Jihoon’s being his usual weirdo self, skittish and maybe five seconds away from bolting, saying crazy out-of-field things about attempted kidnappings, and all he can think is nobody has a right to be this cute.

He manages to satisfy the crazy urge to crush the guy in a hug by ruffling the hell out of his hair instead, leading him inside to meet everyone.

He can tell the other guys aren’t sure what to make of Jihoon. They probably aren’t really sure what to make of Seungcheol inviting anyone back to the house, period, and while he doesn’t exactly have a type, Jihoon is still so different to anyone they’ve seen him with, it’s enough to have them all crowding around and staring at him, like he’s about to pull off a really cool magic trick.

Jihoon is very clearly not happy with the attention, he can tell. From the way he tips his chin down and lets his fringe fall into his eyes, the way he slouches to make himself as small as possible, to the way he scowls at everything and nothing. Seungcheol tries to motion at a few of the guys, to convey without words ‘okay fellas, that’s enough now, let’s back the fuck up’  but they’re just so fucking fascinated by their new little guest, he has to actually step in front of Jihoon and clear his throat to get them to stop gawking.

“Sorry about that.” Seungcheol mumbles, turning to smile at Jihoon sheepishly. “They’re uhm—” clearly taken by how small and cute and lovely you are, and honestly, me too “—idiots. What can I say? Anyway—let me show you the projector.”

Seungcheol brings him over to the rat’s nest of black and grey wires around the screen in the living room, connecting the PS5 and the Xbox and the Blu-ray player and the god knows what else. He doesn’t even have to demonstrate what the problem is; Jihoon just takes one look at their set up and starts moving with purpose—hooking up his laptop, downloading a bunch of files, removing all the obsolete cables and securing the rest very neatly with cable ties. (Seungcheol’s pretty sure that last step wasn’t actually necessary in fixing the projector, but obviously Jihoon can’t resist making things neater.)

Troubleshooting technical shit is obviously Jihoon’s forte, because his every decision is confident, every movement methodical, and there’s something really satisfying about that. Seungcheol could watch him working away all day, honestly, but he appreciates there’s only so long he can stand there, not saying a word.

“Hey, so, do you always carry a big bag of cable ties with you, or did you have some crazy extracurricular activities I should know about?”

Jihoon stops scowling at the back of the projector to blink at the cable ties clutched in his palm.

“I...I always carry them with me. They’re very useful in a pinch.”

“I’ll bet,” Seungcheol cracks a smile, “Especially when you’re about to pull off the bank heist of the century."

Jihoon’s wide startled eyes zip over to him for a half-instant before he stammers, the joke clearly lost on him, “I...I’m not going to do that. I wouldn’t do something like that. I’m a law abiding citizen.”

Seungcheol sighs inwardly, wondering why he let himself get talked into this again.

“I know that man, I was just... messing with you. Cause, you know, some people might use a zip tie to restrain someone, in a bank heist for instance, and you’re totting around a big bag of them like it’s nobody’s business.”

Jihoon blinks up at him, vague intrigue skating across the constant worry on his face.

“I don’t think these are those kind of zip ties. These zip ties are small and thin, for tidying cables together.”

Seungcheol shifts from foot to foot, scratches at the inside of his pocket.

“Right. Of course. My bad.”

His cheek hurts where he’s biting it to hold back a smile, and yet he feels pretty stupid too, embarrassingly inarticulate just now. He’s not sure he’s ever felt that way around someone before; who gave this guy the right?

The sudden buzzing in his pocket, signalling an incoming call, gives him the moment’s distraction he didn’t realise he needed till now, and he excuses himself to take it in the kitchen.

“Yeah, hi—what is it?” He answers with a tinge of impatience, trying to pick a spot by the door that keeps Jihoon in his line of sight.

“Now is that any way to talk to your oldest, bestest friend when they call to shoot the shit with you?” Jeonghan says, the smirk immediately evident in his voice.

“Pretty sure you don’t qualify as either. Most annoying, lazy friend maybe.” Seungcheol drawls, hitching himself up to sit on the counter.

Jeonghan’s offended scoff rattles over the line, but he’s already moving on in the next breath, launching into some long, convoluted story he really seems to want Seungcheol’s opinion on for some reason.

He manages to keep the conversation going for way longer than Seungcheol planned, crossing the line from persuasively endearing into just plain whining every time Seungcheol tries to move things along. Eventually he stops mid story to say, “Hey, what’s your deal man. You got better things to do than talk to me or something?”

Seungcheol blows out a breath.

“Sorry Hannie, you know I’d love to chat, but I’ve invited this guy over, and I don’t want to leave him unsupervised with the others for long. He’s got a very delicate disposition.”

There’s a long pause on the other end of the line, a shade longer than it should have been, and then Jeonghan says, sounding suddenly 50% more interested in the conversation than he was before, “What do you mean you’ve invited a guy over? Are you saying you’re on a date?”

Seungcheol flinches instinctively, and quickly looks around the empty kitchen.

“No, no, it’s not like that. It’s just movie night here at the chapter house, and he likes movies, so I invited him over. But he’s kinda anxious around new faces and not so good with crowds, and you know what frat houses can be like.”

Jeonghan gives a sceptical hum, and says, a sarcastic drag to his voice, “Since when did you have to go to so much effort to get laid my dude? Don’t tell me you’ve already slept with everyone on your campus, you’re now having to hit on the nervous freshman.”

Seungcheol makes a protesting noise in the back of his throat.

“He’s not a freshman. He’s a second year actually, he’s just a little shyer than your average college student.”

He hears clattering on the other end of the phone line, like Jeonghan’s dropped the phone, then suddenly Jeonghan’s voice comes over the line, more quiet than before, but more urgent too.

“This wouldn’t happen to be the same shy guy you were whining to Vernon about, is it?”

Seungcheol doesn’t know how he could have figured that out. He hasn’t actually told Vernon anything beyond so there’s this guy, and I don’t know what I’m doing wrong, but clearly that’s enough to have his friends colluding behind his back.

When he doesn’t immediately reply, Jeonghan starts to huff, “Oh, c’mon, you’ll tell Vernon about some guy you’re crushing on, but not me? That’s not fair man, I’ve known you longer.”

Seungcheol kind of freezes, his eyebrows shooting up.

“Hey, I’m not crushing on him,” He hisses, eyes darting around for witnesses, eavesdroppers. “I just—I find him cute and...kinda interesting, and I’ve been led to believe he feels the same way. But I’m only interested in hooking up. It’s not like...serious.”

Jeonghan makes a considering noise.

“Okay, so what’s the problem?”

Seungcheol doesn’t know where to start, doesn’t know the beginning or the middle or the end honestly. He slumps against the cabinet at his back.

“I really don’t know man. The shy thing has been the biggest obstacle I guess, cause he practically runs away whenever he sees me and always dodges my invites. The only reason he’s here now is cause I tricked him into coming over to fix our projector. If I had just invited him over to watch a movie he probably would've made an excuse.”

“Huh.” Jeonghan says, sounding simultaneously bored and expectant. “Well, that explains it.”

“Explains what?”

“Why Junhui sent a message asking me to call you. He wouldn’t say why, just that he needed to get you out of the room for a few minutes.”

“What?” Seungcheol says blankly, wondering what the hell that means, when suddenly it dawns on him—Junhui fucking around on his phone just now, grinning, looking a little shifty.

He whips his head around at the sound of cheering come from the living room, but it’s the sound of panicked mewling that accompanies it which has him scrambling off the counter.

“Son of a bitch. Listen, I gotta go—”

“How about a burger?” Seungcheol asks, pointing out the hole-in-the-wall as they pass.

Jihoon nods emphatically, without bothering to scope out the menu posted outside, which just confirms Seungcheol’s theory that he’s still mildly freaking out and willing to agree to anything at this point.

Seungcheol’s pretty sure he could have pointed down a dark dingy alley and suggested they go dumpster diving for their dinner and Jihoon would probably have nodded at that too. Anything to make this moment go faster and put it behind them.

They don’t talk much over their food once it comes, and honestly, Seungcheol doesn’t have much bandwidth for empty small talk right now anyway, but every time he looks up from devouring his burger Jihoon looks up too and smiles tentatively at him.

The thing is, he still has no idea what happened back there.

He’d followed Jihoon to the changing rooms with purely good intentions, to give him his phone back and check he hadn’t seriously injured himself when he fell off the treadmill, but maybe he shouldn’t have. Maybe he should have just set Jihoon’s phone down in sight when he heard him hyperventilating in the cubicle, returned to check on him later. The guy had limped out of the fitness room because he needed a minute, and Seungcheol had failed to give him that, and yeah, Jihoon seemed pretty sincere when he said he had nothing to apologise for, but Seungcheol must have missed something obvious in their interaction that would have warned him to back the fuck off.

He wants to know what, so that he never does it again. He just doesn’t know how to go about asking.

The smart thing to do is avoid that topic like a roadside bomb, just finish his food and go their separate ways, but his better instincts are telling him this isn’t something to just be brushed under the rug. From the look of resignation on Jihoon’s face earlier, that has clearly been happening way too often already.

“So I got a question for you,” he finally ventures, tossing down his grease-stained napkin. “Feel free to tell me to shut up, mind my own business or whatever. But I’m just...I’d like to understand you a little better.”

Jihoon’s face goes that much more guarded, if that’s possible. Spooning the last of his strawberry shake into his mouth, he finally surfaces for air to murmur, “Okay.”

Seungcheol weaves his fingers together, taking a deep breath. There’s no easy way to ask what he wants to ask, so he just asks it.

“I get that you have social anxiety, but when you say you become overstimulated in certain situations, the first thing that came to mind was autism. So, I guess my first question is, are you autistic? Or is the overstimulation just a symptom of the social anxiety?”

He braces himself unconsciously, sneaks a look at Jihoon in time to see lines pull across his forehead, and then a second later the visible effort to clear them away.

“It’s probably both.” Jihoon answers, almost pulling off a light-hearted tone.

At Seungcheol’s startled blink, he drops his head, his hair slashing across his face, and says, putting clear effort into sounding matter-of-fact, “Autism and Social anxiety often co-occur, and they have a lot of overlapping symptoms, but I’ve never been formally diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder. My childhood psychiatrist didn’t think I fit the diagnostic criteria at the time, but my current psychiatrist thinks that was because I was high-functioning and masking a lot of my symptoms. My parents wanted me to be reassessed when I got older, but I—I opted out.”

“How come?” Seungcheol asks, mouth running full seconds ahead of his brain, “I mean, wouldn’t that be a good thing? To know for sure.”

Smiling uneasily at the table, Jihoon’s shoulders twitches, just hinting at a shrug.

“Maybe. It would definitely make it easier to get assistance when I need it, but I figured it was enough that I have social anxiety and ADHD. I didn’t want to add another special power to my inventory. My parents worry about me enough as it is, and I didn’t want to be treated even more differently by everyone else.”

Seungcheol regards him, at the hand drumming on the table, the knee juddering against his under the table.

Jihoon looks stressed and exhausted by it all, and he feels like an asshole for having no idea. He pushes himself up to lean closer, moving his empty plate and crumpled up napkins out of the way.

“Are people real assholes about it? I figured most people you interact with would be accommodating.”

Jihoon shrugs again, looking glum as he fiddles with his straw.

“Some people can be, they can be real jerks. Then there’s other people who meet one person on the spectrum, and think they’ve met them all. I mean, it’s rarely intentional ignorance, but it can be obstructive. They just see me behaving differently and either avoid me at all costs or treat me like a poached egg. I’m not sure what’s worse.”

“Oh shit,” Seungcheol says, unable to contain a laugh, “I think I might be guilty of doing that. The poached egg thing. But I didn’t do it cause I thought you were different, it was cause I'm a pretty big guy and I thought you were small and cute.”

Jihoon gives him a crooked quietish smile, kind of amused at the edges.

“I didn’t get that vibe from you, actually. You never talked to me like I was different. This conversation alone is enough proof; nobody else ever asks me about this stuff. They usually don’t want to know more than they have to.” he says, sliding his empty glass can between his hands.

Seungcheol bobs his head slowly, struck by how pretty his fingers are for a moment before he drags his gaze away and up to Jihoon’s face. His muscles go still under his skin as Jihoon meets his gaze evenly.

“So am I okay to ask you more questions? Cause I got a whole list.”

Jihoon blinks a few times, the anxious fidgeting of his hands coming to a slow stop as his face opens up, slow and lovely.

“Sure.”

They talk some more about Jihoon’s social anxiety and ADHD, just enough to give Seungcheol a solid foundation of information to work off later, before jumping to the basic get-to-know you questions and following whatever conversational tangent seems most interesting. Seungcheol doesn’t usually have a massive desire to know everything about a person, but Jihoon seems to be the exception. He wants to know favourite band, his favourite movie, his favourite food, how he really feels about baseball, and pineapple on pizza, and even garbage like politics and religion.

Prior nervousness aside, Jihoon turns out to be a fascinating guy, and surprisingly easy to talk to. Once Seungcheol gets him talking, gets his mind distracted, the words come tumbling out like an avalanche, with no awkward pauses or struggles to find connection. Part of the fun is never knowing what he is going to say next, watching the fluttering of his hands as he gets more invested in the conversation.

He has to wonder how many people get to see the side of Jihoon; how many more just immediately give up the second he doesn’t behave the way they want him too.

They end up talking for so long they close out the restaurant, which seems to rattle Jihoon at first, because he’s obviously the kind of guy who doesn’t lose track of time often—in bed by ten, every night without fail—but he just as quickly seems to rationalise any panic this unexpected change to his routine has caused. Seungcheol can almost see the conversation he must be having inside his head, reassuring himself it’s okay, he’s going home soon, and staying up a little later than usual really isn’t that bad.

Seungcheol doesn’t offer to walk him home, he just does it; he now knows if he makes stuff like that a suggestion Jihoon will probably refuse, and he’s not ready for this to be over yet. He makes Jihoon walk on the inside of the path too, insists on carrying his gym bag for him, in a weird sort of callback to proper manners, but Jihoon side eyes him for so long, like he thinks Seungcheol’s gonna fling his bag in the middle of the road at any moment, he’s forced to surrender it again just to make him chill.

Jihoon’s pace falters a little as they approach his dorm, and he twists his hands together, tapping his thumb against his palm; visibly building up the courage to speak. 

“Thanks for dinner. And sorry again, about—about everything earlier.”

“Hey, don’t sweat it. You got nothing to be sorry for man.” Seungcheol says, reaching out without thinking.

He pushes the hair off Jihoon’s forehead, smoothing it back, testing the texture and pull of it between his fingers, giving it a playful little ruffle while he’s at it. The streetlights highlight the shadows of Jihoon’s eyelashes on his cheeks, and he figures he isn’t supposed to be noticing things like that right now, but he can’t really help it. The guy’s just so damn nice to look at.

Then he remembers everything they were just talking about—boundaries you idiot—and grimaces, slowly drawing his hand back.

“Shit, sorry. My bad. Can’t seem to help myself, can I?”

He chuckles ruefully and ducks his eyes down, anticipating a renewed discomfort on the other guy’s face, but to his surprise, Jihoon looks back up at him trustingly, eyes clear and unbothered.

“It’s okay, I’m used to people ruffling my hair, and you’re at least nice about it. You’re gentle.”

“Great,” Seungcheol grins, letting his hand descend on Jihoon’s head again, “I don’t think I could’ve stopped doing that long term. Your hair’s just too soft looking and ruffleable to resist. Every time I see it, I have to pet it. Sure you’re not part cat or something?”

Jihoon doesn’t seem to appreciate the suggestion, but when he slaps his hand away this time, he’s laughing at least.

Seungcheol’s always enjoyed a challenge, a tendency to back the underdog and an impulsive weakness for impossibly long odds, but there comes a time when even the rashest high stakes roller has to cut their loses, and when it comes to this whole Jihoon thing, it’s probably safe to say it’s officially a lost cause now.

He just doesn’t have the attention span to plan grand seductions, never mind the time or effort it’s going to take to navigate all the quirks that make a complex guy like Jihoon tick. It’s probably better for both of them to forget everything Mingyu told him, stop trying to flirt with the guy and just focus on being a friend to him, cause God knows he deserves more.

Besides, he misses how simple it used to be—the thrill of the chase, or more precisely, the lack thereof. Call him lazy, but he appreciates people who know exactly what they want, appreciates knowing how an encounter is going to play out before it’s even started.

He also really misses sex.

It’s been like, five weeks since he had any, and if you let that shit get backed up, god only knows what could go wrong. He really needs to get back out there again, flex his skills, and who better to practice on than the new, pretty face in his econ class.

Ha-eun.

Or was it Ha-yoon?

Or was it...you know what, it’s not important.

She’s just some girl who took a gap year to study in Paris, and has returned this term with an uber fashionable wardrobe and a new ✨French ✨outlook on life she can’t help but share out loud say, oh, every five fucking minutes. Basically she’s pretentious as fuck, but Seungcheol’s willing to overlook that cause she’s also very pretty, with a sweetheart face and poker straight silky brown hair that waterfalls over her shoulders every time she tosses her head.

He plays it cool during class, just lets his eyes casually trail over to her again and again, until she finally notices, and blushes pleasurably, leans over to whisper to her friend. Then he catches her outside once the class disperses, his hand on her elbow and when he says, “Hey, I like your beret. I’m Seungcheol by the way,” she flips her hair again, smiles up at him and says, “I know who you are.”

Yup, I still got it, Seungcheol thinks to himself, grinning.

He asks her if she wants to go get some coffee, and the words are barely out of his mouth before she’s nodding and blushing again, turning to tell her friend to take a hike. They keep up a steady stream of conversation all the way to the café—Seungcheol feigning an interest in French shit, while maintaining an actual interest in the indecent length of her skirt—and he's pleased to find it’s as easy as it should be again. There’s no awkward silences or verbal whiplash to contend with, no sudden pauses where’s he’s left scratching his head, thinking wait, what?

It’s just a normal, boring conversation that’s going to end with him getting laid in the next 24 hours, and that’s exactly how he likes it.

The campus café is busier than usual when they arrive, so he pulls his wallet out to pay for their coffees while she skips off to secure them a table. Then, something happens while he’s waiting for their order. He can’t really understand it. He just catches sight of something outside the window, a distinct movement out of the corner of his eye, and suddenly he’s on the move, walking out of the café and around the corner, over to the outdoor seating area.

He has no idea what’s compelled him to come out here, but his feet wander him over to a large tree before his head really knows what he’s doing, and it’s there that he finds Jihoon.

“Oh, hi Seungcheol,” Jihoon chirps, hesitantly lifting a hand. “How...how’s it going man? You...you’re probably wondering why I’m standing behind this tree, huh? Well, uhm, I thought I’d just hide out here for a bit. What about you? Uhm, why are you here? Did you drop something?”

“Yeah,” Seungcheol answers, awkwardly, letting it hang there a moment.

He’s just plain astounded by the depth of this stalkerish sixth sense and what it’s driven him too. He blinks down at the Cherry Danish he’s got in his hand, confused all over again, cause he’s pretty sure he never got around to paying for his order.

Looks like he’s a thief now too. Wonderful.

Rubbing at his face tiredly, he makes himself look somewhere else for a second while he composes his thoughts.

“Guess the cafés too crowded for you, huh?”

Jihoon smiles sheepishly, a small upward bend in his mouth.

“Yeah.”  He looks down, kicking at the grass and dirt. “I usually come here between classes on a Tuesday, cause it’s not usually this busy. But I guess a lecture got cancelled or something.”

Seungcheol nods dumbly, eyeing the dimple in his cheek. It’s just a regular conversation, and yet he can barely think straight. Everything is all mixed up and backwards and. Fuck.

He recovers himself just before the silence grows awkward, jerks a thumb over his shoulder, “Well, I was just about to order something myself. What can I get you?”

“Oh, hey, no, that’s okay.” Jihoon says quickly, jamming his hands in his pockets, digging his thumbs against the seams. “I’m sure you’ve got better things to do than play waiter for my awkward ass. I can always just get a coffee from the vending machines if I really need one, and besides, I still haven’t got you back from last time.”

Seungcheol wants to tell him that no one’s keeping score, but he just lifts his shoulders.

“I’m grabbing one for myself anyway man, lemme grab one for you.” Also, I need to pay for this Danish before I get banned and apologise to the girl I immediately ditched when I saw you—he doesn’t say.  

“You take a flat white, right?”

Jihoon scowls up at him, but that might just be the sun in his eyes.

“Uh, actually, I get anything but a Flat White on Tuesdays. It’s important to change things up and not always get the same thing. Otherwise it becomes a habit and you can become dependent on having it, and it might ruin your day if you can’t.” He cuts his eyes away then, muttering. “Being flexible is healthy.”

Seungcheol feels himself grinning like an idiot for no discernible reason. He jerks a thumb over his shoulder, “I’ll surprise you then,” and starts to turn, then pauses to add, “Why don’t you uh, grab us a bench? If you’ve got nowhere else to be, that is.”

Jihoon blinks up at him, as inscrutable as ever. Then flushes and scrubs a hand through his hair.

“Sure, okay,” he says, “That would be nice.”

Seungcheol heads back inside, places their order, pays for his stolen Danish and apologizes to the now very peeved off girl he left hanging. He still manages to get her number somehow, earn an opportunity to redeem himself, but between juggling two coffees and a pastry bag and heading back outside, the napkin she scribbled it on goes missing and honestly, he can’t bring himself to care.

As bad as it sounds, once he's sitting across from Jihoon on a rickety wooden picnic bench, a couple of paper coffee cups between them, it’s like she never even existed. He can’t remember her name or her face or anything about why he wanted to sleep with her. All his attention, his fascination, seems entirely fixed on Jihoon: from the way his soft sweater hugs his upper body, to how pretty his hands look wrapped around his paper cup as he takes a careful sip of his peppermint mocha, to the brief sweet moments when he smiles for real.

The more Jihoon shies away from his gaze, the more Seungcheol wants to look at him, and looking at him for too long makes him feel almost drunk, warmed all the way through.

He really can’t make sense of it.

This is not like him at all, and yet, he's starting to realise he's been wrong about a whole lot of things, not to mention disastrously short-sighted.

So much for calling it quits.

Jihoon gave him his number sometimes after the whole gym incident, and to Seungcheol’s surprise, he was actually the one to text Seungcheol first, texting him even before he got back to the house that night.

It was just a simple thank you, but it got the ball rolling between them, volleying back and forth, and Seungcheol’s put in a lot of hard graft to keep up that momentum.

Of course, like every friendship in its tender infancy, they’re communicating mostly via memes and an abundance of emojis, the occasional selca with something hilarious in the background, but unlike every tender new friendship he’s been a part of, Seungcheol finds himself reaching for his phone at breakneck speed when Jihoon texts him back, sometimes leaping over furniture and throwing people out of his way just to reach it faster.

It’s probably nothing, probably totally normal behaviour for most people, but it feels pretty weird for him to get this happy when his phone lights up, to crack up over a meme he’s seen a hundred times before cause Jihoon put a different spin on it, to spend the rest of the day grinning at nothing until one of the guys cuffs him on the shoulder and says, “Knock it off, dude, you’re freakin’ me out.”

He’s set a personalised ringtone for Jihoon too, so he can know when it’s him messaging, even has his number set as a priority contact in his settings, just in case, you know, Jihoon has some uncontainable urge to send him a meme in the middle of the night when his phone is set to Do Not Disturb. The only thing he hasn’t managed to do is set him a profile picture in his contacts, cause, well, he can’t seem to get his hands on one.

“Hey, how come Jihoon isn’t on any social media sites?” He calls up Mingyu to ask one day.

He has the phone wedged between his ear as he organizes his notes for the ten-thousand word paper due this week, but he’s fooling no one, least of all himself. He’s spent the last hour splitting his attention between the Facebook, Twitter and the Instagram search windows, just trying to find a single picture of Lee Jihoon in the wild.

So far he’s saved 335 pictures.

Every single one is a picture of a cat

The cats are not even called Jihoon, but they do have the same energy.

“He is, just none of the ones we normally use. He’s on Reddit and Discord, and something called 4Chan; ones that let you lurk anonymously.”

“Dammit. I really need to get my hands on a picture of him.” Seungcheol says before he can think better about it.

He pulls the phone away, knocks himself on the forehead with his fist. By the time he brings the phone back to his ear, Mingyu’s asking the same question he’s already been asking himself all day.

“Why do you need a picture of him dude?”

“Cause I want to paste it in my journal, and add a bunch of little heart stickers around it, so I got something pretty to look at when I beat my meat. What do you fucking think?” Seungcheol huffs, like the answer should be obvious.

It’s not obvious though, and he can just hear the face of total blankness Mingyu must be wearing through the phone as he answers, “I dunno man. You sounded pretty sarcastic right then, but I honestly can’t think of another reason you’d need his picture so bad.”

Seungcheol sighs, pushing at the desk with his feet, socked heels sliding against the waxy lacquer. He’s got no real good reason, honestly. It’s not like he usually bothers to set profile photographs for his contacts. He’s just got it in his head to have one for Jihoon cause, well—he likes looking at the guy. And he wants to be able look at him, at his leisure.

Is that a fucking crime?

Mingyu’s sigh rattles in his ear, like he’d aired all that craziness out loud.

“I got a few, but they’re probably not what you’re looking for. The guy really doesn’t like having his picture taken.”

He proceeds to send Seungcheol the most random assortment of pictures ever, most of them blurred and out of focus and badly cropped. Jihoon scowling at him, Jihoon scowling in the mirror, Jihoon scowling under the desk. Jihoon with his mouth wide open, like he’s mid yell, Jihoon giving the middle finger to the camera, hiding behind the curtains, only the top half of his face peeking out. There’s also a few blurry close-ups where Jihoon is clearly mid attack, lunging at Mingyu, trying to swipe the phone from his hand, and it brings Seungcheol to mind of a cat at the vet’s office, lashing out at every hand that tries to pet it.

“Dude, why do these pictures look like you spend all day harassing him at every opportunity?”

There’s a small cracked noise from Mingyu, before he mumbles,  “Look, in my defence, a lot of those pictures were taken way at the start of term, before I knew what stimming was and why I should have given him some space. I just thought it was hilarious how weird he was being and wanted to document the moment so I could tease him about it. I don’t take pictures of him stimming now, obviously. Those last pictures were taken when some idiot in our corridor raided his stash of instant ramen, and he thought it was me. I took those pictures in self-defence, cause he came at me with a guitar.”

Seungcheol locks onto that word, stimming, and scrawls it in the corner of his notebook, to remind himself to look it up later. It feels important.

“You got any up close, non-blurry pics?”

“Uh, yeah. I think I got one.” Mingyu says distractedly.

A few seconds later another picture pings through, and Seungcheol feels his heart kick-start.

It’s a close up of Jihoon sleeping, all coaly eyelashes dusting high on his cheekbones, peaceful pouty lips and unlined forehead. With the blonde hair haloed around his head on the pillow, he looks like something out of a renaissance painting, near angelic.

“Oh damn.” Seungcheol murmurs. He was hoping his voice wouldn’t sound wistful, but he’s pretty sure he fails in that respect. “He looks...gorgeous, like sleeping fucking beauty or something.”

Mingyu huffs out a surprised laugh.

“That’s wild, man. And here I was thinking he looked like how Dracula does, when he’s chilling in his coffin.”

Seungcheol has no idea what he’s talking about, and says as much.

“Are we even looking at the same picture? Clearly not, cause the guy is a veritable angel in the picture I’m looking at.”

He ends the call when Mingyu won’t stop cackling at him and tosses the phone down on the bed, then stares blindly at the contents of the corkboard above his desk, forcing himself to do anything but reach for that picture again.

He lasts about three minutes.

A ten-game winning streak propels the team into the division championship for the first time in a decade, so of course celebrations are in order.

They go to their usual spot in town, all twenty-five of them piling in, taking over the entire row of booths at the back, but Seungcheol only stays for the free wings before leaving them to go about their merry way of getting as drunk as possible. He’s got other plans tonight.

Except, not really.

He hasn’t actually told Jihoon’s he’s coming over; he’s hinging on the fact that Jihoon is a creature of habit and will most likely be holed up in his fortress of solitude all evening, as well as the insider knowledge Mingyu provided on what sort of bribes will grant an intruder admission.

If that doesn’t work, he’s been practicing this ‘kicked puppy’ look all week, where he hunches his shoulders, stares at the floor and shuffles his feet all dejected like, and it’s been working wonders for him so far. Pretty much why that waitress gave him all those free wings earlier, cause as far as he knows that bar doesn’t even serve food.

He’s not anticipating much resistance to his presence however, because this isn’t entirely new territory for Jihoon.

They have been hanging out a lot in his dorm room recently, chatting about random stuff and eating junk late into the night. Mingyu’s usually there too of course, snoring in the background or rushing to finish an assignment, but on the occasion he steps out, or rolls over onto his side and the room goes quiet, Jihoon has this mini freak-out, as though all the words have fallen out of his head and he has scramble to pick them up, like he hadn’t been holding his side of the conversation perfectly fine before that.

Putting a movie on seems to be a failsafe activity that gets him firmly back in his comfort zone, and Seungcheol is always sure to say yes to whatever he picks, even when it’s someone he’s already seen a dozen times, cause really, who’s dumb enough to say no to lounging on a bed in a dark room with a cute guy? Definitely not Seungcheol.

This will be the first time it’s just the two of them however, right from the start, and Seungcheol really wants to know if their easy camaraderie can survive the weighted atmosphere of an empty room.

It takes Jihoon a few minutes to answer the door when he arrives, likely cause he’d just stepped out of the shower when he knocked and was rushing to get dressed. His hair’s still a little damp, left down to dry around his shoulders, and his cheeks are pink, and he’s wearing an oversized t-shirt and a pair of shorts that just make him look so fucking soft.

Seungcheol’s first impulsive thought is to brush the hair out of his eyes. His second is to shove him back up against the door, a wall, any surface, and kick his legs apart, get a thigh between his.

Those legs would look so pretty over his shoulders and he doesn’t even bother to try to stop himself from imagining it. That ship has fucking sailed.

Instead he just stands there in the hallway like an idiot, holding the crinkling grocery bag, mind emptied of what he planned to say. His eyes keep dropping to stare at Jihoon’s legs and it’s probably really obvious that he’s doing it, but he can’t help it.

He’s never seen Jihoon in shorts before, and Jihoon in shorts is kind of hard not to appreciate.

“He-hey Cheol,” Jihoon runs a hand through towel dried hair, looking increasingly anxious as Seungcheol continues to stare. “If you’re looking for Mingyu, he left like half an hour ago. He said he’s meeting you guys there? Wherever there is.”

Seungcheol inclines his head.

“And if I’m not looking for Gyu?”

Jihoon’s eyes go that much wider, if that’s possible.

Seungcheol can practically see his brain kicking into overdrive, taking him on a scenic tour of every possible thing he could say next. They’ll be standing here all night if he doesn’t interrupt.

“I didn’t really feel like joining them tonight,” he says, leaning up against the jam. “I’m kinda wrecked after the game, honestly. Figured I’d come annoy you instead, see if you wanted to watch a movie or something. Oh—” He waves the grocery bag into view. “—and I come bearing gifts.”

Jihoon bites at the corner of her lip as he shuffles forward to peer into the bag, and it turns out Mingyu can occasionally be a trusted source of information, because his eyes light up like a kid at Christmas when he sees what’s inside. He snatches the bag from Seungcheol’s hand and immediately begins laying out the contents in a row on the desk.

“Buldak Spicy Ramen, Babybel cheese and a six pack of Strawberry Milk?” He nods decisively. “These are good. This is a good selection. Okay, you can stay.”

