Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The transition from January to February is colder this year. At least, it feels like it is. Yeonjun hasn’t looked up any scientific facts to see if it is actually colder than last year’s February.

It’s the cold that becomes his excuse. The lethargic way he’s going about his life. The traces of loneliness when he finally closes his eyes after a long day. No matter how much he lounges around his apartment with Soobin, or grabs coffee with Beomgyu, or pushes himself too hard in his classes, the boredom and loneliness stick to him in the same, bone-deep way that the cold does. He refuses to accept his sluggishness, or his melancholy, ignoring the emotions even when they trickle down to where his spirit meets his bones.

Instead, he shivers whether he’s outdoors or indoors, makes a big deal of complaining about how cold he is, while trying to ignore the way the chill seeps and spreads throughout his once-warm body.

—

Yeonjun isn’t paying much attention to the dating app that he’s half-heartedly swiping through. It was downloaded out of pure boredom more than anything else, because he’s never had a hard time actually getting dates. No part of him is looking for a relationship right now, in fact, he’s doing his best to avoid them, despite his presence on said dating app. His profile reads ‘looking for smth casual’. He had really just wanted to see the likes and compliments roll in.

Too old– swipe left.

Just turned eighteen– swipe left. Crazy.

Has a child– swipe left. That’s crazier.

And then– this pops up. Your best match is…

The app is taking it upon itself to assign him someone, maybe because he’s been saying no to every single profile he’s come across. He might be too picky. Maybe the world of online dating is reliant on insecurities, and the app is trying to push people together for better ratings. Maybe he shouldn’t be listening to an app he had downloaded out of boredom on who his best match is. He’s almost afraid to look at the profile that pops up after. But he does, and—

Record scratch. Or something like that.

The name that pops up is all too familiar to Yeonjun.

Huening Kai.

Yeonjun’s fingers have paused their swiping, he’s staring down at the app slack-jawed, confused at the pictures that are posted on this specific profile.

Yeonjun knows Huening Kai.

This is the same Huening Kai that had hit on Yeonjun at a house party sometime at the beginning of last year. The memory is a little hazy in the back of his mind.

It had been the beginning of Yeonjun’s junior year, at a laid back party with Beomgyu, when a drunk freshman had come up to them. Kai had hit on Yeonjun with so much confidence that Yeonjun was confused by the baby face, his cheeks puffy and round. Kai had asked to take Yeonjun on a date, words coming out more than a little slurred, because Yeonjun was “the prettiest person he’s ever seen” and his eyes had been starry and his hair had been mussed and his skin was flushed red from the drinking he had obviously been doing. Yeonjun had laughed, laughed with (well, at) the cute, drunk underclassman who was professing to Yeonjun so resolutely, but ultimately told him no. Who knows if he’d even remembered the interaction the next morning– with how drunk the younger boy had seemed to be. Beomgyu had giggled, grabbing a friend of Huening Kai’s (later introduced as Taehyun) to make sure that Kai got home safe and sound.

That had been the end of it. Yeonjun had awoken the next day with a headache, and could only assume that Huening Kai’s had been ten times worse.

Flash forward to today on Yeonjun’s phone, where the dating app profile is staring right back at him. There’s bad news and even worse news. The bad news is that Huening Kai is still as cute as Yeonjun had thought he was back then, even though his squishy, baby cheeks have now chiseled out into high cheekbones. The even worse news is that Kai looks like a man now– broad chested and tall, if the photo with his friends proves anything. Yeonjun can make out Taehyun in the group picture, because Beomgyu has had a crush on Taehyun since a university radio interest meeting.

Some random algorithm has decided that he and Kai are each other’s best match. What does that even mean? What does his phone know that he doesn’t?

He spends too much time staring at the profile. It’s a well put together profile– he can admit that. The first few pictures are of Kai, a selfie here, a mirror picture there, later on a group photo displaying how tall he is. If anyone thought that the ‘Height: 6’1’ section was lying, this picture would prove them wrong. His information is pretty sparse, just that he’s still in school, he does drink (though it says socially), and he doesn’t smoke (weed or cigarettes? Yeonjun assumes the answer is no to both. The same can’t be said for Yeonjun’s profile).

The thought of swiping left crosses his mind. He probably should. He’s a graduating senior from their university. Kai is a sophomore, about to be a junior. They’re probably at two different places in their lives. Kai is also friends with Taehyun, which could potentially ruin the long-term plans that Beomgyu has for himself and Taehyun (if getting too flustered to actually talk to Taehyun counts as ‘long-term plans’). He directly turned Kai down at that party when Kai still had his baby-fat cheeks and a too sweet smile that Yeonjun was afraid of ruining.

But Kai looks older now. Is older now– hopefully more mature. Something in the back of Yeonjun’s mind ticks like a bomb, rattling around in there as he looks at the profile staring back at him. Maybe he’s being stupid. He’s seen Kai around campus a few times, will wave at Taehyun with Beomgyu and see Kai with him. Kai has never acted like he hates Yeonjun for turning him down. He probably doesn’t even remember it, with how drunk he had seemed to be that night.

Yeonjun’s fingers hover over the screen. He bites down on his bottom lip. He can’t decide if there’s an actual moral dilemma here or if he’s overreacting. It would make sense for him to swipe left on Kai.

Except, one of the pictures displays Kai in a black t-shirt, loose but leaving little to the imagination. It softly outlines his chest, his shoulders, in a way that feels teasing. Yeonjun can’t help but to stare at this picture, this picture obviously put up as a thirst trap. There’s no other reason for it– Yeonjun has a thirst trap up too, because, duh. His is more thirsty, though, a white tank top that actually leaves nothing to the imagination, his lips pretty and pouting at the camera like he knows what everyone thinks when they look at the picture. It gets him the most likes.

With a sigh, he closes the app. There’s a chance it will automatically refresh, send him some other poor soul as his best match, someone other than Kai, someone less daunting.

His fingers itch. His phone home screen stares back at him. The dating app calls to him like the Green Goblin mask. Bella to Edward. Lestat to Louis. He isn’t sure why he’s mainly thinking of vampires. The most romantic of monsters, maybe.

He reopens the app, watches as it loads, waiting to see what his fate is. It’s out of his hands, now, up to someone or something else. A machine or algorithm to decide his future. If it were any hotter, any time other than the month of February, a bead of sweat might fall down his neck. It’s cold out now, and he’s bundled in a sweatshirt that’s a few sizes too big for him. It puddles around his hands and makes soft-sweater paws.

The app loads. His best match stares back at him.

Too familiar puppy-brown eyes and hair that is bleached blonde in some pictures and jet black in others greets him. It’s a curse, he can’t escape it. He isn’t sure why he’s even listening to an app in the first place, one he downloaded out of nothing more than boredom, but he is anyway.

His finger hovers– for a second, a beat– and then he swipes right. There’s a big, red heart on his screen, some confetti bursting.

Congrats, it’s a match!

The chat invites him to speak first, but he doesn’t. Instead, he opens his balcony door and pulls the pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of his pants, fumbling around for his lighter.

—

Yeonjun wishes he could say that he completely forgets about the whole thing.

Obviously, his mind does the exact opposite. It plagues him. It’s all he can think about. He is Gatsby, green light waiting on his deck, desperate and obsessed. He neurotically checks the app the next day, waiting to see if Kai will say something first. Yeonjun resigns to not texting first, because it puts him in a position of vulnerability he does not want to be in. If Kai doesn’t text him, it’s whatever. It wasn’t meant to be. The universe can decide, then, it’s not on Yeonjun to choose.

“You’ve been staring at your phone all day,” Soobin’s voice cuts through the noise of Yeonjun’s incessant mind. There’s a tone of incredulousness in it, and he’s staring at Yeonjun with a look of disbelief and an eyebrow raised. He’s standing across their shared living room, one hand on his hip and the other raised in a way that can only be described as gay. Soobin gets away with everything because of how attractive he is, which is why Yeonjun ignores the pointed way that it’s said. Also, Soobin is his best friend– which is something that he can never let Beomgyu find out.

“No, I haven’t,” Yeonjun retorts, eyebrows bunched in the middle, natural pout lining his full lips.

“Yes, you have,” Soobin rolls his eyes, because he’s too nosy to let this go. “Why?”

Yeonjun contemplates telling Soobin and not telling Soobin. Either way will probably end in him getting ridiculed for it, so it takes him a minute to decide whether Soobin’s advice will be worth it or not. Soobin, unfortunately, is the best advice-giver in their friend group, which is saying something, considering the state of his love life. Yeonjun had almost gotten punched over Soobin’s love life once, and Yeonjun wasn’t even directly involved. It’s a mess.

“I swiped right on this guy and I’ve been waiting for him to message me,” sounds a lot more pathetic when it actually comes out of Yeonjun’s mouth, instead of it floating around in his head, taking up far too much space. Now that it’s out in the open, he can see how silly it sounds. He considers going on a walk and touching some grass. He looks outside their living room window, and is met with the barren, gray ground of Winter. So much for that idea.

Soobin levels him with an unimpressed stare. “Oh,” he says at first, “When did you download a dating app? What guy? Show me him. Why can’t you just message first?” These are all laser pointed at Yeonjun, mainly all questions he doesn’t really want to answer.

