Chapter Text
"I'm a fly that is trapped in a web
But I'm thinking that my spider's dead
Lonely, lonely little life
I could kid myself in thinking that I'm fine"
- Always, Panic! at the Disco
If you showed 12 year old Na Jaemin who he would one day become, brought him into a special scientist-approved room where he’d get to watch a few seconds of his future unfurl in live action, he'd be horrified to see what he’d turned into. If 12 year old Jaemin could only witness himself at seventeen on Donghyuck’s doorstep, desperately trying to hold back the bile rising in his throat he’d be shocked and confused.
If twelve year old Jaemin could only see the shame crawling up his neck and the tears stinging in his eyes as he croaks, “I didn’t know where else to go.” He’d be disgusted. He’d wonder what happened? Why was he talking to Lee Donghyuck of all people? And where was Jeno during all of this?
He’s filling in the blanks in his brain, as though filling in forms from busted printers. Jaemin and Jeno. Where does one ever begin with them? Their lives are so irrevocably and undeniably intertwined. There’s a place in England, Spaghetti Junction, it’s called. He remembers Jeno and himself being small and lying on a floor, Jeno’s head in his palm and carefree, Jaemins legs swinging up in the air. Chubby fingers scouring over glossy pages. A twist and turn of roads interlocked and looped around each other. Stretches of tarmac, reaching across everywhere they’d been and everywhere they’d hope to go. This system of horrible roads ran through his body, at once more powerful and weak than the tiny vessels composing his blood.
When you put enough rubber bands on a watermelon, it bursts from the pressure building up inside. That’s what his heart is. Spaghetti junctions and roads and messes twisted and tightening over a muscle on the edge of explosion. That’s what everything he’s ever had with Jeno is. That’s what happens when you lose something that’s been rooted in you for as long as you can remember. How do you even begin to approach untangling a system that complicated? Where does Jaemin start and Jeno end? What’s at the centre of it all? It’s all knotted and twisted and all-consuming. He read a book, a long time ago, about a girl born with angel wings; The doctors couldn't remove them without putting her into paralysis, because of how they were intertwined with her nervous system, and it reminds him now of how he feels about himself. If Jaemin even attempted to remove everything that’s so essentially Jeno from his life, there’d simply be nothing left. A boy of skin and bone. He doesn’t have his own friends, he has Jaemin and Jenos. They wear the same clothes, play the same sports, go to the same schools, share the same dreams. They’ve shared everything and they’d promised to do so until the end of time.
Icebergs melt, landslides happen. Jeno feels worlds away from him and there’s this terrible, unfillable hole inside his chest where he used to call home. Safety, warmth, comfort. Jeno used to be his sanctuary, a place to hide. Now he looks in the mirror and sees a ragged, heaving ghost, with torn skin and a hollow chest.
He’s nothing. He’ll be nothing forever most likely. A depressing thought, but one that he's managed to come to terms with nonetheless. He, Na Jaemin will amount to nothing.
The realization had dawned upon him, as he sat in the school bathroom, sadly picking at a banana, alone. He’d rather have died than had anyone know that he was eating lunch in a fucking toilet cubicle. Nt even the lowest of the freaks did that at their school. It was then that he had the epiphany that the best years of his life were well and truly over. They were dead and he would never get to relive them ever again.
It was the understanding of just how unbearably fleeting it all was that had made fresh waves of nausea bubble up to the surface.
He would leave highschool, go to college, having to start over all over again. He would graduate and work some dumb fucking desk job. He’d end up a father, a husband- a shitty one at that. He’d die eventually. This was the start of his slow yet steady decline as a person. Existence being a fruitless exercise. What’s it? ‘A tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury signifying nothing?’ Yeah, sounds about right.
Like a crash, he’s spun out of control again. He stills himself. Looks at Donghyuck from where he’s shaking on his bed. Donghyuck’s done him the kindness of giving him a blanket, shoved a cup of warm tea into his hands. Told him, he doesn’t have to talk about it unless he wants to, but it’ll be alright but that only makes Jaemin feel worse. Because he does and doesn’t deserve this act of kindness. Donghyuck is the only person who deserves to treat him like a stain on the planet, yet he’s one of the only people who’ll look Jaemin in the eye. If Jaemin cared about anything right now, maybe this would inspire him to become a better person. He doesn’t know.
There’s this heavy static in his head, and he’s shrouded in the kind of feeling where he could cry, but he can’t. All he can do is overlook the edge, balance wavering, but unable to take that final step. He can’t cry. His eyes hurt. They’re brimming, but he’s physically unable to let them fall. He feels like he’s in pain. He knows he isn’t. If he were to do a full body check, everything would be in perfect order. His feet still move, his chest rises and falls and his hands are still able to hold this cup of tea. But there’s this unidentifiable thing that lingers. It hurts. Years of training himself to be a man and this is all he has to show for it. His life and teenage years down the drains and the inability to retain ownership of his own tears. He can’t cry anymore. His body literally couldn’t do it if he tried.
Outside, April fog cuts through the night. It’s getting lighter and lighter everyday that his chest feels heavier and heavier. He cuts his losses, pictures them falling to the ground. Thin little ribbons of a lifetime of mistakes.
He couldn’t possibly detangle everything that he and Jeno are. Were. He supposes if he had to start
somewhere,
it’d be.
Here
Na Jaemin is six years old, and if one thing’s clear it’s that he really, really fucking hates Jeno Lee.
He’s not supposed to use that word, and it makes him feel a little guilty that the thought even occurred to him. Sometimes, on family days when they get stuck in heavy traffic, he raises his hands to the window, fingers mimicking legs jumping and leaping along telephone lines. His eyes follow the terrain from his window. When you’re six years old everything feels fresh and new and exciting. The world feels like it could actually mean something and he isn’t crushed because he isn’t yet aware that everything there is to know or write or do or say hasn’t already been done. Somebody cuts in front of the car and his Dad beeps, shouting and his mom hushes him. Her voice is strained, but she tries to sound gentle. Soothing. She’s not talking to Jaemin, she's talking to a fully grown man. “Don’t tell me what to fucking do, Mina.” The voice rings through him like an echo. The anger and hatred in his voice fills Jaemin with dread. He had been really quiet then, as if his silence could compensate for his Dad’s loudness. He saw his mom's eyes red and watery in the rear view mirror and the sight had burned a hole in his stomach.
She’d be really upset now if she knew Jaemin thinks the Swear words in his head.
But desperate times call for desperate measures.
Jeno’s a little taller than he is. He’s got long black hair that sweeps into his eyes in an almost triangular way. Jaemin’s seen pictures of Justin Bieber as he’s walked by the cinema. Posters of a boy with the words ‘Never say Never’ emblazoned below in purple. He thinks Jeno kind of looks like that. Justin Bieber makes music for girls, and If Jeno listens to Justin Bieber, he must be a big fucking loser. There it is again. Oops.
And here he is now, looking Jaemin up and down. It’s sports day in the right here, right now, and Jeno’s got a stupid grin plastered across his face. He has a big nose and his eyes curl when he smiles. ‘He may be fast but at least I’m pretty,’ Jaemin thinks. It’s what his aunties all tell him. Around his neck, a plastic gold medal and Jaemin scowls at it. Sports day.
Jaemin likes to be the best at everything. His aunt says he’s a typical Leo. Always needing attention, praise, Jaemin wants to be the best. He’d sat on her lap as she’d read the horoscope section of her magazine. The pages glossy and thick. The font had been too small, the words too complicated for him to read but she’d pointed at a caption. Leo, he’d sounded out the vowels clumsily. “A Lion.” She’d said.
She was wrong. Jaemin never really felt like a lion, and Jaemin never really cared much about not being the centre of attention. To be entirely honest, he’d had no prior interest in sports until today. Coming last only bugged him today because it was Lee Jeno who came first.
He’s six years old and he hates Jeno because their names both begin with J, and people always get them mixed up. He dislikes Jeno for reasons he can’t quite pinpoint. Maybe it’s because Jeno makes him feel stupid. Jaemin hates inadequacy. He hates not being good enough, and he always was, until Jeno rolled into his life. Silent and unwelcoming.
First day kindergarten he approaches Jeno, two toy cars in hand. He loves people, always loved people. He makes a new best friend every single day. His mom always says if she put him on the moon, he’d find somebody to talk to. He prides himself on being friends with the birds, the flowers, moon, the stars and the sun. Care is a language he’s fluent in.
Upon the offer of ‘Play,’ Jeno had just stared at him, expression blank and unwavering. Jaemin had blinked- perhaps Jeno hadn’t heard him. “I said,’Do you want to play?’” Still, no reply, only that blank look. He’d tapped his foot then, shoving one in Jeno’s hand. “Here, you do it like this.” He’d sat down on the foam mat, and rolled the car along. “They’re gonna do a race. Sooo you have to push it.”
Jeno had set the car down, eyes cold and calculating. He wasn’t like any other child Jaemin had met before.
“I don’t really want to play.”
Jaemin had never had to doubt himself before. He was a child of gold and sunshine and everyone he knew bent to his will, maybe barring his father and teacher. But another child? How strange.
“Why?”
Jeno had paused then, as if he too, was only wondering now why he didn’t want to play. He’d shrugged. “‘Jus’ don’t want to.” His voice was quiet. Not out of shyness, or reluctance. His low volume was more of a statement than anything. He was indecipherable.
Jaemin had furrowed his brow. “We could play something else? The girls like mums and dads.”
But Jeno had just shook his head, black mane of hair bobbing gently as he moved. Like an actual lion. “No.”
And then he’d moved away, happy enough to do a colouring in sheet. Sat on his own. Content in his own peace? Jaemin felt like he’d been slapped. This was the first time he’d ever faced the cold heart truth of rejection. He was angry and sad. He knew that much. Why didn’t Jeno want to be friends with him?