“Gee. Thanks.” Seungcheol snorts, stepping over the threshold and kicking off his shoes.

Jihoon stands back and watches him for a few seconds, then seems to realise he’s doing that and starts scrambling around madly—searching for a brush and dragging it through his hair, hanging the damp towels out to dry.

“I uhm, I just need to talk to someone online real quick. I won’t be long. M-make yourself at home man. Mi casa su casa and all that.” He’s saying as he attempts to sync his headphones to the computer.

Seungcheol wants to take hold of his shoulders, tell him to breathe, but that would probably just draw attention to the scrambling and make it worse.

“No worries man, take your time.” He goes with instead, moving over to crash on Mingyu’s bed, knowing better than to try for Jihoon’s just yet.

(Back at the house, he’s used to watching movies with full audience participation; the guys coming and going at random times, tossing insults at the screen and at each other, making obscene noises during the kissing scenes and laughing too loudly at all the serious bits. None of that is acceptable in Casa Jihoon though.

Jihoon likes things done in a certain way, so you can’t just throw a movie on and chill. You gotta set things up first to allow for the ideal cinematic experience. The room has to be perfectly dark, the speakers have to be configured just right, and the cushions have to be re-arranged to allow for “optimum lounging comfort”.  All the snacks have to be ready and within reaching distance before the lights dim too, and you better make sure to pace yourself because there are no toilet breaks allowed. There is a five-minute intermission exactly halfway through the movie where Jihoon will allow you to take a piss or check your phone, but try and do that during the movie and there’ll be hell to pay.

Well, not exactly. Jihoon kind of just scowls at him, and withholds the popcorn for five minutes, but he’s so fucking cute about it, it’s hardly ever been a deterrent.)

He can tell right away, just from scanning the room idly, that Jihoon actually had something planned this evening. Something that involved sitting in front of his desktop camera for a while, judging by the set up of the room and way he’s moved some of his and Mingyu’s personal effects out of sight.

He’s not entirely sure what until he’s checking the sports highlights on his phone and the tinny voice ringing through Jihoon's headphones reaches his ears.

“Jihoon, my liege, I am most saddened to learn you will not be joining us this evening. May I be so bold as to enquire why? I hope Paladin Chan’s irksome demands during our last assembly have not darkened your spirits and driven you away. If so, I shall expel him from our merry band post haste! As you well know, I much prefer to look upon your fine face than his.”

Seungcheol makes a face, a little bemused by the verbage in use, and tips sideways to get a better look at the guy on Jihoon’s monitor. Then he makes a different kind of face, just plain weirded out.

Mingyu had voiced some concerns about the "weird old dudes" Jihoon talked to online, but Seungcheol couldn't really see why that should be any of his business. As far as he was concerned, Jihoon was an adult and was free to befriend any other adult he wanted to. Now, he thinks he'll have to revise that opinion cause the guy on the screen looks to be on the older side of what he pictured an "old dude" to be; closer to 50 than 40, with a greying neck beard and a collection of Waifu pillows on prominent display on the bed behind him. 

It's not the kind of guy you want to see flirting with a nineteen year old. It's not the kind of guy you want to see flirting with anyone, actually. 

“No, no. It’s fine.” Jihoon is saying quietly, kinda fumbling with it, obviously unaware Seungcheol can hear, “I know he was just messing around. I'm not upset, I’ve just got something else planned today. I’ll catch up with you guys again soon.”

Ending the call, he dims his monitor and drags his headphones off, sets them aside on their stand. Then he spins his chair to face Seungcheol, pulling his hair out of his face into a loose bun.

From the twin circles of heat in his cheeks Seungcheol can tell the mini freak-out he’d predicted has officially started, but instead of diffusing the situation with some off the cuff comment like he usually would, he decides to just flash Jihoon a smirk, see where that takes them.

Jihoon starts to stammer.

“D-drink. Would you like a drink? I should, I’m going to get us some drinks. What—what drink would you like?”

He shifts a nervous grin at Seungcheol, and then stands without waiting for an answer, moving over to stare into the mini fridge in the corner like he wishes it were big enough to hide in.

Goddamnit, Seungcheol thinks, sighing quietly under his breath. He expected Jihoon to panic a little bit when he started flirting with him, but if the guy has gone from mildly-flustered to the-nearest-exit-is-the-window over a single fucking smile, there’s no way he can handle it when Seungcheol actually applies himself.

Maybe he should just set aside the flirting for tonight. Try again some other time.

“Whatever you’re having, man. Or should I say...my liege.”

That seems to snap Jihoon out of his freak out. He pauses where he’s hunched over at the mini-fridge, and turns his head slowly to level Seungcheol a supremely chastising look.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Asks Seungcheol, holding back a grin, but only barely.

Jihoon snags two cans from the fridge and sets them on the desk, then crosses his arms, mouth quirked slightly.

“Don’t make fun of my weird online friends.”

Seungcheol presses a hand to his chest, attempting a look of dismay.

“I wouldn’t dream of it. I’m sure whatever his name is a really cool guy with a totally normal number of waifu pillows. That Fedora he was wearing certainly seemed to suggest as much. Where can I get my hands on one of those I wonder. The 1920’s?”

Jihoon gives him a look, a mix of amusement and exasperation.

“So he’s a little eccentric. Is that a crime? We can’t all be effortlessly cool people with conventionally cool hobbies, you know. Some of us have to be into the alternative stuff—it keeps the universe balanced.”

Seungcheol tips his head, ceding the point.

“Fair enough.”

He waits until Jihoon pads over to hand him a coke and deliberately folds his hand around the bottom of the can, where Jihoon is holding it too, keeping him there a little longer.

“Jokes aside, you do have friends closer to your own age though, right? They’re not all middle aged dudes with Fedoras and pillow wives.”

Jihoon rolls his eyes like this isn’t the first time he’s heard that, like there’s a story there.

“You sound like me mom. And Mingyu. They’re always worrying about the kind of people I meet online, and how old they are.”

“Maybe they have a point.” Seungcheol says, pulling the tab on his can. "There are a lot of weirdos out there, and eccentricities aside, a middle-aged dude chatting with a nineteen-year-old is creepy, whatever way you slice it.”

Jihoon whips his head to the side in frustration, or maybe just to get the hair out of his eyes.

“Most of my online friends are around my age, okay. That guy is an exception, and I don’t even interact with him all that much. He’s just the Dungeon Master for my DND group.”

Seungcheol starts to nod, okay, okay, maybe that’s not so bad, except—hold up. What the fuck? Dungeon Master? What does that mean?  

“Sorry, you lost me there. Dungeon master for what exactly?”

When Jihoon starts explaining, he’s sure he’s got the wrong end of the stick. At least, he hopes he has, because when words like Dungeon Master and role play are being thrown around, and with Jihoon blushing as he explains how he like to dress up some times, to really get in the mood, he’s starting to imagine some kind of kinky BDSM whips and chains shit, which seems wildly incongruous for the uber shy nerd he knows. But hey—people do tend to experiment in college, so maybe this is just how Jihoon wants to do it. By roleplaying as a sexy dungeon master with a bunch of old men. 

He thinks about asking him if he’s the guy who does the whipping, or if he prefers to be the one getting whipped, just to try to be supportive, when suddenly Jihoon pulls out a little velvet pouch and shows him these weird looking dice, starts talking about hit points and levelling up, and he’s so fucking confused by it all he just has to interrupt.

“Sorry, sorry, just...what did you say this was called again?”

“Oh, it’s DnD.” Jihoon chirps, reaching up to pull a box off the shelf and hand it to him. “You know, Dungeons and Dragons.”

Seungcheol stares at the box for a long minute, then lifts his head to stare at Jihoon, and then starts to crack up.

“Dude, oh my god, dude,” he says, fighting it, laughter bubbling and heating him on the inside. “You really had me worried there for a sec. The way you were describing it back there, I really thought you were into some wild kinky BDSM shit with old dudes, and I was this close to staging an intervention. But it’s just a board game.”

Jihoon’s mouth falls open, and his face goes red, and he looks pretty offended when he rips the box out of Seungcheol’s hand, but not for any of the reasons he expects.

“Hey, it’s not a board game. It’s a table top RPG. There’s a huge difference.”

That has Seungcheol cackling, doubled over and slapping his knee. The whole thing is just too hilarious, but Jihoon is still a little dork. Everything is right with the world again.

“I don’t get what’s so funny." Jihoon huffs, eyeing him with a sorely wounded look as he tucks the box back in its place, "You’re the one who asked about it. Why ask if you’re just gonna make fun.” 

His tone is so blatantly, nakedly hurt that Seungcheol feels his amusement dry up instantly, feels like a Grade A asshole for unintentionally putting Jihoon down when he'd so bravely shared this with him; like a big bumbling moron who'd managed to catch something rare and fragile and immediately crushed it.

It doesn't feel like an apology alone will cut it, so he moves on instinct, almost knocking his drink over in his rush to reach over and stroke a soothing hand down Jihoon's arm. 

"No, hey, that's not what I meant. I wasn't making fun of you, I was laughing at the misunderstanding. I thought you were talking about something else and that's what was funny to me. I'm sorry, alright? So how does this game work? It sounds interesting. Can we play it now?”

Jihoon hesitates, eyeing him with an impossibly suspicious look that he supposes he deserves, then he sighs and says, “We’d need more people, like at least three more.”

Seungcheol takes a drink from his can, slow and considering, wondering if he could rope a few of the guys back at the house to try it out. Most of them would be up for anything with a few beers in them.

“Is it a game you can play drunk?”

Jihoon cuts him a look, biting on the inside of his cheek.

“I suppose, but the story telling element is pretty crucial to the game, so you can’t be too wasted. It’s a game that requires cooperation, and a vivid imagination. Everyone assumes a different character integral to the group’s success, so it can be a pretty good team building exercise if you have the right people.”

“Alright. Later this week then,” Seungcheol rallies, liking the sound of that. “I’ll get some guys together and source the Fedoras, and you can teach us how to become Dungeon Masters.”

Jihoon brings a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, like Seungcheol is being very fucking stupid right now and it’s just too much to bear.

“What? Am I understanding it wrong? Is only one person allowed to wear the Fedora?”

“No, that’s...not it. Anyone can wear a Fedora.” Jihoon murmurs quietly, letting his hand drop. He fiddles with the drawstring tie of his shorts, his mouth contorting. “Look, I appreciate you trying to understand this, but I don’t expect you to. I get that it’s not your thing.”

Seungcheol bites his lip to keep from smiling.

“Don’t presume to know what I like Jihoon. I’m an open-minded guy with very diverse interests. You know, in high school I was a member of the chess team and the robotics club.”

Jihoon’s eyes brighten, full of new hope.

“For real?”

“Nah. But my best friend Wonwoo was, and he never shut up about it, so I was basically an honorary member. I’ll have to introduce you guys some time; you can dork it up together. In the meantime, why don’t you teach me the rules, show me that outfit you were talking about. The one you dress up in sometimes. I’m really curious about it now.”

“Oh god, no—” Jihoon’s voice cracks like he’s on the verge of a wild laugh. “No way. I...I haven’t shown that cosplay to anyone yet. I’m definitely not showing it to you.”

“Aw, okay.” Seungcheol hunches his shoulders and ducks his head, employing the kicked puppy look. “I understand. It’s an exclusive thing, only for players in the know. I’m not cool enough obviously. I mean, I don’t even have a fedora.”

He pouts at the floor for a few moments, then hazards a quick glance. Jihoon stares back at him, expression unchanged.

“Did you seriously just try the kicked puppy look on me? Have you forgotten I live with Mingyu? The inventor of the kicked puppy look.”

“Woah, hey now, “Seungcheol scoffs, giving up on artifice to some extent. “I think you need to get your facts straight pal. I was the one who invented the kicked puppy look. Mingyu learned it from me.”

Jihoon starts to giggle, then forcefully stifles it behind a closed fist.

“Well, if that is true, it seems the student has become the master because he’s definitely better at it than you are.”

That’s some serious bullshit as far as Seungcheol’s concerned. He’s barely even given Jihoon a taste of his kicked puppy look. That was just, like, level one.

If he turns it up to level two, the guy won’t know what hit him.

There’s another house party tonight, out in a place off campus. The usual kind of shit. Rundown college housing, a lot of cheap beer, some decent weed, some even better shit that Seungcheol doesn’t partake in as a general rule. At least, not tonight, anyway.

It’s not smart to get too adventurous when you’re in unfamiliar territory, and he hasn’t seen any of his crew in a while. Junhui and Minghao were getting pretty hot and heavy on one of the low couches lined up against the wall, and the last he saw Mingyu he was sandwiched between two chicks who looked like they were about to start World War 3 over him. That was over an hour ago though, and if the fun doesn’t come to find him, he’s thinking about skipping out.

An emo looking guy with dark bangs in his eyes and clunky black boots weighing down his legs corners him at the top of the stairs before the boredom hits. Seungcheol thinks he must have fucked him a few months back and then “forgot” to call. At least, emo guy is looking at him like he did, and like he wants a do-over, which okay, that’s fine by Seungcheol. He doesn’t usually go back for seconds, but he’s bored and the guy does have a tongue piercing; there’s a lot of potential there for a good time.

Before he can do anything about it though, including talk to the guy, his phone buzzes in his pocket. He still has it set to vibrate only when Jihoon messages. Don’t ask him why he still thinks that’s necessary, he still has no clue, but it’s enough to make him hesitate for a second, throw him off his game.

He pulls his phone out to silence it completely, and kind of freezes up when he realises it’s not just a text, but a picture, which effectively throws him off a second time.

It’s unusual for Jihoon initiate conversation—the ball seems to be perpetually in Seungcheol’s court these days—but it’s stranger still for the guy to send any kind of picture that isn’t a meme.

Steeling himself, Seungcheol taps the picture icon to open it, and is thrown for a third time when a selca appears on his screen. A selca of Jihoon dressed in what appears to be a fantasy outfit, complete with robes and buckles and little elf ears poking out of loosely braided hair.

The message attached reads, seeing as you were so curious about my DnD character cosplay 😉. Which is a very smooth ice-breaker for someone of Jihoon’s nervous disposition, if you ignore the message right above it, please don’t laugh or show this to anyone. You’re the only person I’ve shared this with! 😢

The picture itself is the most blatantly sexual thing Seungcheol has ever seen. Except how it’s really not at all. Only Seungcheol can’t help it anymore; when he looks at that picture, at Jihoon’s flushed cheeks and the sweet curve of his lower lip, the sweep of his eyelashes, all he can think about is getting the fuck outta here and across campus to see it in person.

He wants to see Elf Jihoon in all his glory. He wants to sit cross-legged on the bed and listen as he tries to explain the rules of DnD to him for the seventh time.

Seungcheol starts typing back a response—damn, what a snack 😛—then stops himself, because that’s definitely coming across too strong. He wants to compliment Jihoon, but he don’t want to make him feel like he’s dying to get into his pants. Which, okay, that is the ultimate goal—but he doesn’t want that to be the main vibe of his message. He tries again—think I’m gonna need a close up, from behind 😉—and chickens out of sending that too, but doesn’t get a chance to try again before Emo Guy is snatching the phone from his hand.

Seungcheol turns his head slowly to look at him, making it clear how little he appreciates the interruption.

“Uh, do you mind. I was in the middle of replying to someone.”

Emo guy smiles back, unbothered.

“I’m sure whoever it is can wait. You’re busy.”

Seungcheol’s eyebrows pull together, irritation brewing.

“I don’t want him to wait. Give me back my phone.”

Emo guy looks embarrassed then, and sheepishly hands the phone over, and Seungcheol deliberately takes his sweet time typing out his reply to Jihoon—Smart ✅ Cute ✅ Talented ✅ Nerd ✅. You better wear that on Thursday when you come over to show us how it’s done.

Emo Guy huffs and puffs the entire time, and Seungcheol doesn’t know why he’s brushing him off, cause he’s hot and keen and God knows he hasn’t been getting laid near as much as he’d like recently. But it feels unappealing, all of a sudden, pursuing anything with him when all he can think about is Jihoon and his pointy elf ears, being a precious human being on the other side of campus.

“You know, I don’t remember you being this rude before.” Emo Guy says, once Seungcheol turns his attention back to him.

Seungcheol shrugs, unrepentant.

“I don’t remember you at all.”

Emo Guy draws back, face twisting, tongue bar visible in his open-mouthed shock, and ooh, yeah—he’s definitely not going to blow Seungcheol now. Oh well.

Seungcheol pockets his phone, laughing to himself as the guy proceeds to cuss him out, calling him every name under the sun.

That essentially decides it for him; he’s gonna head out, maybe see if Jihoon will let him intrude on his time again. It’s a whole ordeal of course. Everybody has to say hi. Girls keep asking if they’re going to see him later, guys want to do shots with him, and at one point he finds himself the unwilling referee of an argument between a few of his teammates. By the time he sends them off into opposite directions to cool off, he is 100 percent done with this party, social meter at zero.

So when someone snags his elbow as he’s making his way out through the kitchen, he grits his teeth and whirls around, ready to start a fight himself.

“What?”

Namjoon hikes an eyebrow at him, looking mildly bemused by the bite in his tone.

“Just wanted to talk to you about something man. But if it’s a bad time...”

Seungcheol holds up an appeasing hand, feeling the fight promptly drain out of him.

“No, it’s fine. Sorry Joon. What’s up?”

Namjoon waves him over to a quiet corner, positioned right next to an open window. Seungcheol takes position next to him on the wall, letting the cool breeze filter over him.

“So I had a little run in with one of your boys the other day. At least, he claimed to be with you. I’d never seen him with you before, but he said you guys were tight. I think his name was Sehun.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake. What’s that ass hat done now?” Seungcheol shoots back, voice going a little heated.

“Yeah, he didn’t strike me as someone you’d keep around,” Namjoon snorts, poker-faced and chill as ever. “Anyway, he was just talking shit at first, talking about how his dad donated big money to the college and it basically made him untouchable. I don’t know what kind of reaction he was looking to get, but we weren’t giving it to him, so he spat on Jin.”

Seungcheol stares at him in disbelief, then chafes a hard cold laugh.

“Please tell me you knocked him on his ass.”

Namjoon gestures abstractly with his hand, “I considered it, but he was clearly wasted, and I didn’t want to cause more problems for you. I took him aside though, I told him—me and you, we go way back, and a lot of the guys in Beta Tau Sigma are on the baseball team too, so this rivalry he’s trying to instigate is stupid, but I got the impression he was looking for a fight.”

Seungcheol pushes his knuckles into his forehead, getting pretty fucking angry now. He won’t be, like, entirely surprised if he ends up kicking Sehun’s ass himself the next time he sees him. It’s starting to seem necessary.

“Look, I don’t want to make a big deal out of it. I just thought...maybe you could talk to him?” Namjoon says, hand waving uncertainly through the air, “Tell him to wise up.”

Seungcheol laughs a little, off-key.

“Oh, I’ll talk to him alright. I’ll talk the shit out of him. I’ll talk to him within an inch of his life.”

Laughing, Namjoon claps him on the shoulder.

“Alright. I think someone need to lighten up,” He says, reaching into his jacket. “Maybe literally, huh?”

He pulls out a sandwich baggy full of weed and rolling papers and shakes it temptingly, then starts sloppily rolling together a joint on the windowsill.

Seungcheol’s honestly not in the mood, but he finds himself inhaling deeply on the joint as soon as it’s lit. It’s good stuff, better than the shit he can usually get his hands on. Namjoon always has good weed. Another hit and he allows himself to sink back against the wall, his arms loose and boneless, an unsteady grin smeared on his face.

“So what’s new with you?” Namjoon grins, nudging him for the joint. “I feel like I haven’t seen you out in ages. Not since my birthday party, I think. Where you been hiding out?”

“Nowhere really,” Seungcheol shrugs, “Just been...busy with stuff.”

Namjoon’s cheeks hollow as he inhales deeply. On a tumbling waterfall of smoke, he asks, “What kind of stuff? Baseball stuff or college stuff or frat stuff?”

“Just...stuff. Nothing to write home about.” Seungcheol tells him, hand flickering weakly.

The corners of Namjoon’s mouth curl up, like he’s sussing him out, bullshit detecting.

Soonyoung pushes through the crowd at that moment to slump on the wall next to him. He looks between them expressionlessly, a little sullenly, until Namjoon snorts and passes him the jay.

“That’s right boys, sharing is caring. Hey, have either of you seen Seokmin? He was like, around here earlier right?” He asks, face getting all pinched up as he takes his hit.

Seungcheol rubs his hand fast over his eyes. Everything feels warm and fuzzy and comfortable. Yeah, this is definitely some good shit.

“He was chatting to some chick upstairs, last I saw him. He’s probably in one of the bedrooms.”

Soonyoung makes a scornful noise and looks away. He passes the join back after taking another puff.

“This party blows. I’m gonna dip.”

Sounds like a plan, Seungcheol thinks, inspecting the lit joint between his fingers, the smoke trailing up around his face.

“Wait up, I’ll go with you.”

Namjoon shoots him an unreadable look as he pushes himself upright.

“Already? Not like you to head out early, or empty handed for that matter. What’s going on man? You sick or something?”

Seungcheol half shrugs, not bothering to think of some pithy rejoinder, not really sure how to put it in words. He’s boring now. Maybe that’s the real sad truth of it, what he doesn’t want to admit. He doesn’t want to party till the sun comes up, and wake up in odd places without a shirt. He wants to go home and get into bed, jerk off and sleep for eight hours straight. He wants to take that picture Jihoon sent him and make a thousand copies, wallpaper his bedroom with it.

Soonyoung though, never one for thinking before he speaks, blurts out, “Oh he’s sick alright. Love sick. He’s fallen hard for this guy who won’t give him the time of day.”

Seungcheol flinches as his skin tightens defensively. For a moment he is caught out, wide-eyed and mortified and probably making it very obvious. Soonyoung’s snickering definitely isn’t helping matters. Seungcheol contemplates locking him in a closet for the rest of the party for airing his private business, but he darts out of reach before he can make a grab for him.

“You son of a bitch,” Namjoon laughs, watching all this play out a whiplash of surprise. “I knew you were holding out on me, and after I shared my good weed with you. Alright, c’mon, spill. Who’s this guy that’s got you by the balls?”

Another flinch, but Seungcheol covers it better this time. He trains his gaze somewhere to the left of Namjoon’s shoulder, not appreciating how like a teenager the whole thing makes him feel.

“It’s not like that, okay. He gives me plenty of time, it’s just that he’s not the most perceptive of people. He’s like—very socially obtuse, you know? Too self conscious to realise I’m hitting on him.”

Namjoon turns his laugh into a cough, and slings an arm around his shoulder.

“But you don’t deny that you’ve fallen for him.”

Seungcheol takes a long drag of the blunt and urgently looks elsewhere. Hopefully nobody notices how goddamn twitchy he is.

“Man, shut up. I’m not denying he’s cute, okay, but you know me; I don’t really have the time for anything serious. Besides, what have I always said? Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free. I still live by that.”

That’s pretty transparently bullshit, but Namjoon doesn’t call him out on it until he liberates his blunt.

“You know Choi, I’d almost believe you if you weren’t blushing like a schoolgirl right now.”

Seungcheol rolls his eyes, but he accepts the slap on the ass Namjoon gives him as he’s leaving with good grace.

Has he spent all night thinking of Jihoon, wishing he were somewhere else? Sure. Is he letting those thoughts sabotage other opportunities? Maybe.

No one needs to know. He doesn’t even need to know. Sometimes there are things a person does, reflexive and two sheets to the wind, that don’t merit introspection.

Seungcheol invites a bunch of guys over to the house one Saturday, to watch the open of the KBO series between the Kiwoom Heroes and the KT Wiz. Two teams nobody pays much attention too, honestly, but baseball is baseball, and it’s a good excuse to monopolise the big screen in the living area and get the guys bonding over an activity that doesn’t involve liver cirrhosis.

He invites Jihoon along too, even though Jihoon clearly has zero interest in baseball, and often gets this glazed look in his eyes when Seungcheol talks about it, but to his immense delight, Jihoon actually shows up, even brings two dozen triple-chocolate cupcakes to share with everyone, which is an interesting game-watching snack to say the least, but nevertheless goes a long way in endearing everyone to his presence.

It’s an almost perfect afternoon.

Almost, Seungcheol would say, because it’s almost ruined by the arrival of Doyoon, Sigma Beta Tau’s former president.

Seungcheol liked him well enough when he was a fledgling freshman, but ever since he took over from the guy as Chapter president, he gets messages from him almost every other week—asking how things are going, demanding updates, offering unsolicited advice on securing donations and day-to-day frat operations. He seems to see himself as some living legend of SVT fraternity history, expecting the red-carpet treatment every time he rolls up to the house unannounced, and yeah, okay, there was a time a few of the guys worshiped the ground he walked upon, but he graduated two years ago—time to move the fuck on.

Seungcheol manages to ignore him for the most part, too busy keeping a discreet eye on Jihoon in between innings, and things seem to be going pretty well on that front at least. Yeah, Jihoon is glued to his side like he’s afraid everyone else wants to stuff him in a locker at the first available opportunity, and the sabermetrics of the game are going right over his head, but he seems to enjoy the banter, the fact that everyone has demolished his cupcakes, and he isn’t eyeing the door like he’s planning his exit strategy. That in itself is a huge improvement.

Even during the seventh inning stretch, he only panics a little bit when Seungcheol gets up to take a leak, glancing up at him with wide eyes that seem to say—oh my fucking God, where are you going? Take me with you! But a gentle pat on the head is all it takes to settle him down again, assure him he’s among friends here.

Seungcheol’s in the kitchen after, raiding the cabinets for more snacks, when Wonho pokes his head in to whisper, “Just a heads up. Doyoon is in there giving Jihoon the low down on your freshman year antics. Figured you might want to do something about that.”

Seungcheol pauses in the middle of his futile effort to multitask, trying to open a jar of salsa with one hand while the other is dug down into a bag of tortilla chips.

There’s probably no reason to worry. He got up to a lot of shit in his freshman year, but nothing he needs to be ashamed of. Unless—

“What story is he sharing exactly?”

Wonho makes a debatable noise, pulling his lower lip through his teeth quickly.

“Something about a challenge he set you, as part of your pledge ritual in first year? I wasn’t really listening, but it involved you doing something to the botany professor’s Monstera plant, and it’s making you sound like a complete jackass.”

Seungcheol grimaces. Yep, that’s definitely not a story he wants shared out loud and out of context.

He abandons his Doritos on the counter to double time it back into the living area, but it’s already too late. Doyoon has taken his spot on the couch, sitting right next to Jihoon, and worse than that, he’s getting right in his face as he speaks, so Jihoon has no choice but to sit there and listen.

“Funnily enough, that’s not why we started calling him Panda.” Doyoon is saying, wilfully ignorant of Jihoon’s locked-down face. “You do know why we call him Panda, right?”

Jihoon shrugs a little, seems to think about it a second, before offering, “Because he’s sweet and huggable and has big beautiful eyes?”

Doyoon gives the room a baffled look of disbelief, but quickly shakes it off.

“No....It’s cause he eats shoots and leaves. Get it? It’s a play on words. Eats, shoots and leaves. As in...he gets his dick wet and doesn’t hang around for the pillow talk. Cause he’s...you know, he’s a notorious fuck boy.”

“Right. Yeah, I get it.” Jihoon says, with a flat lack of enthusiasm.

Doyoon seems annoyed now. Eyes slit dangerously.

“I don’t think you do.”

The line of Jihoon’s jaw pulls tight, like he’s clenching his teeth.

“Oh, I do. Cheol’s a more popular chapter president than you were, and saw a lot of action in your day, and you’re still harbouring a lot of resentment over it because you’re obviously the kind of person who peaked in college.”

The rest of the room erupts into a dramatic chorus of oohs and shocked laughter at the unexpected clap back.

“Shots fired,” Someone hollers, which just serves to rile Doyoon up.

He laughs, but not like he thinks Jihoon is being clever and funny, more of a sneer to it than that.

“Cheol, dude. What you been telling this guy about me to get his back up like this.” He says, his eyes darting meaningfully over to Jihoon with a vaguely aggrieved air.

“He’s never mentioned you once, actually.” Jihoon says, shoulders pulled up, scowling, “I can draw my own conclusions about a person, and it seems pretty obvious to me when a guy shit talks another the second he leaves the room, and brings up stuff that happened three years ago, he’s got nothing better going on in his life.”

Doyoon sits back, the poor idiot, looking possibly more dismayed than before. Seungcheol is kind of blown the fuck away too, just plain awed that his precious little Tomato could ever be so spicy.

It’s such a blatant display of cattiness that it takes Seungcheol a second to snap out of his surprise and react. He grins and leans over to thump Doyoon on the back, before gently muscling him off the couch so he can climb over the back and retake his seat.

“Forgot to tell you man, we got a new rule in the house. Please do not the cat. He’s very spicy.”

Doyoon laughs, taking it in good stride for once in his life. He doesn’t stay much longer after that though, so he must be feeling some way about it.  

“I’m sorry,” Jihoon says quietly, a little while later, when Seungcheol’s walking him home.

He insisted on doing it, even though Mingyu was heading that way soon, and it was still relatively bright out, and the game wasn’t over yet. He’s pretty sure this is what’s known as trying too hard, but he doesn’t care.

“I didn’t mean to cause problems for you with that Doyoon guy, but he was getting in my face and it made me really uncomfortable. And I—I get that shit talking each other is something guys do sometimes, but I felt there was something underhanded about the way he was doing it. Almost like he was trying to turn everyone against you.” He bites his lip, shakes his head. “Maybe I was reading into it too much cause I was nervous, but I don’t like people who do that. That’s not cool.”

Seungcheol studies him out of the corner of his eye, feeling a stupid rush of fondness overcome him.

“Don’t sweat it man. I don’t like the guy much myself. Though uh, I’m not sure I could classify what he said as shit talking when it was technically the truth.”

Jihoon’s hands, which had been twining with nervous energy, suddenly still. He looks over with a skittish expression, visibly holding himself at the ready.

“What do you mean?”

Seungcheol clears his throat, feeling choked. He speaks haltingly, trying to get the words right.

“I did decapitate Professor Kim’s Monstera plant in my first year. It was the final step in my pledge ritual, and I didn’t think the guy would even notice. It was a huge ass plant. I had no idea he had been growing it for over twenty years of course, and when I realised, I immediately went to his office to apologise. I only got off lightly cause he’d been meaning to decapitate it himself. It’s one of those plants that you can take cuttings off and propagate, and apparently he’d been to chicken to do it himself, so I actually kind of did him a favour.”

He spares Jihoon a sideways look, wanting to gauge his reaction, but Jihoon isn’t looking at him, wholly absorbed in the pavement passing under his feet, so he keeps talking.

“He actually let me keep the bit I cut off, showed me how to propagate and repot it. I still have it actually. It’s growing up in my room, trying to take over the place.”

That has Jihoon looking up, saying with a little scuffed laugh, “Really? That’s cool, and very nice of him too.”

Seungcheol grins, palming the back of his head.

“Yeah, he was pretty cool about it. Which was definitely more than I deserved, I think. That’s why I keep it—not cause I think of it as trophy or anything, but cause it serves as a reminder not to just follow instructions blindly, not to try and impress anyone if it means being a dick to someone else.”

Jihoon nods at him, eyes going soft, and says, tone free of judgment. “That’s a good lesson to take away from that. I’m glad it ended well for everyone.”

“Well—” Seungcheol smirks a little. “I also had to spend every Monday morning for the rest of the year caring for his plant collection as punishment, and he has a lot of fucking cactuses. But he did write me a good reference for my summer job, so yeah, I guess it did.”

