you don't wanna play with us.

by strwbrryeo

Summary:

“One single, isolated, and pathetic orgasm.” People constantly mistake a simple moment of pleasure and temporary bliss for undying and pure devotion. He finds it fascinating. And certainly annoying too. “And you think you know absolutely everything about me?”

 

Or, the sudden arrival of four new students at the most prestigious university in the region threatens to reveal secrets that manipulate the present. Between a declined card and a broken heart, sometimes it's hard to tell which hurts more.

Chapter 1

Notes:

hello!

before reading:

first, please read the tags, if you prefer for me to also add which tags are used when i post a new chapter, please tell me, i think the tags are enough but just in case let me know if you prefer a double warning

second, some characters appear later for plot reasons but they are as important as the others and are introduced within the first chapters

third, i’ve taken some elements from elite (netflix series) but you don’t need to watch it to understand the fic

and last but not least, this is a multiship fic, which means the four pairs have the same importance regarding the plot. if one pair doesn't appear on this ch it will appear on the next one and so on

i hope you enjoy the fic! ☁

“Seonghwa!”

Hongjoong widens his eyes and promptly replaces his surprised expression with a frown as well as a grimace. A broken pencil tip and a slashed line across his notes are the product of the surprise provided by the professor's sudden excited tone of voice. Awesome. A ruined design. Not even an eraser will make that mistake disappear.

He touches the inner part of his cheek with the tip of his tongue, knowing that mistakes are hard to erase, and not just those made with a pencil on a white page —if only he hadn't spent most of the night using his tablet, a simple tap on the screen would be enough at that moment. Well, at least unexpected lines present an interesting challenge to his creative skills, and he always has the chance to crumple up the paper and throw it away.

He would have continued to decorate the notebook left on his desk if the professor hadn't seemed to change her personality at that time —the same adult who last semester assured them that despite wanting a bright future for them, said she plans to achieve said successful life with a correct and monotonous tone of voice.

He raises his eyes, intrigued.

Hongjoong is amazed when that name resonates within the walls of the classroom. Seonghwa? The names of all those present around him are engraved in some corner of his brain, as well as saved in his phone. Who is Seonghwa? His answer appears as he slides his eyes from the professor to the classroom door.

Seonghwa —if he’s Seonghwa— turns out to be what —who— Hongjoong thinks is a new student. His uniform assures that he can only be a new addition to the list of students. Why do they make them wear a uniform? Hongjoong believes that it has to do with what he calls a false sense of humility.

He thinks it’s interesting, not many people have the chance to get added to the pile of names he keeps compiled inside his head.

“Seonghwa, come in, welcome.” Hongjoong notices that he’s not the only one switching his curious look between the professor and Seonghwa. He thinks he can count on the fingers of his hands —scratch that, the fingers of one of his hands the number of times he has seen that professor smile throughout the three hundred and sixty-five days of the previous year. But at that precise moment, said professor is holding a wide smile.

Hongjoong puts down his pencil to rest his arms on his desk and leans forward slightly, not looking to feign disinterest at the sudden situation that removes all traces of sleep from his figure.

He takes a look at this Seonghwa. Someone who gets the professor to smile just by showing up is worthy of attention. His uniform is free of all wrinkles and not a single crinkle is in sight. His white shirt is tucked into his black pants while his orange blazer completes his look. The tie of the same color is perfectly adjusted around his neck.

Not even his shoes have any stains.

Hongjoong can't help but roll his eyes. Boring. Not a single dark blond strand out of place, correct posture, a friendly smile, and a full uniform. Hongjoong decides, right then and there, that Seonghwa is boring —blame him for judging people by the clothes they wear, his mother would be proud. He’s pretty, though.

The correctness of Seonghwa’s presence collides with his own uniform. Perhaps it’s the same combination of colors and the clothes don’t change, but his blazer bears the initials of his name, embroidered in black by his own hands, while only one side of his shirt is tucked into his pants.

Ah, maybe that's why the professor seems so happy. While the fingers of one hand are enough for him to count the number of times he has seen her smile, he has stopped counting the times she has glanced at him every time he has walked through the door, each time with a reformed version of the uniform —blame him for seeking to express himself through clothing. Blame him for everything, he doesn't care.

“Class, before we start,” the professor again draws the attention of all those present after turning them into the personal audience of the smile still present on her face. “I hope you will welcome Park Seonghwa. He will be with us from now on so I hope you make him feel at home, more than welcome.”

At home? Welcome? Hongjoong rolls up one of the corners of his mouth to avoid the sound of a fake laugh. They force them to wear a uniform with the excuse of making everyone equal, expressing that they are under the same conditions when every student who attends classes within that institution knows that a bigger lie has never been told —and they are more than used to the definition of a lie.

A prestigious, acclaimed, famous university. That's true. Equal? It's a lie.

“Seonghwa, why don't you sit with Hongjoong? He'll guide you,” Hongjoong blinks when he hears his name. He watches as the professor points at him, and his eyes meet Seonghwa's for a moment. “Hongjoong, if you are so kind. Oh, and while I'm talking, remember that you will have a talk with the new director of the institution at the end of the day.”

Hongjoong only avoids rolling his eyes a second time at the mention of those last words because Seonghwa heads towards him. He removes the bag he’s left on the chair next to him and soon the chair is occupied again. He doesn't know if it's ironic or not the fact that he's never chosen to sit in the front rows of the classroom.

The professor has gone back to holding her typical expression of seriousness and the image offered by the classroom windows represents a boring distraction. The day is cloudy and there’s not even enough wind to follow the meaningless path of a leaf. 

Hongjoong knows that he would be lying if he expresses not being curious about the fact that someone who has just walked in, has already gotten the professor who is known for teaching well but not decorating her face with such a smiling gesture, to smile, so he rests his eyes on a black backpack before looking up.

“Hello,” he hears.

He’s met with a perfect small smile —probably previously practiced— formed by plump lips. Hongjoong continues to look up before being blamed for concentrating longer than necessary on the rosy hue of said lips, and finds a defined nose as well as brown, round eyes. He doesn't know if they are glowing because of the white light in the classroom or for some unknown reason.

As he has noted before, not a single dark blond strand is out of place. As he hasn’t seen before, skin is free of all imperfections —well, details, he doesn’t like saying imperfections.

“Hi,” he says after clearing his throat. Thankfully, Seonghwa only gives him a few seconds to stay distracted by thinking about the outline of his profile, before getting him to focus on the notebook and pen he leaves on the desk. Not a single sticker on the notebook.

Hongjoong takes a momentary look at his page currently full of designs —and a disastrous line, too— before once again resting his eyes on his sudden deskmate. “So you are Park Seonghwa.”

Who is he and why does he manage to make the professor smile?

Seonghwa nods his head. “And you are... Hongjoong?”

“Kim Hongjoong,” although his posture is not correct —Yunho never misses the chance to tell him that he’s old because he has pains that at his age he definitely shouldn't have—, and the reddish hue of his recently dyed hair ensures that it isn’t in his interest to provide a completely irrelevant image, he does consider having manners, so he extends his hand. “A pleasure.”

Hongjoong lowers his eyes to their hands after Seonghwa agrees to shake it with his.

He wants to laugh, the difference is noticeable just by looking at their hands. While one of his nails is painted orange and several of his fingers bear various accessories, Seonghwa's nails are perfectly filed and only a silver ring decorates one of his fingers. The touch is soft.

Hongjoong appreciates that the pencil stain on his skin is closer to his wrist. He would probably have smudged Seonghwa’s skin had it been closer to his fingers.

“A pleasure,” Seonghwa repeats. Hongjoong looks at him as soon as their hands stop meeting. He notices a faint trace of discomfort decorating the smile still present on Seonghwa's face. “I'm sorry for being a burden.”

“It’s okay,” Hongjoong waves his now-free hand to assure him that there’s no need to add those words. He leans slightly to the side. He’s used to hearing the words a pleasure, as well as pronouncing them. But I’m sorry? That’s new. “You are not a burden. I'm the Class President so it makes sense that the professor put you with me.”

He doesn't know if he adds those words just for the sake of it or to prove —to whom? To Seonghwa? To his own self? To everyone present in the class even though he doesn't know if anyone is listening to his conversation? Probably yes. Somehow there's always someone listening in on every conversation— that he doesn't need to wear a fully groomed uniform, or a subdued shade of hair to be elected Class President.

He doesn't have to sit at the front of the class or make the professors smile to get his classmates to see him as the leader.

“Really?” Seonghwa doesn't sound puzzled, but rather curious.

“Yeah, since last year. Delegate of the Year.” Hongjoong nods his head even though he doesn't hold a satisfying smile on his face to accompany said pride. “Well, I hope that doesn't change this year,” perhaps he has hinted at his position because of the next few words he intones, phrases he chooses to add under his breath. “You heard the professor, there have been some rumors over the summer, that the director has been fired and that a new person will replace him, a woman, that’s all I know. Now it has been proven to be true.”

He leans back slightly after mentioning those words. Seonghwa also barely approached him after realizing that he isn't exactly looking for everyone in the classroom to listen to him.

Hongjoong doesn't know if Seonghwa is looking at him at that moment, seeming confused because he doesn't understand the reason behind the offer of those words out loud, or because he can't connect the meaning of the words said.

“In my opinion,” Hongjoong decides to continue, “I don't know why they made the change, the director that we have— had.” He sadly forces himself to correct himself, “Was pretty cool, and he was always nice to me.”

And besides, the now-ex-director is San's father, Hongjoong adds inside his own head. Now all the people who wear the same orange and black uniform are aware that there’s a recent change in the head of the university, but he has heard more than rumors throughout the summer. San himself has shown concern about his father's position within the university.

As Delegate of the Year, he has to remain more than attentive to matters related to the university students, so he doesn’t understand the replacement when his memory doesn’t fail him and he’s sure that there hasn’t been any serious problem within the classrooms, nor outside of them —or maybe yes, but if he hasn’t found out, it's because they have been dealt with quickly and discreetly.

“I think a change from time to time is good, don't you?” Seonghwa offers.

“Yes, but change the director now? It sounds weird,” perhaps Seonghwa doesn't seem to understand his point of view because he's barely passed the classroom door a few minutes ago, and thus the university's main entrance doors. “I'll have to make sure everything is in order. I think it’s an unnecessary change.”

He sees Seonghwa nod, but he also notices that he raises an eyebrow for a moment. “As President of the Class and Delegate of the Year you will have to maintain order because surely the new director will make a mess, won't she?” he asks him.

Hongjoong avoids narrowing his eyes because he feels that somehow Seonghwa has turned his words into a more direct sentence.

It hasn't been his goal to assume that the new person that will replace —that has already replaced considering it's the first day of the semester— San's father is or will be a disaster.

After all, the university would never dare to risk the good reviews that haunt it, but the presence of San's father behind the desk present in the rectory office has always given him a sense of calm. An emotion that at that moment is characterized by its absence.

“I'm just saying, it's weird. But don't worry about it,” he thinks that maybe, the words he’s said were a bad decision.

Seonghwa is a new student after all, and he's probably more worried about learning his new schedule than knowing what's going on behind closed doors inside the institution.

“Why have you moved here?” he asks him, quickly finding a topic of conversation that will hopefully distract Seonghwa.

Hongjoong tilts his head to the side, confused when Seonghwa lets out a small chuckle upon hearing him. He believes that in a certain way, although it’s been a laugh, its sound doesn’t seem to be in tune with the previous introductory smile offered.

"No, I won't worry.”

His confusion continues to grow not only because Seonghwa says those words, but because he also stops looking at him to raise his hand.

“Yes, Seonghwa?” The professor notices.

Of course, she notices.

“Kim's great sense of leadership has struck me.” Hongjoong arches an eyebrow as soon as he hears his last name leave Seonghwa's lips —still thick and rosy, but now forming a blatantly fake smile instead of an honest one. “I want to cherish the enthusiasm of the moment to run for President of the Class. I am very inspired by Kim's efforts.”

“I like that! The rest of you should be more like Seonghwa.”

The professor's lack of recognition of obvious irony.

The professor’s satisfying tone of voice that last year didn’t debut even if the vast majority of the class managed to pass the last exam with the highest grade.

A satisfied smile now appears on Seonghwa's face as Seonghwa turns to him.

He dared to think that he was boring. Perhaps, he understands the fascination shown by the professor towards Seonghwa, but in his case, he doesn't smile.

“I moved here because my mother got a new job,” Seonghwa stares at him, all traces of amusement soon leaving his facial features to give way to a serious expression. “As the director of the most prestigious university in the region.”

Hongjoong straightens up as soon as he hears those words.

He should have known.

“Let me tell you one thing, President. A worthy leader doesn’t need to show off his titles to demonstrate what he is capable of. You might not be such a good leader if you think your position is in danger simply because said achievement is rooted in the fact that you know the direc— oh right, forgive me, former director. A person like me, then, shouldn't be a threat to you, right?”

Hongjoong believes that his jaw hasn’t dropped at the words only because he's too busy biting the inner part of his cheek, that gesture showing the seriousness that decorates Seonghwa's face as well as his.

Good reception by the professor, a neat uniform, and a great welcome. 

He really, really should have known.

Seonghwa is the son of the new director.

“I don't care about your last name, I don't care who you are. I will win.” he thinks it's even better that Seonghwa turns out to be the director’s son. He'll feel even better once it's shown that their skills matter instead of their respective families.

“Are you all pure words and no action?” Seonghwa puts his elbows on the desk and clasps his hands together to rest his temple against his fingers before glancing up at him. “Poor soul, the one that ends up being with you. Send my condolences to your partner if somehow, by chance and luck, you are with someone already.”

Hongjoong allows himself to chuckle as dryly as honestly when he hears Seonghwa's words, and settles back on his seat, facing him with his body after resting his elbow on the edge of the chair.

“Thank you so much for being living proof that topics such as asexuality and aromanticism need to be discussed. I will definitely continue to keep it as an important point in my campaign because it’s evident that you won’t.”

He revels in the way part of the vanity leaves Seonghwa's facial features after assuming that the people he sleeps with must not know the meaning of satisfaction after being nothing more than mere gibberish.

Seonghwa assumes that —he— everyone is interested in romantic or sexual relationships, and he assumes that Seonghwa has never read about aromanticism or asexuality. He thinks it's only fair.

“And just for you to know, people are satisfied with me, academically speaking or not.” He adds.

“Are you sure?”

“Why?” Though he wants to do nothing more than get away from Seonghwa, he approaches him, noticing the way Seonghwa doesn't move even though he could have leaned back. “Are you thinking about me already? Obsessed with me much?”

“No thanks, I wouldn’t want to be disappointed.” Seonghwa looks at him again.

“You will be disappointed once you realize we could have been so powerful.”

A good leader knows that being accompanied is a good strategy because no one is capable of reaching the top completely alone. He believes that Seonghwa will regret not only choosing to turn against him, but also realizing that they certainly could have been powerful allies.

“Academically speaking?” Seonghwa blinks innocently, but he doesn't believe him.

“I don't need notes to satisfy.” To learn, to study, and to pass, he does need a pen, highlighters, and a notebook, but to hear moans? He only needs his skills.

“I will give you a giant F.”

“Thinking about fucking already? Wow, invite me to dinner first,” he straightens up and doesn't hesitate to continue talking once he notices an offended expression on Seonghwa's face. “I have a better plan. You buy me dinner so I have enough energy to deal with you, and you leave.”

“Your brain is wonderful and I'm not saying that as a compliment.” Seonghwa stops looking at him to lean back on his seat and looks straight ahead while crossing his arms. “It’s rotten because it's evident that somehow you dominate everyone here, but lucky for you, I'm new.”

“Are you asking me to dominate you?”

He allows himself to hold a sincere, amused smile as Seonghwa turns to him and narrows his gaze. He doesn't know why, but he’s excited.

The boredom that the morning has represented thus far has been pushed aside, and although he would have preferred to start the semester without his position being challenged, he feels satisfied every time he manages to get Seonghwa to leave the elegance of his facial features behind so as not to hesitate in showing that he is stubborn. Obstinate, too.

“I'm fine by myself and with my thoughts, thank you very much.”

“Good luck thinking about me tonight.”

“I'm into candidacies, achievements, and awards,” Seonghwa assures him, “I don't waste my time thinking about people like you, but about how to defeat people like you.”

“But babe,” he’s delighted when Seonghwa frowns at him and remains speechless at the purposeful use of that petname. “I am the President, I represent all that so that means you are into me.”

“Why do you want me to be into you so badly?” He does lean back as Seonghwa leans into him slightly. He doesn't know how he'll make it through an entire class with Seonghwa by his side, let alone the hours a morning includes. “You want a date already? Is that why you mentioned a dinner?”

“I don’t do dates.”

Capricious, demanding, spoiled, he has heard all kinds of adjectives throughout his life. He accepts some because he knows he's not perfect, while he rejects others. But he hates when people, especially people who don't know him, equate his words or gestures with a specific interest, or certain intentions.

“No words have ever given me such relief. But, babe, like what you see?” this time he narrows his eyes when his presence is cataloged under that word that has previously left his mouth. “Lack of dates doesn't equate to lack of visual appreciation.”

Hongjoong rolls up one of the corners of his mouth, thinking that yes, Seonghwa is beautiful and will probably get more than one student to stare after him down the hall, but if he follows him with his eyes, it will be to look at him with disdain and not with imaginary hearts in the center of his pupils.

“What I like is when people envy what I have.”

“Selfish much?”

“Hard-working much.” He corrects him.

He’s aware that some people look at him with displeasure because the titles attached to his name indicate that he hasn’t hesitated to try harder, to plan and work for what he wanted to achieve and, in the end, obtain.

Just as often it’s enough to offer a bunch of bills, other times pride is put on the line when it’s time to demonstrate one's abilities.

He stops smiling as he realizes that he has been constantly striving to stand out from the rest of the students, and not just because he removes or adds certain details to his uniform.

It’s easy to express that he has achieved what he has achieved because he has money or because the others present in the classroom don’t represent real competition, and for the same reason he won’t hesitate to show that he is the leader of the class because he cares about others.

“Then start working, and hard, to be the vice president, because I will win.”

He sits up when he hears Seonghwa.

“Fool yourself with that fantasy,” he determines. A good leader can and should be able to adapt to new conditions and face new threats that may arise without previous notice. He considers Seonghwa to be a threat even though Seonghwa himself has said no. “This is my university and I'm not giving up the title.”

He guesses he too has quickly learned to understand how Seonghwa works, as he notes the way Seonghwa remains serious as he doesn't hesitate to express that the university his mother now happens to run is still his university.

Seonghwa might have the power of the most important office, but he shouldn’t underestimate the power that the students can represent.

“Park, Kim.” He hasn't realized how much he's allowed Seonghwa to get his attention after suddenly startling at hearing the professor scolding them, but he's delighted to see Seonghwa startling too. “Please, leave the arguments for the challenges.”

The challenges, the instances where they will have to face each other to show who is more apt to be called Class President.

Park.

Seonghwa has been there for a day, minutes, barely, and they already say his last name first.

“I don't plan on showing you around, Park.” This time he accompanies his words with the mention of his last name instead of an affectionate ironic petname.

“I don't need you to, Kim. I already took a look around when I walked my mother to her office.”

Hongjoong appreciates having put down his pencil minutes ago. He believes that at that time he would have been able to tear the page with it had he been drawing on it.

Seonghwa offers him a fake smile again, and Hongjoong doesn't hesitate to copy his gesture. He believes that they only choose not to continue arguing because they agree on only one thing, and that is not wanting to be scolded.

It’s on.

If Seonghwa even tries to pull him down, Seonghwa is going down with him.

Notes:

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Chapter 2

Notes:

please remember to mind the tags

Yeosang looks at himself in the mirror and tilts his head.

You are too pretty to cry. You are too pretty to cry. You are too pretty to cry. You're too pretty to cry. You are too pretty t—

He straightens up and doesn't need to look at his phone to know he's late.

He doesn’t know how and since when the presence of tears and the word weakness have begun to be seen as synonyms, yet he can’t bring himself to blame someone else for voicing such phrases. Not when he can describe as an uncertainty the moment he has begun to give in to those words.

A deep breath makes its way past his lips.

Not even the white lights of the bathroom accentuate the makeup mostly present under his eyes, he notices. Free from all imperfection like the rest of his face in the eyes of others.

His figure does feel the heaviness that comes with the dark color under his eyes in the absence of a reasonable number of hours of sleep, but tiredness doesn't take away his skills when it comes to hiding, covering up —pretending, so even if he feels tired and suppresses a yawn, his face doesn't show it.

He looks at the bathroom door but the palms of his hands are still flat on the counter. He’s aware that the bell has already rung and that its sound assures him that he’s late. Instead of hurrying, he forms soft fists with his hands and looks at himself in the mirror again. He wonders how a door is giving him such a meltdown at that moment.

He previously would have been nervous at the very idea of entering a classroom, being aware that feeling comfortable is not a possibility because he happens to be a new student. Probably with his head down, or fiddling with the sleeves of his uniform. But he knows that recent events lead him to behave differently.

His eyes fall on the necklace that decorates his neck, on the golden floral charm that shines over the white fabric of his shirt. Starting the day will end up being nothing more than an impossibility if he continues to stand still.

He stopped being in front of the door of his classroom in a matter of seconds, as soon as he thought of crossing it. Not necessarily because he feels nervous since uneasiness hasn't threatened to creep up over his shoulders, but because he knows that walking through that door will trigger a chain of events that he's not used to.

He knows he's made up his mind when he looks back up at himself in the mirror.

Once again, he knows he’s late.

“Sorry,” he whispers to his own reflection.

A part of him assures him that there's no need to pronounce said word.

He stops being in front of the mirror to lock himself inside one of the stalls. He leaves his back against one of the walls, and takes his phone from one of the pockets of his blazer —orange, it's disgusting— to remove the case from it and for his eyes to run into flattened sachets, small enough to fit three between his phone and its case.

He takes one and covers his phone with the case to keep it in one of his pockets. He opens the sachet and carefully takes the thin whitish strip to leave it an inch from his mouth. He swallows before staying still for a few seconds. He’s told himself he wouldn't do it, he knows that, he really, really knows that, but he wouldn’t have kept the strips if honesty were his faithful companion.

How is he supposed to stop being still, when despite all the sudden changes, he feels that his surroundings have come to a halt?

He deserves it, Yeosang tells himself. He hasn’t allowed himself a distraction since they abandoned what he considers to be familiar for his view to soon consist of details that he doesn’t recognize. He knows that it’s the first day and that he’s already thinking about not giving the new environment a chance.

But it isn’t his fault, he has never wanted a new change. He again makes up his mind as he parts his lips and places the strip under his tongue, not avoiding the grimace that guides his expression because he hasn’t expected the bitter taste of the drug.

He has to put up with it. He knows it. Without drinking, without eating, and without swallowing for a few minutes unless he wants the effect of the drug to be less effective.

The drug only takes a few minutes to dissolve so he opens the stall. He doesn’t spare a glance at his reflection in the mirror, not knowing if he will like or not the image of himself that he finds, and finally leaves the bathroom to again head towards the door that in the first instance has led him to make that turn of actions.

He leaves his hand mere millimeters away from the door handle. He could leave, he could leave right now. To go where? He doesn't know very well.

The lack of response is what leads him to decide to finally walk into the classroom without any nerve in his body.

He doesn’t know if what he’s doing is right or wrong, if it favors him or not, but for now, he has discovered that existing with a neutral expression —somewhat more serious, a disinterested look, and drugs that are easy to consume and hide, is the momentary solution to his problems.

“Yeosang!”

Yeosang widens his eyes at the pronunciation of his name. Surprised, since he’s expected the same to be said along with an irritated tone of voice and a serious expression, not a cheerful tone and a smile. Actually, he doesn't know why he's surprised. 

Who he assumes is the professor greets him with a wide smile.

He doesn't question why she knows who he is, much less why she knows his name. He’s aware that his face turned into a target the second his mother became the director. Target in a good way or a bad way? He doesn’t know it. He doesn't care either.

“Welcome to our institution, I will be your Marketing professor.”

He’s not asked to explain why he’s late, he doesn’t have to express any excuse about the distance between the sound of the bell signaling the start of the class, and the moment in which he decides to walk through the door to enter the classroom.

The lie I'm sorry, I got lost doesn’t leave his mouth. I was talking to my mom is not the sentence that he articulates with his lips —he believes that he wouldn’t have chosen to express any words anyway, as he still feels traces of the strip under his tongue. He’s somehow used to exaggerated sympathy as well as serious looks cast in his direction.

After all, his mother is still a CEO, and just as many people seek to get closer to him to reach his mother, other people claim to hold a grudge against him without knowing him simply because he’s the son of who he is.

The attitudes of others towards him are not a surprise, and for the same reason, he only tilts his head at the mention of the words he hears.

“You can sit with Mingi,” the professor points to one of the desks at the end of the class.

He’s only capable of thinking that he feels sorry for the smile that the professor spends on keeping on her face, surely no one wants to smile so much before noon. That smiling gesture probably would have served her well if she had been Seonghwa's professor.

Not because Seonghwa is naive —well, Yeosang doesn't think he can totally deny that, but he does admit that Seonghwa knows when to accept those kinds of smiles and when not—

Shit, shit, shit. Seonghwa. How could he have forgotten.

He can’t get high if Seonghwa is close.

This time he doesn't hesitate to swallow, and his lips form a line as he feels the bitter taste travel down his throat. He takes a lollipop out of his pocket to unwrap it and its sweet flavor soon meets the bitter taste of the drug. His palate is characterized by that contrast of flavors, and he turns the lollipop around in his mouth to swallow.

“We tend to be in pairs for this course, so I hope you get along.”

Yeosang stops being next to her as soon as she finishes speaking, and allows his gaze to meet the person she mentioned. He moves the lollipop from one side of his mouth to the other. Drug. Strawberry flavor. Drug.

Mingi, he's heard. He knows who Mingi turns out to be, and not because he’s able to put together the direction marked by the professor with her arm and the face that she points out. He doesn’t need the mention of a last name to know who Mingi is. 

However, he notices that next to Mingi, where he should sit, another student is present.

He moves the lollipop in his mouth instead of arching an eyebrow at that detail. He approaches the place that corresponds to him, noticing that perhaps explanations haven’t been asked of him, not only because he’s the son of the new director. The conversation that is taking place at that moment seems to be important enough that even the person at the desk in front of Mingi is turned around. They are not the only ones talking.

Taking a single glance makes him wonder if he should clear his throat to make his presence known. While the student who has turned around seems to be comforting the person sitting next to Mingi, Mingi is with his gaze and attention on him. Said person is with his head in his arms.

He decides that other people's problems aren't his problems, so he stops next to them.

“Mingi?” he asks.

Though only one name has left his lips, three pairs of eyes turn to him. The professor is lucky that he knows who Mingi is because he could have ended up approaching any desk with the vague direction he's been given. It’s good, but bad being his professor. There are details that don’t matter to him, while others do.

“I was assigned as your partner,” he adds.

“Oh! Yeah, that's me.” Mingi raises both eyebrows. The interruption of the conversation doesn’t seem to bother Mingi since he seeks to smile at him. Genuine, a sincere gesture, unlike the professor’s, Yeosang thinks. “Could you wait a minute for me? I'll be with you in a moment, you can sit there if you want to,” he points to the only empty spot, the one next to where the student who has turned to participate in the conversation is.

Yeosang shrugs, he's not completely excited to start that class and the professor doesn't seem to be either as her students are chatting even though the bell rang several minutes ago.

He sits down and moves the lollipop around in his mouth. The grayish color of the ceiling seems boring while the bitter taste that he feels sticks to his tongue, not so pleasant for his palate. He cracks the lollipop for the strawberry flavor to interrupt the beginning of a grimace on his face.

“Hello,” he listens.

For a moment he wonders if the drug has already begun to take effect, since if he consumes them by leaving them under his tongue, it’s, firstly, because it’s discreet, and secondly, because of its rapid effect. Maybe the ceiling is talking to him, he thinks, until he turns his head to see the student sitting next to him as he gives him a smile. A gesture that usually accompanies a brief greeting. Perhaps he’s simply high from thinking that a roof would be able to speak to him.

Yeosang's eyes stray to the hair of the student next to him. If he has thought that he would stand out for having pink locks, at that moment he dismisses that thought when his gaze is met with a platinum lock that stands out among dark hair.

He comes across sharp facial features and a white shirt that fits an equally defined figure. As he has done with the professor, he only chooses to offer a nod instead of a greeting. His momentary deskmate doesn't seem to be bothered by that, and he sees that he focuses his attention back on Mingi and the person sitting next to Mingi. Yeosang notices the white color of his desk.

“I'm scared.” He assumes that the new voice he doesn't know belongs to the person sitting next to Mingi. “What if something changes?”

Yeosang feels his teeth snap another piece of the lollipop at the mention of those words. He feels that it’s an irony to listen to the pronunciation of those phrases. He swallows, the combination of flavors being welcomed down his throat. His eyelids feel heavy.

“I never thought I'd hear you admit out loud that you're scared, Jeong.”

“Mingi, this isn’t the time to bother Yunho.” the person next to him expresses. “But, Yunho, why are you even next to Mingi? You know you are only exposing yourself.”

“It’s okay, his false sense of superiority is actually helping me,” the person called Yunho says. His voice no longer sounds muffled from keeping his head in his arms.

“She's just the director, Jeong,” Mingi says.

Yeosang straightens up in his place. He thinks he would have focused on the fact that he now knows the name of the person sitting next to Mingi, if it weren't for the fact that he personally, more than well, also knows the name of the person holding the position Mingi just so happened to mention and continues to talk about.

“Miraculously, your grades are still the best, they were the best last semester. Half of the class asks you for help with the classes. Half only, though. Not me. You shouldn't be worried about this person taking away your scholarship, but about your clearly unsuccessful attempt to copy my choice of hair color.”

Yeosang stops fiddling with his lollipop.

“I don't know, this stupid person basically stole my dad’s job.”

Yeosang's gaze slides to the student sitting next to him as he accompanies those words with obvious irritation. All traces of the earlier smile sent his way have been erased to make way for an annoyed expression.

“San,” Mingi says. Ah, so San is his name. Song Mingi, Jeong Yunho, and San. It's so easy to get information without even needing to be part of a conversation. “Jeong might be the nightmares of my nights, the reason why I come here in a bad mood, the motive behind the obvious absence of a smil—”

“To the point,” San says.

“But he still is, and I say this in the most offensive way possible, an excellent student.”

“I don't think your scholarship will be taken.” Yeosang doesn't know why he decides to become the fourth participant in the conversation. It hasn’t even been his intention to listen, he has simply been told where to sit. He glances over his shoulder as he says those words. “Unless you... I don't know, start a fire or something.”

“How do you know that?” Confused, Yunho leaves his eyes on him.

Yeosang finally chooses to turn around.

Judging from the worried expression on Yunho's face, he’s certainly upset about the change of the head of the institution.

It's easy to recognize details without information, Yeosang thinks. He assumes that Mingi, Yunho, and San are friends —or well, at least San with Mingi and Yunho because even though Mingi and Yunho are side by side, so far only sarcastic comments have been exchanged between them.

Yunho must be worried about the apparent scholarship that he has because the change of director implies the danger of financial support since now the head is someone unknown. A change, something that doesn’t seem to be received with joy by San. Well, at least now they seem to have something in common. That detail doesn’t make him appreciate the presence of San next to him.

He notices Mingi watching him expectantly, and while Yeosang doesn't mention it out loud, he doesn't overlook the way Mingi keeps his arms crossed, his elbow inches from touching Yunho's arm. Yeosang pushes the lollipop to the other side of his mouth.

“I'm the stupid's son.” He rests his eyes on San even though Yunho has formulated the question. San frowns, but he looks back at Yunho. “She won't. You got the scholarship for your grades, right? Just keep doing that and everything will be fine, I guess,”

He knows enough about the word scholarship. He has never needed one and probably will never have to know more details about it. He doesn't think his mother would take away a student's scholarship simply for taking on a new position.

Well, he doesn't know. After all, his mother didn't mind taking from him. Perhaps he’s being a liar without even intending to be one because he’s expressing nothing but a lie, thus providing a false sense of hope that will later be crushed.

For the moment he thinks he doesn't know what his mother is capable of doing or not. Perhaps he should have continued to stare at the ceiling, thinking that it was talking to him. And everything will be fine, he wonders when he’s stopped repeating those words to himself.

“Everything will be fine? You guess?” The annoyance in San's tone of voice gets him to blink. He watches him and is met with a serious look sent in his direction. Yeosang doesn't hesitate to reciprocate. “How can you assure him of that when your mom has stolen my dad’s job without any warning?”

Instead of getting irritated that San's anger towards him is more than obvious, Yeosang chooses to move the lollipop inside his mouth. It’s running out and the plastic of the stick is beginning to predominate over the cherry flavor of the candy and the bitter taste of the drug —already absent at that time.

“It's not my fault or my mom’s.”

He doesn't consider himself a fan of his mother. Moreover, he’s angry with her. Annoyed, irritated. Those emotions are familiar when the image of his mother appears in his head. However, he won't hesitate to speak up when the situation demands it, even if it means defending his mother.

“The Board took the decision. Don't take it out on me.” he adds.

“Easy to say that because you haven't lost anything.”

Yeosang straightens up as soon as he hears San and brings his face closer to his, narrowing his gaze as well as remaining more than serious, any kind of feigned disinterest having been brushed aside. If he lies, it's because the people around him lie too. He hasn't expected the lies to go away just because the name of the city he now lives in has changed.

“You know absolutely nothing about me.”

He has lost everything.

Just as he hasn't lowered his head before San's eyes before, San doesn't flinch at his gaze.

Yeosang thinks he has lost the ability to care about what people think of him. Rumors are easily created about him, sometimes with the intention of trying to tarnish his family's name with actions that haven’t taken place and words that haven’t been said; but lack of interest doesn’t equate to allowing people to assume things about him that are not true.

“Students, please sit with your deskmates. The class is going to start.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Yunho quickly getting up. To pay attention to the professor or to probably seek to end the sudden tension that has engulfed him and San, Yeosang doesn't know, but he stands up too.

They soon switch places, and Yeosang rests his eyes on the back of San's head as he has chosen to turn around. Maybe he could throw his lollipop stick at him.

“I'm Mingi.” Yeosang stops thinking about that action taking place and San turning to glare at him, rubbing his head and complaining, when he turns his head. Mingi is offering him a smile. “You know that, but anyway. Song Mingi.”

“Mh, you really are Song Mingi,” Yeosang expresses, raising both eyebrows. The sudden exchange of words with San has distracted him from the fact that his deskmate is Mingi, a person who at that moment he confirms is not a total stranger when hearing his last name. “Doesn't my presence bother your friends? Why are you being nice to me?”

“Well, it's true that it's not your fault what happened with San's father,” Mingi explains why he chooses to establish a conversation with him instead of giving him a cold shoulder, although that doesn't take away his low tone of voice. “You've also made Jeong feel a bit calmer, and that means I won't have to listen to his complaints or his voice, and for that, I’m grateful.” His mischievous smile is sent toward Yunho.

He understands the earlier comment made about the failed hair copy when he switches his eyes between them. While Mingi's hair is red, Yunho's brown locks are interspersed with dark red highlights. Mingi hasn't corrected him by saying friends instead of friend. he thinks.

“Besides, apparently we're going to be partners, so we better get along.” Mingi rests his eyes on him as he continues, “So, once again, Song Mingi.”

Yeosang narrows his eyes for a second before deciding to break free of his seriousness. “Kang Yeosang,” he introduces himself.

He didn't join that university with the idea of making friends —he doesn't think he’s joined that institution with any kind of idea in mind, but Mingi has only been nice to him so far, and if he's being honest, he’s right, and it’s preferable for them to get along.

Maybe, just maybe, with a nice person as his deskmate, his mornings will be a little more tolerable, and next time he won't have to take drugs. At least not before that class. He’s still waiting for the effects to shake him up. He tries not to think about the fact that he still doesn't understand what's going on with the tremors that usually accompany his hands. They haven't been getting in his way lately.

“What did you mean with, mh, you really are Song Mingi?”

“I don't know a single thing about this place,” Yeosang opts to answer, although he certainly knows that it’s a prestigious school and that just as his mother is proud to direct it, she has mentioned that both he and Seonghwa should take the opportunity that has appeared so that they can attend it. Well, she hasn't mentioned it, it's a fact. His new reality. “But I follow you on Instagram, I like your outfits. Aren't you the son of some minister or something like that?”

It’s a prestigious institution, and therefore exclusive. Only the children of people with fat wallets and even fatter egos are able to attend the classes that are taught there. 

Yeosang believes that not even his mother with her company would be able to send him there, much less two children; but her new position offers several benefits, among them, being that now her children do have the possibility of attending those classes.

It's good for his future, his mother has made sure to mention that more than once. But Yeosang believes that he’s still too busy thinking —or trying not to think about anything— about the past to deal with the present, much less his future.

“Something like that,” Mingi chooses to reply with a short smile, “So you only talk to me because of my money?” he asks along with an amused tone of voice.

“And you just because I'm the director’s son?”

Since he has set foot in that institution, probably since they have moved to that city, for the first time he allows a smile to decorate his face. It's strange, and certainly sad, not remembering when was the last time he stretched his lips into a smile.

He approaches Mingi for his money although his family also has theirs, while Mingi approaches him for being the son of the new head of the institution, even if his family has enough resources to probably bribe his mother.

Both are important, and for the same reason, they deduce that they don’t smile at each other for the same motive.

“I'll follow you back.” Mingi takes his phone out of his pocket. Yeosang already knows why his phone buzzes at that moment. “You're untouchable, then.” Mingi sets his phone aside to rest his elbow on the desk as well as his cheek against his palm, and watches him.

“Just like you,” Yeosang assures him, removing the stick from his mouth.

He licks his lips at the same time that Mingi gives him a smile that indicates that the two of them have spontaneously formed a sudden alliance.

Yeosang thinks that if he’s used to people feigning interest in order to approach him solely because of who he is, then for Mingi it must be more than natural. It isn’t necessary for either of them to pretend with the other.

“I like your necklace,” Mingi mentions with his eyes on it.

Yeosang reaches his hand towards the flower pendant as soon as he hears his words.

For the first time, a small smile caresses his face instead of tears that threaten to leave the corners of his eyes as his fingers brush against the golden flower.

He doesn't feel the need to remove his phone case at the mention of the words heard —he can't, anyway. He just hopes he doesn't cross paths with Seonghwa for the next few hours, or even longer, really.

He has lost everything, even though the flower pendant is still around his neck.

He feels a slight tingle appear on the back of his neck, and he lets out a silent breath because he won't have to worry anymore, at least not for the next few hours, about all the problems that torment him.

“Thank you.”

Chapter 3

—have little or no romantic attraction to others. They may or may not feel sexual attraction. An aromantic person ca—

“Discipline.”

Seonghwa blocks this phone the second he hears his mother.

“Drugs.” The sudden wave of surprise that has washed over him at the realization that he hasn't been paying attention to his mother, is promptly brought to an end when another familiar voice interrupts his personal bubble. Despite being nothing more than a whisper, Yeosang's voice reaches his ears.

He’s not surprised. Yeosang always makes sure to speak up when it comes to wasting his time. He thinks he doesn't know how to describe Yeosang anymore. A quiet, reserved person? Or impetuous?

“Excellence.”

“Ecstasy.” Yeosang's voice is a whisper again.

“Merit.”

“Make love.”

“Yeosang.” The mention of those words leads Seonghwa to finally stop paying attention to their mother and rest his eyes on Yeosang.

Turning his head is enough to find the beginning of a satisfied smile on Yeosang’s face. Yeosang bites his lower lip, not missing his amused grin even though his name has been mentioned with a serious tone of voice.

He switches his gaze between him and the mocking grin on his face. It's strange for Yeosang to choose to replace his seriousness with another kind of expression, but it would be even more strange if the smile on Yeosang's face was sincere, a true gesture.

“Keep your mouth shut.” he adds.

Their mother is giving the welcome speech while all around them, students are present, listening to her. He thinks that both he and Yeosang should pay attention even though their mother has been reciting that set of phrases for the past few days. They are her children, and as such, they must set an example.