It was after that he’d always hated Jeno a little bit. He’d scribble on his drawings when Jeno wasn’t looking, just to feel that twinge of satisfaction too ruin something Jeno had made. He’d rip the scooter out of Jeno’s hand instead of waiting his turn to annoy Jeno on purpose. When Jeno told him to shut up, he’d only talk louder, wailing and stomping and making as much racket as possible. He didn’t really care if it made him a little mean. He never had any problems with any other kids, and it definitely didn’t make him a bully, because Jeno did all the same things back to him.
He still refused to be friends with Jamein, for reasons Jaemin still didn’t quite understand. He was fine with Lucy, a quiet girl whose hair fell around her shoulders in strawberry plaits. Jaemin didn’t understand why he’d be friends with her and not him. She was even quieter than Jeno. He’d teased them for being boyfriend and girlfriend, and she’d started crying and he’d immediately felt awful. He’d never done it again. But he’d never felt that sort of guilt before when he’d done anything to Jeno. Like Jaemin said, he’d fought back. When Jaemin scribbled on his drawings, he’d rip a drawing of Jaemin’s into hundreds of tiny paper pieces. When Jaemin took the scooter, he’d hold Jaemin’s indoor shoes over his head, just out of Jaemin’s reach. When Jaemin made excessive noise, Jeno would growl and grab his arm, twisting the skin and digging his nails in as deep as possible until the shape on his nails were indented in jaemins skin. Tiny red marks that stayed green and purple stains for weeks after.
He liked that Jeno fought back, but he also didn’t. He didn’t like it when Jeno teased him, or laughed at him or ripped up his drawings or pushed him. It wasn’t that he disliked the fight, it was that he disliked the feeling of losing. He hated the sadness it left him with, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop antagonsing Jeno. It was the natural order of the world. His dad said it was impossible to be friends with everyone, and while it had saddened Jaemin the first time he’d heard him say it, he understood now. You really couldn’t be friends with everyone. Not when people like Jeno existed.
And now, on sports day, Jeno has a medal. He beams as the mums fan over him. It's the first time Jaemin's seen Jeno properly seem happy. He's quiet, sure. He doesn't talk much, he doesn't move much. But he's quiet in other ways too. His face never says much, and his happiness now is so different to what Jaemin's used to. It's not something he's ever registered to be on Jeno's spectrum of emotion (Indifference, irritation, anger.) He's not sure why the sight makes his stomach turn.
His dad looks so disappointed in him.
Jaemin promises himself he'll one day push Jeno's buttons. He wants to see what else can be said from Jeno's face beyond the usual blank and careful, sometimes judgemental looks he's used to. He wants to wrench Jeno's smile off his stupid face. He wants Jeno to feel as little as an ounce of what he feels right now. He wants to make Jeno mind-numbingly jealous of him. Jeno will never come first place again, not while Jaemin has legs that work.
Funny that his biggest motivation in his entire life has never been for himself, his family, because he wanted to see what he could do. The first time Jaemin ever worked for something, the energy for it came from sheer spite. In hindsight, this should've been the first warning that he was rotten. Maybe he isn't, but these ugly feelings and everything they make him do might be.
And when The rest of the class is lined up for a group picture, Jeno lifts his medal, leaning into Jaemin's ear. "Say cheese." Says their teacher. "Loser." Whispers Jeno into his ear. (It's become an inside joke between them, the picture of twenty kids smiling and Jaemin's arms outstretched, Jeno falling over. "You played it up for added dramatic affect,” Jaemin says accusingly. Jeno just laughs.)
There are consequences. Of course there are. They both get given out to, jaemin taking on the bulk of the scolding. It annoys him, why is he getting told off for behaving badly when Jeno was the person who made him like this? The entire time he stares holes into Jeno's shoes, willing the soil to curl up around his feet, to swallow him whole. To rid the world of Jaemin's biggest problem.
After that, they don't talk at all. They stay on opposite sides of the classroom. When one of them approaches, the other disappears. They don't look at each other, don't speak to each other. There's just anger, hot, heavy and sour.
But Jaemin's been planning. Everyday he goes out to his garden and runs in laps of it until his legs burn. His mother rolls her eyes, calls it obsession. But he can see his father's face, the satisfied smile. He keeps running. Next sports day, first place belongs to him.
Until it is sports day again. He's seven years old, and Lee Jeno manages to outrun him. He comes second.
He curls his fingers into a fist and wills his face not to break into anger.
Jeno looks unbothered as ever. He's even taller now. His legs are long and thin in his shorts and Jaemin wants to stamp his foot because he's at an unfair advantage. Jeno's legs give him at least a ten second head start.
That night when he goes home, he crawls into bed, leaving his curtains wide open so he can see the moon properly. A pale lady, hovering in the expanse of grey blue sky. He looks at the empty stretch of darkness before he shuts his eyes as tightly as possible. He makes his body still like the monks they read about in class the other day. He prays. "Make me taller than Jeno." He says it over and over again, murmuring it over and over again as quietly as possible, so as not to wake his parents. A desperate prayer, a mantra, a chant. He says it in his head when he eats breakfast, he says it at the church when they kneel in the pews. He chants it under his breath as he runs in circles around his garden. He will beat Jeno this year. He has to.
God must notice his dedication, because Jaemin shoots up another inch. Unfortunately, Jeno does too. Jaemin wonders if Jeno prayed too? He can't imagine Jeno ever putting in that kind of effort to piss Jaemin off. Maybe this is God's way of punishing him for wanting to take Jeno's first place.
At least they're neck and neck now.
And when sports day rolls around this time, the teacher calls it a draw. A draw. Unbelievable. She tries to get Jeno and Jaemin to stand together, to get a photograph of the winners. Jeno shakes his head and Jaemin frowns, because he won his place fair and square. It's not like he wanted to share with Jeno either.
"It's called first place because there's only one." Jaemin says pointedly. She thinks he's kidding. He isn't.
That winter it snows and snows and Jaemin wonders if it'll ever stop.
His aunt tells him about the story of Gerda and Kai and the Snow Queen and he wonders if any of the pieces of fragmented mirror are stuck in Jeno’s eyes. There’s no other way a child his age could hold that much dislike in his heart for Jaemin. There has to be external forces at play.
He wonders if Jeno too, is enraptured by the snow.
It snows and snows and snows and jaemin runs and runs and runs laps of his garden. Nothing is going to deter him from winning that plastic medal.
Well, almost nothing.
It starts with P and rhymes with Begonia.
That winter is spent in a hospital bed. He tries to tell the nurse he’s okay. He lies on his back and kicks his legs in the air, determined not to let his leg muscles deteriorate but his lungs just can’t take it. When he inhales, he can feel his chest tremble and he wonders if his insides are going to crumble, collapse. He feels so fragile.
His mom brings him all the Anne of Green Gables books and he reads all of them, up until she has children, and then he decides he doesn’t really care about Anee much anymore. His mom spoon feeds him soup when he gets home and it’s nice at first until he’s sick of soup too. Eight years old tastes like soup and snow and Anne of Green Gables.
When he gets back to school, thinner and with eye bags almost down to his cheeks, he smiles. His teacher tells him she’s glad he's better and he says he’s glad he is too.
“Where have you been?” Asks a stubborn face glaring out from black hair. His eyelashes brush along the tips of his bangs and it irritates Jaemin.
Jaemin shrugs. “None of your business.”
Jeno looks unusually irritated and he huffs. Jaemin can tell he wants to ask more, and that’s he’s curious, but he knows Jaemin isn’t gonna give him any kind of satisfying answer.
Jaemin thinks he’s going to storm off, but Jeno just shuffles from foot to foot. “Don’t get sick again,” He says gruffly. “School was boring without you.”
Then he looks at Jaemin again, eyes a little nervous and he waddles away to go be by himself again. The admission surprises Jaemin, and now he’s the one feeling unsatisfied. Maybe Jeno isn’t that bad? No. It doesn’t bear thinking about. He has a nemesis. He has a mission. He needs to win.
And when sports day rolls around, Jaemin finds the drive has kind of disappeared. Somewhere along the lines, he started to run, just for the sake of running. After Jaemin came back to school, it hasn’t been the same. He wouldn’t call him and Jeno friends persay, but there’s a reluctant allyship that wasn’t there before.
When the teacher blows the whistle, he runs like the wind. Cheering, the sound of his own breath as he pushes his legs to new measures. His feet pounding against dead grass. Jeno’s alongside his own.
One lap, Two laps. Him and Jeno are neck and neck now, miles ahead of their classmates. He needs to win.
A sickening crunch, a thud, a dismayed crowd. He keeps running. Stops a couple metres away from the finish line. He looks back to see a shape on the floor. Jeno.
He’s not crying, granted, it’s difficult to shake him. But he is shaking. His teeth are gritted and his hands tremble and he’s clutching his foot. Holding back tears. Will he cry? He blinks. He’s a lot stronger than Jaemin thought. A lot stronger than Jaemin. The thought turns him. The teacher’s at his side, an arm around him as he hobbles over to the side.
“He must’ve twisted it.” Murmurs a parent from the sidelines.
Jaemin gets crowned first place, but it doesn’t count, because he hasn’t won it, not really. He resists the urge to throw it, stomping and shouting because he never got to properly try. Stupid Jeno had to go and fall over and now Jaemin hasn’t really own it has he? So it doesn’t count.
He shows up at Jeno’s house a week later, when school’s officially out for the summer holidays. It’s a small town, and Jeno only lives a couple blocks over.
Jaemin feels a little bad. He remembers how difficult it was during the winter when he was sick. He can’t imagine not being able to walk properly- especially during the summer.
Jeno’s house is pretty. Jeno’s house looks just like his and Jaemin wonders just how many parallels could be drawn between their lives. He feels awkward waiting outside the door. A dog barks when he rings the bell and he hopes that if his mom opens the door, she doesn’t recognise Jaemin as the kid always trying to fight Jeno.
He hears a vague “Coming!” and then the sound of hobbling.