Jihoon snorts and shoots him an amused look. His hands are moving again, twining together, empty and anxious. Seungcheol doesn’t know when that started up again, if there’s anything he can do about it. Probably not.

They walk in silence for a few minutes, his own hands hot and itching at his sides, before he manages, “Doyoon wasn’t lying about that other thing either.”

Jihoon stops walking suddenly to give him a wary look that seems to snag and linger. Seungcheol shifts under the scrutiny, smirking even though he has a vague sense that it isn’t the right move.

“I am a bit of a fuck boy, just so you know.” He says, sticking his hands in his pockets, feeling hushed and awkward. “That is to say, I was a bit of a fuck boy. I’ve settled down a bit now, but I guess it’s, uh, hard to shake that kind of reputation.”

Jihoon looks away, a touch of colour on his face. There is a pause shoved awkwardly between them, before he says, guardedly, “Okay... So what?”

Seungcheol tenses, adrenaline plainly running hot under his skin, a knee-jerk reaction that he can't rightly explain.

“So, nothing.” He says easily, though his stomach feels knotted, “I just, uh, I thought you should have that information.”

It’s weird to have that thrown out there. Weird because he still doesn’t know what this is, what he’s feeling, wouldn’t know how to label or quantify it, and yet he’s tossing it out there for Jihoon to read into it as much or as little as he likes.

Or not at all, apparently, cause after a second Jihoon just nods, “Okay, uhm, thanks,” and continues walking.

Seungcheol stares at his retreating back for a second, thinking, not for the first time, Goddamn. What is this guy doing to me?

Seungcheol likes the guys on his team this year. They’re all strong flashy players, hefting a significant ego by right and a fiercely competitive nature that often turns locker room towel-snap hijinks into epic battles, but they all know to leave their game on the field too.

They usually have a few team-bonding sessions throughout the term, once they begin to settle into the season, so they can learn to play together easy and clean and effortless, and it’s usually left up to the senior members to take turns hosting or organising some big piss up.

Seungcheol managed to gracefully weasel out of it last time, but seeing as he is the captain and it’s well known he doesn’t go home on the weekends, there’s only so many times he can pass the buck before someone catches on. It’s no hardship throwing something together at the last minute anyway, and hosting the team at the chapter house means he doesn’t even have to put on any pants if he doesn’t feel like it.

By 7pm, everyone has arrived and is occupying the living area, sprawled out in every available chair, pre-gaming straight from bottles of Absolut and coring apples while they argue about who goes up against who on FIFA.

Seungcheol’s mostly sitting it out, content enough with nursing his drink and humming along to the music rising above the easy murmur of conversation. His leg vibrates with a text a little after the pizza arrives, and he quickly swipes it open to find a message from Mingyu.

‘Just an FYI. I’m on my way home for the wknd. Got the impression Hoon was anxious about it. He kept asking me when I’d be back, and he doesn’t usually do that.’

“What you looking at there Choi. Is it a message from your boy?” Namjoon asks, leaning up against him.

The other guys in the know grin and whoop. Seungcheol glares at them and shifts to stuff his phone back into his pocket, but Yoongi ducks down to swipe it out of his hand before he can manage it. 

“Not so fast Choi. I wanna see how Panda works his magic. Maybe learn a thing or two.”

Seungcheol tries to lean across Namjoon to get at it, but he just snorts with laughter and strong-arms him firmly back into his seat.

“Come on man, just give it back. There’s really nothing to see,” he says, slumped over Namjoon’s lap, still weakly trying to grab for the phone.

Yoongi shoots him an evil grin, so huge it looks painful, and starts scrolling through his messages. The smile falters the further he swipes.

“What the hell? This isn’t sexting.” He’s saying, mouth all twisted up. “This is some cutesy PG13 shit. Where’s all the dirty, flirtatious messages? Where are all the nudes?”

Seungcheol doesn’t look over at him, but he feels the way his face is frozen into a bizarre parody of nonchalance.

“It...it’s not like that. We’re not at the sexting stage yet. We’re still taking things slow.”

“Slow?” Yoongi echoes, confusion crumpling his brow. He titters, shaking his head. “Choi Seungcheol doesn’t take things slow.”

A wave of murmured acknowledgement breaks out across the room, and Seungcheol knows, even as much as he fucking refuses to look like he’s suffering any embarrassment at all, that his face is flaming up with a blush.

He waves his hand indistinctly, stammering and hating this conversation so much.

“He’s shy, alright. He doesn’t respond well to my usual flirting tactics. I’ve had to change it up.”

Yoongi angles him a judgemental sideling look.

“I’ll say. All I see here are memes and pictures of cats and food.”

Seungcheol leans back in his chair and shakes his head, playing it off like he always does.

“It’s all part of laying a foundation of open communication. I’m trying to establish rapport and build trust. And it’s kind of working. He’s much more relaxed and chatty when we’re just talking about random stuff.”

“I’m sorry. Are you trying to fuck the guy, or are you looking to date him?” Yoongi says, sounding lackadaisical more than anything.

A good comeback eludes Seungcheol. He doesn’t have the first fucking clue what’s going on in his head these days, except that it’s making him think weird things that he hasn’t thought of since, well, ever.

Thankfully the attention quickly shifts back to Yoongi, who’s narrating the text he’s typing out in response.

“Dear Hoonie, quick Q— when are you gonna stop being a cock tease and jump on this dick. I got twelve inches of man meat to pile drive you with. Give me a chance.”

The other guys roar with laughter, and Seungcheol laughs a little too, but it’s purely to save face at this point. Privately, in his own mind, he’s kind of shitting a brick, cause that’s just about the worst message he could imagine sending to Jihoon right now.

This new thing they have is still so fragile, barely sprouted wings, and maybe it’s pathetic to worry about the direction it’s heading before it’s even taken flight, but the anxiety is there anyway.

“Should I hit send, and get this show on the road?” Yoongi asks when he’s done, finger hovering over the send button. “Think of all the time you’ll save if you just get your answer now. I’m doing you a solid.”

People start whooping, cheering him on, A chant goes up—‘do it, do it, do it’—from all over the room, and Seungcheol thinks about saying, yeah, fuck it, then he thinks about how overwhelmed his poor little Tomato would be when he gets that message, how he might start shying away from him again, and he lunges for the phone.

“Don’t. Please. I don’t want to send that to him. He won’t like it, and that not how I wanna do things, okay. I really like him.”

The room goes quiet, as though Seungcheol has managed to stun everyone into silence with a rare show of insecurity. Any second now, they’re gonna start laughing, tease him about this mercilessly, cause that’s what happens to guys who wear their hearts on their sleeves. But the seconds tick by and they’re all still quiet, still processing.

Namjoon is the first to react. He grabs the phone out of Yoongi’s lax grip and hands it back.

“Choi’s right. If the guy’s shy, a message like that’s only going to make things difficult. But how about this. How about you call him and let us listen in. Maybe, collectively we can give you some pointers. See what you’re doing wrong and nudge you in the right direction.”

Seungcheol starts to shake his head. Jihoon isn’t really good on the phone; still needs his mom to schedule appointments, and has to physically write out everything he’s going to say beforehand just to order pizza. He is not going to appreciate someone calling him up out of the blue. But now the guy’s are making chicken noises, flapping their arms, and there’s only one way to shut them up.

“Fine. Fine. I’ll call him, but I guarantee you he won’t pick up. He doesn’t like talking on the phone.” He huffs, sucking it up and hitting the dial button on Jihoon’s number.

Seungcheol leans over to wipe at the steamed up mirror with the side of his fist as he’s brushing his teeth, and groans as he inadvertently catches his dick on the underside of the sink.

After spitting and rinsing, he glances down to address his dick sternly: “What do you want from me, huh? You gotta cut me some slack here man. I’m doing the best I can.”

His dick doesn’t seems to agree, but Seungcheol resolves to ignore it for now cause he’s already spent too long in the shower.

He hasn’t been jerking off overly much, he would say. Just a sort of natural, garden-variety level of jerking off. Nothing to worry about. But after that call with Jihoon the other day, well, lets just say it’s kind of been all hands on deck.

The thing is, he really didn’t expect the conversation to go the way, but it did, and he rolled with it cause sometimes it’s good to know what experience people have before you get into bed with them—so you can be prepared for how unprepared they are.

He’d expected Jihoon would be very unprepared, but it was a relief to find out he’d actually done some stuff. Not much, but enough to know he won’t be completely blindsided by the concept of them doing it. Then the conversation took a surprisingly flirty turn, and Seungcheol found his dick twitching in his jeans, hard and getting harder, but he let himself be distracted by Jihoon’s dry manner, his weird little jokes, the hiccup in his laugh.

The second they ended the call though, he had his fly open, a hand down his pants. He thought of Jihoon the whole way through, thought about stroking him off at first, fucking into him slow while he gripped the headboard tight—the posts smudged with fingerprints.

He tried to picture what the guy might have been doing in his dorm in that moment, if he would be slouched in his gaming chair, one leg kicked up over the armrest as he fingered himself, or maybe lying in bed, like Seungcheol was doing, using that toy he mentioned. Then his brain did this unexpected U-turn, and he’d found himself thinking about how he’d spoon him after, because Jihoon had sounded sleepy, and warm and really happy when they were chatting, and that had made him really happy. Apparently it made his dick really happy too, because that was what he came to—doing all the cute, sappy shit he never wanted to do when he fucked someone.

It was a revelation, really. A revelationary orgasm that shook him to his core. The shower after was necessary for obvious reasons, but he stayed under the spray long after the water ran cold in an effort to shock his system and reboot his brain.

Three days later, it still hasn’t happened.

He’s still thinking about all the stuff he doesn’t usually let himself bother with, and he’s beginning to realise he never will, because he doesn’t just want to fuck Jihoon once and get it out of his system.

He really likes this guy. Like, a whole fucking lot.

The thing about Jihoon is, he’s more than just a pretty face. He’s funny and sweet and incredibly thoughtful; the kind of guy who always has your back, who laughs at everyone’s jokes to keep the peace; the kind who reminds you where you left the story off after you’ve been interrupted.

Even though he has very little interest in baseball, he still comes to the home games to cheer Seungcheol on, complies playlists for his pre-game warm ups, and sends him weather updates when he’s on the road, playing away. He may come across frigid or aloof cause he won’t always meet your gaze, but he’s paying attention to everything you say, remembers all the little stuff no one else pays attention to.

He’s literally the smartest person Seungcheol’s ever met, a bonafide genius with more potential in his brain than the rest of the student body combined, but you’d never know it cause he doesn’t get his kicks out of making other people feel stupid. And though he had a hard fucking go of things in high school—with his height and his hobbies and his general nervous disposition— he hasn’t let that shape him. Every time he’s had his confidence knocked down, he pulls himself back and keeps going, pushing himself to try new things.

Seungcheol likes the way he says his name, so careful, like he’s afraid of breaking it; the way he keeps up with him when he teases him, how he teases back, never letting him get the upper hand. He especially likes that little hitch in his laugh, that little breath-pause like he’s surprised to find himself laughing at something, and Seungcheol makes it his singular goal to spur it out of him every time. And his scowls—don’t get Seungcheol started about his scowls. If he could find a way to bottle them up and drink them, he’d probably be happy for the rest of his life.

Even his particularness about stuff is endearing as hell, cause he’ll let a lot of things slide, reacts to Mingyu’s daily dose of grossness with nothing more than a wrinkle of his nose, but then someone will forget to use a coaster or try and lounge on the bed in jeans, and he’ll totally flip a lid, ‘Oh my god, you are not wearing jeans on the bed. Change into some joggers for fucks sake!’

Seungcheol loves that he gets embarrassed about all kinds of little things—ordering a hot chocolate, dropping his pen in the library, sneezing—but he loves it even more when he refuses to get embarrassed about stuff. Like how he Facetimes his parents once a day without fail, chats happily about his day and blows kisses to the screen without an ounce of hesitation, and if that wasn’t just the cutest shit ever, he wears all the beanies and scarves and mittens his grandmother knits for him regardless of how wacky the colours are.

The more time Seungcheol spends with him, the more time he wants to spend with him. He’s practically counting down the hours till they can hang out again, and that’s never been him. He’s never been that guy.

He’s always known his way, where to go, how to get there, where next. There’s always been one main goal on the horizon, and he’s been running towards it for the last how many years, and it should have been enough. It always has been enough. But now that it’s within reach, it’s like something new has sprouted up, even further away, and the path towards it isn’t so clear cut. It’s full of secret passages and broken signals, signs that just don’t make sense, and there’s a huge possibility he’ll get lost and never find his way back, but he just knows he won’t be happy till he gets there too.

Seungcheol’s not even sure how the prank war started to be honest. He thinks it might have been his fault. He recalls someone shaving a swear word into someone’s head when they were drunk, and when they came to him to complain about it, he must have been kinda busy at the time and just said, “Well, he’s got hair too right? Don’t get mad, get even.”

Not his most shining moment as Chapter President admittedly.

He doesn’t know how he got dragged into the back and forth pranking that ensued, but he sure is enjoying it. Probably because he keeps outsmarting everyone, though that isn’t exactly a difficult feat considering what he’s up against.

Most of the younger guys are still intimidated by him, and shy away from subjecting him to anything too cruel, and Soonyoung, Junhui and Wonho are laughably easy to manipulate and turn against each other when the need arises. It’s like fish in a barrel half the time.

Things have taken a different turn this weekend though, because everyone’s usual Saturday plans have been rained out, and the guys left in the house are going stir-crazy shut up indoors. What should have been a general discussion about who’s responsibility it is to take out the trash and sort the recycling ends up devolving into a War of The Chores, with the house split along two lines of allegiances. Seniors versus Juniors.

Seungcheol, as head honcho of the Seniors, has already won the first round by confiscating (read: stealing) the house’s entire supply of alcohol and instant ramen, and stashing it in his room. In retaliation, the Juniors, led by Chan, have stolen every toilet roll in the house and barricaded the stairs, blocking access to the communal areas. The seniors have managed to regain some ground with their guerrilla-style tactics (shimmying down a drainpipe to relinquish a camp stove from the garage so they can cook the ramen) but it’s ultimately a lose-lose situation; at some point, everyone has to eat, and everyone has to take a shit.

Seungcheol’s just betting on his team holding out longer. Either that, or their next offensive has to be epic.

“Oh, oh, alright guys, listen up, I got an incoming message here. From Chan.” Wonho announces, brandishing the phone they’ve been communicating through. “He says...well, it seems they want to negotiate terms of surrender.”

Seungcheol steeples his fingers, glances at his watch. That seems a little premature to him; it’s only been two hours since they reached a stalemate, but hey, he’s not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“Okay, tell them they can have equal share of the ramen and booze on the condition they do all our chores till the end of the semester. Those are my terms, they can like it or lump it.”

Wonho grimaces, shaking his head.

“No, I don’t think that’s what he means Cheol. They want to negotiate the terms of our surrender.”

Seungcheol makes a scoffing noise. That’s just absurd.

“Why the hell would we surrender? We hold the high ground here. We’ve got them outmanoeuvred and outnumbered, and none of those idiots can cook. They need this ramen more than we need those toilet rolls. We don’t even need toilet rolls when you really think about it. We can just use paper, or books.”

Wonho looks kind of disturbed by that, but that might just be because his phone has lit up with another message. Seungcheol can’t see the screen from where he’s sitting, but Junhui can, and he shoots Seungcheol a stricken look, before he brings a hand up to his face and sighs like a martyr.

“Great. We’re doomed.”

Seungcheol’s eyebrows pull down.

“What? What is it? Lemme see.” he says, motioning for the phone.

Wonho seems reluctant to show him at first, but Seungcheol manages to grab hold of the phone while he’s still hesitating.

It can’t be all that bad, he’s sure, but then he sees it; a picture of Jihoon, looking scared and confused, scowling a little as he sits on a throne made of toilet rolls.

It’s an adorable picture. No doubt about it. Seungcheol is absolutely going to make it his wallpaper for every device he owns. But first:

“So how should we surrender? I say we give them everything they want in exchange for Jihoon’s safe return. Are we all in agreement? Let’s see a show of hands.”

The guy’s exchange a series of tired looks and knowing glances. Nobody raises their hand.

“Well, good thing this isn’t a democracy. I call the shots here, and I say we’re surrendering.” Seungcheol says, sitting up authoritatively.

Soonyoung, propped up against the closet door, crunching on some dry ramen, makes a disgusted noise.

“Dude, can you stop thinking with your dick for five seconds and use some logic. Jihoon’s not even involved in this war. He’s just an innocent bystander. They’re not actually going to do anything to him if we don’t surrender. They’re just playing with your emotions.”

That’s a good point actually. Maybe he is jumping the gun a little here. But just then, Wonho’s phone lights up with another incoming text.

“Chan says they’re going to shave Jihoon’s hair off if you don’t surrender in the next ten minutes.”

Seungcheol's eyes go huge, gaping at him for a second.

That settles it. He will not, cannot, let anything untoward happen to Jihoon’s hair; he’s been growing it out, and it’s so beautiful.

“Now, Cheol, just hold on a second.” Junhui begins placatingly, seeming to sense the mutinous direction of his thoughts. “Let’s not do anything drastic. I’m sure Jihoon is fine. Mingyu’s down there remember? He won’t let any harm come to him.”

“Yeah, yeah you’re probably right.” Seungcheol says, forcing a smile, letting his shoulders fall a bit. He waits until the others have settled down too, breathed a sigh of relief, before unbuckling his belt, sliding it out of the loops, “Nevertheless, I’m not willing to take that risk.”

Five minutes later sees him trudging down the stairs, sans belt, with a box of ramen under his arm, and his team’s helpless protests still ringing in his ears, ‘Cheol, don’t do this man. Bros before hos.’

It made him stop and think for a second, made him want to ask how the fuck this became his life, because he always used to scoff at those guys who cleaned up their act once they met someone, those cuffed-up turncoat flake-outs who dipped on their friends and changed up their threads and started saying shit like ‘Actually, I think I would like to have a look at the wine list.’

Now he’s basically one of those idiots. Single-minded and obsessed with the new person in his life.

Seokmin meets him at the bottom of the stairs, brandishing a walkie talkie and a water pistol like he means business. He escorts him into the living area where the others are waiting, and they’ve all got walkie-talkies and water pistols too, and Seungcheol spares a moment to wonder how they got their hands on all this cool stuff.

Where’s his walkie talkie and water pistol?

Man his team sucks.

“Ah, Seungcheol,” Chan says, turning away from the window when he enters. “I should say I’m surprised you came in person, but I’m really not. You’ve always been weak when it comes to matters of the heart. Or in your case, your dick.”

Seungcheol wants to say something clever and glib, something dismissive even, to reduce this hold that Jihoon has on him, but all he can think to say is, “Where the hell is my Tomato? What’ve you done with him? If you’ve touched a single hair on his head, you’re dead man. I’m not even kidding.”

Chan holds up a pacifying hand.

“Relax man, he’s safe. Now, I believe you have something for us?”

Seungcheol heaves a sigh and dumps the box of ramen on the floor between them.

“It’s all there. Feel free to count it.”

“Oh, we will.” Chan says, and produces a crumpled sheet of paper from his pocket. “But first, you need to sign this. Only then can we allow Jihoon to walk free.”

Seungcheol snaps the sheet out of his hand, and quickly skims through it. It’s a list of demands. Just... preposterous demands.

Senior team will henceforth be referred to as The Big Losers. They will be responsible for all the chores in the house till the end of the year. A party will be thrown in Freshy team’s honour once a month, where Senior team will wait on them hand and foot, and wear maids dresses while doing it. Wonho will have to share his secret work out routine with everyone, so they can all be jacked like he is, and every night Seungcheol will tuck them all into bed, read them a story and give them a kiss on the head.

“Okay, who the hell wrote this?” Seungcheol can’t help but ask, torn between irritation and amusement.

Chan shoots him a telling glare.

“We all contributed to the list. Now, sign it.”

“Fine, I’ll sign it,” Seungcheol sighs, crumpling the page slightly in his fist. “But first I want some proof he’s alive. I mean, proof that you actually have him, and that he still has all his hair.”

Chan rolls his eyes, but then jerks his head at Seokmin to go check on their prisoner. Seungcheol watches him disappear down the narrow corridor leading to the utility room and downstairs bathroom, before turning his attention to where Mingyu is hovering near the door.

“I can understand why you’d betray me Gyu, but for you to betray Hoonie like this.” He tuts, shakes his head. “How’d you even trick him into coming here in the first place?”

Mingyu shrugs, entirely unrepentant, “I told we were going to have a Black Panther marathon, and that we ordered two hundred pizza rolls. I told him you were going to let him have a whole box all to himself.”

Seungcheol’s face twists in outrage. Black Panther and individually portioned snacks are two of Jihoon’s most favourite things. It’s just plain cruel to offer that up with no intention of delivering.

“I can’t believe you’d do that man. That’s... dastardly. Wait, is that the right use of that word? You know what, never mind, you’re a dick.”

“Hey, it was a group decision, and you forced our hand Cheol. You forced us to play dirty.” Mingyu huffs, starting to look guilty.

Seungcheol opens his mouth to argue, but Seokmin reappears just then, looking a bit flummoxed.

“Uh guys? Jihoon’s gone.”

They all whips their heads around to eyeball him.

“What?”

Seokmin swallows nervously and shrugs, “He’s not in the bathroom anymore. I think he jumped out the window.”

There’s another loud chorus of what’s, then everyone is pushing and shoving, elbowing past each other to clamber down the hall and into the tiny bathroom and see for themselves.

The room is indeed empty. No sign of Jihoon anywhere except for the jammed open window and the scuff marks on the sill. Seungcheol sticks his head out the window to check he isn’t clinging on to the ledge for dear life, but it’s too dark out to see anything, just the rain slashing at the house and puddling ankle-deep in the muddy ground below.

“You idiots,” He snarls, hair whipping wet against his face as he turns back around. “You kidnapped my Tomato and then you scared him away? You made him jump out of the window!”

There’s nobody left standing in the bathroom to hear that though, because Chan is already sounding the retreat, scurrying back down the hall with Seokmin and Mingyu in tow, yelling “Abort. Abort. Every man for himself!”

Seungcheol almost gives chase, but then the bathroom cabinet flies open right in front of him, nearly tripping him, and Jihoon pokes his head out to chirp, “Hi.”

“Hoonie. Holy shit.” Seungcheol starts laughing before his brain has even fully processed what happened. He stoops down to help Jihoon wiggle out of what has to be the tiniest hiding space ever, marvelling at how he managed to fold himself inside. “What are you doing in there, man? How did you even get in there?”

“I hid when I heard them plotting.” Jihoon says, dusting himself off. “I realised Mingyu tricked me into coming over pretty much right away, but I couldn’t think of how else to escape. So I figured I’d play along for a bit, wait them out.”

Seungcheol scratches his head in amazement.

“But...but the window? The scuff marks?”

Jihoon tips his chin at a particularly self-impressed angle.

“A laughable attempt at misdirection. I can’t believe those idiots fell for it. They didn’t even try and look to see if I was hiding anywhere first. That’s the first thing I would have done. Amateurs.”

Seungcheol doesn’t tell him how he basically fell for it too. He can’t be expected to think logically where Jihoon is involved. He just gets his hands around Jihoon’s head and cups his face in his palms, thumbs over the dimples in his cheeks.

“You’re amazing, you know that. Just so fucking smart. I could kiss you right now, but I won’t cause I know it’ll gross you out.”

Jihoon shakes his head and looks away, a pleased grin spreading across his face that is almost hard to look at, and yet, Seungcheol can’t stop. He breathes deep, like he’s working up the courage to say something, then his eyes alight on something, and he touches his fingers curiously to Seungcheol’s hand.

“Don’t tell me you were actually going to sign this bullshit.”

Seungcheol glances down at the sheet of paper still clutched in his fist: Chan’s preposterous list of demands. He stuffs it in his pocket, puffs up his chest.

“Damn right I was. They captured one of my prime assets, I had to get him back. I’m loyal to a fault you see. I never leave a man behind.”

Jihoon tilts his head, sceptical.

“Yeah? Then...where’s the rest of your team?”

“Oh, well, uh—” Seungcheol bites back a grimace, “They’re around somewhere. Trapped in a closet maybe. All tied up with belts...But I had nothing to do with it.”

Jihoon laughs, a quick muffled sound hidden behind his hand.

“In that case, I guess you’re going to need yourself a new ally.” he says, smile turning impish and sweet at the corners of his mouth.

Seungcheol feels himself tense all over, a freakish thrill running through him. It can’t be normal, what that does to him on the inside.

Within three minutes if waking up, Seungcheol is not in a good mood.

The message he’d sent Jihoon the night before—hey, you doing anything tomorrow? I kinda miss your face—has not been answered, and that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. He did send it pretty late, and Jihoon doesn’t have classes this morning; he might’ve already been asleep when Seungcheol sent it, and now he’s just having a nice little lie in, but for some reason that logic doesn’t hold water with him.

For some reason, all he can think is—Jihoon doesn’t like me anymore.

He tries not to let it stress him out, but by the time he grabs his gear and is on his way to morning practice he feels a little like throwing something through a window.

There is still a thick layer of fog on the ground when he gets to stadium, the rest of the team still bundled up in their fleeces, half asleep. Seungcheol looks at them and feels an unreasonable desire to toss his pitchers mitt down and walk all the way back to his bed. Fuck training. Fuck the team. Fuck playing for the Samsung Lions. Jihoon left him on in seen and it’s the end of the fucking world.

He doesn’t go home, but practice goes badly. He’s too caught up in his own head, can’t get a hang on that split-fingered fastball. The coach doesn’t yell at him, because even at his worst Seungcheol never has a bad practice, but he can feel the man’s worried frown as he pelts ball after ball at his catcher like he’s trying to put him in hospital.

“Christ,” Junhui breathes, shaking his glove off and glaring murderously out at the mound, where Seungcheol is standing impatiently. He cradles his right hand against his chest, flexing his fingers. “Where are you getting the energy, man? It’s 7.30 in the morning. Ease up a little.”

Seungcheol rolls the leather tie of his glove between his fingers, pushing the back of his wrist across his brow a few times.

“Can’t handle the heat, get outta the fucking kitchen.”

Junhui levels him a weary look, then announces he’s taking a break. The other catcher quickly makes himself scarce too, so Seungcheol’s left to take his frustration out on the backstop till he gets back.

It’s feeble, pathetic beyond bearing, really, but recognising his own dickish behaviour does nothing in helping him stop.

It’s too crowded in the locker room after, and he’s not in the mood for the usual post-practice antics of the younger guys, so he only half dresses, grabs his stuff and heads outside to sit in one of the benches. The pack of ice around his shoulder is huge, bulky, annoying the hell out of him every time he moves, but the slow sharp sting of cold serves to settle his nerves, solidly grounding him in his thoughts.

He can’t explain why this thing with Jihoon has gotten so big in his mind, why he can’t think of anything else half the time. He’s not a whiny loved up sap who needs to see or talk or breathe the same air as his crush at least once a day to be happy, except for the part where he clearly is. He hates the fact that the only time he's spent apart from Jihoon in the last month has been the scant few hours they sleep in their respective rooms, and even then his heart and dick are huffing at him—what the fuck is this? A long distance relationship? Go spend time with him right now!

No one’s ever made him feel like this.

It’s not fucking fair.

There’s an echoing clatter of footsteps behind him, and he looks over to see Junhui approaching the bench, juggling his duffle and catcher’s mitt in one hand, an energy drink and a little sandwich bag of orange slices in the other. He holds out the latter as if proffering his hand to a snarling dog.

“You worked all that aggression out of your system yet, or should I sit elsewhere?”

Seungcheol summons up an apologetic smile for him and scoots over to make room on the bench. Junhui drops into the seat next to him, thumping him on his unencumbered shoulder.

They sit in companionable silence for a bit, splitting the bag of orange wedges between them. Seungcheol doesn’t really want to explain the origins of his mood, but he knows his friend didn’t come out here to share his post practice snack and freeze his ass off.

He owes him an explanation at the very least.

Sucking the last of his wedges dry, Seungcheol takes the desiccated orange slice out of his mouth with a wet slurp, lips curling against the acrid aftertaste of the peel.

“It’s been 12 hours.”

Junhui, hunkered over in the process of untying his cleats, answers with his head down.

“12 hours since what?”

“Since Jihoon left me on seen.”

Junhui straightens up slowly and hikes an eyebrow at him, looking peeved.

“That’s what got you so worked up? Jihoon forgot to text you back?”

It sounds like an overreaction when you put it like that. It makes him sound crazy, but Seungcheol shakes his head anyway, defensiveness springing through him.

“You don’t understand. Jihoon always replies to my messages, even when he’s in class. The longest he’s left me on seen is like 5 minutes at most, and that’s just cause he was about to jump in the shower. Unless he’s been showering for the last 12 hours, there’s only one plausible explanation for why he hasn’t replied to me.”

Narrowing his eyes, Junhui shoots back, “And what’s that?”

Seungcheol sighs and rolls his shoulders, trying to relieve the prickling itch under the bandages that hold the ice in place.

“He’s bored of me.”

Junhui stops, looking at him for a moment as if expecting a punchline, then bites his lower lip, that kind of frantic gesture that is just seconds away from bursting into laughter.

Seungcheol narrows his eyes. “What?” he demands.

Junhui shakes his head, still with that bitten back grin on his face.

“Nothing, nothing. I just never thought I’d see the day. Choi Seungcheol—whipped.”

Seungcheol reddens deeply, but quickly shakes it off.

“Man, shut up.”

Letting a soft sigh escape, Junhui takes a long gulp of water from his squeeze bottle and turns to look tiredly at him.

“Do you hear yourself? Do you hear how unhinged you sound? It’s actually fucking hilarious how whipped you are for this guy, and you haven’t even kissed him yet. Imagine how much more whipped you’ll be when he finally lets you fuck him.”

Seungcheol groans and tears a hand through his hair. There is a galaxy of things he’s trying not to think about right now, and chief amongst them is how long it’s been since he’s gotten any.

“Can we please not talk about sex right now.”

“Ah,” Junhui smiles back in commiseration. “So that’s the real cusp of the issue, huh? You’ve been a stone-cold monk this whole time you’ve been chasing Jihoonie.”

Seungcheol smiles, weak and watery.

There’s no point denying it when they live together, when Junhui’s been there to witness him spending a ridiculously long time in the shower every morning, skipping past every love scene on the TV and pouting whenever one of the guy’s brings someone back to the house. He wants to fuck Jihoon only slightly less than he wants to be a professional baseball player. On those days when Jihoon’s face is inches away from his, sweetly pink and laughing at something he’s said, it’s all he fucking wants.

“Yanno, maybe you need to get out there man, get some action and take the edge off.” Junhui says, taking a second to switch his cleats for a pair of sneakers. “Maybe if you fucked someone else you’d be less frustrated and actually manage to keep your cool when you are around him.”

Seungcheol shakes his head, the movement feeling loose on his neck.

“Nah, I can’t. I tried, and it felt wrong. Felt like I was...cheating on him.”

“Oh.” Junhui says, eyes wide. After a moment, he clearly comes to some incredibly deep conclusion, because he says, “Oh!” again in a very different tone of voice.

Seungcheol shrugs noncommittally, looking away, mainly in an effort to conceal his blush. He brings his eyes back to see Junhui rubbing a hand across his mouth, considering, inspecting him closely.

“You know Cheol, I think this is good for you. I know we all tease you about it, but I honestly think it’s good that you learn sometimes things don’t just fall in your lap because you’re a handsome bastard. Sometimes you have to work really hard for something you want. It makes you appreciate it more when you finally get it.”

Seungcheol turns swiftly on the defensive.

“Hey, I’ve worked my ass off for everything I have. Nothing I have has been handed to me.”