“I can’t message first,” Yeonjun says, as if that makes it better. “Because… It’s Taehyun’s friend, Huening Kai. That guy that I turned down once.”

An evil smile lights up Soobin’s face, like this is finally drama worth listening to, happy that Yeonjun is finally giving him a juicy morsel of gossip. Yeonjun knows he has just handed Soobin something he probably shouldn’t have.

“Why’d you swipe right on him then?”

“He’s… he’s really hot,” Yeonjun has to admit, because that’s where the main issue lies. Huening Kai went and got really hot, which is doing more to Yeonjun’s mental state than it should be. If someone is really cute, they should just stay really cute. They shouldn’t metamorphosize into being really sexy. Something should be done about Huening Kai, in order for Yeonjun to feel normal again. He wishes he could go back to twenty four hours ago, when he didn’t know that Kai was hot and he could live a normal, peaceful life again. But now, it will never be the same.

Soobin nods, understanding. “Just message him first,” he offers.

This sounds awful to Yeonjun. He doesn’t want to do that, even a little bit. “I don’t want to,” he complains.

“But think about how it looks to Kai,” Soobin reasons, “You turned him down. He put himself out there, even if he was drunk. You should message first, let him know you actually are interested.”

That thing about Soobin being the best advice giver in their friend group. It’s good advice, and makes sense, which means that Yeonjun absolutely does not want to do it. It’s like Soobin can see the wheels turning in Yeonjun’s head as he waits for a response, because he adds, “You shouldn’t let your fear of commitment stop this. That is, if you really want it.”

That pesky fear of commitment. The reason why Yeonjun had ghosted the last three people he had gone on dates with. The reason why he never messaged first on dating apps. His last long-term relationship had gone south, and he had sworn to never do that again. Never let himself be the one who was left. He always had to be the leaver, now, had to be the one who decided.

But the image of Huening Kai’s soft smile in one of the selfies (and also the black shirt picture) flash through Yeonjun’s mind. It would be cruel of him to reject Kai, match with him on a dating app a year or so later, and then not do anything about it.

With a huff, he says, “Fine,” as if there’s a gun to his head. He reopens the app, even though it was the last app he had opened, and clicks on the ‘matches’ tab. There he is, the star of the hour, sweet-but-now-hot Huening Kai, the invite to message first still staring at Yeonjun. With a breath, and bravery he didn’t know he had, he clicks on it.

There’s a lot of things he could say. He could acknowledge their past of one night. Deciding against that pretty fast, he types a simple ‘heyy’ into the bar. Two y’s to show interest, but only two in order to not look too desperate. Soobin’s watching him like a hawk, as if Yeonjun is his own reality tv show, or dating simulator. Yeonjun sticks his tongue out at Soobin, immature, and presses ‘send’ on the message.

As fast as he sends it, he closes the app, turns his phone off. “Well,” he says to Soobin, “Want to go do something?” There’s a smile lining his face, because Soobin will definitely see through this.

“I know what you’re doing,” Soobin says, “But sure. I was going to go game at Beomgyu’s if you want to come.”

Yeonjun smiles, grabbing his bag. He doesn’t like gaming as much as Soobin and Beomgyu do, but he’ll sure as hell take the distraction.

“And Yeonjun–”

“Yeah?”

“Try not to mess with him, he seems really sweet.”

—

Yeonjun would like to say that he checks the app like a normal person. However, much like a Summer thunder storm, his outlook on it immediately does a 180 degree twist. He goes from obsessively checking the app to see if Kai has messaged him to not even opening it, too scared to see what it might hold. It’s bad of him, he knows, but every time he swipes by the app on his home screen, he’s filled with a sense of dread. Anything could be waiting in there. He’s been living with his phone on ‘Do Not Disturb’ mode since, even though Soobin and Beomgyu always click the ‘Notify Anyway’ button. So, he’s not really missing much.

“You have to check it eventually,” Beomgyu says, taking a bite of the apple in his hand. They’re on campus today, even though the chilly weather of February is making the walk from Beomgyu’s last classroom to the library practically unbearable. No snow at the moment, but Yeonjun wouldn’t be surprised if it comes sometime soon.

“I’ve just been busy,” Yeonjun says, even though it sounds like an excuse the second it leaves his mouth. They can all spot it– the excuses he gives to try and minimize things, remove himself from situations. Beomgyu gives him a knowing look.

“You have to actually talk to him,” Beomgyu retorts, “My future with Taehyun is dependent on it. If you fuck with Kai, there is no way Taehyun will accept my proposal.”

Which is shoddy logic because Beomgyu has barely had more than a few conversations with Taehyun, but Yeonjun keeps quiet at that. Beomgyu’s phone dings with a notification– Soobin telling them what floor of the library he is on. Beomgyu’s last class of the day gets out late, so the sun has already set, and the wind is nipping at Yeonjun’s nose. They have too much work to do to not go to the library, though, so Yeonjun is holding a hot coffee for energy.

“I know,” Yeonjun sighs, “I’ll check it today, seriously.”

He ignores the pointed look from Beomgyu, ignores the way his heart feels at the thought, or the irrational way his mind wants to run in the other direction.

Soobin ends up being on the main floor of the library, the one where students can be the loudest (but still quiet). Yeonjun had brought him and Beomgyu coffees too, so they distribute drinks and chat about how their days had gone. Beomgyu’s last class was bad, he hates his professor, and he’s in a horrible group project. Soobin’s classes were all online today, so he slept through one of them. Yeonjun had gone to his one class of the day, a dance class where he’s definitely the favorite due to being a co-captain of the dance team at their university.

The coffee is warm down his throat, the library is warmed by spatial heaters, and his sweatshirt is making him sweat. He pulls it off, the long sleeved shirt he has on underneath doing enough to keep him warm. He can feel where his nose is pink, probably going to be runny the next day from how cold it is today.

Finally their chatter calms down, everyone locking into their own assignments, too much work to really have time to enjoy their friends. Yeonjun is writing an essay on something he could care less about for a random gen-ed class he had put off taking until now. His headphones stream his monthly playlist, filtering out the white, background noise of the library. This is probably why he misses it at first.

Then, Beomgyu kicks him underneath the table. Hard enough to jolt him from his essay-induced trance.

“Ouch,” he says, looking up to glare at Beomgyu. “What the hell?”

Beomgyu’s eyes dart to the edge of the table, where there is a shadow that definitely was not there a few minutes ago. Yeonjun pulls his headphones out of his ears and looks up.

The reason Beomgyu had just kicked him stares back at him. Kang Taehyun, live and in the flesh, smiles at Yeonjun with a knowing but kind look on his face. Soobin stifles a chuckle. “Hey,” Taehyun says, his hands full of books. Yeonjun knows that Taehyun is in some crazy smart major from Beomgyu’s ramblings about the boy, but can’t exactly remember what it is.

“Hi,” Yeonjun says back, embarrassed.

“Just thought I’d say hi when I saw Beomgyu over here,” Taehyun says, though he’s looking at Yeonjun when he says it. Yeonjun feels like he’s been put on the spot, like he’s in trouble and being confronted with his own avoidance.

Yeonjun nods, turning back to look at Beomgyu, who looks really happy to hear his name come out of Taehyun’s mouth. It feels like that comment was directed to Yeonjunn rather than Beomgyu, though, so he isn’t sure how to proceed. What to say.

There’s no chance that Taehyun doesn’t know. With how often Taehyun is spotted with Huening Kai, they seem to be extremely close. Yeonjun had told Soobin and Beomgyu pretty fast, so he’s assuming that Taehyun also knows. Which means Taehyun would know that Yeonjun hasn’t responded to Kai– if Kai’s even responded to Yeonjun’s first message. It’s a confusing web.

“I’ll see you guys around, then,” Taehyun adds, smiling more affectionately at Beomgyu than he does at Yeonjun or Soobin. Soobin coughs into his fist. Yeonjun’s laptop screen has gone dark.

“You too,” Beomgyu says, a large smile plastered on his face, eyes lit up like twinkling stars.

Taehyun says goodbye, walking away from their table, up the stairs. Yeonjun wonders if Kai is upstairs right now, innocently doing work, not knowing that Yeonjun is mere levels below him. Maybe Taehyun had come to study with Kai, maybe he had come alone. Maybe Kai is joining him later. Yeonjun doesn’t think he likes any of these options.

When Taehyun is out of ear shot, Soobin turns to him– the claws of an eagle descending on an innocent (arguably) bunny. “You need to open that app,” Soobin says, surprisingly stern. “He totally knows, which means Kai has responded.”

Yeonjun wants a cigarette to quell the little nagging voices in his head. Instead, he takes a sip of his coffee. “Yeah,” he says, non-committally, “I should.”

“My future hinges on this,” Beomgyu says, as melodramatic as ever. “Do it now.” Soobin echoes agreement, clearly trying to get Yeonjun to respond, to actually give this a chance. He does want to give it a chance. Kai is cute. Kai is far more than cute. Yeonjun wants Kai to do terrible, cheap things to him. Peer pressure, unfortunately, works on Yeonjun. His friends know this.