Jeno opens the door like he’s going to rip it off its hinges. Jaemin winces at the force and Jeno blinks at him. “Here to rub it in?”
Jaemin doesn’t know what to say, so he shakes his head, pulling something out of his pocket. It’ll speak for itself. Jeno stares at it.
Under the sickly glow of summer sunshine, half a plastic medal glints as it spins from a cut ribbon. “I got dad to use his hacksaw.”
“What is this?”
Jaemin shrugs. “I didn‘t actually get to beat you. You were able to do that all on your own,” Jeno glowers at him. “Plus I feel kinda bad.” He adds hesitantly.
He can’t tell what Jneo’s thinking when he looks at it. He’s always been so unreadable. Face of stone. He reaches out with his free hand to cup it gently. “Thanks.”
There’s quiet for a moment and Jaemin really hopes he hasn’t upset him.
Jeno shrugs. “You can come in if you want? Mom made lemonade and we’re drinking it in the garden.”
He follows Jeno through a hallway. There’s pictures of Jeno on the walls, from when he was even younger than he was when they first met each other. It’s weird seeing Jeno as a baby. The hall floor is wooden and Jaemin isn't sure about whether or not he should help Jeno out with his crutches. He decides Jeno probably wouldn’t want his help.
Out in the garden, there’s a dog curled up under a tiled table. “He’s cute.”
“She.” Jeno says with a smile, sitting down and setting his crutch to the side. Jaemin hovers awkwardly for a moment until Jeno rolls his eyes and gestures for him to sit down too. Jeno’s mom has made lemonade, and it’s nice, but strange, sitting under a large tree, sipping it from a glass cup with Jeno.
“How’s your leg?”
Jeno shrugs again and Jaemin wonders if he knows that other methods of communication exist.
“Terrible.” He lands on eventually. He throws his head back and huffs and Jaemin laughs, because it’s the most dramatic thing he’s ever seen Jeno do.
It earns him a glare.
He picks his legs up, folding them into a pretzel shape on the chair. He traces swirls and triangles and squares and circles into the condensation on his glass of lemonade as he speaks. “When I was sick over Christmas I read a lot.”
Jeno shuffles. “I don’t really like books.”
Now Jaemin shrugs. “I can read them to you,” “If you’d like that is.” He tacks on at the end for a moment.
Jeno mulls it over. “Okay.”
It takes Jaemin by surprise. “Okay?”
Jeno nods. “Okay.”
Everyday stretching from June through August he wakes up, runs, and goes to Jeno’s house.
They sit in the sun, skin browning and freckles appearing in patches on their shoulders and noses. One day, when it’s really hot, Jeno fills a bucket with water from the hose and they dip their toes in it, like cats under the sun. Bess, Jeno’s dog, loves the shade. She sleeps all day and Jaemin wonders how that’s possible. She always looks so peaceful.
They burn through books like nothing before. Lord of the rings, the chronicles of narnia and harry potter amongst others- or rather jaemin reads and jeno closes his eyes and hums along.
he always listens though, Jaemin would be embarrassed if he didn’t. He reads to Jaemin until his voice is sore and his eyes are tired and he and Jeno succumb to the weight of exhaustion. Heads in arms on wooden tables under dusty sleepy skies.
One day his mother remarks that he's spending a lot of time with Jeno. He has to pause, reflect and it comes as a shock to him; the realization that he can't really call Jeno an enemy anymore. Are they friends? He feels like they might be. It's something that's crept up on him while his mind was elsewhere occupied. He can't quite pinpoint the turning point, but it must've happened along the way. Maybe it was yesterday? Or it could've been when Jaemin showed up at his house. Perhaps it was when Jeno first dodged his ankle. Maybe they've been friends since christmas. Or maybe they were never really enemies to begin with. These things are indecipherable to Jaemin.
He begins to puzzle over why they never got along in the first place. Jeno is quiet while Jaemin is energetic. Night and day, Inhale and Exhale. Become friends with Jeno is like defrosting a glacier. He’s a funny fucker- Jeno is. Something that takes Jaemin by surprise. He feels special, knowing that he’s one of the few Jeno’s decided to make his personality privvy to.
He asks Jeno about it once. “Why did you hate me?”
Jeno had raised an eyebrow. Matter-of-fact. Always straight to the point. “I never hated you.”
Jaemin rolls over onto his stomach, groaning. “Yes you did.”
Jeno giggles. “I didn’t hate you. I just wanted to be alone. You kinda scared me.”
“Scared you?”
“Yeah, like..” He pauses, thinking. “Like, you were so confident in walking up to me when we didn’t know each other and decided that we were friends. That kinda bugged me. I never hated you though.”
“Isn’t that kinda how friendmaking works.”
“Yeah but I didn’t know you then,” Jeno whines and Jaemin laughs.
“But you know me now?”
“I think so.”
They smile.
“I hated you.” Jaemin admits and Jeno tilts his head, curious.
“I become friends with most people I meet.”
“Glad to have broken that record then.” Jeno giggles.
It’s him, always him.
Always top of the list in a long line of Jaemin’s firsts.
And when sports day rolls around again, Jaemin wins fair and square. They hold their medals, 1st and 2nd grinning, arms wrapped around each other's shoulders. Jaemin realizes he doesn't really care about being first, or beating Jeno. He's just happy they're finally friends.
He's not sure why but it feels wrong to voice this.
The future is fast and forthcoming for Jaemin. It always twists and contorts, before settling as the soft present, and before jaemin has the chance to fully grasp it, he's in middle school.
Him and Jeno run track, him and Jeno get taller. He gets braces, jeno gets glasses, Jaemin gets braces.
Middle school is this: sitting on the back of the bus reading the hobbit together. Middle school is growth spurts and pimples and pushing and shoving.
When Jaemin wins class president he glows. When Jeno wins sportsman of the year his face, normally so solemn, allows a small smile to spread through the cracks. Uncharacteristic yet flattering. His friend has grown up to be somewhat handsome. It takes Jaemin by surprise.
Middle school makes Jaemin feel so grown up and so young at the same time. He likes learning; Loves it even. He's really good at English, he finds himself falling behind in math, and for the first time in his entire life he has the realization that not everything school-related is going to come easily to him.
He visits the local library with Jeno on the weekends, they sit on the huge peeling arm chairs, with huge stacks of lopsided books towering up at their feet. Jeno naps, Jaemin reads with passion and curiosity like no other.
It's always nice to have a friend. Jeno sticks with him, and Jaemin wasn't sure to begin with if it was because Jeno had decided finding a different friend would be iresome or not. He wouldn’t have been surprised at all. But now he’s not sure. Jeno naps and stretches his long limbs and Jaemin pretends not to look at him over the top of his book.
Popularity is weird.
He knows he’s popular, because everybody voted for him, it’s a strange thing to be aware of. Lee Donghyuck looks at him bitterly, face pudgy and teeth wonky and tells him he only won over Renjun because he’s pretty. Pretty. It stings a lot more than Jaemin would like it to. He decides then and there that he doesn’t really like Donghyuck much. More than that, Jaemin hates Donghyuck. It’s the same vindictive, angry void in him that burned all the way through the start of him and Jeno. But worse. This time it’s possible for him to exact a real revenge plan because Donghyuck, like him, is sensitive and Jaemin is popular. Whatever that means. At some point, everybody started changing, although Jaemin can't really pinpoint when. One day it feels like he looks at his classmates, and they're unrecognisable. This realization hits him like a ton of bricks. At some point, they stopped being children, and started being more like teenagers. Not quite teenagers yet, but he knows they're certainly not all kids anymore.
Popular? What does that even mean to Jaemin? He supposes it’s like in the TV shows. People are nice to him, people listen to what he says. He hangs out with other popular people. He and Jeno are princes purely by principle of association, he thinks, although he’s not entirely sure. By any means, when he passes Donghyuck in the corridor he curls his lip. Other people take notice and soon enough the circle of people who talk to Donghyuck decreases in size.
These things are never spoken out loud, and the disdain is quiet enough for it to be dismissed, but loud enough for Donghyuck to get the message.
Friendless. Loser. How dare you.
Does he feel bad? Yeah. He thinks he’s doing the wrong thing. Knows he’s doing something wrong.
But then he feels the black curl of awful feeling deep in his stomach and he feels his face going hot. He’s not spoilt. He’s not just a pretty boy. Donghyuck is the one who started it. Whatever. He thinks the words cut so deeply. Probably deeper than Donghyuck had ever meant them to be. To the point, to the bone. The kind of thing that leaves a scar after. He knows why Jeno didn’t like him, but he used to think that Jeno rejected his friendship because he could see the evil behind Jaemin’s skin. Just, a child completely rotten to the core. And that feeling of recognition only added fuel to the flame. He thinks he might be a horrible person. Just a pretty boy. That's why everybody likes him. And what happens when the black mold in his head shows up in patchy spots on his fingertips and veins?
It’s not his fault he was born with a face. Not his fault he reacts this way to confirmation.
Not his fault Donghyuck makes himself so easy to pick on.
Still, he’d rather not get his hands too dirty.
But when his curled lip turns into Jeno raising an eyebrow at him next time Donghyuck raises his hand in class turns into Yukhei snickering at Donghyuck’s Five Nights at Freddy’s backpack turns into Donghyuck getting picked last every single sports game, he feels a little bad.
It’s not his fault. Not his fault. Not his fault.
At lunchtime everyone used to play in one big group. Hide and seek, werewolf, cops and robbers. Now the girls have all split up into all these different groups. Some sit at the top of the yard, trading Shopkins. Others are more interested in the Moshi Monsters market. Some girls have picked up loom bands and are working in coalitions to understand the secrets of Cat's Cradle.