Junhui snorts, knuckles him on the arm.

“Chill out, will you. I meant from a romantic conquests point of view. You’ve always been unfairly lucky when it comes to hooking up, you can’t deny that. Now you’ve met someone who’s knocked you down a few pegs, and that can only be good for your ego. When you finally connect with Jihoon on an intimate level, it will mean so much more than all those casual fucks combined.”

Seungcheol doesn’t answer for a moment, squeezing his hands compulsively, nails biting into his palm.

“That’s the thing. I don’t think that’s ever going to happen. I don’t think he registers I’m even a little bit into him. Like, the other day, we were chilling in his room, just the two of us, and we were sitting pretty close, and I thought—here’s my chance. So I put a hand on his thigh, looked him in the eye and said, it’s pretty chilly in here, you know what we could do warm up? It was not subtle. Even as I was saying it, I was thinking— damn, that’s bold Choi. But you know what he did? He got up and made me some tea. Brought me an extra blanket. I was giving him my best bedroom eyes and he broke out the chamomile.”

Junhui cracks up, falling all over his shoulder. He’s laughing so hard it’s soundless, tears leaking down his cheeks.

“He’s real sweet though, you gotta give him that.”

Seungcheol bobs his head in agreement, laughing himself now too.

(What he doesn’t say is that there have been other attempts at talking things out with Jihoon; if that is indeed the right way to describe those humiliating, aborted exchanges.

One time could be aptly summarised like this:

Seungcheol: “Have you ever wanted someone so badly you can’t stop thinking about them?”

Jihoon: “Yes, Neuvillette in Genshin Impact. But I’m not giving up hope yet.”

Then there was the time in the library, when after spending three hours longingly watching Jihoon work on his presentation, Seungcheol just came right out and said, “You know how I’m single right, and seeing as you’re single too, you think maybe we should do something about that.” And Jihoon had whipped his gaze up, gaped at him and said, “Oh my god, we could start a club!”)

If Seungcheol didn't laugh about it, he’d probably cry.

He glances out across the empty park ahead, eyes tracking the slow-moving clouds, then has to scrub at his eyes again. He thinks he must really be going nuts if he’s starting to hallucinate Jihoon everywhere he goes now, when all of a sudden Junhui sits up straight in his seat and says, “Hey, isn’t that Hoonie standing over there? Damn, what are the odds you’d bump into him right now, just as you’re moping.”

Seungcheol scrapes a hand over his face, breathing out hard.

“He’s probably lost. He doesn’t come to this side of the campus often.”

“Or maybe it’s all just dawned on him, and he’s looking for you to warm him up.” Junhui says with a playful nudge. He pauses for a second and then asks, “Well, go on. Aren’t you gonna call him over?”

Seungcheol looks back at where Jihoon is standing in the distance, studying his phone intently. He doesn’t appear to have spotted them, and maybe that’s for the best. Maybe he just needs to take the L and move on.

Junhui, that sly motherfucker, doesn’t give him a choice though.

“Yo Lee—" He hollers, then quickly grabs his gear and hightails it outta there, leaving Seungcheol on the bench with his iced-up shoulder and the object of his desire slowly closing in.

Things pick up speed in September as they near the end of the season. There’s strength training every morning, team workouts every other day, and endless rounds of batting practice, until his shoulders throb bone-deep and his legs shake from overexertion as he lies in bed at night, too strung up to get to sleep.

Seungcheol’s technically in the best shape of his life right now, feeling invincible and optimistic, which is why it makes no sense when he feels something snap painfully in his back after taking a hard cut in the forth inning. He tries to play through it, but by the sixth his back has tightened up so much he has to leave the game and hole up in the locker room with an ice pack until the physical therapist can look him over.

He’s slipped a disc somehow, the bane of every baseball player’s existence. Getting told he can’t play for four weeks hurts even worse though, but there’s no arguing with the coaches. They order him to rest and rehabilitate, assign him a bunch of strength-training exercises to keep himself in shape during the month he’s suddenly got off.

He’s in a terrifically awful mood by the time he stalks out of emptied locker room. The plan is to go home, eat some leftovers, and fall into bed cause if he’s not allowed to pitch, he has no desire to do anything else.

He gets as far as getting home before the painkillers kick in hard, and he crashes out on the couch, the keys still clasped in his hand. He wakes a nebulous number of hours later to the sound of some commotion happening around him. More importantly, the sound of Jihoon’s voice.

“No, stop. Don’t come any closer. I’m warning you.”

When he cracks his eyes open, he finds Jihoon standing between him and Minsoo, his stance almost defensive. He’s got something in his hand that Seungcheol can't see, but his baby face is a distraught mask.

“Listen Jihoon, this is the way we do things around here.” Minsoo is saying, “It might not seem fair, it might even seem barbaric, but if you’re stupid enough to fall asleep in a public space, you get messed with. It’s the law of the land.”

“C’mon man, he’s injured,” Jihoon pleads emphatically, “That’s probably why he fell asleep down here instead of up in his room. He was too injured to make it upstairs—"

Minsoo cuts him off with a quick little laugh.

“And I wasn’t feeling too good either when I last took a nap on the couch, but that didn’t stop Cheol from putting hair removal cream on my eyebrows. It’s only fair I get to return the favour.”

Jihoon shakes his head again, his face all twisted up.

“That...that was my idea actually. I suggested that to him. I’m the one to blame.”

Minsoo snorts derisively, but he doesn’t seem to be actively annoyed.

“I knew that already, man. All of Cheol’s best pranks come from you, but there’s a big difference between suggesting an idea and implementing it. Cheol’s the one who took my eyebrows. He’s reason I’ve been looking like a freak all month, and he’s the one who has to pay. Also, I’m not stupid, okay. I know the golden rule. Please don’t the cat? Even if I wanted to get back at you, I couldn’t because Cheol would probably snap my neck. So for the last time, put that down and step aside—”

Just as he takes another step, hand outstretched like he’s planning to take something from Jihoon’s hand, Jihoon does something that makes him howl and fall to his knees, clutching at his face.

The room erupts in cheers and laughter, a few sympathetic groans. Seungcheol has no idea what the hell is going on until Mingyu shouts out from the other side of the room, “Alright everyone pay up. I told you he wasn’t afraid to use the pepper spray, and y’all didn’t listen. I live with the guy, you’d think I know what he’s capable of.”

Minsoo slowly staggers back on his feet, eyes bloodshot and streaming, face twisted in outrage. He wipes at his face with the back of his hand, points at Jihoon with the other.

“Screw the rules. You’re dead.”

“Come again?” Seungcheol says groggily, finally announcing his awareness by sitting up.

There’s a mad scramble of ‘oh shits’ and screeching chairs as everyone bolts, including Minsoo and the six or seven other guys chilling in the kitchen who weren’t even involved. Jihoon glances around at the suddenly empty room in wonder, then tucks the pepper spray back into his hoodie as he comes over to perch on the edge of the couch.

“Thank God you’re awake Cheol. I’m almost out of pepper spray.”

Seungcheol rubs his eyes with his fists, just to make sure he’s not seeing things.

“Do you pepper spray people in the face often?”

“No. That was my first time actually, but I do like to practice. Also, Gyu keeps stealing it to use on his food.”

Seungcheol laughs and shakes his head, watching the way the light play across Jihoon’s face, catches in the hollows of his throat.

“I can’t believe you just pepper sprayed Minsoo. That’s wild, man.”

Jihoon shrugs, looking away blamelessly.

“He wanted to shave your head, Cheol, while you were injured, I might add. No decent human being would stand for that. Not only would it have been incredibly cruel and underhanded, but it’s an actual crime against nature.”

Seungcheol’s eyebrows ticked up, the tip of his tongue darting across his lips.

“Is it?”

Jihoon sighs, shaking his head back to get his hair out of his eyes.

“Look, you’re a handsome guy, no one is denying that, but I don’t think even you can pull off bald. No offence, it’s just... it’s just not a good look on anyone. And think of the riots that would have broken out if your baseball groupies saw you in a buzz cut. It would have been pandemonium. Utter chaos on campus. I had to stop Minsoo, for the greater good.”

Seungcheol swallows, and sucks on the inside of his cheek to keep his expression clean of any idiotic glee.

“Of course. I’ll be sure to nominate you for the noble peace prize.”

“I know you’re not being serious right now, but you really should.” Jihoon says, reaching out like he is going to touch his face, but then snatching his hand back at the last second, an awkward look flashing across his features. “I heard about what happened at the game. I’m sorry man. H-how are you feeling?”

Seungcheol props one leg against the back of the couch, feeling the stretch in his hamstring and calf, before letting it drop again.

He didn’t expect anyone who doesn’t eat, drink and sleep baseball to understand the fine grey area of frustration and anger and pain that he’ll be living within for the next month, but the heartened look on Jihoon’s face says he gets it, how shitty this is for him.

“Sore all over. And sleeping on this shitty couch certainly hasn’t helped things,”  He musters up a smile. “But having you here has definitely cheered me up.”

Jihoon smiles at him sideways, something watery and cutting affectionate, like he’s not sure what the appropriate response to something like that is, or if he should be reacting at all. He must be feeling pretty grounded today though, cause he reaches out again and touches Seungcheol’s hair uncertainly, patting the wildness out of it, tucking errant strands of hair behind his ears.

Seungcheol’s back is one long line of sore stiffness right now, and the couch is making it worse by the minute, but he doesn’t want to risk moving right now. He doesn’t want to dislodge Jihoon and stop whatever this is.

“I brought you some meals for the week by the way. They’re in the fridge.” Jihoon murmurs, staring determinedly at Seungcheol’s ear.

It takes Seungcheol a moment to register that, a moment longer to actually react because Jihoon’s hand is still in his hair.

“What?”

Jihoon blinks at him and pulls his hand away slowly. He looks caught for a second, trapped, and then his soft nervous blade of a smile cuts through the scene.

“Well, uhm, today’s like...my meal prep day. When I heard what happened, I did some meal prepping for you too.” He shrugs, moving his gaze somewhere just to the left of Seungcheol’s. “I...I just figured cooking would be the last thing on your mind right now, but if you want to recover quickly, it’s important that you eat well and not exert yourself unnecessarily.”

He’s twining his hands nervously now, starting to joggle his leg too, second guessing his entire life. “It’s just home cooking though. My grandmother's recipes mostly, nothing fancy. You don’t have to eat it if you don’t want obviously.”

Seungcheol stares at him with a new kind of wonder as something small and important gives way in his chest. He’s pretty used to Jihoon being unpredictable. It’s one of his favourite things about him actually. Keeps him on his toes. But he could never in a million years have predicted the guy would happily spend an afternoon cooking for him.

There’s something eerily and unexpectedly domestic about that. Maybe even, dare he say it, romantic?

“You meal prepped for me.” He murmurs without being aware that his mouth is even open. “That’s like... the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

That provokes a laugh and a bashful head duck.

“It’s just lunch and dinner for the week. I didn’t include breakfast cause I know you usually just have a protein shake. But I did cut you up some veggies to snack on. Like carrot sticks and celery and cucumber. And I made you some hummus to dip them in.”

Seungcheol widens his eyes exaggeratedly, gasping, “You prepped me some basic bitch snacks too? God damn,” before letting his gaze narrow in affected apprehension, “What are you playing at, man? Huh? Why you looking to butter me up? You know you’re already my favourite, right?”

Jihoon makes a strangled laugh, wringing his hands into knots between his knees.

“Dude, shut up, it’s not that big a deal. I’m not... you’re...you’re always getting me food and looking out for me. I’m just returning the favour. Not like I gave you a kidney.”

Seungcheol slides closer to him, humming lightly and head-butting his shoulder. “But it kind of is. You meal prepped for me Hoonie. Next we’ll be making cheeseboards and airing bottles of wine and inviting our friends over to discuss politics and shit. Like, you know, how deeply-committed married couples do.”

Jihoon snorts like he doesn’t even want to deign that with a response, but he’s blushing hotly now, pushing quickly to his feet.

“Come on, you can’t stay here. It’s no good for your back and you’re too exposed. Let’s get you upstairs so you can get horizontal.” He says, smoothing his hand down his hoodie, before offering Seungcheol a hand up.

Seungcheol lets himself be shepherded upstairs, and if he exaggerates the injury a little along the way to garner more sympathy, who can really blame him? He rarely gets anyone fussing over him like this. Besides there’s nothing funnier than the way Jihoon is guiding him carefully up the stairs, hands wrapped around his elbow, telling him ‘okay, we got three more steps to go, watch out for the rug,’ like he’s actually walking an escapee senile patient back to bed.

When they reach his bedroom, Seungcheol leans in the doorway a minute, feeling something tighten in his chest as he watches Jihoon spring into action—drawing the curtains shut and pulling back the covers on the bed, fluffing the pillows judiciously.

Seungcheol wants to touch him something awful, just now, push his hands under Jihoon’s shirt and bend him over the table. The urge is blaring around in his head, so loud and insistent he almost can’t think past it. He closes eyes, trying to banish the thought.

It must concern Jihoon, because he hears him step in close, feels his body warm against his like he’s going in for a hug. So close that when he opens his eyes, Jihoon’s sweetly worried face is right there, staring up at his, and he really feels the height difference between them.

“Oh damn man. Are you hurting that bad?” Jihoon whispers, sweeping a thumb over Seungcheol’s eyebrow, smoothing along the gentle ridge, his fingers slipping through the uneven fringe of his hair.

Seungcheol’s heart thumps unevenly in his chest, and he has to swallow around a suddenly dry mouth.

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”

Seungcheol wasn’t even trying to be a total stick in the mud tonight.

His phone has stayed firmly in his pocket, and he is socializing just fine, chatting with a couple of guys from his team, both freshman. But he’s steered well away from where the dancing and the games of flip-cup and pong are happening, which of course, is where all the action is, and people are noticing. Before Jihoon came along, he would have been right in the thick of it, scoring fast and often. Thank you, next. Now he’s hanging out in the college student version of the Supervised Play Area, nursing the same beer he’s been nursing all night, and barely even nodding at the girls who say hello to him as they pass.

People keep asking him if he’s feeling okay. Soonyoung sidles up to him at one point to tell him that some people even think he’s “found Jesus” in a bid to horrify him into getting some action, but Seungcheol just shrugs.

He is a-ok with people thinking that if it means they stop trying it on.

An hour or so in, someone falls heavily against his back, almost causing him to spill his drink. He shoves them off and glances over his shoulder in warning, and spots Sehun straightening up from where he’d almost tripped over himself in his drunken stupor.

Seungcheol tips his chin up in a mute acknowledgement, helps him regain his balance, but Sehun isn’t content to let it stay there.

“Choi, hey. I was looking for you man. I got something really important to tell you.”

“Oh goodie. I’m all ears.” Seungcheol says, in a false lilt of a voice.

He’s always been very good at not listening when he feels like it, tuning the shit talk out so he can keep a level head, but Sehun, the motherfucker, obviously has his number. Knows just what to say to pique his interest and keep him listening.

“It’s about that Jihoon guy. You know, that little nerd you’re obsessed with. I was thinking about him the other day and I remembered where I recognised him from.” Sehun tells him, having to speak stupidly loud to be heard over the pulse of the music.

Seungcheol lifts his beer to his mouth. Squints in the general direction of the guy without fully looking at him, trying to figure out his angle.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yep,”  Sehun nods, grinning eagerly. He leans forward like he’s telling him a secret, looking surprisingly more sober. “I fucked him once.”

Conversation stops around them, the two chatting freshman in their lose circle falling silent, waiting to see how this conversation is going to spin out.

It’s so awkwardly and suddenly quiet in fact, Seungcheol can actually hear the music for a change, hear the people fucking in the small downstairs bathroom, and it makes everyone else in the room freeze, unsure of what’s going on, or where the tension is coming from.

Sehun doesn’t take that as a hint to stop talking. If anything he seems to relish having all eyes on him.

“It was last year some time, early in the year, I think. I started chatting to him on some dating app, and we ended up hooking up.”

Something ugly starts to crawl its way up Seungcheol’s chest. He doesn’t know why Sehun’s telling him this. Why now. Except, he sort of does, and it makes him tighten his hand around the bottle in his hand, fingers overlapping his thumb. He feels the give of the glass, wonders how much pressure it would take to shatter it, then shakes his head and takes a slow sip.

“Cool story. Thanks for sharing.” He says after a tense drawn-out moment.

Sehun’s eyes flare, and he sneers, “It’s not a story man. It happened.”

Seungcheol feels a shadow of unease creep in, even as he rolls his eyes impatiently and spreads his palms.

“Okay. Congratulations man. You fucked a guy I like—" He kills the rest his beer in one long swallow, smacks the bottle down on a nearby table. “You wanna shut up about it now?” He grits out, and then feels stupid, to be the first one to raise his voice, to show his hand like that.

One of the freshman, in a clear effort to diffuse the tension, wades in then with his own take.

“I think you might have him confused with someone else man. Jihoon is...I don’t think he strikes me as the hooking up type.”

Sehun whips his head around to glare at him, sneering, “No, no—it was definitely him. I remember now. He was really chatty when we were messaging, but super shy in person. Couldn’t hold a conversation to save his life. I got bored of him real quick and suggested we go back to my room. It must have been his first time cause he made a lot of noise. I had to keep telling him to shut up. Or maybe I was just too rough with him,” He tilts his head to smile sweetly at Seungcheol, timing the delivery perfectly. “Pretty sure I made him cry."

Seungcheol doesn’t, as a rule, start shit. He’ll finish it easy as pie, but you gotta really push his buttons to get a reaction out of him, and hearing Sehun say that—it’s like taking a baseball bat to the control panel.

The burst of anger that rings through catches him off-guard, comes out of nowhere. He doesn’t even warn the guy to watch his mouth, he just lays into him with his fists, catching him in the face and on the mouth, and twice under the ribs, right at his kidneys, just to make sure he’ll be pissing blood for a while after the bruises heal.

The room is chaotic blur for a few seconds, people ducking out of their way and guys shouting "shit, shit", and Seungcheol registers very little of it, only Sehun trying to cover up his face with his arms, croaking at him to stop, he's sorry. He didn't mean any of it. 

Seungcheol forces his hand away from his face to snarl at him, "yes you fucking did" and punches him a couple more times for good measure. 

He doesn’t think he’d be able to recognize himself if he could see this scene from outside his own body. This doesn’t feel like him at all, and yet he doesn’t stop until someone fists a hand in the back of his jacket and hauls him back.

“That’s enough. You made your point man, ease up before you do some lasting damage.” He hears Wonho say in his ear, yanking hard around his middle.

Wonho must think he’s breaking up just another alcohol-fuelled fight between two unknowns, cause he frowns when he spots it’s Sehun groaning on the floor, then does a full body double take when he recognises Seungcheol standing over him.

“Cheol? Jesus man, what’s going on? What he do?”

But Seungcheol’s already blowing past him and his hesitantly reaching hand, brushing past the crowd of onlookers, heading for the front door.

He probably owes someone an explanation, but his chest heaves from the anger still rushing through him, and he isn’t quite ready to let go of it yet. He isn’t really thinking about where he’s going, he just lets his feet take him as far away as possible.

Once his world comes into focus again, he finds himself in the park, rinsing his split knuckles out in one of the drinking fountains. His hands are shaking, adrenaline still skimming through his veins, but there’s no outlet to be found out here.

He finds a crushed-up soda can on the sidewalk and kicks it along in front of him for a while, until someone coming in the opposite direction traps it under their shoe on the next kick, and crushes it flat.

Seungcheol whips his head up, ready to snarl, hey, that was my can, then realises it’s actually Mingyu standing there, watching him like he’s waiting for round two.

“Drew the short straw, did you?” Seungcheol grumbles, jamming his hands into his pockets.

Mingyu shrugs, but he has this nervous look on his face that Seungcheol has only ever known when cut with a considerate amount of humour. There’s no humour now though; he looks genuinely wary. This side of Seungcheol is new to him after all.

“They figured I was less likely to get punched than everyone else; I’m very loveable apparently. Won’t lie though, I had mixed feelings about it. You’re a scary motherfucker when you want to be, huh.”

Seungcheol blows out a sigh, flexing his aching fingers. He looks around for somewhere to sit, but it’s too far to backtrack to the nearest bench, so he flops onto the damp grass and pulls his hand over his face, wishing for a do-over on the whole night.

Mingyu comes to stand over him, blocking the streetlight overhead.

“So what the hell was that back there?” He asks, sounding reined in and cautious, like the words are landmines.

The question throws Seungcheol off a little, kind of pisses him off too. He wrenches his hand through the grass under him, soil under his nails and the muscles of his arm pulled tight as guitar strings.

“What? What was what? It’s just two guys having it out. It’s normal. Stop act like you haven’t seen it before; we’re always breaking up fights in here.”

A strained smile whisks across Mingyu’s face.

“Yeah, sure, but it’s usually you defusing the situation—not Wonho, so forgive me for being a little taken aback when you start wailing on someone out of the blue.”

“It wasn’t out of the blue. He was asking for it.”  Seungcheol snaps, feeling inexplicable anger in his throat. He tears up a lump of grass, feeling destructive, and punches it back into the earth. “Didn’t you hear what he fucking said? He was talking about Jihoon. He was saying shit to provoke me, to get a reaction—"

“And it looks like you gave him exactly what he wanted, cause you know what he’s doing now? He’s walking around with a big smile on his face, asking around for witnesses, bragging about how’s he’s gonna press charges and get Choi Seungcheol kicked out of college. The only reason that isn’t gonna pan out the way he wanted, is cause you’ve got so many friends back there running damage control for you, ready to swear it never happened. So yeah, good job walking into that cluster fuck. Hope it was worth it.”

Seungcheol drags in a deep breath, preparing to argue, but he feels very tired all of a sudden. He should have known better—however the fuck he may feel about Jihoon, he should know better that to solve problems with his fists. He can see it now too, the way Sehun had played him.

He breathes out slowly, letting shoulders fall slack, and squeezes his eyes shut so tightly he sees wormholes.

When he opens them again, Mingyu’s frown has shifted into a dim smile, kind, without mockery.

“Look man, Sehun’s an ass. We all think so. The only reason we tolerate him is cause you manage it somehow. Nobody cares that you whooped his ass, we just don’t want to see you suspended over something this trivial. You can’t let that idiot’s shit talking get to you like that again.”

A crooked half-laugh crams Seungcheol’s throat, hurts when he swallows against it. He knuckles at his forehead, grinding bone against bone.

“It wasn’t shit talking though, was it.”

Shallow lines appear on Mingyu’s forehead, like he’s not tracking, and it’s then that Seungcheol realises he doesn’t know. Jihoon never told him about his first time, didn’t tell him that it was really painful. That the guy was aggressive and demanding, and that it scared him off trying stuff.

“How come you don’t know?” he says, before his brain can remind his mouth that it’s not his story to tell.

Mingyu looks alarmed, then his brow furrows slowly.

“What are you talking about?”

Seungcheol sits up abruptly, wiping his grass-stained hand on his jeans.

“Jihoon, man. I’m talking about Jihoon. Aren’t you like... his best friend? Doesn’t he talk to you about stuff?”

Mingyu just stares at him for a moment, then snaps his head back and forth briskly.

“He talks to me about some stuff, but not everything. He’s pretty private about a lot of the big stuff. Prefers to listen more than share.” He pauses, scuffing his shoe on the sidewalk to hear the rasp, “And I think you’ve surpassed me on the whole best friend thing a while back Cheol. You’re definitely his best friend now.”

“W-what, really?”  Seungcheol asks helplessly, a vertigo sense of tailspin unravelling in his stomach. Somehow, he’d never even considered that possibility, and just thinking that it might be true shouldn’t make his gut warm and his smile come unbidden, but it does.

Mingyu sighs, drops to sit next to him on the grass. He pulls a bottle of Jack out of his jacket and cracks it open, takes a swig before handing it over.

“I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but he thinks the sun shines out of your ass. It’s always Cheol this, Cheol that, Cheol, Cheol, Cheol. I mean, I am a very close second. We’re basically neck and neck, but I don’t skip out on parties to watch movies in his dorm and I’ve never even tried to understand that DnD shit he likes. You put in all this extra effort to cater to him, and he really appreciates it. He thinks you’re the best person he’s ever met.”

Seungcheol takes a sip from the bottle, feeling his heartrate kick up, a happy buzz clouding his mind, but it’s not the alcohol.

This is something new.

They’re both pretty buzzed a couple of hours later, stumbling and giggling down the path, so wasted they can barely keep to it, veering off and on to the grass.

Seungcheol is just drunk enough that he feels like he’s glowing inside, and everything Mingyu says is hilarious. Just exactly drunk enough that he can forget for whole minutes at a time why they were drinking in the park in the first place, why his knuckles are all bruised and tender.

He comes to a sudden stop in the middle of the sidewalk, blinking, and tries to remember which way he’d been walking. This is definitely not the way back to the frat house, but whatever reason he had for taking the scenic route home, has evaporated the second he stepped out of the park.

“Oh shit, dude. I can’t find my key card. I think I...I think I dropped it back in the park,” says Mingyu’s voice just behind him, probably drunker than he’s letting on.

Seungcheol’s eyes unfocus and he’s got to force them into clarity, the world blurring and reforming around him. It’s then that he realises the junior dorm building is just up ahead, and that’s where they’re heading.

“Can’t you just call Jihoon? Ask him to open the door for us?”

Mingyu jerks his head, wobbling on his feet.

“And disturb his beauty sleep? He won’t like that man.”

Seungcheol’s answer is interrupted by a yawn, his words drawn out.

“What’s he needin beauty sleep for? Ain’t he pretty enough.”

Mingyu grins tauntingly, swaying into him, “You should say that to him, if he starts yelling at us for waking him. Actually, you should say that to him anyway. This whole will they-wont they shit is getting old. You need to just go straight for the throat man. Just tell him you wanna bang him already.”

The fog lifts momentarily in Seungcheol’s alcohol-clouded head at the thought, and he says without thinking, his mind dim and his connection to the world threadbare, “That’s the thing man. I don’t think I want to fuck him anymore. I want to like... make love to him.”

He isn’t aware he’s spoken out loud until he hears Mingyu inhale sharply with surprise, and turns to find him staring back, his face cleaned out and a little bit scared.

“Okay, uh, maybe don’t tell him that. Maybe keep that to yourself for now. You sound like a serial killer when you say it like that.”

Seungcheol cracks up, helpless, unavoidable drunk laughter, at the look on his face. He should be cringing, flushing with embarrassment, but he isn’t because, well, he’s happy. He’s in the quiet space of drunk that comes between a buzz and a blackout, and he honestly doesn’t care that someone knows he wants to do right by Jihoon. That he wants to give it to him all slow and sweet and spoon with him afterwards, make him eggs for breakfast just the way he likes them. (Hard boiled for ten thousand years so there are no ‘runny yolk surprises’)

Hell, if Jihoon’s awake when they finally get to the dorm, he thinks he might just have to come out and say it, ‘I like you man. I like you more than I have ever liked anyone else.’

Mingyu laughs again, closer to hysterical, which makes him realise he might have just said that bit out loud too.

“You’ve really fallen for him, huh?”

Seungcheol lowers his head into his hands, scrubbing his hands fast across his face, the calluses on his palms rasping against stubble. He has mostly come to terms with the fact that he's whipped for this guy, but it still catches him off guard at times, how very far he's fallen.

“Yeah, guess I have.” He says on another yawn, the word stretching out long and deep.

They’re both in bad shape by the time they reach the junior dorms, and Seungcheol has to prop himself up against the wall while he waits for Mingyu to fumble his phone out of his pocket. He listens with half an ear on the conversation that ensues, finds himself smiling as Jihoon’s sleep-addled voice barks at his roommate to hurry the fuck up and tell him what he wants.

“Where do you see it going?” Mingyu throws out once he pockets his phone. “If it ever actually gets off the ground I mean.”

“All the way man.” Seungcheol answers, matter of fact. Maybe it’s the drunk talking, but for once in his life it’s not so hard to imagine.

“All the way?” Mingyu gives him a conspiratorial smile. “That sounds pretty serious. Does that mean you’re gonna marry him?”

Seungcheol scrubs a hand over his face and he tips his head back against the wall.

“Yeah, sure, why the hell not,” he decides in a drunken fit of absolute sincerity. “But we gotta do all that cutesy couple stuff first. I’m gonna take him on a date. Lots of dates, and I’m gonna buy him gifts, and write him poetry, and introduce him to my family. Not my parents though, cause they’re dicks—but my brothers, and my grandparents. And we’re going to move in together, and go on vacation, and I’m gonna get a tattoo of his scowly little face on my arm, so he’s always with me. And he can get one of me. Oh, we should get matching tattoos!”

Mingyu moves his head slightly, a restricted nod.

“I’ll be your best man at your wedding, right?”

Seungcheol nods back seriously. He nearly says something then—something about how Mingyu will have to be Jihoon’s best man, cause he’s pretty sure Wonwoo would be incredibly offended if he didn’t pick him—but then he realises the door is open now, and Jihoon’s scowly little face is watching them from a few feet away. Waiting for them to get their shit together and come inside.

A late-afternoon run seemed like a good idea an hour ago, until the heaven opens, pelting the ground with freezing rain. With the wind buffeting it directly into his face, it became unbearable before long and he had to turn back early. Now his chest feels tight, his breathing too rough, and even with the hood pulled up, his hair is soaked through, face numb.

A few of the guys are playing video games in the living room when he gets back, but he goes straight upstairs to his room, not ready to get drawn into a conversation. He lets the door slam behind him, yanks the earbuds out of his ears and pulls his t-shirt, soaked through with rain and sweat, over his head.

A hot shower should warm him up—and then, it’s straight to bed for him. No going out tonight.

He tosses his t-shirt in the general direction of the laundry hamper and starts on the waistband of his joggers, until he glances left and nearly has a fucking heart attack.

Sitting in the swivel chair by the desk, arms wrapped around himself in a hug, is Jihoon.

It’s the last place Seungcheol expected to bump into him—he honestly didn’t think Jihoon would want to see him again for a while— and instead of feeling relieved to see that’s not the case, he feels caught out, apprehensive.

On the surface, he thinks he’s done a good job of acting normal this past week, but behind closed doors, he’s mentally kicking himself since that night in the dorm, unable to quash the weight in his stomach when he recalls the muted confusion on Jihoon’s face when he saw how Seungcheol was looking at him, the rise of hectic colour in his cheeks, the pretty shock when he was basically cuddled against his will.

It seemed like such a good idea at the time, thinking he could just spoon Jihoon a bit and everything would be okay, but in the sober light of day, he immediately knew he’d fucked up when he awoke alone in the bed and found Jihoon nursing a coffee in the desk chair, dark circles under his eyes like he’d been too afraid to sleep.

It was like one of those pivotal moments people have, where a person is pushed to change their ways, and for Seungcheol it was a conscious decision to never get that drunk again. It was dumb to go back to the dorm with Mingyu, real smooth-brain plan he had going there, and yeah, it seems nothing happened beyond some non-consensual spooning, but he could tell Jihoon was feeling skittish about it, watching him real close over breakfast.

He was sure whatever trust that existed between them was gone, but—now Jihoon is here, just chilling in his room like it’s a regular Thursday, and he doesn’t have the first clue what to say.

There’s just so much.

Jihoon breaks the silence first, forestalling any of the thousand confused questions he wants to ask.

“Did I scare you?”

Seungcheol shakes his head, his hair flopping across his forehead, rain stinging in his eyes. His chest tightens for a second before releasing.

“No, of course not. I’ve got incredible situational awareness; nothing can take me by surprise. Now, excuse me while I go change my pants.”