With a sigh, he pulls his phone out. “If I get a bad grade on this essay,” he says, motioning to his abandoned work, “It’s because of you two.”

They seem to be fine with that. Beomgyu laughs, Soobin rolls his eyes, and Yeonjun unlocks his phone. Clicks on the dating app. Waits for the loading screen to process.

The words are taunting him as it does. Date, Match, Delete!

Like it’s ever that easy.

It loads, finally, and there’s a message notification in the bottom corner of the app. He’s glad Soobin and Beomgyu are sitting across from him, so they can’t really see this or his phone screen. He clicks on the notification, unsurprised to see that it is in fact a response from one Huening Kai.

Yeonjun opens the chat, tries to not let any emotions cross his face. Soobin and Beomgyu are like sharks in the water, searching for any sign of blood, any hint of weakness.

“He responded,” Yeonjun says, as nonchalantly as possible.

“When did he respond?” Comes from Soobin.

“What did he say?” Comes from Beomgyu.

Yeonjun zeroes in on the message.

Hi!^-^

Sent not long after he had sent the first message, which makes him feel actually bad. It’s definitely taken him longer to respond. Underneath that first message is another one, because apparently Huening Kai isn’t afraid to double-text in the same way that Yeonjun is.

How are you?

“He said hi, and asked how I am,” Yeonjun answers, ignoring Soobin’s question.

“He’s doing better than you did,” Soobin jokes, “You only said hey.” Which is true, but unnecessary to point out. Yeonjun is the one who had started the conversation, which was obviously the harder thing to do.

Yeonjun types out a response, ignores Beomgyu asking what he’s saying in response.

good, how r u?

He clicks send before he can second guess himself. With that, he closes his phone. “Satisfied?” He asks his two best friends, who both take the opportunity to laugh at his whole predicament.

There isn’t much else of his essay that’s going to get done. He closes his laptop for good, saying ‘goodnight’ to Beomgyu and Soobin. He hasn’t fully stepped out of the library before he’s rummaging through his bag, trying to find the pack of cigarettes he had stashed in here. When he finds it, he pulls one out, lighting it with one hand and protecting the flame from the wind.

—

The initial fear of Kai is gone, now, replaced with something else. They’ve been talking more, their conversations having moved from the dating app chat box to actual text messages, where they go through a list of ‘normal-to-ask’ questions. It’s not long until Kai’s name is lighting Yeonjun’s phone screen up with a phone call, and despite all of his usual tendencies, Yeonjun finds himself answering.

Yeonjun learns that Kai is a music major, specializing in composition, that he has an older sister and a younger sister, and he’s lived in too many countries for Yeonjun to count. Yeonjun answers the same questions, if not a little sparingly, defensive over his own life details— dance major, no siblings but is close with a cousin, and drinks far too much caffeine for any normal person.

Kai is kind about everything, types cute emojis after almost every text, and wants to go on an actual date with Yeonjun. It became very clear one night when they were talking late, so late that Yeonjun swore he heard the birds chirping in their morning greeting. Kai had said something about meeting up, going on an actual date, and Yeonjun had said he should probably be going to bed. Was that mean? He already knows that it was. Still, he does want to go on a date with Kai. He’s just afraid.

Afraid they’re looking for two different things. Afraid Kai won’t actually like him in real life where he’s a lot skinnier and more fatigued than his dating profile suggests. Afraid Kai will judge him for a number of reasons. Afraid he’ll let himself get too attached.

When he voices this to Soobin, Soobin scoffs, in a way only a best friend can get away with. “From what I’ve heard, he’s like, the nicest guy alive,” Soobin says, “You’re overthinking it.”

Pause— what has Soobin heard? Yeonjun wouldn’t be surprised if Soobin had figured out everything about Huening Kai, down to the minute he was born.

His comment sticks to Yeonjun like glue, sticky in an uncomfortable way, and he’s got to pull it off like a second layer of skin. But when he goes to sleep, Soobin’s words ring in his mind. He should just go on a date with Kai. What harm could it bring? It’s his own mindset that’s pulling him down, his inability to speak about important things, to bring himself to do the things that make him feel so weird. Kai is the nicest guy that Yeonjun has probably ever met– clingy in a way that hasn’t become annoying, which would normally ward Yeonjun off instantly. He’s constantly asking about Yeonjun, curious about him, curious about his wants and needs and thoughts.

So, later that night, when he’s in bed and overthinking everything, he grabs his phone again to text Kai.

do you want to grab dinner?

He sends it and closes his phone again, decidedly going to sleep, so that he can deal with all the panic that comes with that text in the morning.

When Yeonjun wakes up the next morning, he’d be lying if he said that checking his phone wasn’t the first thing on his mind. So he does, because he’s never been one to deny himself anything, and goes straight to the app. He had sent the message pretty late last night, as if that would provide him a smoke screen of dealing with all of his pesky, confusing emotions.

Unfortunately– or, fortunately– Kai had responded, about an hour after Yeonjun had sent it.

Yes!

—

They decide on dinner at a casual, late-night spot near the university’s campus. Yeonjun decides to walk, because the cool air of February will keep his mind calm, focused on something other than the upcoming date. He makes a point to not bring any cigarettes. Kai might think they’re gross, might not kiss him if he’s smoked. And he really does want to kiss him. Yeonjun hasn’t gotten with anyone in a minute, has been too busy with school and work and other things that keep one too caught up in life.

Instead, his hands fiddle with the ends of his jacket, desperately trying to find something to slow his racing mind. He’s worn a casual outfit, a warm jacket with a scarf tucked around his neck. It always makes him feel a little bit like a marshmallow, wrapped up so tightly and warmly.

When he gets there, he goes to pull his phone out to tell Kai that he’s made it. Except, he doesn’t need to, because as soon as he grabs the door to open it, he’s met with a barely-familiar sight. Standing just inside of the restaurant, taller than Yeonjun and broader, is Huening Kai.

There’s a split second before Kai realizes that it’s Yeonjun who’s walked in. Yeonjun takes this time to fully appreciate Kai in the flesh, instead of drooling over pictures posted to a dating app or selfies sent in their chat history.

Kai is tall. Deliciously tall, taller than Yeonjun is. His hair is icy blonde, white in a way that matches the weather outside. Striking. He’s wearing a sweatshirt that, somehow, is too big on him, despite how tall he is, how broad his chest is. His side profile is pretty, statuesque in a way that makes Yeonjun feel butterflies in his stomach. Kai is currently holding a menu, looking at it intently. The menu looks small in his hands, which peek out from the sweatshirt he’s in. Strands of his hair fall in his face as he looks down, his dark brown eyes staring focused at the menu, as if he’s really contemplating what he’s going to get. Yeonjun had looked the menu up online beforehand.

And then, Kai’s head turns, and he’s looking at Yeonjun walking through the restaurant door. His eyes are dangerously dark, staring at Yeonjun with such deep emotion that Yeonjun feels unconsciously intimidated. The look Kai is giving him— this is a look for an anniversary date, not a first one. Then, a smile spreads on Kai’s face, slowly taking over. His neutral expression had looked modelesque, but the smile is making his features comfortable and welcoming. The corners of his mouth indent against his cheek, his bottom lip full and rosy. The tip of his nose is similarly pink, his cheeks as well, probably from the cold of the outside world. But here, in this restaurant, when it’s a little too late for a real date, his face is flooded with warmth. That same warmth finds its way to Yeonjun’s cheeks, as he tries to bite back a smile. Doesn’t want to look too eager– even if Kai is looking at him with such big eyes.

There’s a moment’s silence as Yeonjun walks up, his cold hands twisting together, twiddling his fingers anxiously. Kai looks at him in a way that feels so openhearted that Yeonjun is almost scared.

“Hi,” Yeonjun says, breaking the silence between them, putting something out in the air between them. An olive branch, or something close. He’s sacrificing so much to be here, to look back at Kai with a smile, to ignore the way his heart is telling him to turn around and run the other way. Kai looks like someone that Yeonjun wants– no, more than that– Kai looks like someone Yeonjun could love. Kai looks at Yeonjun with such fondness on a first date that Yeonjun could see himself getting comfortable. Vulnerable. It’s amazing how fast his mind runs through these little anxieties, even before Kai has opened his mouth.

“Hey,” Kai says back, voice smooth as honey, a little bit deeper than Yeonjun remembers it once being. He supposes their one encounter was when Kai was drunk and younger. Maturity looks good on Kai.

Upon closer inspection, Kai has little moles around his face. There’s one on his nose, one on his cheek. Like an angel had pressed soft kisses to his face, dotting him with stars. His face looks airbrushed, all soft and pretty. Yeonjun’s eyes trace the lines of it. For some reason, Yeonjun can’t keep the smile off his face, and he lets out a soft giggle that he hadn’t meant to. It floats through the air, infecting the space around them, tugging harder at the corners of Kai’s mouth.

“Are you hungry?” Kai asks him, “We can seat ourselves.”

Yeonjun nods, though he isn’t that hungry, and lets himself be guided to a booth table. He sits on one side, Kai sits opposite, and Yeonjun is silently grateful that Kai isn’t the type of person to sit on the same side of the booth. Except, when they’re looking at each other like this, it’s hard to look anywhere but Kai’s face.