Jaemin doesn't feel like he's old enough to like girls, but they're all he thinks about these days. He doesn't know if it's weird, he doesn't think it is. He wonders what they talk about, what they think, what they think of him. What do they think of Jeno? Or do they think about boys at all? They're so private. You have to be a girl to understand the girls his mum tells him, and he doesn't think this is a very promising concept for any future romantic endeavours of his. All men and women date each other. They get married and they have babies. Is this where it starts? He thinks about all the TV he watches, the books he reads. Romance is a funny thing. Girls have bows on their shoes, colourful clips in their hair. They skip and giggle and paint their nails all sparkly.
He watches this all unfold with an almost morbid curiosity. The girls aren't really friends with the boys anymore, not really and it almost makes him a little bit sad. Is it like this forever now? Since they're all at the age where girls start liking boys? He doesn't feel like he's old enough to be allowed like girls, he doesn't feel like he's old enough to be liked by girls. He's a child. But he isn't anymore. Not really.
When he brings this up with Jeno, whose head is lying in folded arms on the kitchen table, one rainy September, he shrugs. "I don't really think about it."
Jaemin has to stop himself from asking Jeno what does he think about then? The inner workings of Jeno's mind are a mystery to him. Even more so than the girls. ‘What’s going on in there Jen?’
It’s a question he’s asked himself almost every time he’s spoken to Jeno since they first met and it’s one of those things he’s long given up on. Jeno's still unreadable to him, but Jeno seems to always be able to tell exactly what he's thinking. It's an endless source of frustration to Jaemin. Jeno's never been particularly sensitive to any emotions, so it must be that Jaemin is an open book. Or maybe Jeno’s just attuned to him specifically from years of close proximity.
He'd like to be quiet, just like Jeno. He'd like to not have his thoughts and feelings be so loud and screaming and uncontrollable. He thinks woefully about how little Jeno seems to care about girls, or books, or anything that isn't easy. Jeno's simple. He only ever talks when he needs to, he only ever does anything when he chooses to. Jaemin will never understand what it's like to colour inside your own lines.
They do an exercise in class, to do with sports and heart rate. Jaemin pays attention because he likes science, he likes running. He likes understanding and he likes feeling intelligent. Their teacher makes them count how many breaths they take in a minute, and then they run a lap of the schoolyard. They count their breaths again after the run and when they share their results, everyone finds that they breathe more when they're tired. Something about expenditure of energy.
But that's not what sticks with Jaemin most from the lesson.
The most obtuse memory Jaemin can recall from that day was looking at Jeno, across the table. Skinny, black hair falling into coke-bottle lenses. His number had been half the amount of everyone else's.
He'd shrugged. "I play a game with myself all day everyday. I only breathe when I feel like I'll die if I don't. Then I'm not wasting air."
"There's no such thing as wasting air."
Jeno, inscrutable as ever, had said "What's the point of breathing when you don't need to?"
They'd moved on, but it had always stood out to Jaemin. Were these the kinds of things Jwno thought about? How long could he go without breathing? Has he always done that? Jeno's thoughts seemed so simple compared to his. If Jeno's thoughts were like the simple beep of a heart rate monitor, Jaemin's thoughts were the mad scribblings of a toddler with inky waxy crayons.
If the girls became more and more secretive, nobody ever said it out loud. This only added to Jaemin's confusion in regards to them. It was like an unspoken rule that nobody addressed their existence unless they were one. Nobody wanted to be accused of liking one. God forbid.
He'd found a copy of the crucible while rummaging for something light to fill the time. It had been difficult, far too difficult for him to be able to read and understand, but there'd been a summary and he decided that that was what being an 11 year old boy felt like. He was on trial and he wasn't sure if he was passing or not. You were supposed to like girls, but you couldn't like them too much or everyone would know that you liked them. And disliking girls was bad too, because it meant you were gay.
Their 6th grade French teacher's name is Monsieur Yoon. Jaemin likes him well enough and this opinion isn't shared by his classmates. The first time he ever hears the word 'gay' is before easter break.
"He's gay. He shouldn’t be teaching us." Says Lucas.
Jaemin glances at him, too concerned with packing his bag to focus.
"What's that?" He asks, not entirely interested.
"A man who likes other men. I saw stuff about gay people on the news."
"That's not a thing," He laughs.
"It is! And Monsieur Yoon is one."
Jaemin feels uncomfortable. That's not a real thing right? If it were, he's sure he would've heard about it by now. The universe doesn't keep secrets of that importance from him.
"But he has a wife?"
Lucas shrugs, popping his mini egg in the bin. "He has a gay haircut."
The chocolate feels sour in Jaemin's mouth.
Later, sprawled on Jeno's trampoline, he reaches up to the sky and flexes his fingers, peering through the gaps in the blooming leaves.
"Jeno, what do you know about gay people?"
Jeno grunts. "Dunno."
Jaemin's not sure what else he should've expected from Jeno, but his impartialness is comforting. Jeno doesn't care, Jeno never really cares.
Jaemin wonders if he's playing the breathing game right now.
"I feel bad for monsieur Yoon." He says eventually.
“You feel bad for everyone.”
Jaemin nearly barks out a laugh. No he doesn’t. Or maybe he does. He’s so at fifty fifty as to whether he cares about other people or not. Being a person is dreadfully confusing. “Do I?” Jeno’s perspective is probably clearer than his own.
He doesn’t answer the question. "You think too much."
The words echo in his mind. He's drifty and there's only a couple months left of being 11. Think too much. Care too much. Try too hard.
‘You think too much.’ and Jaemin realizes Jeno's right. There’s no question of whether he’s a good or bad person if he just lives. Jeno doesn’t sit for hours thinking over every little thing he’s done, everything he does to other people, everything that he will do. Jeno isn’t agonising over being a potentially morally compromised 11 year old because Jeno just is. He doesn’t play stupid mind games. Maybe that’s why he balances Jaemin out so perfectly. Jaemin’s sure Jeno has never taken time to consider the consequences of what he could do with a simple curl of his upper lip. What he could do to someone by treating them a little coldly in view of the herd. Jeno doesn’t like Donghyuck because he’s loud. A simple reason for a simple boy. A normal reason for a normal person to dislike someone. A normal way to treat someone. He wonders what Jeno would think if he spent a day inside Jaemin’s head. Does Jeno feel the fear in the same way that he does? These things are beyond him and fuck! He’s thinking again.
Not everything is within his grasp. He needs to stop trying to understand everyone and everything around him because he never will.
What would Jaemin be like if he shut off the power inside his mind? Flicked the off switch? Put himself on autopilot? It’s an interesting concept. Maybe he’ll have to give it a try. Maybe then he’ll stop feeling all this horrible pity and guilt and worst of all, that terrible thrum of not being good enough.
The more he discovers, the more alienated he feels. Everyday he learns something new, and everyday hundreds of new possibilities are opened to him. It's this lack of understanding, he thinks, that makes him feel so inhuman. He’ll never know what it feels like to be anybody but himself. Everytime he opens a book, that character is doomed to a fate already printed in black ink. He’s going to be trapped as Na Jaemin until the end of his life. He will never be known fully, and he will never know anybody wholly. This is at once a startling and sinking conclusion.
Jeno shuffles round onto his stomach. “Why you asking about gay people?” He wrinkles his nose. “Are you one?”
Jaemin shakes his head and throws a pebble at Jeno, who shouts.
They both fall back onto the trampoline, rising and falling beneath them from the movement.
“I’m glad you aren’t one. Otherwise you might ask to get married and then I’d never be able to escape you.”
He laughs and wishes he knew what it felt like to be Jeno.
But every now and then he does get a glimpse. Jeno will stop on the way home to play with all the cats that live in his estate when they walk home from school. He doesn't baby talk them, he greets them with his usual quiet, and when he does speak to them, it's in the same way you'd talk to an elderly woman, not a cat.
Jaemin gets the feeling Jeno would talk to a homeless person the same way he would the president. Monotone, disinterested. Gentle only around his mother and Jaemin. Sturdy. Jeno knows who he is. Jaemin wishes he were that sure of himself. Unshakable.
He sees who Jeno is when they go to the library. Jeno doesn't care much for books unless they're being read to him by Jaemin. He sits, does his math homework and yawns. His knobbly knees stretch up and he tucks then under his chin, head falling into place on the armrest of the peeling chair. He’s so serene. Jaemin wonders what that must feel like. Once again, that certainty.
Jeno’s presence is always calming. Jaemin hates feeling like a maniac, like a terrible presence. He’s a perfectionist at heart and he knows he’ll burn a hole in the sky if pushed too far. He loves too fast, cries too easily. Hates too quickly and shows that hatred too fast to think about what it means. He wants to be everybody’s everything all of the time, can’t stand anything less. Wants to disappear off the face of the earth. He has so much of himself and he's always bursting at the seams, colouring outside the lines but he won’t let it happen. He lives his life at the verge of tipping off the edge. Jeno simply doesn’t care.
They get taller every day. Sprouts taking root, growing fast and tall and terrible.
Girls, girls, girls. It makes no sense to Jaemin. He’s seen them in real life. He’s seen them on TV shows. He’s noticed that they have long eyelashes and hair that falls onto their shoulders and high voices and giggles. The girls have started noticing him too, and Jeno. Mark says it’s because they’re on most of the sports teams and sure, they are.
Jaemin never really thought of that as a point of attraction before though. He’s in middle school, he likes running, he likes reading and he thinks he likes hanging out with Jeno. There’s still the slight burn wheneer Jeno receives praise for something that he’s also tried. He doesn’t think that resentment or rivalry will ever fully go away. Not really. He needs to be the best, he needs to be perfect. He needs everybody to understand and acknowledge that he’s a good, perfect person.
But Jeno’s company is nice too.
He’s constant reminder to Jaemin not to sink in too far. Jeno lives on the surface level, he doesn’t think too hard about anything, and he never really tries at anything. Jaemin supposes that’s the most frustrating thing about Jneo, he doesn’t have to try. EVerything always seems to come to him so easily. Fluency comes to him like magic at the tips of his fingers. It’s so disheartening.