Jihoon smiles and licks his lips nervously, saying, “Sorry, I was gonna wait for you downstairs, but Soonyoung said it was okay to come right up.”

“And he was right to,” Seungcheol hurries to assure, smiling without seeming to realize it. “You’re always welcome in my room man, you know that. Besides, I’m always chilling at yours; it’s only fair you get to chill at mine too.”

Jihoon nods, his fine mouth carefully set.

"Still, I probably should give you some privacy. Let you get changed it peace—”

He starts to stand up, but Seungcheol plants a hand on his shoulder and pushes him back down.

“Dude, sit. It’s fine.”

Jihoon stays seated this time, but he starts fiddling with the overlong sleeve of his hoodie, thoughtlessly anxious for reasons that aren’t immediately clear. He doesn’t seem in the right head space for a conversation right now, so Seungcheol, never one to tolerate an awkward pause, starts rattling on about random stuff as he continues stripping out of his clothes. A recent movie he watched: the latest developments in the prank war: the B+ he got on a recent paper—not the grade he was hoping for, but maybe he can make it up in the exam. He always performs better under pressure.

He’s mostly trying to figure out if they’re hitting normal behaviour, or some awkward cardboard version of themselves. He thinks he’s doing okay, but Jihoon’s doing that thing he does sometimes, where he looks at everything and everywhere all at once. His eyes keep bouncing from Seungcheol’s chest up to his face, before dropping back down to his stomach, the waistband of his boxers, then up past his shoulders. His biceps, before skittering off to some random corner of the room.

It’s distracting as fuck at first. Makes a guy wanna reach over and hold him still, that is until Seungcheol peels off his boxers, turns to lob them in the hamper. When he turns back, Jihoon is staring down at the floor, in full on Cherry Tomato mode—barely moving, barely breathing, red as anything.

Seungcheol can’t tell where his eyes had been directed, but they must have been somewhere interesting to bring such intense colour to his cheeks.

When it finally dawns on him—holy shit, dude’s checking me out—he almost second guesses himself, but everything about Jihoon’s body language is so obvious, there’s no mistaking what’s happening. He’d laugh at the guy’s lack of subtlety, if it wasn’t exactly what he wanted.

By the time he’s peeled off his socks, dicked around with a towel for a bit, just patting pointlessly at his hair, Jihoon’s clearly not keeping up with the stream of bullshit he’s spouting. He’s beet red and stammering his replies, trying and failing to keep his eyes above Seungcheol’s neck.

“So then I said, patta cake patta cake, bakers man. Bake me a cake as fast as you can. And he said—"

Jihoon’s hand shoots up, cutting him off.

“Hi, sorry to interrupt, but uhm, are you planning on getting dressed any time soon?”

The question is so far from Seungcheol’s thoughts that it takes him entirely by surprise. He has to work real hard not to burst out laughing.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Is my nakedness making you uncomfortable?”

Jihoon lifts a hand to cover his face, pressing the heel into his eye socket.

“I don’t know if uncomfortable is the right word, but it’s sure as hell distracting. Put some pants on at least, Jesus. I don’t know where to look.”

Seungcheol raises an eyebrows and slowly brings a hand up to point at his face.

“How about up here. At my face.”

Jihoon blushes again and says a little too quickly, “I’m trying!”

Snorting, Seungcheol takes mercy on him and grabs a pair of boxers from the drawer, pulls them on before he’s properly dried off. They stick to his hips in splotchy wet patches, but Jihoon breathes such an audible sigh of relief after, he can’t help but laugh again.

“Okay, I gotta ask, if a little nudity makes you uncomfortable, how the hell do you share a room with Mingyu? That guy’s flashing his ass every chance he gets.”

“Tell me about it,” Jihoon snorts, harsh and broken-off. “I’ve seen him naked more times than I’ve seen myself. I woke up from a nap once, and he was just standing in front of the mirror, bare assed, just checking himself out. Who does that?”

Seungcheol holds completely still, then answers sheepishly.

“Uh, I do, actually. I do that.”

Jihoon's face knots, a strangled noise cutting off in his throat. 

“Why?”

“I dunno.” Seungcheol shrugs affably, “Sometimes I’m psyching myself up before a big game, and it feels more serious when I’m doing it naked. Sometimes I just want to see what my dick looks like from a different perspective.” He shrugs again. “Maybe it is a weird thing to do, but I’ve just always done it.”

Jihoon flashes a small smile.

“Well, I suppose I would probably check myself out too if I looked like..." He trails off, making a gesture at Seungcheol's body that might have been a compliment if he could bring himself to use actual words. 

Seungcheol decides to take it as one anyway, drops his head to spare a glance down the length of his body. He’s always being complimented on his shoulders, and his ass and thighs are apparently phenomenal, but there are still parts of himself he’d like to work on.

“Thanks man, that's flattering as hell, but I don't check myself out cause I think I look good. I mean, there's lots of room for improvement. Just look at my stomach.”

Jihoon levels a look at him, one that runs the length of his body.

“Your chiselled washboard abs? Yeah, what about em?”

Seungcheol barks a laugh, reaching down to pinch the softness around his belly that just never seems to melt off despite all the cardio and lifting he does.

“Look, it’s all squishy around here. No matter what I do I can’t seem to shift it. Bet you don’t have a belly as squishy as mine.”

Jihoon laughs at him, an incredulous and humourless chuckle full of challenge then lifts the edge of his hoodie up to flash his stomach.

“I do too.”

Seungcheol blinks, then blinks again, then has to stagger over to get a close up look.

He’d pictured Jihoon would be slender all over, a flat stomach to contrast those shapely thighs and that ass that just won’t quit. But the guy’s just gone and pulled the rug out from under his feet cause that’s a fucking six pack he’s sporting. The sleekest fucking six pack Seungcheol’s ever seen in his life.

“You fucking liar. You have the balls to say you’ve got belly fat, then you whip out a six pack and rub it in my face. What the hell, Tomato? Not cool.” He shakes his head, feigning annoyance.

“That’s only there cause I’m skinny. It’s not a real six pack.” Jihoon laughs, this harsh bitter thing that makes Seungcheol dart his eyes up to him in genuine surprise.

“Uh, yeah it is. Look, see,” He says, poking at Jihoon’s six pack, “That’s solid muscle right there, man, no doubt about it.”

“But it’s small.” Jihoon huffs, shoving his shirt and hoodie back down.

Seungcheol straightens up to his full height and plasters on his best disapproving face.

“So? You’re a small guy, you’re gonna have proportionally smaller muscles for your body size. If we all had the same sized muscles in our body, you’d be walking around here looking like fleshy Optimus Prime, and that’s not a good look Jihoon. Now, I know you love Optimus Prime, but do you really want his body shape?”

“No,” Jihoon says, the beginning of a smile curling his lips.

“Exactly,” Seungcheol pokes him in the chest. He picks up a towel and roughly swipes at his face, eyeing the hectic pink circles blooming on Jihoon’s cheeks. “Anyway, you can’t bring yourself down just cause you don’t look like someone else. If I did that, I’d cry every time I look at Wonho, and he’d cry every time he looked at John Cena. We all gotta work with what we have, and from what I can see, you’re doing a stellar job.”

Jihoon blushes harder and clears his throat, but he’s dimpling sweetly and not shying away from the praise at all.

Seungcheol feels a little stab of triumph at that.

He turns around to grab a pair of fleecy jogging bottoms and tugs them on, glad that his skin’s a little less freezing than it was a few minutes ago.

“Going back to the whole aversion to nudity thing. I’m curious how you coped in school, when everyone had to change and shower around each other in Physical ed?”

He regrets asking almost immediately, because Jihoon’s happy little smile falters slightly, something darker in his expression taking over. He moves his shoulders awkwardly, keeps his eyes studiously away.

“I always got a note, so I wouldn’t have to participate in physical ed.”

“Always?” Seungcheol says, brow furrowing. “They let you skip the whole class?”

Jihoon pulls his legs up, folding them against his chest and hugging himself into an anxious ball.

“My anxiety was at its worst back then; I used to make myself physically sick just thinking about the whole locker room situation, so my family doctor provided me with an exclusion letter.” He shrugs, laughs a bit desolately. “And I was getting picked on a lot back then too, so that didn’t exactly help motivate me to do things differently.”

Seungcheol bites the inside of his cheek, thinking that over.

“What were you so afraid of?”

Jihoon flits his hand through the air, encompassing everything.

“It was always something different. I’d work on conquering one fear with my therapist, and a new one would quickly take its place. Admittedly, some of it was basic teenage insecurity, coming to the realisation I was gay, but a lot of it came down to this irrational, intrusive thought process I’d developed. When I look at other people, other guys especially, my brain wants to fixate on little details, and I can’t get it to stop, and then I panic, and worry they think I’m looking at them. And I am looking at them, but not necessarily for the reason they think, and then I get all—” he trails off, combing his hand fast through his hair in frustration.

“Overstimulated?” Seungcheol chimes in with a smirk.

It takes Jihoon a minute to get it—still trying to sort out his own thoughts, probably—but then he does and he’s rolling his eyes, snorting. “Yeah. That too.”

His shoulders lose a bit of their tension as he breathes out.

“Anyway, it took a lot of work to break out of that mind-set. I can just about handle looking at myself, but when other people get naked too, I start to panic. Especially when they’re, uhm,” He pauses, clears his throat as if to say more, but then shuts his mouth, his ears dull red with embarrassment.

Seungcheol wishes he can relate to that feeling, but he can’t. He’s been in and out of locker rooms his entire life. Seen every shaped dick there is to see, and it just doesn’t faze him. Which gets him thinking;

“Maybe I can help you work on that. Maybe I’ll bring you down to the team’s changing rooms after practice some day, and you can hang with us while we’re getting changed. It can be like that ERP therapy we were talking about.”

There’s a messy snort, the beginning of a laugh, until Jihoon glances over, realises it wasn’t a joke.

“You can’t be serious.”

Seungcheol quirks and eyebrow, riveted by the colour rising on his face. He was being serious, point of fact, but teasing Jihoon is too entertaining an opportunity to pass up.

“Sure I am. I think it would be good for you. You can watch us shower, get comfortable with the idea of being around a bunch of naked dudes. Then in time, who knows, maybe you’ll feel comfortable enough to get naked too, jump in the shower with us. Maybe even give a few of the guys a little friendly scrub down.”

Jihoon throws him a look of utter horror, so undiluted that it almost knocks Seungcheol down, kills the laughter building in his chest. He affects a wistful expression instead, smiling at nothing.

“It’ll be great. Ooh, and we can show you how to play hide the soap and seek. That’s a bonafide locker room tradition everyone loves.”

Jihoon chews on his lip a moment, like he’s afraid to ask.

“W-what’s hide the soap and seek?”

“You’ve never heard of it? It’s a lot of fun man, basically we hide a bar of soap up someone’s butt and everyone has to look for it. The first person to find it gets to hide the bar of soap the next week.”

Jihoon’s mouth drops open a fraction, and he blinks fast, his throat moving as he swallows. He’s looking right at Seungcheol, but seems to completely miss the part where this is clearly a joke, the part where Seungcheol’s already struggling to stifle his snickers.

“Do...do you use the same bar each time?” He croaks, and that’s what gets Seungcheol cracking up, the earnest this-all-sounds-very-strange-but-I-want-to-be-understanding expression on his face.

He laughs so hard tears stream down his cheeks and he has to brace himself against the wardrobe for a minute, then he actually has to sit down on the bed cause his knees are honest to God weak. Every time he thinks his laughter is starting to subside, it just starts back up again when he looks over at Jihoon, catches sight of his supremely unimpressed 😑 are you done? look.

“Oh god...you’re too fucking cute man.” He says, palming tears from his eyes as his snickers finally die down. “Like, literally the cutest guy in the world. Please don’t ever change.”

Jihoon makes a disgruntled sound and spins his chair away to blush in private, face set in a concentrated scowl.

His ears are still pink when Seungcheol reaches for him, fingertips snagging on the loose sleeve of his hoodie to pull his chair over to the bed. His eyes wicker dangerously, attention narrowing down to that sliver of contact, and Seungcheol expects to be slapped away, but to his surprise Jihoon allows himself to be tugged slowly closer, until there’s barely an inch of space separating them.

Some part of Seungcheol wants to take the chance, wants to take a leap of faith and lean over to steal a kiss, trust their friendship to navigate any awkwardness that may ensue, because this has to mean something, right? The fact that Jihoon has come here, under his own steam, to hang out with him. But a bigger part is more afraid of doing irreparable damage, closing the door on this forever, and that’s not a risk he’s ready to take. At least, not right now.  

He reaches out to brush his knuckles against Jihoon’s heated cheek instead, tucks his fingers around his chin to pull his gaze around. There’s a quick stab of disappointment when Jihoon gasps and flinches, only for Jihoon to capture his hand before he can pull it away.

“Jesus, your hands are freezing.” He says in a jagged whisper.

Seungcheol moves his shoulders blamelessly. A hitched little breath catches in his throat when Jihoon grabs hold of his other hand too, pulls them both between his.

“Guess I picked a bad time to go out for a run.”

“I’ll say.” Jihoon huffs, valiantly attempting to rub some warmth back into his fingers, “You better get a shirt on before you catch a cold.”

“Is that genuine concern for my health, or are you just sick of staring at my washboard abs.” Seungcheol drawls, tacking on a little wink to take any possible sting out of it.

He earns himself an eye roll and a sharp flick to the ear, but he’s grinning as he steps over to the wardrobe, finds and drags a dry shirt over his head, because Jihoon is curling back up in his seat, settling in like he’s planning to stay while.

The headache Seungcheol wakes up to already tells him he made some very poor decisions last night, but it’s the massive bruise on his forehead, beating out a heavy staccato rhythm against his temples that tells him just how bad.

He’s not sure how or when that happened. He has a vague recollection of inviting someone up to his room at some point, but he can’t remember if that had been a dream or memory, and there’s no one around to ask anyway; the other side of the bed is empty, the spare blanket folded neatly at the foot of the bed.

Groaning, he stumbles to his feet, and nearly trips over the black spandex pants bunched around his ankles. They’re torn right down the middle seam, and he doesn’t remember how that happened either, or why he’d try to take them off but not the rest of his fucking costume.

The rest of the house is already awake and congregated around the kitchen table when he makes it downstairs, drinking coffee and murmuring amongst each other. Wonho’s the first to spot him approaching from where he’s fiddling about at the stove in his boxers, and he clears his throat loudly, which has everyone else shutting up some reason.

“Morning man,” He sets a pile of deformed pancakes and too crispy bacon down with a heavy thunk that makes Seungcheol’s head pound. “Saved you a plate.”

Seungcheol eyes him suspiciously, then turns his flinty gaze to every other face at the table.

They’re all looking various levels of shattered and shit faced, which seems about right; they’d all tried to match him drink for drink again, and that never goes well, and he distinctly remembers they were all still knocking back shots when he left to go upstairs, so they must be really feeling it this morning. But if that’s the case—how come they’re all up before he is, slogging their way through breakfast when they could be sleeping it off? Why are they all nervously side-eyeing him like he’s a gorilla in the zoo?

He turns and gets a bottle of water from the fridge, untwists the cap and then takes a long swallow, leaning back against his kitchen counter. When he’s done he turns to his friends and opens his arms in a lay-it-on-me gesture.

“Alright. What happened? What did I do?”

“Eh, what do you mean buddy? Nothing happened.”  Junhui volunteers, setting his coffee aside.

Seungcheol points at the massive bump on his head.

“Then where did I get this from? And why else would you be saving me bacon and serving me up some butt shaped pancakes if nothing bad happened?’

“Hey, those were meant to be hearts. I’m sorry my batter isn’t up to your standards, but they were made with love.” Wonho replies darkly, gesturing at him with the spatula.

Seungcheol rubs at his temples and groans again when he touches the bruise. He turns around to open the freezer this time, needing something brutally cold to press against his forehead, and gets hit with this image, this sudden flash of memory from last night—Jihoon looking up at him with those deer in the headlight eyes of his, standing close enough to kiss.

The door to the fridge slowly drifts closed.

An intense pressure forms around his heart and doesn’t let up until he says, strangled, frightened, “Did it involve Jihoon? Did I do something to upset him?”

There’s an indistinguishable murmur of conversation around the table, before Soonyoung volunteers to speak this time.

“No, man. You didn’t do anything, and Jihoon’s fine. He left not that long ago actually, went back to his dorm with Gyu.”

The information sizzles through Seungcheol’s brain, and he surprised to hear his voice falter, almost crack, “He stayed the night?”

“Yeah, he must have.” Minghao says, looking concerned. “He came downstairs like an hour ago, and he was still in his costume, so we figured he must have stayed the night in your room. You brought him upstairs once the party started getting too crowded.”

“Aw fuck—" Seungcheol groans, fisting his hair.

Wonho flails the spatula in his direction.

“Settle down, there’s no reason to worry,” He says with his typical unforced confidence. “I talked to him, and he wasn’t like, stressed out or anything. If anything he looked more chill than I’ve ever seen him. We even gave him some pancakes to go, and he seemed pretty happy. Right guys?”

Everyone nods, and Junhui comes around the table to wrap an arm around his neck, shaking him a little. The motion nauseating.

“Whatever you think you did wrong, you didn’t. You were a total insufferable simp all night. I promise.”

Seungcheol’s too out of it to do more than bat at him half-heartedly, but he’s feeling a little less anxious as drops into an empty stool and makes an admirable dent in his breakfast. He honestly doesn’t know what he’s going to do when he graduates and doesn’t have all of them babysitting him.

He tries to keep his head as blank and static as possible as he goes about the rest of his morning, helping with the clean up of the house and jumping in the shower, but flashes of Jihoon from the night before keep popping up—the way he bit his lip, how happy he sounded when Seungcheol offered to mix him his own special mocktail. How he got progressively less happy as the night wore on.

When he comes across the mask and cape of his costume stuffed in a random drawer in his room, the night before washes over him, imperfect in its details but all the crucial elements are there.

Last night....

Seungcheol really didn’t intend to drink this much.

He had every intention of pacing himself, watering down his drinks, cause that’s what you do when you’re hosting a party of this size. But the element of distraction presented by Jihoon in a tight spandex costume is somewhat more intense than he was prepared to deal with sober.

Now, he’s very close to being drunk, and he remembers enough from last time to know that being stupid drunk around Jihoon is not how he wants to end a night.

He only has himself to blame, really; he picked their costumes, he picked those goddamn leggings, and practical or not, Jihoon really needs to start including spandex in his regular wardrobe, okay. His ass is out of this world. So incredible Seungcheol’s probably never gonna look at another ass again.

“You want me to make you another one?” He hears himself saying, gesturing at the empty glass in Jihoon’s hand, possibly an attempt to redirect his thoughts. “Or uhm, something else maybe. I got a whole bunch of recipes I can modify for you.”

Jihoon blinks down at the glass cradled between his hands, almost like he’d forgotten he was holding it.

“Oh, uhm, no. I’m good thanks. Think I hit my limit. It was really good, though. Thank you.”

Seungcheol nods and takes the glass, studying him covertly as he sets it on the counter behind them.

He could be wrong, but Jihoon seems more nervous and hyperaware than usual, amplified by some invisible tension past the edges of Seungcheol’s perception.

And yes, okay, Seungcheol had essentially kidnapped him and brought him here, ignoring Jihoon’s low protests that he really needs to stay home, that he’s got too much work to do, and a pile of freshly laundered socks to match, and there’s this Netflix show he had to catch up on, and he hasn’t mentally prepared himself to socialise, etc, etc...But he soon mellowed out and started to smile once he was amongst the familiar faces of Seungcheol’s inner circle, going so far as to compliment a stranger on the “very cool” costume he was wearing.

That was a couple hours ago though, and now he seems to have retreated back in his shell. Come to think of it, Seungcheol can’t remember the last time he saw him smile, not since the party got too loud and overbearingly crowded, and holding a conservation became impossible unless you got right in each other’s faces.

Draining the last of his beer, Seungcheol lets his head fall back and to the side to speak into Jihoon’s ear over the thudding music.

“Hey, why don’t we go upstairs and chill in my room for a bit. I don’t know about you, but the noise is giving me a headache.”

Jihoon nods emphatically, obviously relieved to be escaping the party, so maybe it was just the intensity of the noise and crowd forcing him to retreat back into his shell. But even after, after Seungcheol brings him upstairs to the quiet sanctuary of his room, he just stands next to the giant Monstera plant at the window, petting idly at its leaves as he stares up at the sky, the far-away light of the stars.

Even at his most anxious, usually there’s be some chatter, some attempt at small talk to fill the silence, but he’s being oddly quiet right now. Something has muted him.

Seungcheol pulls off his cape and cowl and tosses them down on the floor, then scolds himself—idiot, you spent seven hours deep cleaning this room, don’t ruin the effect now—and quickly scoops them up, jams them into a random drawer. He smoothes one nervous hand down the back of his head, feeling disjointed and too-tall in the space that separates them.

“You okay Tomato?” He finally manages.

“Hm?” Jihoon says, voice far off, clearly thinking. He must feel Seungcheol’s keen gaze on his back, because he soon shakes himself out of it, clears his throat. “Sorry, yeah, just tired. I don’t usually stay up this late. I...I should probably head back to my dorm.”

Maybe he’s drunker than he thought, but somehow between one blink and the next, Seungcheol ends up closing the distance, hands coming up to butterfly around Jihoon’s hips.

Jihoon blinks up at him, all soft and confused and perfect, starting to blush, and Seungcheol is finding it unimaginably difficult to tear his eyes away from his mouth.

“Or you could stay the night,” He hears himself whisper. And he hadn’t meant to say it like that, all rough and breathless, but it’s been bouncing around in his head all night, the idea of it getting so late Jihoon has to stay over.

Jihoon smiles weakly before dropping his gaze again. Seungcheol sees his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows.

“But what if you want to bring someone up here? So you can...you know. Won’t I just get in the way?”

Seungcheol has to think carefully about his answer as a fog creeps over his better senses, because the first answer that comes to mind is probably the last thing he should be sharing out loud. Jihoon’s excited-pink cheeks will definitely get pinker if he read his mind right this second.

“Don’t worry man, I’m not planning to bring anyone else up here.”

Jihoon pulls in a deep breath and swallows several times, compulsive.

“Well, okay... If you’re sure. I guess it would be easier to just sleep here tonight, and I am pretty tired.”

Seungcheol nods and gestures towards the bed in a make yourself at home kind of way. He thinks about offering Jihoon a change of clothes, even though they’re nowhere near the same size, but one of his T-shirts would probably be more comfortable to sleep in than that tight spandex costume. Then he gets happily lost in his thoughts for a few minutes just picturing how that might look like, and the next time he looks over, Jihoon’s already toed out of his boots and settled on the bed, looking sleepy and just fucking adorable curled up under the blanket.

It makes something judder wildly in his chest for a second, just seeing him there, in his bed, before he forcibly squashes it down and takes a step back.

Jihoon catches his eye as he drops to sit on the edge of the desk, just a glance over the top of the blanket as he tucks it under his chin.

“You don’t have to sit with me Cheol. It’s still pretty early for you, I know. You can go back downstairs to your friends.”

Seungcheol is thrown for a loop, growing frustrated, no idea why Jihoon is saying that. Like he’s up here with him just to, what? Kill time till something better comes along?

Can’t he see Seungcheol’s exactly where he wants to be?

“Okay, so you’re clearly sad about something, and I don’t know what. But I know what’ll cheer you up,” He says, pushing off the desk.

 

That’s the last thing he remembers, and that horrible scared feeling from earlier comes welling back up, because it feels like a bad place for his mind to go blank. Where no one else can vouch for his conduct but Jihoon himself.

What did he do?

Jesus Christ, what did he say?

Pulling his phone off the charger, Seungcheol swipes it open and types out a quick message to Jihoon, sorry about last night, hope you’re okay?

He hovers over the ‘send’ button for a long moment, not sure what else to add, how much detail he should be asking for. He breathes in deep and makes himself push the button, then sits with his head in his hands, waiting for a reply.

He doesn’t know what he’s going to do if it turns out that he’s fucked things up too badly to be put right.

When he checks his phone for the fourth time, to prove to himself that it’s only been a few minutes and not the interminable hours it feels like, he’s almost startled when it starts to vibrate in his hand with an incoming call.

“Sorry for what?” Jihoon asks, sounding massively confused.

Pressing his fingers into his eye, Seungcheol speaks, haltingly, “For whatever I might have done when I was off my face. I don’t actually remember much, but I know I can do some pretty stupid shit when I’m drunk.”

“You can say that again.” Jihoon says, voice light and tinged with laughter.

Seungcheol blinks, thinking that over for a few seconds.

“What...what did I do?”

There is an excruciating silence, which is the trouble with questions like that: always at least a few seconds of pure torture, no matter how it turns out in the end. But then there’s a burst of messy laughter across the phone, Jihoon sounding all choked up and gasping and struggling for air.

“Well, for starters, you tried re-enact the entire Christopher Nolan Batman Trilogy for me.”

That’s definitely not what Seungcheol was expecting to hear.

“What?”

“It was an abridged version of course—” Jihoon says, clearly struggling not to start laughing again. “But you played all the parts yourself, did all the voices. You were Batman, the Joker, Bane, and even Alfred the butler. It was a one man show, and you were like, surprisingly coherent for most of it. Until you whacked your head trying to do a cartwheel.”

Seungcheol sputters unto a laugh, relief flaring so hot and bright that he can feel his face colouring. It feels like waking from a really bad dream where he had been about to die. 

“W-why was I attempting a cartwheel?”

On the other end of the line, Jihoon makes a noise like he’s been stabbed, all punched out and breathless. Seungcheol doesn’t think he’s ever heard him make that noise before.

“You were...were trying to show me this cool move Catwoman does, when she’s being escorted through the prison, but you just... immediately overbalanced and....and whacked your head on the bed.” He cuts himself off to drag in some much-needed air, gasping like he’s taking part in a marathon. “I tried to get you to sit down after that, cause there was this huge bump on your head, but you were so committed. Then, then you snagged your pants on the door and ripped them, and you were all like ‘Oh shit, Lucius Fox is gonna be pissed I damaged the bat suit.’” He breaks off with another peel of laughter, squeaky this time. “Aw man, I’m so sad you don’t remember. You had me in stitches.”

Seungcheol realises he does remember some of that actually. He remembers being so drunk he had undeserved confidence in his gymnastic abilities, and being all like ‘Hey, watch this’, and Jihoon giggling like an idiot when he landed on his ass, only for his face to appear over the side of the bed a second later, all worried looking, whispering at him, ‘Oh my god Cheol, are you okay?’

“So I—we’re cool? You’re happy you came in the end? You uhm, had fun?” he asks, in a poor attempt to sound normal.

Jihoon sighs, happy sounding, a quiet breath whistling out.

“Yeah, I think so. I mean, I can’t say I really enjoyed the party element of the party all that much, but I did enjoy the you part a lot. And I got some butt shaped pancakes for breakfast out of it too, so that’s a plus.”

Seungcheol holds in an embarrassing sigh of relief and let’s himself fall back into the bed.

“I think they’re supposed to be hearts.”

Jihoon makes a considering noise.

“Well, you can tell Wonho he has to work on his pancake batter game then. Those pancakes were definitely butt shaped. Sorry.”

Seungcheol yawns and puts his head down on the table, much to Soo-ah’s audible irritation.

She thinks he’s hungover, but he hasn’t been out all week. He’s just dead tired; back to back practice and lectures and coursework deadlines will do that to a guy, and he’s already tried explaining that, but there’s no hope of sympathy from that quarter. Every time he yawns or takes a second longer to answer a question all he gets is “I don’t know how you’re managing to maintain a 4.0 average when you still party so much. This is your third year. You need to start taking your degree seriously.”

She’s such a blow hard, honestly.

He lifts his head again when his phone buzzes on the table, and the message he sees doesn’t make a lot of sense at first.

‘You free? Hoon in library. Very sad. I’m stuck in practical.’

He’s not sure if Mingyu is letting him know Jihoon is sad (lame) because he’s spending time in the library when he’s got no classes, or if Mingyu’s sad (cry) because he’s got a practical, or if he’s just telling him Jihoon is in the library too, in case he wants to go pester him for a while, and he’s sad (disappointed) to be missing out.

Then he reads it a couple more times and realises it’s none of those fucking things.

“Oh shit. Uh, I gotta head out for a sec—” he says quickly, piling his papers up and shoving them haphazardly into his bag, before shoving it under the desk.

Soo-ah hardens her face, shakes her head.

“Uhm, no. We’re working here.”

“Too bad. Gotta help out my friend. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Seungcheol explains, saying the last bit over his shoulder as he darts out of the room.

He tries calling Jihoon, but his phone goes straight to voicemail, which means he’s somewhere out of service, and that does narrow things down a little. He’s probably in the stacks or the bathrooms, and it’s easier to check the latter first, so Seungcheol heads up a level.

Sure enough, as he exits the stairwell, he spots Jihoon in the distance, pacing back and forth outside the guy’s toilets. Even if he wasn’t the smallest snack on campus, Seungcheol would recognise that ass anywhere. God knows he stares at it enough.

He holds up a hand to get the guy’s attention, but Jihoon’s got his eyes firmly on the ground, head shaking back and forth slightly the way it does when he’s arguing with himself. Every few seconds he seems to notice what he’s doing and visibly stops himself, then half a minute later he’s back at it again.

He’s clearly worked up about something.

Seungcheol approaches slowly, not wanting to startle him, but before he gets within touching distance, a guy comes out of the bathroom, and Jihoon bolts inside.

Seungcheol doesn’t know why he decides to follow him, but the decision is clearly made. He hangs back near the door though, just watching him pace for a minute, giving him space.

Jihoon never seems to notice he’s being watched, which is slightly troubling. Things must be really bad if he’s doing the tunnel vision thing and blocking out all external stimulation.

At the end of one turn he pulls up short suddenly, huffing, and yanks his phone out of his pocket. For a moment it looks like he’s going to hurl it against the wall, but then he looks straight into one of the mirrors lining the wall, scowls and says, “Look here. I know one of you took my laptop. I don’t want to make a big deal out of it, so just give it back or I will be forced to report it stolen.”

That has Seungcheol perking up, blurting out harshly, “Who the hell took your laptop?”

Jihoon twitches, sidles him a glance out of the corner of his eye. Then he tears his gaze away and kicks at the floor, scowling.

“Nobody.”

Oh, so that’s how it’s gonna be.

Leaning up against the door, Seungcheol cracks his neck, working out the stiffness.

“Uh huh. So what? You’re just hanging out in the toilets, preparing your Oscar speech for the possibility of it happening sometime in the future?”

Jihoon huffs, shooting him an unreadable look, all evasive eyes and hunched eyebrows.

“Gyu messaged you, didn’t he. That...big... idiot. I told him, I said, don’t make a fuss if you can’t come. Don’t bother Cheol, he’s busy. But he never listens to me. Now I’ve inconvenienced everyone and I hate that. So just go. Go away. I don’t want you here. I’m—I’m gonna handle this myself. Go.”

He’s very, very overstimulated. Very, very upset. Seungcheol’s gonna kill whoever’s responsible, but first, he reaches over to flip the light switch, throwing the room into near darkness and silencing the endless hum of the fluorescents overhead. There’s little he can do about the emergency exit sign glowing over the door, but he knows from experience it doesn’t cause the same sensory overload for Jihoon that fluorescents do, and the muted green glow gives him just enough light to see. By the time he crosses the room and offers up the baseball squishy he keeps hooked on his keys, Jihoon’s looking more relaxed, though he does crush the squishy in his fist like it wronged him in a past life.