He doesn’t know what to say. Kai fills the silence.

“So,” he says, bravely, “How are you?”

They filter through small talk, asking about each other’s days and what projects they’re working on and what their favorite movies are. Kai is intense, but not in a bad way. He just shines bright, not stifling, but enough for Yeonjun to feel close to awestruck. When Yeonjun speaks, Kai stops whatever he’s doing to pay attention to him. His focus is meticulous. It’s a lot.

The conversation takes a turn exactly where Yeonjun didn’t want it to.

“Why’d you swipe right on me?” Kai asks. “After all, you’ve turned me down before.” It’s said in a serious tone, but there’s a smile on his face that makes Yeonjun think he’s teasing. Still, he feels put on the spot.

“I–I thought you didn’t remember that night,” Yeonjun admits, the blush on his face intensifying. He’s been caught red-handed. He had been banking on Kai forgetting about it, about Yeonjun saying no to a drunk, little freshman. Apparently not. “You haven’t mentioned it until now.”

“How could I not remember you?” Kai says, voice soft– like he had meant it as a joke, except it comes out far too earnest. He seems to notice the faux pas, the ardent way he had said it, so there’s a beat of silence before he continues, looking embarrassed. “You’re the prettiest person I’ve ever seen. I don’t think I could ever forget you.”

Yeonjun’s been complimented in hundreds, possibly even thousands, of different ways. He knows he’s attractive. Knows the ways in which men like to grip his waist like they own him. Knows the ways women like to pet his arms, or grab onto his shoulders passionately. He’s never been insecure about the fact of his face, never been unsure about the way he comes off to people.

But this is different.

Kai is so sweet, tooth-rottingly, and it makes Yeonjun’s heart do all these things that he isn’t close to being ready for. His eyes light up his face, and all Yeonjun can think is how this is the most honest anyone has ever been with him.

“Thank you, I– you’re really attractive, too, I mean,” Yeonjun says, his unbreakable walls beginning to feel frazzled. “I thought you were cute. It was really sweet.”

Kai laughs at this, a laugh that is high-pitched and loud. Yeonjun wishes Kai would stop looking at him the way he is. It makes him want a cigarette. Instead, his hands are antsy in his lap. He picks at the skin around his fingernails, pulling at it, trying to make Kai stop looking at him like that.

“At that party, I was so drunk but I still knew I had to say something,” Kai says, “Taehyun told me you were going to say no, but I had to anyway. Just in case.” Something about this sends a pang to Yeonjun’s heart.

“No one’s ever asked me out that earnestly. You were just so… drunk,” Yeonjun says, “And young. Still so young.” Everything is starting to sound like an excuse now. He hopes Kai doesn’t notice.

“I’m not that young,” Kai says, his bottom lip jutting out in an adorable pout. “Besides, we’re only a few years apart.”

Yeonjun has to resist the urge to call him cute, to pinch his cheek and coo like he’s a baby. He desperately wants to, so instead, he picks at a different fingernail.

“And I’m not drunk now,” Kai jokes, clearly trying to distract Yeonjun from whatever’s going on in his head. Is he that easy to read, or is Kai just paying that much attention to him? Yeonjun isn’t sure.

“That’s good,” Yeonjun jokes back, knowing Kai hasn’t ordered anything alcoholic. “I wouldn’t be able to carry you back anyway, you’re so big…” The way his sentence ends leaves room for something for Kai to pick up on. By the look on his face, his eyebrows slightly raised, he didn’t miss it.

Things Yeonjun can do: sex.

Things Yeonjun can’t do: relationships, clinging, the way Kai looks at him like he personally placed every star.

So when Kai says alludes to his apartment being close by, Yeonjun jumps at the opportunity. The bill is paid without a second thought. Yeonjun can drown himself in worry later, not when the promise of Kai’s bed calls to him.

Kai’s apartment is closer than Yeonjun’s is, but the walk back is still brisk. Yeonjun can feel his blood buzzing beneath his skin. Excitement and arousal meet in a tense state, the question of where this night is going on both of their minds. Well, Yeonjun knows where it’s going. He’s just interested in the how of getting there.

That’s the thing about Yeonjun. While he’s largely uninterested in long-term, tied-down relationships, he is extremely interested in the logistics of sex. In the convergence of two bodies. The sweaty, gritty aspects of it.

Since matching with Kai, he’s imagined it a million different ways. In class when extremely bored, in the shower when the water is too hot on his back, in his bed late at night with one hand stuffed down his underwear. He’s imagined what Kai’s room will look like when they fuck, or if they’ll even make it to his room, if they’ll end up too needy, finding a living room couch. He’s imagined what Kai likes, what Kai would sound like, what Kai would do to him. If Kai would be soft and gentle with him, or bend him over without a second thought. Imagination makes his mind run wild.

If looks mean anything, Kai’s thinking the same things. When they get to his apartment, which is university-housing but not dormitories, Kai fumbles with his key, trying to get it in the lock. They haven’t even kissed yet.

“Slow down,” Yeonjun purrs, sneaking up to Kai’s ear, nearly panting. “Take a breath.”

Kai gulps at this, which Yeonjun supposes counts. Slower than before, he inserts his key into the lock, twisting it and unlocking the door. His face is one of concentration, like he has to really think about this, not be distracted by the other things around him. Meaning, Yeonjun.

“Do you have a roommate?” Yeonjun asks, the facade of innocence on his face and in his voice. Kai opens the door.

“No,” is all Kai has the chance to get out before Yeonjun is pushing him further inside, standing up on his toes to kiss Kai. It’s clumsy, at first, as if Kai hadn’t been expecting Yeonjun to actually do that. Then, after a moment of uncertainty, Kai starts to kiss Yeonjun back.

It’s sweet, at first, as if Kai is trying to make it sweet. To keep it sweet. Keep everything sweet, sugary, saccharine even when Yeonjun desperately wants it to be something else entirely. Kai kisses slow, soft, his lips full and plump against Yeonjun’s. Kai kisses Yeonjun like he’s trying to explore Yeonjun, understand why he is the way he is, maybe figure out how to fix it. Kai’s lips slotted against Yeonjun feel like finally– like they had both been waiting. It makes Yeonjun feel deliriously wanted, even if Kai is still only giving him slow, languid kisses.

Yeonjun wants to up the ante, wants more from Kai, if the younger boy is willing. He pushes Kai against the entryway hall, hands slipping underneath his shirt, an assumption more than anything. Kai’s hands cradle Yeonjun’s face, delicately. Yeonjun has never been treated with such care. Such thoughtfulness. One of Kai’s thumbs rubs circles into Yeonjun’s cheek. When Yeonjun’s hands slide over the soft planes of his stomach, Kai sucks in a breath. Sensitive, something that Yeonjun notes, locks in the back of his mind with all the other thoughts he’s had about Huening Kai.

After that gasp, Yeonjun tries to make it more serious. Kisses Kai like he’s been wanting to. His tongue slides over Kai’s bottom lip, prodding, hoping the invitation gets accepted. Kai’s lips taste like sugar cookie chapstick, the kind one buys at corner stores for under two dollars. Another little breath from Kai, driving Yeonjun crazy, though he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into Kai’s mouth.

Yeonjun licks his tongue into Kai’s mouth, licking over his teeth, feeling the grooves of his hot mouth. He goes deeper, still, his mouth coming around Kai’s tongue and sucking on it. Sucking at the taste of Kai’s soda from dinner, which had come across as unbelievably youthful compared to the beer that Yeonjun had ordered. The second-hand taste of it that Yeonjun finds in Kai’s mouth is still as sweet as the soda probably was, fizzy and carbonated and bubbling in his mind. Kai kisses back, earnestly, letting Yeonjun suck and lick as much as he wants. Little moans are pulled from Kai, louder when one of Yeonjun’s hands flicks a nipple unthinkingly.

And then, Kai pulls back, slowly, and there’s a little drool at the corner of his mouth that Yeonjun is dying to taste. But he waits a second, even though he knows his eyes are glazed over and his dick is hard in his pants, curious to see what Kai is about to say. Kai looks down at him with lust, but not only lust, something else, too. Something more wondrous, more in awe of Yeonjun. Everything about Kai makes Yeonjun feel exalted. He isn’t sure if that’s a good thing. There’s also something persistent in Kai’s eyes that makes Yeonjun open his mouth.

“Yeah?” Yeonjun breathes out, more of a sigh than anything else, his hands stilling underneath Kai’s shirt.

“I don’t normally… do this on first dates,” Kai says, words breaking Yeonjun out of the trance he’s in. He lets the words settle in his brain.

“We don’t have to,” he offers in response, his fingers pausing, breath stilling. He could just go home, jerk himself off, have a less satisfying orgasm than the one he’d have with Kai. He looks at Kai with expectant eyes, wondering what the younger boy will say. The air between them is so charged he is afraid he’d get electrocuted if he resumed his touching.

“No,” Kai murmurs, hands still cradling Yeonjun’s cheeks, looking him square in the eyes. It’s intimate. “No, I want this,” he says, solemnly, sweetly, “I want you.” His voice is syrupy, like just kissing is more than enough for him. It’s never been enough for Yeonjun, but for Kai, he might be able to settle.