But he doesn’t care about any of it. Not really. Jeno cares about animals, about his favourite sports teams, he likes listening to Jaemin reading, he likes to run. His life is so forward.
Girls must come naturally to him too. It only makes sense.
One day they’re sat at their lunch table. Somewhere along the lines of basketball, athletics and football practices, they’ve found themselves a friend group. Mark Lee, Jung Jaehyun, Wong Yukhei, Kim Jungwoo and Jeno and Jaemin.
They’re nice enough, Jaemin supposes. Sometimes Yukhei’s loud and sometimes Mark gives him second hand embarrassment and Jaehyun’s cool. So cool it makes Jaemin nervous sometimes. He wants to be Jaehyun’s favourtite, to be the best, but everything he says always turns out wrong. He’s not sure why he manages to be so shiny and clean in front of everyone else, and so lame around Jaehyun. And then there’s Jungwoo. In the same year as Jaehyun and smart as a tack. He’s funny, watchful and he seems to pick up on everything with teasing smiles and eyebrow raises.
It’s still Jeno and jaemin, it always has been. Jaemin’s not sure if it always will be, but as far as friend groups go, he supposes it always could be worse.
He walks home with Huang Renjun most days he doesn’t have practice afterschool and when Jeno’s busy with helping his mom. They started this at the beginning of the year when Renjun had noticed him holding a battered copy of the hunger games and raised a finger accusingly. “You read?.”
Jaemin had felt awkward then. Sure, Jeno liked reading but he's never really held any intensive interest in it. For Jaemin, it was one of those things that allowed him to be a little bit outside of himself for a short period of time. So naturally, he was taken by it. He wasn’t sure why speaking with Renjun felt like being accosted.
At the back of his mind there was always the niggling feeling of guilt. Yeah, Renjun was smarter than him, yeah he deserved class president. Jaemin had one, but there was always residual resentment. On a level only available to him. Maybe Jeno too, but Jeno was always privy to what Jaemin was thinking. Most of the time anyway.
And he wasn’t sure why, but reading definitely felt like a topic that lay out of bounds at the lunch table with his other friends. He’d seen Maek holding a copy of Diary of a wimpy kid once, and he figured that that was as far as any of their ambitions in regards to literature extended. He’d never brought it up.
Renjun had transferred in from a different elementary school and he had his own friend group. They all wore glasses and clothes from Walmart and had rag-tag loom band bracelets and pokemon bags. Jaemin still wasn’t entirely sure of the social hierarchy beginning to build up around him like a prison, but he knew he was towards the top, and Renjun hung out on the bottom tier with boys like Lee Donghyuck.
Still, it was nice to have somebody to talk to.
Renjun was funny, real funny. He had this dry sense of humour. He was clever, not just in a classroom sense and Jaemin wondered why he didn’t have more popularity.
Popularity, that word again.
It was like currency. People held the door open for him, people smiled at him. When kids had extra sweets, they gave them to him. When their class needed a team captain in Phys Ed, it was always jaemin. It could’ve been Jeno too, but he supposes he’s always been the slightly more approachable one. The one with false amicable smiles and tense hands hidden in pockets. He wonders what Jeno would think of Renjun.
Renjun is weird. Yeah, that’s it.
He hangs out with even weirder kids too. Lee Donghyuck, who now draws cat whiskers onto his face and wears ridiculously big Fall Out Boy t-shirts. Liu Yangyang who never knows when to shut the fuck up. Jaemin’s sure he could be popular like him, if he just stopped hanging out with them. If he wore the same clothes Jaemin finds himself and his friends wearing. He knows Renjun’s fast; He could join the track team.
“Why are you friends with them?” Renjun asks him one day. It’s a big question, Jaemin finds himself hesitant to answer. It doesn’t surprise him though. Renjun’s more direct than him, he’s actually quite like Jeno in that way, now that Jaemin thinks about it. It’s not that Jeno isn’t smart, because he is, they’re both two people who Jaemin allows to know him. Jaemin wouldn’t trust anybody he considered stupid to have access to that. But It’s more so that Renjun cares about the Whys of the world enough to ask about them. Jeno just accepts things as they are. Both are uncomfortably candid in their respective approaches to living. And now, Renjun wants to know why he is the way he is.
Jaemin is partially relieved, finally somebody who cares about the whys enough to listen. but he also feels like a cat that’s been dunked into a vat of liquid bubbles. Thrashing.
Fuck Off.
Stop.
He doesn’t know how to tell Renjun he thinks he’s a bad person, but also maybe not that bad. He doesn’t know how to tell Renjun he’s spent so much time thinking about why he’s friends with the people he’s friends with, what makes him popular and what he does with it, why he even wants it in the first place. He spends all this time thinking about it and he can’t even put it into words. He has no answers worth giving.
He opts to feign ignorance. “Whaddya mean?”
Renjun waves a hand around. You’re smart, you like the same stuff I do, you’re just.. Quieter about it. You don’t speak for yourself. It’s like you want everyone to think you’re dumber than you are.”
Jaemin doesn’t pretend to be dumber than he is, but he knows what Renjun means. He only projects a certain amount of intelligence. It’s a likeable amount. It’s so people know he’s smart, but not smart enough to be exceptionally smart. He’s not weird.
“I like sports and stuff too.”
Renjun nods. “Yeah but like, isn’t it weird? Like not being fully yourself in front of your friends?”
Jaemin hums. “I’m plenty myself Renjun. It’s just that I don’t wanna be lame.”
“So you think I’m lame?”
Shit.
‘A little, but I like you anyway’ he thinks, and hates himself for it.
“Of course not.” He says. Renjun’s eyes burn holes through them.
“And you’re nice.”
“Nice?”
“Yeah. I know you’re lying when you say you don’t think I’m lame. Yukhei’s pretty open about what he thinks of me.”
“He’s only jealous because you do really when in school. Don’t tell anyone I said that though.”
“You could be friends with my friends too.” Renjun says pointedly. “They’d like you. We know you’re not like them.”
But Jaemin is, like them. He’s a people pleaser, and there’s no point swimming against a current. He’s popular, he’s friends with people who he thinks are also popular. What’s the use in rocking the boat, when the boat is so easy to sleep in?
“Maybe.” He says, but they both know nothing will come of it.
Jaemin wonders if he should tell Renjun that he could be popular too, if he tried. But Renjun’s so comfortable in his weirdness, in his intelligence and weird interests that Jaemin doesn’t think it’s even with mentioning. Renjun loves space, loves Greek Gods and Astrology and science. He feels dumb now for thinking Renjun would ever go as low as to be like him. Jaemin feels so stupid when they talk. He’s never been good with inadequacy.
Him and Renjun walk home from school together sometimes, that’s all that they need from their friendship.
And when Jaehyun snorts as Renjun trips in the cafeteria, old tennis shoes falling apart at the soles, he feels a terrible terrible thump in his chest. Embarrassment. He’d forgotten what Renjun is to the rest of the people he eats lunch with everyday. Jeno rolls his eyes. “He’s so annoying.”
Mark’s eyebrows shoot up, “Renjun?” Jaemin feels surprised too, although he tries not to let it show too clearly on his face.
Jeno stabs into a piece of mac and cheese and twirls his fork around his fingers absent-mindedly. “He’s such a teacher’s pet.”
“Nah dude, he’s just smart.” Mark always tries to be a little kind, god bless his heart.
“He’s annoying about it though.”
None of them notice how quiet Jaemin is.
He joins the volleyball team, which means he can’t walk home with Renjun anymore. They stop talking and Jaemin promises himself not to be lame. He can be normal. He can like normal things. He will be okay. He just has to be the same as everyone else. It’ll all be alright, he’s just got to be less first. He needs everyone to like him. He has to be smart, but not too smart. He needs to be friendly, but not too friendly.
He stops reading as much, he doesn’t really have time for it anymore ever since he picked up all these after school practises and matches and such. His dad pets him on the head and tells him he’s proud of him and Jaemin has to force himself not to cry because it’s what he’s wanted to hear for so long. He makes himself quieter. He’ll always try to be nice though. It never hurts to have people think you’re a lot better than you actually are. He’s not even quieter, just more contained. Monitored.
He’s still competing with Jeno. Maybe that’s the only reason they’re still friends. The only reason they became friends. Jaemin needs to be better. Forever and always. Sometimes he looks at Jeno in class, half-asleep and uncaring. Sometimes he looks at Jeno out on the field, faster and stronger and better than Jaemin will ever be and he wants to punch him in the face. Sometimes when he sleeps over at Jeno’s house and they sit out on the patio under the stars and Jeno feels comfortable enough to rest his head on Jaemin’s shoulder, he feels like they are properly best friends in the most traditional sense. Two souls intertwined as one. But he never tells Jeno this. He’s sure Jeno already understands.
Jeno asks him about it one day, when they’re running laps around his neighbourhood. “You don’t read as much anymore.” It’s less of a question and more of an accusation. There’s less room to not give a straight answer and Jamein hates Jeno’s lack of tact. He and Renjun really aren’t dissimilar at all. He brushes off the internal comparison.
“Haven’t had time.”
“But you like reading.”
“And you guys all think it’s lame.”
Jeno looks slightly hurt and it irritates Jaemin, because he’s the one who never shows what he’s feeling. That’s Jaemin’s job. It irritates him because he’s the one who called Renjun a Teacher’s pet.
“I don't think it’s lame.”
“But you make fun of Renjun and his friends.”
“I don’t make fun of them.”
“Yes you do.”
“Jaehyun says it’s harmless.”
“It’s still mean.”
“And you never say anything to him. So shut up.”
He doesn’t say it harshly, but Jaemin feels himself overcome with a wave of anxiety. They’re best friends, they’re not supposed to fight and he’s scared because Jeno has that look on his face that only Jaemin can tell means he’s pissed off.