“You haven’t inconvenienced anyone.” Seungcheol tells him gently, leaning a shoulder against the cubicle wall, crossing his arms over his chest. “I was just upstairs, working on that dumb project thing with Soo-ah. If anything you did me a favour. Another minute with her and I probably would have slipped into a coma. Honestly, she’s such hard work. And you know she doesn’t think I’m cute or charming at all, and she never laughs at any of my jokes. I think she must be a robot. A lesbian robot.”

Jihoon snorts messy laughter, holding the baseball squishy under his chin.

“A lesbian robot would probably be the only person immune to your charms.”

Seungcheol flashes a brief hard grin, so relieved to see him smiling again. He pushes off the cubicle to close the distance between them, stroke a gentle hand down Jihoon’s arm.

“You wanna tell me who took your laptop now?”

Jihoon blushes and drops his eyes, the angle of his shoulders resigned. He takes his time to answer, his breath evening out, becoming slow and considering.

“I’m not sure. I left my stuff on the desk to get a coffee, and when I came back my laptop was gone. The group of guys at the next table were snickering, so I asked them if they knew where my laptop was and they said no, but they kept laughing while I was trying to look for it, so I...I think one of them hid it?”

By the time he’s finished explaining, Seungcheol’s seeing red again, biting the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste blood. He snaps himself out of it and manages a smile, mouth tight, in spite of himself

“Alright. Come on. I’ll help you look for it.”

They head upstairs, to Jihoon’s preferred working spot nestled between the stacks and the computers. It’s usually pretty quiet at this time of the evening, but there’s a group of guys hogging one of the larger tables today, making enough noise to drive away the more studious students.

Seungcheol immediately pegs them as a bunch of five star assholes. They’ve just got that vibe about them.

They’re still snickering and cracking jokes as he approaches the table, but they quiet down quickly when they realise he’s headed their way, and their eyes widen when they see Jihoon trailing behind him.

There’s a collective whisper of “oh shit”, and Seungcheol pulls his shoulders all the way up, lifts his chin, makes the most of his height, but he doesn’t even have to say a word before one of them twists in his seat, pulls Jihoon’s laptop out from where it’s tucked alongside some books on a shelf and hands it over.

“Sorry, we were just messing around. We were gonna give it back eventually.”

Seungcheol clenches his fingers into fists and cocks a brow.

That was too easy, he thinks. Unsatisfying, if he’s being completely honest. He came to get Jihoon his laptop back, but he also came to kick ass and takes names, cause Jihoon doesn’t start shit with anyone, ever. He’s a harmless little baby Tomato, just trying to live his life. What gave these shitstains the right to harass him, to hide his little laptop for shits and giggles?

No way Seungcheol’s gonna let them off that easy.

Something dark and twisted grabs a hold of his spine and yanks on it, anger running through him.

“So who’s idea was it?” He asks, eyeing each guy in turn, and is gratified to see an astonished sprint of fear in their eyes, a ripple of panic move across the table. “What? You think cause you gave up the laptop you wouldn’t have to suffer the consequences of taking it in the first place? You might have gotten away with that bullshit in high school, but you’re in college now boys. You’re adults, and there’s a price to pay for being a fucking dickhead. So...which one of you assholes came up with this shitbrain idea?”

Everybody around the table starts stammering, pointing fingers, but signalling out no one in particular.

“No one wants to fess up?” Seungcheol titters. “Fine, here’s how this is gonna go. You’re all gonna stand up and form a single file line, and I’m gonna punch each one of you in the face. It’s only fair.”

There’s more stammering, more harried glances, then one idiot croaks out, “Choi man, we’re sorry, okay. We had no idea he was your boyfriend.”

Seungcheol furrows his brow, mouth opening to say, well now you won’t forget. Except—Jihoon’s not his boyfriend. Jihoon is nowhere close to being his boyfriend, and now this dickhead has reminded him. It has the same effect as screaming ‘chill out’ to an angry person. If Seungcheol was annoyed before. Now he’s been dialled up to an eleven.

“You’ve just earned yourself another punch,” he says, voice low and dangerous as he steps right into the guy’s space.

“Cheol, stop.” Jihoon snaps, appearing suddenly at his side.

Everyone turns to look at him, surprised by the interruption. Jihoon himself looks surprised at the sound of his own voice, but he also looks kind of stern and disappointed, like Seungcheol’s a misbehaving puppy that got caught peeing on the carpet.

Without another word, he shoulders his backpack and walks out, leaving them all standing there, scratching their heads for a minute.

Seungcheol is the first to react, clearing his throat awkwardly.

“Right, well, you better hope I forget what you guys look like.” He says, pointing a finger at each of them, before leaving to catch up with Jihoon.

Thankfully he hasn’t gone far.

He’s just waiting for him outside, arms crossed and eyebrows raised in one of his more judgmental looks. Seungcheol thinks about just laughing it off, hey, what’s that look for? Playing the big dumb jock card for all it’s worth, but that’s not going to work here. Jihoon has never been one of the people who think he isn’t that bright.

“Okay, so obviously you feel I did something wrong in there, but you’re going to have to explain it to me cause I thought I was handling things fine. So what was it? Did you wanna be the one to punch them in the face?”

Jihoon blanches, shakes his head automatically.

“Why does anyone have to get punched in the face?”

Seungcheol almost laughs, but coughs it off.

“Justice, Jihoon. It’s called justice—”

Jihoon barely lets him finish, his voice sharpening curtly, “Pretty sure the college board would have just called it assault, and the police would have called it grievous bodily harm. Or did you even stop to think of the consequences when you were throwing your weight around in there?”

Seungcheol rubs at the back of his neck awkwardly. There’s not a lot in the world that he allows to intimidate him, but a lecture from Jihoon is a different story. He feels shaken and about two feet tall, well and truly humbled.

“I was just trying to scare them, alright? Didn’t want them thinking they could try that shit on someone else.”

Jihoon turns away slightly, drops his gaze, but the steely set of his face relaxes somewhat, slipping from immediate offense to more general disappointment, which is possibly worse.

“A lot of people look up to you Cheol. I’m one of them. And if they saw you handling a situation like that with violence, when it could have been handled maturely, they may think it’s okay to do the same, and that’s a very slippery slope. With great power comes great responsibility—”

Seungcheol lets a smile tug at the corner of his mouth as he raises his eyes.

“Uh, are you seriously quoting Uncle Ben at me right now?”

Jihoon snaps his head up too, catching his eyes angrily. “Hey. That proverb has been around for centuries, I can’t help it if it was popularized by Spiderman.”

“Yeah, but we watched that movie just the other day. That’s where you got it from, right? Don’t lie.” Seungcheol smirks, trying for a bit of levity.

Jihoon blows out a harsh breath, lowers his voice.

“It doesn’t matter where I heard it. It applies to this situation, and it’s a good lesson for you to learn. But if you’re not open to criticism, and just going to tease me—”

“No, no I am. I am open to criticism,” Seungcheol cuts in quickly, catching Jihoon by the arm as he begins to turn away. He spreads his hands in surrender. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I had an opportunity to handle things diplomatically, and I let myself down. It won’t happen again. I...I endeavour to be more measured with my responses in the future.”

Jihoon’s still partly turned away from him, but there’s a pleased little quirk to his mouth now, the one he wears when he’s already decided he’s not mad anymore, but he doesn’t want to seem like a pushover either.

When Seungcheol nudges his shoulder tentatively though, the nudge he gives back is immediate and fond, and Seungcheol can feel the relief spread through him, unknotting the ball in his chest that had drawn tight at that disappointed look on Jihoon’s face.

As soon as Jihoon’s eyes are on him again, he grabs a hold of his hand and squeezes it gently in apology, though he can’t resist adding, “Now let’s go see what Aunt May’s cooked us for dinner.”

Jihoon tries to trip him up in retaliation, but his heart isn’t really in it.

Soo-ah is less than impressed when he gets back to the study room, looking about ready to lay into him, but then her gaze whips over to Jihoon, then down to where Seungcheol’s still clasping his hand, and she quickly bites back whatever scathing comment she had prepared.

“We good?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Seungcheol says, leading Jihoon over to his side of the table and pulling a chair out for him. “Hoonie’s going to sit with us if that’s okay. Don’t worry, he won’t be a distraction. He’s a very quiet and very well behaved cat. Say hi to Soo-ah, Jihoon. She’s a lesbian.”

Soo-ah glares at him balefully, before cutting her eyes over to Jihoon and offering up a much kinder look.

“Hi Jihoon. I hope you have some special trick up your sleeve that can get this idiot to sit down and work quietly for a few hours, cause I’m all out of ideas.”

Jihoon only hesitates a moment before levelling his patented sideways scowl at him, which is more than enough censure to make Seungcheol sit up straight and pick up his pen.

“Oh my god, you actually do.” Soo-ah chokes out around a surprised laugh. “That’s incredible. You really need to teach me how you do that.”

Seungcheol’s never actually dated someone, never even been on a date. Things usually progress from hi to your place or mine pretty quick, so there’s never really been a need to wine and dine anyone along the way.

He expects to have his work cut out for him when it comes to a guy like Jihoon, but it turns out to be pretty straightforward. What shocks him is how much zeal he seems to have for the whole courting thing. If you can call it that.

Nothing they do probably qualifies as dating of course. You can’t really call something a date when the other party is completely clueless about your motives and just thinks you’re hanging out together. But if years down the line, someone where to ask him, hey where’d you take Jihoon for your first proper date, he’d probably say it was the this, the time they went to the arcade.

It started with them hanging out downtown on a Friday night, trying to find somewhere decent to eat that isn’t crammed, when he realises Jihoon’s no longer keeping pace with him. He’d stopped half a block back to peer through a shop window.

Seungcheol doubles back for him, curious as to what’s grabbed his attention.

“What is it Tomato?”

“Oh, hey, hey. Check it out.” Jihoon is talking fast, his eagerness showing through. “It’s an arcade centre, and they got a Moral Kombat 2 cabinet in there. Isn’t that cool? I haven’t seen one of those in the wild since, well, ever.”

That doesn’t mean much to Seungcheol, but he’s pretty sure he’s never seen Jihoon this excited about anything before, and the sign in the window says they also serve food inside, so that settles that.

“Alright then.” He says, ushering Jihoon towards the entrance. “What are we waiting for?”

Jihoon’s face breaks open in a disbelieving smile when he holds the door open for him, like he’d actually expected Seungcheol to look upon his adorable boyish wonder and say no, no we’re not doing that. We have arcade games at home!

It tugs at the hole in Seungcheol’s heart, pulls to make it a little bigger.

The food options inside the arcade are admittedly lacklustre, but it’s not really what they’re there for. After they wolf down a couple of mediocre burgers and limp fries, they hit the games, moving swiftly from one cabinet to the next, taking it in turns to hunt aliens and fly spaceships and die a hundred different ways. They monopolize some race car game for a solid hour, trading first and second places back and forth, then move over to a co-op Zombie-outbreak rail-shooter that they’re both just fucking terrible at.

“How are you so bad at this? You basically live and breath computer games, you should be owning these fuckers blindfolded.”

Jihoon exhales shortly, cocking the cheap plastic rifle off-screen to reload.

“I probably would fair better if I was playing alone, and didn’t have to keep saving your ass every five seconds.”

Seungcheol scoffs, then scrambles to reload himself.

“Oh wow. So that’s how it is? Okay, well, when the Zombie apocalypse happens for real, don’t come knocking on my door Tomato.”

“Please,” Jihoon snorts, taking two zombies out in quick succession. “Don’t act like you can out-survive me. You won’t survive past the first 24 hours. In fact, you’ll probably be one of the first to become infected.”

“Woah, what? Hold on,” Seungcheol pauses to jam another token in the machine and resurrect his player. “Okay, let’s just ignore for a second that I have the stamina and build to out-survive the average person. You can’t ignore I’m a born leader and a master strategist, and that I literally have a bunch of baseball bats at my disposal. I mean, if anything, I’m probably gonna be one of the most crucial players in ensuring the survival of humanity.”

Jihoon laughs and shakes his head, like Seungcheol’s optimism is predictable and yet, sadly misplaced.

“You can’t survive a zombie apocalypse with those qualities, you survive by being the most selfish dick you can be, and you simply don’t have that in you Cheol. You’ll probably be one of those idiot do-gooders who shares out the rations equally and is all like, hey, so what if Junhui got bitten? He looks fine to me. Or you’ll be one of those other kind of idiots, that throws a party at the start of the outbreak and gets bitten on the dick by a zombified cheerleader.”

Seungcheol lets his rifle hang loose in shock, unsure whether to be more outraged by the implication he'd try it on with a zombie, or the fact that Jihoon is still kicking ass in game while his character has just died for the twelfth time in as many minutes. 

“You’ve put a disturbing amount of thought into this.”

Jihoon dimples sweetly at him.

“Yep, and that’s why I’m gonna make it.”

They keep the ticket redemption and claw machines for last, because everyone knows they’re all rigged for failure. A few of them even let you have the first turn for free, but that’s how they get you, how they reel you in; before you know what’s happening, you’re making a trip to the change machine, convinced your luck’s about to change.

Saying that, Seungcheol still blows  ₩20,000 worth of tokens on a single machine, trying to cut a length of string so he can win the blursed looking Pikachu displayed inside.

He's gotten so addicted in fact, Jihoon, in a rare display of authority, has to actually take his hand and drag him away in the end, confiscate the remainder of his tokens. 

“Alright, alright.” Seungcheol grumbles, “But we can’t redeem them anywhere else, so we might as well play one more game.”

Jihoon turns to scan his eyes over the banks of machines still available to them, then points out something near the back.

“Okay, what about that one over there? We haven’t tried it yet, and you’re good at throwing balls at stuff, right?”

Seungcheol makes a sarcastic little smile.

“Who? Me? The guy who got into college on a baseball scholarship? No, I’m not sure I would be very good at throwing balls at stuff actually. Rude of you to just assume that.”

Jihoon slants him a rolled-eyes smile, exasperated and affectionate, and shoves him in the direction of the stall.

“Alright hot shot. How about you put your money where your mouth is before your head gets any bigger.”

The machine he picked out isn’t a machine at all, but a carnival style stall, with multiple targets along the back wall, including a jackpot prize hole dead in the centre. The game attendant manning it tells them they get three shots to hit their target of choice, and the points all add up, but he needs to reach at least 1000 points to qualify for a prize.

It seems straightforward enough, so Seungcheol happily hands over the last of their tokens in exchange for five medium sized balls, around the same size as a baseball but weighing just a fraction heavier.

“Don’t be disappointed if you don’t win anything. You know this game is probably rigged too.” Jihoon whispers as he’s preparing to line up his shot.

Seungcheol lifts his chin and smirks, reaching for his usual swagger.

“Oh ye of little faith. Just get ready to pick your prize Tomato.”

That earns him another eye roll, but Jihoon obligingly steps back to let him take aim.

It’s second nature to him at this point, pitching; something he does in his dreams most nights. Seungcheol doesn’t even have to think about it all that much. He just lets his body swing back before whipping his arm out straight, aiming for the centre hole on all five shots.

Every ball hits the target. Easy as pie. As it should be.

He pivots to level a smug, satisfied grin Jihoon’s way, because modesty is for losers, and fully expects another eye roll for his efforts, but Jihoon just stares back at him, eyes comically big and full of awe.

“Holy shit Cheol,” He whispers. “I can’t believe you just...did you even try? You didn’t even look like you were trying. You just...you made it look so easy.”

Trying to shrug it off, Seungcheol flashes a quick, pleased grin before saying, “I mean, yeah, but I do do this exact thing five times a week. It would be pretty embarrassing if I wasn’t good at it.”

Jihoon blinks slowly, throat moving up and down as he swallows.

“Yeah, but...but still. That was incredible. You’re really amazing.”

Seungcheol laughs and blusters and waves it off, badly off-kilter. He gets told he’s amazing about a hundred times a day, every time he picks up a baseball; hearing Jihoon say it should make him this stupidly happy.

“We uh, we won something, right?” He addresses the attendant unsteadily, “He’s allowed go pick a prize?”

The man nods, broadly gesturing at the array of prizes available.

“Sure did. You hit the jackpot so he can pick anything he likes.”

Seungcheol’s hoping for one of those cliché romantic first-date moments you see in movies, where he wins Jihoon a big fluffy animal for him to display on his bed, and Jihoon rewards him by making out with him a little in the picture booth, the big fluffy plush obscuring the camera lens and ruining their strip of photographs. But Jihoon, unabashed geek that he is, does not choose any of the fluffy critters hooked to the wall. Instead he points at a non-descript box and says, “I’ll take the 4TB external hard drive please.”

Seungcheol furrows his brows and grins ruefully. The win to making-out-in-the-photobooth pipeline somehow doesn’t feel right with a 4TB hard drive hovering in the picture too.

“That’s what you want? What about that big fluffy rabbit over there? Sure you wouldn’t prefer that?”

Jihoon grunts and stomps his foot in lieu of speaking, in a manner that seems to say “don’t question my genius”, so Seungcheol’s guessing that’s a no.

“Okay, alright. He’ll take the hard drive.” He tells the bemused attendant.

The man pulls the box off the shelf, blows the dust off it and delivers it to Jihoon’s waiting arms.

“There you go you little nerd.” Seungcheol’s says affectionately, ruffling Jihoon’s hair. “Happy now?”

Jihoon nods, cradling the box in the crook of his arm as one would cradle a new-born child.

“I’ll love him like a son.”

It’s nearing midnight by the time they wander out of the sheltered interior of the arcade into the frigid night air. Seungcheol’s got practice in the morning and a shit ton of research to do for his dissertation. They should probably split off so he can head home, catch up on the sleep he hasn’t been getting enough of this week, but he can’t claim to be any kind of responsible on his best days, never mind on a night like tonight with Jihoon sticking close to his side, for once deeply unconcerned about maintaining his personal space.

He can walk him to his dorm at least.

“Thank you for tonight, Cheol. I had a lot of fun.” Jihoon says, once they hit a quiet stretch of road.

Seungcheol taps their elbow together.

“So did I.”

Jihoon barely shoots him a glance before he turns his gaze up ahead, flushed now, and not, Seungcheol thinks, from the cold.

“I don’t think that’s true, but I appreciate it anyway.”

Seungcheol looks at him sharply, but Jihoon isn’t paying attention, eyes on the box cradled in his arms.

“Why do you say that?”

Jihoon moves one shoulder, half a shrug.

“I just can’t imagine spending a Friday night in an arcade is your idea of a good time, that’s all. I think...I think you just did it to make me happy.” He says, unconsciously flinching as the words leave his mouth.

Seungcheol opens his mouth to protest, but really, where’s the lie? There’s never been a limit to what dorky shit he’s willing to do for Jihoon. He’s skipped out on the beach trip of the semester to play the Elden Ring DLC with him, dressed in the most uncomfortable spandex costume of his favourite superhero just to get him to a party, and traded three of his most valuable baseball cards for the Black Panther collectible that now sits on Jihoon’s desk. He even bribed Soon-ah to level up his account in League of Legends, an experience he’s going to have take to the grave.

There’s really no limit to the personal dignity he’s willing to sacrifice for the sake of Jihoon’s health and happiness. About time the guy knew it.

“You’re right. It’s not my idea of fun, but I enjoyed it anyway, cause...cause I was with you.”

Jihoon side eyes him, weighing whether or not to believe that perhaps. Then he snorts and shoves at his shoulder, skidding him off-balance over the curb.

“It’s that kind of soft hearted corniness that’s gonna get you killed first in the apocalypse.”

“Oi—" Seungcheol protests, but he doesn’t have it in him to get more offended than that, because when he looks over, Jihoon is beaming at him now, like Seungcheol’s just hung the moon, like he’s just won him a hundred 4TB hard drives and laid them at his feet.

“You better take that back Tomato, or I’m taking back that fucking hard drive—" He mock threatens, stalking over slowly, giving Jihoon plenty of time to scurry away, hard drive clutched to his chest.

“No, no—my son!”

Seungcheol waves the bartender over, orders two shots of whiskey and chases them down with a vodka and tequila. Then orders the same again. It’s a bad idea mixing drinks like this, but he needs to get drunk like now, or he’s going to make things really awkward for himself.

“I would count this night a success.” Minghao says, stepping up to the bar beside him. “Good choice Cheol, you really came through.”

Seungcheol smiles, albeit tiredly.

“Don’t I always?”

Minghao eyes him a moment, expression thoughtful. He crosses his arms on the bar like he’s settling in for a long talk.

“You know how to throw a good party, I’ll give you that, but this is a more personalised experience. It took a lot of careful planning to get things just right. I wasn’t sure you could pull it off, but Jihoon really seems to be enjoying his birthday.” He says, then drops his gaze to Seungcheol’s crotch. “And so are you clearly.”

Seungcheol whips his gaze down to the completely unsubtle bulging line of his zipper, more noticeable now in the overhead lighting of the bar, and quickly adjusts the fall of his shirt.

“Great. Just what I need.”

“Don’t beat yourself up about it man, can’t say any of us blame you.” Minghao smiles, toasting him with his spicy Margarita. “He really pulled out all the stops tonight with that outfit. Just look at that ass. Like, damn.”

Seungcheol buries his face in his folded arms, muffling his heartfelt groan of agreement. Jihoon doesn’t just look good tonight, he looks edible, and while Seungcheol doesn’t want to be one of those guys who gets a stiffy over some minor grinding action, he’s got no special powers that make him different from every other guy with a working dick. Being in Jihoon’s general vicinity and keeping his hands to himself has been a real test of his strength, something just short of agonizing.

“Is that why you left him with Gyu? Why you’re over here knocking back shots like your life depends on it. You trying to wilt your boner? Do you really think he’d mind?” Minghao prods earnestly.

Seungcheol doesn’t raise his head, just peers through the gap in his arms, not wanting to be caught ogling Jihoon more than he already has.

Back on the dance floor, Jihoon and Mingyu are dancing together. Or to be more precise, Mingyu is spinning really fast on the spot while Jihoon tries to stop him from knocking into people. Seungcheol can just about hear Jihoon laughing, and that’s enough to get his hands itching hot. He can’t be sure if he went back out there he could keep them to himself.

“He’s having fun. I don’t want to say it do anything that makes things awkward between us.”

“Don’t you think he knows?” Minghao says in surprise. “I mean, sure, a lot of stuff does seem to go over his head, but you basically lay out the red carpet every time he comes around, and you’ve made Dungeons and Dragons night an official weeknight activity at the frat. Surely he must suspect something at this stage.”

Seungcheol laughs into the fold of his arms. Yeah, Jihoon is continuously and openly amazed that he gets to play with people his own age for a change, but from the way he talks about it, he just thinks everyone in the frat is a repressed nerd that’s finally found their calling. Seungcheol doesn’t have the heart to disabuse him of the notion, and to be fair, DnD night has been a huge hit with the guys.

He lifts his head to summon the bartender back, when Mingyu collapses on the bar next to him, a queasy look on his face.

“I shouldn’t have tried to do the tornado after that last drink. I think I’m gonna be sick.”

Seungcheol lifts his eyebrows, does a brief double take.

“Where’s Tomato? Where’d you leave him?”

“Take it easy man. He’s fine. Look, he’s right there.” Mingyu says, pointing at a bar stool in the distance that is most definitely not Jihoon.

Swearing under his breath, Seungcheol jumps out of his seat and tears through the crowd, half expecting to see Jihoon scaling the walls or standing atop a table, hissing at everyone, mewling for help. Instead, he finds him in a quiet corner of the dance floor, swaying all by himself in the smear of unfamiliar faces. Totally lost in the sauce, but ultimately fine. In the coloured illumination of the strobe lights though, he’s well-defined and photographically beautiful, and despite he best efforts to resist, Seungcheol has moved closer like a moth, a meteorite roped by gravity.

Jihoon doesn’t startle when he catches him by the hips, just turns in his arms to look at him, face flushed and happy.

“Hey, Cheol, hey listen. You gotta hear this song. I love this song.”

He slips his hands around Seungcheol’s neck, reaching for the headphones still hanging there and pulls them back into place over Seungcheol’s ears. There’s an airless moment which seems to last forever, where his hands linger around Seungcheol’s neck, turning the dial to sync them to the same station, and Seungcheol can only stare, transfixed, a long slow heat flaring through his whole body.

His mind is chanting, ‘Kiss him. Kiss him dude. What the fuck are you waiting for? Make your fucking move already!’ but by the time he thinks to act on it, Jihoon’s found the track he’s looking for and his hands slide away.

A rattled flood of words in English he can’t keep up with hits Seungcheol’s ears then, but it’s got a good beat, easy to dance to, and Jihoon doesn’t waste any time. He turns around in Seungcheol’s lose hold, pulling one of Seungcheol’s hands around to his stomach and tilting a bit, his back against Seungcheol’s chest.

Seungcheol inhales sharply as he starts to sway again, the movement rolling against his body, the slide of his hips a tease. All he can do is sway too, feeling his heartbeat and the music pulse in his head.

He’s still sober and hatefully clear, not missing anything that happens. But now he kinda doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to miss this.

Seungcheol had no plans to go home for Christmas.

Yeah, he missed his home-town friends something fierce, and he still gets a little creeped out when he’s the only one staying at the chapter house, but the hassle of packing and navigating public transport, not to mention the effort of dealing with his parent’s bullshit, just wasn’t worth the few days of fun he’d get out of it.

He’d spend Christmas on his own this year, and he was okay with that—until his little brother Hansol called him the day before they broke up, practically crying down the phone at him, “This isn’t fair. Seungmin bailed on me on my birthday, and now you’re bailing on Christmas. You guys promised we’d stick together, but I’m always alone. It’s not fucking fair.”

There’s no way he could have stayed after that.

His parents are happy to see him for all of ten minutes—then they start dishing out the criticisms. He’s gained weight. His hair has gotten too long. He never calls. His grades could be better. Why doesn’t he have a girlfriend yet? Oh, he’s still giving that whole bisexual thing a try? When’s he going to get that nonsense out of his system. It’s clearly just a phase.

As always, he endeavours to spend as little time as possible indoors, electing to take Hansol out for spur of the moment trips to the cinema and the bowling alley, making up for lost time. Sometimes around the second week of the holidays, Wonwoo finally replies to a message he’d sent weeks ago, asking if he’s got a minute to chat, and they arrange to meet up.

Seungcheol’s got a lot of ‘best friends’ now, one for every season, but Wonwoo was his first. They’ve known each other since they were little kids, way back before Seungcheol fell in love with baseball and Wonwoo skipped out on the little league try-outs for a chance to join the robotics club. They remained good friends despite that, all through middle school and high school, even as their respective scholarships took them to opposite sides of the country. All of which is to say, he doesn’t have to tell Wonwoo a damn thing about Jihoon for the guy to sus something has changed.

“So who is it?”

“Huh?”

Wonwoo takes a sip of coffee, his eyes squinting as though he burned his tongue.

“This guy you’ve gone all googly-eyed over.”

Seungcheol looks down at his half eaten muffin, and says blindly, “What makes you think there’s anyone?”

But Wonwoo’s not so easily fooled, pausing and then sighing.

“We’ve been sitting here for nearly an hour and you haven’t once checked anyone out. Even the waitress that was very obviously flirting with you earlier only got a polite smile, and that’s just not like you man. You’re always on the prowl, always looking for your next hook up, so something must have happened if you’re behaving yourself. Since you keep glancing at your phone every five seconds and smiling like an idiot, I figure someone must have you by the balls. So, I’ll ask again—who is it? A guy on the team? A cheerleader?”

Seungcheol’s surprised he’s asking, honestly; Wonwoo’s never been that interested in who he’s fucking. He once called Seungcheol a natural born flirter, although he said it like it’s a lamentable condition, not a positive quality.

Seungcheol tries to keep his voice light, a humourless glint in his eyes, “Neither. He’s actually this adorable little nerd in the year below.”

There’s a long moment, where Wonwoo looks vaguely amused by the idea, vaguely disbelieving too, then he says tonelessly, “Okay, I’m gonna need to see a picture.”

“Uh, yeah. Sure.” Seungcheol says, tugging his phone closer. He enters his password and starts thumbing through his gallery for something suitable, but it’s pretty hard.

The thing is, Jihoon photographs like he’s taking part in a hostage situation. The second he senses a camera on his person, he scowls or ducks his head or pulls his hoodie up. All the pictures Seungcheol has managed to snap discreetly, have been captured when the guy’s been sleeping or eating or zoning out in class, oblivious to the world around him, and Seungcheol’s not willing to own up to that stalker weirdo behaviour.

“Stop trying to cherry pick the perfect picture and just let me look. I promise not to be too critical.” Wonwoo drawls, holding out his hand.

Seungcheol pegs him with a frosty glare, but slides over his phone.

“There’s a few pictures there, just swipe right. He’s the short guy with the shoulder length blonde hair.”

Wonwoo obnoxiously gestures at him to go back to his food while he starts swiping, but it’s easier said than done. Seungcheol scratches at his arm, drums his fingers against the table, aware that he’s fidgeting, but he can’t quite stop, he can’t quite make himself be still.

“Why does he look like he’s being held there against his will?” Wonwoo asks after a few minutes, spinning the phone around to show him a photograph he snapped of Jihoon at the Halloween Party.

“Well, I guess he kind of was that night.”  Seungcheol says, smiling at the memory. “That was taken at the frat’s Halloween party, and he’s not exactly a party person. I had to force him into that costume and drag him out of his dorm to attend. He’s uhm, he suffers from severe social anxiety.”

“And he’s got you sniffing around him? Poor guy.” Wonwoo says distractedly, eyes still on his phone.

Feeling a frown forming, Seungcheol pulls his eyes away, out towards the window at the trees and the few people milling outside.

“Anyway, we’ve been hanging out a lot this year. He’s pretty cool, but in a nerdy sort of way. Kinda like you. Except I’m pretty sure he would out nerd you. He’s got an IQ of like, one billion, and he’s into all this adorable dorky shit I’ve never even heard if. Oh, and he’s kind of doing the same course as you too. Computer sciences.”

“It is not remotely the same course, Seungcheol. I’m studying computer engineering, not computer sciences.” Wonwoo huffs, flinging the corner of cupcake at him.

Seungcheol flicks it off his sleeve, glares at the stain the icing left behind.

“He’s nicer than you too. Cause when I say that to him, he doesn’t act like a pretentious shithead. He just smiles at me and gives me a Babybel. Would it kill you to do that?”

Wonwoo gives him a look, a quick folding-down of his eyebrows.

“Wait...Is this why you were pestering me in the chat, asking me all those questions about DnD and asking how to level up on League of Legends?”

A hard smile forces its way onto Seungcheol’s face. He ducks his head.

“Yeah, he’s really into that stuff. I’ve been trying to get into it too, but it’s a shallow learning curve. I figured you’d be best equipped to help me out, make me look good—but you just blocked me instead.”

Wonwoo laughs through his nose, an undignified sort of noise.

“I thought you’d been hacked. I thought someone stole your phone and was trying to extort information from your contacts. It was the only explanation I could come up with when you suddenly started talking my language after two decades of friendship. I never would have guessed you were just fucking a fellow Leaguer.”

Seungcheol swallows, drags his gaze away.

“Well, uh, we’re not actually there yet. We’re kinda just friends right now.”

That seems to startle Wonwoo. He studies him carefully, searching, a wariness tinting the edges of his expression.

“What do you mean you’re just friends?”

Seungcheol fiddles with the casing of his muffin. His throat is dry, his tongue rough, and he swallows a few times before he says quietly, “We haven’t slept together. We haven’t even kissed or anything. He’s really shy, and I guess the anxiety contributes to a heavy level of doubt. I’ve been hitting on him for months and he just doesn’t pick up on any of it.”

Wonwoo nods slowly, looking somehow knowing and confused at the same time.