Perhaps he’s being a little unfair because until now he has been paying half of his attention to the open articles on his phone, but he hasn’t spoken and has lowered all the brightness of his phone. For his part, Yeosang doesn't mind being completely inopportune.

He isn’t surprised when instead of keeping a serious expression after thinking the same thing as him, Yeosang continues to smile more than amused, showing that he’s not listening to the words that their mother keeps reciting at that moment. Seonghwa thinks he should be thankful that Yeosang has at least chosen to put on the institution's uniform instead of once again choosing not to listen to instructions and do as he pleases.

“Ugh.” Yeosang loses his smile before rolling his eyes. “I admit it, the last one was silly. Can you think of a better word that starts with that letter?”

“Make my morning better with your silence.” Seonghwa accompanies his words with a serious look that fortunately erases all traces of amusement from Yeosang's face.

Yeosang crosses his arms as soon as he hears him, and straightens up in his seat to stop exchanging glances with him. “You are no fun,” he assures him, “That was my word.”

Seonghwa forces himself to take a deep breath that he hopes will give him patience instead of exhaling a breath of exhausted air. Fortunately —although he doesn't think it's a good or respectful thing to do— the students around him seem to be distracted enough by their own phones, so the attention isn't on them. Seonghwa thinks Yeosang should be —at the very least— a little more considerate instead of acting like a spoiled person.

“Could you at least pretend to pay attention?”

“My dear brother.” Yeosang once again replaces his seriousness with an amused expression, amusement that Seonghwa knows only appears when Yeosang will give his patience a figurative punch, since they both certainly know that he doesn't like it when Yeosang calls him that way. Not because they are half-brothers instead of brothers, but because while he does consider Yeosang a brother regardless of family name or blood, Yeosang pronounces that word with irony. “You're the one talking to me right now, so who's the one not paying attention?”

Instead of allowing Yeosang to emerge victorious again, Seonghwa turns away from him. This time, to focus on their mother. Although he certainly is in a bad mood, he doesn't want to let his irritation increase just because Yeosang is acting like he always does. He unsuccessfully tries to relax his shoulders, but at least Yeosang chooses to remain silent.

“You're probably wondering what a CEO is doing running an institution like this.” After refocusing on her, Seonghwa is able to hear their mother's intonation. This time, as the principal of the university, surrounded by students and dressed according to the situation, instead of in comfortable clothes, Seonghwa (supposedly Yeosang too) as her audience when practicing those words. “The answer is simple. As in any family, the mother is always the one to help, and I think we can agree that this institution has been going the wrong way for a couple of semesters.”

For a moment, he looks down. He wonders why he doesn't hear Yeosang mention a single word, but instead of also wondering why he's suddenly silent, he looks up again.

He’s more than proud of their mother. Though the change has been somewhat sudden, she has spent days making sure that everything is in order or at least hanging by a thread until she takes over as the new principal of the university. Apparently, the institution has been losing its privilege for the past few semesters —something about indecent situations taking place, Seonghwa doesn't really know, and he doesn't care either.

It does matter to him, though, that their mother has been chosen to remedy this supposed chaos, and for the same reason, he holds his chin up while their mother stands in the middle of the students sitting around her, reassuring them that a new order has come to the institution.

He’s proud of the trajectory that their mother has carried out, of the actions that have led her to be chosen as the head of the institution, and yet, even so, pride is not the only emotion that decorates him, since while he knows the responsibilities that that position implies, Yeosang seems to be willing to continue being the same irresponsible person.

He doesn't seem to be the only one, as both of them, as well as several students, and even their mother, turn their heads to the same spot when a slight snore is heard once their mother pauses in her speech.

Even Yeosang, who seems to have been having fun staring at the ceiling, also turns his head. Seonghwa widens his eyes, wondering what kind of person would benefit from falling asleep during a talk. Whether or not their mother is the one to speak, Seonghwa is surprised by the fact that a student has not only fallen asleep, but is also snoring, or at least it appears so until the person sitting next to him nudges him.

He narrows his eyes when he notices that not far from them, Hongjoong is present. He doesn't search for him with his eyes on purpose. His obnoxious red hair stands out even though most of the lights are dimmed to allow the big screen behind their mother to be the one to draw attention.

It doesn't matter, Seonghwa believes. It doesn't matter Hongjoong, and it doesn't matter the actions of the other two people who have managed to get the attention of others.

Their mother has already noticed. She approaches the one who has interrupted the conversation —not with a question or a contribution, but with a snore. Seonghwa notes that the student has dark hair and red highlights. He cranes his neck to try to notice the details that make up his face, since he effectively wants to remember that face to avoid it in the corridors.

Yeosang's presence by his side is more than enough to complete the lack of correction. He appreciates that both their mother and the rest of the students are focused on the same person to lower Yeosang's hand when he traces imaginary waves in the air with it. Seonghwa doesn't ask. Fortunately, Yeosang leaves his hand on his lap and doesn't turn his head to glare at him or complain about it.

“Thank you very much for honoring us with your attention, mister...”

“Jeong... Jeong Yunho.”

Seonghwa wants to roll his eyes but doesn't. A student falls asleep and then is shy about mentioning his name simply because he has been caught by the speaker of said talk.

“I’m— I w—”

“Mr. Jeong.” their mother stops him when he tries to speak again. “Don't excuse yourself, I can't with excuses. Let me give you some advice, not only to you, but to everyone present. Don't waste time with excuses. Dedicate it to these three words.” she points to the screen that illuminates the room where they are, the three words that Yeosang has made fun of. “Discipline. Excellence. Merit. Welcome to this new stage.”

Seonghwa doesn’t hesitate to start clapping as soon as their mother finishes the speech. Other students also applaud, and he doesn't hesitate to nudge Yeosang so that he does too, but Yeosang only looks at him to applaud once before remaining comfortable in his seat again.

Instead of allowing himself to get irritated by that gesture, Seonghwa continues to clap his hands, and fortunately, Yeosang gets up with him instead of staying in his seat when most of the students leave the room. They both approach their mother, who keeps a smile on her face at the sight of them.

“That was a great speech, mom,” Seonghwa doesn't hesitate to assure her.

“Yeah, if the goal was to make everyone yawn.”

“You didn't yawn, though,” Seonghwa wonders how their mother manages to express those words and pat Yeosang on the cheek after implying that her speech was boring. 

He feels like rolling his eyes, but again he refrains from doing so because he prefers their mother to delight in his smile instead of the typical expression of annoyance that covers his face when Yeosang usually speaks.

Seonghwa doesn't doubt that Yeosang's yawn is more than feigned just to antagonize their mother.

“Now you do—”

“Save it.” Yeosang cuts her off as he moves away from the hand on his cheek to end the contact. “I don't need a personalized speech,” he adds before walking away from them.

“Forgive him,” Seonghwa says instead of wasting his time chasing Yeosang with his eyes.

He has already stopped counting how many times he has found himself in that situation, apologizing on Yeosang's behalf simply because the other seems to have forgotten all his manners. Although he would like it not to be so, it’s an action that he has become accustomed to doing, and as such, he’s also accustomed to the small smile that their mother offers him again at that moment.

“I don't blame him for being angry,” his mother assures him as she leaves his hands on his cheeks before sliding them down his chest to fix the orange and black striped tie that stands out over his white shirt. Seonghwa believes that there’s no kind of imperfection in it, but he chooses to stay silent anyway. “Just promise me you'll keep an eye on him, okay? As the new director of the institution, I have to maintain a certain image and that means that my two children do too.”

Seonghwa nods, those words are not a surprise —although, he must admit, another disappointment.

He’s used to having to keep an eye on Yeosang as well as a certain demeanor himself, now more than ever considering the lines their mother has spoken. But he sometimes feels like he doesn't understand their mother when Yeosang turns out to be the center of the conversation. She asks him to keep an eye on him but there are so many things about Yeosang that she doesn't let him know.

He has to focus. Their mother is the new director and they are the family in charge, and as such, they must act and speak carefully unless they want the position to stop being in the hands of their mother.

"I know, I'll try to do my best.” he should've avoided the words try to.

Even though he knows it's hard, Seonghwa smiles when his mother does. He thinks that despite smiling easily, he has no doubt that the new position is a new burden on her shoulders, and he thinks that if he can give her some help by behaving the way he should and convincing Yeosang to do the same, then he will.

“I'm glad to hear that. Now go, I have to talk to a student and you should nourish your brain with a healthy lunch,”

He wrinkles his nose slightly, thinking he's heard similar words recently, until he shakes his head because those words turn out to have been said by Hongjoong. He nods and allows his mother to rest her hand on his cheek one last time before turning around. He taps his forehead, trying to get the words you buy me dinner so I have enough energy to deal with you out of his head, and finally leaves the room.

Surprise invades him when he runs into Yeosang at the door, since the image of him leaving the walls of the institution has certainly crossed his mind.

The building is an unfamiliar habitat considering it’s their first day there, but Seonghwa has made sure to study the facilities so that getting lost on the way to class is not an option. He thinks he should have as much control as possible considering that next to him, riot personified turns out to be present.

Unlike him, Yeosang doesn't walk with his back straight or with a neutral expression on his face. He keeps his hands tucked into the pockets of his black pants and it's noticeable that he's bored. Seonghwa chooses not to mention anything about it because at least Yeosang is wearing the orange blazer as well as his tie while his shirt stays tucked into his pants. Progress.

“I haven't told you before because as always, you disappeared. This is the key to your locker,” finally, once again words are crossed between them after he stops in front of his own locker. He holds the key of the one that corresponds to Yeosang.

Yeosang looks at it. Seonghwa narrows his eyes at him as he notices that Yeosang spends a few long seconds looking at the details of the key, as if he wants to memorize every minute element of the key, before looking back at him. 

As he has recently thought, although their mother's words make him proud, some others also disappoint him. She asks him to keep an eye on Yeosang, but how is he supposed to do his best when their mother isn't completely honest with him about Yeosang's condition? He still hasn't been able to tell if Yeosang is taking antidepressants or not.

Yeosang blinks.

Insomnia, tiredness, eating disorders, and mood swings, he has read several articles about the effects of antidepressants. He wants to stay attentive not only because his mother asks him to, but also because he cares about Yeosang. He knows he has makeup on, he's not entirely sure he sleeps at night. He pays attention to whether Yeosang eats or not.

The word failure appears, in big letters in the center of his head when he thinks he shouldn't even wonder if Yeosang is taking antidepressants, but again he slightly shakes his head. Once he realizes that Yeosang doesn't plan to accept the key, he slips it into one of his blazer pockets, only to find himself suddenly raising both hands innocently as Yeosang jerks back the second he reaches into his pocket to drop the key in it.

He lets out a sigh, not understanding Yeosang's defensive stance.

“I sent you your schedule. Your first hour was Marketing. Did you go?” he asks him, not knowing if he wants to know the answer.

“Is this university so dumb that it makes its students study how to advertise it?”

Seonghwa finally allows a breath to leave his lips.

Relieved or not by the mention of those words, he doesn't know.

Maybe he should calm down since Yeosang hasn't voiced any complaints about the uniform, he's standing in front of him instead of running away on his first day of school, and he hasn't taken out the key from his pocket to throw it on the ground. But Seonghwa only manages to wonder how Yeosang doesn't realize that going against the institution now means going against his own mother. From that day on, she runs that institution.

He doesn't want their mother's grand speech to be overshadowed by whispered words between students who claim they have heard and seen their mother's children arguing with each other on the first day of school, so Seonghwa forms a line with his lips and chooses to open his locker instead of mentioning to Yeosang not to express any complaints about the classes he has to take.

At the end of the day, though, they are brothers, and if there's one thing Seonghwa has learned besides being more than patient, it's knowing when to take the opportunity to intone the right comment.

“You draw too much attention to yourself with that hair color,” he says, although he keeps busy taking the backpack he has left in the locker to make sure he hasn't forgotten anything.

“I'm sure I've seen someone with red hair. Three people, actually,” Yeosang doesn't sound annoyed by the comment made about the pink color that characterizes his locks. Seonghwa grimaces as he knows Yeosang is talking about Hongjoong. “Don't play dumb, I've heard you talk about wanting to have pink hair.”

Seonghwa looks at him, unfazed.

“So you copy me because you are not original or maybe because you want to annoy me?” he asks him.

Yeosang shrugs. “Both. Who knows.” His disinterest in him is replaced by a smile that is accompanied by the invasion of his personal space as Yeosang approaches him with that gesture taking over his face. “I just know you don't have the balls to do it.”

“Because we have an image to give,” Seonghwa determines, “I don't care what other people's hair color is. They are not the director's children.”

It’s true that he has been thinking about wanting to dye his hair pink, but the dark blonde color of his locks ensures that he has prioritized simplicity instead of a more striking color. He believes it's the small details that count, and he's still wondering how his mother allowed Yeosang to dye his hair pink.

It's more than enough with his personality.

“I will give the image that I want.”

Yeosang's eyes remain fixed, connected with his. Seonghwa is aware that a simple look is more than enough to start rumors, so he turns his head away, and his eyes end up meeting the lollipop he left in his locker.

Yeosang is a fan of them and has no doubt that he himself has one, or perhaps more, in one of the pockets of his uniform. Perhaps he should get angry —even more, close his locker door with force to certainly show his irritation, and turn around to leave Yeosang alone in the middle of the corridor; but he doesn’t.

He doesn't because even though none of the students around him are with their eyes on them, he still knows that any mistake will be flagged, and he doesn't want to give Yeosang the satisfaction either.

He takes the lollipop and holds it between them. Perhaps as a peace offering, he doesn't know. Yeosang stop looking at him to rest his gaze on the candy before looking back at him.

If a lollipop is what it takes to make Yeosang a little —just a little— willing to worry about the image they're supposed to give, then he's willing to offer him a lollipop for days, more than one if he wants. Even if he thinks he's ruining his teeth.

However, the fake smile Yeosang gives him is not because he accepts the neutrality between them. He rejects it —the candy or the clearly failed attempt at harmony, Seonghwa doesn't know— after reaching into his pocket and certainly taking a lollipop out of it to promptly taste the same. He’s the one who ends up being abandoned in the hall, while Yeosang is the one who turns around to end the conversation between them without even needing to close a locker in a dramatic way.

Seonghwa bites the inner part of his cheek and places the lollipop in his locker before closing it. Properly, without applying too much force. He spreads his palm over the cold surface, and lets out a short, silent breath. He doesn't know if he continues to be patient with Yeosang because he’s aware that a change of environment is difficult for anyone, or because he forces himself to think of that excuse just to give himself more patience. He finds Yeosang's behavior more than unfair.

He gets startled by a sudden noise near him.

He turns his head to see the image of a student looking at what he assumes are bags he has carried —or trying to carry— in his arms because they are now on the ground.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you,” An apologetic smile is sent in his direction once he decides to crouch down to help.

Seonghwa believes that an apology is not necessary. At least he has stopped staying focused on Yeosang. “Don't worry,” he assures him, helping him.

He would have focused on the fact that the bags seem to carry fabrics of various colors if it weren't for the fact that he again finds himself thinking that apparently, that year he seems to be the only one to wear his hair in an ordinary shade. Yeosang and his pink locks, Hongjoong and his exaggerated red hair, and now the student in front of him. A platinum lock stands out from the rest of the dark color of his hair. Well, at least it's just a strand.

“Thank you,” he hands him two of the bags and the student holds them in his arms again, this time making sure that they don't fall again when they both get up. “Are you new? I don't remember seeing you, are you older than me?”

Instead of being caught off guard by the questions, Seonghwa also believes that he must be a year older because he hasn't seen him in any of the classes. Unfortunately, he can't say the same about Hongjoong, who has been present in absolutely every single one of his classes.

He parts his lips to reply, but raises both eyebrows when the student in front of him opens one of the lockers next to his to stuff the bags into it carelessly. Seonghwa believes that how other students take care of their belongings shouldn't be any of his business, so he clears his throat.

“Yes. I think so, it's my last year. I'm Park Seonghwa,” he chooses to introduce himself.

“Choi San.” Again a smile is offered to him, “I’m a year younger than you, then.”

After understanding his words, Seonghwa realizes that if San is a year younger than him, then maybe he shares classes with Yeosang. Said detail gets the beginning of an inevitable grimace to caress his face.

He thinks he's summoning the devil with his thoughts, for as soon as he thinks of asking him if he knows Yeosang, he turns his head to his side as someone pulls up next to him, and he bumps into Yeosang's profile.

“What are you doing here?”

San looks at him surprised, and Seonghwa stops looking at Yeosang to meet San's gaze, just as surprised as he is when they both express that question at the same time.

Seonghwa arches an eyebrow in confusion while San frowns.

“You know him?” San asks.

“I forgot my backpack. Be smarter, brother.” Seonghwa turns his attention back to Yeosang as he utters that last word. There’s always a reason, some motive when Yeosang chooses to add that word to his vocabulary when he's present. Yeosang promptly explains why. “He's the son of the previous director.”

“Brother?” The confusion is more than evident in San's tone of voice.

“And?” Seonghwa asks Yeosang.

“There are two of you?”

Both he and Yeosang rest their eyes on San when he speaks. They find him switching his eyes between them, looking more than lost. His facial features indicate both disorientation and annoyance. Within seconds, Seonghwa thinks that obviously, Yeosang and San share classes.

“See,” Yeosang whispers to him though his word is audible.

“Have you been bothering him?” Seonghwa asks San.

“What?” San expresses, baffled.

“I don't need your help.” Yeosang interrupts.

Seonghwa stares at San, waiting for an answer to his question. Although he has deduced that he shares classes with Yeosang, he hasn’t yet provided an answer. San seems to realize the same thing, as all traces of previous happiness disappear from his face and he points his hand at Yeosang. When he thought about San and Yeosang meeting each other, he didn't expect to deal with the consequences so soon.

“I never bothered him. He bothered me.”

Those words don't come as a complete surprise, for while Seonghwa doesn't hesitate to side with Yeosang, he’s also aware that Yeosang is capable of upsetting others —sometimes on purpose, sometimes without realizing it. But his momentary neutrality is quickly brushed aside as Yeosang speaks.

“He called mom stupid.”

“You did what?”

“She stole my father's job.” San doesn't deny Yeosang's words.

“She hasn't stolen anything.” Seonghwa corrects him. In a matter of seconds he has chosen to help San as well as San offered a smile, while at that moment both carry the same defensive position. “In case your father had done a good job, we wouldn't be here.”

“Take that back.” San determines.

“Oh, you're lucky.” Yeosang decides to be part of the conversation again, “He is excellent at following orders.”

“Yeosang.”

Seonghwa stops looking at San to rest his serious gaze on Yeosang.

Yeosang shrugs innocently, seeing nothing wrong with the contribution of his comment. Seonghwa wants to ask him what he's planning but he doesn't plan to make a scene with Yeosang, much less in front of San when they are supposed to be on the same side. But Seonghwa believes that this is precisely the problem. He's never able to determine when Yeosang is on his side, as his ally, and when he isn’t.

“What's going on here?”

“Oh, great.” he lets sarcasm guide his words as the sudden appearance of that voice is enough to make a grimace take over his face.

He straightens up and is not surprised to find Hongjoong standing next to San. He already has to see him in all his classes. He thought he would get rid of that image outside the classrooms.

“Nice hair.”

For the sake of his sanity, Seonghwa chooses to ignore the comment Yeosang no doubt just directed at Hongjoong.

“They're insulting my dad.” From the way San turns his head to look at Hongjoong, it's not hard to deduce that the two are friends.

“You insulted our mom.” Seonghwa reminds him.

“Your mother insulted a lot of people by saying that bullshit about how a mom is the most important person in a family, and how this university has been a disaster for the last few semesters.”

He notes the way Hongjoong rests a hand on San's arm once San forms fists with his hands after uttering those words, and is aware of the irritation hovering over his own shoulders.

“And this conversation is insulting my time.”

Both he and San and Hongjoong rest their attention on Yeosang when he expresses those words.

Yeosang doesn't seem to notice —or chooses to ignore— the look of indignation he gives him after deciding to walk away.

“Our mom? Huh, your family sure is particular.”

Whether it's because Yeosang just left him, because Hongjoong's presence is unwelcome as well as the words he just spoke, because San isn't the pleasant smile he gave him before, or because his plan to have a quiet afternoon has been thrown away. Seonghwa doesn't know, but he finally allows himself to roll his eyes before resting his gaze on them.

“You look like a grapefruit with that red hair and orange uniform so I won't listen to anything you have to say.” he expresses with his eyes on Hongjoong. He himself has been hostile towards him since they met, only needing to mention a certain string of words. He then turns his attention to San. “And you shouldn't bother us just because you hold a grudge.”

He isn’t willing to continue wasting his time. He has promised his mother to be the best version of himself. While he believes that this includes being a respectful person who maintains good relationships with the rest of the students, he also believes that his best version is the one that shows loyalty to his family. His particular family, according to Hongjoong. He has no idea how particular his family is.

“Don't mess with Yeosang.” He glances at San before leaving.

It’s true that he doesn’t have to defend Yeosang, much less considering the hostility between the two of them and the way Yeosang has left him, but he doesn’t regret saying those words, nor does he regret approaching Yeosang once he notices that he has moved away enough to stop being part of the conversation, but not far enough to stand in front of him at that moment.

With his hands in his pants pockets and his body against one of the walls, Yeosang looks at him. He wants to call him out for clearly already acting hostile toward a student, but he thinks it would be ironic of him considering the words he has exchanged with Hongjoong.

“I'm not the little brother you have to rescue,” Yeosang expresses.

“Then why did you come back? I know it's not because of your backpack.”

Seonghwa thinks he'll never know the real answer to that question because there's a lot Yeosang keeps instead of telling, but judging by the way Yeosang glances away upon hearing him, he assumes that Yeosang approaching him wasn't a coincidence. Whatever the reason, if it's because Yeosang has sought refuge with him, he's not upset with him. It doesn't bother him that Yeosang turns to him to feel safe. Moreover, he would like Yeosang to do it often.

“I had to warn you who he is.”

“Because I'm the big brother you have to rescue?”

Yeosang scoffs.

He doesn't want to get his hopes up that Yeosang cares about him.

“What's up with you and the redhead?” Yeosang asks.

“I got along badly from the moment I sat next to him. He's the President of the Class and I plan to take it away from him.” he didn't wake up that day with the idea of becoming the new Class President, but now he doesn't plan on backing down.

“Following in mom's footsteps, I see.”

“Yeosang.” Seonghwa stares at him.

Yeosang simply sticks his tongue out at him —red from the probable cherry lollipops previously consumed.

“Have you been avoiding me for something in particular?” he manages to stop Yeosang with that sudden question. He’s been about to leave but luckily Yeosang looks at him instead of choosing to ignore his question and walk away.

He doesn't fully understand Yeosang, but there are patterns in his behavior that he manages to figure out simply because even though their mother has asked him to keep an eye on Yeosang, he has already gotten used to doing it.

“No, I don't need a special reason to avoid you.”

“So you were avoiding me.” he raises one corner of his mouth when Yeosang scoffs, realizing that his answer has allowed him to denote that if he hasn't seen him all morning it's because not seeing each other hasn't been a coincidence. “It's easy to trick you,” he approaches his index finger to Yeosang’s chest with the intention of poking it, but stops his hand when he notices the necklace around Yeosang's throat.

He allows his gaze to linger on the floral pendant for a brief moment, and he looks up at the same time he ends up poking Yeosang’s shoulder.

“How did it go? The classes, your professors, your classmates,” the exchange with San makes it clear that Yeosang hasn't started off on the right foot with everyone, and the more he knows, the more he can help Yeosang.

“Why do you ask?” Yeosang looks confused.

“Can't I ask?”

“You'll hear everything later,” Yeosang shrugs.

“No, because you won't talk, and no, it's not a complaint,” he seeks to clarify as soon as he notices Yeosang promptly parting his lips to probably express some comment about the silence he usually offers when their mother starts conversations with them. “I just want to know if everything is okay,”

“Are you really asking me if everything is okay?”

Yeosang looks at him, frowning and beyond irritated. He parts his lips because once again, Yeosang reacts unexpectedly to words that ironically only manage to anger him more even though the goal is to soothe him, but Yeosang doesn’t let him speak as he chooses to peel off his body from the wall and walk away from him.

Seonghwa allows a heavy sigh to leave his lips. Since he can't speak, he sighs.

He can only wonder how many more times Yeosang will choose to push him aside and leave him alone, words hanging between them. 

He believes that he has been foolish for believing that a change of city would make Yeosang change as well.

Notes:

next ch: 🐶🐺

Chapter 4

Notes:

thank you so much for all the interactions so far, i'm aware that the tags are a bit complex and i wasn't too sure about the fic, but i'm a bit calmer now so thank you 🥺

having said that, leave the chapter for later if you are on public transport

“What can I do to make you smile?”

Yunho parts his lips as the utterance of that question caresses his ear, but he doesn’t provide any response. A faltering breath of air leaves his mouth instead, and he licks his lips. Although he believes that that question has several possible answers, he doesn’t form any sentences. To get a smile to guide his expression, Mingi could tell the truth.

“Deeper,” he offers. Yes, or that too.

There is so much he wants, so much he longs for, but his current priority is the word deeper. The deeper, the better, and somehow his mouth manages to convey what both his body and his head are asking for.

His hands form soft fists over the shower tiles and he rests his forehead against them as Mingi chooses to heed him, and he feels the consequences of his own request since a moan escapes his lips as he feels Mingi push into him, deeper just like he’s asked him to.

He bites down on his lower lip and Mingi's fingers dig into his waist.

He doesn't form a line with his lips, but draws no smile at the thought that Mingi telling the truth wouldn't equate to the presence of a smiling gesture on his face. He’s aware that the opposite should happen, he should hold his most winning grin if it means Mingi's downfall, but he doesn't.

A new sound scrapes his throat as Mingi thrusts in him but it's still not enough. Feeling Miingi raw, skin to skin and body to body always makes him feel good, special, even, as silly as it may seem, so the bubbling of a warm feeling in his stomach is no surprise. Yet the extreme closeness isn’t enough to block his own head and therefore free himself from his own thoughts, so he glances over his shoulder.

“Deeper, Song, or haven't you heard me?”

He’s grateful to himself for having chosen to partially turn his head to express those words along with a serious tone of voice, since he delights in the way Mingi glares at him after listening to him. More than once, more than many times, he has found himself the target of such a serious gaze.

“Drop the act.” The opportunity to appreciate the seriousness in Mingi's face is taken away from him, as he’s forced to rest his forehead on the tiles after Mingi pushes hard inside him, getting his chest to find the surface of the wall as well.

He moans, that moment being one of the few times that he doesn't mind showing that he gives in to Mingi's provocations, and he closes his eyes momentarily as Mingi reaches that bundle of nerves that leads him to feel ecstatic.

“Or I'll fuck it out of you.” Mingi’s words caress his ear.

Yunho allows the corners of his mouth to lift up slightly. He opens his palms to spread them over the tiles, and thinks that he would have a flawless streak of excellent grades if provoking Mingi was the point of the subject. Soon enough, however, thinking about that leads him to think about the subjects that are indeed part of his agenda, and he becomes serious again.

“You're nothing but pure wordin—” A breathy yet loud moan is forced from his throat as Mingi shows him that he’s definitely more than pure wordiness.

A hand finds his mouth just as he tilts back his head and he thinks it's automatic to wrap one of his hands around Mingi's wrist. He doesn't fall because Mingi makes sure to wrap his other arm around his waist, keeping their bodies together and allowing Mingi to feel the way his figure trembles under his touch. A whimper threatens to scratch his throat as his back meets mingi's chest, but he forces himself to swallow it down.

Mingi doesn’t stop thrusting into him and as such his lips form no line. Even with Mingi’s hand over his mouth, he forces himself to try to lower the volume of his voice.

He feels his fingertips press around Mingi's wrist, for if he refuses to whimper, even though he allows moans to escape his mouth, he has to express his satisfaction in another way, and that way usually involves holding on to Mingi.

“We definitely don't want to be found like this, so keep it together.”

He’s torn between wanting to take Mingi's hand off his mouth to express that his words are an irony, as at that moment Mingi follows his own words with a groan and his tone of voice hasn't sounded stable; or allowing Mingi to leave his hand over his mouth for as long as he wants to because it's true, they definitely don't want to be found like that.

When he doesn't know what to do, his body speaks for itself when it comes to Mingi, and Mingi stops holding his hand over his mouth as he throws his body back to meet Mingi's thrusts in the middle. Mingi leaves his hand on his waist again, and the growl Mingi lets out finds his neck, giving him goosebumps and reminding him that only his name appears when he closes his eyes and hopes to get rid of all unnecessary thoughts.

He's getting dizzy and he's not complaining because that inability to think is what he's been hoping to get. His chest rises and falls strongly, and yet, always, no matter what, he has the energy to antagonize Mingi.

“The same— ah— goes— fuck— for you.” He knows that Mingi manages to hear him. Despite saying those words in a breathy tone of voice and the noise of the shower that surrounds them and blocks their voices and the sound of their bodies together from outside ears, Mingi hears him.

Judging by the strong thrust that leads him to form fists with his hands again, although this time solid over the tiles, and the oppression of Mingi's fingers on his waist, Mingi has definitely managed to hear him.

“I'm really, really close,” the throws his head back, it finding Mingi's shoulder, and really, he doesn't fall simply because Mingi is holding him.

“Me too,” Mingi expresses against his neck.

He knows it, he knows that Mingi is close because the rhythm of his thrusts has become erratic and his body feels the consequences of that instability. But Mingi has also learned to read his body, so one of his hands stops being on his waist to slide it to his front and stroke his cock, and he thinks neither of them is surprised when that's enough to finally push him to the limit and get his body to give in completely.

Breathless and focusing to bask in the pleasure, he arches his back and forces his hands to rest on the wall tiles for balance as he feels a strong shudder travel his body. His palms curl as he feels Mingi pull out, thinking that no, it’s too soon, but he presses his forehead against the wall at the same time Mingi groans and he feels something sliding over his lower back.

His chest rises and falls rapidly, and feels Mingi's hand pressing down on his lower back —probably to remove the traces of pleasure he's just created, he thinks. He looks down, trying to steady his breathing when he notices that the water has already washed away what his own body has produced as a result of his proximity to Mingi.

The grip around his waist becomes soft —but not weak, and he allows Mingi to turn him around so that now his shoulders and the back of his head are against the white tiles of the showers.

He brushes some strands that have fallen on Mingi's forehead because of the water that is still wrinkling their fingertips and darkening the color of their locks.

Mingi leans into him and he doesn't object when he captures his lips with his. He takes advantage of the fact that he has brought his hands closer to Mingi’s face to rest them on the back of his neck. It's a bit of a silly kiss, uncoordinated because he thinks he's missing —and Mingi too— inhaling one more breath of air, but he kisses Mingi and Mingi kisses him.

“I didn't—” yes, they definitely need to breathe, “I pulled out because I didn't want you to be uncomfortable in your uniform later,” Mingi plants a kiss on the corner of his mouth.

“Talk about modern romance,” Teasing Mingi is automatic sometimes, he doesn't even think about it.

Mingi throws him a serious look and he decides to kiss him because he appreciates the gesture even if his words have been a provocation. He already feels tired and it certainly wouldn't have helped to spend more time in the shower. He would like to be able to say that he has lost track of time but the reality is that he hasn't, and that detail leads him to separate from Mingi to let out a breath. This time, frustrated.

Disappointed, not with Mingi, since Mingi always makes him feel good, but with himself for not being able to simply let himself be embraced by the sensations that Mingi provokes in him —well, he thinks he's being a bit ironic.

“What is it with you this morning?” Mingi asks him, and he leaves his back against the wall for balance as Mingi steps away from him to bring his head under the shower and then back away from the steam to shake it. “You tend to prefer it the other way when it's early.”

It's a simple comment, really, Mingi has said much worse words, more direct and harsh, towards him, but the sensations awakened in his body by Mingi soon give way to the irritation that he feels taking over his figure again.

“I'm so sorry for waking up and thinking oh! I want Mingi to fuck me to make me forget my problems.” Although he feels his legs tremble slightly, anyway he peels off his back from the wall, and throws him a serious look before walking away from him after finally deeming the shower over.

His body misses the warm sensation provided by the closeness with Mingi as well as the steam from the shower after he barely pulls away, but he promptly wraps a towel around his waist and is not surprised when the noise of the shower finally comes to an end.

“Hey, it wasn't a complaint!” Mingi quickly ties a towel around his waist and he suddenly finds himself trapped between a wall and Mingi. Once again Mingi pins him against it after laying his palm on the wall, next to his head. He chooses to fold his arms when Mingi frowns —a not-very-well-thought gesture since he's still trying to soothe the rhythm of his chest. “What problems?”

He looks away, realizing that he really is in a bad mood if not even Mingi has managed to completely cloud his senses with his body.

He slides his eyes to said figure and watches the way the drops trace illogical paths over Mingi's bare torso, traveling across lightly tanned skin and defined abs until they get lost in the edge of the towel.

He allows his eyes to meet Mingi's as Mingi searches for his gaze.

“You and I know that I love fucking you as much as I love you fucking me,” he bites the inner part of his lower lip to avoid expressing any words because he may disagree with Mingi on many things, but he knows that nothing but the truth accompanies Mingi’s words. “So what's the problem? Bad night at Utopia?”

He clicks his tongue and narrows his gaze as soon as Mingi adds those words, not surprised by the lopsided grin Mingi allows himself to hold. If he knows how to provoke Mingi, Mingi knows how to provoke him.

“As if.” He lifts one corner of his upper lip in disgust, and Mingi barely shakes his head and shows the tip of his tongue at him, as if he's mimicking his disgusted expression before again holding a grin. Yunho watches him, and finally relents when Mingi loses his smile and touches his stomach with the tip of his index finger, assuring him that he’s still waiting for an answer. “You asked me what you can do to make me smile.”

He leaves one of his arms around his own torso though he lets go of the other to reach for Mingi, and gently grabs the edge of Mingi's towel to pull him closer. He parts his lips when he feels Mingi's hand on his waist, but leaves a millimeter of distance between their faces when Mingi parts his lips.

“Leave me alone,” he finally answers in a whisper.

His eyes meet Mingi's as Mingi straightens up after hearing him. He allows the beginning of a groan to leave his lips when Mingi presses him against the wall, clearly not happy at the mention of the words he heard. His shoulder blades meet the hardness of the wall and Mingi stares at him.

“Drop the act.” once again Mingi expresses those words accompanied by the same seriousness of his facial features, but soon his expression softens, and he puckers his lips to allow Mingi to give him a short kiss, the softness of the gesture contradicting the firmness of his voice and his touch. “We are alone.”

“Just practicing, polishing my skills.”

“You clearly need more practice. You sat next to me without hesitation. You're lucky my IQ is quick to fix your decisions.”

Yunho hums, Mingi's words don't necessarily create a sense of irritation.

He’s aware that he has dropped into the seat next to Mingi instead of next to San —where he belongs, having allowed the emotions of the moment to distract him, but fortunately Mingi hasn’t been distracted by his nonchalance, taking advantage of the physical closeness to establish mental distance.

Mingi allows him to break free of his grasp, and he walks over to the backpack he’s left on the bench of the locker room to pull out a pair of boxers and begin drying his body to put his clothes on.

He hears Mingi sigh, not satisfied with the lack of the words that were exchanged, but moves closer to him to copy his actions nonetheless. The silence is uncomfortable while they change, but because he has decided so. He knows that he still owes Mingi an answer in the same way that Mingi knows that he hasn't offered one.

He slides his gaze to Mingi when he notices that Mingi has left the tie around his neck with little to no effort, and Mingi turns to him when he does. He’s sometimes concerned about —or struck by— how unintentionally in sync they are, while another part of him has gotten used to the automaticity of some of their actions. 

Hide, fuck, dress up, and pretend it never happened.

Mingi doesn't complain when he fixes the tie around his neck.

He licks his lips, thinking of all the times he's had the chance to do the opposite, loosen that piece of clothing to get it out of the way. It's the small details that matter to avoid showing the faltering of a façade —an irony, considering that he hasn't hesitated to sit next to Mingi in class.

No matter how used he's to be on the alert, to train himself to refrain from expressing certain comments or making certain gestures that might expose his respective closeness to Mingi, he always makes sure to keep an eye out.

He has his respective moments of weakness —it's only been a few minutes and he has returned to his place so that Yeosang sits next to Mingi, but he knows that a second could be more than enough for everything to collapse, so he should be more cautious. It’s tiresome, but meticulousness is what allows him to be with Mingi at that time.

“Why don't you join the acting industry?” He finally breaks the silence.

While he has been weak —weak for Mingi and the sense of conformity he has learned to associate with his presence, Mingi has acted as usual. Mingi hasn't expressed that he doesn't plan to share a desk with him even for a single minute, but he has noticed him crossing his arm, probably to avoid touching him. It comforts him, knowing that Mingi forces himself not to put his hands on him.

“And you leave my industry alone,” he adds as he zips up his own pants. “That would make me smile.” He thinks he's not being completely honest again. Although he doesn't frown and maintains a neutral expression, sheer sincerity doesn't accompany his words.

Mingi's abandonment in the industry that they —as unfortunately as fortunately— share would mean Mingi's addition to another, and that would not only mean that he would be left without competition —because perhaps he’s not completely honest, but he knows that Mingi represents his only competition, the only person that keeps up with him— but also that Mingi would have the opportunity to seek to brag about his success —something he definitely doesn't need to hear.

“Your industry.” A smile still doesn't decorate his face, but one of the corners of his mouth lifts up when Mingi pronounces those words along with a tone of voice that shows that he doesn't agree with his expression. “Would it really make you happy? Be sincere.”

Does Mingi have the right to ask for sincerity? Probably not.

“No,” nonetheless, he replies.

He chooses to sit on the bench and wrinkles his nose when that action assures him that he must certainly be grateful to Mingi for having pulled out, as the mere fact of sitting leads him to remember that for minutes he has been busy staying close to Mingi, yet his body appreciates the rest after having been standing for so long.

Indeed, happiness wouldn’t embrace him in case Mingi leaves his— the industry they share, and therefore, a smile wouldn’t be found on his face if Mingi chose to use his acting skills to stand out in another industry, but definitely, everything would be simpler.

“I knew it.” Unlike him, Mingi does allow a smile to decorate his face —a vain grin, but a smiling gesture nonetheless. “I miss your smile, though.”

Yes, definitely everything would be simpler if of all the industries that exist, they had focused on different ones, but he believes that the lack of simplicity is worth it when he hears Mingi pronounce those words.

Mingi places one of his hands on his cheek, and he wants to lean into the touch, but he doesn't. He does look up at Mingi, though, and allows Mingi's words to lead to a warm feeling in his chest.

“Repeat that,” he asks.

“I miss your smile,” Mingi, without hesitation, repeats.

Yunho knows that he could blame the absence of a smiling expression on his face on the fact that it’s early and people don't usually smile during the first hours of the day, but that’s not the truth. He usually draws a lively smile on his face no matter what time it is.

Nice smile, Jeong, although you don't fool anyone with your rotten personality, Mingi tends to say. I smile, I prepare myself, I anticipate in case you fall and fortunately, I am present, Song, he usually responds.

But at that moment, despite the relaxation provided by Mingi and his presence, he’s not able to think of himself as a completely carefree person.

“I'm worried, that's all.”

“No one is here,” Mingi looks around him.

Yunho shakes his head. He isn't worried about the possibility of someone discovering the closeness between him and Mingi since the door is locked and it's still early, so there aren't any curious and nosy students hanging around them. He doesn't blame Mingi for believing that his only concern is related to his presence.

Well, he's not exactly wrong either.

“That's not why,” he chooses to offer.

He knows that he could keep quiet because he doesn't want his problems to be the first thing that Mingi's ears hear, that Mingi wouldn’t hesitate to believe him if he told him that he must solve something related to Utopia and that as a result, he isn’t smiling. But he decides to speak at the same time that he chooses to fold his arms. Mingi moves his backpack to sit next to him, and notices his eyes drop to his folded arms before looking back at him.

It’s ironic that the source of his concern is right in front of him.