Yeonjun could turn into a puddle if he thought about that for too long. He won’t let himself. “I want you too, baby,” he says, though he’s sure his own voice sounds less sweet than Kai’s, instead more sultry. He lets his hands continue their ministrations, wandering around Kai’s able body, feeling at the plush flesh that is ripe for the taking.

They stumble to Kai’s room, fumbling around, two lovers in the dark.

…

The unforgiving, and often cruel, light of the morning wakes Yeonjun up. It filters through a window that he knows isn’t his, in a room that looks entirely foreign and somehow familiar at the same time. The comforter wrapped around him doesn’t smell the way it usually does, and his head is on a pillow that is too flimsy to be the one he normally uses.

When he rolls over, he understands why that is.

Huening Kai’s sleeping form, arms thrown about, legs tangled up, lies next to him. The sunlight is only on Yeonjun, shading Kai from waking too early, from witnessing what Yeonjun knows he’s about to do. His hair is messy from both sex and sleep, matted in a way that Yeonjun knows will have to be washed to get the knots out of it. Yeonjun has washed away his own knotted hair too many times, wondering when the scorching hot water would wash everything else away. It hasn’t yet.

He doesn’t normally spend the night.

As the sun continues to rise, it starts to light up more of the room, illuminating Kai’s body like an angel. His hair is so bright, so white, that it looks like a halo from a renaissance painting. A crown of gold meant to signify divinity. Yeonjun knows he hadn’t looked like that, so peaceful and immaculate in the midst of his sleep. That’s saved for someone as good as Huening Kai.

Yeonjun slips out of the bed, trying to find where his shirt or pants or underwear had been thrown the night before. The floor of the bedroom is scattered with clothing– either his or Kai’s, both too uncaring and wanting last night to put it in any specific place.

His phone is laying on the desk in Kai’s room, next to a stack of textbooks. He picks it up and checks the time, then grimaces, because it’s too early for him to want to be awake. He locates his underwear first, pulling it on, running a hand through his hair as he looks for his pants. When he finds them, one leg is inside out, so he has to pull it back through itself.

He knows he’s being quiet.

“...Yeonjun?” A sleepy voice calls out, tempered with confusion and exhaustion. The tone of weariness is new for Kai’s voice, something Yeonjun hasn’t heard before. His voice is pretty in the morning, laid bare like this. Kai is pretty in the morning, laid bare only for Yeonjun.

Caught, Yeonjun turns, pants still in his hands. “Kai?”

“What’re you doing?” Kai’s voice is less groggy now, as if he’s fully taking in the sight of Yeonjun about to leave. There isn’t much else for Kai to assume that Yeonjun is doing.

“Uhm,” Yeonjun stills, “I was going to leave.”

Kai has now fully turned to Yeonjun, sitting up in bed, the pillows and blankets falling around him like they’re framing his beauty. There are marks all over his chest from Yeonjun, and probably more on his back. Yeonjun grimaces. “Why?” Kai asks.

The question of all questions. Yeonjun doesn’t have an answer to that.

“I mean, you can stay here,” Kai says, his lips pouting naturally, one of his hands rubbing at his eyes. “You don’t have to leave.”

Little does he know, Yeonjun does. The sirens in his brain started going off the second that he woke up in a bed that isn’t his. There’s nothing he can do to stop it now. He got what he wanted from the night– right?

Smooth as velvet, tricky as a snake, the lies roll of Yeonjun’s tongue like he had planned for this. Maybe, in some deep, depraved part of him, he had. “I have to,” he says, “I have to work pretty early today, so I should be going.” The words feel heavy on his tongue. The furrow in Kai’s brows does nothing to make them feel lighter.

Disappointed, Kai says, “Oh,” and Yeonjun is sure that’s the end of it. Then, bravely, Kai says, “That’s fine! I’ll walk you out, let me just get dressed.”

Yeonjun does not want to be walked out. Being walked out could lead him to staying. Every second in Kai’s presence does that to him, threatening his mindset and everything he’s ever known about himself. But, he can’t possibly say no, not when Kai is looking at him so affectionately.

Yeonjun can admit when he’s lost. “Okay.”

He turns around as Kai gets out of bed, even though he’s now seen everything there is to see. He still does, though, and he isn’t sure if it’s out of respect to Kai, or his own need to make sure he leaves this place still a sane man. He lets himself think that it’s for Kai. He’ll always let himself believe the easier thought.

The walk to the door is shorter than it felt last night. The light of the morning always seems to reveal that what Yeonjun had thought was actually wrong, highlighting things he hadn’t wanted to notice.

At the door, Kai leans down and presses a lingering kiss to Yeonjun’s forehead. If anything, it feels more like a punch. Anything that is said after that, Yeonjun blocks out.

—

It’s been three days since Yeonjun slept over at Kai’s. Three days since what Yeonjun has since titled The Forehead Kiss Incident. Because that’s what it was. An incident. He tries not to think about it. It probably shouldn’t have happened.

It’s fine, he tells himself, because it won’t happen again.

Kai had texted him pretty soon after, asking to do it again, saying he had a good time. Annoyingly, it makes Yeonjun smile.

—

It happens again.

The second time they hangout is at an arcade located near campus. The arcade games are all vintage, with vivid, flashing lights and old-school, retro themes. It’s cute. Yeonjun will just have to pretend he’s not extremely competitive. It can be a chill night. Yeonjun doesn’t have to beat Kai every single time.

At least, that’s what he tells himself at the start of the night.

That’s not what really ends up happening when they actually get to the arcade. Kai had walked to Yeonjun’s apartment first to ‘pick him up’, which really meant they were just going to walk over together. Yeonjun’s big on walkable cities.

When Kai picks him up, there’s a fond smile on his face. He looks like he wants to hold Yeonjun’s hand on the walk over, so Yeonjun digs his hands into his pockets. Claims he’s cold. That doesn’t stop Kai from complimenting Yeonjun the second he sees him.

“You look so pretty,” Kai sighs, musingly, as if this is a dream he’s hoping won’t end. Yeonjun’s never seen someone not want to be pinched more.

Kai holds the door open for Yeonjun, letting him escape the freezing air first. Yeonjun thanks him, and he says, “Of course. For you, anytime.”

Kai pays for Yeonjun’s ticket to play, even when Yeonjun complains that he’s older. He had learned that Kai works a part-time job while doing school, which surprisingly pays pretty well for a college job. Yeonjun’s spontaneous jobs as a back-up dancer, or other commissions, don’t pay as timely or often as that. “I don’t mind paying!” He insists, “I want to treat you.”

They play Pac-Man for a while, which isn’t even a two-player game, but Kai is more than content to watch Yeonjun frantically try to win every single time. He does, anyway, which makes Kai laugh loudly, in a way that is so unlike the way he looks.“So competitive,” Kai comments.

“I had to win,” Yeonjun is saying, as tickets for prizes spill out of the machine. “There’s no other choice.” He wonders who in his life made him this way, so bizarrely competitive.

He hands the tickets to Kai, who’s been holding the tickets so that Yeonjun’s hands are free. Yeonjun has been piling him up all night. Kai is content to stand there, holding Yeonjun’s things like he’s a paid assistant. Nary a complaint, just affection present on his face as Yeonjun tries to win yet another arcade game. They have collected quite a few tickets by now, and in the back of his mind, Yeonjun knows that Kai is just going to give up all of his tickets to get whatever prize that Yeonjun wants. The thought makes his heart hurt.

Yeonjun is thirsty, so Kai goes to buy him a drink, even though Yeonjun argues that he can pay for his own. With a sigh, Kai agrees, and Yeonjun even convinces him to get something else for himself too. He smiles happily when Kai does, and tips the bartender extra. Neither of their drinks were alcoholic, which was rare for Yeonjun on a date. But he wanted to enjoy his time with Kai, present, not letting the alcohol fog his decisions. He also had wanted to maintain a winning streak.

He does both.

And that night, when he ends up in Kai’s bed again, he doesn’t regret anything.

He remembers to leave early that night, to not let his heart get used to the fluffy pillows of Kai’s bed or the comfortable way Kai slings an arm around Yeonjun’s spent, naked body.

—

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Beomgyu asks. It’s a leading question, pointed in a way that Yeonjun wants to wilfully ignore. Recently, their conversations have circled around the issue at hand: Huening Kai. It feels like that’s all anyone wants to talk about. And by anyone, Yeonjun means Soobin or Beomgyu.

“Yeah,” Yeonjun says, letting the comment roll off his back like a bead of sweat on a hot, summer’s day. He knows what he’s doing. He’s not going to get attached. He’s just having fun. They’re fine. Beomgyu doesn’t look so convinced.

“Let me rephrase that,” Beomgyu starts, “Does Kai know what you’re doing?”

“Well, yeah…” Yeonjun responds, though it feels like there’s a spotlight highlighting his hesitance. “We’re just hanging out, having fun.” Because they are. Sure, there’s been no official conversation, but they had only been on a couple of dates. It wasn’t anything serious, and Yeonjun had no plans of making it anything serious. He doesn’t do serious. His dating app profile reflected that. Surely, Huening Kai can read.

“So he knows that? You guys have talked about keeping it casual.”