“And you’re okay with that? You’re sticking around, ready to wait till he notices?”

Seungcheol looks down into the steam rising from his coffee. “He’s fun to be around, fun to talk to. We have a lot of fun together,” he says, ticking his fingers out one at a time. “I don’t mind waiting, and honestly, I’m kinda nervous about doing anything that might fuck up what we already have.”

That, he realizes in something like astonishment, is the truth.

Wonwoo’s gone quiet. Seungcheol sneaks a look and find his eyebrows are raised, his expression carefully blank.

“Holy shit. You’re in love with him.”

Seungcheol opens his mouth to say something, maybe laugh that off, but it just hangs there, not really cooperating because his brain is clearly preoccupied with the sudden uptick of his pulse. He doesn’t know what expression he’s wearing, but whatever’s happening on his face has Wonwoo gawking and ripping off his glasses, like that dude from Jurassic Park when he first saw a real life Dinosaur.

“I’m gonna need more coffee for this. I’m gonna need a lot more than coffee. Where’s that waitress?”

Seungcheol tries to fill him in in everything that’s happened these last few months, but he doesn’t think he’s doing a good job of explaining this. Not really sure he understands it himself, the glow inside his chest when he’s with Jihoon, how he’s all he can think about some days.

Wonwoo takes a long moment at the end, piecing his way through that, and then says carefully, “Have you stopped to consider the possibility he’s just not into you?”

Seungcheol feels himself frowning again. Even if Mingyu hadn’t let it slip, he’s fairly certain that Jihoon finds him attractive. He can see it in his face sometimes, the brief hidden expressions dragging across his features, the way he blushes sometimes when they’re standing close, the way he stares at his lips.  

He can’t have imagined all that, and says as much, but Wonwoo just tightens his mouth, looking uncomfortable.

“I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, and I know this is hard for a guy like you to hear, but judging by what you’ve told me, I think you’re barking up the wrong tree here. I think he just wants to be your friend.”

Seungcheol is surprised by the deep fall in his chest to hear Wonwoo say that to him. He shakes his head quickly, something cracking in his neck.

“But Mingyu said he liked me. He said he was interested.”

“And that was, what? Five months ago?” Wonwoo points out, an impatient edge to his voice. “It’s not up to date information. Yeah, you might have gotten closer since, but that doesn’t mean he’s become more attracted to you. If he’s as shy and reserved as you say he is, spending more time with you probably highlighted all the reasons why you wouldn’t make for a good boyfriend.”

That lands like a blow to the head, harsh and hurtful, but Seungcheol’s thinking maybe he’s taking it too personally. Deliberately reading things wrong cause he’s got too much invested in this. He clears his throat, trying for aloof when he asks, “Why wouldn’t I make a good boyfriend?”

Wonwoo tilts his head in a c’mon man, do I really need to lay it out for you sort of way, and then just comes out and says it, subtle mockery in his voice.

“Cause you’re, you know, you.”

That takes the cake.

Seungcheol sits there for a moment trying not to lose his temper. Admittedly he doesn’t try very hard.

“You know what Wonwoo man, fuck you.”

Wonwoo’s eyebrows snap up, and his face flashes dismay for an instant before he composes himself, saying quietly.

“I’m sorry if that’s not what you want to hear, but I’m not gonna be like your other friends Cheol. I’m not gonna sugar coat reality for you so you can stroke your ego. I’ve always told you how it is, and you’ve always appreciated me for that.”

“Yeah, and now I kinda hate you for it too.” Seungcheol laughs without humour, a little broken.

Wonwoo glowers at him for a moment before his face turns blank again.

“Gimme a call when you feel like being an adult again. I’ll unblock you.”

Seungcheol snorts and tosses some money down on the table, getting to his feet.

“Don’t bother.”

Seungcheol exhales heavily as the junior dorm building comes into view, acknowledging that yeah, maybe he is stupidly nervous about seeing Jihoon again.

It’s been over three weeks since they’ve had a chance to hang out, what with the Christmas break and the end of term exams before that, and even though they’ve been texting the whole way through, a lot can change in three weeks.

And well, there’s some embarrassment still lingering from earlier, from when he got a little mopey over the phone.

Christ, he doesn’t know what he was thinking, telling him all that crap about his parents. He never talks about that shit with anyone, not even his oldest friends really know, and yet all it took was some gentle probing on Jihoon’s part to make him spill his best kept secret. And yeah, sure, Jihoon’s never going to be the kind of guy to hold that stuff against him, but he still doesn’t want that information out there, still doesn’t want to appear any less well adjusted than he seems.

Hopefully they can just put that conversation behind them, have a catch up and watch an appropriately festive movie.

Jihoon is waiting outside his dorm when he finally gets there, leaning back against the wall and staring intently at his phone. Seungcheol gets the jump on him before he can notice him creeping up, catches him in a half hearted headlock and hisses at him, “Gimme your phone, chump, and your 4TB hard drive”, before Jihoon can wriggle free, snickering and pushing him away.

It’s like they were never apart.

It’s such a fucking relief.

“Oh wow, your hair got so long,” Jihoon says when they get to his room, in better light.

Seungcheol’s crouched down low, working on his laces, and he hesitates there when he feels Jihoon’s fingers running through his locks, tugging gently.

That fucking does something to him. More than just a full body shiver. He rolls his head under Jihoon’s hand, huffing slightly as a tight prickle skitters down his spine.

“Too lazy to get it cut. Thinking of growing it out a bit.”

“You should. It looks good on you,” Jihoon says distractedly, smoothing the hair behind his ear with intricate attention.

Seungcheol never wants that to stop, honestly. He’s always liked having his hair played with, but Jihoon’s got the magic touch. As soon as he thinks it of course, Jihoon seems to realise what he’s doing and stops, his fingers hesitating on the nape of Seungcheol’s neck a second, before he pulls his hand away.

“I uh, I hope you’re hungry. I ordered pizza.”

“Yeah, sure. I could eat.” Seungcheol says, turning his attention resolutely back to his laces.

Rising, he sees something like panic slice across Jihoon’s face briefly, and has no idea why that might be. Did he say something wrong?

Somewhere between hanging up his jacket and walking over to the bed however, he realises it’s not because of anything he’s done, but because Jihoon is clearly psyching himself up for something. That something soon becomes apparent when Jihoon suddenly cuts in front of him and gives him a big hug.

“I...I’m sorry you had a shitty Christmas Seungcheol, and that your parents suck. But I like you. I think you’re awesome, and if you were my son, I’d be so proud of you.”

Seungcheol starts to laugh, caught out in surprise.

It’s hard not to be endeared to Jihoon on any given day, it’s certified impossible when he’s looking him dead in the eye, hugging him like he’s only seen it done in an IKEA instructions manual, and yet, still giving it 110%.

He’s so fucking sweet it’s honestly killing him a little bit.

“Thanks man. That...really means a lot.” He says giving Jihoon a quick squeeze in return.

Jihoon pulls away slowly, flushed and dimpling, staring fixedly at the logo on Seungcheol’s Henley. The dip of his throat betrays a nervous swallow.

“I-if you like, you can pick the movie tonight.”

Seungcheol cocks an eyebrow, feeling imminently more cheered. Jihoon letting him pick the movie is the equivalent of getting a blowjob in the team locker rooms from a guy in the opposing team. A truly unprecedented moment.

“Oh shit, you’re really feeling sorry for me, huh? Looks like I need to over share on the phone with you more often, see what other special treatment I can get out of it. Who knows, maybe I’ll finally be allowed to wear my jeans on the bed.”

Jihoon braces his hands on his hips, faint trace of a humouring smirk on his mouth.

“It’s that kinda talk that gets you banned from the room altogether.”

They end up picking a movie at random, one of the most terrifying either of them have seen in a while, a fact that might be belied by Jihoon nodding off in the middle of it, but that shouldn’t be taken to mean much. It’s closing in on two in the morning and Jihoon has been travelling most of the day.

Seungcheol hits pause on the movie when he notices Jihoon’s breathing has become deep and regular, his chin snug against his chest, his eyes closed and his features pulled smooth. He doesn’t particularly like the idea of watching a horror movie alone, but at some point, Jihoon started to tilt, started to angle towards him, his messy hair brushing the underside of Seungcheol’s chin, and he kinda wants to see where that’s going.

At first, it just means Jihoon is using his shoulder as a pillow, looking very soft and cute, snuffling in his sleep, then suddenly he’s shifting and turning, drawing a leg up against Seungcheol’s thigh and tucking himself closer, sliding half way into his lap.

Seungcheol unconsciously catches his breath, holds it motionless in his lungs. The subtle pressure of Jihoon’s knee dragging over his dick is awesome and unexpected, and also the last thing he needs right now. He’s too scared to breathe, scared that he will have to cough or get an itch or, Jesus Christ, get hard, and how’s he going to explain that?

He digs his teeth hard into the inside of his cheek, a sharp bright point of pain that holds him in place, and very carefully, draws his arm out from between them so he can shift Jihoon into a less compromising position.

He wants nothing more than to keep his hand there, on Jihoon’s lower back, close him up in the circle of his body, but it’s a dangerous game to be playing, even if the guy is asleep. He settles for resting his hand in the safer region of his shoulder, letting Jihoon burrow against him and find a new pillow in his chest.

Jihoon’s hair tickles his chin, and Seungcheol holds himself back from pressing a kiss to his forehead, concentrates very hard on the warm slow breath through his shirt.

After ten minutes of playing the statue game, Jihoon’s hand comes up dreamily to rub at his nose, and then his eyes blink open, blurry.

“S’a movie over?” He mumbles, peering up at him through half-closed eyelids.

Seungcheol tries to clear his throat as quietly as possible, because Jihoon is still most of the way asleep, hasn’t noticed anything yet.

“Nah, I just paused it when you fell asleep,” he says softly, as an explanation.

Jihoon’s eyes drift shut. “Press play. M’up now,” he replies, rubbing his cheek against Seungcheol’s chest. A second later, he seems to register what he’s doing and his eyes fly open.

He sits back, blinking and rubbing at his eyes, looking increasingly embarrassed. Then, he starts to scowl.

Seungcheol breathes out a low laugh, pointing a finger at him.

“Don’t you dare level that at me. I was just sitting here, watching the movie, minding my own business. You’re the one who decided to get cute and climb into my lap and cuddle.”

Jihoon’s hazy half-closed eyes are fixed on him, sleepily dragging across his face and chest.

“That doesn’t sound like something I’d do without good incentive. I don’t like cuddling.” He insists, but his voice is floating, fuzzy.

“Well search the fuck out of me man. All I did was move your leg over a little so you didn’t accidentally knee me in the balls. Everything else is on you.”

Jihoon stares unseeingly down at his chest, and says with his voice hoarse, “I was probably cold. I get cold very quickly when I’m not under the covers, and you’re like a freaking radiator.” He pouts, chafing his hands up and down his arms. “I’m cold now.”

Arching an eyebrow, Seungcheol pats his chest.

“Well, in that case. Knock yourself out man. I don’t mind.”

Jihoon’s eyes narrow dangerously, though it’s equally likely that he’s just fallen asleep again, cause in the next ten seconds he’s slumping back against Seungcheol chest, snoring.

Seungcheol cracks a smile and reaches down to tug the blanket around his shoulders, barely able to believe this is happening.

It feels like his heart is going to vibrate right out from under his ribcage, so wild he’s sure Jihoon will be able to feel the muscles jumping against his cheek, but the guy doesn’t wake up again. He seems to have found a good place to nap and has no intention of leaving anytime soon.

Seungcheol might have had a shitty start to his Christmas break, but this sure is a fucking awesome way to end it.

The day is still gloomy and grey when Seungcheol returns to the chapter house. They notified him that practice was cancelled half-way to the sports park, and he almost considers going right back to sleep. If he didn’t have a 11.30 discussion section later, he probably would’ve, but the house is quiet for a change, most of the guys still in bed or on campus, and he hadn’t had time to do the assigned readings last night after watching the game, so he heads to the kitchen and pours himself a bowl of cereal, aiming to hammer out a few key talking points before he allows himself a quick nap.

He only manages a few minutes of peaceful focus however, before the noise starts upstairs.

He thinks it’s coming from Soonyoung’s room, and Soonyoung at least possesses a small modicum of consideration by putting some music on, but it’s hard to cover up the sound of the loose headboard slamming into the wall, the sound of someone moaning and crying out like they’re getting the ride of their life.

It goes on for forty minutes, in which time Seungcheol progresses from wishing he remembered to grab his headphones on the way out, to considering the merits of sticking marshmallows in his ears, to actually wishing he had no ears at all.

Soonyoung comes skipping downstairs sometime later, in one of his old ratty hoodies and a pair of shorts, looking amped up on adrenaline and something else.

He grabs two bowls from cupboard and fills them to the brim with cereal, singing cheerfully out of key as he munches on the stray fruit loops that roll out. He doesn’t seem to have noticed Seungcheol sitting there until he pulls the milk out of the fridge, surprise making him squawk and drop the carton.

“Oh hey Cheol. What...what are you doing here? Don’t you have, uh—”

Seungcheol waves a hand at him, reaching forward to snag the box of cereal. “Practice was cancelled, on account of the weather. Figured I’d just get some work done while it was quiet.”

Soonyoung blinks at him. “Oh, ah, yeah. Sorry. But we’re uhm... we’re done now. He’s gone.”

Seungcheol tips his chin up, chews at his lower lip thoughtfully.

“Oh yeah? Did he climb out the window?”

“What?”

Propping his legs up on a stray chair, Seungcheol  eats a handful of fruit loops right out of the box.

“I didn’t hear anyone come down the stairs and I didn’t see anyone leave. So if they’re gone like you say, they must have climbed out the window.”

Soonyoung swallows, clears his throat.

“Oh yeah. Yeah they did.”

Something in his tone catches Seungcheol’s attention, and he cuts another look at him, noting the heady blush on his cheeks.

He can’t recall a time when he’d seen the guy look so nervous around him, not since his freshman year, before he realised Seungcheol liked dick as much as he did. Thinking about it, he can’t remember a single time this year that Soonyoung brought someone back to the house. The guy’s always talking a big game, but he never actually manages to hook up with anyone by the end of the night. Now that he’s actually gotten laid, surely he’d want to brag about it?

Soonyoung goes to rummage in the cutlery drawer for a couple spoons, moving a tad gingerly, and it’s only that Seungcheol’s watching him so curiously that he sees the finger-shaped bruises on his lower back, three on each side. There’s at least two inches between each purpled mark, and there’s only a few guy’s he knows with hands that big.

“Who’ve you got upstairs Soonie?”

Soonyoung’s head jerks, the whites of his eyes like marble.

“No one. It’s no one. I was just pretending to have wild, awesome sex to save face. I was actually just sitting there, screaming at the wall.”

Seungcheol cocks a brow. It must be pretty bad if he’s willing to make up such a sad, desperate excuses to cover it up. It must be worse than he thought.

“Dude, you might as well tell me. I’m gonna find out either way.”

Soonyoung makes a noncommittal noise, abandoning his snack gathering efforts to hug his elbows tightly.

“Can I at least go up and untie him first. I left him in a very comprising position.”

Seungcheol quirks an eyebrows, then bolts from his stool, laughing, “Oh man, I gotta see this.”

Soonyoung desperately tries to stall him, even tries to jump onto his back to slow him down, but Seungcheol twists and sends him flying into the couch, winding him just long enough to steady himself on his feet and sprint up the stairs.

He turns the handle to Soonyoung’s room and throws open the door before he can think better of it and nearly brains his head on the doorjamb as he recoils in shock. He was expecting something embarrassing, but this is much worse than he thought.

Seokmin is lying face up on the bed, wrists and ankles tied to the bedposts. He’s got a vibrating cock ring on his dick, and what appears to be a leather chastity device wrapped around his balls, but he seems to be just loving life right now. So damn happy to be edged to kingdom come.

Seungcheol folds his fingers around the door handle, not sure where to look, honestly. That SpongeBob meme My eyes, my eyes, comes to mind, but maybe that’s a little dramatic. He’s not a prude by any metric, but this is a lot to take in.

“That question you asked me at the start of the year is starting to make a whole lot of sense just now.” He says, taking the whole sordid scene in.

Seokmin startles and spits the ball gag from his mouth. He obviously hadn’t heard him come in.

“Oh shit.”

Seungcheol tips his head up in greeting as Soonyoung comes sulking up behind him, head lowered in incredible shame.

“It’s not what it looks like.” Seokmin says helplessly, trying to contain his modesty with his hands still tied, and doing a very bad job of it. “We’re just... we’re studying.”

Seungcheol barks out an amused sound.

“Oh yeah? What class is this for, edging 101? Where do I sign up? I wanna switch majors.”

Seokmin at least has the good grace to flush at that, even though his dick doesn’t seem to be getting any less enthusiastic. Trust him to be into that voyeuristic shit. Honestly, Soonyoung and him are perfect for each other.

Seungcheol crosses the threshold and props himself against the desk, waiting for Soonyoung to finish untying his “study partner”. He’s still searching for solid ground, some way to be both fair and understanding about this by the time they finish, but he keeps running into obstacles.

He had to expel one guy from the frat last year for breaking Rule #5; the very lamest of their rules. He’d be a hypocrite of the worst order if he overlooked this infraction cause Soonyoung is one of his best friends and Seokmin bats on his baseball team.

“Guys, I don’t have the time to draw this all out into the open and follow due process, and I don’t think that would benefit anyone anyway. You know what the rules are and why we have them, so let’s make this quick and easy. Decide amongst yourselves right now who gets kicked out and we’ll leave it at that. No one else has to know.”

Understandably, Soonyoung can’t hide his disappointment very well, but less understandably, Seokmin just breaks out into a huge grin.

“Oh, that’s easy. Me. Kick me out.”

Soonyoung flinches, then hisses at him. “What? No. Just...shut up a second. Cheol, can you just give us a minute to discuss this please—”

“There’s nothing to discuss.” Seokmin huffs, rolling off to sit on the edge of the bed. “I’m happy to take the fall. I don’t mind not being in a frat.”

Soonyoung half-laughs, caught out in surprise.

“But you literally just got accepted. You worked your ass off to get those bids. I’m older, and I’ve already had a year of Greek life. It’s not fair to have you miss out on the opportunity—"

Seokmin makes a dismissive noise, and loops and arm around his shoulder to haul him closer.

“I’m sure I’ll still have plenty of opportunities to live it up. Besides, I only rushed so I could get closer to you. I nearly dropped out when I found out what the rules were, but then I heard you were going to be the pledgemaster, and well—no one with a pulse can pass on the idea of you bossing them around.”

He’s pinching Soonyoung’s face in one palm now, making his hamster cheeks puff up more than usual, but Soonyoung mustn’t mind, because the corner of his lips have turned up in the beginning of a smile.

Seungcheol’s never seen him enjoy that kind of teasing, and it’s, well—it’s really sweet.

“Aww,” He smiles, then, remembering himself, jerks away from the desk and heads for the door. “Well, since that’s settled, I guess I’ll be leaving you guys to it. Try and keep it down though, yeah? Sounded like someone was getting exorcized up here earlier.”

But they’re not paying attention to him so much anymore. They only have eyes for each other, and that’s okay. Seungcheol doesn’t want to interrupt whatever special moment they’re having right now. That’s not buddies. And also, is that an actual fucking saddle in the corner of the room?

That’s it.

Time to head out.

The annual trip to the cabin for Seollal is kind of a disaster. To begin with.

Seungcheol had packed his stuff pretty much last minute, in a feverish burst of energy, so he was kind of depending on everyone else to remember to bring the important stuff like food and enough sleeping bags. He also forgot to rent a 4x4 in time, so they have to make the trip in his beloved Nissan four-door, which is officially on its last legs, quickly approaching the point where the cost of repair will be more than the value of the car itself. They make it one piece though, and despite how much more decrepit the place has gotten since last year, Jihoon seems okay about spending the next three days here.

The rest of the party arrive just an hour after them, and Seungcheol’s pleased with the turn out. Everyone from the original crew has made the drive out, including Wonwoo, even though he had left a disgruntled voice message on his phone a few nights before, his muzzled long-distance voice cracking uncertainly as he asked, ‘Am I still invited to the cabin for Seollal? Or are you still mad at me?’

Seungcheol had kept his reply brief, ‘Of course you’re still invited man,’ even though he was, in fact, still mad with him. He just figured there would be better opportunities to express that saltiness later, in person, when Wonwoo has little means of escape.

He’s forced to revise that plan when Wonwoo, the cunning bastard, ends up really hitting off with Jihoon.

All the guys are making an extra effort to welcome him of course, but Wonwoo is the first to approach him without Seungcheol smoothing the way. He actually gets Jihoon talking and relaxed, keeps his patented sarcasm to a minimum, and their dorky little interactions about nerdy stuff warm Seungcheol’s cockles enough that he gets to thinking, hey, maybe I won’t stick a dead squirrel his pants after all.

He’s about ready to let bygones be bygones honestly, just for that kindness, until Wonwoo comes up to him after dinner and thumps him in the arm.

“Alright. What the fuck are you playing at?”

Seungcheol pretends he isn’t listening, refusing to look up from the weird foreign magazine he’d found stuffed behind one of the armchairs. Then Wonwoo thumps again, in the same place, the fucking ass, and he's forced to put the magazine down and smile up at him, somewhat disingenuously. 

“Yes, Wonu. What seems to be the problem?”

“Why did you allocate me a room with your friend, Mr Kim?”

Seungcheol thinks about telling him the truth: that he actually had no say in the rooming situation. There’s thirteen guys here and four couples amongst them, and everyone just sort of naturally split off to occupy the six bedrooms available. But where’s the fun in that?

“What? You got a problem with loveable Mingyu?”

Wonwoo exhales noisily, pulls his hands through his hair.

“No, he seems like a pleasant guy. I would have just preferred to room with someone I know. Someone who isn’t so... energetic.”

“Oh, I see. You’re worried he’s going to keep you up at night. Is that it?” Seungcheol’s inquires mildly, the corners of his mouth twitching.

Wonwoo glares at him, his eyebrows pulled way down in warning.

“Seungcheol, if this is going in the direction I think it is, you need to stop it now. You know I don’t like being set up. I can find my own boyfriend.”

Seungcheol knows that tone in his friend’s voice. It’s the ‘don’t you fucking dare’ tone that usually ends with one of them—well, with a dead squirrel down their pants. Once again, he could clear the air pretty quickly with a few truths, but instead, he tosses his magazine aside and gets right up in Wonwoo’s face. Stares him up and down.

“Relax man. I wouldn’t dream of setting you up with Gyu anyway. He’s too nice, and you’re, well, you.”

Wonwoo pulls back, a new kind of frown on his face.

Seungcheol raises his eyebrows, overacting with an appalled gape.

“Oh shit, did I hurt your feelings? My bad man.”

Needless to say, there will be roadkill shoved down someone’s pants in the next few days, but that’s not the only Seungcheol has to look out for.

“Hey, breakfast is almost ready. You might wanna wake the other guys up.” Minghao calls out, when he comes down stairs the first morning.

Seungcheol nods carefully, sparing a glance around the open planned living area. Empty but for the two guys cooking up breakfast.

“Yeah, sure. In a minute. I’m just looking for something...”

He doesn’t finish that, doesn’t bother explaining that it’s actually Jihoon he’s looking, and that he’s already woken everyone else up and interrupted Soonyoung and Seokmin in the shower by barging in to look for him. But he’d already checked outside and been around the porch, and now he’s starting to panic cause the cabin is not that big, and Jihoon is still nowhere in sight, and he’s not exactly the kind of guy to head out exploring by himself in unfamiliar territory.

It’s not leaving him with a lot of options.

Junhui and Minghao don’t say anything as he starts poking about the kitchen, frantically searching places no living person has any business hiding in, but they do side eye him with extreme judgement, like they know exactly what he’s doing, and they think he’s an idiot. Obviously they’ve never played hide and seek with Jihoon; they don’t know he’s the hide and seeker master.

After searching every cupboard, top and bottom, and poking his head into the fridge for a second time, Seungcheol finally admits defeat and throws his hands up.

“Alright. Where is he? Where’s Jihoon? What have you guys done to him?”

“Have you checked the tumble dryer?” Junhui says, straight-faced.

Seungcheol looks at him blankly, mouth open, thinking he must be kidding, but then again—

That is one place he hasn’t checked, and the tumble dryer is a nice, quiet and warm place for Jihoon to nap in. It’s not out of the realm of possibility.

Minghao intercepts him before he can actually go and check.

“Dude, relax. He’s just gone for a hike.”

“A hike?” Seungcheol echoes, feeling the panic drain off him somewhat, replaced by more important concerns. “Like...a hike hike. The exercise variety? Was someone holding a gun to his head?”

“Hannie and Jisoo took him, so yeah, probably.”

That launches Seungcheol into a different level of panic mode.

He immediately starts pulling on layers, random articles of clothing within reach that don’t even belong to him, but whatever gets him out there fastest will do, cause Jeonghan and Jisoo might be some of his oldest friends, but they are not to be trusted alone with his Tomato.

They’ll probably tie him to a tree and sacrifice him to some demonic forest deity in exchange for immortality. Also, they know way too much embarrassing shit about him, shit he’s never gonna live down.

He’s out on the porch, lacing up his boots, when he spots the trio coming around the corner. Jihoon’s looking pretty chill, relaxed. Not at all like he’s been dragged out against his will and force-fed embarrassing stories about Seungcheol’s days in high school.

Seungcheol leans against the side of the house, one boot dangling from his hand, and watches him gesture expansively, in the middle of sharing some story that’s making Hannie and Shua smile like idiots. He’s enthusiastically talking and smiling, eyes sparkling, and then looking over at him—and smiling even wider.

That can’t be right.

Something is not adding up here.

“Enjoy your hike?” He ventures hesitantly as Jihoon rushes ahead to greet him.

“Oh, hell no.” Jihoon laughs, hearteningly short of breath. “I hate nature hikes, I hate getting muddy, and the altitude makes it hard to get a proper breath, but I enjoyed chatting with your friends. They’re really funny.”

Seungcheol gives a suspicious squint.

“Yeah? Funny how? Funny cause they told you a totally fake story about the time I got two tampons stuck up my nose in the 9^th grade, or funny cause they made you stand in the middle of a pentagram and recite stuff in Latin?”

“The tampon thing.” Jihoon smiles beatifically, “And to think you teased Mingyu for doing the same with the DnD dice. Shame on you Cheol.”

“Dammit.” Seungcheol hisses. He should have known Jisoo and Jeonghan wouldn’t have let him off easy.

“Don’t worry Cheollie. We’re saving the demonic summoning for later, when there’s a full moon.” Jeonghan says, pausing at the bottom step to kick the mud off his boots.

Seungcheol levels a glare at him over his shoulder as he ushers Jihoon back into the safety of the cabin.

That’s not the end of his troubles. Not even close. 

He’s being given a casual amount of hell by everyone this weekend, which always seems to happen on those rare occasions they find something to tease him about, but Seungkwan especially seems to have it out for him. He’s in MC mode as usual, directing people around and organising activities, being the life and soul of the party as always, but he’s also doing sly shit like picking Jihoon first for his team, using any excuse to toss an arm around his shoulders, and dragging him into a ridiculous number of hugs in totally invented moments of celebration.

Seungcheol would normally be looking for payback here, but he’s not even mad. Even after his team loses epically to Seungkwan’s that night, and Seungkwan comes around to gloat during his victory lap.  

“Good game Cheol. You almost had us, but I guess you were a little distracted this time, huh? Couldn’t quite keep your eyes on the prize. Tell me, what does it feel like being a loser? Must be hard for you to lose at something.”

Seungcheol waves him off, too content letting his gaze track Jihoon across the room to be goaded into anything.

“Yeah, sure is, had to happen sometime though.”

Seungkwan leans his head to the side to block his view, something magisterial in the twist of his lips.

“That’s all I’m getting? Seriously? Aren’t you gonna accuse us of cheating, demand a recount? I mean... I was being very underhanded with my tactics back there, and Hannie did spend a long time in the bathroom; we could have cheated.”

Seungcheol rattles off a little laugh, not at all surprised, but still far from caring.

It’s probably fair to say his list of priorities have changed a lot. Now, next to professional baseball and finishing his degree, making Jihoon a happy little Tomato is firmly at the top, in bold and underlined and circled a hundred times. Everything else, including his pride, have taken a back seat.

He’s pretty sure he doesn’t verbalise any of this, but Seungkwan still barks out a laugh and holds a hand up like he’s doesn’t want to know.

“Oh wow, never mind. I thought Soonyoung and Junhui were exaggerating, but nope. You’ve got it down bad Cheol. I can see it in your face.”

Seungcheol waves him off, but he dwells over that plenty in the intervening hours, wondering what his stupid face is doing in random inconvenient moments, just how bad it’s betraying him when he thinks of Jihoon.

Later, after dinner, circumstances are such that he has to be the one to go outside and fetch more firewood from the outhouse. Jihoon practically dared him to. But when he gets back, not even ten minutes later, Jihoon is the first to meet him at the door, bundled up like he’d just been about to step out himself.

For a second he looks purely relieved to see him, then he shoots him the dick-softening look of doom and steps up close to whisper furiously, “Oh my god, where were you?”

Seungcheol gives him an uncomprehending look, shooting pointed glances down at the sack of firewood under his arm. When the scowling doesn’t let up, he wiggles out a block and offers it up in an unnecessarily chivalrous fashion.

“I went to fetch some firewood. As you demanded of me my liege.”

There’s a hint of a smile forming, then Jihoon thumps him on the chest, kind of hard.

“Well you took too long, I was getting worried.” He thumps him again, gentle this time. “Don’t go outside there again.”

“Alright. Okay.” Seungcheol relents, rubbing at his chest.

He’s a little confused, a little elated too, cause it was Jihoon who dared him to man up and leave the cabin earlier, and now it seems like he spent the whole time staring at the door, pining for his return.

Dumping the sack on the floor, Seungcheol reaches up to cup Jihoon’s heated cheeks with both hands, and when Jihoon doesn’t protest, slips his hands up under his shirt to span wide across his back.

“Excuse me, just need to warm my hands.” He says, straight-jacketing his arms around Jihoon and mumbling into his shoulder.

Jihoon makes no attempt to wriggle away, just hides a smile against his chest. Seungcheol would have liked to keep him there, just like that, but a few of the guys have stopped chatting to watch them now, big fawning smiles on their faces, and he has to let Jihoon go before he notices, starts overthinking things.

“Did I hear things right earlier? Are you gonna make us a batch of your famous hot chocolate that Gyu’ won’t stop moaning about?”

Jihoon’s throat dips as he swallows.

“It’s not that good. He’s just used to the powdered shit, but yeah, I was gonna. Should... I make a start on it now?”

“Yeah, why not. It’ll warm everyone up before the fireworks.”

Jihoon scurries off towards the kitchen area, and Seungcheol heads straight for the fireplace, ignoring the big dumb fawning smiles he passes along the way. He has to keep reminding himself he’s amongst friends here. He doesn’t need to worry about looking like a loved up sap, but his reaction to the knowledge that he is—it’s more visceral than he’d been prepared for.

Wonwoo sidles up to him a few minutes later, as he’s stacking up the wood and stoking the fire, looking awkward and out of place, hands jammed in his pockets. Seungcheol thinks he’s just trying to get warmed up at first, until he murmurs, “So, it seems I was wrong. He’s definitely into you.”

Blinking in surprise, Seungcheol glances at him, but his friend isn’t letting anything show. He breathes out, rubs his eyes. He’s so fucking tired of holding grudges.