“Me covering your ass last year is making the start of this semester very interesting, and very, very annoying.” All traces of the previous vanity disappear from Mingi's face as soon as he says those words. While a part of him feels guilty because he thinks he's wasting the little time he has to allow his closeness with Mingi to be free, and that he's also taking that time for granted, another part of him accompanies the words he's spoken and still wants to add with a serious tone of voice. “Because I am now paying the consequences for it.”

Neither of them has been expelled. Mingi knows that, and he also understands that the change of semester doesn’t imply a possible expulsion because they are face to face, wearing the same uniform even though he has said those words. If they have just used the showers to fuck and continue to find themselves in the locker room, it’s because evidently none of them have been expelled.

“What are you talking about?”

“The new director wants me to pass a round of exams. She wants me to take an exam of all the subjects from last year, each one of them,” he decides to reply, explaining the reason behind the lack of his smile, behind the impossibility of relaxing his facial features even though Mingi has given his all to relax his body. “She believes that my friendship with San has perhaps made it easier for me to stay here, and I can't lie, my friendship with him has certainly made his dad only choose to give me a scholarship instead of expulsion.”

Mingi does wrong. He covers Mingi. He blames himself, and is allowed to stay at the institution under a scholarship. He can continue to be a student but only as long as he fulfills the requirements that a scholarship implies. Good behavior, good grades, no mistakes.

“But I don't have time to study.” He considers himself a good student, even if his honesty is tested because Mingi has proven not to be completely honest, nor the best student. “And dad is still unwilling to help me with Utopia not only as a pathetic way of trying to prove to my mom that ironically, she's the one who still holds the reins here, but also to show me that I deserve what I get. So I’m working and busy with Utopia.”

He doesn't avoid rolling his eyes. He believes that the situation wouldn’t bother him if he had the time to prepare for the sudden exams that have been thrown his way. He's organized when it comes to studying and hasn't cheated on any of his exams no matter what his record says, but sudden exams are hard to deal with when his dad continues to behave like a child, and he doesn't take his job for granted.

He doesn’t plan to leave Utopia, the bar that his mother has left him, simply because the change of director apparently implies changes in his life.

He unfolds his arms to run his hands over his face, certainly frustrated at the mention of those words.

“And just because the holidays are over doesn't mean I can take a break. Maybe there will be fewer people, but Utopia is still packed. And I can feel my eyebags taking over my face.” he continues.

Perhaps because he fell asleep during the talk, perhaps because although he hasn’t made it explicit in her words, it’s evident that the new director believes that being a friend of San has given him certain benefits. Perhaps for many more reasons, Yunho doesn't know it, but he’s aware that he now has a problem on his shoulders.

Problems that he can't get out of his head even when he’s with Mingi. He allows a sigh to leave his lips, and he drops his hands into his lap, not wanting to rest them on Mingi's body.

“So no, you can't do anything to make me smile.”

“That's completely unfair!” Mingi frowns, irritation evident on his face. Yunho agrees, it's not fair. “I'll make y—”

“What, Mingi?” Yunho decides to interrupt him before Mingi expresses some failed attempt at a logical comment. While pronouncing his last name is interesting, expressing his name is soothing. Although the day before he found out that he now has exams, he hasn't tried to tell Mingi immediately because he knows that he would react in the way that, indeed, he's reacting. “Tell the truth? Call your parents? They don't know we are together, remember? And we agree that it wouldn’t be smart for them to know, much less in this situation.”

“It's still unfair.” Mingi clicks his tongue before crossing his arms.

He doesn’t blame Mingi for his first instinct being to turn to his parents, since although his own relationship with his father is not the same as the one Mingi has with his, many times being the son of his parents has made certain situations easier. But this time they can't depend on them.

“Whatever. I'll see what I’ll do. Just don't meddle and stay away.”

They constantly meddle in each other's business —not just them, but their families as well— but Mingi should stay away this time, he thinks. He’s grateful for Mingi's intentions, but Mingi must stop thinking of himself as the solution to his problems, as saving him when they don't have the ability to show such support.

“My lastname has to count for something. That's what I'm useful for.”

Yunho shakes his head when he hears the determination that goes with those words, and forgets to keep his hands off Mingi's body because Mingi agrees to unfold his arms when his hands land on them.

He doesn't think it's fair that Mingi thinks of himself as useless unless the letters that make up his lastname can change the direction of a situation.

He believes that Mingi is much more than his lastname. For him, Mingi is Min, the person he likes to keep close, not Song Mingi, the son of an important and influential family, modern royalty, as many call him. Heir to the rival family to his, an enemy he shouldn't seek to keep close.

“I'm not with you because of your lastname, I'm not your damsel in distress. In fact, you are, and I save you.” Princess, he adds in his head. He takes advantage of the fact that Mingi has uncrossed his arms to guide Mingi's hands towards his waist, and luckily Mingi agrees to surround his waist with one of his arms while leaving the other palm of his hand on the bench.

“I appreciate what you're doing, but I didn't force you to do anything,” Mingi determines.

Yunho allows a light laugh to caress the back of his throat instead of frowning. Mingi is right, he certainly expresses nothing but the truth, and he believes that this is the worst detail of the situation.

Mingi hasn’t forced him to take the phone from his hand when the professor asked him what he was looking at instead of the test, nor has Mingi forced him to say that he was cheating instead of Mingi himself.

And yet, at that moment, sudden exams haunt him because he has been the person who ended up talking to San's dad, the former director, assuring him that he has sought to use Mingi's phone to cheat although at all times San's dad hasn’t seemed to be one hundred percent with his words.

He was given a scholarship instead of a suspension, or even an expulsion, to prove that he really studies instead of just cheating on all the exams. Mingi has never been in the eye of the storm, and he has allowed himself to be swept up in it without question.

He should be angry, and disappointed in Mingi, but he isn't.

He doesn't blame Mingi for trying to cheat when he knows how little time he has to study, the pressure on his shoulders because his parents make him take part in events that are not of his interest, taking away time to focus on a college that ironically, they have made him be a part of.

He should be upset, he should hate Mingi, but at that moment he rests his hands on his cheeks. Mingi does lean into the touch as he strokes his cheek with his finger.

“You are not with me because of my last name,” Mingi says, “Why are you with me, then?”

He has problems that Mingi will never understand because while his parents are divorced and he is still dealing with the consequences of that separation, Mingi's parents are not allowed to divorce, even if they want to or not, not when they have an image to give.

While Mingi is haunted by insecurities that will never be part of his repertoire of weaknesses because his last name is not as coveted as Mingi's, even if his bank accounts contain large numbers as well, he does have his respective problems.

He’s definitely not with Mingi because of his lastname, not when their families consider each other rivals since his mother has decided to enter the world that the night of Seoul represents. Facing up to Mingi's parents in one of the businesses that bring the most money hasn’t been easy, but she has managed to grow her respective name, enough to be considered competition, and therefore, a rival to destroy.

But his mother is not in Seoul, his father is only interested in his hospital, and therefore, the scorn of Mingi's family falls on him after he enthusiastically accepted the bar that his mother has left in his charge. Utopia, the biggest bar that his mother has built in the city under her name.

He forms a soft line with his lips after thinking of his mother gets a trace of melancholy to decorate his thoughts, and stops keeping his hands on Mingi's cheeks to take from his backpack one of the gifts his mother has sent him.

He slides the gold ring over his middle finger and is about to rest his hands on Mingi's cheeks again, until he raises both eyebrows when with the hand that isn't around his waist, Mingi gently traps his wrist to inspect his hand.

“Shut up, shut up,” he says, his eyes on the hand where he just added the accessory.

“I know you've gotten used to saying that to me, but I wasn't even talking?” It's the only thing he manages to articulate.

“The ring. How did you get it!” Mingi looks at him impressed before lowering his gaze again, “I wanted it too but I didn't get it,” he complains, grumbling.

Mingi lets go of his hand to leave his hand back on the bench, and Yunho chooses to wrap his arm around his neck to leave his hand between them, at the level of their faces while a winning smile guides his expression as soon as he listens to Mingi.

“My mom gave it to me,” he explains, and melancholy is no longer the only thing following his thoughts. “Why am I not listening to offers?” he wiggles his fingers, amused when he doesn't hear Mingi offer some amount of money —which, honestly, he wouldn't even know whether to accept because he has no idea how much the ring costs. But surely a lot.

“Cocky.” Mingi wrinkles his nose. “You won't give it to me, your mom gave it to you.”

“Too bad, I like it when you beg me,” he looks at the ring before lowering his hand, and smiles, more than amused by the way he meets Mingi's narrowed gaze when he looks up. “I wouldn’t give it to you not even as a joke, my mom would go crazy if she saw you with the ring she gave me.”

“She would go crazy if she sees me with her son,” Mingi expresses.

“Touché.” He leaves his hand on Mingi's cheek, believing that indeed, his mother would go crazy if she knew that the gold of the gift is now gracing the softness of Mingi's face. “You asked me a question. Why am I with you if it's not because of your lastname?”

He's not with Mingi because Mingi is able to get him rings probably even more expensive than the one his mom gave him.

“You make me laugh,” he offers, “And I like the sex, I guess.”

He feels Mingi's fingers dig into his waist.

“I thought you would say that because of my height.” For the first time since he got up, Yunho finally allows a laugh to leave his lips after hearing Mingi say those words. Well, Mingi certainly stands out for his height as much as he does. “I make you laugh?”

Unlike the vast majority, he doesn’t stay close to Mingi because of the importance that follows his last name, as well as the significance of his person. He stays close to Mingi because Mingi cheers him up, and makes him smile as well as laugh, even when he doesn't feel like cracking a smile.

“Lots.”

While the others see Mingi as a stepping stone, he sees Mingi for who he is, a person who is as intelligent as he is funny, creative, and good. He is handsome, too. So handsome. He doesn't get a chance to express those thoughts out loud because he and Mingi don't have a good relationship in front of others.

Their lastnames, their families, and their businesses clash with each other, and therefore, so do they. In the eyes of others, they only consider the other a rival to destroy.

"Do you enjoy the sex?"

His lips part as Mingi approaches him, again looking to eliminate inches of distance. Modern romance, really, he thinks, because he believes that he wouldn’t have hesitated to give Mingi a gentle yet firm pat had he pulled him closer to him instead. Romance? He chooses to stop keeping his hands on Mingi’s cheeks to wrap his arms around his neck. He thinks that he should dry Mingi's hair as well as his own.

“I do.”

The current exhaustion that haunts his body is evidence of the same, but instead of expressing any complaint, he bites his lower lip in satisfaction. Perhaps staying together hasn't erased his bad mood, but he doesn't think getting up early was a mistake. He's aware that while he expresses not having time to even take a deep breath, he sacrifices minutes of sleep to be with Mingi.

“Well, it's nice to know that I'm at least pleasing someone.” He sighs when Mingi says those words because he doubts they're neutral, but Mingi keeps talking. “I can't take the exam for you, but let me make it up to you.”

Mingi's lips are on his the second Mingi finishes uttering those words. Yunho doesn't stop the smile that his lips form. He is used to forcing himself to remain serious when he watches Mingi walk through the classroom door, or even feign a disgusted scowl when he is present in case someone has their eyes on him. But just like Mingi said, they're alone at the moment, so he smiles.

“I can't do anything to make you smile, hm?” Mingi whispers on his lips, and he doesn't look to get rid of his gesture at hearing those words. He purposely only increases the size of it, feeling satisfied when Mingi lowers his eyes to his smile. “Nice smile.”

He tugs gently on Mingi's wet locks to make him look up at him.

“Less talk, more compensation.”

Instead of expressing any complaint, Mingi captures his lips with his again.

The way Mingi uses his last name to ask for the necessary keys is not fair, nor is it fair to have to take advantage of the early hours of the morning to be together.

Nobody knows about them. Not even San, not even Hongjoong. They don't know if San or Hongjoong have their respective suspicions towards them —he doubts it, considering all the times San has sighed or rolled his eyes at their constant exchanges of ironic comments, as well as Hongjoong shaking his head in surrender; but they can't afford to be honest with their friends if they want their constant facade to persevere.

In the eyes of others, they are nothing more than two people caught up in the rivalry of their respective families, heirs destined to look down on each other and address each other with sarcasm and disgust. They are not close, they can’t stand each other, for others they simply have the misfortune of attending the same classes at the same university, as well as getting along with the same people.

He can't assure his father that someone has caught his attention, and seeks to change the topic of conversation when over the phone his mother asks if there's someone by his side, while Mingi shakes his head when his parents ask if there's someone, if he has met someone interesting enough within the walls of the university.

The satisfied sound that leaves his lips is caught by Mingi's lips.

“Less noise, more silence,” Mingi expresses before sliding his mouth to his neck.

Bastard, Yunho thinks. Mingi asks for silence, but he doesn't doubt that having stopped keeping his lips on his was a strategic decision as the new sound that scratches his throat as a result of Mingi's body with his reaches their ears. Maybe he shouldn't be with Mingi, and Mingi shouldn't be with him, but it feels so good to do something that is seen as so wrong when Mingi won't let him out of his grasp and every trace of sleep is blown away.

“Shut up.” He tugs on Mingi's locks again, this time a little harder to draw Mingi's mouth to his. He doesn't have the sound of the shower to drown out his sounds, not anymore, so Mingi has to take care of it.

That is the reality they must deal with, and they decide to do it by sneaking out. Mingi asks him not to moan not because the sound is a problem, but because being found out as the cause of those sounds would be the real problem. They hide so that their parents don’t seek to put an end to a relationship, a closeness they don't know about.

It's not fair, the way they have to hide to show they want each other because they can't do it with the eyes of others on them. It's not fair, the way they have already gotten used to spending months that way, using the corners of the university to kiss.

This time he smiles, proud and vain, because he stifles the pleased hum that leaves Mingi's mouth. He smiles, Mingi's lips making sure to catch his smile.

Maybe it’s too early, he shouldn't be with Mingi, let alone using the locker room and the showers of the building to allow Mingi to momentarily free both his head and his body, but he doesn't complain.

He doesn't complain, until he is reminded that he has reason to.

The sound of the first bell of the day alerts him, and Mingi steals a kiss from him before pulling away. He loses his smile and lets out a sigh, staring at Mingi once they part because Mingi doesn't seem happy about having to interrupt the moment between them either. Yunho thinks he doesn't understand, how is it that Mingi doesn't take advantage of the conformity provided by any of the cars he has, to kiss another person without needing tinted windows.

“Stupid bell,” Mingi complains about the bell they've come to respect as the end of moments between them, and stands up and quickly reaches for a towel to dry his locks.

He thinks Mingi is right, stupid bell.

It’s unfair. If money fixes everything and anything, why is he upset?

He's required to take exams when his previous high grades show that he complies with his scholarship, and that he's not part of the repertoire of privileged students simply because he's close to San. The word scholarship doesn't even correspond to him. They are not giving him money, they are only asking him to be the best student in the entire university.

Now his future as a student is at risk. And although Yeosang has assured him that he shouldn't worry, just like Mingi, he doubts that Yeosang knows the bitter feelings that having to pin his hopes on someone else brings. His abilities, his efforts, and his lies too, are the reason he still has a seat in those classrooms.

“I can't help you, but I can do something,” Mingi says as he gets up too. Unlike Mingi, he doesn't rush to dry his hair though he does run a towel through it. He doesn't look away when Mingi stares at him because he knows what he's talking about. After all, being up so early is not a coincidence. He hasn't sacrificed minutes of sleep just for Mingi, at least not that morning. “The day is about to start.”

“Oh, I know.” he holds a smile, but this time it's a vain grin, identical to the one Mingi has previously held on his face.

He holds the towel in one hand while he leaves the other on Mingi's torso, his fingers now finding the fabric of his white shirt and he traces it down, promptly skimming the metal of his belt to cup his crotch, not gently nor tenderly, and stares at him, losing his smile.

“Fuck.” Mingi's fingers find his waist again.

He’s aware that they should stop touching each other, teasing each other as soon as they hear the bell ring, but at that moment he only cares about the way Mingi forms a line with his lips while he holds his gaze. Does Mingi want to think that he's weaker for not having thought twice about sitting next to him in class? He doesn't deny it, but Mingi is also weak when he's the center of the equation.

“Fewer words, more listening.” he determines. “I know you can do something for me, so now you will go and you will sit there in my name, even if no one knows that. I know, I'll know. Because I'm here because of you, because of your mess. Because once again I find myself being nothing but a collateral effect of your actions and words.”

True, Mingi hasn't forced him to take the blame for something he hasn't done, but he hasn't forced Mingi to tell the truth either, so he expects Mingi to hear him.

“So you will play nice, and do what Hongjoong has said. No one but me will know that your pride will be on the line for me, and yet oh, I’ll know that, and that turns me on.”

Perhaps his record is the one that is tarnished while Mingi's remains untarnished at all, and probably never will be tarnished thanks to his parent's influence. Unless Mingi again decides to make a mistake, and he no longer knows if he will allow said stains to end up on his record. He deals with the consequences, but Mingi deals with him.

He releases Mingi, and Mingi exhales.

“I'm not just going for you, but also for San.” Mingi determines.

He, too, thinks it's unfair the way San's father stopped finding himself at the head of the university from one year to the next —on short notice, from what he's heard. The world is nothing but a chain of injustices, and even they, people with important lastnames and big bank accounts, sometimes end up getting entangled in such problems.

Yunho only chooses to give him a fake smile when he hears him. He knows that he has said those words with sincerity as well as just to try to provoke him.

He finally decides to withdraw his hands from Mingi's body, and Mingi follows suit. He notices Mingi adjusting his shirt, pulling it out of his pants to make it cover his waist, better said his bulge, and he allows a proud smile to guide his face.

He doesn't know when he'll have another chance to kiss Mingi, to hold him close to him, so he follows his gaze as Mingi quickly scrambles to pack up everything needed to erase all evidence that he's ever been there. He puts away his stuff too and thinks about saying that he has opted to use the pool of his house before getting there —it's cold, but he won't be questioned. At the end of the day, it’s evident that he doesn’t make the best decisions.

He looks at Mingi when he feels Mingi doing it.

“Thank you,” Mingi expresses, looking at him intently. Yunho holds his gaze because sometimes it's hard to see the boundaries between the act they play for each other, the sarcastic moments between them, and the rivalry that continues to surround them even though they know what it's like to kiss. But he denotes nothing but honesty in Mingi. “I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you.”

“Apparently you are able to use your mouth for something other than expressing fake words towards me and kissing me,” Yunho chooses to express instead of allowing Mingi's words to be accentuated on his chest.

“Yeah, to suck you off as well,” a vain smile takes over Mingi's face again, although he soon becomes serious as he points his finger at him. “You stay away from the doors,” he warns him.

Yunho simply runs his finger away with a simple wave of his hand.

“I'll be watching you carefully,” he tells him.

“As always, with your attention on me.”

Mingi winks at him after pronouncing those words, and although Yunho shakes his head, a small smile settles on his face anyway. The only interesting detail about the rivalry between their families is that he can’t not see Mingi, it’s his duty to keep his eyes on him, and his interest in his business.

It would be strange if they ignored each other instead of confronting each other like they don't hesitate to do to keep up appearances —even if inside they know how close they can be to each other, even if San constantly steps in to separate them, even if Hongjoong expresses being fed up with them.

“This time I'm in trouble, not you,” Mingi says.

He recognizes that Mingi expresses those words with a certain trace of guilt, so he chooses to try to alleviate said feeling.

“Troublemaker.” He wrinkles his nose.

He has no doubt that nothing will happen to Mingi because of the lastname he bears. Why then, last semester he chose to save Mingi from a situation? Because San's father might not have suspended Mingi, but Mingi would have had to endure hours and hours listening to his parents, recriminating a lack of perfection. While for the others, Mingi's family is functional, the perfect family, even, he knows how many imperfections they hide.

“You like bad boys.” Mingi lifts his chin up as he holds a lopsided smile that leads them to laugh, but Mingi promptly widens his eyes, looking troubled. “This bad boy. Just this one,” he insists.

Yunho raises both eyebrows and laughs again.

As if he has eyes for another person, he thinks. He brings one of his hands to his chest as he thinks of what Mingi's words denote. He wants his attention focused on him.

The faint murmur they suddenly hear reassures them that the university gates have officially opened that morning, and Mingi glances at him.

“By the way, I think the new style looks great on you,” Mingi says.

“I don't need your approval.” he runs a hand through the red highlights that now interrupt the brownish color of his hair.

Just as many times he has a hard time telling the truth from a lie, other times he simply knows when honesty is Mingi's partner, so he's aware that his previous comment about his hairstyle being a cheap imitation of the reddish locks that Mingi ports has been an appearance.

He too, although many times is confused with himself, knows when his own reactions are sincere or false, so he knows that his words contradict the smile that threatens to appear on his face after listening to Mingi.

“No, but you want it, and that's even better.” Bold, Mingi winks at him. “See you, Jeong.”

He doesn't object when Mingi finally pulls away from him to approach the door. Mingi opens it carefully, and though he rolls his eyes, he lets out a breath of relief because if Mingi leaves, it means no one has been around to see him leave the bathroom.

Just as they are used to staying close, respecting a certain distance is a habit, so he remains alone inside the bathroom when Mingi opens the door to leave. He makes sure to put everything in his locker, and nods when he deems he's left the place decent —he doesn't feel decent, but well, he won’t think about that right now.

Ironically, a small smile appears on his face. It’s enough for Mingi to be next to him, his body close to his to make a smile take over his face. Mingi only needs to be in front of him to make him smile. The slight joy on his face is welcome.

However, soon the sudden smile leaves his face.

He still doesn't know how he's going to take exams that he thinks shouldn't be taken in the first place, but for now, he prefers to push that concern to the corner of his head. He knows that even though he thinks it‘s an injustice, he’s not the only one to think that the arrival of the new director is already complicating the situation, and that for the same reason, that morning won’t start like the rest of the days.

---

Seonghwa knows that the image that others perceive, and create about him, is more than important. He can and does what he can, but if others don't believe in his actions or trust his word, then all the effort is meaningless.

He has always sought to behave in the correct way, whether doing what is asked, holding a smile when he should, or being correct when he has to be. But now the situation has changed. The importance of his decisions has increased, and therefore, he can’t even think of making a single mistake.

His name will be one of the first to appear when the university is mentioned, so tripping is not in the plan. It’s easy to decipher people and their thoughts. His mother can run the institution responsibly, but if he does something that draws attention in a bad way, his mother's work won’t be worth it; while if he gets the professors to think of him as an A student, then his family's reputation will remain intact.

That is, clearly, without counting Yeosang and his reckless personality.

He cares too much while Yeosang doesn't care at all. He must exert himself twice as much as necessary since he must not only be attentive to his own actions, but also those carried out by Yeosang. They may not share the same lastname, but they are still seen as part of the same family. Seonghwa considers Yeosang family although Yeosang sometimes seems to bring him headaches instead of peace of mind. He wants their mother to worry about the work she has to do instead of spending time thinking about what he and Yeosang do.

Despite his worries spinning around his head, he keeps a calm smile on his face when his mother flashes one of hers. That morning they plan to make it clear that the new order has already been established, so he and Yeosang find themselves walking with their mother in between.

The students around them understand that they are not just two new students, but the children of the new director. Seonghwa knows that he shouldn't think that he has more power than others just because his mother is the head of the institution, but he still walks with his head held high as they approach the entrance of the institution.

He believes that controlling himself is easy when he has gotten used to it, while he's still struggling to keep Yeosang at bay. What he is not able to do, however, is control the actions of others.

He stops once it becomes clear to him that no matter how hard he tries, he will still find battles to face.

Blocking the main gates of the institution, San and Hongjoong are sitting together with some other students. From the way they're looking at them, it's clear that they don't plan to move, and that sitting in front of the front doors isn't a casual action, done without thinking and simply because.

Seonghwa remains more than serious. He doesn't know if the words he’s previously exchanged with Hongjoong and San have triggered that chain of actions, but he does know that forming that obstacle is, undoubtedly, to show discontent towards the fact that his mother is the new head of the institution. He turns his head to look at his mother, but his eyes widen as they settle on the grin that decorates Yeosang's face.

He stares after him as Yeosang promptly goes from facing them to join the others, but not before flashing them a genuine smile over his shoulder, stretching his lips and lifting the corners of his mouth, as he usually does, or used to do, whenever he feels honest happiness guide his thoughts. Seonghwa stands still on his spot, rigid. He wants to be surprised by the fact that he and Yeosang are completely different, but he doesn't.

Yeosang sits down with them, and even shares a look with— is that— Seonghwa bites the inner part of his cheek as he recognizes Mingi. Song Mingi, he can't believe it. A person of his caliber displaying his distaste for his mother's direction as he's with the others is not a good sign.

He reminds himself that the only way to control damage is to control himself, so he hooks his mother's arm with his, showing his support. Fortunately, his mother gives him a short smile, and both stop being still in their place to go towards the doors of the institution.

He believes that the action taken is immature, a situation that a high school kid would create instead of a college student. He hopes that thought can be read through the look he gives Hongjoong —which Hongjoong gives back without hesitation. He stares at him as he walks past them, focusing again on the way his arm remains wrapped around his mother's.

He wonders what he should do. He believes that going back for Yeosang is not a good decision, but if Yeosang miraculously listens to him, it would assure his mother that she doesn't have to worry about one of her children. Seonghwa bites his lower lip, wondering if his mother is mad at Yeosang, him, or both. He doesn't want to disappoint her, doesn't want her words of assurance to contrast with his obvious lack of control.

“I can hear you thinking from here.”

Seonghwa stops and looks at his mother when she speaks.

Instead of looking at him seriously, his mother gives him a smile at the same time that their arms stop being intertwined, although fortunately, she rests her hands on his cheeks. Seonghwa can only wonder how many times his mother has practiced so that the smiling expression on her face doesn't have a single trace of insecurity.

A husband who leaves, a husband who dies. A son who doesn’t listen, a son who fails. A questionable job that she has just begun. His mother can't be that strong.

“Don't worry about it, okay?” His mother expresses, “Leave this to me.”

His mother leaves no room for him to comment because she only pats his cheek before walking away from him. Seonghwa follows her with his eyes, but remains neutral instead of grimacing because he knows that right now he can't afford to show concern with the help of his facial features.

They have been placed in the eye of the storm, but they must take the same as nothing more than a light drizzle that will soon come to an end.

He doesn't want his mother to start the day like that again, so he warns himself that he shouldn't cross a word with Hongjoong. Not again. With San it will be easy since they aren’t from the same year, while with Hongjoong he will have to remind himself to stay distant. He doesn't think it will be difficult. He doesn’t know if the exchange of words with those has triggered that situation, but he does know that just in case, he won’t do it again.

If he pretends that Hongjoong doesn't exist, then at least one problem will be lifted off his shoulders.

He takes a long breath and straightens up.

Perfect, praiseworthy, promising. He mouths those words and once again lets out a breath, this time definitively.

He glances over his shoulder, without really looking.

It’s been the first time he’s seen Yeosang allow a sincere smile to interrupt the seriousness of his face in a long, long time.

Chapter 5

Yeosang takes a lollipop from one of his blazer pockets and stares at it.

He’s aware that perhaps he should reduce the number of lollipops that he manages to keep in his pockets because he doesn’t want his teeth to deteriorate, but it’s candy or biting the inner part of his cheek as a habit he has developed. Grape, this time.

“Hey,” Yeosang stops trying to unwrap said lollipop once he looks up to find Mingi watching him. “I wanted to know if you wanted to go out for a drink with me tonight,” he says as he sits next to him.

Yeosang gazes after him before focusing on his lollipop again. He finishes unwrapping it and tilts his head, admittedly a little confused at the mention of the plan he just heard.

“Worried about what you've done today?” he chooses to ask rather than offer an answer.

He doesn't understand why Mingi would seek to go out with him to balance the fact that he has sat down with the others. He has shown his discontent with the new head of the university, but despite being a student while his mother is the new head of the institution, Mingi is more powerful than his mother simply because of the letters that make up his last name.

“No,” he again looks at Mingi when he gives him a slight push with his arm. “I want to go out with a friend. That's all.” A sincere smile accompanies his words.

“We are friends?” The words simply leave his lips.

Yeosang brings the lollipop to his lips, the taste of grapes characterizing his mouth.

He finds it a bit hasty to define his and Mingi's relationship as a friendship simply because they are deskmates, they share the same classes, and they have quietly declared an alliance.

“Hell yes, you sat with us today. Damn, man.”

An inevitable little giggle leaves his lips, and as consciously as unconsciously he brings a hand to cover his mouth when the sound of that laugh turns out to be something new, something he doesn't remember the last time it left his lips.

He has done nothing more than follow his own thoughts, but apparently, that’s more than enough for Mingi to consider him his friend, and therefore want to go out with him that night.

He finds it odd. He hasn’t planned to make friends, but he doesn't plan to be shaped by his mother's decisions either. He has already been forced to leave his city, he doesn't want to leave his attitude.

Upon thinking of the possibility of the night out, he slides his eyes to Yunho. Yunho promptly looks away, pretending not to have been watching them when their eyes meet.

They are in one of the many rooms of the institution that allows them to spend time sitting on comfortable couches. Yeosang has to admit that the university facilities surprise him, but the people who study there draw his attention even more.

He believes that if he has previously thought that there’s something between Mingi and Yunho, at that moment he confirms it thanks to the captured gaze.

“You weren't with us,” with his eyes on Yunho, he expresses.

Yunho looks at him when he hears him.

“I can't exactly go against your mother, I already have too much.”

Yeosang arches an eyebrow. Even though he believes there are details he doesn't know, once again he chooses to ease Yunho's inquietude.

“It doesn’t matter. You can paint the walls of this institution, whatever. Sit in front of the main doors to show what you think, my mother won’t get mad.” he says, more than sure of his words. Although he often finds himself at odds with his mother —that morning having been evidence of the same—, if there’s one thing he must admit, is that his mother is strong.

“So why did you join us today, then, hm?”

Yeosang rolls his eyes as the sweet taste provided by the lollipop in his mouth competes with the sour aura that threatens to surround his shoulders after hearing San's voice. So far he has been able to ignore his presence, but he decides to rest his gaze on him.

“You were very determined to defend your mother yesterday.” San reminds him.

“Yes, I told Seonghwa that I agree with certain adjectives that I relate to her presence,” he directs his words towards San, but he rests his eyes on Hongjoong when he mentions that phrase.

The way Hongjoong watches him assures him that they both know that Hongjoong hasn't said exactly good words about his mother with Seonghwa being present.

“So you can see that I'm on your side,” he shifts his gaze to Yunho and Mingi, not wanting San to believe that they are both on the same side. “And to annoy my mother.”

If he has learned Hongjoong's name and his presence doesn't bother him, it’s because his presence does irritate Seonghwa.

He has chosen to sit with them in front of the gates of the university without hesitation. Without doubting and without thinking twice, giving to Seonghwa and their mother a smile, a sincere gesture that decorated his expression as he sought to annoy his mother with that action.

He’s still upset about having to be where he is. While he plans to accept the drinks with Mingi, he would rather find himself talking to Wooyoung, and thinking about Wooyoung only leads him to forcefully crack the lollipop inside his mouth.

Having to wear a uniform doesn't bother him, but he would rather not have to attend that university no matter how prestigious it is. He believes that the sweet taste of the lollipop barely exists with the bitter taste that moving constantly awakens in him.

“Yeah?” San's voice distracts him before he can think of taking his hand to the necklace present around his neck. “Your mother plans to make Yunho take a round of exams about everything we’ve learned last semester. That means bothering someone. We are not on the same side.”

Yeosang feels his mouth hurt as the candy breaks, not being able to help but exert pressure once tension takes over his body.

Yunho has chosen not to sit with them because without having done anything, his mother has apparently already decided to pressure his shoulders and complicate his future.

He doesn't think his mother plans to take away Yunho’s scholarship, but that doesn't mean she won't seek to put obstacles in his way.

He doesn't understand why his mother acts the way she does. He doesn't understand her and yet, he must deal with her decisions —maybe he should just accept being shaped by his mother's words. After all, it’s tiring.

“You're insufferable, you know that?” San only offers him a fake smile when he hears him. “There's a way to get the answers,” he doesn't hesitate to add as he leaves his gaze on Yunho.

He now understands why he looks so worried, why he hasn't opted to sit down with them first thing in the morning even though it's obvious he's not happy about the changes either.

“My mother has a weakness, a soft spot. My brother, Seonghwa.”

“Half-brother.” San corrects him.

“Brother.” Yeosang glares at him.

San scoffs because he quickly realizes that he shouldn't correct that detail again unless he really wants a serious fight to break out between them.

Perhaps it’s true that he considers Seonghwa to be bossy, demanding, and even a somewhat annoying person, but he’s also aware that his own personality doesn’t contribute to a harmonious atmosphere around them. And besides, only he can comment on the relationship or lack thereof that keeps him and Seonghwa together.

They don't have the same last name and a day of neutrality between them is too much to ask for, but he won't allow anyone, least of all San, to make such comments about his relationship with Seonghwa.

“He's the only person who can ever convince my mother of anything.” Yeosang continues.

He’s sure of his words, of the reality that Seonghwa is the only one of the two to express words that truly are or will be heard by their mother. Regardless of the fact that they are both her children, even though they should both feel heard, Seonghwa parts his lips while he feels broken.

He has relentlessly refused to leave his city, an environment that he knows and that, despite bringing back sad memories, has also provided him with unforgettable moments. And yet, at that moment, he’s in a city that he doesn't like, in a university that he only sees as an obligation instead of a solution.

"In this case, to cancel exams or to give the answers."

“I don't want the answers,” he’s not the only one to rest his gaze on Yunho when he speaks. “I just want it to be fair,” he says, switching his gaze between them.

Yeosang is still trying to understand why his mother would make him take exams when he has no doubt that Yunho has passed all the classes with excellent grades, even more after having heard Mingi expose that excellence in words.

He can only think that his mother must mistrust the friendship between Yunho and San. He doubts that the friendship between them has had anything to do with Yunho's scholarship simply because San is the son of the previous director, but apparently, his mother doesn’t.

“Well, then that’s it. Who gets close to him?” San determines, “You?”

Mingi raises both eyebrows as soon as the question is thrown in his direction.

“Me? Why me?” he asks, perplexed.

Yeosang wonders if it's because Mingi knows that San knows about his relationship with Yunho. Well, the supposed relationship, for now, Yeosang scolds himself. He’s still not completely sure.

He now not only wonders about the presence or absence of a relationship, but also about who knows about it and if it exists.

“You have money, duh.”

Yeosang almost spits out the lollipop as he can't help but laugh at the words San mentions.

“Do we look like we need money?” he asks, believing his argument to be more than invalid. “Besides, it's obvious that these two don't get along so what you're proposing is silly.”

He doesn't know if it's to show San that his words don't make sense, or to try to subtly figure out what the exact dynamic between Yunho and Mingi is, but he points between them, and notices the serious look that Yunho and Mingi share. He allows the beginning of an amused smile to guide his face as he leaves his eyes on the person sitting next to San.

“I think it should be you.” he adds.

“Me?” So far Hongjoong hasn’t participated in the conversation but it’s evident that he has remained attentive to it since he frowns. “Why me?”

“You've already caught my brother's eye, so.” And because I think that Yunho and Mingi have something going, and clearly none of the two would want to approach Seonghwa, he adds inside his own head.

He doesn't need to find out exactly how Seonghwa and Hongjoong met. Probably because they share classes. After all, Seonghwa did say he plans to be the Class President and thus take Hongjoong's title. He doesn't know what kind of words Hongjoong has mentioned about their mother either, but he believes that the phrases he has said must have been enough for Seonghwa to want nothing to do with his presence.

He has messed with Seonghwa. In a good or bad way, Hongjoong has already caught Seonghwa's attention.

“Well, I don’t care. I catch everyone's attention,” Hongjoong smiles fakely. “I can't stand him. And besides, he called me a grapefruit. Why would I seek to stay close to someone like him?”

The loud laugh that Mingi lets out catches everyone's attention.

“A grapefruit?” he keeps laughing.

“You also have red hair and an orange uniform so I don't know why you're laughing.” Hongjoong says.

With the lollipop stick between his lips, Yeosang forms a line with his mouth to avoid laughing after hearing that comment.

He’s aware that Seonghwa usually seeks to keep his posture, so the mere idea of him expressing those words toward Hongjoong only makes him want to laugh.

And he's not the only one.

“Why are you laughing, Jeong?” Mingi doesn’t hesitate to express as it’s obvious that Yunho is trying not to laugh. Unsuccessfully. “You have red highlights so you are not completely oblivious to the comment either.”

“Shut up.” Yunho throws Mingi a serious look, clearing his face of all amusement, and rolls his eyes before resting his attention on Hongjoong. “Hongjoong,” An expression of flat denial covers Hongjoong's face once Yunho leaves his place on the couch to sit next to him. “Please help me, you are my only hope.”

“Will we really rest all our faith on what he says?” San questions.

“Why? Can you think of something better?” Yeosang watches him with wide eyes instead of giving him a serious look again, feeling momentarily victorious when San doesn’t say anything and narrows his eyes. “I would offer you to do it, but my brother wouldn't even be interested in you.”

“I don't want to interest him either. He doesn't interest me.”

“Then what are you talking about?”

“Please, hyung,” Yunho's request interrupts them before they start arguing again.

“No, don't hyung me,” Hongjoong straightens up. “You know I don't like approaching people with such intentions, whether it's fake or not,” Yeosang tilts his head, intrigued when Hongjoong chooses those words. “What am I supposed to do? Please him? Compliment him? Wouldn't it be easier for you to get the questions?”

Yeosang is not surprised by that question.

“After today, do you really think my mother will give them to me if I ask her?” He reminds him of the particular way in which they started that morning.

Not knowing if he can define Mingi as a friend no matter if Mingi assures him that they are, hasn't stopped him from choosing to sit with them that morning. Even with San, even with Hongjoong.

“Or do you think she will when she asks why I spend my time with Yunho?” he adds.

Hongjoong lets out a sigh as he understands the reasoning behind his words.

Yeosang believes that it isn’t worth trying to add his actions to the plan because he’s sure that trying to get him to convince his mother is a waste of time.

He finally begins to play with the flower charm, thinking of all the times his mother has refused to listen to his requests.

It doesn't make sense. It doesn't make any sense, nothing makes sense —there’s almost nothing left of the lollipop. He knows that his mother won't listen to him.

For the same reason, he looks at Hongjoong as Hongjoong threads his fingers through his hair, seeming defeated.

“Fine, I will.” he agrees.

“Thank you!” Yunho doesn't hesitate to hug him.

Hongjoong grimaces and Yunho smiles at him when he pulls apart.

“I don't like having to do it, and I think it's wrong,” Hongjoong switches his eyes between them, and he holds his gaze when Hongjoong fixes his eyes on him for a few long seconds. If he expects him to feel guilty, then he's wasting his time. “But it’s unfair, and I’m still angry about all the changes.” he looks at Yunho.

He doesn't feel guilt washing over his shoulders simply for saying that Hongjoong using Seonghwa to help Yunho is the best strategy, but he wonders if perhaps someone else is feeling guilty, since he doesn't hesitate to raise an eyebrow when he notices San staring at him.

“What are you looking at?” he doesn't hesitate to ask.

“I don't trust you.” San assures him.

“The feeling is mutual.”

“That's enough, you two.” Mingi expresses, and he lowers his gaze to the arm that Mingi passes in front of him to tilt him back in case he was thinking of leaving his place on the couch to face San.

San rolls his eyes and he holds the stick of the lollipop in his hand. He assures Mingi that he doesn't plan to leave his place after turning his head to look away.

Ever since his mother told them that she would become the new director, he has been aware that he would and will probably be targeted for being her son. He has psyched himself up to be surrounded by people desperate to give him the fakest smiles, not serious expressions.

He doesn't care if people don't like him or if they try to get close to him. He resents being reduced to his familiarity with his mother.

“Hey,” Again a light push is given to the side of his body. He turns his head to find Mingi offering him a smile. “You still haven't answered me if you want to go out with me tonight.”

Yeosang stares at him.

He's aware that even though he barely knows Mingi, up to now Mingi has chosen not to be hostile towards him even though his mother is hindering Yunho's future —probable boyfriend— and has replaced San's father —best friend, he believes.