“Sorry.” He says quietly after a moment. The sound of their feet hitting the ground in tandem is like nails on a chalkboard in this awful heavy silence. He doesn’t want to cry over this. He’s so tired of being sensitive.
Jeno stops, and turns and Jaemin wonders if he’s going to hit him when he places his hands on Jaemins shoulders. “Do you think I’m mean?” He’s not angry, he’s worried and Jaemin can see the wrinkle between his eyebrows and tells himself not to smooth it out. It’s one of the first times he’s seen Jeno visibly distressed.
“I didn’t think it ever bothered you?”
“I didn’t, but it clearly bothers you and I don’t like that.” He asks again. “Do you think I’m mean?”
He doesn’t know what to say, and his lack of response is enough for Jeno.
He sits down at the curb and Jaemin settles next to him. He doesn’t speak for a long time and when he does he asks, “Do you think I should say sorry?”
Jaemin mulls over it for a second. “He doesn’t really know that you’re mean though, so I don't think you have to.”
“I think I feel bad.”
“That’s okay. I’m pretty mean too”
another pause and Jeno huffs. “I don’t think you’re lame Jaem.”
Jaemin doesn’t really say anything.
“It’s cool when you do all your smart people stuff. I wish I was like that.”
“I wish I was half as good at sports as you are.”
They both laugh at that and jeno punches him lightly on the shoulder. “I'm sorry if I made you feel embarrassed. You know you can trust me and stuff right? We’re friends and I don’t want you to feel like you can’t talk to me about stuff. You’re not lame.” He says again, chin up.
Jaemin hates having candid conversations about feelings, and he knows Jeno does too. They’re both twelve years old and it’s the first time they’ve ever addressed the jealousy lying openly between them ever since they were kids.
“Of course I know that. We’re friends aren’t we?”
Neither of them mention the fact that they’re only friends because otherwise it’d be too easy to hate each other. They’re too similar. Too different.
Jeno lets out a small sigh. “Yeah.”
They can read each other, they don’t need words to communicate. Jungwoo says it’s creepy, Mark laughs and says they’re like twins. Two brains, turning in unsion. Jeno is less and less of a mystery every single day, and it feels like a special kind of secret, understanding him. Jeno frustrated him so much when he was younger, it feels oddly satisfying to know he’s the only person who’s ever fully managed to worm his way into his life like that.
They’re thirteen years old, and maybe Jaemin doesn’t really detest jeno at all anymore, and maybe they might be best friends. He’s still not so sure about the rest of the people he eats lunch with, but he’s eaten lunch with them for so long, that it’s probably not with finding a new group of people to eat lunch with. It’s a small school in a small town; options are unfortunately limited. Jaemin is still unsuccessful in his attempts to pinpoint what exactly makes someone popular. Whatever these people are made of, they all have it and nobody else seems to. He supposes that because of that, they’re stuck together. Plus Jeno likes them, and Jaemin likes Jeno. Mark is sweet and well-meaning. Jungwoo’s funny and even Yukhei has his moments. Jaemin’s still intimidated but Jaehyun, but then so is most of the student population.
He likes walking through the halls, he likes standing at Jaehyun’s locker. He likes sitting under the apple tree after football practice is over. He likes the banter in the changing rooms, and the walk home from school. He likes the sleepovers at Jeno’s, the cups of hot chocolate they drink in the morning and waking up to Bess licking his face. He likes what everyone sees in him, and pretending gets a little easier.
They’re thirteen years old and Yeeun asks Jeno out.
Jaemin sits and watches it unfold. He’s not an idiot. He knows that this is what happens when you’re in middle school. People get crushes on each other. People go on dates and message each other on snapchat. but this? It feels like an inciting incident in the worst way possible.
He watches her, face pink and hair falling into her eyes as they both await a response from Jeno. Jaemin realizes irritatedly that Jeno’s face is still a perfect blank. No response to be seen, his thoughts hidden behind flesh and bone. Is he going to say yes? Shouldn’t they talk about it in private first? This is kinda a big decision to make without consulting your best friend.
Jeno sets down his fork and smiles at her, and Jaemin’s world begins to spin, faster and faster on the hilt of its axis. Beyond his control.
“Okay.” He says.
Jaemin doesn’t know what to think.
They’re fourteen years old. Jahyun and Jungwoo are long gone and they’re on the edge of finishing middle school. They’re at the dance. It’s failr innocuous as far as these things go. The girls have been treating ti all week like they’re actually going to prom. Unbrushed heat-induced ringlets falling down their backs, dresses from H&M. Baby heels. A little bit of makeup. They’re at that stage now apparently. Jaemin’s wearing a suit from Jc Penneys and he’s staring bitterly at at the dance floor- a pitiful gym with spilled capri sun under a pathetic excuse of disco ball. Jeno and Yeeun are dancing together and the worst thing about her, Jaemin thinks, is that she’s actually not that bad.
She’s funny, kind, sweet and pretty and Jeno absolutely does not deserve her. Last year, when she first approached their table, shy and wide eyed, Jaemin hadn’t expected much. Most of the people their age go on ‘dates’ to mcdonalds. They sit in awkward silence and send each other snapchats before ending it three weeks in. But that’s not what’s happened with Jeno and Yeeun.
And now, Jaemin can no longer pride himself on being the only soul who can see into Jeno’s thoughts, because Yeeun can too. It took him so long to earn Jeno’s trust, to become some semblance of friends with him and she’s managed to do the same thing in a year. Jaemin can’t just go over to his house whenever he feels like it anymore, because he might be hanging out with her. It’s okay though. He’s Jeno’s best friend and Yeeun is Jeno’s girlfriend. But still, It always hurts to be second best. He wishes he had a girlfriend. Not because he wants one, but because he wishes more than anything in the world to be someone’s number one, and to have them be the same. Or maybe that’s a lie. He’d really just like to be even with Jeno again. He can’t stand not being on the same level as him in the game of life. Na Jaemin doesn’t cope well with being left behind.
He looks from where he’s stood at Donghyuck, Renjun and Yangyang. Donghyuck’s wearing Doc Martens with his chinos and a red button up and eyeliner. It makes him look stupid and Jaemin wishes he wouldn’t do things like that, because people are so fucking mean. He wishes Donghyuck didn’t do loserish things, because then people wouldn’t have anything to pick on, and Jaemin wouldn’t have to swallow the lump in his throat everytime he hears someone say something about how he looks. It’s so easy to be normal, to stop doing things that make people hate you. Why can’t Donghyuck just be more like him? What’s the point in doing everything in your power to stand out? He wishes Renjun were friends with him instead. But he’s always had Jeno hadn’t he? He has Jeno now, it’s just that he has to share him.
He wishes he were somebody’s favourite person. Anyone. Jeno’s. He wishes he weren’t so aware of how lonely he is.
He looks now at the three of them, dancing in a circle. Yangyang is dabbing and Renjun’s laughing. He has a bowtie and a pair of suspenders attached to his pants. He looks like a stock photo of the word ‘nerd.’ He catches Jaemin’s eye and they smile at each other. More in acknowledgement than anything. Jaemin’s is tight, gritted. Renjun smiles like he’s on the edge of laughter.
Jaemin looks over at Jeno now, from where he’s dancing with Yeeun. It’s not really dancing, they’re more jumping half-heartedly around and laughing.
Why is everyone always so happy? How?
When is it Jaemin’s turn to feel like that? He’s tired of playing pretend at being a person. When will he start feeling real?
When he goes home, the silence feels so crushing he thinks he might just die. He gets up to the bathroom to piss, looks in the mirror and watches his face erupt into tears. It’s a gradual thing. He doesn’t feel like he’s watching Na Jaemin cry, it’s like watching a video of a different person somewhere far from where he’s trapped inside this body. This crying, aching body. He looks so ugly when he cries, he has to turn around and stare at the white bathroom wall while he regains his composure. Little huffs in and out. His breathing rattles through his chest like a dying gust of wind in a cookie jar. He’s tearing the skin around his hands. Biting, gnawing, pulling. He doesn’t care if it bleeds. He wants to throw something, he wants to make himself as small as possible. When was the last time somebody held him? Will anyone ever hold him again? How is it humanly possible for anyone to properly feel close to anyone? If it’s all just lies? He doesn’t feel close to Jeno anymore. Not since Yeeun came into the picture.
He’s not sure if his mom still loves him. He’s so lost.
He’s lost, but he’s calmed down again. He’s embarrassed by his tears and he assembles a course of action.
Wash face, brush teeth, drink water, put on warm clothes.
Robotic.
Sometimes it’s easier to manage when you break it all down into little things. He’s always cursed his own stupid silly sensitivity and how often these things happen. He’s getting better at stifling it. He no longer reacts badly when people don’t like him. He knows it’s kind of a normal thing and not something that deserves life-long resentment, it’s just another part of life. He looks at the cruelty of every single thing around him and when he feels that ever-familiar despair sinking through his skin, he doesn’t let it show.
The downside to living this kind of life is that sometimes, when he no longer has the energy to force himself not to feel, it wells over. Water and dish soap spilling over the side of a dirty mug as a torrent of tap water buckets down into it.
Once again, he forces himself to break the actions into little ones.
Don’t think, don’t think, don’t think.
He’s a mind stuck in that body, and now he tends to his body in the same way that one would with a child. He’s only ever seen Jeno cry once, a few months ago, talking about his older brother being mean. It had made Jaemin feel so scared, despondent. He’d treated Jeno like a child then, made him a cup of tea and laid out pyjamas and clean socks and rubbed his arm until his tears had subsided. Silent.
He wishes now that somebody cared enough to take care of him.
But there’s nobody. So he changes out of his suit, fingers running slowly over the smooth white buttons of his shirt, scratchy material using static to brush past the hairs on his arms. His chest rises and falls as he kicks off his pants and he stares at the expanse of his legs reaching down to the floor. He’s always been grateful for his runner’s legs. Legs he once prayed for. They’re strong, sturdy, upright. But they’re also a constant reminder of his growth, physically. He doesn’t think he’s grown mentally, he’s only learned to be quieter about it. Now, his legs are a constant burning reminder that he will never be small and holdable again. Nobody will ever be able to cradle him between two arms.