“Look, let’s just forget about it, okay. I didn’t handle it well, but your emotionless delivery of facts can be a little hard to swallow when a guy’s laying his heart out on the table—”

“I know, and I feel bad about it.” Wonwoo says, sounding pinched and stilted. “I don’t even know why I said it; I’ve never thought that way about you. I always knew you were a big hearted idiot, and you just hadn’t met the right person. Guess I just...I dunno. I’m sorry man.”

A moment or two of densely packed silence passes, where neither of them seem to be able to look at each other. Seungcheol picks splinters out of the block of firewood in his hand, wondering if his ears are as red as they feel.

Finally he pushes his tongue against the roof of his mouth, forces himself to say, “Anyway. I don’t need you to revise your opinion to spare my feelings—”

“I’m not,” Wonwoo interjects quickly. “I’ve spent some time with him now, I’ve spoken to him, and I understand the situation better. You were right; he is just very shy and shockingly oblivious, but he lights up whenever you’re around, really comes out of his shell. And the way he looks at you...” He shakes his head with a breathy sigh, “You’re definitely the first person he’d want to survive a zombie apocalypse with. Maybe even the only person.”

Seungcheol smiles against his will, stealing a look at where Jihoon is standing by the stove with Seungkwan, prepping hot chocolate.

“You think so?”

“He basically told me so.” Wonwoo drawls. “Which I found very insulting by the way. My zombie plan was full proof and actually backed by science, and he still wouldn’t agree to join my commune of like-minded survivalists. He said he’d take his chances with you, even if it meant getting you a leash and a muzzle, and keeping you as a pet zombie.”

Seungcheol ducks his head, his face pleasurably warm, and thinks that he probably shouldn’t feel so excited to hear that.

Later that night, he gets some direct confirmation of what Wonwoo had been trying to say. The events that lead to it though, he never would have thought that's how the night would play out. 

It started with a game of Jenga, then Seokmin and Soonyoung just had to get loud in the hot tub.

Okay, so maybe he underestimated how scary the wolf head would be, and maybe he should have known how jarring it is to suddenly be interrupted by a loud roar in the middle of sex, but he really didn’t think he could scare a couple of goofballs like Seokmin and Soonyoung that bad.

They screamed so loud and for so long, he honestly just thought they were faking it at first, but then the lights came back on, and Seungcheol got a look at them, and they got a look at him, and yeah.

They definitely weren’t faking it.

Seungcheol’s never run away from a fight in his life, but he’s making an exception today. Two angry naked guys are out for his blood, and he really doesn’t want to find out what they consider is adequate payback to that. Thankfully their immediate nakedness and, well, slipperiness, gives him the upper hand, and he manages to get back inside the house, grab Jihoon, and hightail it up to their bedroom before they can give chase.

“That bad, huh?” Jihoon snorts, looking on as Seungcheol manoeuvres the heavy oak wardrobe in front of a locked and bolted door.

Seungcheol manages a winded laugh, “Yep. I’m definitely gonna have to apologise for that one, but I’ll wait till they cool down first. Think they’ll probably harvest my organs if they get in here tonight.”

In his desperate effort to reinforce the door further, he finds an old-style floorless camping tent under the bed, and gets the wacky idea of erecting it around the bed, right in the middle of the room, just so they have an additional layer of protection in case Seokmin and Soonyoung somehow manage to break through the wardrobe.

It’s one of his more genius ideas, if he does say so himself. Even Jihoon gets behind the plan, but not because he thinks it’s actually going to keep them safe from retaliation, but because he is very enamoured by the concept of a fort.

Once they get their sleeping bags and pillows inside, get the space lit with a couple of flashlights, Seungcheol can definitely see the appeal. It’s pretty cramped and cosy, and a lot more comfortable than it would be if they were camping outside with the dirt packed snow under them.

“This is so cool,” Jihoon is whispering excitedly, fairly vibrating with energy next to him. “It reminds me of the time I got invited to a sleepover for this kid’s birthday, and we built this really cool fort in the den with chairs and cushions and blankets. I was immediately obsessed with it, I couldn't tell you why."

Seungcheol smiles and stretches his arms up over his head, jaw popping as he yawns. He's feeling pretty beat right now, close to conking out, and if his phone hadn't lit up to remind him he's running pretty low on battery, he would have drifted off and never heard Jihoon's soft whisper a few seconds later. 

"They wouldn't let me inside though."

Seungcheol pushes up on one elbow to look at him, fairly awake now. 

“What? They wouldn't let you inside the fort? Why the fuck not?”

The expression on Jihoon's face is hard to read in the low light. Embarrassed, maybe. Wistful. But his discomfort is obvious in the way his hands twist in the sleeping bag. 

“Uhm, well, I don’t think the birthday boy really wanted to invite me in the first place; his mom just made him because she was friends with my mom. I guess it was his way of standing his ground. Which was fair I guess, it was his birthday.”

It’s a futile thing to get angry about, a decade too late probably, but Seungcheol finds it easy to get worked up about it, imagining a littler Tomato, watching all the other kids playing inside the fort, wanting to be a part of the fun too. Maybe trying to build his own little fort when he got home later. You'd have to be some kind of emotionless automaton not to feel some way about that. 

“What a dick. Tell me his name so I can kick his ass.”

Jihoon’s chest hitches as he makes a strange sound that is part laugh and part choked breath. He rubs a hand fast up and down the slice of bedding between them.

“It was ages ago, Cheol. He was like eight years old at the time.”

Seungcheol settles back down, punching the pillow under his head into a more comfortable shape. 

“Yeah, but he ain’t eight years old no more. He’s a grown ass adult now, and he’s probably still a dick.” He pauses to clear the something thick building in his throat, and says in a hushed voice, “I would’ve invited you to my birthday.”

Jihoon rolls onto his side to face him, smiling with the edge of his mouth, his features shadowed and contained, indecipherable in the dark.

“I would have invited you to my birthday too. Even though it probably would have just been the two of us and my parents at Pizza Hut.”

Seungcheol finds himself laughing at the image that evokes. 

“Sounds awesome. More pizza and cake for us, and hey, we would have definitely got out money’s worth at the free salad bar. I was such a salad stacking champion at my local Pizza Hut, they actually banned me.”

Jihoon starts to grin, but it fades off his face quickly into something softer.

“I wish I met you sooner,” He says, sounding careful, almost brittle. “You always have a different perspective on things. You make even the lamest parts of my life sound so nice.”

A moment of silence follows, that should be more awkward than it is, but for once Jihoon isn’t shying away. He’s blushing like crazy of course, that’s pretty much a given, but he’s not avoiding Seungcheol's gaze like emoting would usually compel him to. He’s just smiling, soft and sweet.

Seungcheol finds himself grinning back, only a little sheepish, and reaching out to drape an arm across Jihoon’s middle. The move bridges the scant few inches between them, presses Jihoon up against his chest, warm and intensely there, and when Jihoon snakes and arm around his waist and tucks his face into the bend of his neck, it’s as though Seungcheol’s brain just clocks out.

He’s isn’t really sure what is happening anymore. He doesn’t know what time it is, or how he got here—only that they’re lying in the same bed, and it’s all quiet and dark around them, and it’s the closest he’s been with another person.

The semester is coming to a close—finals bearing down when they win their final match in the college baseball series.

Seungcheol’s riding high on the win, locker room music pulsing through his chest, and he plans to celebrate in just about every lecherous, debauched fashion the team can possibly devise, because in the morning, once the worst of the hangovers passed, he has no choice but to turn his complete focus to his studies.

Seeing his phone light up with an incoming call from Jihoon is the totally unexpected bonus cherry on the cake that is his evening, until Jihoon explains why he’s calling.

That’s how he came to be escorting a very paranoid Jihoon back to his dorm instead of going to the party. He didn’t even tell the guy’s he was bailing on them, cause he knew how well that will go down, he just quickly changed, dumped his gear in the locker and slipped out the back. And he’s glad he did, cause Jihoon is tripping bad.

“Oh wow, check out those Zebras. What are they doing out here? Shouldn’t they be in the zoo?”

Seungcheol offers up a quick appeasing smile at the peeved off looking lady walking past them with her Dalmatians. Likely she’ll just assume Jihoon is drunk, but the same can’t be said for that wizened street vendor Jihoon accused of being the Dark Wizard Saruman.

Seungcheol really needs to get him home before he draws any more attention their way.

A familiar voice suddenly rings from somewhere behind them, getting quickly closer, and Seungcheol whips his head around to see Namjoon crossing over to their side of the road.

“Choi, man, where you going? Party’s back this way—” He’s saying, a big friendly grin on his face, and maybe it’s cause he’s shouting to be heard over traffic, or holding his arms up, but when Jihoon sees him coming their way, he yelps and attempts to hide in the fold of Seungcheol’s jacket.

Namjoon stops a few feet away, clearly taken aback by the reaction. His eyes switch between the two of them, a clear question writ on his face.

Seungcheol sighs and pulls his jacket aside, trying to coax Jihoon out.

“Relax man, it’s just Namjoon. He’s a friend of mine. Namjoon, this is Jihoonie.”

Namjoon angles him a crooked smile and holds up his hand.

“Hey Jihoon, it’s good to finally meet you. Cheol’s talked a lot about you.”

But Jihoon is jittery, skirting his eyes around Namjoon’s face. His scowl falters a bit, like he’s reconsidering something, then resurfaces brighter and angrier than ever.

“I know my rights officer. You can’t stop and search me without due cause. I have a very good lawyer on retainer. He’ll have your badge if you try and arrest me.”

Namjoon visibly startles, unaccustomed to Jihoon’s unique conversation style. Seungcheol, a little more practiced in the art of the non-sequitur, feels compelled to elaborate.

“Jihoon ate some weed brownies by accident, and now he’s tripping. He thinks the police and the Dark Wizard Saruman are out to get him.”

“Oh my God, Cheol, why’d you tell him. Can’t you see he’s a Narc?” Jihoon whines, real honest to God tears welling in his eyes. “Now I’m going to go to jail, and work in the mines, and they’re gonna make me play hide the soap and seek.”

Seungcheol squeezes his eyes shut, tries to summon some fortitude from somewhere. When he opens them again, Jihoon has disappeared back into the fold of his jacket, sniffling very sadly, and Namjoon is pinching the bridge of his nose, clearly doing his best not to bust a gut laughing.

Seungcheol sighs and gestures indistinctly.

“As you can see, I need to get him back to his dorm, and into bed, before he actually incriminates himself. So yeah, think you guys better count me out tonight.”

Namjoon gives a sympathetic nod and steps closer, attempting with some semblance of a serious face, to help him out.

“Don’t worry Jihoon, I don’t think the police are that interested in arresting students for consuming edibles. It would be a different story if you were caught carrying something with intent to sell of course.”

Jihoon pokes his head out of the jacket long enough to scowl and say, “Spoken like a true Narc.”

“I thought you said he was shy?” Namjoon says, nearly incoherent with laughter now.

Seungcheol open his mouth to explain that Jihoon’s not usually this sassy, it’s the weed, but Jihoon grabs a fistful of his jacket just then, tugging him down, and there is something heated and not-at-all shy glinting in his eyes as he asks, “Can I ride you?”

Seungcheol can only stare, a hopeless broken sound falling from him.

“What?”

“Piggyback. I...I want a piggyback.” Jihoon says softly. He noses along Seungcheol’s cheek in a surprise show of tenderness.

Namjoon gives him a long, knowing look, his mouth tilted slightly, close to a smirk.

“Guess I’ll leave you to it. Don’t have too much fun.”

Seungcheol levels him a scandalous look, cause obviously he’s going to be having no fun at all, not while Jihoon’s like this, but he has to refocus his efforts because now Jihoon’s trying to scale him like a tree.

“Okay, hold on. Let me get into position.”

Jihoon quiets considerably once he gets his piggy back, so much so Seungcheol wonders if maybe he's fallen asleep or passed out. He soon starts up again once they reach the dorm however, and Seungcheol starts carrying him up the stairs, complaining about the unavoidable jostling like this is some kind of luxury piggyback service he's paid for. 

The second they reach his room, he jumps off and tips Seungcheol with a stick of gum, then proceeds to stumble into nearly every object in the room, making an incredible racket, before he goes sprawling all over the floor, completely boneless. Seungcheol bends down to help him back up, but he’s doing this liquid cat thing with his limbs, refusing to cooperate.

It takes way more effort than it should to just roll him over onto his back, and when Seungcheol finally manages it, Jihoon beams up at him like they’re playing a game.

“Thanks for bringing me home Cheollie. I’ll be okay now.”

Seungcheol has to roll his eyes. Hard. Yeah, Jihoon sounds more coherent than earlier, but he clearly isn’t all there yet, seeing as he’s currently trying to make snow angels on the carpet. Still, trying to point that out to him right now is pointless.

“Be that as it may, I’d prefer to wait till Gyu gets back. I’m sure he won’t be long.”

“Ooh, yeah, we can have a sleepover!” Jihoon claps cheerfully, and then starts wrestling with his jeans. “But first we gotta take off our jeans. God, I fucking hate jeans. Take off your jeans Cheol, and take mine off too.”

Seungcheol laughs and helps him to his feet, helps him change and even brush his teeth, then settles him in the bed and gets the air purifier working too, cause even bouncing off the walls, high as a fucking kite, it’s all about the routine for Jihoon.

Then he stands awkwardly over the bed, trying to think of what to do next.

“You uh, want me to fetch Larry for you?”

Jihoon’s head rustles against the pillow in a slow head shake. Seungcheol can’t see his eyes, just this dim awareness of his gaze tracking over his face.

“I don’t use Larry anymore. I don’t need him.”

“Oh yeah?” Seungcheol blinks; this is news to him. “Since when?”

Jihoon yawns, rubs at his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Since you. Larry’s got nothing on you. Nobody has.”

Seungcheol goes motionless, scanning him, trying to read that shadowed expression on his face, trying to figure out what he means by a something like that.

He looks the same as he always does, just sweetly shy, pupils a little wider than usual.

There’s something spiked and thick stuck in Seungcheol’s throat, and he whispers, “Yeah? How’s that?”

Jihoon’s eyes come open and he blinks up at him, slow smile on his face.

“You make me feel safe and happy. I’m always so happy when you’re around.” He explains, expansively gesturing and accidentally knocking his elbow against his nightstand. “Ow.”

Unthinkingly, Seungcheol reaches down to rub it for him, and is amazed when Jihoon doesn’t pull away, instead tilting unconsciously towards Seungcheol’s body.

“And you’re so hot. Like, how do you get to be so handsome man? It’s seriously not fair.”

Seungcheol jams the tip of his thumb in his mouth, trying to hide the big dumb grin that spurs out of him.

He thinks about saying ‘Right back at you’, thinks about saying, ‘But seriously though, can we do something about this?’ He turns it over in his mind, mouths the words noiselessly to himself. Then he considers the fact that Jihoon might not say anything back, and imagines how that would go. The hanging silence, the crippling moment of mortification when he's left red-faced and stricken and rejected.

There is too much at stake now to just take that risk, especially when he’s not entirely positive he isn’t just warping this confession into what he wants it to be.

Jihoon murmurs quietly then, “hello, I’d like to order a pizza for delivery please”, but when Seungcheol looks up, he finds he’s fallen asleep, his closed eyelids flickering, his hands itching at his sides the way they do when he’s psyching himself up to make a call.

Seungcheol smiles down at him miserably, his heart in his throat, wanting nothing more than to sink in behind him, smooth the tension out of his back and sleep with his hand on Jihoon’s chest, his forehead on the nape of Jihoon’s neck.

Instead, he pulls his hoodie off, lets it puddle to the floor by his feet, and eases himself onto the ground, stretching out on the floor next to the bed. He stares up at the ceiling for a long time, waiting for sleep to find him, but in that time, all that comes is the realisation that he’s done. He’s done waiting.

Tomorrow, or okay, maybe after exams, he’s gonna talk to Jihoon. He’s gonna tell him how he feels.

He needs to know, once and for all, if he stands a chance here, and if he gets his heart broken, well, that’s only fair. He wasn't really using it much before Jihoon came along, anyway.

The conversation, when it finally happens, does not go the way Seungcheol hoped.

It's brief, awkward, and more agonising than he mentally prepared himself for, and that's on him. He had too much riding on a good outcome, on Jihoon saying yeah, I like you that way too, and unfortunately, it didn't play out that way.

It fucking sucks getting your heart broken; nobody is going to feel okay after that, but at least he has his answer now. Jihoon doesn't want to be his boyfriend, and that's pretty much all there is to it. Nothing left to do but deal and move on, get over it, remind himself there are plenty of other fish in the sea, whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger yadda yadda yadda.

Seungcheol being Seungcheol however, "deals" by spending the following three days drinking himself into cheerful oblivion.

It's not the most mature response to disappointing news, it's not healthy or well-adjusted behaviour in the least, but he reasons there are many good reasons to get trashed right now. The fact that he’s finished his third year and still hasn't been scouted by a professional baseball team for one. That really sucks, cause he played really well this year; the team as a whole played better than they ever have in the entire history of the college, and yet, as far as he knows, not a single one of them has been approached to sign for a professional team. Then there's the fact that he's going to be losing a good chunk of his social circle come graduation day, to jobs and grad school and responsibilities that will scatter them far and wide, and he probably won't see most of them again until some lame reunion years down the line. Forget getting rejected by the guy he's been pining over for the last seven months; he's got a lot of other good reasons to be sad and perpetually drunk right now.

(That’s what he keeps telling himself anyway.)

So when it comes to planning the end of year party, he goes all out in every respect; the music, the food, the booze. Make that especially the booze, because they seriously overestimated their alcohol consumption this year, and they’ve still got several kegs of cheap beer to offload, not to mention an entire case of Smirnoff Ice, Irish whiskey, and one violently green bottle of Crème-de-menthe someone bought to make a grasshopper pie than just never materialised.

Seungcheol plans to steer away from the alcohol for most of it, cause the guys are starting to worry about his intake, but otherwise he's going to try and be normal. He is going to shelve this emotional crisis and have fun, maybe even get laid tonight and put this behind him.

He can do it.

He can be just friends with Jihoon.

(It's not like he has much of a choice really. If there is a choice between keeping the guy in his life or cutting him out entirely, it’s a no brainer. He has to pretend everything is back to the way it was before.)

As the party gets underway, he finds himself getting quickly and fantastically annoyed by everyone.

It’s a good turn out despite the short notice, and he can’t move an inch without getting slapped on the back, greeted with hugs and cheek kisses, offered sips of everyone’s drink. But at least seven people ask him where Jihoon is, if he’s coming tonight, and every time there’s a spike of steely pain in Seungcheol’s stomach, and his answer comes out strangled.

“I dunno. I guess it’s not really his scene.”

By his third orbit of the room, he’s so ready to start drinking, it’s not even funny.

Junhui wanders over to him when he attempts to seek refuge in the kitchen, eyeing the gin he's pouring into his mostly empty cup with a disapproving look, mouth curved down.

"Gimme me a break man," Seungcheol tells him, because it seems pointless pretending he doesn't know what the guy's worried about. "I can't do this shit sober. They're killing me out there, dropping his name every five seconds. I need to stop thinking about him."

Junhui shakes his head in weary resignation and reaches over to gently pull the bottle from his fingers. 

“Alright, I guess you've earned yourself something stronger. But sneaking gin into your 7-Up is some serious weak sauce Cheol. If you're not going to do something smart, at least do it right. Who wants to do shots!" he says this last bit to the kitchen at large. 

A cheer goes up, and the shot glasses are procured. Junhui starts lining them up, then pauses, eyes going wide.

“What?” Seungcheol eyes him as he takes hold of the tequila bottle.

Junhui brays out a wild little laugh, sounding a bit hysterical.

“Uh, don’t turn around, but...Jihoon just walked in.”

The knowledge speeds Seungcheol’s pulse up, hands shaking a little around the bottle.

He isn’t ready for this. He needs some time to prepare himself. Fortify his defences. He needs a fucking time out. He runs his thumb along the label of the bottle and starts picking at the paper around the neck, then sets it down seconds before someone tugs gently on his arm.

Seungcheol closes his eyes and breathes deep, soaking up the general awesomeness of the moment. The air in the room is thick and heated, like a sauna, making him dopey and slow and calm, but he feels lighter than air too, like he can float right up off the ground and leave the world behind.

Lying next to him in the bed, Jihoon looks much the same. He’s flushed and breathless and blissed out, gaze foggy and detached as he stares up at the ceiling, the muscles in his stomach flickering under Seungcheol’s restless hands.

Seungcheol hasn’t stopped touching him since he tossed aside the damp flannel he used to clean them off with. He can’t seem to stop either; he needs to make sure Jihoon is real, that he’s actually here, that they’d just fucked for the first time and it isn’t just some wish-fueled dream.

He’d thought, kind of hoped, that a good fuck would take the edge off, get some of this thirst out of his system. But he wants Jihoon even more now than he ever has, wants him with frantic, inexplicable force that scares him a little. He wants to taste every inch of his skin, suck bruises on the wings of his hips, leave bite marks on his stomach. He wants to put hands all over him, swallow every cry when he comes and collapse on top of him. He wants to fuck him senseless and come inside him, balls deep. Fill him up until he’s dripping with it. Then he wants to do it again, and again and again.

He breathes deep once more, pulling himself under control and says, in a scraped-up voice, “Are you okay? Am I touching you too much? Just let me know if you want me to stop—if you’re getting overstimulated.”

Jihoon blinks up at him for a second, then exhales through his nose like a dragon and reaches over to take Seungcheol’s hand and plant back on his hip.

“Thanks, noted. But I think you’ll notice that I didn’t say stop. So, you know, please don't."

Seungcheol doesn’t know what to do with that, doesn’t know what to do with the deep blush that spreads across Jihoon’s face a second later. He is briefly uncertain, baffled by this sudden license to keep touching, but when he leans down to hesitantly brush his lips against Jihoon’s, Jihoon responds immediately, tipping his head to the side and opening his mouth, tightening his arms around his shoulders, and it spurs him on again.

He knows they should talk about this, discuss what it is they're doing, what it means for both of them, but that would mean slowing down, or worse, stopping, retreating, and with the way Jihoon is winding his fingers through his hair, kissing him again and again—messy and uncoordinated, a hungry desperation at the edges of it that Seungcheol is never going to get tired of—he can't find it in himself to suggest a cooling chat. 

He loses track of time for a while, focused on the mindless friction between their bodies, the feel of Jihoon’s tongue dragging against his own, that particular gasping-grunting chorus growing urgent between them. They kiss and grind against each other for so long the space between their mouths seems to be composed entirely of steam, and Seungcheol can’t tell where his body ends and Jihoon’s begins.

He’s still waiting to be shoved away in a moment, forced to impose a safe distance between them—cause this has to be too much for Jihoon, all this contact—but Jihoon seems to be as into it as he is.

Everything about him is beautifully unselfconscious,  from the sweet little protesting noises he makes every time they have to break apart for air, the way he clamps his hand on the back Seungcheol’s neck to keep him close, to the way he rolls his hips up maddeningly in search of friction, like he’s forgotten himself completely.

When Seungcheol slides a hand under him, to grope at his ass, he hooks a knee over his elbow to give him better access and guides his hand boldly between his thighs, a silent demand.

Seungcheol is grateful for the direction, honestly, close to dizzied from lack of air and the punishing heat of Jihoon’s mouth against his own. His fingers are nowhere near slick enough, and he’s lost track of the fucking lube, but Jihoon’s still plenty slick enough from earlier, and he gives a satisfied grunt when Seungcheol works two fingers back inside his lube slicked ass, slow and careful.

“Cheol, please. I’m not gonna break.” Jihoon says, panting, rolling his forehead against Seungcheol’s.

“Well, my fingers might.” Seungcheol replies dryly, frankly surprised at his own coherence. “Your ass is like a vice.”

He glances down between their bodies, at the sweat soaked skin and grasping hands, the slick mess of their cocks slip-sliding against each other, and pushes another finger in alongside the others, curling them to see Jihoon’s rim stretch around his knuckles.

Jihoon’s breath hitches and he turns his face away, smothering a moan against an outstretched arm. Seungcheol shivers hard, heat coursing through him, ready to do just about anything to hear that noise again.

It won’t be long now, he’s sure. He can feel Jihoon shaking under him as he fucks three fingers into him, tracking the way the muscles give, how Jihoon tenses and then relaxes, responding to his touch. He isn’t thinking about what he is doing beyond the immediate: dedicating himself to making Jihoon come and come hard. He’s not thinking about his own pleasure, not thinking about fucking Jihoon again, cause that would be too much in one night; he’ll be too sore in the morning. But then Jihoon shoves him back, looks at him with a wild glint in his eye, his hand hot against the skin of Seungcheol’s shoulder.

“That’s enough.”

Seungcheol nods and slips his fingers out, shifts away to give him room. The clock on his nightstand blinks 2 AM. They’ve been doing this for hours, he realises with a distant sense of astonishment, long enough that the sound of the party downstairs is close to dying down. He doesn’t get a chance to process anything beyond that though, before there’s a rustle of movement, a creak of springs, and Jihoon is saying, “Can you take me from behind this time? I think I can fit all of you this way.”

Seungcheol whips his head over to look at him, sees that he’s rolled over on to his hands and knees, ass in the air, and his mind goes blank, white and completely empty, like static on a busted television.

He rolls onto his knees without thinking about, but makes no move to get closer just now, too absorbed in the image of Jihoon’s beautifully pale skin, his peachy butt, the flex and play of the muscles of his back as he shifts minutely, getting comfortable.

“You... want to do it again?” he hears himself say, sounding stunned, maybe; dry-mouthed with excitement.

Jihoon straightens up to glance over his shoulder, intercepts his gaze with a look that turns knowing then heated.

“Yes...Don’t you?”

Seungcheol finds himself nodding, feeling unscrewed and unable to think of a single good reason why he can’t. Goddamit, why can’t he think of a reason? Didn’t he have a good reason earlier?

“Course I do, just...wanted to,” He gestures vaguely, making no sense at all. “...give you a minute.”

Jihoon looks at him, half his face hidden by the sweep of his fringe, the one eye peeking out heavy lidded and intent on his face. He might have been smiling; from this angle, Seungcheol can’t really tell, but the scrape in his voice has his dick sitting up.

“I don’t need a minute Cheollie. I’ve been fucking myself with toys, wishing they were you for months. I want the real deal.”

He leans over again without another word, spreading his knees apart in clear invitation, and Seungcheol has to restrain a shudder from the wave of heat that washes over him at the sight of it. This strain of desire and want so pure and stunning it knocks the wind out of him.

He scoots closer and catches at Jihoon’s thighs, sliding his hands up to stroke over his hips and back in quiet awe. He’s thought about fucking Jihoon like this a lot, having the perfect swells of his ass cheeks under his hands, but the reality of it is a hundred times hotter than he imagined it would be, and he can’t think past it for a minute

His fingers flex on Jihoon’s hips as he takes it all in. For a long moment neither of them do anything. And then finally, Jihoon says with a voice dry like sandpaper, “I know you can’t see my face, but you should know I’m scowling right now.”

Seungcheol can’t help the laugh bubbling in the back of his throat.

“Why? Cause of me?”

“Yes,” Jihoon huffs, sounding adorably put out. “I’m hornier than I’ve ever been, waiting for you to fuck me, and you’re just staring at my butt. Way to make a guy feel self conscious.”

Smiling to himself, Seungcheol takes hold of his dick and runs it between Jihoon’s ass cheeks slowly, parting them.

“I’m just basking in the moment man. Enjoying the stunning view. Pretty sure you’d do the same if you spent as long as I did chasing after such a fine piece of ass.” He says, driving the head of his dick over and over the tightly furled hole.

Jihoon gasps and shudders a little beneath him, then reaches a hand behind himself like he can’t wait.

“Cheol,” he says in a choked voice, a line of pleading in it, begging.

That’s all the incentive Seungcheol needs.

Biting down on his lip, he grabs hold of Jihoon’s wrist and uses the leverage to pull him back onto his cock, pushing achingly slow into that tight perfect heat. He feels Jihoon’s whole body jerk against his, feels him seize up for a second and then stretch gorgeously around him, letting him in inch by inch. By the time he’s bottomed out, they’re both gasping, breath hammering double-time and ragged as fuck, but it’s the best feeling in the world being inside him again, a perfect fit.

Seungcheol fucks him a little harder the second time around, but he takes his time with it, builds the pace up nice and slow; pulling nearly all the way out to watch Jihoon’s rim catch on his cockhead, before plunging back in, thrusting in so deep the bed rocks against the wall with a heavy thud.

For his part, Jihoon is somewhat restricted with Seungcheol’s hand still wrapped around his wrist, but he’s still eager as anything, still needy for it. He moans freely, voice descending into a bit of a whine as Seungcheol cock brushes up against his sweet spot, makes these gorgeous soft little whimpers on the slick drag out, arching his spine and pushing his ass further back on Seungcheol’s dick, like he already misses the feel of it moving inside him.

Seungcheol feels driven ever so slightly out of his mind watching him. If he could take a picture of this he would, save it for a rainy day. Reality has never been as good as what his fantasies could offer, but right here, in this moment, it’s happening.

Eventually he has to release Jihoon’s arm so he can get closer, plaster himself along his back, kissing at his neck, his ear, the back of his shoulder. Jihoon takes his weight for as long as he can, then slumps forward to bury his face into the pillow, muffling a soft broken gasp as Seungcheol begins to thrust urgently inside him, chasing the hunger that’s burning in his belly and the base of his cock.

They’re both pretty far gone by the time he thinks to reach around and take hold of Jihoon’s cock, and all it takes is one stroke, one drag of his thumb over the slippery head, for Jihoon to come undone. He spills in the twisted mass of sheets beneath them without any sound, any warning beyond his ass tightening around Seungcheol’s cock, his back curving in. Seungcheol only knows he’s come by the way he suddenly goes limp underneath him, the small twitches in his limbs as the aftershocks roll through.

He’s reduced to panting trying to chase his own release, driving his hips down with no grace or rhythm or melody, nothing like it. He has a death grip on Jihoon’s hips, fucking into him again and again, pleasure spiralling through until he is crazy from it, mindless, so good he keeps forgetting to breathe.

When the boundless rush of pleasure finally crashes through him, he presses forward instinctively one last time, in where it’s wet and deep and blazing hot, pressing Jihoon down into the mattress as he empties inside him.

Jihoon gasps alongside him, hands coming up to clutch at Seungcheol’s where they’re braced above his head, like he’s just come again, like being marked all up inside with Seungcheol’s jizz is enough to set him off.

Seungcheol slumps on top of him, breathing hard, only managing to keep himself from crushing Jihoon by propping an elbow on the mattress. Several long moments pass like that, just them panting hard and coming down together. He can feel Jihoon’s heart rate settling under his skin, feel the sweat drying sticky between them, but something akin to fear keeps him pressed against his back, not letting him roll away just yet.

Jihoon doesn’t seem in any hurry for him to roll off either, so maybe that’s okay.

When he finally pushes himself to slip his softening cock out and collapses off to the side, Jihoon instinctively follows, rolling over to fit himself against his chest, pillow his head on Seungcheol’s shoulder.

A beautiful warmth surges in Seungcheol’s gut, and he has to fit and arm around him, hold him all the closer, and bury a kiss in his sweat-dampened curls. Right here in this moment, it’s the happiest he can recall being in a long, long time, and he doesn’t want to let it go, never wants it to end. Not until he knows what comes next for them.

“So listen, I really need talk to you about something—” He begins, then pauses, angling a look down at Jihoon.

He finds him already conked out, just purely fucked out and gone to the world, chest rising and falling with the rhythmic motion of sleep.

Seungcheol huff out a silent laugh, and brushes his lips over the hickey forming on Jihoon’s neck.

“Okay. I guess we can talk in the morning.”

FIN.