He could be lying, and Mingi could be lying about wanting to establish a closeness with him. Yeosang doesn't erase that possibility, but chooses to nod anyway.

All so as not to be at hom— house. House. Not home.

---

Seonghwa opens his locker, ready to finish another day —well, just the school day.

Fortunately, it’s easy for him to understand his professors and the tasks they are given are not difficult.

He’s not working because his mother has told him that he needs to clear his head before working again —as if he could do that, he thinks.

He doesn't want to complain. He appreciates that his mother trusts him enough to have allowed him to start working at her company. He doesn't want to screw it up, and he doesn't plan on complaining either.

“Hello.”

He feels his shoulders tense as he barely recognizes the voice that greets him.

However, throughout the day he has thought about the possibility of being forced to listen to Hongjoong since their lockers are side by side —he has understood that it belongs to Hongjoong, not San. Both options sound equally awful.

He continues to focus on his locker, just as focused as he has been in his class although at all times he has been aware of Hongjoong's presence.

“Hello,” Hongjoong repeats. Seonghwa decides to continue without greeting him, thus closing the door to his locker. It's enough having to share the same classrooms all morning, he doesn't want to waste seconds forcing himself— Hongjoong, rather, forcing him— to see his face. “It’s impolite not to pretend to listen to someone.”

Seonghwa closes the door to his locker.

Perhaps with a little more force than necessary.

“It's impolite to sit in front of the main gates of a university with your little group of friends simply because you don't like the new director.” he determines without hesitation. “That's what you meant when you said this university is, supposedly, yours?”

He has come to believe that ignoring him would be easy, but his plan is already falling apart because their eyes meet.

He’s aware that he could ask his mother for a locker change but he equates that action to defeat. He's stubborn, and he knows it, it's just a locker. But he refuses to give up territory, even if at that moment refusing to give up his pride means that his time is interrupted and his face decorated with a serious scowl.

“You do know your mother isn't perfect, right?”

Seonghwa touches the inner part of his cheek with the tip of his tongue at the obvious irritation at the mention of that phrase.

Whether it's with actions —sitting in front of the gates of the university— or with the help of words —like the ones he just expressed—, Hongjoong seems to have the incredible ability to seek to destroy his limits.

“I don't expect her direction to be perfect, but clearly I will help her try to be as perfect as possible. And that includes ignoring you, so.” he again opens his locker, not because he has to since he's already left everything in his backpack, but because he doesn't want to see Hongjoong's face.

He’s stunned when Hongjoong leaves his hand on it to close it.

He gives him an incredulous look.

“Do you think I sat down because we didn't have the best of starts yesterday?” Hongjoong asks him, sounding dumbfounded. “You're so wrong,” he assures him, and continues talking, not giving him time to start questioning why, then, he decided to sit down. “You are loyal to your mother and I am to my friends. However, despite that, I want us to start over.”

Seonghwa can't help the fake chuckle that leaves his lips.

He has to admit, though, that he certainly finds his comment entertaining.

“Yes, of course, why? Because I'm the director's son? I won’t have you expelled simply for having a different opinion than mine. Unlike you, I am a mature person.”

Throughout the morning he has sent multiple serious looks in Hongjoong’s direction for him to understand that he doesn’t agree with his decisions, or ignored him because as ironic as it may sound, he doesn’t want Hongjoong to think that he’s focused on him.

Yet at that moment, he doesn’t hesitate to assure him, with the help of determined words, that he still thinks of the performance he has done with his friends —and sadly, with Yeosang's support as well— as nothing more than an immature decision.

“No, Park.” Seonghwa arches an eyebrow once his lastname leaves Hongjoong's lips. “Because our loyalties could serve us well if we get along instead of badly.”

“Then it is because I'm the director's son.”

From the beginning, he has accepted the reality that includes people seeking to get closer but also to get away from him just because he’s the son of the main figure of the university.

He guesses that he hasn't expected the same thing to happen so fast, or so fearlessly.

“Your mother would want us to get along, wouldn't she?” Seonghwa tilts his head instead of trying to open his locker again when Hongjoong accompanies that question with a serious tone of voice that tells him he's not playing around. “You too. Me too. We all win. Your mother has no more entertaining mornings, we have no reason to turn the mornings into something entertaining. So, I suggest, let's start again.”

Hongjoong stops keeping his hand over the locker but Seonghwa doesn't take advantage of that change of gesture to open it. He narrows his eyes, thinking that certainly, much to his regret, if he has a good relationship —or at least a neutral one— with Hongjoong, it would favor him, and thus his mother as well.

Yet he finds suspicious the way in which Hongjoong hasn’t hesitated to sit in front of the gates of the university first thing in the morning, while he’s proposing to raise a white flag between them a few hours later.

“Are you scared of me?” he decides to ask him.

“What?” Hongjoong looks at him in disbelief.

“Do you want us to get along because I said I want to run for President?” he specifies. Perhaps Hongjoong expresses previously rehearsed words because he doesn't want his role to be threatened. “What little confidence, President.”

He holds back the beginning of an amused smile as he notices a serious expression take over Hongjoong's face.

“A lot of confidence because your mother calls the shots around here?”

Soon Seonghwa finds himself holding the same expression as he hears those words.

He doesn't think he understands Hongjoong. He tells him he wants to get along —or at least maintain a neutral relationship— and then contradicts that intention with the mention of that question.

“Unlike you, I get what I want on my own merit.”

He doesn't plan on using the fact that his mother is the new head of the university to beat him at whatever it takes to beat Hongjoong to get the title that is currently still attached to Hongjoong's name.

“You don’t know anything about me.”

Hongjoong points at him and Seonghwa's eyes fall on the orange nail polish of the index finger he uses to point at him.

He told himself that he would ignore Hongjoong, so the reasonable decision would be to say something such as ok, keep it up, and turn around, but there is something, just something about provoking Hongjoong, that gives him satisfaction.

“Do you make the effort so you can come in with your uniform like this and your nails like that?” he decides to ask as his eyes slide to the initials once again present in the fabric of his blazer.

Hongjoong seems to notice what he means because he also rests his eyes on his uniform and stops pointing to promptly look at him.

“For your information, one, I don't want to lose my blazer. And two, I always have at least one of my nails painted not because I think I'm cool doing it or because I love to break the rules. It’s part of a campaign that raises awareness of violence against children.”

Hongjoong raises both eyebrows, and he doesn't doubt that Hongjoong keeps talking because confusion evidently guides his face.

“Painting a nail serves to draw attention to the subject and start discussions about it, just as we are doing right now.”

He forms a line with his lips as he realizes that Hongjoong doesn't choose to paint his nails or change his uniform just to defy the established rules.

He knows that now, and he has no choice but to swallow his pride because he certainly hasn't expected that explanation.

“Ah.”

He hates the way the beginning of a smile decorates Hongjoong's face, but he doesn't comment because he really knows that he should swallow his pride for this occasion.

“What? Didn't you expect someone with money to have a good heart?”

Seonghwa rolls his eyes.

“I have money and a good heart.”

Just as he’s aware that he isn’t the wealthiest person among his new classmates, he knows that he’s probably not the best person in the world, but he likes to think that he has enough resources to live more than well and that he seeks to be a good person.

“Good,” Hongjoong says. “Now, tomorrow, we have to come here in the second period instead of the first one, right? I'll pick you up at your house and we'll come here together.”

Raising an eyebrow or rolling his eyes is what Seonghwa wants to do when Hongjoong expresses those words as an obviously accepted plan rather than as a question, but he knows that Hongjoong has given solid arguments as to why they should have a neutral relationship among them.

Everyone wins, even his mother.

Even his mother, Seonghwa repeats.

He neither shakes his head nor looks at him indignantly.

“Willing to see me longer than our classes demand, President?”

“That is what friends are for.”

“Don't you dare use that term to define this.” Seonghwa points between them. “Never again.”

“This?” Seonghwa regrets his words as soon as Hongjoong stops looking at his hand to look at him with one corner of his mouth turned up. “You don't want me to use the word friendship because you don't want me to define this as just friendship?”

Seonghwa thinks that he should get away from his arrogance.

“I don't understand you,” he decides to say, “You say words like that, but you get defensive if I mention the word date?” Hongjoong provokes him but he can't do it back? It sounds unfair. He notices the way Hongjoong turns serious. “Has someone broken your heart in the past but I deal with the consequences?”

“You're irritating me.”

“You approached me.”

“Don't make me regret it.” Hongjoong narrows his gaze.

Seonghwa looks at him, holding his gaze until he tilts his head because he has understood that they are both capable of spending several seconds —if not minutes— looking at each other.

“I accept your proposal only because my mother brings me here but she will come before.” he finally agrees to the aforementioned plan.

“I'm sure a driver could bring you.”

Knowing that Hongjoong is right and that he could easily ask his family's driver to take him to the university, he chooses to express, “Get out of my sight before I change my mind.”

Oddly but fortunately, Hongjoong pays attention to him after turning around to walk away, but not without giving him the beginning of an amused smile. Seonghwa follows him with his gaze, and lets out a breath of air.

He still doesn't understand how he has gone from deciding to ignore Hongjoong to accepting starting the day with him tomorrow. It's probably a joke, it has to be as otherwise, he doesn't understand the sudden change in Hongjoong's attitude.

He doesn't want any more surprises, at least not for that day, so he turns around, ready to go too.

Chapter 6

Notes:

thank you so much for 1000+ hits!!

if you see it says chapter 7 instead of 6 don't pay attention to that, there are 6 chapters in total so far

Once again Yeosang allows his gaze to be illuminated by the small flame he creates with his lighter —his eyes stay fixed on its soft orange color, and he swallows when he thinks he's just gotten used to carrying a lighter with him because of Wooyoung.

He promptly turns it off when his thumb begins to heat up while his thoughts grow cold, and his eyes feast on another kind of image.

In front of him, the city of Seoul unfolds. The lights don’t allow the darkness of the night to cover the entire landscape, but even so, though he can’t deny that it’s a beautiful sight, even more so for a bar, that city is still an unknown place, so he takes his gaze off of it before he starts thinking about his hometown.

Mingi suggested meeting at that bar that night. Utopia, it’s called.

The lights stay low while the tables inside are mostly occupied. He has chosen to sit outside as the fresh air is welcome. Even though it's cold and he’s sure the tip of his nose is pink, he prefers to lose himself in the fabric of his jacket.

He caught a glimpse of a bar with a wall of fancy-to-the-eye bottles when he crossed the doors, but the absence of any type of probably-fancy-to-the-eye glass on his table assures that he doesn’t plan to drink.

Mingi hasn't arrived yet, so he strikes a flame with his lighter again, wondering if his interactions with Mingi were nothing more than a hoax because enough time has passed to think Mingi’s late, but he still hasn't chosen to send him a text yet.

He doesn't mind having to wait, though. His motivation to go back to his house is almost nil since he doesn’t feel like talking to his mother or with Seonghwa. He blows the flame.

Mingi seemed a sincere person, so he wants to think that he’s running late instead of thinking that he has stood him up. However, as he turns his head because he hears the door slide and he finds a familiar face that doesn't belong to Mingi, he believes that his night has already been completely ruined.

“You're not Mingi.” he expresses the moment San gives himself the luxury of sitting on the other stool that belongs to the table where he is. “I don't want to see you, you don't want to see me, why do you want to waste our time?”

“I convinced Mingi that I wanted to come in his place to make peace.”

Yeosang narrows his eyes, putting the lighter in his pocket.

He’s not surprised to hear that Mingi continues to be honest, nor that he has been deceived by San because judging by the serious expression that San holds, he doesn’t doubt that his intentions are the opposite of what he just expressed. He lied to Mingi.

“But that's not why you're here, right? You are here to declare war.”

He keeps thinking about the question San asked him.

He doesn't understand why San wants to waste their time. Not being able to avoid seeing each other because they share the same classes is one thing, but San intentionally ruining his plans with someone else simply because he doesn't seem to have anything better to do with his time, rather than make him lose his own time, seems a bit exaggerated.

If he doesn't even want to see him between the walls that compose the campus, much less outside of it.

“It bothers me that you show up, looking and sounding annoyed when I've been here much longer than you. I'm not surprised that both Mingi and Yunho opened up to you because they're both good people, but I'm not like them, and I think it's unfair. It's unfair the way you carry yourself, it's unfair what your presence means to me, and it's unfair what Yunho has to do simply because your mother is the new director.”

Yeosang rests one elbow on the table as well as his chin on the palm of his hand. He tilts his head, more than amused as well as annoyed at the words he's had no choice but to hear.

San has meant for that conversation to take place, while the words that leave his mouth assure him that he’s not fond of his presence or the details that make up his personality. He thinks of the contrast between his actions and words as ironic.

“What could you possibly know about injustice?” San adds.

Yeosang believes that the answer he can give is so long and so detailed, that at that moment he is not able to do anything but let out a giggle. He could spend all night chatting about how unfair he thinks his life is, but the reality is that he doesn't feel like doing it, much less when the person next to him turns out to be San.

“Your father has gotten another job already, hasn't he?” He chooses to ask rather than answer his question, and the way San narrows his eyes instead of immediately starting to complain leads him to keep talking. “While your father continues to earn money with another job, I am here, having to talk to you. That seems unfair to me.”

“Let's add our parents to the equation then, let's all go out together to see who deals with the most unfair life.”

Yeosang believes that while he doesn't feel like leaving, at least he can lock himself in his room to ignore the rest of the world for a couple of hours. Being there leaves him with no choice but to talk with San, something he definitely doesn't want to do, so he decides to end that conversation as quickly as possible.

Not necessarily in the healthiest way.

“Of course, why not? Just for your organization, though, don’t take my dad into account. He died, so.”

Saying those words probably only ends up hurting him instead of bothering San. He’s the one who wakes up with what he senses is a lump in his throat, he’s the one who spends his days deciding if he wants to overthink or if he doesn't want to think at all, and he’s the one who goes to sleep with a lump still present in his throat.

Meanwhile, San only watches him with both eyes open, surprised.

He’s aware of the floral charm, once again present, around his blocked throat.

“Wait, I—”

“Fuck off.” he interrupts him. “I don't need nor want your stupid pity.”

He leaves without saying another word, and enters the indoor part of the bar ready to go back to his house, but the sudden presence of another familiar face causes his sadness to be replaced by irritation.

Feelings.

Lately, he has had a hard time differentiating sadness from anger. He doesn't know, he thinks maybe they're both parts of the same spectrum.

He doesn't hesitate to approach Yunho, present at one of the tables.

“Your boyfriend has stood me up.” Yunho raises his head as soon as he hears him and seems more than surprised by the words he intones as well as by his presence. “And if you're here as San's backup, then you suck just as much as he does.” he doesn't hesitate to express even though Yunho hasn't been anything but gentle and nice to him so far.

“No, no, I— what? I— I work here,” clumsily and quickly, Yunho articulates at the same time that he straightens up and points to himself. “I’m— I’m the owner,”

Yeosang narrows his eyes, but he tilts his head once he notices that certainly, unlike him, San, and the rest of the people present, Yunho is wearing an all-black outfit with the name of the place on a small plaque —oh, he's dyed his hair black.

Noticing that detail leads him to notice the other details that he has ignored so far after letting irritation guide him. Sprawled on the table there are highlighted notes.

“Mingi is not my boyfriend.” Yunho adds.

“Mingi and not Song?” Yunho widens his eyes. “I didn't even say his name. You just did.”

Seemingly realizing the reasoning behind his words and the mistake he just made, Yunho stiffens. Yeosang looks at him, trying to free his face from its seriousness because it isn’t his intention to make Yunho uncomfortable, and fortunately, Yunho points to the free chair in front of him to motion for him to take place.

He wants to leave, aware that San is present as well, away from him but present nonetheless, but the sudden urgency that guides Yunho's expression convinces him to sit.

Yunho opens his mouth but no words leave his lips. He forms a line with his mouth, and finally manages to articulate his clash of thoughts into words.

“Please don't tell anyone, please,” Yunho whispers.

He wants to think that no one of the people present around them is interested in the romantic life of the —owner of the place?— owner of the place, yes, Yunho expressed that position, but apparently, he was right, and if then he and Mingi are closer than they appear to be but they don't express it out loud, it's because Yunho feels compelled to speak in a low tone of voice.

“I know you've gotten along with Mingi right from the start, so I'm asking you to at least do it for him.” Yunho adds.

He quickly realizes that definitely, the closeness between Yunho and Mingi is a secret.

“Don’t worry, I won’t. I’m many things but a snitch is not one of them.”

Yunho brings a hand to his own chest, looking more than relieved, and lets out a silent breath. “Thank you,” he sounds extremely grateful to hear that his secret won’t be told, and Yeosang curls up one of the corners of his lips, feeling a bit guilty because it wasn't his idea to corner Yunho the way he did.

Yunho takes a look around, seeming to be confused, and promptly looks back at him.

“I didn't know that San was going to come here, much less... Mingi, but I assume that if you are in front of me after approaching me the way you did, that can only mean that San hasn’t come to... be nice to you. I’m sorry for him, he can be quite defensive.”

“Me too.”

Yeosang folds his arms before allowing his back to touch the back of the chair.

Now that his company has changed and luckily San has been replaced by Yunho, he no longer feels completely tense. His chest doesn’t represent strong oppression and he notices that his breathing has calmed down.

He looks around him, scans the details that make up the indoor part of the bar with his eyes, and again rests his eyes on Yunho. He assumes that Mingi has suggested that bar not exactly because he likes its location or the drinks menu.

“Is this why you fell asleep?” He asks him, realizing that perhaps Yunho fell asleep during his mother's talk not because he found it completely boring, but because he didn't have enough energy.

“Yeah, oh my g— I would never dare to fall asleep in front of the new director.” Yunho rubs his face with both hands, sounding and looking frustrated with himself. He rests an elbow on the table as well as his cheek against his palm. “I’m working a lot. Like I told you, I'm the owner of this place. In class, it doesn't happen to me because I'm focused, but I just couldn’t help it in your mom’s talk.”

“I don’t understand...” he doesn't really well how to phrase it, “I thought you had a... scholarship?”

He thinks he can't describe that bar as a simple place. It's big, it's well decorated, and the clothes of the people who are currently present only indicate that they have enough money to buy jewelry that is just as expensive as the brands they wear.

Financial support and the owner of a fabulous bar don’t seem to match.

“I... it’s a long story...” Yunho says before leaning back in his chair and pointing to the papers on the table with his hands. “A story that doesn’t matter because there's no way I’m going to be able to prepare for a bunch of exams on such short notice. I know myself and my limits, I simply can’t pull this off.”

Yeosang rests his gaze on the notes to certainly notice the mess they represent.

He still thinks that it’s an unfair situation, and although the plan that he has proposed is apparently not a total failure because Hongjoong has said that Seonghwa has accepted his proposal; he doesn’t consider fair the way Yunho’s future depends on other people.

There’s more to tell, of that he’s sure, but he believes that his mother is being unfair to Yunho. That’s probably the only thing he agrees on with San.

Yunho already seems stressed enough about his situation, and he has no doubt that he’s currently taking a break from his shift to study —well, now to talk to him, and he doesn’t know if the word shift is the right word since he turns out to be the owner.

He doesn't quite know how he can help with his scholarship, but he can at least try to reduce the strain on his shoulders.

"You were watching me today," he caught Yunho looking at him after Mingi mentioned wanting to go out with him that night. “I don't want to steal your man, you know,” he assures him.

Fortunately, a small yet warm smile lights up Yunho’s expression.

“It’s not what you think it was. And he’s not my man,” Yeosang really doubts that, “I was surprised to hear Mingi inviting you, that’s all. Not because he doesn't usually go out with other people at night, but... it's hard for him to make friends, and fit in with someone so quickly, much more than call someone a friend. That's why I looked at you, I was impressed that Mingi already considers you close,” he explains.

He keeps looking at Yunho because a small sincere smile is still present on his face. “I’m happy, I consider it a good thing, I just want to protect him. It shows that you are sincere, it’s difficult for him to make friends and trust people. Many approach him because of his family.”

Yeosang nods, understanding his words. Mini himself has told him so.

He can only think that if it's hard for him to trust people, it must be even worse for Mingi; and for that very reason, both have found it so easy to accept each other's presence.

“You don’t?” he chooses to ask Yunho.

Instead of looking offended, a light chuckle leaves Yunho’s lips.

“No,” he replies as he shakes his head, “He makes me laugh and is a good person. And if you're really nosy and do research on us, you'll really understand that his family is the last item on my list of why I would approach Mingi.”

Yeosang hums, thinking that perhaps there is nothing to look for because the answers to your doubts are on the surface.

“Thank you for trying to help me,” Yunho straightens up as he utters those words, “And for seeking to make me feel calm, you can also consider me your friend, you know,”

Yunho smiles, honest and warm, and Yeosang only feels capable of responding to said affectionate gesture with a smile of his own.

Just like Mingi, Yunho has also managed to make him smile. Not a haughty grin, much less a falsely drawn one, but a sincere gesture, without any kind of intention other than simply stretching the muscles of his face to show his brief moment of ease through a smile.

His night hasn't started in the best way and the circumstances that have led him to find himself talking to Yunho haven’t been the best, but he’s glad he approached him.

He still resents what Seoul represents to him and is still irritated with his mother for taking decisions without listening to him, but a part of him feels okay, feels at ease for meeting people who make him smile without effort. Both Mingi and Yunho should hate him, but they don't. They don't reduce his presence to his mother's decisions.

"I guess I can say the same about you," it's usually difficult for him to approach people. Trusting is not easy and his reserved personality doesn’t make it any easier.  

He’s aware of the changes that his attitude is still going through, constantly changing and trying to adapt. He wouldn’t know what words to use if asked to describe himself, but in a certain way, he feels that said confusion has allowed him to get closer to both Mingi and Yunho.

“At the end of the day I know you're not after me for my money, Mingi has more, clearly,” he adds, and Yunho laughs. He laughs too, and once again brings a hand to his mouth, still surprised by the way he’s capable of letting said sound leave his lips.

Yunho smiles at him but seems to notice that his break is about to come to an end as he looks at his watch —can't he decide how long his own recess lasts?— and starts gathering the notes.

“You know, you and San should get along,” Yunho’s words lead him to hold a neutral expression. “I don't know where you come from or how things were over there, but people see and hear things here. And they talk. Sitting here was not a coincidence, but it’s true that I can't see and hear everything. I didn't know that you or San was here after all.”

Yunho smiles again, but this time the gesture no longer looks like a genuinely happy smile.

“My staff told me that they have seen your mother chatting with San’s father. If they get along, you should too instead of fighting for them, don't you think?”

Yeosang controls the muscles that make up his face as soon as he understands the implications behind those words. He doesn't let surprise guide his expression, even if Yunho's sentences turn out to be information he never thought to hear. His mother has never mentioned knowing the previous director, let alone meeting him; and from what Yunho said, to chat in an apparently civil manner.

“I guess,” he tries his best to sound casual.

Yunho once again offers him a smile, genuine again, and gets up with the papers in hand. Yeosang gets up too.

“Look, if there's one thing I've learned, it's that sometimes... we don't have to be equal to our parents, you know, I mean, if they don't stand up for us all the time, we don't have to do it for them either,” Yunho says, and Yeosang thinks he really knows that, "I have to go back, but I’ll see you tomorrow. Thank you for being with me.”

Yeosang forms a line with his lips.

“I'm really sure my mom won't listen to me, but if I can manage to do something to improve your situation, I will,” he doesn't hesitate to tell him.

Maybe Yunho is at a confusing threshold where he's both a stranger and a friend, but Yunho has been nothing but nice to him while his own mother refuses to listen.

“Thank you Yeosang, good night.”

“Goodnight.”

He waves his hand to greet Yunho, and leaves the bar without sparing a glance over his shoulder to see if San has left while he’s been chatting with Yunho, or if he has taken advantage of the fact that he has left to appreciate the view of the bar.

Thinking of San reminds him that Yunho has mentioned the closeness between his mother and San's father, and he spends the drive home thinking about said detail.

He’s not surprised to see only a few lights on when he arrives at the house. Both his mother and Seonghwa usually choose to go to bed early and it's not exactly a decent time, so the brightness of his phone is the one to illuminate the definition of his facial features when he feels it buzzing in his pocket.

Hey Yeosang

Hongjoong here

Forgot to ask your brother for the address

Can you give it to me

He scans the words with his eyes, remembering that they have certainly devised a plan —commanded by him, nothing more, nothing less— to try to get help for Yunho through the closeness that Hongjoong could establish with Seonghwa.

He replies with the address without thinking too much, and although the light coming from a lamp happens to illuminate his face, he still gets startled when he hears his mother’s voice.

“You are here, and are in good condition from what I can see,”

Yeosang brings a hand to his chest after not having expected to find his mother, sitting in one of the chairs with a book that she currently leaves aside.

Automatically, since he has brought his hand to his chest, he slides his fingers up until they wrap around the flower charm.

“Why are you still awake?”

“Can't a mother stay awake until she is sure that her son has arrived home safe and sound?”

His mother offers him a smile, but Yeosang doesn’t reciprocate the gesture, and shakes his head instead.

Safe and sound.

Home.

Is he really safe and sound?

Is this really his home?

A part of him believes that he has been avoiding having long conversations with his mother not only because he wants to show his anger caused by the sudden move, but also because he’s not the only one that has changed since his father passed away. His mother has changed as well.

He bites his lower lip, not wanting to think. He feels tired.

“You can go to sleep now,” he suggests.

“How have you been?” His mother asks him despite his words, “I'm glad you seem to be making friends already. Not only is your brother meeting more people, but so are you.”

He wants to laugh and assure her that tomorrow Hongjoong will pick up Seonghwa because that's how they orchestrated it, but he hasn't drunk, and on the contrary, he has had conversations that turn out to be important to answer her question strategically.

“I spoke with one of the people who sat at the doors today,” he says, capturing his mother's attention since she raises both eyebrows. “San, the son of the person whose position you now occupy. He wants us to be okay.”

His mother smiles, but Yeosang knows better. He has learned to differentiate his mother's fake smiles as well as her genuine gestures. He doesn't need a specific light or pay too much attention to denote the falseness that accompanies his mother's current smile.

“I'm glad, you shouldn't let a job come between the two of you,”

“Have you met the other director, Mom?” he decides to ask with Yunho's words going around in his head. “I don't want to be friends with his son if he has done something to you.”

“Oh, dear.” His mother rests her hands on his cheeks and Yeosang forces himself to stay still. “His father and I are only connected by the position that he held and that I now hold. I don’t know the man, the Board has been in charge of the transfer. So don't worry about me, I'm glad you're making friends no matter who it is.”

The lack of honesty is no surprise. He swallows his frustration as the lies he hears contrasts with Yunho’s words, and nods, forcing a small smile.

He supposes he should feel grateful to his mother for teaching him how to fake a smile.

He observes, repeats, and imitates. Maybe Seonghwa isn’t the only one of the two who follows in their mother's steps.

“Well, now that I know you’re finally here, I'll go to sleep, and you have classes too so don’t stay too late.” Yeosang nods his head again, and watches his mother when she retreats to her room.

He doesn't like the words that have left San's mouth so far, without hesitation and showing that San thinks his life is perfect, but knowing that his mother is a liar and that she just lied to his own face leads him to remain serious.

Seonghwa refuses to see the truth with his own eyes while he doesn’t need to keep his fully open to denote the truth. He stops keeping his fingers around the flower charm and turns off the lights to pretend he's gone up to his room too.

He told Yunho that he will try his best to help him, so he heads to the kitchen, knowing that his mother often leaves his laptop there. Even if Hongjoong recently sent him a text asking for their address because have they inserted Seonghwa into the middle of the situation.

His brother is stubborn, his brother can be so stubborn, but so is he, and precisely for that reason he opens his mother's computer while leaving his phone next to it.

Password.

Well, with each passing second, he’s more certain that the classes he now has to take are nothing more than a waste of time. He has always been interested in programming, both the interesting side of it and the side that he considers interesting.

He’s aware of the small smile that appears on his face when he manages to unlock his mother's computer, and promptly begins searching for files that might give him some clue about Yunho's exams.

He believes that just as desperate times call for desperate measures, unfair times call for unfair measures.

He always seeks to have his phone with himself not only because— his smile disappears when he thinks about what he always keeps between his phone and its case. His phone also helps him because he has downloaded several applications and programs that often give him access to other devices.

If his mother wants to play dirty with Yunho, then they will play dirty with her. He takes a look at the kitchen door as soon as he finds a file bearing the name JY EXAMS, and looks back at the screen.

He opens the folder and snaps photos of the screen. Yunho has begged Hongjoong to approach Seonghwa for nothing, but he doesn't opt to send him a text assuring him that he doesn't have to go through with the plan anymore.

Those details leave his head as once he starts closing the tabs, his eyes remain fixed on another type of file.

Both consciously and unconsciously, he reaches his hand for his phone when his eyes scan his father's name. He doesn't wonder why his father's name appears, and he also doesn't wonder what kind of content might be in the folder. It's normal, he also has pictur—

A voice in the back of his head whispers that he should be fine by now, it's been a month after all, he should be fine, but if he removes the case from his phone it’s because he’s not okay.

He quickly closes the laptop and goes up the stairs to reach his room, and falls backward onto his bed. The color of the ceiling is boring, but what matters least to him is the monotonous detail of that part of his room when once again, all the events of that day weigh down on his body.

Standing up his mother after sitting down to block the main doors. Coming up with a plan that places Seonghwa at the center because he knows his mother listens to Seonghwa while his voice is not heard. Being forced to have to talk to San, even getting him to express the death of his father out loud. Listening to his mother's lies.

He reaches his free hand toward the flower pendant at the same time he forms a line with his lips. He continues to feel out of place in his own house.

Seonghwa doesn’t try to understand him and his mother lies to him.

He blinks. It's still an unfamiliar room, an unfamiliar house, and an unfamiliar city, and he no longer knows how much he thinks he knows his family and his family knows him.

He thinks he knows more than well the meaning of the word unfair. The burning sensation in his chest drives him to inhale a breath that fails to reach his lungs. He turns around in his bed and leaves his elbows on the mattress, promptly discarding his phone case.

He won't be able to fall asleep, he knows his head will just keep spinning unless he accepts a little extra help. This time he expects the bitter taste as he leaves the drug under his tongue, and the tears he feels appearing in the corners of his eyes once he hugs one of his pillows are no surprise either.

Unfair. His life is so unfair.

Notes:

i promise that the ones that have yet to appear won't take long to show up

Chapter 7

Notes:

one of my favorite chapters tbh

additional warning: alcohol

Yunho looks at the notes scattered across the bar and rests an elbow on it as well as his cheek against the palm of his hand, surrendered.

The absence of people around him as well as the lack of a constant murmur and a soft melody indicate that the night has already finished, that Utopia has closed its doors, and only he remains to go home.

He has lost himself in the pages that are still in front of him —underlined with different colors, small doodles near the corners, and arrows that point everywhere. 

Unfair is the only word he finds to describe the way he’s expected to study a complete semester in a matter of days.

He rubs one of his eyes, wondering if he should choose to go home to call it a night or if he should spend more time studying. Or a least keep trying to.

He's aware that tomorrow, well, in a few hours, he'll have to set more than one alarm to make sure he gets up. He doubts his brain will cooperate much longer.

The sudden buzz of his phone startles him.

He glances at the gold ring on his hand before accepting the call, and doesn't quite know how to feel when he brings the phone to his ear.

“Hi, mo—”

“My precious son!” He pulls the phone away when his mother's excited voice booms against his ear and makes him grimace, though he promptly brings the phone back to his ear and smiles. “How are you? Did you like what I sent you?”

He again rests his eyes on the ring at the mention of that question. Although his mother has sent him more gifts, that accessory turns out to be the one he likes the most. It makes him feel close to his mother.

“Of course, you know my tastes,” he replies, but he replaces the small smile on his face with a grimace when he thinks of Mingi. His mother definitely doesn't know all of his tastes.

Mingi also liked the ring, he wanted an identical one, actually, he adds inside his head. Focusing on her second question and not choosing to answer how he is isn’t a coincidence.

“Why don't you sound happy with my call? I miss you!” his mother retorts.

“I miss you too, and a lot, but I know you're busy, and if you call at this time it's because you have to tell me something important.”

From the last conversation they had, his mother is in Japan. It’s late for both of them, so he believes that he’s only speaking the truth. They don't talk as often because they are both busy.

He can't be blamed for expressing the words he says.

The sigh he hears on the other end of the line is evidence of his intuition.

“I guess you know me better than I think.” he forms a line with his lips, embracing himself for the next words his mother will say. If she leaves her enthusiastic personality aside, it means she will express words that won't lead him to smile. “I have bad news. Your dad and his lawyers just won.”

“Won what, exactly?” He would like to find himself at one of the tables to at least lean against the back of a chair, but the stool he’s currently sitting on only lets him drop his shoulder when hearing the word lawyers is not a surprise.

“He hasn't told you? That jerk. If he doesn't even tell you things and you live in the same house, imagine me,” hearing his mother describe his father with certain adjectives is no surprise either.

He has gotten used to the constant passive-aggressive speech from both of them.

“You know how stubborn he is.” his mother continues, “He has started a legal battle with me over Utopia, and in some way that I still don't understand how he has accomplished, he now holds fifty-five percent of the actions over Utopia.”

He straightens up in his spot as soon as he hears the name of the bar.

“What.”

He knows that his parents are constantly fighting, pitting their respective legal entourages against each other because with great fortunes come great fights, but he hasn't expected to hear the name of the bar that has always, from its birth to the present, been associated solely with his mother.

“He said that I'm away so I don't have control over anything, that you can't work and study, and that me leaving the bar to you was just to spite him.”

He frowns as soon as he hears the reasons his mother lists, thinking one makes less sense than the last.

Both his mother and father breathe to spite the other, and he finds himself in the middle once again.

“A lot of people work and study,” resigned, he says.

“But not a lot of people study where you study and manage Utopia,” well, that's true. But it still shouldn't be reason enough for his father to win.

“Sorry, mom,” he can't help but say.

His mother leaving Utopia under his charge was supposed to be a solution instead of a problem.

He doesn't want to disappoint his mother, but he has forgotten that just as he plans to give, and is giving, his all, his father is just as energetic when it comes to going against his mother.

“Don't say sorry, I'm the one who's sorry because he's doing this just to spite me. Just play nice and stay low in the meantime, okay? Trust me, this doesn't end here.”

“Okay,” he supposes he's not capable of getting completely mad at his father when he doesn't speak the truth either.

“I'll call you if I have any more news. And I'm aware that you haven't told me how you are, huh, but it's already late so we'll talk next time.” He grimaces, realizing that his mother being on the other side of the line doesn't take away that his mother still is, in fact, his mother. “I love you.”

“I love you.”

The melancholy that embraces him because his mother is not around only decorates his thoughts for a few seconds, since as soon as he ends the call, he allows a frustrated groan to leave his lips.

He massages his temples with the tips of his fingers and again sighs heavily.

“What an honor to know that my presence causes such a reaction.”

Suddenly startled, he brings a hand to his heart as he realizes he's not alone, and his eyes widen when he turns his head to find Mingi.

Mingi walking through the doors of Utopia is definitely not playing nice and staying low. Much less when he’s wearing— he soon stops focusing on the pink fur jacket with red hearts that hugs his upper body as he slides his eyes to his hair.

He sits up and all tiredness leaves his gaze as he sees Mingi getting close, sporting freshly dyed dark blue locks.

He's aware that he has given him a pair of keys not only in case of an emergency, but also because more than once they have met in Utopia to hide from others.

“You have done quite the changes to the place.” Mingi adds.

But the only thing he can think about is that it's late. He usually tells Mingi when he's allowed to come to Utopia, and although he's tired, he knows, he's completely sure, that he hasn't sent him a text asking for his company.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he doesn't hesitate to ask him.

He frowns, both confused and puzzled when Mingi simply raises his index finger instead of answering. He chases him with his eyes when he sees Mingi open one of the whiskey bottles and pours himself a glass before approaching him.

“You will have to pay for that, this is my place.” he says, knowing he doesn’t really care.

Mingi grabs one of the bar stools, walks around the side of it, and pulls the stool next to him to sit.

He takes advantage of the sudden closeness to observe the way in which Mingi has completely replaced his previous color with a dark blue tint —perhaps black with a simple glance, but bluish under the indicated lights and an assured closeness.

“It suits you, that's for sure.” Those are the words that could have left his mouth, but it's the compliment he hears Mingi express before taking a sip from his glass.

He simply pushes back a black lock that has fallen on his forehead.

“I told you, I don't need your approval,” he says.

“And I told you so,” He momentarily looks down at the amused smile Mingi holds, “You want it.”

“You haven't told Hongjoong that he's copied your hair color,” he chooses to express, hoping that said reddish tint won’t appear to decorate his cheeks.

“I like to provoke you,” Mingi proves the veracity of his words after bringing his face closer to his, and even though he doesn't move, he again lowers his gaze to Mingi's lips. “You just changed your hair to spite me. Don't you realize how much power I have over you?”

He doesn't quite know why he has chosen to replace his red highlights with a completely black hue. Perhaps because he doesn't want to think about being called a grapefruit again, or to take away the opportunity for Mingi to express that he has copied his color, he doesn’t really know.

But he does know that just as he usually lowers his eyes to Mingi's mouth when Mingi seeks to invade his personal space, at that moment Mingi is the one who slides his eyes to his lips when he leans towards him.

“Don't you realize how mutual it is?” He asks him, “So worked up over my hair color?”

Mingi forces millimeters of distance between them after drinking from his glass. His gaze follows the way the whiskey seems to travel down his throat, his Adam’s apple going down and up.

He looks up at him again because Mingi is drinking Utopia's alcohol.

“What are you doing here?” he repeats. This time, more serious.

He doubts that Mingi chose to appear solely to show off his new color.

“Meeting with Yeosang.” Mingi responds with total naturalness, as if his presence at that moment was nothing more than a particular detail. He lowers his eyes to the watch that decorates one of his wrists. “Oh, look at the time. I’m late.” 

Yunho allows a puzzled, wry little laugh to leave his lips as Mingi looks up and offers him a smile that says anything but innocence.

It’s evident that Mingi has crossed the doors of the bar knowing that he wouldn’t meet Yeosang. Utopia's parking lot is empty. Except for his car, and now Mingi’s too.

He has previously heard Mingi ask Yeosang out, but that night his eyes traced Yeosang's facial features. And although he hasn't seen San, he knows that he's been present as well.

Remembering the words he has exchanged with Yeosang leads him to remain serious, and he decides not to kick Mingi out right then and there so he listens carefully.

“I don't need to hear your opinion on my business but you will hear mine on yours.”

“That sounds totally fair.” The sarcasm is evident in Mingi's words.

It’s true that he has made several changes to Utopia.

Taking advantage of the view of the lake that the property has, he's made sure to extend the bar so that people can enjoy an outdoor environment.

He has added new paintings —with Hongjoong's help, he knows he can always count on him when it comes to art, and changed the color of the lights to a warm hue.

But while Mingi pays attention to the place, he remains attentive to the people who attend it.

Businesses not only involve buildings, contracts, lights, and decorations, but also people.

“I'm happy about your friendship with Yeosang, but—”

“Aw, jealousy doesn't look good on you, Jeong,” Yunho allows a sigh to leave his lips as Mingi cuts him off and takes a sip of the whiskey. “That shirt, though, it does.”

He looks down at his own body upon hearing Mingi's words. He doesn't think there's anything special about the black shirt he's chosen to wear, so he stops looking at himself to cast his eyes on Mingi.

He supposes that he can express the same words because his gaze admires the way the pink jacket Mingi wears hugs his torso. It highlights the width of his shoulders, the thickness of his arms, and the inches of his waist.

He shakes his head as he realizes he's been distracted, and luckily —or unfortunately— Mingi keeps talking instead of expressing any comment about whether or not he's realized he's been taking the time to take him in his gaze.

“Back to the point, don't be jealous,” Yunho doubts that Mingi touching his knee with his is a neutral decision. “You're still my favorite person,” Mingi winks at him.

The word favorite sounds nice.

“Jealous? Me? Of you?” He offers, “Only when you get paid more than me.”

“I get pa—” This time, he breaks Mingi's interruption by laying his hand over his mouth.