Put on your pyjamas. He gets into bed. He checks his phone.
Renjun: Hey, idk if this is weird and ik we haven't talked in a while but you looked peaky today n i was wondering if ur okay? I'm here if you need anything. Sorry again if this is weird lol.
He looks at the notification and promptly bursts into tears again. His room is cold and he has to stuff his fist in his mouth so his parents sleeping in the next room don’t hear him.
He wishes Renjun wasn’t lame, he wishes he didn’t care what people thought of him. He wishes he didn’t have this emptiness inside of him. He wishes he wasn’t born wrong, wishes nothing was changing but it’s too late. The ball is already rolling.
TIme is nothing if an unstoppable force, and Jaemin is the most moveable object he can think of.
That night is bitter.
Highschool rolls around like a lead pipe to the stomach, and Jaemin can’t find his footing anymore. New school, new faces, new subjects. He gets a grip though. He tries his best to pull himself together. God forbid somebody notices him. Properly. He’s perfect. He’s perfect. He’s perfect. He’s perfect. He practises till he’s on the edge of tears from muscle pain. He reads until he falls asleep, smiles at the faces he passesin the corridor, makes sure he has at least 5 friends in every class that he's in. He dedicates his time to being the best that he possibly can, to ensure the outcome is always good. He sees Jeno, and they laugh together and he feels calm and like he might be able to actually do it. He’s not sure what the it, in question is. Perhaps life itself? Terrifying.
He wonders when he’ll start to actually feel like the best. He’s fifteen years old and he feels like he’s suffocating in himself. It hurts to look at Renjun and his friends, so he doesn’t anymore.
Everyday he goes to Jeno’s or Jeno’s goes to his. It doesn’t really make a difference anymore. Their bedrooms aren’t really their own anymore, not with all the clothes and copies and textbooks lying around, owned by one, but left in the house of the other. There’s too much to sort out, and Jeno remarks once that he’s glad that they never argue because if they did, there’d be a hell of a lot of sorting out to do.
Jeno isn’t like how he used to be at all. He’s a lot more open these days, and less serious too. There’s still glimpses of course. He's cold when he meets people for the first time. He concentrates on sports. He still cares about Bess and street cats more than any living person except maybe Jaemin and Yeeun. He’s still kind of an asshole sometimes.
That’s another realization Jaemin’s had. They're all kind of assholes sometimes, and nobody else seems to really feel bad for it. After his and Jeno’s heart to heart, he tries not to be. But it’s so hard not to be at least a little mean when everyone you talk to is, unapologetically.
One day he’s talking to Karina, one of Yeeun’s friends as he gets books out of his locker. She rolls her eyes and tells him that she’s sick of Aeri stealing her clothes. Her hair is long and black and shiny and falls in a dark curtain down her back. At halloween Yeeun had put on Jennifer’s body. She’d citied it as a feminist must watch. Jeno had fallen asleep five seconds in, and Yeeun shortly afterward, but the movie had stuck in Jaemin’s mind. Maneater. Or something along those lines anyway. The term feels a little over dramatic to use for a fifteen year old.
But still, her confidence, the clothes she wears, the way she smiles at him reminds him of Jennifer Check. There’s something dangerous about her.
“Why don’t you just ask for them back?”
He'd thought it’d been a reasonable suggestion until she’d sighed, crossing her arms. “I have. But she pretends she has no idea what I’m talking about.”
“How’d you know she’s taking them anyway?”
“Cos she’s got a duffle bag of them stuffed under her bed.”
Oh.
“That’s… really weird.” Is what he says.
She nods.
“Why would she steal your clothes?” He’s baffled.
“She hates that I look good in them.
“But she doesn’t wear them?”
“No. She doesn’t steal them for her to wear them. She takes them purely to take them off of me, because she can’t stand that I look good in them.”
He’s shocked. “But you guys are best friends.”
She looks a little sad. “All best friends kind of hate each other.”
“Me and Jeno don’t”
“Really?”
He nods. “We didn’t really get along as kids, but I don’t know. Nothing like that. You should stop being friends with her.”
Karina shakes her head. “It must just be girl thing.”
He feels suddenly really sad and tired.
And everyday he sees Karina and Aeri. They’re always still sat together, like there’s not a single problem. He’s not even close with Karina, he’s not even sure if they count as friends. He wonders how many other problems there are between them that people don’t know about. And for once he’s glad that Jeno has no problems with airing his issues.
The way Jaemin has started to see it, at least his friends are openly disdainful. He hates these unspoken rules unless he’s the one setting them in place. Open hatred plastered over with a smile. Karina and Aeri can’t stand each other, but neither of them will say it, they won’t just end the friendship. Maybe it’s because they’re both scared of having to make new friends. Maybe they like the toxicity. Maybe it’s because it’s not worth rocking the boat. He thinks about Mark and Yukhei and shit, maybe Karina was right. The thought makes his chest ache.
He doesn’t know which is worse. Knowing that everyone’s happier than him? Or knowing that everyone else is just as sad.
“So.. Karina?” Yeeun asks him one day, when they’re all sat around Jeno’s couch. She’s sat cross-legged, dainty dress pooling around her knees asn cardigan slipping down one side of her shoulder.
“Karina?” He blinks at her.
“I saw you guys talking the other day.”
It dawns on him with a start what she’s implying. He can’t help but laugh. He waves a hand dismissively. “Oh! No. No, she's lovely but I don’t like her.”
Yeeun huffs and crosses her arms, leaning into Jeno, who’s sat on the other side of her. Like Jaemin said, the worst thing about Yeeun is how likable she is. She’s funny, nice, smart. And on top of all she’s fun to be around. It’s not really a problem anymore, about having to share Jeno. He’s gotten over the caginess that comes with being somebody's best friend, and now they’re cool with each other. It took him a while too, because boundaries are uncertain, and shure, he wants to be friends with her, but he doesn’t want it to seem like he’s up to no good, or that he’s too close to Jeno, or too close to Yeeun. It’s a weird middle ground but he thinks he’s found it. Either way, her presence isn't unwelcome, and it’s always nice to have her around. She offsets a lot of the masculine energy he feels like he might frown in sometimes.
He’s not sure if that’s misogynistic. He wonders if he’d been raised a girl would he be like Aeri, or would he be like Karina and Aeri? Or maybe Yeeun’s just like them. It’s so hard to tell what anyone’s thinking these days.
“You don’t like anyone.”
“I like plenty of people.”
“But not in any kind of interesting way.”
Yes, thinks Jaemin. Things are safer that way.
“We could go on double dates.”
Jeno snorts. “We already do that all the time, but instead of another girl, it’s Jaemin and Jaemin’s food.”
They all laugh and Yeeeun turns back around again. “You guys would make such a pretty couple though. Everyone would eat it up.”
“Doesn’t matter what everyone thinks though if Jaemin’s too fucking gay to care enough to hold a conversation with her.”
He huffs. “I can hold a conversation with her!” Deliberatly not addressing the gay comment. He knows Jeno means no harm. Jeno knows he’s not lile that.
Yeeun raises an eyebrow. And he deflates slightly. “It’s just that we don’t have much in common. There’s not a whole lot we have in common.”
“You could always try get interested in something she likes.”
He pops a dorito in his mouth and bites down hard. It’s stale. “But I don’t like her.”
Yeeun rolls her eyes and Jeno laughs. “You’re going to die alone.
Jaemin laughs too and he knows Jeno’s joking but it tugs at the edge of his mind. Is he going to die alone? Would that even be such a bad thing? He’s already aware that he actually doesn't really like most anyone. Maybe he could’ve dated Yeeun. He’s still unsure of what she ever saw in Jeno to begin with. Why did they get together in the first place? What if it had been him she’d asked istead? He’d have said no, and He and Jeno would be one friend less. It’d started off as a middle school crush. Started as tick the boxes “Do you like me?” Now they’re together. They suit each other. He thinks she’s made Jeno kinder. These probably aren’t thoughts he should be having about his best friend’s relationship.
He swallows his mouthful and wraps his arms around them both, crooning. “How am I gonna die alone when I have you guys?”
Yeeun laughs and Jeno gags and Jaemin feels like things may not be that bad after all.
They’re in the locker room, the walls are dripping with condensation from everyone’s sweat and Jaemin wrinkles his nose as he pulls on a pair of clean socks.
“Nice one today.”
Jaemin recoils, lazily tugging Mark’s arm from his shoulder. “Don’t touch me with your sweaty bare arms.”
Mark laughs like a goose honks. It’s girating.
“Too seductive?”
He blows a raspberry. “Hardly.”
“More like not enough.” Jeno quips from beside Jaemin.
“Not enough?” Mark.
“I’m sure he’ll crack if you try hard enough. Lord knows the girls clearly aren’t doing it for him, maybe he’s looking for a man.”
ouch.
He laughs, mood ruined. “I can’t believe you want me to go on a date that badly.”
“But it’s weird,” Jeno whines. “Everyone wants a piece of you. I don’t know what you’re waiting for. There’s nobody better going to come along.”
Jaemin doesn’t know who he’s waiting for either. He doesn’t understand why he’s so scared of saying yes to a girl, so scared of dating somebody. It’s normal right? Normal.
“I’m waiting for God,” he says deadpan. “I’m going to be the second Mother Mary.”
Jaehyun barks out a guffaw, claps him on the back. “You’re so fucking weird dude.”
Crisis averted. For now. He’s so tired of everyone commenting on his lack of involvement in girls. He doen’t have to date anyone. He knows he doesn’t have it in him to pretend to be interested in someone. He supposes there’s no harm in finding someone to kiss right? It’s probably time for him to try. That’s just what boys do. His stomach turns. He changes quickly.