Yeonjun sighs, because they’re talking in circles. “Not specifically,” he mumbles, because he can’t find it in himself to lie to Beomgyu’s captivating eyes. “It’s too early. We’ve only hung out a few times.”

Unsurprised but definitely still disappointed, Beomgyu says, “You know you need to. It’s unfair to him because he’s already attached and you’re not even trying.”

His friends make good points. Still, the points always feel like they’re blaming Yeonjun.

“He’s not attached,” which feels like a lie even coming out of his own mouth, “We’ve just been hanging out. Nothing huge.”

The silence that follows this is louder than anything Beomgyu could have said.

—

The third time they hangout is a lot simpler than the last.

They meet up at a coffee shop, one that’s definitely trying too hard to have an indie vibe. The entire coffee shop is shades of browns and greens and blues, with pretentious music playing from somewhere behind the counter. It’s cool, even if it’s imposing. Yeonjun gets there first and orders immediately, because he knows Kai will try to pay for his drink if he waits for the younger boy to get there.

The large windows of the coffee shop give Yeonjun a prime view of Kai walking up. These little pockets of time where Yeonjun can just look at Kai are some of his favorites. Kai is made to be looked at.

He looks good, because he always does. He’s wearing a sweater that looks extremely soft and warm, dark brown with a star on it. With his blonde hair so messy, framing his face, he reminds Yeonjun of a little lamb. When he walks into the coffee shop, his eyes scan the room, immediately searching for Yeonjun. When they settle on the older boy, a smile lights up his face. Yeonjun had ordered something hot to keep himself warm, except, when Kai looks at him like this, it feels like there’s a fire simmering underneath his skin. He’s trying to keep it at a low temperature, a barely there sizzle, but around Kai, it feels impossible to not feel inflamed. Irritated. Itchy.

“You already ordered?” Kai asks, looking at the cup in Yeonjun’s hands, face downtrodden. “I wanted to buy yours.” It's sad, like it could seriously ruin Kai’s day.

Yeonjun smiles at him, giggling. Oh so predictable. “Good to see you too, Kai.”

After grabbing their drinks (Yeonjun; a hot coffee, Kai: a hot chocolate), they wander around the streets, the stores that line the main streets of their city. It’s probably too cold for them to be walking outside like this, but this time, Yeonjun lets Kai hold his hand. It’s to keep his fingers from freezing, obviously. No other reason.

Kai’s hand is soft and warm. That’s all that Yeonjun lets himself think about. It’s funny, really, that it’s taken so long for Yeonjun to let Kai hold his hand, when that same hand had been fingers deep in Yeonjun only a few days ago.

A few stores down is a record store that Kai insists on going into. He’s doing some big project for a core class he’s taking, has been rambling about it, and wants to pick up some vinyls.

The store has specific listening rooms for people to put on records, so Kai picks one out and pulls Yeonjun into the room with him. The song that plays is about love, and makes Yeonjun blush, even when the song expresses the fear of losing a loved one. Yeonjun can feel Kai’s eyes on him, staring in a way so unabashedly. That’s something Yeonjun really likes about Kai– his inability to be shamed for simply feeling things, for expressing emotions. However, that same thing scares Yeonjun, so opposite of his own inability to accurately express what he’s feeling.

“What?” Yeonjun whispers, turning to look at Kai. The booth they’re in isn’t big enough, definitely supposed to be for one person instead of two, so one of Yeonjun’s legs is sprawled across Kai’s lap to fit both of them. One of Kai’s hands rests on Yeonjun’s waist. There’s an incessant buzz ruminating underneath Yeonjun’s skin.

Kai raises an eyebrow, confused.

“You’re staring at me,” Yeonjun says, keeping his voice quiet so that the soft tune that filters into the room can still be heard. The room is dimly lit. If Yeonjun believed in romance, this would be something he considers romantic.

“Nothing,” Kai says, smiling, “I like being with you. It makes me happy.”

Yeonjun rolls his eyes, though it’s done affectionately, and playfully swats at Kai’s arm. He leans in a little further to say something else to Kai, some other joke about Kai’s habit of staring at him, hopefully to ease the earnest way Kai had said that, but he’s cut-off when Kai reaches up to press a kiss to Yeonjun’s lips. It’s soft, a simple, fleeting caress. The plushness of Kai’s lips pressing to Yeonjun’s, more a reaction than anything else. It shuts Yeonjun up. When Kai pulls back, the tops of his cheeks are pink. Yeonjun wants to kiss them pinker. The song ends.

They don’t buy anything from the record store, but the employee gives them a look like she definitely saw what happened in the listening room. To be fair, the doors were glass and completely see-through. Maybe they should have bought something, Yeonjun thinks, if only to apologize for that grotesque display of affection.

They stop by a bookstore, but don’t spend too long there. There’s a clothing store nearby that Yeonjun wants to go to, so he drags Kai the extra ten minutes in the opposite direction. Kai doesn’t seem to actually care about where they go, as long as he retains the privilege of holding Yeonjun’s hand while they walk from place to place.

The clothing store prides itself on its vintage, niche selection of clothes. Yeonjun prides himself on having good—albeit expensive— taste. He grabs piece after piece, shirt, jacket, another shirt, pants, handing them all to Kai to hold. That was another good thing about hanging out with Kai– he’d hold things for Yeonjun, like his clothes or his bag if he brought one or, newly, his hand. Kai seemed happy to make Yeonjun happy, happy to do something for him, even if it appeared small or insignificant.

By the time Kai’s hands are full, Yeonjun decides it’s time to try the clothes on.

“Do you want a fashion show?” He asks Kai, pulling the curtained fitting room open. He hates when places have curtains instead of doors, but he’ll make do. Kai looks awfully cute standing there, holding far too many hangers, some jackets draped over both of his arms. Yeonjun likes clothes, what can he say?

At the question, Kai’s eyes light up, as if he’s a dog and Yeonjun is saying his favorite words. He nods, smiling at Yeonjun, “Is that my reward for carrying all of your clothes?”

Yeonjun nods, stifling a giggle, pointing towards the hooks for Kai to hang the clothes up.

“Only because you haven’t complained about it,” he says. When Kai stops to hang the clothes up next to Yeonjun, Yeonjun is almost compelled to press a kiss to Kai’s tinged cheek. He stops the urge, though, quenching that thirst. Something about Kai makes Yeonjun want to be soft to him. It’s a disgusting feeling. One he can’t remember ever feeling before. Not with his ex, not with any of his short-lived flings. He blinks it away as Kai retreats, pulling the curtain closed when he leaves.

That nagging feeling of wanting to kiss Kai’s cheek, or hold his hand, or ruffle his hair doesn’t go away for the rest of the time they hang out.

In fact, it only gets worse.

Yeonjun imagines them sitting on a quilted blanket overlooking a river, feeding each other chocolate strawberries. He imagines them drunk, late, singing cheesy love songs to each other at karaoke. He remembers what it felt like when Kai had pressed a honeyed kiss to his forehead that first night.

When Kai asks if Yeonjun wants to come back to his apartment for dinner, Yeonjun fakes a headache, desperate to get out of this situation. This lie has the opposite intended effect, though, because Kai immediately starts to act like a doctor nursing a patient, genuinely worried.

“Do you need ibuprofen? I have some,” Kai starts, frazzled at the idea that someone like Yeonjun could ever have something as mundane as a headache, “Or I can get you some water?”

“It’s fine! Really, I’m fine. Thanks Kai,” Yeonjun says, trying to collect himself as fast as possible. He maneuvers his shopping bags from Kai’s hand, giving him the briefest side hug of all time. Kai says good-bye, even though he appears to be a little confused by the speed of Yeonjun’s departure, but promises to call him.

Yeonjun is barely out of Kai’s sight when he’s pulling out a cigarette. His hands shake from the cold, or maybe the weight of actually having to carry his shopping bags for the first time today. Or, maybe, for a third and more treacherous reason: he’s starting to realize he has actual feelings, emotions that he does not want to have. He just has to shut them out, ignore that part of his brain that wants things he knows he shouldn’t have. Things he can’t let himself have– not if he doesn’t want to be so hurt again.

That’s what always stops Yeonjun. The knowledge that in giving someone else his heart, he’s also giving them the chance to shatter it. The lighter flicks to life, some semblance of warmth. Cigarette smoke blankets him like a thick, morning fog.

—

Yeonjun doesn’t have any immediate plans to introduce Kai to his friends.

He had never had good experiences introducing his boyfriends, or even his flings, to his friends. Beomgyu and Soobin, while having his best interests in mind, happen to be extremely judgemental when it comes down to it. In his last relationship, he had made the mistake of introducing his boyfriend to Soobin and Beomgyu. It had been disastrous, destructive to Yeonjun’s relationship and his friendships. He still gets a headache if he thinks about it. His ex-boyfriend had hated them almost instantly, and the feeling was certainly returned.

(“They don’t like me,” his ex-boyfriend had said. “You shouldn’t be hanging out with people like that, they’re bad influences on you.”

“He’s clearly trying to control you,” Soobin had said. “He wants to isolate you from us.”

Beomgyu joined in, “He was such an asshole. He doesn’t like that you have friends other than him. Have you even met his friends?”)