“Let me finish.” He thinks the last thing he needs to hear is how, certainly, Mingi makes more money than him because they may be in the same industry, but his last name always gives Mingi the lead. “I'm happy about your friendship with Yeosang, but be careful. He's very observant.”

Instead of trying to interrupt him with the mention of another amusing comment again, Mingi remains serious.

He allows Mingi to wrap his hand around his wrist to get him to stop keeping his mouth under his hand, and he doesn't withdraw his hand when Mingi uses the contact to catch his hand with his and leave them on his lap.

“Do I want to know why or how you have reached that conclusion?”

Remembering the words that Yeosang has expressed, Yunho wishes he had been more strategic and stopped holding Mingi's hand so as not to be able to feel his tension should he react, but it's too late to take his hand off.

And besides, they're not used to holding hands, so a part of him doesn't want to break free of Mingi's grasp either, much less when Mingi gives him a little caress with his thumb.

“He called you my boyfriend,” he replies. And my man, he thinks.

He doesn't know how he expected Mingi to react to the mention of that term. 

Between them there haven’t been, there are no —and he hopes there won’t be— conversations about what that set of letters implies.

Mingi stops his caress upon hearing him, but his shoulders don’t remain rigid and his facial features don’t harden. Mingi stares at him, but his eyes fall on the smile Mingi holds.

“What an honor.” he doesn't know if he's exasperated or not with the constant trail of amusement that seems to follow Mingi's words. “And what did you tell him?”

“I didn't correct him if that's what you want or expect to hear.”

He has technically denied that Mingi is his boyfriend, but that automatic reaction has only ended up playing against him because Yeosang has never expressed Mingi's name.

He doesn't want to think what it means that his instinct has assimilated that term with Mingi, and that he has also said Mingi's name instead of his last name.

Maybe it makes sense, maybe it's normal since Mingi is the person he kisses and Mingi’s name is the one that leaves his lips when his head is cloudy and his body awake.

But the pronunciation of that word doesn’t bring a smile to his face.

“It was easier to ask him not to say anything.”

He’s aware that a simple change is enough to visualize the true intention behind his constant exchange of words with Mingi, but his head has always shown him images of people he knows realizing his closeness with Mingi, not a person who has only just begun to be a part of their lives.

“I trust him. Besides, the director's son or not, he's still new. No one will believe him if he opens his mouth.” he adds.

He thinks that he would have allowed complete panic to take over his face in case another person approached him to purposefully express that Mingi is his boyfriend, but he thinks he's right.

There are privileges of all kinds. Money, fame, contacts. Having been there before is part of the list as well.

Although he doubts that Yeosang will open his mouth because he doesn't seem like the kind of person who chooses to waste his time meddling in other people's business, he knows that he has the advantage if he needs to go against his words. 

While Yeosang has been perceptive enough to realize the truth of the situation, the others are used to his constant clashes with Mingi and see them as nothing more than genuine confrontations due to their rivalry.

“I went over his Instagram, though,” he admits.

“You did what?”

“He knows about us, Mingi.” he looks at him seriously. He shouldn't be saying those words. “And we know nothing about him.” No one should know about them. “He hasn't posted in quite some time, but take a look at this.”

He seeks to stay focused on the screen of his phone when Mingi brings his face closer to his to also see his phone, and promptly shows him one of the photos that have caught his eye when he has scrolled through Yeosang’s profile.

“What?”

He doesn't hesitate to give Mingi an exasperated look when Mingi doesn't seem to understand why he's showing him what he's showing him, and he wiggles his phone before looking at it for Mingi to pay attention.

“You don't know who that is?” He doesn’t rest his eyes on Yeosang, but on the other person present in the photo. He’s smiling brightly, keeping close to Yeosang, just like in many of the other pictures he has seen before. “Jung Wooyoung.”

This time he does keep his eyes on Mingi.

“Jung.” that last name leaves Mingi's lips. “As in J—”

“Jung. Yes.” Mingi returns his gaze and he locks his phone. Taking the glass out of Mingi’s hands sounds tempting because that last name shouldn't leave his lips either. “What if he finds out?”

Mingi shakes his head and promptly replaces his seriousness with neutrality.

“He's not even here, I'm sure he doesn't care,” Mingi wrinkles his nose, and he knows that with that gesture Mingi seeks to downplay the matter. “You are paranoid.”

“Glad to know I'm the only one worried about this,” he doesn't hesitate to express at the same time that he lets go of his hand.

He knows that there are few, if not scarce opportunities for him to intertwine Mingi's fingers with his, while there are many opportunities for him to show his stubbornness.

“This?” He holds Mingi's gaze as Mingi narrows his eyes at him. “You said it yourself. No one would believe him. He's too busy fighting with his brother. He won't snitch on us.”

“As you say,” Disinterested, he runs his face away from him.

But a second is all he gets because soon enough his eyes meet Mingi’s again. This time because Mingi doesn't allow him to cut the visual contact after catching his chin between his fingers.

He's angry. Mingi is angry and he knows it not only because he thinks he might have to push a bit to try and run from his touch, but also because Mingi is staring at him. His face isn’t being guided by a neutral expression, but by pure seriousness.

“All the shit you're saying isn't funny to me.” Mingi expresses, staring at him. His deep tone of voice indicates that indeed, as he's guessed, Mingi is upset. “You hurt me. And it hurts me, a lot, when you say you're the only one who cares about this.”

He doesn't pull away when Mingi stops keeping his chin between his fingers to slide his hand to the back of his neck. His touch has softened but he still stares at him because Mingi doesn't want to let go, and he doesn't want Mingi to let go of him either.

“My car is the one parked here, I am the one who went through those doors.”

He doesn't stop looking at Mingi in the same way that Mingi doesn't turn his face even though he points to the main doors with the glass still present in hand. 

“I expose myself because as you said this is your place. So don't you dare say I don't care about this.”

Yunho is only able to wonder how he's supposed to play nice and stay low when Mingi declares, with his mouth about to graze his and with one of his hands on his body, that whatever this is between them, is important enough to feel helpless.

“You irritate me,” are the only words he offers.

His chest rises and falls, slowly. Sometimes his breathing is fast and erratic when Mingi is next to him, while other times he only feels able to take a deep breath.

“It's mutual,” Mingi assures him, planting a kiss on the corner of his mouth.

He feels his skin tingle, and Mingi is the one to finally pull away even if he keeps talking.

“Son of a minister. Influencer heir. Future of the country. Head of the night of the—”

“Now, now—”

“But Jeong Yunho's boyfriend does have a nice ring to it.”

He doesn't hesitate to roll his eyes when Mingi flashes a satisfying smile. He assumes that Mingi will never cease to amaze him.

“Of course, just another title for you. Don't forget to add it to your resume.”

He gently releases his nape from Mingi's grip, opting to stop facing him with his body to straighten up and pretend to be interested in the pages scattered in front of him.

He has never understood why most people expect their respective crushes to deliver one of the long-awaited, long-desired questions.

He doesn’t understand the need for a term to categorize a relationship when the same only leads to holding expectations, and therefore getting disappointed when they are not fulfilled.

He’s aware that the bad communication between his parents as well as their failed marriage is what probably leads him to think that way; but rooted in his parents' messy divorce or not, he doesn't mind the absence of a categorization.

He pretends not to notice the way Mingi pulls his stool even closer to him.

“Do you want me to?” he feels Mingi's fingers slide across his scalp, not to smooth freshly dyed strands behind his ear, but simply to caress. “Be your boyfriend, that is.”

He doesn't move away from the contact but he doesn't lean into it either.

“Can we even afford to be boyfriends?” he asks instead of answering.

He sometimes feels lost when he has conversations with Mingi, but he doesn't place all the blame on Mingi's shoulders. They are used to pretending, to act when they are surrounded by people while other times they simply allow themselves to be carried away when they are alone.

However, it’s easy to blur the borders and honesty can be mistaken for fakeness. Sincerity is hard to find, and unraveling Mingi's true intentions becomes difficult. With irony, with sarcasm, they are used to being ironic. Being honest is impossible sometimes.

“Between your money and mine, I'm pretty sure we could— we can build an empire. The night will belong to us.”

Mingi’s so serious, and yet, the choice of words doesn't match the determination in his tone of voice.

It's true, if their families were friends with each other instead of rivals, they could probably establish, without hesitation and without doubt, that the night belongs to them.

But it’s also true that even empires are possible to destroy.

“You forgot to add emperor before, head of the night of the city,” he says wryly.

“You are the heart,” Mingi assures him.

As soon as he thinks of shaking his head, Yunho stops himself from thinking of those words spoken. The gentleness that accompanies the movements of Mingi's fingers over his locks counteracts the determination of his words.

Mingi considers himself the head of the night because he has been trained to think, to relate ideas that later become reality, to understand his surroundings, and to be able to make the most of it.

Mingi is smart and capable, and not just academically speaking, Yunho knows, no matter how playful his personality is and how many bruises his body bears from still not understanding his own height.

Meanwhile, he’s called the heart of the night. Pure passion is what has led his mother to seek to raise the business in front of a powerful family with an already established reputation.

While Mingi has inherited orders and numbered folders, he carries with him a sense of determination that won't let him sit still. The love he feels for Utopia is the detail that motivates him not to give up.

Maybe he was meant to be Mingi's rival. After all, they always say that the worst fights are between the head and the heart, right?

He still doesn't bow to Mingi's touch, but he stops pretending to be interested in the photocopies still spread out in front of him, and turns his head to look at him.

“You know what I meant.”

They can afford to wear clothing from renowned brands and decorate their hands with rings, their ears with earrings, their necks with necklaces, and their wrists with bracelets and watches of the most brilliant materials.

The tastiest wines have traveled down their throats, the most exquisite meals have found their palates, and a bottle of champagne is a standard detail instead of a peculiarity.

But the emotional part?

Getting absolutely everything is not possible, right? Not even with money.

He knows that Mingi thinks the same kind of response as him because he doesn't nod his head, he doesn't keep a wry smile on his face, and he doesn't seek to express words loaded with sarcasm to lighten the atmosphere.

Just as he can't afford to lend his sunglasses to Mingi, Mingi isn't allowed to play with the rings that decorate his fingers —much less with the one that his mother has given him.

“Well, in the meantime, can I afford a kiss with the owner of this place?” Mingi asks, and this time, a slight smile does decorate his face. “I'll pay with another kiss.”

Hearing the word owner hurts him, but Mingi doesn't need to know that now Utopia has fallen in the eternal battle of his parents, so he complies, and manages to form a small, mischievous smile with his lips.

He takes advantage of the fact that Mingi is sitting next to him to rest his hand between his legs, near the edge of the stool but near his crotch. He parts his lips, opting to laugh when Mingi's hand slides to the back of his neck.

“San came here but you were supposed to come.”

The smile fades from his face and Mingi looks at him with a frown as well as a slight pout when he doesn't follow his words and as such he doesn't kiss him.

“What were you thinking? Coming to my territory? You were just going to walk in when with luck we don't have a poster with your face to throw darts at in the back?”

Once again Mingi holds a smile and brings both hands behind his neck instead of frowning. Yunho doesn't kiss him, but Mingi doesn't let him pull apart either.

He holds his gaze when he doesn't doubt that Mingi chooses to approach the edge of the stool on purpose, the tips of his fingers now brushing the fabric of his jeans.

“But I didn't come, at least not before, so, you can't say anything,” Mingi feigns innocence with his words. “And I give you customers.”

“I don't need your help.”

Mingi caresses the back of his neck and draws his best smile. “It's charity.”

“Fuck you.”

He smacks Mingi's arm and sits up to get away from him.

He gets up so that Mingi doesn't try to rest his hands on the back of his neck again, and pretends to be interested in gathering the papers now present in his hands to prevent his hands from finding Mingi's body.

However, those details don't stop Mingi from getting up and wrapping his arms around his waist.

“I'm not opposed to it,” he listens.

He glances at him and allows a sigh to leave his lips.

Mingi watches him with a smile, small in size but still amused, and he sets the papers on the bar, next to the glass that Mingi has left.

He turns his body towards him, accepting the space Mingi creates between his legs for him to slide one of his legs.

He wraps his arms around Mingi's neck, and stares at him as he strokes the start of his now blue locks near his nape.

Mingi barely tilts his head back, the sincere smile that decorates his face ensuring that his touch is welcome. He allows himself to revel in the honesty of his smiling face, until he takes advantage of the fingers he’s left between his locks to gently tug on them and make Mingi look at him.

“Your plan, or whatever you tried, didn't work.” he assures him. “San and Yeosang argued, so I ended up talking to Yeosang. He came to me, determined and angry, telling me that you planned everything.”

“Oh no, no, no, and no. Of course not.”

Although he doesn't allow a smile to caress his face, he’s aware of the way Mingi tightens his grip around his waist, probably to keep him from moving away at the mention of those words —though he didn't plan to do it.

“San told me that he wanted to apologize to Yeosang, so I told him that he could come instead of me. I didn't think he would lie to me or argue with Yeosang.” Mingi adds.

He assumes that the words San exchanged with Yeosang must have been enough to decide not even to greet him with one of his hands.

“Well, neither of them left happy.”

“Why can't they get along?” Mingi asks.

“I understand, it's his dad's job,” he doesn't believe that the solution is taking the problem outside of the campus, but he understands San's position.

If he's dealing with the changes and he even isn’t the son of the previous director, he can only imagine how frustrated and irritated San must feel.

“Didn't we use to fight for that just like that?” he asks.

His relationship with Mingi hasn’t been peaceful —it probably will never be.

They might be able to currently be face to face, one in the other's arms, and without needing to shout for the other to pretend to listen, and yet, the last names of their respective families continue to haunt them.

Today’s sarcasm used to be pure irritation, but they have shown each other that in the same way that they are capable of insulting each other without hesitation, they can also seal their lips without thinking twice.

“But we saw beyond the differences between our families, and now here we are,” Mingi expresses, “Dearest and beloved Utopia. So why do you ask me what I was planning to do by coming here? This is your territory, so?”

Yunho narrows his eyes.

“Do you want to cross me?”

They haven't agreed on what they can and can't do, and what's allowed and what's not since they've opted to replace actual insults with small moments of closeness.

It’s always been a silent pact.

They talk about their respective businesses but they don't argue, one has the key to the other's business, but they don't enter freely, when they feel like it —at least not him. Mingi does, apparently.

Seoul is imaginarily divided so that both have the possibility of dealing with their respective places, but those limits are often threatened.

Mingi shrugs.

“I'm just checking out the competition.”

Subtlety doesn’t accompany the look that Mingi chooses to give him at that moment. He traces his figure with his eyes while his arms make sure to keep him close.

He's used to being the focus of Mingi's attention, the target of his constant stares, when they're alone as well as when they're not. He doesn't feel his cheeks burn at his bold show of interest. He feels powerful, but also irritated.

He sometimes wonders if he wants to kiss Mingi or give him a light slap to erase the vanity from the grin present on his face.

“Should we flirt with other people to throw us off the hook?” Mingi asks, “Maybe I could be the one to approach Seonghwa in the end.”

“Are you trying to provoke me?”

“You know what I think is interesting?” Mingi continues to press, “You made Hongjoong agree. Why? You didn't want me to get close to Seonghwa? Does it bother you to think about that possibility?”

“Thinking about you bothers me,” he whispers over his lips.

“I'm always trying to provoke you,” Mingi assures him with a smile, without paying attention to his words and answering his previous question.

He stops keeping his hands on the back of Mingi’s neck to slide them to his shoulders. 

Either with previously true insults that seek to obtain the same type of aggressive vocabulary and raised tone of voice in return. Or with flirtatious words accompanied by an entertaining smile that equally seeks to irritate him; Mingi provokes him.

And no, at no time has he thought of getting upset by the mere idea of Mingi getting close to Seonghwa. The insecurities that haunt him aren’t rooted in jealousy or envy.

“You do you,” he tells him, giving him a light pat on one of his shoulders. “I don't have time to flirt with other people. And besides, it would be obvious.”

He believes that there’s no point in changing the way they behave when the other is around just because Yeosang has come to realize that they seek to be close instead of far away.

It would be a waste of time, and he has already gotten used to their dynamics. Or well, at least that's what he wants to believe.

“I'd rather do you.”

“You are trying to provoke me,” he doesn't ask this time, he knows.

He slides one of his hands towards Mingi’s lower back to bring him closer, to press his body against his. The new lights of the place bring out the definition of Mingi's facial features as well as the bluish color of his locks.

“Is it working?” Mingi whispers against his lips.

He’s aware that he could choose to shake his head or roll his eyes because Mingi often pushes his patience on purpose.

He's tired, and he doesn't understand how Mingi hasn't commented on the dark circles under his eyes, but he has the right to be distracted.

He doesn't offer a negative answer, and he prefers to demonstrate it rather than express it in words.

He catches Mingi's lips with his, knowing that this time, he doesn't have to worry about the sound of a bell signaling the end of a moment or the murmur created by the rest of the students.

His fingers dig into the soft fabric of Mingi's jacket before he wraps his arms around his neck again. His body is aware of Mingi’s hands and he longer needs to wet his lips with whiskey because Mingi takes care of reminding him of its bitter taste.

“It is,” he assures him before kissing him again.

Perhaps genuine disgust has begun to force him to focus on Mingi no matter how much he refused at first, wondering why Mingi's image pops into his head when he shouldn't be wasting his time thinking about him.

Reacting to Mingi is still an instinct, but now his body doesn't respond by staying rigid, preparing to let the sarcasm leave his lips, but by relaxing in Mingi's arms, letting a sound of satisfaction rise from the back of his throat.

And his change is reciprocated when Mingi takes a few seconds to open his eyes once they part, and the beginning of a smile free of all entertainment takes over his face.

Mingi can carry himself with irony, he can use it for the sole purpose of provoking him, but he also allows himself to be vulnerable when they are completely alone. 

They become fragile with the person they should never let them see them as weak.

“Boyfriend does sound nice,” Mingi says, softly and still smiling.

He doesn’t doubt that Mingi pronounces those words with a somewhat low tone of voice, not because he must measure his words before presences that are currently absent, but because the shared closeness clouds his senses.

He wants to hold a smile, proud of the effect he has on Mingi, but he stares at him.

“Don't call me that.” he states.

He hasn’t corrected Yeosang a second time because seeking to deny the idea at all costs would have been a waste of time, and avoiding talking about the same thing with people around him has been a smart choice.

"Fuck buddy?"

“Say that one more time and you will see what happens next.”

He doesn't pursue his lips when Mingi chooses to steal a kiss despite the stern tone of voice he has used to deliver those words, but he doesn't choose to back away when Mingi stops keeping his hands on his waist to rest them on his cheeks.

“Scary,” Mingi says smiling, “Puppy, then.”

Fortunately, Mingi doesn't insist on pronouncing the word that certainly manages to tense him although his body doesn't show it, but he narrows his eyes when he hears him.

Again an amused smile is found on Mingi's face, and this time, he does shake his head.

“We have to get up early tomorrow,” he chooses to say.

Perhaps they are not wearing their respective uniforms and they are not hiding in some corner of the university, but it’s already late, and in a few hours they have to get up to cover their bodies with the same colors.

Mingi groans. “Because we are not only heirs but also students.”

Just as they share a love for the industry they are a part of, they share a reluctance towards the university they are a part of.

Now that Mingi's lips aren't on his, he slides his eyes to the papers still strewn on the bar, and though Mingi still keeps his arms around his waist, he chooses to turn away to get frustrated with the various titles his eyes scan.

“I've been thinking,” he says.

“In me?” Mingi doesn't hesitate to ask him.

“Keep dreaming.”

“You've been thinking, it sounds dangerous.”

Yunho allows a small chuckle to leave his lips as he momentarily turns around to pat Mingi’s chest gently, but soon his eyes fall back on the various colors he has used to highlight the most important ideas of the papers present.

“Why am I even still studying there?” he asks, exposing the doubts that have been haunting him throughout the day. “I worry so much, and for what? What if throwing myself under the bus for you was a sign of, I don't know, something?” He turns his head towards Mingi.

The recently exchanged words with his mother only lead him to keep talking.

“A new director who suspects me no matter what, and I'm already running the business well without the education I lack. Will I really endure another two years like this?”

He knows that well is an understatement.

His mother's business hasn’t faltered in his hands. At least not yet.

Perhaps his mother has been the person who has dared to push her own business with Mingi's family already established, but he’s the person his mother has trusted —and continues to trust— to run the bar.

While his mother doesn’t doubt him, his reliability is questioned within the walls of the university. His father is looking to break with both his mother and him, and perhaps he’s not getting the best results at the moment, but his development throughout the summer has shown what he’s capable of.

Mingi leaves a kiss on his shoulder, this time offering him a touch on his waist to give him comfort. He’s not surprised that Mingi detects the concern, or rather the surrender, in his tone of voice.

He has felt —and continues to feel— tired ever since Yeosang's mother called him into her office —San's father's former office— to warn him of the upcoming full exams. 

Perhaps Mingi manages to distract him, but it doesn't make the situation he suddenly finds himself in go away.

“Hey, you don't know if Yeosang's mother will even be here next semester, you've seen how fast they seem to change directors.”

“I will have to deal with the same situation again,” he’s only able to think in a constant loop where he’s asked, over and over again, to show what he’s capable of. But he doesn't consider having the ability to demonstrate his efforts with so little time to prepare. “I'm just wondering if it's worth it.”

He can't fully focus on the bar because he has to study, and he can't spend hours studying because he has to stay focused on the bar.

It’s a matter of priorities, and he believes that if he has to choose, he won’t hesitate to keep on opening the doors of Utopia to continue his mother's legacy.

“It's worth it.” He looks at Mingi when Mingi says those words. “Because I'm not dropping out, and I know it would kill you to know that I got my degree while you didn't, so you're not dropping out.”

Yunho touches one of the corners of his mouth with his tongue.

“I hate that you're right,” he says instead of wasting time trying to contradict him.

His ego would chafe at the thought of Mingi waving at him, grinning as he picks up his degree, and he just watches from the stands.

“Plus my dad would jump at the opportunity to get me into med school, and that’s definitely the last thing I need in my life right now.” he adds.

He rubs his face with both hands, feeling frustrated.

While part of him wants to throw all the papers in front of him in the air, freeing himself from having to wear the same uniform every day of the week to establish that he doesn't care what his college record holds, another part of him is only able to think of the changes that freeing his impulses would imply.

His mother probably wouldn't get mad —who knows, she would assure him that he's welcome to study in Japan, probably, while his father wouldn't hesitate to accept his dismissal to try— rather force him and not so subtly— to convince him to study medicine.

He doesn't want to follow in his father's footsteps, but he doesn't like his own to be questioned either.

He simply knows that his father has brought Utopia to the matter because his ego must be hurt after he agreed to run the bar built by his mother.

“We can study anatomy if you want,” Mingi suggests, and he watches him wink at him. He shakes his head, and Mingi again rests a kiss on his shoulder. “Don’t leave. Don't let her win.”

“It's complicated.”

Play nice. Stay low.

He extends his hand to look at the ring that his mother has given him.

“What isn't?” Mingi asks.

He certainly thinks, what isn't complicated? Even though Mingi is currently at his side with his arms around his figure, they too can be described with the same aim.

Complicated.

His relationship with Mingi can appear to be simple, both to others and to themselves. While for the others the clash between them is nothing more than a simple rivalry, and they think they are having fun, screwing around, and sporadically stealing kisses and glances, they are aware that the word complicated haunts them. They are not the exception to the rule.

His family is complicated, he is complicated.

Luckily Mingi isn't reluctant to let go of him when he chooses to gently pull away.

He knows why the word boyfriend bothers him. Sometimes even a term that seems to add simplicity to a relationship only ends up complicating it.

“I said your name, Mingi,” he admits quietly.

He looks down and ducks his head, feeling both sure and confused by the feeling of shame that embraces him.

Although Yeosang has promised not to say anything, and even remembers that Yeosang was the one to remove Mingi from the plan involving Seonghwa, he continues to feel uneasy.

It's his mistake.

He just made things even more complicated.

He agrees to look up when Mingi raises his head by leaving the base of his index finger under his chin.

“Because that's all you say,” Mingi doesn't blame him for saying his name out loud.

He doesn't seem to be saddened by the fact that voicing each other's name shouldn't amount to an unfortunate slip. No, Mingi smiles, haughty as always.

“You are obsessed with me,” he adds.

“And why do you sound so smug about it?”

“I love knowing that you can't stop thinking about me,” he swallows when Mingi brings his lips closer to one of his ears to whisper. “Because I can't stop thinking about you either.”

Mingi doesn't demand more details about why he has said his name nor does he ask him to explain the whole situation. He just knows that Yeosang has assumed that they are boyfriends and that he has allowed his name to leave his lips.

And for Mingi, that's enough to provoke him.

He forces himself to inhale a breath and rests his hands on Mingi's chest to gently push him away.

He really wants to continue being with Mingi, but it's late, and he knows that unless he puts a stop to it, one kiss will lead to one touch, and one touch will lead to another, and he can't afford to fall asleep again, not even in class.

“We have to get up early tomorrow, so go on, okay? Rest,” he suggests.

“What about you?”

“I’ll close and go.”

“I can go with you,” Mingi offers.

Although he thinks about turning off the lights in the bar and going through the doors with Mingi keeping his hand warm in his, or rather just side by side because they are not used to holding each other's hand when they are no longer in a place they consider private —and safe, he shakes his head.

“It's already too much that you're here, Mingi.”

He appreciates the sudden company that Mingi has chosen to offer him, but Mingi has to make his car stop being the only one besides his to be parked.

He believes that Mingi has been brazen and that while they always have the opportunity to say we're doing business as an excuse, he doesn't think they should rely on it too much.

They hide, and for more than one reason.

Now, much more that he has to play nice and stay low. He doesn’t want to put Utopia or Mingi at risk. He’s already doing it, and too much.

“Go home.”

“Home.” It pains him to know that the laugh that follows Mingi’s word is not a gesture of happiness, but of sarcasm.

Mingi promptly shakes his head, seeming to distract himself from his own thoughts on purpose, and a hand is momentarily left on his waist as well as a pair of well-known lips on one of his cheeks.

“Bye.”

Mingi turns away from him and he brings his hand up to the cheek where Mingi has left a kiss, his fingers fantasizing about the tingling sensation Mingi's lips have left on his skin.

“I'll keep in mind that Yeosang thinks we're dating.” Mingi’s earlier seriousness leaves his face once he turns around —although he's still walking backward— to accompany those words with a winning smile.

He sometimes wonders if Mingi chooses to hold up an amused grin to provoke him, or to distract himself from the reasons that constantly threaten to lead him to hold a serious expression.

“Be careful.”

Mingi smiles though he hears his warning, and turns as he raises his arm in greeting before finally leaving the establishment —his territory, as he and Mingi call it.

Utopia is his place while Mingi has his respective territory, where his rules are followed and his game prevails.

He leaves his elbows on the bar and his cheeks on his palms once he's alone, and he allows an exasperated sigh to leave his lips.

Now that he doesn't have a chance to stay focused on Mingi, his eyes fall to the notes around him.

As Mingi has mentioned, he wouldn't hesitate to squint if Mingi gets his diploma while he doesn't. He still considers Mingi a rival —a close rival. After all, keep your friends close and your enemies even closer, right?

He doesn’t want to hand over to his father the perfect opportunity to enroll him in med school in case he decides to drop out, but it’s also true that he’s tired, that the situation he finds himself in is unfair even though he decided to place himself in the center of it after not doubting to take Mingi’s phone and accuse his own self.

Why hasn't he told the truth and lied for Mingi? Why he didn’t seek to assure Yeosang that he really has nothing to do with Mingi besides the connection they share for being part of the same industry?

With his heart pounding against his chest despite the relaxation that being in Utopia brings him, he knows the answer to those questions.

He blinks when the sudden buzzing of his phone distracts him, and again, he’s sure that Mingi is capable of provoking him without even being present.

Mingi hasn’t only transferred him what a glass of whiskey is worth according to Utopia’s menu, but the full price of a bottle as well.

“Asshole,” he says even though no one can hear him.

And again, Mingi doesn't have to be present for him to hold a smile.

Chapter 8

Hongjoong assumes that he shouldn't be surprised by the grandeur of Seonghwa's house. 

Seonghwa's mother has the job that San's father previously had and he has visited San's house many times. And besides, he’s aware that his own place is seen from the outside with raised eyebrows and wide-open eyes, while his classmates think of the building he lives in as an ordinary detail.

But nonetheless, he still looks at the house he’s approaching with both eyebrows raised. He’s reassured as the car windows are tinted so his expression can’t be judged.

He scans the details of the house until the person he’s there for appears, and his interest in the architecture is cast aside as soon as his eyes find Seonghwa.

He again welcomes the dark color of the windows and straightens up in his place as his driver gets out to have a few words with Seonghwa. He still believes that it’s something completely uncertain, the plan that Yeosang along with his support has drawn up in order to try to help Yunho.

He doesn't think it makes much sense, although it’s true that it would be convenient for him to get along with the director's son; quite ironic since he gets along with Yeosang.

Shaking off those thoughts is what he tries to do when his driver opens the door on his opposite side and Seonghwa gets into the car.

He immediately thinks of what to say to avoid making the situation awkward, but his concern is cast aside when after taking off his pink sunglasses, Seonghwa stares at him.

He seems confused, surprised, and beyond lost.

“Mh...” he doesn't quite know what to say. “What?”

Maybe his messy red locks are too much for Seonghwa. Seonghwa remains still even if he makes sure to run his fingers through his strands.

“I... thought it was a joke,” Seonghwa expresses.

Hongjoong tilts his head, trying to remember the words he’s previously expressed to understand why Seonghwa would think that he was joking when he said that he would pick him up, but he understands his reaction.

He too would have thought it was a joke if the situation had been the other way around.

“No, I'm here so I wasn't joking,” the car leaving Seonghwa’s house behind is evidence enough of his words.

He notices that as he utters those words, Seonghwa brings his hands behind his back, but not fast enough that he's not able to see that he seems to be hiding something.

“What you got there?”

“Nothing.” he looks at Seonghwa unfazed.

He believes that Seonghwa has never lied in his life if that really is his best attempt to evade his question and make him believe that he hasn’t seen anything.

Seonghwa promptly lets out a short sigh, probably realizing that it's not worth trying to make him believe that he hasn't left anything behind his back. Said nothing turns out to be a binder that Seonghwa hands him at that moment.

“Articles... about aromanticism and asexuality...” he watches him as soon as Seonghwa pronounces those words, and finds Seonghwa switching his eyes between him and the papers now present in the binder in his hand. “I don't like not knowing about things.”

“Is this because I said this will be a central point of my campaign and you want to copy me?”

“No!” He forms a line with his lips to avoid laughing when Seonghwa sounds and looks more than offended by that accusation. It's so easy to provoke him and get him to overreact. “I just want to understand.”

He lowers his attention to the photocopies, realizing that Seonghwa has actually printed what appear to be articles that talk about asexuality and aromanticism.

The people around him are clear on what terms he defines himself with and someone outside of his bubble has never made the effort that Seonghwa has apparently done to understand something —someone— he doesn't know, so he chooses to give him the papers back.

“Well, I'm pretty sure I'm better than those photocopies,” he says, “Also, you wasted paper for nothing. Don't you have an Ipad, Ebook, or something?”

“I like highlighting stuff,” Seonghwa leaves his backpack next to him to take out a pencil case at the same time that he leaves the binder on his lap.

“You can do that if y—”

“I prefer my pastel highlighters,” Seonghwa interrupts him to make evidence of his words since he certainly spots highlighters of said colors when he shows him his pencil case. “So, you are something?”

“Something— I’m—” Seonghwa's bluntness surprises him, but he promptly shakes his head. “Yeah, I'm—” A small chuckle leaves his lips when he thinks of the word something. “I'm aromantic.”

“And you don't do dates,” he nods when Seonghwa expresses those words. Well, at least Seonghwa seems to listen to him when he speaks. “But some aromantic people do that.”

“Yes, it really depends on each per— are you taking notes?”

Perplexed, he alternates his gaze between Seonghwa and the first page that he has taken from the binder to leave it on top of it and start writing.

“Yes?”

He lets out a sigh. He doesn't hesitate to unbuckle his seat belt.

“Give me that,” he wiggles his fingers for Seonghwa to hand him the pen at the same time that he sits closer to him.

“It's dangerous if you don't have your belt,” Seonghwa's words lead him to leave the tip of the pen a millimeter from the paper.

“Goodness, you really are something,” he puts on the seat belt of the middle seat before again focusing on the papers.

“No, you are something.”

He glances at Seonghwa, noting how Seonghwa hasn't phrased those words maliciously or with a tone of voice purposely chosen to annoy him, but rather honestly because as he’s certainly told him, he’s something.

Seonghwa looks at him too, and he decides to look down when he notices the sudden narrow distance between them.

“So, you have aromantic and asexual,” the paper folds slightly under his touch as the binder continues to be found on Seonghwa's lap. “You can be both, none, or one, and that's okay, and I'm simplifying everything in between.”

He never, never thought he would start the day describing himself with the help of a pen on a piece of paper in Seonghwa's lap.

“I'm not asexual, I'm aromantic,” he points to the word.

“Ah, so you are okay with fucking people, or hooki—”

“I— yes— don't!” He doesn't doubt to move the pen out of Seonghwa's reach and looks at him with both eyes open. “Don't write that down.”

“No, I'll just write down general things,” Seonghwa asks for the pen.

He agrees to give him the pen, but still opts to take a look at what Seonghwa decides to write. He narrows his gaze when Seonghwa writes his name, and deadpans when Seonghwa crosses out those letters to replace them with his last name.

But Seonghwa only adds his name near the word aromantic, so he unbuckles the belt and settles back in his place, believing that the situation has already been too unexpected to stay by Seonghwa's side.

“Ah, if I'm late because of you, I'll end you.” Seonghwa looks up at him.

Instead of taking offense at those words said with determination no matter how early it is, Hongjoong raises his eyebrows.

Certainly as surprised as not surprised because he’s starting to believe that Seonghwa is not what he appears to be, an uptight model student —perhaps because of his grades since he has seen the way he participates in classes, but not because of the correct behavior.

Not at all surprised because ever since they met, honesty has characterized them as they haven’t hesitated to be hostile to each other. It’s an irony, really, as he knows that picking up Seonghwa wasn’t a neutral idea.

“By the way, good morning, Park.”

“Good morning, Pres.”

He touches one of the corners of his mouth with the tip of his tongue and watches Seonghwa close the pen as well as carefully put the paper back inside the binder.

“I’m intrigued to know what you will call me in case you win and I am no longer the president.”

“Are you accepting defeat yet, Kim?”

He understands that having declared a brief truce after he sat closer to him won’t stop them from acting the same way they've been doing so far.

“I see your intensity doesn't rest,” he mentions, “So you are going to end me? Ready to get your hands dirty with blood? Interesting.”

Seonghwa raises both eyebrows and leaves his sunglasses over his blonde locks.

“Killing without dirtying myself with blood is an option.”

“I definitely don't want to know how you’ve come to that conclusion so quickly and so early in the morning.”

Despite Seonghwa sitting up straight, their eyes meet as Seonghwa glances at him upon hearing his comment. He quickly notices that Seonghwa is distracted by looking at the details of the car once his focus is no longer on the articles.

He wonders what he finds so interesting since he doesn't doubt that Seonghwa has a similar car that can take him to other places. He thinks it would be more interesting for him to see some of the cars his mothers own, but he doesn't plan to create or think of any opportunities that involve Seonghwa and his moms.

Hongjoong watches him, certainly intrigued with how Seonghwa manages to make his appearance scream perfection no matter how early it is. He thinks he's halfway decent too, as he fixes his uniform, checks the various accessories that decorate his ears and fingers, and makes sure to at least run his fingers through his red locks, but Seonghwa is on another level.

Not a single blond strand is out of place, even if only a few seconds ago he left his sunglasses over them, and his shirt doesn't have a single wrinkle. His face bears no trace of having woken up recently.

As soon as Seonghwa looks at him, he looks away.

Asking him how he slept would be a cheap attempt at making small talk, and asking if he knows anything about Yunho's exams would be too direct. He’s there with a purpose after all. But he remains at a loss for what to say. And yet again, Seonghwa keeps the moment from being awkward by speaking.

A part of him can't help but wonder if Seonghwa has had some kind of training or if it’s just natural. Keep the conversation going no matter what, but he knows Seonghwa is more than capable of making him the target of his silent treatment.

“This is not the way to our campus.” he points out.

Seonghwa stops looking at him to look out the window next to him, though he promptly shifts his gaze back to him. One of his eyebrows is arched, assuring him that he doesn't trust his lack of words.

He chooses to chuckle at this, amused at the suspicion hidden behind his words.

“Have you had breakfast yet?” he asks him.

“Of course.” Of course, Seonghwa had breakfast. “Where are we going?”

“Fine, fine,” he raises his hands innocently as Seonghwa keeps staring at him, the distrust growing in his gaze with each passing second. “We'll just stop by a place I like for breakfast.”

At the mention of that response, Seonghwa frees himself from his serious expression.

“Won't we be late?” He asks.

Hongjoong can't help but wonder why Seonghwa is so worried about the time when probably no professor will scold him simply because he’s the son of the new director. Whether Seonghwa is aware of that detail or not, he doesn't know.

“I always pass by so the time is calculated,” he assures him.

“Don't you eat breakfast at home?” Seonghwa asks him.

It’s curiosity rather than seeking to judge the motive that accompanies the formulation of that question, so he decides to answer.

“I usually stay up pretty late, so I prefer to sleep a little longer and have breakfast on the way.”

He’s aware that he wouldn’t have to do that if he went to bed earlier, but between classes and his stubbornness to stay late because only at night he feels he has time to do what he wants, he prefers his routine to continue to be characterized by those details.

“But I had breakfast today so it will only be something to drink,” he adds at the same time that he notices that they are arriving at said place. “What do you have for breakfast?”

“I like strawberries,” is the only thing Seonghwa offers.

He doesn't think those words can be considered a reply, but well, he assumes that he will have to deal with the mention of that fruit.

“Okay,” he says as the car slows down. He presses the button that connects him to the front of the car and therefore to the driver since both parts of the car are divided by a black panel. “Only coffee today, and could you add a strawberry smoothie with strawberry sauce, please?”

He’s aware of the narrowed look Seonghwa throws at him.

“I told you I've already had breakfast,” is the first thing he says.

“And I don't care,” despite sounding rude, he still chooses to give him an exaggerated smile.

He hasn't thought to offer him a smoothie just because he's supposed to get along with him, but because he thinks he wouldn't have liked to ask for something for him without asking for something for Seonghwa as well.

He keeps on grinning, satisfied when Seonghwa looks at him with the beginning of a grimace. He doesn't feel uncomfortable with the silence that follows that exchange of words, and even continues to smile, amused because he finds it funny how Seonghwa looks away from him to cross his arms and look at the panel in front of them with a slight frown and the beginning of a pout.

He can't help but wonder how this person is the same one who doesn't hesitate to keep his chin up and his back straight when he walks through the corridors of the university, but he quickly remembers that he also tends to act in a certain way depending on where he is and who is his company.

He doesn’t think he is acting at that moment.

On the contrary, he believes that he’s being himself because he doubts that he can address someone else the way he speaks to Seonghwa. Unlike the vast majority of students who attend his same classes, his mothers are not as strict with the rules that must be followed when he’s away from home.

Perhaps because the worlds of music and fashion are looser. Even if that doesn’t take away the fact that sometimes, he must force smiles and attend events that are not particularly interesting. But he’s not pretending to be someone he is not, at least not currently.

The circumstances that have led him to be with Seonghwa have been created on purpose, yet no word is overthought. The plan is not spontaneous and he can be described as a liar, but he is not overthinking everything he says and does.

Before he keeps thinking about the lack of reasoning when he’s with Seonghwa, the car's panel slides down and his driver offers him what he’s asked for.

He thanks him for the same and he doesn't overlook the way Seonghwa also thanks him, and just as the panel goes back up, the car is in motion again.

“For you,” he offers him the smoothie, and lets out a tired sigh when Seonghwa looks at it instead of just taking it as anyone else would. “My treat. Come on, to declare peace. Take it, you don't want to waste a delicious and freshly made strawberry smoothie, do you?”