Jaehyun’s seventeen today, and Jeno and the other kids on his team and Yeeun and her friends have all been invited.
“Will there be drinking?”
He doesn’t know, and he tells her so. He’s not sure what to expect but she just sighs and says, “Don’t get alcohol poisoning.” It’s awfully dismissive. He’s at once delighted with this new found freedom and horrified by how little she cares. He wishes she’d scoop him up in her arms. He wishes he were older and younger than he is now.
“I won’t.” He promises her. It’s the least he can do.
The first time Jaemin drinks he’s in a sweaty room. Jahyun is vaping and Yeeun’s wrapped in another one of her huge cardigans, head thrown back in laughter from where she’s perched next to him on Jeno’s lap.
He takes a sip of what he’s drinking. Blue Wicked. It tastes like a blue raspberry slushie and as far as percentage weight per volume of alcohol goes, it’s fairly innocuous. This is fine.
He feels the arm of the sofa sag and he looks over his shoulder at Karina, in a pair of her tight jeans and wrap around tops. Her face is unbearably nice.
“Hi.”
He nods and she takes a swig from the bottle of Smirnoff her long red nails are wrapped around.
“You want some?”
“Nah I’m okay.”
She boos him, sticking her tongue out and he notices the flush of her cheeks, the tremor in her hands.
“You okay?”
She blinks, long eyelashes fluttering like she’s on the edge of tears and she pursues her red lips.
“Fuck.” she says.
He panics a little. “Hey, hey it’s okay,” he pats her hand feather light , scared to actually touch her. He doesn’t want to make her uncomfortable.
“Would getting some air help?” he asks gently and she nods. Pretty when she cries. Nobody notices them leaving together, the conversation around them must be interesting. That, or nobody cares enough to notice.
They’re sat outside in the garden now, around the corner of the house against the red brick wall and her breathing picks up. He’s not sure what to make of the detachment he feels inside himself as he rubs his hand up and down her arm, in what he hopes is a soothing manner. He keeps repeating “It’s okay,” quietly as possible, hoping it’ll fix it all. He’s never been around someone this upset before. Jeno definitely doesn’t cry, and neither do his parents. He hasn’t got any siblings and the closest he’s ever had to come to comfort was when Mark lost Jaemin’s calculator and felt so bad he’d nearly cried. But Jaemin doesn’t think that counts.
He wishes he knew what to say when she wipes her nose on her sleeve. The noise is gross and real.
“I didn’t mean to cry in front of you.”
“It’s okay,” he says. “We all cry sometimes.” Once again, Renjun’s voice in his ears. Too nice. He’s a horrible person who pretends to be a nicer horrible person. What does that make him? He’s just as, if not twice more as fraudulent as Aeri. He wishes he didn’t exist. He’s such a liar.
He continues regardless. “What happened?- If you don’t mind me asking… You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to.”
“Aeri friend dumped me.”
“Friend dumped?”
She sniffles and Jaemin’s disgusted by the sound. He tries to iron out his face into an expression of concern.
“Yeah.”
“Shit.” He offers. He’s unsure of what else to say.
She has a mouth like a rose bud and it twists to the side. Her face is swollen and blotchy and she’s hard of breath, like a toddler after a tantrum and he feels bad for her, he really does. It’s cold, and he’s not sure if she’s shaking from the cold or her own upset.
He pulls off his hoodie and drapes it around her shoulders. She’s nice, and she’s Yeeun’s friend, but this is the most he’s willing to offer her. He doesn’t want her to look at this act of care and think of it as love. He hates her.
Jaemin would rather die than let anybody do the same for him. He’d let himself fall over the edge before he let himself cry in front of another person who wasn’t Jeno.
And if he didn’t have Jeno? Jesus Christ. He doesn’t know what he’d do then. He can feel Jeno slipping out of his grasp everyday. He has a girlfriend, and this kind of life actually suits him. Jock, popular, revered. He’s still him, but he’s different.
Karina wouldn’t look at him twice if he was a part of Renjun’s crowd and this shocks him. He wishes he could take his hoodie back, but that would probably be rude.
And no, he doesn’t hate her, but he looks at Karina and he feels sick, because all that he can see is himself. Last night of middle school. How lame is that? He clears his throat.
“Has this kinda thing happened between you guys before?”
She shakes her head. “We fight over petty things all the time. But it’s never gotten this big before.”
“What are you gonna do now?”
“I don’t know.” Her voice is barely a whisper. “I love her, I really do.”
This scares him. He doesn’t let it show though and tries not to react. He steels his jaw. Thinks about what to say. He knows girls love to use the word ‘love’ to describe the most mundane of likings. Yeeun ‘Loves’ breakfast tea with milk. His mom ‘loves’ watching the Housewives of Beverly hills. His aunties ‘love’ fanning over the newest celebrity gossip in their trashy magazines.
But Karina whispers the word ‘love’ like it’s something to be feared and that’s when Jaemin realizes he’s far, far out of his depth.
‘Why are you telling me this?’ He wants to scream.
But he knows exactly what she means. She knows. She knows she knows. She knows.
But he knows too.
And then they’re both sat there, knees folded under their chins like children hiding from a thunderstorm. His hoodie across her shoulders, eyes red and his fingers and nails bitten. Music echoes distantly and he can’t help but reflect on how they both truly are, failed mirrors of their more perfect counterparts. Yeeun and Jeno, Karina and Jaemin. Lonely failures, because they can’t even bring themselves to pretend to like each other to each other's faces. Failed counterparts, because they can’t even bring themselves to echo what their predecessors are; attracted to each other.
Before, he hadn’t been sure as to why Karina made him feel uneasy. He’s always been comfortable with girls, well, as comfortable as a teenage guy can get. But he knows now it was because of the supposedly knowing looks his friends gave him when she came over to talk to him. He knows it’s because of the way Yeeun not-so-subtly hints that they’d make a cute couple.
“That’s okay.” He says gently. But it isn’t. Not really.
It’s the start of a beautiful friendship.
Karina is nothing like Jeno. She isn’t patient, simple, easygoing. Her face is an open book and she’s full of harsh edges and giggles. She reminds him of Renjun in a way that takes Jaemin by surprise. She’s kinder than Jeno is.
There’s nothing that brings people together like a horrible experience. Between Jaemin and Karina there’s understanding about unhappiness, about yearning and the pain of being a teenager. There’s also a silent agreement that they look out for each other whenever possible. A sworn bond between two wrong doings.
There are two sets of events. One happens and one doesn’t.
He watches her, mouth opening and closing. He’ll catch flies like this. Unhelpful reminder from his brain.
“You’re gay?” He manages to say through coughs. His blood runs cold and he can’t avoid the way that her face drops. She’s made a mistake and they both know it. Jaemin could ruin her life if he wanted to.
And will he? He doesn’t know. They’d all stop fucking teasing him if he did, no more questions. He’d just be a misogynist instead of a homosexual. He wonders which is a worse label to be stuck with? They’re like two people caught in the headlights now. Freaked out, scared. Cowboys at the final showdown but nobody has a working weapon.
“Oh my god.” Karin says, voice scarcely a whisper and he grimaces at the sound. She starts to speak again. “Forget I said anything. Forget I said anything. Forget I said anything.” She keeps saying that.
But how’s Jaemin supposed to forget that? How is she somehow more and less hysterical than she was ten minutes ago? Before she looked like she was on the edge of a breakdown. Now she looks like she has one foot in the grave. He’s not going to say anything. That’s too much. Does Yeeun know? Jesus christ. Jaemin’s never met a gay person before.
How’s he supposed to look her in the eye in school? She’s so scared.
He’s scared too.
“W-why’d you tell me that?”
“I’m not gay.” She says at the same time.
They look at each other, both stricken.
“Don’t say shit like that. It’s weird.” He sounda like his dad, and he wants to curl up into a ball and die. “Don’t tell anyone I said anything. Forget it. Please.”
“I won’t. I won’t. I won’t. Just.” He opens his hands. Closes them.
“I thought.”
He thinks he knows what she’s going to say so he looks at her. She closes her mouth. Puts her head in her hands and covers her eyes.
“I’m not. You thought nothing.” He tries to say thw words with conviction, ferocity, but his mouth is dry and it comes out bumbling. Dizzy.
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
He feels bad leaving her there, but he’s not about to offer her a second kindness. That’s not the Na Jaemin he’s cultivated’s style.
When he stumbles inside Jeno takes one look at him and kisses Yeeun on the cheek. They leave.
“What happened? You look awful?” When they’re halfway up the street.
He shakes his head. “Is it obvious.”
“Barely. But I know you.”
He inhales. Exhales. Looks at the sky and avoids the question.
“Sorry for dragging you off early.” He says eventually. Their footsteps against tarmac and fading music the only sound in the world.
Jeno scrunches his nose. “I was getting bored anyway.”
That night when he slips into Jeno’s bed, a thought crosses his mind. ‘Maybe we’re too old for this.’
It’s by all means logical. They’re fifteen. Jeno has a girlfriend. It’s a little weird for best friends to still sleep in the same bed.
It’s followed by an even worse feeling.
Jaemin doesn’t care. He doesn’t care that he’s too old to be looking for a space in his best friend’s childhood bed.
He should care more about the fact that he doesn’t care about any of this.
But the space next to Jeno looks so inviting. And he’s one of the only people in the world who has the vaugest inkling of how much Jaemin hates Jaemin. He’s the only person who’s able to calm him down when he’s upset and he’s the only person who cares enough to not ask Why.
So Jaemin gets in the bed.
Him and Jeno never talk about it, whenever this happens. More unspoken rules. Jaemin and Karina won’t ever never talk about it either he’s sure and nothing will happen. Nothing ever happens. Jaemin’s always waiting for something. Someone. But Jesus Christ, maybe this time he’s his own something. Him and his stupid brain and Jeno.
Isn’t that terrible.