Sometimes, he’ll look at Beomgyu and, in flashes, see the remnants of anger on his face from the night it all went to shit. He’s never seen Beomgyu that mad. Yeonjun’s ex-boyfriend had snapped at Yeonjun, cornering him for something stupid, and forced them to leave early. Soobin and Beomgyu had immediately jumped to Yeonjun’s rescue, not knowing they were only making it worse. They defended him, only for Yeonjun to trail out after his ex like a kicked puppy. What’s the saying– a hurt dog will always go back to its owner?

A few weeks after that, his ex-boyfriend had ended things. It still made Yeonjun mad– that he hadn’t been the one to call things off, that the clarity of how badly he had been treated only came after his ex said the words. Despite it all, Soobin and Beomgyu were still there with open arms to comfort him, a safe space he’ll forever be thankful for. Soobin and Beomgyu had helped glue him back together, working to make him become a normal person again. His ex’s name is banned in their apartments now.

But with Kai… It’s a completely different feeling.

Yeonjun feels too conflicted about Kai, about what their relationship is or what it will become. Kai will walk Yeonjun to his classes, or they’ll go grab a coffee, or Yeonjun will go over to Kai’s to watch a movie. The kicker– they’ll actually just watch a movie.

There are two rules in place for Yeonjun to follow in order to keep Kai at an arm’s distance from Yeonjun’s heart. He’s made sure to never invite Kai over to his apartment and he won’t spend the night at Kai’s unless they’re having sex. These are strict, but he abides by them in order to keep his emotions untangled from Kai. To keep Yeonjun from falling head-first into something he isn’t ready for. He can’t be caught up in that again. In the push and pull, the uncertainty of relationships and love and heartbreak.

Soobin tells him that this is unfair to Kai. On Yeonjun’s worst nights, he’s inclined to agree. On his best nights, he gets to thread his fingers through Kai’s hair, Kai panting above him, and doesn’t worry about what counts as fair.

Yeonjun has no plans for Soobin and Beomgyu to meet Kai because Kai can not become a permanent fixture in Yeonjun’s life. Kai is fun, and sweet, and so caring, but he isn’t Yeonjun’s future. Even if when Yeonjun looks at Kai, he sees all the things he could have. But these are all the things he doesn’t deserve. Kai is in his own, separate box away from the rest of Yeonjun’s life, where Yeonjun can keep an eye on him and tame his own feelings before they become bigger than he can handle.

There are no plans for it to happen. Life has a funny way of throwing Yeonjun curveballs when he least expects it.

They’re at the library, as university students always are, working on homework that should have been done last week. It’s later in the night, the sun has said goodnight, and there’s very little stopping Yeonjun’s eyes from drooping shut after the long day that he’s had. Beomgyu’s eyes are increasingly red, bloodshot from staring at a screen all day, from doing too much work and pushing himself too hard. Soobin is watching something on his computer, and Yeonjun isn’t sure if it’s actually a lecture or some random youtube video distracting him. It’s still early in the semester, only February, yet everything seems to be on a bigger scale this year. Yeonjun has picked his fingernails clean with worry, has probably ruined his lungs with smoke.

There’s a cough from beside them. It isn’t the cough of someone who has something stuck in their throat, rather, the cough of someone who is trying to grab attention.

Yeonjun turns, having a moment of deja vu when he sees Taehyun standing next to their table. Except, this time, Taehyun isn’t standing alone.

Kai stands next to Taehyun, a little behind him, as if Taehyun is Kai’s human shield. The thought is funny, because of how tall Kai is, how big he looks when placed next to Taehyun. Kai is wearing a chick-yellow sweatshirt. His arms are crossed slightly, body language appearing nervous. He looks like a little duck, a baby bird, and Yeonjun wants to coo at his cuteness. He stops himself, though, because Beomgyu and Soobin’s eyes are heavy on him.

Taehyun might be the bravest person in the world. “Hey,” Taehyun says, smiling down at them. It’s a mischievous smile, a cute fang peaking out, like he knows he’s being a little shit. Yeonjun wonders if this smile has anything to do with how embarrassed Kai looks next to him.

They all clammer to say hello back.

“Hi!” Beomgyu says, enthusiastic, looking between Taehyun and Kai. Yeonjun supposes that his own thing with Kai has been good for Beomgyu. He’s been talking to Taehyun far more often than he had been before. Soobin has a smile on his face, blinding, too big. It’s Soobin’s worst smile, because Yeonjun knows he’s about to try and stir the pot.

“Hey,” Yeonjun says, looking up at Kai. He really does look like a baby chick, innocent and sweet.

“Hi,” Kai breathes out, almost a giggle, his smile precious and wide. His hands play with the ends of his sweater nervously. The apples of his cheeks are round and pink. “How are you?”

Before Yeonjun even has a moment to answer the question, Soobin is butting in. Yeonjun knew this was coming, whatever it is that he’s bracing himself for. “So Yeonjun!” Soobin starts, “Are you going to introduce us?”

Yeonjun tries not to noticeably freeze up. From the look on Beomgyu’s face, it is not as unnoticeable as he was hoping. He looks at Soobin, then at Kai. Kai’s face has gone red, a bright flush spreading across his cheeks and down his neck. Yeonjun averts his eyes, because he can’t look at Kai’s neck for too long without getting unbelievably horny.

“Oh– yeah, of course,” Yeonjun says, face flushed, more panicked than he means to sound. “Kai, this is Soobin, and that’s Beomgyu,” he points to Beomgyu, who’s started up a conversation with Taehyun. One of Beomgyu’s hands lightly rests on Taehyun’s arm, and there’s a facade of casualty to the touch. Yeonjun knows it’s anything but. Beomgyu’s internal monologue probably sounds crazy right now. “Soobin, this is Kai, my… friend.”

There’s a flash of something in Kai’s eyes at that word choice, but it’s replaced too fast for Yeonjun to decipher what it was. Maybe he imagined it. That’s what he’ll let himself believe.

“Nice to meet you!” Kai’s voice is so sweet. He’s sugar, spice, and everything nice come to life. Fuck the powerpuff girls. They’re not Kai. Yeonjun wonders if he was similarly manufactured, maybe in a lab, to be so angelic. How could Yeonjun ever be worthy of him?

“You too, Kai,” Soobin says. The evil glint is still in his eyes, scaring Yeonjun. “Are you guys planning to study? It’s so packed in here, why don’t you sit with us?”

Yeonjun’s face goes blank. With Kai around, he’s sure to not get any work done. Not that anything he was doing beforehand was that good, but this is just an added distraction.

Kai immediately looks at Yeonjun. His eyes are wide, eyebrows raised, silently asking for permission. Asking if this is okay.

“Yeah,” Yeonjun says, “Yeah, you guys should sit with us. We have enough space.”

Taehyun raises an eyebrow, proving that he has been listening in to the conversation around him and not just to Beomgyu, though Yeonjun had had no doubts about it.

A big smile lights up Kai’s face. “Okay,” he says, “Sure!”

Yeonjun stands up, pulling the chair next to him out, motioning for Kai to sit down next to him. None of this is going according to his plans. He had not planned for Kai to meet Soobin and Beomgyu. Clearly, life (and Soobin and Beomgyu) had other, contradictory plans. Not that he’d ever want to hide Kai, rather, he’s afraid that if Kai becomes too cemented in his life, Yeonjun won’t be able to remind his heart that it’s casual. He’d hand his heart over on a silver platter easily. Routine leads to intimacy leads to Yeonjun ending up hurt, again, because he was too naive to leave first.

But, then, when Kai is next to him, looking like a sugary-marshmallow candy that stores sell around Easter, it’s hard for Yeonjun to not feel his heart flutter. So instead of making up some excuse to return to his apartment, or putting his headphones back in, he leans into Kai’s side and learns as much as he can about music composition.

—

It feels like Yeonjun is at Kai’s apartment more often than he’s at his own place these days.

It’s evening, the sun is setting out of Kai’s bedroom windows, and they’re lounging around comfortably in Kai’s bed.

Yeonjun has had an awful day. He got back a grade on an essay that might ruin his final grade in the class, his favorite dance professor had told him he looked too tired to dance, and he couldn’t locate his favorite sweatshirt. Nothing was going his way. So, when he had finished his classes for the day, the only thing he could think to do was text and ask Kai if he was at his apartment. Kai responded too fast, too enthusiastic, and Yeonjun had smoked a cigarette before heading over.

When he had gotten to Kai’s doorstep, and Kai had opened the door with a brilliant smile, Yeonjun had almost collapsed into his arms. Kai had immediately noticed something was wrong, and ushered Yeonjun to his bed. Didn’t even say anything about the smell of smoke that still lingers in Yeonjun’s hair, filtering through and dirtying Kai’s sweet-smelling apartment.

Now, Yeonjun is clad in one of Kai’s sweatshirts, which swallows him whole, laying in Kai’s bed. There’s a blanket draped over them, and Kai’s fingers stroke Yeonjun’s thigh. It’s the most nonsexual touch Yeonjun’s ever felt, even so close to such an intimate place. Kai’s fingers massage little circles into the skin of his thighs, as Kai murmurs about anything and everything. His day, what he had eaten, a text he had gotten from his older sister. Yeonjun’s thankful for the distraction. His head is tucked into Kai’s shoulder, the juncture between his neck, and his breath ghosts over Kai’s collarbones. His own hands are pressed against Kai’s chest, tapping lightly there.