Whether it's because he manages to convince him or because Seonghwa actually wants him to stop talking, he still holds on to a lopsided smile as Seonghwa rolls his eyes.

“Okay,” Seonghwa accepts the drink.

He glances at him as he takes a sip of his coffee, noting the way Seonghwa holds the glass in both hands before wrapping his lips around the tip of the straw, promptly allowing a pleasant smile to spread across his face.

“Wow, so you can smile,” he can't help but say.

Seonghwa replaces his smoothie-induced smile with a serious look after turning his head towards him, but he smiles and raises his free hand innocently to assure him that he doesn't have to stop smiling just because he has demarcated the existence of said smiling gesture.

He thinks it's nice, the way he feels free to express words that he can’t in other contexts, while Seonghwa puts aside his perfect facade to not hesitate to expose what is going through his head with the help of his eyes. He wrinkles his nose, realizing what he’s thinking.

“When you don't make me mad.”

“Got it.”

“I have a question,” Seonghwa mentions after relaxing his facial features and taking a second sip of his drink.

“Tell me.”

“How did you know my address?”

He can't help but feel a bit surprised, as when people often find the opportunity to be close to him, and thus start a conversation, his mothers and their respective businesses are usually the first topics that come up.

Unlike other people, Seonghwa is interested in that detail that has nothing to do with his family.

“I never gave it to you, that's why I thought it was a joke,” he adds. 

“Yeosang.”

He doesn't see the point in lying.

“You talk with my brother?”

He doesn't regret not having lied, even if at that moment Seonghwa accompanies his question with a half-closed look and a tone of voice that mixes both curiosity and mistrust.

“He's nice, I think.” He narrows his eyes too, distracted by his own thoughts.

Although he’s aware of the tension between Yeosang and San, it’s clear that Yeosang is willing to help Yunho as long as the situation is not more unfair than it already is.

Thinking of the people he knows reminds him that he’s with Seonghwa because he must get closer to him to improve Yunho's situation. Establishing a conversation with Seonghwa for that reason enhances the sour taste of his coffee, and not precisely because the coffee has been poorly made or because he has stopped liking it.

As he has said before, it’s wrong, it feels wrong.

“But anyway, give me your number, so next time I can ask you for the address,” he knows that it’s a terrible excuse since he would only need to open his chat with Yeosang to remember the address, and his driver only needs to go to a destination once to then remember it without specifying directions again.

But he doesn't care.

It’s not an excuse because it isn’t yet another step in the plan laid out by Yeosang. He really wants to have Seonghwa's number since certainly, it would have been convenient for him to ask for his address the day before.

Seonghwa holds the smoothie with one hand as he accepts the offered phone to write down his number, and he stares at him as he continues to sip his coffee.

He traces Seonghwa's profile with his eyes, believing that the warmness of the coffee doesn't help him get rid of the thought that assures him that he thinks Seonghwa is pretty.

He has actually thought of it since he first saw him, but with his stubborn attitude and obstinate personality, he has pushed that detail to the back of his head; while at the time he forces his eyes to rest on his phone as Seonghwa hands it back.

The last thing he needs is for Seonghwa to think he has an obsession with staring at him.

“I have a question for you,” he expresses, distracting himself.

Seonghwa nods, moving his body to face him while both hands hold onto the smoothie again.

“Did you move here because of your mother's job, then?”

“Among other reasons I definitely won't tell you.”

“Mysterious.” He raises both eyebrows several times.

He allows a short smile to decorate his face when instead of taking his question as intrusive, Seonghwa chooses to hold the beginning of a smile.

“It's not mysterious to actively decide not to tell you something simply because we barely know each other,” he says along with a calm tone of voice.

“Right.” he raises his coffee to him as if making a toast.

Unlike San, he doesn't think it's right to hold something personal against Seonghwa and Yeosang because they happen to be the children of the person who has been announced as the new head of the university.

Anyway, he hasn’t hesitated to sit with San in front of the doors because they are friends. But it’s also true that Yunho's presence and his scholarship shouldn’t become a personal matter for the new director just because Yunho and San are friends.

He knows that the friendship between Yunho and San isn’t the reason behind his scholarship since Yunho tries harder than anyone, and despite being close friends, San knows how to differentiate the line between friendship and responsibilities.

He believes that in fact, it’s more humiliating for Yunho to attend classes under a scholarship that was first given to him for having tried to frame Mingi for something he hasn't done.

There’s nothing worse than being reminded that he has unsuccessfully tried to have Mingi framed for cheating on an exam. He’s aware that Yunho seems to be tired lately, and only for that reason he wants to help him.

He just wants Yunho and Mingi to get along, as if they didn’t resent each other, Yunho wouldn't even have tried to blame Mingi for what he's done and ended up paying the consequences. Currently too.

“I know you want to ask another question,” Seonghwa expresses, this time with a smile that seems more sad than honest. Hongjoong believes they might be thinking about the same set of words, but he shakes his head.

“You asked a question, I asked another, it's your turn.”

“What is this? Twenty-one questions?”

He can't help the small chuckle that leaves his lips as he notices both amusement and confusion on Seonghwa's face.

“Come on, don't waste your turn.”

Though he shakes his head, Seonghwa seems to accept that he has the chance to ask another question because he remains silent before choosing to ask, “Your shoes,” he points to them with his smoothie. Hongjoong lowers his eyes at them. “Did you do that?”

Upon noticing the bright orange flowers that interrupt the black color of the heel part that he has certainly added with his own hands, he allows a smile to spread across his face. He has been waiting for questions about his family, while Seonghwa questions him about his own creations.

“Yes, I reform my clothes,” he looks at him again.

“Do they let you do it?”

“Ah, ah, you've already used your question.” He stops him even if he notices obvious curiosity, but decides to continue talking when Seonghwa frowns and pouts. “However, since I am a good person, I will answer. Basically, my mother is very well known in the fashion industry while my other mother is in the music industry.”

He stays silent for a few seconds, waiting for Seonghwa to react by frowning or tilting his head in confusion at the mention of two mothers, but as soon as Seonghwa keeps on looking at him expectantly, he continues.

“But the mother I mentioned first matters more in this case, my Ma. I like what my mothers do, since I’m interested in both music and fashion. You'll probably notice that my uniform differs from the others in several things, whether it's the letters,” he points to the same ones embroidered on his uniform, “My shoes, or other details. The rules say no, but nobody reads them, you know?”

He opts to think about his next words instead of simply saying them. In a short time, he has noticed how easy it is to provoke Seonghwa, much more so when his mother is mentioned, but he doesn't want Seonghwa to get angry with him, at least not at that moment.

“San's father and I guess your mother too because she hasn't told me anything so far, they know that about my mothers. There are people who have advantages in other ways, while my last name gives me the green light to wear my uniform like this, you understand?”

He’s no fool. He’s aware that other students are told to fix their shirts, that they can’t wear a certain accessory, or that they are not to make any kind of alteration to their uniforms while he’s free to do so, without being concerned about the consequences.

Small details are those that he adds to the pieces of his uniform, but they imply a freedom that no one else has; and he doesn’t consider the same to be unfair, since just as he’s able to change the way he dresses to attend classes, other people have other freedoms that he doesn’t.

He hopes that Seonghwa has understood that this is the idea that he has sought to convey with the help of his words, but Seonghwa looks at him with his head slightly tilted, and although he hasn’t expressed anything so far and his look doesn’t denote offense or seriousness either, anyway he chooses to speak again.

“We are all untouchables in some way.”

Him because his mothers are known in the fashion and music industries, Mingi because his smile is as attractive as his last name, and even Seonghwa because he’s the son of the new director.

Seonghwa nods, letting him know that he understands the reason for his words, assimilating that he will probably never find his mother scolding him for the uniform he has decided to change. 

He doesn’t brag about his family's silver or reputation, but a small proud smile usually finds a place on his face from time to time, happy to know that while he may be scolded for other reasons, his uniform will never be part of that list.

“You go,” Seonghwa reminds him.

Hongjoong clears his throat as with those words Seonghwa reminds him that there’s a question that he’s been meaning to formulate.

Though he just told him a bit about his own family, he still thinks he should be tactful. Even if Seonghwa doesn't look angry about already knowing what he wants to know.

“You— eh— you mh, you and Y— you and Yeosang—”

“Same mother, different fathers,” fortunately Seonghwa replies before he unsuccessfully keeps on trying to formulate the question that nonetheless Seonghwa answers.

He nods his head. With the difference in last names, he has assumed that situation, but anyway, the pieces seem to fall into place when that reply is given.

“You won't see them around here.” Seonghwa adds.

Seonghwa looks down at his smoothie to pick up the straw and play with what's left at the bottom of the glass. He raises both eyebrows for a moment, not seeming happy about having to add those words, so Hongjoong opts to sit up in his place.

“Well, we have something in common.”

No father for either of them.

Seonghwa watches him, and he can't help but lift one of the corners of his mouth once he realizes that the pronunciation of those words has made Seonghwa break free of his seriousness to give way to a small smile.

Seonghwa doesn't ask questions about his mothers —although he thinks he wouldn't mind answering the same, while he doesn't ask any more questions about Seonghwa’s family.

The car stops again.

“Oh, we're here,” he says.

Seonghwa turns his head the other way to certainly bump into the main building of the campus.

He finds strangely amusing the way he found himself the target of Seonghwa's serious gazes. He believes that he prefers this Seonghwa instead of the version that seeks to limit himself and guide his expression with seriousness.

“Hey,” he says, getting Seonghwa to turn his head toward him. “If, I don't know, every other morning you wake up late and—”

“I never wake up late.” Seonghwa cuts him off.

“Of course, of course not. Well, if another morning you feel like having a strawberry smoot—”

“I can make myself one.”

“You're so difficult.” he expresses, but as soon as those words leave his lips, he can't help the way his laugh suddenly mixes with Seonghwa's.

“And you're not direct,” Seonghwa laughs before smiling.

“If,” He tries again, and this time he doesn't plan on giving up. “One day you prefer for me to pick you up at your house instead of coming here with Yeosang and your mother, just let me know,” he finally manages to express. “I told you I go to sleep late so you don't have to let me know too far in advance.”

“Thank you,” Seonghwa gives him a smile, and Hongjoong thinks that even though being the target of his serious look is not a problem for him and he even finds it amusing because it means that he’s dealing with Seonghwa’s patience, he wouldn't mind if that smiling gesture is sent his way again. “Are you coming?”

“I’ll go in a minute,” he chooses to tell him.

“Okay, thanks for the smoothie.”

Seonghwa shakes the now empty glass to support his words, and again hides his eyes behind his sunglasses as he takes his backpack before opting to get out of the car.

He lets out a breath of air as Seonghwa closes the door and stays alone.

He thinks the situation is, for lack of a better term, shitty.

He should be irritated that he had to feign interest in a forced conversation, annoyed that he had to start his morning that way, forcing himself to have a chat with someone he doesn't like. He shouldn’t feel satisfied with the company, much less expectant because the same could happen again.

He has gotten into the car thinking that he would be in a bad mood all day just for being together with Seonghwa.

He hasn't planned on getting off the car with a frustrated expression, worried not only because the topic of Yunho’s exams hasn't even come up, but also because he shouldn't have enjoyed Seonghwa's company that much.

Chapter 9

“I'll go in and tell her I can't take the exams.” Yunho determines.

Although his words are decisive and he sounds convinced of his actions, Yeosang sees Yunho being betrayed by his own expression. He stands near the office door that her mother now occupies instead of knocking on it to enter.

He blinks at this, not feeling worried about the words he hears. With his hands in his pockets and one side of his body against the wall, he watches the way Mingi approaches Yunho.

“Jeong, you are the sm—”

“Smartest person you know, I know, Song.” Yunho stops him by raising his palms.

He thinks it’s interesting, watching them now that he knows the true closeness between them. He can only wonder how no one besides him has noticed their relationship —or at least the lack of true mutual hate. They don’t establish physical contact and they pronounce each other’s last names, but their eyes say it all.

Yunho takes comfort in Mingi’s presence. Mingi is worried.

He assumes that no one cares about the person next to them unless they need that person for something. He supposes that both Mingi and Yunho force themselves to behave the way they do for different reasons. Yunho himself has hinted that their last names often collide, and as such, they should too.

He still wonders why Yunho is the only student with a scholarship.

“Although I appreciate that you seem to think enough to certainly realize that I'm smart, I’ve decided that I simply can't study everything. So I’ll go in there and—”

“I guess I show up to save the day.”

He isn't surprised when the mention of those words gets both Yunho and Mingi to turn their attention back to him.

On another occasion, it would have taken him longer to say that sentence, but now that he’s aware of the closeness that both Yunho and Mingi must continue to try to hide, he doesn't want them to be side by side when only that detail could expose them.

Mingi's concern makes it obvious that he cares about Yunho. And besides, he wants Yunho to stop worrying about his situation when he literally has the solution in his hands.

He stops keeping one of his hands in his pocket to hold a small folded piece of paper between his first two fingers. Mingi looks at him, surprised even though they have been aware of his presence at all times, while Yunho switches his eyes between him and the paper.

“You said you didn't want the answers,” he looks at Yunho, “I have them if you want them, but here are the topics that my mom chose for each subject. It's a little fairer.”

“How did y—”

“I couldn't sit idly by.” he offers a small smile to assure Yunho that he's not imagining his presence or the piece of paper.

It's true that he has previously mentioned not being able to help him himself, as for that very reason they have planned for Hongjoong to approach Seonghwa, so he can't blame Mingi for looking surprised.

He looks at Yunho and offers him the paper.

Yunho takes it and promptly scans the words written on it.

He doesn't feel guilty. He doesn't feel guilty after offering Yunho the chance to cheat on an exam. Deciding to take sudden exams is just as unfair.

“And?” Mingi asks Yunho when Yunho doesn't react.

“I've... I... I already reviewed all of this.” Yunho finally seems to remember that he is not alone. He looks up to switch his eyes between him and Mingi, and releases a breath that thankfully doesn't seem to equal a feeling of stress. “I only have a few topics to revise and I would be ready to take the exams. This is nothing. She was making me study all the subjects for nothing.”

“Then now go into my mother's office to tell her you won't be leaving this university.” he gently rests his hands on Yunho's shoulder blades to turn him around and face the door of his mother's office again. “And that you even want to take the exams earlier to get rid of them.”

Yunho doesn't seem to need more words, since he keeps the given paper in one of his pockets, and soon enough is knocking on the door to enter upon hearing that he's been given permission.

Once they are alone, Mingi stays by his side.

“Do I want to know how you did it?”

“No, you don't,” he assures him.

The paper that now Yunho has in his possession meant using —hacking, kind of, if he must be honest— his mother's laptop without his mother being aware of said action, so he prefers to avoid explanations that fortunately at that time are overlooked.

“Well, at least Hongjoong is a free man now. Although you know, I saw him not long ago and he didn't seem too upset about having to talk to Seonghwa,” Mingi says.

He prefers not to comment. He won't be surprised if Hongjoong fell for Seonghwa's role as the perfect student or if Seonghwa molded his personality enough for Hongjoong to find him pleasant.

He doesn't know whether or not he regrets not telling Hongjoong that he got the answers and that as such, spending time with Seonghwa has been a waste of time.

“By the way,” Mingi gives him a little nudge with his shoulder, “I was told that you didn’t have a great time last night.”

He stops keeping his eyes on his mother's office door to be aware that at that moment he can probably be characterized as lost and unfocused.

Yeah, I cried myself to sleep after getting high he wants to reply, but doesn't.

Now that the priority is no longer to provide the answers and therefore peace of mind to Yunho, the other events of the previous night continue to turn around in his head.

He woke up with red and puffy eyes and heavy lids. He hasn’t opted to wear sunglasses inside the establishment because he believes that such an accessory would only have drawn more attention to his eyes.

With less desire to interact, with less energy than usual. That’s how he feels. Maybe it's the drug, he really doesn't know. It's not just that, he does know that, as he can take the time to fix his face with makeup and force himself to attend classes to avoid questions, but he feels tired.

He doesn't want to give himself a headache by thinking that he has had —and must continue— to deal with San. They are both children of people who have held or hold the same position, and even if his mother has denied it, their parents happen to know each other.

“Your friend said some pretty ugly things to me,” he chooses to reply.

He guesses Yunho has already told Mingi about the rest of the events.

“I can’t believe him,” Mingi slaps his forehead with his own hand. “Sorry, I thought it was a good idea. I don't know what’s going on with San, he's not like this.”

“It's not your fault,” he assures him. “I happen to be the son of the person who replaced his father. But that's okay, I guess, I haven't been entirely nice either.”

Even if he believes that San started the hostility between them, he’s aware that he’s not making the effort to get along with him either. 

“Mingi,” he decides to continue. He blinks and turns his head toward him, making sure to lower the volume of his voice. “Yunho probably told you, but I know you two are together.”

The calm smile that decorates Mingi's face assures him that Yunho has certainly already told him about the words they have exchanged.

“Yes, he told me you won't say anything.” He nods upon hearing him. “Thank you.” Mingi gives offers him a grateful smile, and while he doesn't feel like smiling much that day, he nonetheless raises the corners of his mouth at the thought of Yunho's earlier words.

Mingi has a hard time making friends, but with him, it was more than easy.

“Hey, you know what? I owe you a night, and a very good one. Party!”

Mingi’s words startle him at the same time that Yunho leaves the office. Judging by the sudden smile that has replaced Yunho's previous serious expression, he assumes that everything has gone well.

“Oh, why are you smiling, Song? Will you leave this place?” Yunho asks with the beginning of a laugh in his voice.

“You wish!” Mingi grins. “I’ll celebrate that we have made a new friend,” both Mingi and Yunho rest their eyes on him. “And that San, I hope, loosens up. You're welcome to see how Illusion is the best nightclub in the whole city, Jeong.”

“It will be my pleasure to see how far you have sagged this year.”

“What's with the black hair and orange blazer, getting ready for Halloween already?”

“Shut up, Macaw parrot. I’m a tiger.”

The truth is that he doesn't have the faintest idea of what the animal Yunho just mentioned looks like, but considering that Mingi just made fun of Yunho's new black hair and he has dark blue streaks, he has no doubt that the animal is as bluish as orange.

“Tigger from Winnie the Pooh.”

“Mix of Marlin and Dory.”

“Garfield.”

He really doesn't understand how no one has noticed their closeness.

“Palette of primary colors.”

“Basket ball.”

He wants to laugh because he thinks that the ping pong of comments is a waste of time since not only the two of them, but all of them, have to deal with the horrible shade of orange of the blazer they are wearing, but he forms a line with his lips while Yunho and Mingi replace the exchange of words with a serious look towards each other.

Party and San are not words that make him smile, but it's true that a part of him wants to get closer to San. It's true that their parents know each other even though his mother has denied the same, and perhaps San does know why their parents know each other.

He doesn't know what San does or doesn't know, but he does know that he won't find out the truth by staying away from San. Getting close to San, though, sounds dreadful.

The hand that Yunho places on one of his shoulders distracts him.

“Thank you, Yeosang, really,” Yunho holds a wide smile.

The dark circles under his eyes are still big but the warmth of his smiling gesture counteracts that tiredness. It's obvious that he's been staying up late, probably thinking about exams or deciding they aren't worth it.

But he doesn't say anything. He also has dark circles even if he hides them.

Mingi winks at him, and again both of them manage to raise his mood with words as well as with the genuineness behind their gestures. He wishes he could reciprocate their gestures with a bigger or wider smile, but at the moment he’s only able to slightly raise the corners of his mouth.

“Yeosang.”

A second is how long it takes for the warmth provided by both Yunho and Mingi to be replaced by a serious expression when he recognizes Seonghwa's voice. It’s the tone of voice he uses to scold him for doing who knows what now.

Sure enough, he meets Seonghwa's face as he turns his head.

Mingi and Yunho also seem to notice him.

“You can invite him to my party if you want to,” Mingi says quietly.

“No thanks.”

Mingi chuckles when he hears his answer and feels the slight push Yunho gives him to guide him toward Seonghwa. He thinks it's been extremely easy for the two of them to figure out that he doesn't have a relatively good relationship with Seonghwa, so he's not surprised when the two of them walk away to give them space.

“Are you looking for me because you didn't come with us this morning?” he chooses to ask Seonghwa before crossing his arms, not actually upset with his absence in the car even if it meant having to be alone with his mother.

“What was that?” Seonghwa asks, ignoring his words and staring at him. “I saw you.”

Instead of worrying about the fact that he has seen him chatting with Yunho and Mingi and probably giving the paper to the latter, he shrugs.

“Unfairly solving something that our dear mother unfairly created.”

“You shouldn't mess with the way mom does her job.”

“I will if I feel she is unfair to someone I care about.”

He tilts his head when Seonghwa lets a short fake laugh leave his lips. Serious looks and severe vocabulary. That's what he's used to when it comes to Seonghwa.

“Someone you care about?” Seonghwa sounds incredulous. “Someone you barely know while you've known mom your whole life?”

He supposes that he should be surprised to once again find himself listening to Seonghwa defending their mother no matter the situation or the day, but the truth is that surprise is what he least feels at that moment.

“That doesn't really matter. People earn my concern by being honest with me.”

He stays with his mouth slightly open, thinking that he’ll waste both Seonghwa's time and his own by saying the next words that appear in his head, but he can't deny that a part of him is always, always hoping that for just one measly second, Seonghwa will be his ally instead of his self-declared enemy.

He doesn't know if enemy is the right word, but alliance is definitely not the term that defines his relationship with Seonghwa.

“I think... I think mom is lying to us.”

“But what kind of things do you allow your head to tell you, mh?”

He bites the inner part of his cheek as soon as he hears those words. He considers himself a fool for once again deluding himself with the idea of Seonghwa being willing to listen to him instead of just sounding like a broken record by choosing to trust their mother.

He’s tired.

He doesn't want to attend the rest of the classes but knows that he can't just go home without some plausible excuse.

“You'll never take my side, will you?” Maybe it's time to give up.

“What side?” Seonghwa frowns. He sounds confused.

“You will always take her side no matter what she says or does.”

He doesn't understand the point of seeking to arrive at the campus together, the three of them side by side, wanting to show that they are a family when with each passing day, he feels more alone and misunderstood than the previous one.

His chest aches.

“Okay, since mom doesn’t lie and I am the liar, let's talk about lies.” Frustration guides his words. “How did it go with Hongjoong?”

“What does that have to do with what we're talking about?”

“My bad, I must have missed it. I forgot to be honest with you before, how could I have missed it?” he touches his lower lip with his index finger, pretending to think the irony that leaves his mouth. “The ride you shared with Hongjoong. I knew it would happen before you did. You just saw what I've done, right? You told me. The paper you have seen. If I couldn't get help for Yunho, the idea was for Hongjoong to do so by approaching you.”

It no longer makes sense to avoid telling the truth when Yunho and his exams are already a settled issue. Avoiding telling the truth is not the same as telling lies.

He watches the way Seonghwa stares at him, squinting at him because he's probably analyzing his words. So he does listen to him, but only decides to do so when it comes to himself.

“Of course, he wasn't going to mention it to you in a totally direct way,” he presses for Seonghwa to understand that Hongjoong's company wasn’t a spontaneous idea. It doesn't matter how they spent it as long as it's clear to Seonghwa that the beginning of that morning wasn't just a moment. “Ask him, since apparently all I do is lie.”

“No. All you do is be a hypocrite.” he tilts his head again because he doesn't understand Seonghwa. He claims not to believe him but he’s irritated when he realizes that he’s probably right about Hongjoong. “Don't you realize how hypocritical you are? People lie to me because you ask them to and then you express being sincere?”

“I haven't forced anyone to do anything.” he determines. “I won't bother being honest with you if you don't believe me or don't care anyway.”

He doesn't know why he thought that mentioning that his mother is lying to them, would make sense when it’s becoming more than clear to him that just as he thinks that Seonghwa is a hypocrite, Seonghwa thinks the same of him.

Maybe Seonghwa’s right. Perhaps he is a hypocrite. He doesn’t know. He thinks he doesn't care anymore.

“Okay, leave the honesty to me, then.” Seonghwa straightens up and places his hands on the sides of his own waist, holding his chin up. “Don't you think the same has happened to you? That these people speak to you because may I remind you that you are also the director's son? That they needed whatever you gave them so you got into the same game as them?”

He forms a tight line with his lips.

“They are not like that.”

“You are fucked up, Yeosang!”

He allows surprise to wash over him because Seonghwa never reacts the way he does when he's the person in front of him.

He's more than used to long sentences and the serious expression that accompanies them when Seonghwa faces him. He's not used to Seonghwa raising his tone of voice, much less against him and much less being in public.

He reacts just because he told him that the moment with Hongjoong was fake?

Once again he confirms that Seonghwa doesn't care about him, but himself.

“Poor, innocent Yeosang! We all have to tiptoe around you while you do and say whatever you want, regardless of the consequences or the mess you leave behind, and everything has to be accepted simply because you're griev—”

He remains wide-eyed and takes a step back even if Seonghwa stops himself from finishing that sentence. Neither of them needs Seonghwa to finish that word to know that he just hit where he’s never supposed to hit.

Seonghwa looks at him, and from the way he also widens his eyes and brings his hands to his mouth, he guesses his irritation is fastly being replaced by the surprise that expressing those words has caused him.

He stares at him, his body rigid, his shoulders tense and his hands balled into fists. He looks at Seonghwa not knowing how to react until he blinks. Over, and over, and over again, and slowly but surely a frown begins to creep over his face. Unlike Seonghwa, his surprise is replaced by irritation.

“I've never, never asked for that.” he says. It’s the first time that the constant lump in his throat is equivalent to the break in his voice, to the effort he has to make to speak.

Seonghwa's words soon begin to spin around his head, making him dizzy. 

“I'm so sorry mom talked you into pretending to be nice to me just because dad passed away.” 

Expressing those words hurts him because mentioning their father's death out loud only brings him pain, and because he understands that Seonghwa has never cared about him. He is so, so dumb.

He aches at the sound of his raspy voice as well as at having to force himself to swallow the lump in his throat that has been following him since last night.

“Sure, all I do is lie and lie, and you know what? Maybe I do, after all, I don't know anymore, I have no idea. And I'm not interested either. Do what you want. It runs in the family because you also lie when you say that you always want to help me.”

His vision blurs and he takes another step back as Seonghwa approaches him.

“Poor, innocent, stupid, and pathetic Yeosang, who can't do anything or expect anything.” he says. After all, that's how Seonghwa sees him, right?

“Yeo—”

“I cried last night.”

He believes that those words simply leave his mouth because both he and Seonghwa can try to pretend anything, but the mixture of dark circles, lack of hours of sleep, and previously spilled tears that he exposes after pressing his fingers against his eyes and ruining his makeup, only shows that indeed, they are just pretending.

“Leave me alone. You know more than well how to do that.”

He backs away the second Seonghwa stretches out his arm to probably comfort him, and he doesn’t hesitate to end the conversation after turning his back on him to get away.

Quickly, without looking back because he's not only upset, but more than hurt. He blinks rapidly because just as Seonghwa forces himself to keep himself composed when he's in public, he tends to force himself not to break.

He crosses his arms when he feels his hands begin to tremble, and the truth is that he's not the least bit surprised when he realizes that he hasn't even made it through a week without having a breakdown.

He pushes the door of the bathroom and locks himself in the first stall he finds free to promptly sit on the toilet lid and bend his legs to wrap his arms around them.

He turns his head to rest his cheek on them and repeats that it’s not fair. It's not fair and it's not fair— He squeezes his eyes shut because he doesn't want to think about the fact that he's about to cry, hiding in one of the university's bathroom stalls, but pressing his eyes only ends up being a failure to try to get rid of of the threat that his tears represent, as he opens his eyes and his vision is cloudy.

He turns his head to hide his face in the space between his knees and his chest. He feels tired and nothing he does or says solves that problem. Stupid and pathetic. He's stupid and pathetic because he carries himself with disinterest, no longer knowing how far removed from reality he feels when it's more than evident that his feelings are real. He bites the inner part of his cheek hard as he feels the tears slipping down his cheeks.

He continues to hug his knees as he leads his now free hand to the charm that he always makes sure is hanging around his neck. It's all that's left of his father. First, he lost him, his company, and his voice, and then the closeness and familiarity because his mother has made them leave the city, so the golden floral charm is all he has left of him.

He doesn't care how exclusive the university is or how acclaimed the courses are when he can't even focus as his head never lets him rest.

He considers himself an idiot for being tired of thinking, and for being frustrated because he feels that he does everything but think. He’s confused and disappointed in himself. He doesn’t know it. He tries to appease his emotions and it's a good solution until they decide to assure him that no, that they are still alive inside him, at that moment leaving his eyes through tears, wetting his cheeks.

It doesn't matter if he gets high, nothing is enough. He doesn’t know what to do. He feels lost.

His mother was supposed to be by his side, to hold him, and he would hold his mother back, and Seonghwa would hold him as well. He has lost his father physically, but he feels that he has lost his entire family emotionally. He doesn't even know if he can continue to refer to them as a family, at least not anymore, when he doesn't feel comfortable in his own house, when he doesn't understand his mother, let alone Seonghwa.

He rubs his eyes with his fingers, his breathing not steady. He can feign disinterest, he can get high, and he can hide his dark circles with makeup. But nothing is enough to hide how he truly feels. He doesn't want to break but maybe he’s broken already. No— he really doesn't know what to do. He rubs the sleeve of the blazer against his eyes and wraps his free hand around the flower charm, tightly.

He no longer knows how to characterize himself, or how to describe his personality traits. He doesn't know if he's doing what he can or not, if he struggles to move forward when another part of him pulls back. He feels stuck.

A sudden knock on the door makes him flinch.

“Go away.” he forces himself to say.

He’s tired. He never asked for any of this.

“Now, now, that's not how you treat your best friend.”

He raises his head, taken aback at that voice. He widens his eyes and allows surprise to override any emotion that has so far overwhelmed him.

He wonders if he's still dealing with drug residue or if he's tired enough to start imagining people that aren't around, at least not close enough, but as soon as he dares to reach out to unlock the door and open it, he’s stunned by the image of Wooyoung being the person who offers him the beginning of a grin.

Notes:

i can't explain how much i needed to introduce wooyoung already, one more to go 🤞

Chapter 10

Notes:

thank you so much for all your comments, they make me very happy 🥰

“A friendly, familiar, and of course gorgeous face would make you feel better?”

Wooyoung forces himself to keep the beginning of a smile on his face even if his eyes find the image of his best friend crying, in the middle of a crisis.

He believes that a breakdown is exactly what Yeosang is currently going through, and as such he shouldn’t seek to hold a smile, much less a grin, but fortunately, he's able to express, without hesitation and without doubting, that his smile has always made Yeosang feel better.

He doesn't know what he has expected to find, but Yeosang, hiding in one of the bathroom stalls, with a broken look, and tears sliding down his cheeks, isn't his favorite image. It's a nightmare.

“I'm imagining you,” Yeosang expresses.

Yeosang blinks several times, yet slowly but surely seems to realize that his presence won't become a trick no matter how many times he blinks or how blurry his gaze is.

Still smiling, he shakes his head and decides to enter the stall, not believing himself capable of staying away from his best friend, and closes the door behind him before kneeling in front of Yeosang.

“No, I mean, I understand why someone as pretty and interesting as me would be mistaken for a figment of anyone's imagination, but no. I've convinced my parents that I'm much worse off without you, which, by the way, is true, so they let me come here.”

As he just said, it’s the absolute truth. Just as Yeosang needs the constancy of his smile, he needs Yeosang. All of him.

“Looks like we're classmates again. By the way, you rock the orange blazer.”

Yeosang doesn't react to his words but has stopped keeping his knees close to his chest. He decides to take advantage of the change in position to assure him that he isn't a product of his mind, that he's indeed next to him instead of miles and miles away.

The sincerity that always accompanies his voice is evidence enough that he's real rather than an illusion, but anyway he leaves his hand on one of Yeosang's knees, and that simple contact is enough for Yeosang to react by leaning forward and wrapping his arms around him.

“Wooyoung,” The pronunciation of his name rings in his ear, Yeosang's surprised yet broken voice accompanying said pronunciation.

Yeosang sobs and he’s sure that tears are probably wetting Yeosang's cheeks again, so he doesn't hesitate to hold Yeosang in his arms, tightening his hold around him and reciprocating his hug.

A best friend is the person with whom one doesn't hesitate to share a smile, but also the person with whom one doesn't hesitate to be vulnerable, to allow oneself to fall apart because a pair of arms will be ready to hold and protect.

He thinks Yeosang has always had a hard time understanding that. Just as he has often found a smile identical to his own on Yeosang's face, many other times he has had to remind Yeosang that with him, there's no need to pretend to be okay.

Yeosang hides his face between his shoulder and his neck and he can only wonder how long he's been holding on, swallowing his emotions and making them press down on his chest. He doesn't expect Yeosang to ask him why or how he is there, next to him and holding him, instead of far behind a screen.

“Bad day?” he asks though the answer is more than obvious.

His tone of voice is more delicate, soft, even. Yeosang nods against his skin, probably because he doesn't trust his own voice.

Definitely. Bad day.

It's not the first time he's asked that question, and it won't be the last. And it's not the first time Yeosang has given a negative answer. Unfortunately, he knows that it won't be the last time that his question finds that kind of answer either. The sudden distance that has characterized them hasn’t even represented a threat for him to stop knowing how Yeosang acts.

Sometimes Yeosang gets up, not ready to face the day but feeling strong enough to get through it, while other days opening his eyes is enough to know that he will be more downcast than usual, that he will hear conversations but won’t utter a word.

The shaky breath of air that leaves Yeosang's lips finds his skin.

He caresses Yeosang's neck as well as his back, gently, assuring himself that they are together too. Yeosang is no longer trembling under his touch, and he hopes it's because his presence has distracted him enough from his own sea of emotions.

“I've missed you, Sangie,” he finally says, following his words with a short silent breath because he has been waiting too long to say them out loud.

“I've missed you too.” Yeosang's voice still sounds a bit hoarser than usual, but he has made an effort to assure him that he has missed his company as well.

He smiles, happy and sad because it's bittersweet to hear that he's been missed while those words are spoken with a broken tone of voice. He rests one of his hands on the base of Yeosang’s neck, and Yeosang expresses no complaint when he digs his fingertips into his skin to reassure him that the hug is not imaginary, that he is not reading those words through a screen, but listening to them because they are face to face.

“Why did you block me, silly?” his tone of voice is soft. He's not angry, He doesn't quite know how to feel.

Holding each other is better than reading words on a screen, but he had to swallow all the words he meant to say because sometimes Yeosang makes decisions without really thinking them through. And he's no exception to Yeosang's urges just for being his best friend.

He allows Yeosang to move slightly away from him, but he takes Yeosang's hands in his as Yeosang's about to bring his hands to his face to rub his eyes. He believes his touch on his cheeks to be softer, less rushed, and better than fabric that might irritate his skin since Yeosang's hands are almost completely covered by the sleeves of the blazer.

Yeosang looks at him, and their eyes meet. He offers a calm smile in return, and thinks that Yeosang is slowly beginning to realize that he truly has the chance to see him with his own eyes because he traces his face with his teary gaze. He's not angry and Yeosang knows that.

“I don't...” Yeosang inhales air, then exhales quickly involuntarily. “I don't know... I would have missed you even more.”

Many times he doesn't understand Yeosang, but many other times Yeosang doesn't understand him. That hasn't stopped them from being best friends, though, as he thinks of Yeosang's words as reason enough not to make any reproaches. Just as it has been hard for him to see Yeosang leave, Yeosang has had a hard time leaving him. At no time has Yeosang wanted to do it, actually.

“Your hair is lilac now,” Yeosang mentions after clearing his throat.

He allows a small smile to spread across his face.

“And yours is pink, I like it.” he takes his eyes to Yeosang's locks before allowing their gazes to meet again.

Both had black hair the last time they saw each other, while now he has his hair parted in the middle and his locks are characterized by a lilac color.

He believes that the pink color suits Yeosang, and that only a person like Yeosang would be able to pull off that hair color along with the orange blazer —uniform that he’s wearing as well.

“I have a question for you. Well, rather, a request.” he decides to keep speaking. 

He once again chooses to rest one of his hands on Yeosang's face, and tilts his head when Yeosang does so after bowing at the contact. He thinks Yeosang is too pretty, too good, and too kind to cry, and even if Yeosang gently shakes his head because both of them already know what kind of words will leave his mouth, he still parts his lips.

“Tell me who did this to you.”

Yeosang didn’t have a smile on his face the last time they saw each other either, but neither were traces of tears as obvious as those at that moment.

He doesn't understand, he doesn't comprehend how anyone would dare to make Yeosang cry.

Yeosang weakly shakes his head. Again, because Yeosang always denies and is stubborn when it comes to expressing who has hurt him.

“It's nothing.”

He traces a light caress over Yeosang's moist skin with his thumb.

Nothing.

It's nothing, Yeosang says, as he notes his smeared makeup and knows that Yeosang never messes up his makeup.

It's nothing, Yeosang says, while he has found him crying in the bathroom.

Nothing.

“Come on, just tell me. Just so I know who I should stay away from, okay?”

He knows his words don’t make sense, but he wants to hear who he definitely doesn't plan to stay away from.

He’s aware that Yeosang may not offer him a name, but he keeps looking at him. He's just as stubborn, and they both know that too.

He pushes when he deems it necessary, and Yeosang accepts such pressure when he realizes that trying to keep quiet will be a waste of time for both of them.

“Mh,” Yeosang swallows, “You know that... Mom is the new director... right?”

He nods. Yeosang did tell him and made sure to assure him that they were being separated because his mother accepted a job without hesitating.

“Last night, he just— said some stuff and—” Yeosang shakes his head as he stumbles over his words, “The son of the... previous director.”

He doesn’t need more words to quickly understand why the son of who happens to be the former director of the university would lead Yeosang to hide in a stall. It isn't difficult to think why said person would be resentful.

Last night?

“Can you tell me his name and the way he looks like?” he presses along with a soft voice.

Yeosang isn't pure or innocent, but he does tend to believe that no one has bad intentions. Even if he knows that his best friend's personality has had some changes recently, he believes that Yeosang's true essence remains the same.

He doesn't think he's taking advantage of Yeosang's subtle naivety when he asks such questions for his sake.

“San? San. He has, um, dark hair and a blonde streak.”

He nods and doesn't choose to ask another question as that information is enough.

Yeosang follows him with his gaze as he stands up. He still chooses to wrap his arms around Yeosang, and caresses the back of Yeosang's neck as Yeosang wraps his arms around his waist and presses one of his cheeks against his stomach.

He would be happy with the way Yeosang seems to have missed him if there weren't any tears involved. Yeosang must be devastated if instead of trying to escape physical contact like he always does, he becomes docile to it.

“Would you wait a second? Just a second,” Yeosang looks at him when he says those words. “I was so excited to see you that I didn't see your mom. I'll go tell her I'm here and come back. Yes? So she doesn't ask you questions. You don't move.”

Yeosang nods.

He forces himself to stop keeping his hands around Yeosang's body even though all he wants to do is continue to hold him. He doesn't like the feeling of Yeosang's arms leaving his figure, but as he has told Yeosang, he will be back soon so they can continue to be close to each other.

But unlike what he has told him, he doesn’t look for the office of his mother as soon as he leaves the bathroom. He keeps his gaze open, scanning the details around him. 

He doesn't care about the characteristics of his new university because he's busy looking for people. Rather, only one.

Priorities.

Fortunately, his eyes soon meet the brief description previously offered by Yeosang, and he feels the way his facial features harden as his eyes meet the person he has been hoping to find.

He leaves his place and doesn't care about the surprised look other students throw at him when his hand closes a locker hard enough to attract attention.

San turns, probably not expecting that to happen, and rests his shocked gaze on him.

“You.” Recognizing him is easy after hearing Yeosang's description.

He denotes the platinum lock that stands out among the dark locks. 

He’s sure that the person whose time and space he just interrupted is San, and if not, well, he'll offer an apology.

The beginning of a pout caresses his face because he doesn't think it's fair the way his eyes scan San’s sharp jawline, prominent cheekbones, and interesting gaze.

But he doesn't think it's fair to find Yeosang crying either.

“It's a shame you're so handsome,” he adds.

The confusion is more than evident on San's face.

“Excuse me?”

“I'd definitely be into you if you weren't such a prick.” he scans San's body with his eyes, noting the way the white shirt fits his torso while the orange color of the blazer brings out the expansion of his shoulders.

San turns out to be taller and wider than him, and yet, that doesn’t stop him.

He has always been known for expressing in words the thoughts that go through his head and the feelings that guide his heart, so he doesn’t regret having mentioned that he would be into him hadn’t Yeosang pronounced his name.

“Who are you?” San asks him.

He opts to hold a more than fake smile upon hearing that question, since the answer he provides is the explanation for his sudden presence and the abruptness of his gestures.

“Yeosang's best friend.” he replies. “Jung Wooyoung.”

San's change of expression assures him that everything Yeosang has told him so far is nothing more than the truth. His irritation is prominent and he narrows his eyes.

For the same reason, he leaves his hands on his own waist and gets rid of the fake smile to replace it with an expression just as serious as San's.

“Why do you keep multiplying?”

“What is your problem?”

“What is your problem?” San countersback.

He considers himself a nice person, someone who doesn't have a hard time making friends because his personality is loose while his laugh is easy to provoke. People around him often express that he's a kind person, someone fun to be around to lift their spirits.

But he also considers himself a person who is willing to move sky and earth for the people he cares about, even more so when that person turns out to be Yeosang.

“My problem is that you seem to think of my best friend as some kind of punching bag.” he stares at him, letting him know the reason behind his hostility. “But I'm here now, so you better back off and leave Yeosang alone.”

“Or what?” San challenges him.

He hopes that the push that gets San's back to collide with the row of lockers behind him is enough of an answer to his question.

He makes sure to keep his chin up as well as his head slightly tilted back once he approaches him in case San hasn't understood his words. He doesn’t feel cornered by the difference in height or the reluctant look that San gives him.

“Or you and I will have a problem, guapo, and believe me when I say you don't want that.” he replies without looking away.

“Gu— what?”

“It means handsome. Remember it because you won't hear me say it again.”

He doesn't think of himself as an aggressive person, someone who has trouble handling his anger because he doesn't generally think of his uncontrolled emotions as a problem.

But there’s a first time for everything, someone who can become an exception to the rule —his rules, and apparently, that person turns out to be San.

“My best friend is waiting for me, so.” He shrugs. “If I even see you near him.”

He traces a horizontal line with his hand along his neck to reassure him that he doesn't want his words to be taken as a joke.

“So you're his best friend but you're here with me?” He doesn't back up when San straightens up and looks down at him. “Don't you think you should set your priorities right? At least a little bit.” 

He wants to answer that San doesn't even know anything about him, that he doesn't have the right to judge his actions, or that he has approached him to eliminate the problem from the root, from the very beginning.

But maybe San is right, and he should sort his priorities out a bit, so instead of continuing to spend time away from Yeosang, he finally steps back.

“Don’t make me curse you in different languages.” he says before not wasting a glance over his shoulder once he walks away from him.

He doesn't like it when people hurt the people he loves.

He hasn't moved to yet another city to sit idly by.

---

Hongjoong keeps looking at Seonghwa. He’s only capable of wondering how is it possible to go from letting a string of curses leave his mouth as their lockers are side by side, and equaling the classes they share to a nightmare, to now finding himself staring at him.

Not exactly with a serious expression.

“Hyung!”

Both Mingi’s sudden loud tone of voice and presence startles him, and he keeps his hand over his heart when Mingi appears in front of him with a wide smile.

He assumes that by that time he should have gotten used to Mingi's energetic attitude, but Mingi continues to surprise him despite their years of friendship.

For the same reason, he immediately and no doubt suspects when he turns out to be the target of the happiness that accompanies Mingi's big smiling gesture.

“Party! Illusion! Tonight!” Mingi exclaims.

He balances Mingi’s grin with the grimace that he allows to characterize his face not only because he confirms that although he’s not able to anticipate all of Mingi's actions, he does know what his smile usually means; but also because he doesn't believe that his grin and the name of his nightclub is a simple coincidence.

“That can never imply a good thing. Don’t we have class tomorrow?” he asks after connecting the words he heard, understanding that the idea is not to stay inside his room for that night.

Mingi throws him an indignant look when he hears him.

“Right, it never matters if we have class tomorrow.” That detail has never been an obstacle when it comes to planning not to lie in their respective beds once the moon takes its place in the sky. “For any special reason?”

“Many,” Mingi assures him, though for the moment he doesn't list them. “Anyway, you'll be the DJ, right? So that you can also celebrate that you are a free man now since Yeosang got the answers—”

“Pause.” Hongjoong interrupts him as soon as he hears him. “What?”

“Yeah, Jeong already talked to the director.”

“How do you even know that?”

“I will obviously be around if there is even the slightest chance that Jeong will drop out of this university, even better, get kicked out. But unfortunately, it seems that his absence will remain a dream instead of my favorite reality.”

He really, really doesn't understand why Mingi and Yunho feel the need to constantly clash with each other when it would be easier if one decided to walk down one corridor and the other down another, but a different detail catches his attention at the utterance of those words.

He tilts his head, confused.

Yunho has already solved the situation.

"Why am I finding out about this now?"

As far as he knows, the plan is —or has been, he doesn't know— for him to approach Seonghwa in order to somehow get help for Yunho, but from what Mingi just mentioned, they apparently don't need that connection anymore.

Yeosang has already got the answers himself, and as such, Yunho no longer needs the help of others.

While a part of him relaxes and is even happy for Yunho, another part of him remains disoriented.

“Um, I don't know?”

The sudden confusion appears to be genuine on Mingi's face as well as in his tone of voice, but soon Mingi’s disorientation is replaced by an amused smile, another smiling gesture that Hongjoong takes as personal at the time.

“Worried that Yeosang hasn't mentioned it to you or that you no longer have an excuse to talk to his brother?”

He sighs when those words leave Mingi’s lips, not knowing if he's happy or tired because he definitely knows how to read Mingi's catalog of smiles.

“Invite him to the party, hey, come on, you don't need excuses.” Mingi continues, “If he does come, though, don't let him distract you from doing your job. Proceed carefully, mh, I saw him talking to Yeosang and neither of them seemed very happy.”

Mingi glances to the side, seeming to notice that even before he approached, he's been busy looking at Seonghwa, but instead of adding another word, Mingi smiles.

He remains puzzled for a few seconds, still putting together the words heard inside his head.

He should think of a set of songs for that night as well as what clothes he will choose to wear not only because he will be the DJ of the party —as he usually is at all of Mingi’s parties—, but also because he likes to dress well no matter the occasion.

But those details are left out when he focuses on the other sentences that Mingi has uttered.

The morning isn't over yet and he doubts that Yeosang managed to get the help by being present on the territory of the campus, which means he probably did it the night before. That conclusion still doesn't explain why Yeosang hasn't told him that he himself got help for Yunho.

He can't decide if he's upset or not, since if Yeosang had told him instead of finding out from Mingi, he wouldn't have had the opportunity to pick up Seonghwa.

His eyes find Seonghwa again.

He has noticed that he’s been more serious since mid-morning, and he can only wonder if it’s because Seonghwa has decided that they can exchange words as long as tinted windows protect them, while on campus there’s no chance to strike up a conversation.

“Hyung,” he stops looking at Seonghwa as soon as he hears Mingi's soft voice, and he doesn't hesitate to turn to him.

Although he’s surprised, he’s used to Mingi's energetic attitude. Mingi is like that, he usually keeps a smile when he's near him and often gets startled when he hears his name being called. But he knows he must be alarmed when Mingi chooses to lower his voice.

“I... I might overstep, but it wouldn't be me if I don't overstep... so... you know we...” he raises an eyebrow because he notices that instead of hastening to speak as he sometimes does, Mingi seems to be taking the time to find the right words. “We would never judge you if you ever fall in love, right?”

He frowns, those words surprising him, wondering why Mingi would choose to utter them, suddenly and in the middle of the hallway, until he remembers that they aren't the only ones present.

“You are saying that because you caught me staring at him?” He vaguely points over his shoulder with his thumb to reference Seonghwa.

“No, I'm saying that if you ever change the way you feel, we won't judge you and won't think less of you,” Mingi seeks to assure him, and he only thinks he prefers the Mingi who abruptly appears in front of him with a big smile on his face.

“Mingi, it was just a plan. You were there when it was said,” he doesn't understand why he decides to mention the words he says. “I just happen to find him intriguing.”

He doesn't want to take a defensive stance because he doesn't take Mingi's words as accusatory, but he can't help but express the words he adds so that Mingi understands that he's able to watch someone just because.

He finds Seonghwa intriguing, it isn’t a lie, but love?

“What was that word you told me once?” Mingi looks slightly confused, “The one with a color?”

He thinks he matches Mingi's confusion after slightly shaking his head at not knowing what he's talking about, until he remembers that Mingi was the one who showed more enthusiasm when it came to hearing how he came to the conclusion that he's aromantic.

“Greyromantic?” He offers.

“That!” Mingi points at him and nods. “Just... weakly romantic attraction or love in specific circumstances, wasn't it?”

He now understands why and with what intentions Mingi expresses the words that leave his lips, so he decides to continue the conversation.

“Mingi, I don't love him, I barely know him,” he insists.

Seonghwa is pretty and he doubts anyone would think otherwise, but just because he thinks Seonghwa is pretty and intriguing doesn't mean he's in love with him. He was insulting him or side-eyeing him not really long ago.

“All I'm saying is,” Mingi raises his hands innocently. “Sometimes love can come from the person we least expect and in unexpected ways.”

“And you say that because...” he narrows his gaze slightly, since so far he doesn't remember Mingi showing interest in anyone.

His lack of interest is questioned but not Mingi's?

“Because I watch romantic comedies, I have a shelf of romantic novels, and I love love,” Mingi places both hands on his heart and he lets out a breath because he knows that Mingi is being sincere when expressing those words. “And I love you as a friend, and I will never stop loving you no matter if you want a romantic relationship with someone or not.”

Maybe he shouldn't get carried away by what he hears since, as Mingi has said, he loves love, his aesthetic can be summed up in the color pink and he more than once has ended up watching Barbie movies or romantic comedies for Mingi.

But Mingi is his friend, someone who knows him more than well, and he has always valued Mingi's opinion.

“You love me too, I know that,” Mingi again goes on to hold a more than a big smile, not waiting for an answer, and makes finger-guns at him. “And you will show it by coming to my party tonight!” he adds before forming hearts with his fingers.

Mingi offers him another smile before quickly leaving him to approach other students to probably invite them to his party, assuming he's going to the party that night —which, indeed, he will.

He shakes his head, knowing that Mingi has run away from him.

Love? He shakes his head again.

The thought of inviting Seonghwa to Mingi's party amuses him, though.

Just like he said, he thinks Seonghwa is intriguing. He believes that Seonghwa hides more than he says or more than he shows, and as such, he feels expectant as he thinks of Seonghwa in a different environment than the one that makes up the corridors and classrooms of the university.

Ultimately, he wants to celebrate the fact that Yunho is apparently free from sudden exams too, as he considers him a close friend. He thinks that a night with background music —produced and played by none other than him— and maybe a few drinks in between sounds like a good idea.

With that idea in mind and Mingi’s words cast aside, he decides to approach Seonghwa.

The presence or absence of a plan doesn’t matter. He doesn't get close to Seonghwa because he’s the director's son or because he needs to help Yunho —or because he’s in love with him. Maybe he hasn’t freed his head from Mingi’s words completely.

He stands next to him because maybe their lockers being side by side isn't as bad as he initially thought.

“Hey.”

He arches an eyebrow, confused when instead of feeling that his presence is welcome, Seonghwa seems to be startled by it, not having expected him to get close. 

He closes his locker but doesn't look at him, and instead raises one of his palms toward him.

“No. No, no, and no. Of course not. I don’t have time for this.”

He looks at him more than perplexed when Seonghwa turns his back on him after intonating those words, but he hurries to break his path and stops in front of him. Seonghwa quickly stops as soon as his path is interrupted.

“Excuse me?” he can't help but say, confused.

Seonghwa crosses his arms.

He wonders if Seonghwa plans to behave like this, as if he has two personalities; two different parts that compose him. One gives him a smile and appreciates the taste of strawberries, while the other acts reluctantly and stares at him.

“You don't have to come near me. My brother has already taken it upon himself to tell me the truth. You don't have to trick me again to get what you want.”

He isn’t able to prevent surprise from invading his facial features and his eyes widen after hearing those words. He understands that the problem is not Seonghwa's change of mood throughout the morning, but his own actions and words.

The plan hasn’t only been discarded, but also revealed.

“Wow. He wasn't lying. You really are a liar.” Seonghwa keeps staring at him as he pronounces those words, but promptly doesn't hesitate to walk past him, and this time he doesn't move at the same time because his brain is too busy processing the implications of his words.

Mingi mentioned seeing Yeosang and Seonghwa having a serious conversation while he’s aware that he has felt Seonghwa’s mood change since the middle of the morning.

There’s only one way Seonghwa could have found out about the plan, and that way turns out to be Yeosang.

Maybe because they no longer need Seonghwa's help, or maybe because it was something personal. For him, the way Seonghwa and Yeosang address each other is remarkable.

Regardless of what happened between them and San when they found out their lockers are side by side, it's not hard to tell that they don't have a particularly good relationship.

He wonders if during all that time the plan has been different. Perhaps Yeosang has expressed not being able to get the answers on his own just to bring Seonghwa into the equation, himself turning out to be nothing more than a pawn in the game created by Yeosang.

Seonghwa is angry.

He moves as soon as he remembers that Seonghwa is the person who matters at the moment. He jogs up to him and again stays in front of him, moving when Seonghwa threatens to continue on his way.

“Hey, no. Wait a second.”

“I don't want you to talk to me.”

He raises both hands towards him to stop him and thankfully Seonghwa doesn't try to leave again.

Both his stern expression and his folded arms assure him that he better talk fast, and he thinks that Seonghwa staring at him is better than him walking away again.

It's probably not fair the way he's holding him back when Seonghwa clearly doesn't want him around, but he doesn't think it's fair for Seonghwa to put all the blame on him when at no time has he thought about Yunho and the scholarship.

He understands why Seonghwa sounds and looks angry, but he doesn't want to make the miscommunication between them even bigger.

He again surprises himself, since while he has previously only thought about staying away from Seonghwa, at that moment he doesn't want Seonghwa to stay away.

Allowing Seonghwa to create the wrong image of him in his head doesn't please him. He shouldn't care what Seonghwa thinks about him, he shouldn't; and yet, he decides to speak.

“I've genuinely had a good time.”

Perhaps he has approached Seonghwa under someone else’s words, but it's his decision to be right in front of Seonghwa at that moment.

“It's good to know that you enjoy lying to people.” he’s not surprised when Seonghwa takes those words and plays them against him. “You definitely don't need to pick me up any other morning, and block my number, please. I will if you send me a text. Although, clearly, it would be better if you didn't.”

“Seonghwa—”

“Since you and my brother seem, well, rather are, so close, have you seen him?”

He frowns slightly, wondering what is really going on between Seonghwa and Yeosang.

They fight but they look for each other? Well, they certainly sound like brothers.

“No,” he replies, moving to the side when Seonghwa appears to do so after hearing a negative answer. “Wait,” he asks, “I'm sorry, really, at no time—”

“I don't want to listen to you.”

“How can I make up it to you?” he insists.

He understands if Seonghwa doesn't feel like listening to him, much less interacting with him. It’s valid, it’s more than valid. He thinks that he too would be furious if the situation had been the other way around; but he doesn't plan on giving up either.

Not because he wants Seonghwa to like him because he's the director’s son or because it’s always better to get along with people who attend his same classes, but because he doesn't want the closeness he has established with Seonghwa to be thrown away so quickly.

“By leaving me alone.”

“There's a party tonight.” he ignores Seonghwa's answer even if he formulated the question. “Go and we can talk again there—”

“What are you not understanding?” This time Seonghwa unfolds his arms to firmly tap one of his own temples with the tip of his index finger. “You lied to me. You used me. You shouldn't be looking to make it up to me because you shouldn't have done something to me in the first place.”

Seonghwa moving away from him or Seonghwa getting closer to pronounce those words without a single trace of the smile that he previously got to appear on his face. Both options are awful.

“I don’t want to see you.”

Seonghwa throws him a serious look, and this time he settles for chasing after him with his eyes as he turns after Seonghwa walks past him.

He allows a frustrated breath of air to leave his lips. He has thought about inviting Seonghwa to the party while Seonghwa has thought of everything but staying close to him.

He remembers that Seonghwa is not the only one who deserves an explanation.

Yeosang also owes him an explanation.

“Shit.” he mutters to himself.

Chapter 11

Notes:

additional warning: smoking

“Go away!” Wooyoung shouts.

His loud tone of voice fulfills its purpose since the student who's been about to enter the bathroom decides to back up on their footsteps, so he turns around and grins upon seeing Yeosang hiding an amused smile behind his hand.

He doesn't think he can put into words the feeling of happiness that bubbles up in his chest when Yeosang graces his expression with a smiling gesture, especially when he and his particular personality turn out to be the cause.

“You can't kick everyone out of the bathroom,” Yeosang says.

“I'm the director's son's best friend, what can be said to me?”

He digs his fingers into Yeosang's thighs to accompany the beginning of the amused smile that appears on his face.

Though Yeosang mentions that he can't kick everyone out of the bathroom so their privacy won't be interrupted, so far no one has dared to go against his voice.

Yeosang stops trying to hide his smile behind his hand, knowing that he's expressed those words on purpose. He delights in the way Yeosang brings his hand to his nape again and swings his legs, entertained, while he stays more than comfortable between them.

“Do you really expect privileges?” Yeosang asks.

He doesn't expect to be treated differently just because he happens to be best friends with one of the new director's sons —maybe he would have gotten them anyway. Or maybe not, San didn't seem to know who he is. He doesn't know if he's puzzled by said detail or not.

It doesn't matter anyway, since Yeosang turns out to be the son of the new director, and he opts to hold a calm smile as both are aware that he says what he says to tease Yeosang.

He has learned that sometimes he gets special treatment without even asking for it, without being able to refuse it. But many times that special and preferential treatment is balanced with the fake smiles that other people send his way. It can only be explained as a kind of blessing and curse.

“No, I’m always like this.”

He shouts for everyone to go away because he wants to be alone with Yeosang, not because the students already know that his voice must be heard or that nothing can happen to him because he’s Yeosang's best friend.

They have left the awkwardness of the stall for Yeosang to sit on the bathroom counter while he stands as close to him as possible. He has washed up Yeosang's face to get rid of the traces of tears as well as the ruined makeup.

His years of friendship with Yeosang have taught him that while it’s difficult for Yeosang to initiate physical contact and may resist the touch at first, playfully and never truly pushing him away; he always ends up wrapping his arms around his body, so being close to him is no surprise.

Yeosang tilts his head and looks at him with a calm smile.

He imitates his smiling gesture because he believes that Yeosang smiling at him is better than Yeosang crying. Yeosang watches him, probably taking his time to scan his facial features since they finally are face to face. And he doesn’t mind. On the contrary, he gets the chance to trace the definition of Yeosang's face with his eyes. 

His brown eyes remain focused on him and luckily his birthmark is on display. It's easy to tell that he's been crying and the depth of his eyebags worry him, but he concentrates on his smile.

The necklace around his neck and the flower charm that dangles from it is present as always.

“Did my mom say something?” Yeosang asks.

So far they have only stopped being side by side when he left after telling him that would greet his mother.

“More than happy, as any person would be to see me,” he chooses to lie.

He doesn't think it's necessary for Yeosang to know that he has talked to —well, pushed and threatened— San to assure him that he better don’t mess with Yeosang again.

Yeosang shakes his head.

“Narcissist.”

“Let's not talk about your mom while I kiss you,” he mentions before actually brushing his lips with his.

He lowers his gaze to notice the smile that Yeosang draws with his mouth, and he stops keeping one of his hands on Yeosang's thighs to leave it on his cheek and give him a light caress with his thumb, his skin still soft and slightly moist under his touch.

Yeosang closes one of his eyes when that caress seems to bother him instead of relaxing him, and he's only able to think that Yeosang has probably been nibbling the inner part of his cheek.

“You still have your lollipops?” he asks him.

He knows that Yeosang has made that candy a constant because otherwise, the inner part of his cheek ends up being the victim of his nervousness.

“Well, I hope my kisses help you feel better,” he adds when instead of providing an answer, Yeosang does relax and leans into the contact.

He slides the hand he has left on Yeosang's cheek to his nape to draw his face to his and only keeps smiling when his lips meet Yeosang's. He digs his fingertips into the fabric of Yeosang's trousers at the same time he feels that Yeosang now leaves his free hand on his waist and the other continues around his neck.

“I didn’t even last a week without you,” he whispers against his lips before again taking them with his own.

That closeness is common between them, a constant that instead of making them question what kind of relationship they have developed, assures them that no explanations are necessary when what matters is the conformity that that kind of proximity offers.

He wants to think that Yeosang has missed him as much as he has missed him.

Even if only a few days is the amount of time they've spent apart, he's tended to replace his typical smiling gesture with a grimace as he turned his head and didn't find Yeosang by his side.

“How did you even find me?” Yeosang slightly pulls apart.

He gently tugs at his lower lip before choosing to rest his gaze on it.

People often wonder how they have managed to call each other best friends and consider each other a fundamental part of their lives when their personalities are different. He interrupts Yeosang's silence and Yeosang's sarcastic comments are followed by his laughter.

“I went through three classrooms.” He gently flicks his fingers against Yeosang's forehead when Yeosang laughs, and he smiles because the sound of Yeosang's laughter makes him happy, it implies that Yeosang is happy too. “But, well, I've done worse things for you.”

Whether it's because of the closeness established or because of his words, his body gets rid of all the nervousness that has been keeping him somewhat on his toes so far when Yeosang rests his forehead on his.

He’s a restless person, he finds it difficult to remain still and regardless of whether he’s standing, sitting, or lying down, he still fidgets in his place. But the kind of restlessness that embraces him when Yeosang is downcast is different.

He notices the way Yeosang takes advantage of the fact that he has left a hand on his waist to move it towards his stomach, and gently takes the fabric of his white shirt between his fingers.

He knows it's to make sure he's really in front of him, inches apart instead of miles away. Yeosang doesn't want to let him go because he's still afraid, thinking that he's a creation of his head instead of a reality that he himself has made sure to fulfill.

“I still can't believe you're here,” Yeosang expresses that uncertainty in a whisper.

“Believe it,” he caresses his nape with his fingers to show him that indeed, he’s there. Even if he too is slowly but surely realizing that while he woke up with complaints ready to be said after missing Yeosang, they are by side at that moment. “My blazer assures it.”

He smiles because Yeosang does so after both of them become aware of the particular color of that piece of clothing.

“My knees are stained, but it doesn't matter, this floor is expensive.” He doesn't really mind having had to kneel in the bathroom stall so he could stay close to Yeosang. “Also.” He touches the tip of Yeosang's nose with his own before leaving a few inches between them. “It wouldn't be the first time I'm on my knees for you.”

He keeps an amused smile on his face while Yeosang wrinkles his nose at the implication of those words.

He takes comfort in the fact that no matter how close they have become —both emotionally and physically— they still consider each other best friends. He wants to stay as close to Yeosang as possible, he wants to comfort him in whatever way Yeosang deems necessary so that he can forget the previous tears he shed.

He thinks it would be more than easy to mistake them for a couple, but communication with Yeosang has always been more than clear, and both have always expressed their agreement not to change the term of the relationship between them no matter how well they know each other's bodies.

“Don’t start,” Yeosang says even though he wraps his legs around his figure, assuring him that he also wants to stay close to him after keeping him in his place with that action. “There's a lot on my mind. You, the party—”

“Party?”

Yeosang holds a sudden smile, probably seeing the way his eyes widen and his eyebrows go up after hearing that word.

“Right, you haven't met anyone,” he seems to realize that detail, “First day and you're already skipping class.”

“You're missing out too,” he reminds him.

Yeosang isn't in the mood to focus on whatever class they have, and if he’s to be honest, not a single trace of guilt accompanies him for missing his first day of classes.

He’s there for Yeosang, not for the prestige of the university.

“Do we have someone to ask for homework?” he asks him.

“The person who organizes the party, he’s a friend of mine.”

“Friend?” he smiles, amused, and arches an eyebrow.

He doesn't know if Yeosang is smiling because of the intrigued tone of voice he used to pronounce that word, or because of the smile still present on his face. The truth is, he would love to take credit for all of Yeosang's smiles, but he can't.

“You look better,” he decides to add although Yeosang loses his smile.

“You found me crying,” he doesn't need Yeosang to remind him of such. Yeosang smiles but it's still obvious that he cried, and besides, just as it's easy for him to remember Yeosang's smile, it's also easy for him to allow the sound of Yeosang's cries to invade his head.

“You look better anyway,” he insists.

The last time he saw Yeosang, Yeosang barely spoke, even with him after being completely down and against having to move from one city to another. He’s been serious the whole time and kept his arms crossed, so despite finding him crying, he thinks Yeosang is better.

“I don't feel better,” he swallows when Yeosang looks down and uses a surrendered tone of voice as he utters that truth. “But there are nice people in here and they make me smile.”

He smiles when he hears those words.

“Should I be jealous?” he asks just to tease.

Yeosang has a reserved personality and is shy. He has often felt his hand take his arm when they have found themselves surrounded by people. But he’s not really jealous because apparently, Yeosang has allowed the move that he hasn’t wanted to happen to give him the opportunity to meet new people.

“You know you shouldn’t.” Yeosang brings his face closer to his and he leans into him as Yeosang backs away again. He straightens up too, and they hold matching smiles. “He wants to throw a party tonight.”

“Come to my house and let's go together,” he decides right then and there. “I know you don't want to go to yours,” he adds when Yeosang gives him a puzzled look.

“Are we really going to the party?”

“Yeah, duh.” he gently pats Yeosang’s thigh to remind him that he can't bring up the presence of a party and just hope he decides not to attend it. “To celebrate that I’m here, that we are together again. Also, I want to meet the person who organizes it,” he adds with a wink.

Yeosang looks at him, and he looks at Yeosang, both knowing that he can calmly tell him that he really doesn't want to go to the party and he will accept his decision despite just telling him that they should go.

But Yeosang scoffs before smiling, and he smiles too.

“He has a lot of money but—”

He promptly narrows his eyes at the same time that he keeps on smiling because Yeosang forms a line with his lips and widens his eyes.

“You just stopped yourself from telling me something.” he raises both eyebrows, “Mh. That doesn’t tend to happen.”

“You figure people out fast.” Yeosang stops keeping his hand on his neck as well as the other on his stomach to grab the corners of his blazer and fiddle with its edge. “You'll find out soon enough,” he mentions.

“So, this person, I don't go near, then. I mean, not in that way at least,” he says.

Just as he doesn't need Yeosang to add that he'll probably soon find out for himself why he's chosen not to express something he knows while he doesn't, Yeosang also doesn't need him to put into words everything he thinks in order to understand him.

Both Yeosang and himself are aware that he has a loose personality that many people don’t consider pleasant while others do. An attitude that exclaims confidence, honesty, and security.

In a different way, Yeosang is just as honest as him, and for the same reason, it's been so easy to call each other best friends. Perhaps they kiss frequently, stay close, and have explored each other's bodies on several occasions; but that has never changed the fact that they strictly see each other as best friends.

He doesn't understand why a friendship can't include physical closeness as well.

But he’s also aware that not all people think like him and that not all people are as close to him as Yeosang. Furthermore, he believes that he will never find someone who can be as close to him as Yeosang; so he appreciates the subtle warning Yeosang sends in his direction.

With this person —this new friend of Yeosang— he shouldn't seek physical closeness.

“Off limits,” Yeosang shakes his head.

“Okay. It doesn't matter anyway, I have my own money,” he winks at him and they both smile.

He thinks that the amount of money this person has must be such a large number that Yeosang has chosen to say that he has a lot of money. He’s aware that his and Yeosang's families have always gathered in places that not all people can access, and that if both he and Yeosang are where they are, it’s because their parents have taken it upon themselves to stay in certain peaks.

But as he said, it doesn't matter. He won’t approach this person for money or for physical contact. He knows, he really knows the kind of reputation and renown attached to his own last name.

“Oh, by the way, you will come home, my parents really want to cook something for you.”

“Ah, I miss your parents’ food.”

“And mine?” he doesn't hesitate to ask along with a big pout.

Perhaps his parents are well-known for their cooking skills and their acclaimed restaurant chain while he becomes familiar with the kitchens of the houses where he lives, but he thrives when people enjoy what he cooks.

“Yours too,” Yeosang replies, “I think.”

He allows a sound of offense to escape his lips upon hearing him, and he digs his fingers into Yeosang's thigh enough for Yeosang to get rid of his teasing smile and complain about said action.

“You'll be sorry you said that.” He wrinkles his nose. “I won't offer you a single lollipop,” determined, he lifts his chin up, though he’s more than aware of the bowl of lollipops already present in his new house because he has gotten used to always having one with him because of Yeosang and his habit.

“I don't know if I'll complain now that you're here, right?”

Yeosang asks him that question along with a short smile, and he can't help but quickly let go of his offended expression as he smiles after hearing those words. 

Certainly, it seems that both consider shared kisses better than the existence of lollipops.

“Of course s— go away!” he stops his own words by suddenly turning around after hearing someone open the bathroom door.

“Wait.”

Yeosang tugs on his blazer, but not turning around lets him spot the first student that decides to ignore him, since he enters the bathroom instead of leaving as everyone else did upon hearing him.

“I know him.” Yeosang adds.

“Ah.” he maintains a neutral expression once they are finally accompanied, and tilts his head when he watches the red color of that student's hair. “Nice hair.”

“I know, right?” He hears Yeosang say, “I've told him the same thing.”

Their sudden company looks at them, seeming to be confused enough by the words he has heard as by seeing them at that moment. He notices that instead of leaving his gaze on the way he stays more than close to Yeosang, he leaves his puzzled gaze on him.

“Who are you?” He sounds more than shocked.

“Wooyoung,” he replies, and decides to replace his neutral expression with a friendly smile after remembering that Yeosang mentioned knowing this person, so he assumes that if Yeosang knows him, it's because he's nice and hasn't caused him trouble like San. “A pleasure, and you?”

“What's wrong, Hongjoong?” Yeosang expresses before the other —Hongjoong, apparently— can answer.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

Hongjoong approaches them, and he doesn't miss the way Hongjoong crosses his arms as he sets his gaze on Yeosang. Now that the initial surprise at his presence has worn off —as well as his probable closeness with Yeosang— Hongjoong decorates his eyes as well as his tone of voice with a trace of seriousness.

“You've told the truth to Park.”

Seonghwa, he thinks.

“Yes, and? I already have the answers. Yunho is fine.”

“Well, now he's mad at me.”

“With me too, and? Do you think I care about Seonghwa?”

He stops focusing on Hongjoong to turn his head and look at Yeosang after hearing that exchange of words.

As the person closest to him, he knows that Yeosang doesn’t have the best of relations with Seonghwa and their mother, probably much less so since their mother decided that moving to another city in order to become the director of the institution they currently are in was the best idea.

But that same closeness allows him to denote when Yeosang is sincere and when he is not, and although he looks and sounds upset, he’s sure that Yeosang does care about Seonghwa. Seonghwa must have said or done something for Yeosang to choose to mention those words.

He wraps his arms around Yeosang's neck to keep his head close to his. Not only because he feels the way he has tensed up after exchanging words with Hongjoong, but also to assure Hongjoong that if he chose that moment to argue with Yeosang, he has made a mistake.

He’s present, he’s there now, and he will push and threaten again if he has to.

“It's not right what you did,” Hongjoong expresses, sliding his eyes to him before looking back at Yeosang.

Until now he has only focused on making Yeosang feel better and he doesn't want all the so far crossed words and shared gestures to be thrown away, so he hopes that Hongjoong's presence doesn't ruin the momentary relaxation he has achieved with Yeosang, reassurance that Hongjoong has already begun to break because Yeosang is still tensed under his touch.

“He's not a saint, you know? I'm sorry if he convinced you otherwise this morning, but he's not. And besides, you agreed to be part of the plan.”

Plan?

“I know, I'm not putting all the blame on you. I have it too.” 

Despite still not understanding what the conversation is about, he allows himself to relax after listening to Hongjoong's words since he’s not there to assure that Yeosang is to blame for whatever has happened between the two, something that apparently involves Seonghwa as well.

“We're both wrong, but don't do this again.” Hongjoong adds.

“I can’t promise anything.”

Instead of saying a word about it, Hongjoong unfolds his arms to rub his face with both hands, looking frustrated.

He chooses to stop keeping his face close to Yeosang's neck to straighten up, but he doesn't stop keeping his neck wrapped in his arms. At no time have Yeosang's hands released the corners of his blazer.

Hongjoong rests his hands on the sides of his waist.

“Are you going to the party tonight?”

“We'll go,” he replies even if the question wasn't directed at him. Hongjoong watches him. “You?”

“Yes,” he replies despite not sounding excited about it.

Hongjoong looks at them again, and this time he switches his eyes between them.

He doesn't know what kind of thoughts are going through his head, probable questions, until he suddenly notices the modifications that differentiate Hongjoong's uniform from theirs once Hongoong approaches them with the pair of sunglasses that he's taken from his backpack.

“Square and thick-rimmed sunglasses are better for hiding tears,” Hongjoong holds said accessory in his hand.

He doesn't feel Yeosang tense up when they both hear Hongjoong imply that it's easy to tell Yeosang's been crying. He doesn't know if he’s surprised or not when Yeosang decides to accept the pair of glasses.

“How do you know that?” Yeosang asks him.

“I don't ask you questions, you don't ask me,” Hongoong places the backpack on his shoulders, “See you at the party,” he adds before making a simple gesture with his hand and turning to leave the bathroom without waiting for them to say anything.

He looks at Yeosang when they are left alone, but Yeosang looks at the accessory in his hand.

“He has already done more for me than Seonghwa.”

And with the mere mention of those words spoken in a low tone, he knows that he hasn't been wrong to think that Yeosang cares about Seonghwa even though he expresses otherwise in words.

“It's not fair what you say and you know it.”

Yeosang raises his head when he hears him but he doesn't regret his words, not even when Yeosang looks at him seriously.

A best friend not only seeks to comfort but also to tell the truth no matter how much it may upset or hurt.

“He's not even wearing the bracelet dad gave him.” Yeosang determines.

He watches the way Yeosang swallows heavily, probably from mentioning his father, but he forces himself to keep staring at him.

“Have you considered that perhaps using it hurts him?”

“Why would it hurt him?”

“Because people mourn in different ways, Sangie.” he keeps looking at Yeosang even though he has relaxed his facial features and Yeosang turns his face to the side after hearing him. Probably because he knows he's right but refuses to admit it. “You can't judge how people grieve.”

From the exchange of words between Yeosang and Hongjoong it’s evident that there’s information that must be exposed, but the instability between Yeosang and Seonghwa is not a secret or a surprise.

He opens his mouth to continue talking because Yeosang still doesn't look at him, but the sound of the bell interrupts him.

Yeosang exhales a breath of air, sounding relieved. “Finally.”

“Don't think you'll get rid of me,” he says, “What was that?”

“Something I don't feel like explaining to you here, I hate this place.”

He shrugs, satisfied with the answer.

“Come on, then, you are coming with me.”

He thinks it’s progress, and they finally stop being close after Yeosang unwraps his legs from around his waist and he pulls them apart. He reaches out his hand to him and Yeosang accepts it without hesitation, promptly stepping down from the counter to accept being guided.

Although Yeosang probably knows the place better than he does, he's the one to lead them down the hall anyway. He went through the main doors so going through them again to leave shouldn't be difficult.

Yeosang diverts for a moment to get his backpack out of his locker, and that gesture makes him realize that he hasn't even bothered to bring one with him that day. Only the image of Yeosang guided him there.

Their hands are still linked once they leave the building. He looks at Yeosang when he hides his eyes behind Hongjoong’s sunglasses, and he guesses that he will have to greet Yeosang's mother another day.

“Wooyoung?”

Not Seonghwa though.

He stops and turns around after recognizing that voice, and he certainly bumps into Seonghwa. He seems to have rushed to stop him but he continues at a significant distance from them, a look of obvious confusion on his face.

“Awesome.”

if Yeosang speaking with irony and giving his hand a squeeze is not enough for him to understand that he’s not happy with the interruption, the look that he notices that Yeosang shares with Seonghwa, even with sunglasses on, is the only thing he needs to understand that Yeosang and Seonghwa are not on good terms.

Again.

“Hey,” he turns around to find Yeosang beyond serious. “Why don't you go to my car?” he asks as he offers him the keys to his car. “You know which one is it. I'll go in a moment, okay?”

Yeosang doesn't accept the keys right away. He looks behind him and he just knows that he’s staring at Seonghwa. For the same reason, he’s the one to give his hand a squeeze this time, luckily getting Yeosang to focus on him again.

He jiggles the keys in his hand, and after a few seconds of looking at each other, Yeosang takes the keys and finally, lets go of his hand to turn around.

A relieved breath of air leaves his lips, reassured that Yeosang has accepted the keys not because his presence doesn't seem to help him stay relaxed anymore, but because Seonghwa has shown up.

He turns around and chooses to approach Seonghwa, briefly waving at him as well as offering him a short smile. He’s happy to see him as well, more than happy, but he will always take Yeosang's side, so he can be nice but not that nice.

“When? What even?” The confusion is more than evident on Seonghwa's face, “When did you come here? How?”

“A few hours ago actually.”

Now that Yeosang isn't by his side and that he has already seen him, he allows himself to focus on the fact that he too has left the city after convincing his parents that he's not okay without Yeosang around.

His parents' businesses prosper and continue to expand, and as such money continues to get added to their bank accounts and accumulate no matter where they are. Convincing them hasn't been difficult, much less when the big city of Seoul turns out to be the new destination.

In addition, he believes that he has never cared much about where he studies. Cooking is what he wants to do and he doubts that the university that Yeosang and Seonghwa's mother now runs specializes in cooking. And besides, he’s aware that the last name he bears implies that he shouldn't worry too much about his grades.

He already has his future fixed, even if he doesn't like it or want it.

He doesn't talk about his money. He’s only aware of it.

Meeting people who really seek to get closer to him because of his personality and not his last name is difficult, so being suddenly separated from Yeosang hasn’t been nice.

He has known Yeosang for several years now, since they were still attending classes at the same school and Yeosang and Seonghwa's father was alive. They've grown side by side, trusting each other, so while he's still thinking about the new changes, he can't express being completely surprised that he's made his family move just to be close to Yeosang again.

It's hard to meet people like Yeosang, so he has refused to lose him.

“My brother—”

“He really doesn't want to talk to you right now,” he stops Seonghwa.

He doesn't feel awkward about avoiding giving Seonghwa a hug and mentioning those words simply because he's Yeosang's best friend.

Somehow he always ends up between them, right in the middle, trying to calm down the situation for both to at least accept to share space again, or being with one —most of the time Yeosang— to express words or act in a certain way to reduce the tension.

He cares for Seonghwa too, he really does, but at the end of the day Yeosang is his best friend and he's chosen to move in there for him, so he's not surprised once Seonghwa puts aside his confusion and casts a serious look at him.

“Of course. You come here and he sticks to you without hesitation while I'm here—”

“Don't try to make me feel guilty.” he stops him as soon as he senses that Seonghwa plans to direct his anger towards him because Yeosang is not patient enough to stay, and as a consequence, he becomes the target of words formulated by feelings he hasn’t provoked. “It's not my fault if he doesn't want to see you.”

“I don't want to see him either, you know? He hurt me too, but that doesn’t change that we are still brothers.”

He narrows his eyes, not surprised to hear those words because he’s aware that his best friend is not an angel, someone incapable of hurting, much less Seonghwa, so he tilts his head.

“You said he hurt you. Too. So you've hurt him.”