If he tilts his head just right, he’ll be able to hear Kai’s heartbeat. The thought is overwhelming. Kai’s sweet heartbeat. The muted thump thump thump. It’s silly, yet Yeonjun lowers his head, pressing it against Kai’s chest to hear it. Why is hearing someone else’s heart so intimate? Why is Yeonjun suddenly stunned with the simple fact of Kai’s heart, his life? He thinks back to Kai telling him about musical composition– the combination of melodies and rhythms to create something beautiful. Yeonjun would combine the soft pounds of Kai’s heart with Kai’s little breaths if he could, to create the prettiest symphony from the sounds.

“Are you okay, Jun?” Kai’s voice is so feathery, so soft, warm breath fanning down against Yeonjun’s ears.

“I’ll be fine,” Yeonjun responds, pressing a kiss to Kai’s heartbeat through layers of clothing and skin and blood. His own heart feels less heavy than before. Like the coldness that trickled in with February is finally opening up to the shy warmth of March. Like the loneliness that bleeds from Yeonjun can be cleaned up, taken care of, and his wounds stitched together.

He isn’t sure when he dozes off, but he does. Lulled to sleep by a false sense of security in Kai’s arms, in Kai’s apartment, as if everything could be fine for him.

…

The next day, he’s awoken in Kai’s room, a place he’s spent many nights in before. This isn’t new to him.

What is new to him is waking up with no fresh bruises, no new marks on his winter-pale skin. There isn’t a familiar ache between his legs, and all of his clothes are on his body. His hair hasn’t been tangled from being pulled on, pushed every which way.

He wakes up in Kai’s apartment in Kai’s arms, and for a split second, he is as content as he’ll ever be.

But– they didn’t have sex.

That’s when Choi Yeonjun knows it’s gone too far.

He’s let himself get too enraptured by Kai, by the sense of comfort he feels with Kai. But there isn’t anyone that can give him the comfort or security that he needs. No one other than himself can keep him put together, even if the stitches of his frantic healing start to undo with time. Yeonjun has to leave first.

He packs his stuff up hurriedly, even though there isn’t much to grab, just his bag from yesterday and the clothes that he had changed out of. He knows Kai is going to wake up, he always does, and Yeonjun’s going to have to deliver the final blow.

The front door is in sight. Yeonjun’s shoes are where he slid them off the day before. There’s nothing stopping him.

Then–

“Jun?” A sleepy, syrupy voice calls out. It’s too early for this. To break his own heart and to let the arrow fly to Kai’s. But he has to, he knows it.

“Yeah?” He pauses in his escape. So close, yet so far.

“Where are you going?” Kai is out of his room now, fully in the hallway. His eyes are practically still closed from sleep, and his lips are pouting so sweetly. He pushes his hair out of his face, looking at Yeonjun in the most innocent way. If Yeonjun could pause time, snap a picture of this moment, where Kai is still looking at him with so much love in his eyes, he would.

“I– I’m going home.”

“Why?” There’s a furrow in Kai’s brow, a look of confusion marring Kai’s delicate features. “I thought you didn’t work today.”

“I don’t,” Yeonjun says, too rushed. “I just… Need to go.”

“You can stay,” Kai insists, because he still hasn’t gotten it yet. The way Yeonjun’s running out of his life, his fear of commitment nipping at his heels. He isn’t running fast enough. “I don’t have anything to do today either.”

“No,” Yeonjun says, slowly, “I need to go.” There must be something final in his tone, because Kai looks more alert than before, more awake than he had just been.

“...Why?” Kai asks again.

“I think…” Yeonjun starts, and there’s a nagging voice in him, something feigning for a cigarette, for some form of temporary relief from the anxious way that his mind has tied itself into knots. “I just think that we should… you know.”

Even he cringes at this, at his inability to just say it. It’s not fair to Kai, he knows it.

“Should what?”

“I’m going home,” he affirms, trying to give himself the courage he needs. “I think we should probably stop seeing each other.” Even as he says it, it doesn’t sound serious. It sounds scared. It sounds weak. Yeonjun is fine with being scared and weak if it means he isn’t left vulnerable. He looks away from Kai’s face.

“What do you mean?” Kai asks again, unwavering.

When Yeonjun looks back up, there’s an emotion on Kai’s face that he’s never seen before: anger. It’s mixed with something else, with something that looks too much like hurt for Yeonjun to be comfortable with.

“I mean,” Yeonjun says, even though Kai already looks so upset. He doesn’t need to drive the knife in further. “I was just looking for something casual.” The words sound slippery from his mouth. He was the maker and is the ruiner and occupied every other position in between. He wishes he wasn’t studying Kai’s face so intently. He wishes he had looked away before his words hit. Confusion, hurt, anger. There’s a myriad of emotions that play on Kai’s face as Yeonjun watches him take in what he’s just said.

“What?” Kai asks, swallowing loudly. An anxious gulp.

“I wasn’t looking for anything serious,” he says, picking at the thin skin around his fingernails. One of them had just started to scab over, on the road to healing, and here he is, tearing the skin off again. Repeated pain to try and stop his mind from running away from himself. From what he knows.

Kai gapes at him. A look this sad shouldn’t mar such a perfect face. Yeonjun hates that he’s the one who put it there, hates that he knows he had to.

“You don’t– you don’t want a relationship,” Kai says, though it sounds like he’s telling himself this rather than clarifying with Yeonjun. The words are spit out, in a tone that Yeonjun hasn’t heard from Kai before. Once again, Yeonjun looks away from the taller boy, really out of his own cowardice more than anything else. He doesn’t want to see the hurt so clearly painted on Kai’s face. “With me.”

That’s not right, either, though. Because if Yeonjun could, Kai is the only person he’d want a relationship with. But he can’t.

An afterthought, Kai says, “We’re just friends.” Yeonjun’s words when introducing Kai to Soobin and Beomgyu sound a lot worse now.

“I don’t do relationships. I thought we were both having fun, hanging out.” This tastes like a lie, heavy-leaden on Yeonjun’s tongue. He knows it is– knows that Kai was falling deeper in while he was so desperately trying to dig himself out. “I’m graduating soon and all.”

With that, he looks back at Kai. The younger boy’s face is pinched, like he’s about to cry, but he doesn’t want Yeonjun to see him do that. Doesn’t want Yeonjun to have access to the pain he created. Yeonjun wants to reach out, cup his cheeks, tell him he can let the tears fall. Maybe tell him that it’ll all be okay.

He doesn’t.

“That’s bullshit,” Kai says, finding his voice after a moment, uncharacteristically bitter. He doesn’t like the anger in Kai’s tone, not when it’s pointed at him so sharply, a dagger aimed to kill. Yeonjun doesn’t know what to say, now that Kai has called his bluff. “You’re just… You’re scared.”

He’s right. Yeonjun won’t admit that. He stays silent.

“You’re avoiding your own emotions. You don’t want a relationship because you’re scared. What did you think we were doing?” Kai snorts, continuing, “Friends with benefits? We’ve been going on dates. You spend the night at my place almost as much as you sleep at your own apartment. I’ve met all of your friends.”

Yeonjun has no snarky retort, has no soothing retort. Has nothing he can think to say to Kai at all. He’s never been speechless with Kai before, never felt like he has to bite his tongue when Kai has been so kind to him.

“This is your issue, Yeonjun. Nothing we’ve been doing has been casual. You’re so desperate to not get hurt that you’re fine with hurting everyone else in the process. You’re scared because you know how I feel,” Kai continues, his cheeks red. His voice has sped up, almost slurring together.

Softly, Yeonjun asks, “How do you feel, Kai?”

The unshed tears in Kai’s eyes look like they’re about to fall. “You know how I feel. You just want to hear me say it. Will it feed your ego?”

“We met on a dating app,” Yeonjun says, because he has nothing else to say. “My profile literally said I wasn’t looking for something serious.”

“That’s not true. We met before that. Did you see this as a chance to fuck with me, because you knew how I felt? What is it, Yeonjun? You wanted to feel better about yourself, knew that I’d still want you. And– I do. I still want you,” Kai’s eyes are dangerously clear now. “And I feel stupid for still wanting you, even now.”

Yeonjun wants to tell Kai that he does have him, that he has him so deeply he doesn’t know how to think or speak, but he doesn’t. “I guess we’re on two different pages, then.”

Kai looks like he wants to say something else. He doesn’t.

They stare at each other for a minute longer, a minute for Yeonjun to memorize every emotion on Kai’s face. Now, he’s collected them all. He knows what Kai looks like deliriously happy, he knows what Kai looks like desperately needy, and he knows what Kai looks like dangerously angry. None of them compare to what Kai looks like when he’s smiling lovingly at Yeonjun, holding him in his arms, like nothing bad could ever happen to them. Like they’re untouchable.

The cold wind hits Yeonjun as soon as the door closes behind him. He should have known it wouldn’t be warm out yet, still too deep in the clutches of Winter.