He’s beginning to believe that finding Yeosang crying, hearing Hongjoong's conversation, and Seonghwa's presence are not mere flukes. Much less when Seonghwa's name has been one of the words said between Yeosang and Hongjoong.

Seonghwa snorts and seems to hold back from folding his arms.

Around them, students continue to leave the building, so he has no doubt that despite whatever he's thinking or feeling, Seonghwa forces himself not to lose his composure because Seonghwa has always been like this.

He doesn't blame him.

“Someone.”

“Mh?”

“Yeosang told someone to get close to me with the intention of getting something from me. I'm angry at Yeosang and that person.”

He quickly manages to deduce that the other person is probably Hongjoong.

“And you hurt Yeosang because...”

“I overdid it.” he stares at Seonghwa once Seonghwa softens his facial features and looks at the ground for a second. He promptly looks up again, but he has a trace of regret on his face. “I almost mentioned our dad.”

“Very, very low blow, hyung.”

Perhaps he’s Yeosang's best friend and has an excellent relationship with him while Seonghwa is Yeosang's half-brother, someone Yeosang doesn't really get along with, but both he and Seonghwa are close to Yeosang due to different circumstances, so they both know that their dad is not a person —or a subject— that can be mentioned lightly.

Yeosang barely talks about it with him and the two of them are best friends.

“I know.”

Seonghwa seems to be aware that just like he said, he probably overdid it.

The guilt that characterizes him is enough to assure him that he probably hasn't planned to do the same thing, that he probably hurt Yeosang because Yeosang hurt him. He doesn't really know, but he does know that he's beginning to believe that maybe not just a name has brought Yeosang to tears.

“I found him crying,” he decides to say, not believing he’s betraying Yeosang by pronouncing that detail. Seonghwa's eyes widen. “He was crying his eyes out,” in a bathroom stall, alone, hidden away from others because Yeosang doesn't like to cry in front of others.

“What?”

“When I arrived here.”

Seonghwa brings his hands to his own cheeks to leave them on that part of his face. He’s more than worried and he knows it not only because his expression evidences it, but also because just as he usually seeks to establish physical contact with the person next to him, and Yeosang eats lollipops, Seonghwa does that action most of the time.

“It must have been my fault, my words.”

From the details he has, Yeosang and Seonghwa have probably had a falling out.

He’s aware of his best friend's attitude, and the conversation he overheard, so he deduces that Yeosang told Seonghwa the truth —whatever that means— and in return, Seonghwa got mad to the point of almost mentioning their dad.

Next, Yeosang cries. He joins the scene.

“I'm not saying he's made of glass, nor am I defending him or anything, but he's going through a rough period. Your dad is no longer here. He misses him and you too.” 

It's only been a month since Yeosang's biological father yet Seoghwa’s father too left them. Only a few weeks in which Yeosang is still dealing with that lack —Seonghwa too— and therefore with himself.

“He didn't want to come here. How do you expect him to react?” he adds.

“I'm an idiot, he must hate me.”

“He doesn't.” he doesn't hesitate to express as soon as he notices the frustration on Seonghwa's face.

Maybe Yeosang isn't currently there because he doesn't want to talk to Seonghwa, but he thinks, no, he’s sure that he knows his best friend well enough to know that even for Yeosang, hate is a word too strong when it comes to Seonghwa.

“He told me that San bothered him, not you,” he adds, thinking that detail is important.

At no time has Yeosang brought up Seonghwa's name.

“San?”

“Yes. He said some pretty mean words to Yeosang when they went out.”

He isn’t against someone unless he has reason to be aggressive. Yeosang's words have been enough for him to want to meet San the way he has, barging into his space to reassure him that he's not there to play around, even more so after Yeosang added more words.

“They went out?”

He buffs as soon as Seonghwa's tone of voice shows confusion.

“God, Yeosang is really keeping you at bay, isn't he?” He only arrived a few hours ago and already knows more about what is happening than Seonghwa himself.

Should he be surprised? He doesn’t know. Yeosang trusts him more than Seonghwa. Of that, he’s sure.

“Nothing has changed.” Seonghwa crosses his arms, assuring him that he shares the thought. “You always are the exception.”

Despite agreeing with him, he tilts his head.

“Why do I feel that comment is personal?”

He has taken it upon himself to assure Yeosang that he can trust him, even since they were younger. Being by his side, making him laugh, keeping his secrets safe. He’s human and can get confused, a friendship is never perfect, but both he and Yeosang have made sure to establish clear communication between them.

They know that they have each other. Yeosang trusts him because he has earned Yeosang's trust and he trusts Yeosang because Yeosang has earned his trust.

He believes that sometimes Seonghwa forgets that, that he must earn Yeosang's trust instead of simply believing that he has the same in the palm of his hand just because they are part of the same family. He thinks too, that Seonghwa gets mad at Yeosang because he does trust Yeosang, and sometimes that ends up working against him.

“I don't know.” Seonghwa promptly unfolds his arms. “I don't know if I'm jealous, irritated, everything, nothing, I don't know.” he believes him because Seonghwa looks stressed. Perhaps the image of him is impeccable, but the tone of voice that accompanies those words is not. “I guess I'm happy you're here,” he says, looking at him. “He trusts you.”

Yeosang certainly trusts him.

“Come on, smoke with me, it shows that you need it.”

Instead of moving to end the conversation and thus go back to Yeosang, he walks away from the building to get away from the rest of the students, and soon approaches one of the benches, sitting on it.

“You are aware that this is our campus, right?” Seonghwa determines, yet chooses to sit next to him.

He shrugs as he pulls out a half-empty pack of cigarettes from one of his pockets and a lighter, and promptly rests one between his lips and lights the end of it.

He may have joked about having privileges simply because Yeosang is the director's son, but he is no fool, and he knows that no one will tell him anything as soon as they know who he is. Besides, he's already a grown-up and knows what he's doing —at least most of the time, he wants to believe— and no one can tell him not to smoke.

“Do you really have to smoke now?” Seonghwa looks indignant.

He thinks about releasing the smoke that he inhales over his face just because yes, he really has to smoke now, but he chooses to be a good person and turns his head to the other side to exhale the smoke through his mouth to avoid bothering Seonghwa. 

He turns back to look at him.

“Yes, I really need to,” he says after holding the cigarette between his fingers. “First day and I don't attend any class, I find Yeosang crying, I threaten someone, I'm having this talk with you, the color of this blazer is disgusting, and many more things, so yeah, I definitely have to smoke now,” he explains before again trapping the cigarette between his lips.

Seonghwa looks at him puzzled.

“Threaten someone?”

“Mh? Don't you have something personal with San? You should, considering what he says to your brother.” He partially turns his head to exhale smoke the other way, wondering if Seonghwa hasn't threatened San himself because dropping his facade is a sin.

“Maybe. I too had a fight with him. An argument. I told him not to mess with Yeosang.” he raises both eyebrows at this. He expected no less. Regardless of the hostility, Seonghwa worries about Yeosang. “Have you really threatened him?”

“Of course,” he doesn't regret the answer he gives, much less after hearing that apparently, San has overlooked Seonghwa's words since despite his warning, he chose to approach Yeosang anyway, and not in a good way or with good intentions. “I might as well have told him not to bother you had I known that it's not just something against Yeosang. I know I'm closer to Yeosang, but I'm also here for you, you know that.”

Yeosang's presence in his life also involves Seonghwa's. It's true that sometimes it's hard to stay close to him or greet him with a big smile on his face when Seonghwa is in the middle of an argument with Yeosang; but he believes that despite being different and clashing most of the time, both of them are equally stubborn.

He believes that Yeosang cares for Seonghwa in the same way that Seonghwa cares for Yeosang, even if their attitudes at the time express the opposite.

“I think Yeosang would hate you if he heard you say that.”

“Yeosang isn’t capable of hating me,” he smiles, calm and confident, as he expresses those words. “Neither you, you know? No matter what happens,” he chooses to remind him.

“I don't know,” Seonghwa again chooses to lower his gaze, this time to rest his eyes on the whitish color of the bench. “I hurt him today. I want to talk to him.” He looks up though not to look at him, around them, probably thinking about the words he would say to Yeosang.

He looks at Seonghwa because he seems to be thinking more than he's saying, and he’s proven right by the way Seonghwa decides to keep talking once he allows their gazes to meet.

“You found him crying. He told me that he cried last night,” he says, and he feels all traces of neutrality leave his face as he realizes that perhaps Yeosang wasn't so off for mentioning that he doesn't feel better. “Yeosang might not hate me but I sure hate myself.”

Seonghwa rests both elbows on his thighs and hides his face in his hands, allowing some of his frustration to finally show as he groans.

He looks at him, believing that while Seonghwa is frustrated that he has hurt Yeosang, Yeosang mentioned San's name when he asked him about the reason behind his tears.

Yeosang hasn't said Seonghwa's name because Yeosang knows he wouldn't have hesitated to take on Seonghwa. He believes that he’s doing it at that moment, but not angry or irritated. Just as he thought, Yeosang does care about Seonghwa, but none of the two is able to realize it.

“Go to the party tonight,” he opts to mention.

Seonghwa blinks. One, two, three times. He straightens up.

“Oh, no, no, no. You just can't be talking about the same party as Hongjoong.”

He stops the cigarette a millimeter from his mouth upon hearing that name.

“Hongjoong? Oh, you must be kidding me,” Hongjoong is definitely the other person Seonghwa is mad at besides Yeosang. “I love his hair. He talked about you, anyway,” he adds, but an instant grimace spreads across Seonghwa's face. “Why that face?”

“I don't want to see him. How do you know who he is? You can't be that social.”

“He interrupted me when I was with Yeosang,” he leaves the cigarette between his lips.

“He interrupted what.”

The side look he offers leads Seonghwa to massage one of his temples. 

“That's not the point now.” He inhales the smoke, then touches the end of the cigarette to get rid of the unnecessary ashes. “He seemed worried about hurting you,” he looks at Seonghwa but Seonghwa rolls his eyes.

He raises one of the corners of his mouth.

Ever perfect, always polite, and correct Seonghwa just rolled his eyes at him.

“Yes, sure.”

“Did he invite you to the party?” he asks him.

“Tried. I stopped him.”

“So many enemies are made in such a short time,” he chooses to say. Between San and Hongjoong, he wonders if that night he should worry about running into someone else who he shouldn't smile at.

Well, technically he did smile at Hongjoong, and he gave San a fake smile.

“Hyung, I don't want to threaten another person, so please go to the party before a threat leaves my lips.” He stares at him after hearing that Seonghwa doesn't plan to leave the house that night. “He wants you to be there for him, even if he proves otherwise,” he's not talking about Hongjoong and they both know it. “Please, hyung, I can't be the only person he has.”

He simply knows that Yeosang is aware of Seonghwa's presence even though he often acts hostile towards him. He doesn't think that Seonghwa deserves the way Yeosang treats him sometimes —even if he's still grieving because Seonghwa is mourning too— but he believes that if Seonghwa decides to give up on Yeosang, then everything will be worse.

It's nothing more than a simple party, but he knows that if he points out to Yeosang that Seonghwa is present in the midst of the sea of people, Yeosang won't overlook it.

Seonghwa lets out a breath of air, sounding and looking defeated.

“Fine.” He doesn't seem entirely happy with the idea, but luckily, he agrees to be at the party anyway.

He smiles and catches the cigarette between his lips.

“Joder, since when is there so much drama between the two of you? Is it the air in here or something?” he says, looking around on purpose, being aware of Seonghwa's gaze on him. “Shit, I'm so glad my brother is so much younger.”

Instead of saying a word, Seonghwa sits up straight.

He looks at Seonghwa with a smile and takes advantage of his change of position so that he doesn't have to turn around when exhaling the smoke that he inhaled after speaking earlier.

“I like your hair,” Seonghwa mentions to him.

“Yeosang copied yours, huh?” He doesn’t hesitate to express, since even though Seonghwa's locks are dark blonde, he knows that initially, Seonghwa was the one to say he wanted to sport pink hair while Yeosang is the one who currently wears said color.

Seonghwa frowns and clicks his tongue.

“I knew he did it to spite me.”

“If he really didn't care, he wouldn't have done it.”

“What a way to show it he has.”

He believes that Seonghwa is a patient and caring person, and for the same reason, in some strange way, his relationship with Yeosang is not totally broken.

Yeosang annoys him in different ways but Seonghwa accepts those annoyances because those are what allows them to continue communicating. Maybe not the healthiest, and definitely not the funniest, but he thinks it would be worse if Yeosang chose to pretend that Seonghwa doesn't exist.

He’s sure that Yeosang cares about Seonghwa. Regardless of the arguments, the fights, and the misunderstandings, Seonghwa's presence gives him peace of mind, or at least a little more security.

Seonghwa is looking down at his slightly open hands in his lap. And he looks so sad, he just wants to hug him, but unlike before, Seonghwa isn't as open to physical contact anymore.

“You know, my shoulder is available to you too,” he offers after patting his own shoulder. The Seonghwa of the past would already be with his head on it by that point. “To cry.”

Seonghwa casts a glance at that part of his body but he promptly looks away and shakes his head slightly.

“I can't,” he says, and he thinks he denotes the same effort that he's distinguished more than once in Yeosang's voice. Speaking equals effort.

“Why not?”

“Because if I cry, it means I failed.”

Failed? You have the right to cry too, he wants to tell him, but he doesn't, because as if he could have heard his words anyway, Seonghwa raises one of his palms towards him and shakes his head, telling him not to try.

Seonghwa may reject one of his attempts at consolation, but not all of them.

“And are you eating?” he decides to ask him as Seonghwa lowers his hand.

“Yes, he's eating well.”

Whether consciously or unconsciously, Seonghwa always puts Yeosang first.

“And... you?”

Seonghwa looks at him, only then seeming to realize that the question has included him all along, and that in fact, he has asked the question primarily for him.

With hugs, words of support, or a warm plate of food left in front of them. Now he has the opportunity to hold both Yeosang and Seonghwa in the ways that he knows how to again.

Seonghwa nods instead of saying a word, and he doesn't feel guilty about the look he casts at Seonghwa's figure once Seonghwa looks away.

He can worry, and he does, but his worry is not the solution to the lack of stability between Seonghwa and Yeosang.

“Go to the party to fix things.”

“I don't really do parties,” Seonghwa says even though he's already agreed.

“You're doing it tonight, you already told me yes,” he reminds him anyway, and soon lets out a deep breath, this time, with no smoke leaving his lips. “I better go or your brother might start overusing my car’s horn.”

He opts to get up, and Seonghwa promptly does.

“Just watch over my brother until tonight.”

“Gladly, and even overnight if you'd like me to.” he winks before bringing the cigarette to his lips one last time.

“This day is too much.”

Seonghwa walks away from him even though he was the one to get up first.

He smiles.

“See you tonight!”

Notes:

one day i'll write a fic where yeosang and wooyoung don't kiss even though they are not together but that day is not today

Chapter 12

“You're too pretty to look that bored.”

Yeosang's eyes fall on Wooyoung upon hearing him formulate that phrase.

He’s not surprised at the mention of those words.

Wooyoung constantly seeks to reassure him about the beauty of his facial features —he has learned to tolerate and proudly display his birthmark thanks to his constant reassurance.

The conglomeration of people around them, dressed in red and black, the background music, the aggregation of alcohol and glasses present in their hands, and the mixture of perfumes. He looks at the details around him.

He isn’t moving his body to the rhythm that at that moment once again reaches his ears after focusing on Wooyoung.

He wants to have fun, he definitely wants to celebrate that his best friend is with him instead of far away. Furthermore, the problem with Yunho has been solved, and despite preferring to stay at home most of the time, he doesn’t dislike going out.

But traces of his previous crisis are still found on his figure. His head is still in chaos, it's still a mess that's hard to control even if it's no longer possible to tell that he's cried just by looking at him.

He knows that Wooyoung didn't utter those words with the intention of pointing out his lack of energy. He probably wants him to enjoy the fact that they are face-to-face.

Certainly, although everyone is wearing the same combination of colors because Mingi has said so and it’s his party; for him, only Wooyoung stands out from the dizzy crowd.

“I just want to forget.” He takes a step towards him.

Between the music, the people singing along, and the exclamations of happiness, staying close to being heard is a necessity.

He wants to distract himself, he truly wants to forget the problems of that day —month, year, actually—, the discomforts that have been following him since he moved in —even before. He wants to relax and enjoy his best friend’s presence, and that fortunately, then, he's no longer alone.

Wooyoung seems to listen to him, as he gives him a reassuring smile, indicating that once again, he is the solution to his problems.

“Let me help you.” Wooyoung stops dancing to the music, and his eyes follow the way he seems to take something out of his pocket to then bring his hand to his mouth. He tilts his head to the side as he stares at Wooyoung. “I have a gift for you. You can reject it if you want.”

Wooyoung parts his lips to stick his tongue out at him, and his eyes drift to the pink heart-shaped pill left on its tip.

It could be candy, it certainly looks like it, but he hasn't uttered the words I'm craving something sweet, and Wooyoung would have offered him a lollipop instead of what he has left on his tongue.

No, he has said the word forget.

He doesn't question its existence or how it has fallen into Wooyoung's possession. It isn’t the first time Wooyoung has offered to achieve distraction in such a way. He himself has his own ways to distract himself —for the time being he avoids telling Wooyoung said detail.

He’s tired, the music rumbles against his ears, and he looks at Wooyoung. Wooyoung himself has mentioned that he can reject it in case he doesn’t want to revolutionize his system, but he thinks a little more chaos won't matter.

“It's my gift, isn't it?” he says.

Wooyoung smiles and stops sticking out his tongue after understanding the kind of answer he just gave him.

“Just like in Ibiza, remember?”

Instead of answering, he soon closes the distance between them to catch Wooyoung's smile with his lips. Wooyoung's hands find his neck to hold him in place as his tongue makes its way past his lips. He feels the presence of the pill on his own tongue, and Wooyoung leaves a few millimeters between them.

The pill scratches his throat as he swallows it, and he opts to grab the corners of Wooyoung's bright red jacket so there's no chance of being separated from him.

He barely tilts his head, thinking that he may have imagined it, but as soon as he watches Wooyoung's Adam's apple go down and then up, he's sure.

“You only gave me half,” Wooyoung must have bitten it before kissing him.

Wooyoung wraps his arms around his neck, and shrugs, puckering his lips, innocent and showing that he doesn't mind being caught.

“Maybe I did it for you to come back to me if you want more,” Wooyoung offers.

And just like that, just with words, Wooyoung manages to make him laugh. He looks at Wooyoung, puzzled.

“You say that like I'm going to get away from you?”

“Who knows.” A dramatic sigh leaves Wooyoung's lips. “What if you feel attracted to someone of all the people here?”

He knows that Wooyoung has probably only given him half to kind of take care of him, rather than for the weird reason he just chose to provide.

He can't remember the last time he's been attracted to someone, at least not enough to follow said person with his eyes and feel a blush take over his cheeks.

“I'm just kidding with you,” Wooyoung's smile distracts him.
 
He feels the way Wooyoung momentarily places one of his hands in one of his pockets before again keeping him close to him.

“The other half.” he adds along with a wink. “Remember to drink water, and zero alcohol.”

He nods and takes advantage of the fact that Wooyoung has left his arms around his neck to tilt his head and use one of them as a pillow for his cheek.

He doesn't know what he just consumed but he doubts that it will have a quick effect like the drugs he usually consumes, so for now he focuses on the short distance that separates him from Wooyoung. An irony, he believes, considering the words Wooyoung chooses to add.

“Just focus on me.”

It isn’t a difficult request to carry out, much less when Wooyoung catches his lips with his.

He thinks it’s nice, and it certainly feels nice, the way their mouths naturally find each other and Wooyoung reminds him of the depth of their friendship with the help of his lips. He reciprocates the kiss enthusiastically, not caring about the people around them because focusing on each other is what matters.

Stilling his emotions is easy when Wooyoung claims all of his attention. Forgetting about his problems is possible once he allows himself to fully focus on the presence of his best friend, Wooyoung's mouth moving over his.

“Wow, what a nice vie—”

Though the sensations that Wooyoung awakens in him are capable of clouding his mind, they are still at a party surrounded by people.

His hands continue to cling to the edge of Wooyoung's jacket even when they pull apart because their bubble breaks, and though his kiss with Wooyoung comes to an end, he holds a small smile after spotting Mingi and Yunho.

But soon said smiling gesture begins to diminish when he notices that they are looking at Wooyoung, and not precisely with the kind of smile that neither of them has hesitated to give him so far.

“Jung Wooyoung.” Yunho says. He looks surprised and even confused.

He shares a look with Woyooung when Wooyoung looks at him, now he too looking slightly confused. Although, unlike Yunho and Mingi, he still keeps a small smile on his face.

“Did you tell them about me?” Wooyoung asks him.

He believes that it’s logical for Wooyoung to formulate that question since it would make sense for Yunho to know his name had he talked to him about Wooyoung, but he hasn't, and for the same reason, he shakes his head.

“No!” Yunho laughs, and if he has to be honest, his laugh just sounded dry and somewhat strained. “It's just—” they both look at Yunho when he seems to notice that he has failed to provide an explanation as to why he happens to know who Wooyoung is. “Your last name.” He gives Wooyoung a fleeting look when he feels him tense up. “It's... known.”

Always honest and never discouraged Wooyoung, also knows how to fake the kind of smile that only comes to light when his perennial social attitude is replaced by awkwardness.

“Yes, it is,” Wooyoung doesn’t deny it.

Wooyoung's last name is more than well-known.

“You are here,” this time, Mingi says.

He glances between the three people around him. Wooyoung hasn’t deserted his smile but it’s more polite than sincere. Yunho and Mingi still seem to have been replaced by another pair identical to them, but soon enough Yunho is smiling, just like always.

“You didn't tell us you had a boyfriend,” Yunho switches his gaze between him and Wooyoung as a slightly amused smile appears to decorate his face.

Perhaps Wooyoung continues with his arms around his neck while he doesn't plan to let go of him either. Sharing kisses is a habit and they are no longer able to describe in words the closeness that characterizes them, but he shakes his head at Yunho's words.

“He is not my boyfriend.”

“Best friend, even better," Wooyoung chooses to clarify along with a grin, “Hola. I mean, hello.”

He remembers that Wooyoung still hasn't met anyone since they locked themselves in the bathroom all morning, opting to skip classes. He’s grateful, since one class has been enough for him to know that he didn't have the energy to attend the others.

Both Mingi and Yunho have been keeping him on his feet until Wooyoung's sudden arrival.

“Well, you... already know, but, Mingi, Yunho, this is Wooyoung. He will study with us.”

It’s evident that he knows Wooyoung since before, that he’s no stranger, someone he has met right there and then, as Wooyoung has put it into words before, someone present at the party whom he has simply felt attracted to.

They made it clear that they are best friends, a term that doesn’t denote a recent relationship, so instead of wondering where Wooyoung has come from, both Mingi and Yunho choose to hold similar smiles at the introduction.

Besides, they both just assured him that they also know Wooyoung, although not in the same way that he does.

“Well,” Mingi smiles, “I’m the host of the party.”

“And I’m a simple spectator of its decadence.”

Mingi gets rid of his smile as soon as he hears Yunho and doesn't hesitate to turn his head towards him.

He looks at Wooyoung when Wooyoung looks at him, confused and curious, but he opts to look at Mingi when Mingi looks back at them since one serious glance is enough to let Yunho know that he's not happy with his comment.

Right, only he knows about the closeness between Yunho and Mingi.

“Aren't you two drinking anything?” Mingi asks them.

While his and Wooyoung's hands are holding each other close, he notices that both Mingi and Yunho are holding a glass with one of their hands —probably so they're not tempted to hold each other, he thinks.

“We... mh, we consumed... something else,” he chooses to answer, even having forgotten that detail.

“Oh.”

“Does it bother you?” He hears Wooyoung ask Mingi.

He can only wonder how many details are considered normal between him and Wooyoung, details that perhaps are not a habit for the rest. He knows how it feels to rest a cigarette between his lips, cloud his senses by drinking alcohol, and walk away from his own mind after getting high.

Wooyoung has always been by his side. Just like in Ibiza, Wooyoung said so before.

He wrinkles his nose, thinking that maybe since it's Mingi's party, they should have asked him if he's comfortable with the presence of drugs.

“I don't think so,” Mingi replies, certainly appearing to be thinking.

“Do you want?”

“Not me, thank you,” Yunho shakes his head.

Mingi seems to consider his options instead of responding quickly.

So far he only knows the versions of them that imply sitting around him, in uniforms identical to his. He does know another version of Yunho since he ended up getting to know his workplace. He doesn't know, though, how they tend to behave outside the walls of the university —though apparently the feigned hatred is present no matter the place.

“Okay, I'll take it,” Mingi accepts.

He misses the warmth offered by Wooyoung as soon as Wooyoung pulls apart. He curls the corner of his mouth at the thought of Wooyoung and Mingi kissing when Wooyoung offers him a pill the same way he has done with him, but he blinks when Mingi opens the palm of his hand so that Wooyoung can rest two pills on it.

He doesn't think he would have felt jealous if Mingi and Wooyoung had kissed.

He simply likes the idea of Wooyoung behaving in a particular way when he’s the person in front of him. He wrinkles his nose again, remembering that Yunho and Mingi are together.

“I gave you another one for the awesome party,” Wooyoung smiles, amused.

Mingi chuckles at the comment.

He looks at the way Mingi rests his eyes on Yunho.

“Will you take care of me?”

He tilts his head, wondering how sincere that sarcastic question is.

“Go ahead, choke on the pill, and I won't have to take care of you. Problem solved.” Yunho replies.

Neither Yunho nor Mingi seems to notice the cheeky giggle that leaves his mouth —entertained, his laugh probably drowned out by the noise of the music.

He’s amused by comparing the way Yunho asked him, basically begged him not to say anything about his closeness with Mingi, while at that moment he expresses those words without hesitation.

“I hope my death haunts you, I hope my ghost does.”

“Obsessed with me to death?”

“I really should ban you from my nightclub.”

He feels his smile leave his face to form a soft pout with his lips, thinking that both Yunho and Mingi must be sad at the lack of the possibility of being able to dance together before the eyes of others.

“Without me, your party would be boring,” Yunho says. “You need my presence to make it interesting.” Mingi finds your presence interesting, he thinks.

“You're here and not in Utopia because you know that this is where the real fun is.” Mingi seems to puff out his chest as he pronounces those words with a proud tone of voice and his chin raised.

“Of course, I am amused to see how your party sucks.”

Instead of answering, this time Mingi leaves the pill on his tongue while still staring at Yunho, to then swallow it with the help of the contents in his glass.

Both he and Wooyoung react at the same time but Yunho beats them.

“No more alcohol with that, you jackass.” Yunho covers the rim of Mingi's glass with the palm of his hand.

He doesn't smile at the contrast between Yunho's words and actions because Wooyoung distracts him by wrapping one of his arms around his waist.

He shares an instant look with Wooyoung since after all, he’s been correct in thinking that soon enough Wooyoung would figure out the closeness between Mingi and Yunho on his own.

The intriguing smile that Wooyoung holds at that moment assures him that he just did it. He brings his index finger to his own lips, pretending to make that gesture just because instead of asking him to keep quiet about it, and Wooyoung understands the real meaning behind it after nodding.

“I could ask San if he wants the other one,” Mingi mentions.

He frowns, suddenly remembering that if it's a party organized by Mingi and Yunho is present, then surely San must be too. He hasn't spoken to him since they met at Utopia, but a part of him wants the opportunity to do so because he still wants to talk to him about the fact that their parents apparently know each other.

He looks around, not knowing why, perhaps to find San among the people, but his eyes turn to Wooyoung when he speaks.

“San? You know San?”

“You do?”

Although Yunho has asked the question that popped into his head, he still tilts his head to the side.

Instead of feeling cornered by three pairs of eyes on him, Wooyoung holds up an embarrassed smile before allowing his gaze to meet his.

“Remember when I told you I went to say hello to your mom? Well, I actually went to tell San to stay away from you.”

He doesn't know if his reaction is a consequence of the first effects of the drug he's consumed or because it's certainly not a surprise to hear that Wooyoung defended him, but he only feels able to hum.

He assumes that he should have guessed as soon as Wooyoung asked about San, subtly but also pushing until he finally got him to say his name.

“Interesting. Well, I won't offer it to him, then,” Mingi says.

“Is he here?” Wooyoung asks.

“Somewhere.”

“Why don't we dance?” they rest their eyes on Yunho when he speaks. “It's a party, isn't it?” Certainly, they are at a party, organized by none other than Mingi himself. “A very boring and tedious party, but a party nonetheless.”

He watches Yunho hold a smile both fake and honest while Mingi throws him a serious look, but his ears remain attentive to the words that Wooyoung whispers in his ear after leaning towards him and covering one side of his mouth.

“Their sexual tension is off the charts.”

Again he allows a laugh to leave his lips, getting both Yunho and Mingi to stop looking at each other to watch them.

Wooyoung doesn’t need him to utter a word to understand that now they both have the same goal, and that implies Mingi and Yunho having the opportunity to stay respectively close to each other without attracting attention, so they soon find themselves following Yunho's plan after staying together and enjoying the music.

He asks Mingi to dance and Wooyoung asks Yunho. Mingi doesn’t ask Yunho, and Yunho doesn’t ask Mingi.

He knows that comparing his relationships with Wooyoung, Mingi, and Yunho is a waste of time. Wooyoung is his best friend, the person closest to him, and the presence that has always been a constant by his side, while Yunho and Mingi have just become a part of his life.

Yet the three get him to enjoy the night. He and Wooyoung have always enjoyed dancing and letting the music guide their bodies, and it seems the same goes for Mingi and Yunho as they have as much fun as they do.

Wooyoung makes sure to stay connected to him no matter what song they're listening to. Either with an arm around his waist or shoulders, with one of his hands on some part of his body, or drawing his figure close to his to allow the warmth to be felt; Wooyoung doesn’t let go of him.

He feels comfortable, even when Mingi takes his hand to make him twirl in his place or when Yunho mentions that their red jackets are similar.

Soon he finds himself blinking more slowly and the fluttering of his eyelashes feels heavier. He is not sleepy or tired. It's easy to make out the sound of Wooyoung's particular laugh even though the music reaches his ears.

He bites his lower lip to promptly caress it with his tongue, noticing the dryness of his mouth. He hasn't made out with Wooyoung since Mingi and Yunho joined them, has he? He doesn’t know.

He runs his fingers through his pink locks and previous words said by Wooyoung appear in his head.

Would he stop being by his side just because he felt attracted to someone?

He thinks it's the first time in a long time that he's thinking about being with someone else. But he doesn't want to, does he? Well, all the experience he's gained with Wooyoung ensures that he certainly doesn't mind keeping someone close to him physically.

He shakes his head when the image of someone pushing him against one of the walls of the nightclub to make out appears in his mind. He doesn't envision Wooyoung or anyone in particular, just a nice firm pair of bice—

“I'm going for water,” he suddenly says to no one in particular.

Holy water, really. He needs that too.

Wooyoung nods his head and he feels his lips on his cheek before turning around.

A strange sensation of heat surrounds him and he makes a small roll with his shoulders for the jacket to stop covering them.

The music echoes against his ears and he feels that it continues loud even though at that moment he leaves his arms on the bar counter. He tilts his head at the same time that a look of confusion spreads across his face. Why did he leave his friends?

“Yeosang.”

Huh? That's his name.

He turns his head to follow the direction of the voice that has mentioned his name, and a breath of air inevitably leaves his lips upon encountering a familiar face. He blinks a few times just in case his mind has started to mess with him, but Seonghwa's image —albeit a bit blurred— remains the same.

Shit. Is he imagining him? But he looks so real.

“Do you always have to show up to ruin the good time I'm having?”

Product of his mind or not, he still allows those words to leave his mouth. Wooyoung’s presence, Mingi’s good vibes, and Yunho’s company. It's all thrown away in a matter of seconds just because Seonghwa won't leave his side.

“What are you doing here?” he adds.

“Wooyoung told me to come.”

He stops keeping his arms on the counter to rub his eyes. He stops when he remembers the makeup on his face and then runs his fingers through his pink locks, keeping his eyes closed.

Wooyoung. He wants to kiss Wooyoung. Or maybe not? Maybe he shouldn't have rubbed his eyes. Wooyoung did his eye makeup and he doesn't want to waste the effort.

“What?” The question leaves his lips as he recalls the name of his best friend. He opens his eyes to see Seonghwa holding an arm out to him, a bottle in his hand.

“Take that.”

Ah, it's true. Water. He's thirsty. Or, thirsty. He widens his eyes and accepts the bottle, though he stares at the cap for a few seconds. He frowns when the bottle is suddenly out of his hands, but said frown disappears when the bottle is back in his possession without the cap.

He blinks and promptly allows his lips to stop feeling dry. His throat accepts the coolness of the water and for the same reason, he holds a smile on his face, until it becomes a past gesture because his eyes fall on Seonghwa.

Why is Seonghwa with him?

“I saw what you did.” Seonghwa says.

He tilts his head upon hearing him.

What he did? What has he done? He’s been dancing, right? But, he's at a party, isn't he? It makes sense for him to dance to the beat of the music. Oh, right. The pill, Seonghwa must be talking about the pill. Has Seonghwa seen him swallow the pill?

“Did you come here to control me?” He stares at him, that action leading him to narrow his eyes as he notices that Seonghwa's jacket looks like the one he's wearing. “To copy my outfit?”

“I already told you, Wooyoung told me to come.”

Wooyoung? The same Wooyoung that he knows? He misses Wooyoung.

“Why?”

“We need to talk.”

He furrows his brows. “I don't want to talk to you right now.”

He wants to dance with his friends, he wants to move his body to the rhythm of the music again. He can feel the vibrations of the melody in his ears but his body doesn’t follow the beat of the music.

He rests his eyes on the dizziness of the people around him. He doesn't find his friends. He looks back at Seonghwa again when Seonghwa reoccupies his visual field.

“Look. I'm really, really sorry, okay? For what I've said.”

Is Seonghwa apologizing for mentioning that they need to talk? He feels the coolness of the water bottle in his hand. He thinks apologizing for those words is kind of funny so he allows a giggle to leave his lips, until he suddenly stays serious and frowns when once he looks down, his eyes meet a gold flower charm that catches his eye. 

Seonghwa almost mentioned their dad before.

“Whatever.” he crosses his arms as he looks up. “If you're really sorry, just leave me alone now.”

“No, I don't want to leave you alone.”

“You are all over me all the time!” he exclaims as soon as he hears that he won't be left alone. “Do it on champ— campus, campus. At home, I mean, that stupid house, okay? But not here, here cares nobody— nobody cares about anything. You already said sorry, whatever, that's it.”

He wants to take off his jacket but he gives up as soon as he tries to unzip it and can't. He lowers his eyes to the bottle in his hand and lets out a breath of air.

Maybe if he finds Wooyoung he can ask him to help him unzip his jacket. Wooyoung always helps him. He rests his serious gaze on Seonghwa as he thinks that Seonghwa doesn't help him.

“You haven't said sorry to me.”

“Is that what you want?” he asks when he hears those words. “Fishing for an apology?” He doesn't even know why Seonghwa wants him to apologize. Has Seonghwa told him why he is at the party?

“Don't you think you owe me one?”

He frowns, wondering why he should be the one to apologize when Seonghwa has interrupted him. He's still frowning when Seonghwa reaches his hands toward him to unzip his jacket.

With the bottle in hand, he brings his hands to his ears to cover them as he feels the music bounce off his ears. He glares at the DJ but blinks when he finds Hongjoong.

Right, Hongjoong is the DJ. Hongjoong! Of course.

“Don't you think that nothing would have happened if you weren't so insufferable?” He moves his hands away from his ears as he again rests his gaze on Seonghwa after understanding why Seonghwa wants him to apologize.

“Wow, not even drugs can get an apology out of you.”

“Go to.” His index finger finds Seonghwa's chest, “Hell.”

He rolls his eyes but again stares at Seonghwa when instead of looking offended by the words he's heard, Seonghwa laughs.

“I knew it.”

“What.”

“I don't even know why I listen to Wooyoung. He told me to come to fix things with you, to be here for you. I try to. I really try to. I really apologize, but it's tiring, Yeosang. Being after you all the time.”

He squeezes the bottle in his hand and allows the heaviness he suddenly feels in his chest to express itself through a frown on his face.

“Then don't be.”

“No, you see, again you are misunderstanding my words.”

“You don't want to be after me. I don’t understand your words. You just—”

It feels suffocating, it feels claggy. Seonghwa's voice shouldn't be so firm with the loud volume of the music.

He wants to leave, he wants to get away, but how if Seonghwa is so close?

It's automatic to reach for his phone with his hand, but he swallows when he remembers that Wooyoung occupied another one of his pockets with a similar solution.

He promptly takes out the pill and looks at Seonghwa though he notices that his hand is shaking slightly.

“Don—” Seonghwa moves but he's faster and manages to bring the pill to his mouth, quickly swallowing it before Seonghwa can stop him. “Yeosang!”

He feels the bottle leave his hand the moment Seonghwa calls out his name. He leans back slightly and it's as if the music has slowed down to allow him, to force him to focus on Seonghwa's voice. Him calling out his name, scolding him, sounding just like his father did when he did something he shouldn't have.

A whimper leaves his lips and again he covers his ears with his hands, until he feels anger take over him and he forms fists with his hands at the sides of his body.

“You are not my dad so don't behave like one! His death doesn't give you the right to act like him!”

He turns without hesitation and walks away from him. He roughly rubs his facial features—pretty, according to Wooyoung—with his hands. Breathing is hard.

---

Wooyoung laughs after Yunho makes him twirl in his place by holding his hand above his head to perform that action. Mingi smiles at him and throws a look at Yunho, and he grins as he wraps both hands around one of Yunho's arms to rest his cheek on it.

“Everything's fine?” He tilts his head back slightly after hearing Yunho's question.

He breathes, heavy and tired, but feeling euphoric and happy, momentarily allowing himself to rest from all the songs he's danced to. Being alone with Yunho and Mingi is not fair, not when they are tall while he isn’t. But the arm trapped between his hands feels nice.

“Sí, sí, todo bien,” he answers.

“Sorry, what?” Yunho leans towards him, not seeming to understand him, but he looks at Yunho in confusion.

Wha— ah, did he just speak to him in—

Why is he alone with Yunho and Mingi?

“And Yeosang?” he asks instead of answering.

Yes, everything is fine but he can't find his best friend’s face as he looks around him.

He lets a sound of annoyance caress his throat at not seeing Yeosang and doesn't hesitate to pout his lips, until a more than gleeful smile decorates his face once he catches sight of Yeosang's pink locks.

He pulls away from Yunho's arm so he can approach Yeosang, and his smile is soon replaced by a disconcerting pout when once he stands in front of Yeosang, Yeosang gives him a serious look instead of showing that he’s happy because they're looking at each other again.

“Why did you tell him to come?” Yeosang gently rests one of his hands on his arm, but the serious tone of his voice is not consistent with that action.

“What?”

Yeosang looks at him, looking as irritated as... betrayed? Hurt, Yeosang looks hurt. He's breathing heavily and for the same reason, he doesn't hesitate to leave his hands on his cheeks.

“What is it?” He asks him. “What is it?”

“Why did you tell him? Why?” Yeosang repeats.

He looks at Yeosang but Yeosang simply keeps looking at him the way he looked at him earlier that day. Hurt. And no, Yeosang isn't supposed to get hurt if he's present.

“I don't understand you, what's wrong?”

“Exactly, you don't understand me!” he's taken aback when Yeosang abruptly takes his hands off him. “You don't know me if you invite him here!”

“Who—” he promptly allows his confusion to be left aside when he does understand, and very well, the words Yeosang just said. “I don't know you?” He looks at him, unable to avoid raising both eyebrows and widening his eyes. “I don't know you? Don't? Know you? Me? Your best friend?” Yeosang doesn't step back when he touches his chest with his index finger.

“I don't know myself!”

He stands still, just like Yeosang.

People still dance and have fun around them, but how is he supposed to dance and have fun when Yeosang holds his gaze, firmly after saying those words, until he doesn't?

Again his hands find Yeosang's cheeks but Yeosang keeps looking down.

He parts his lips to speak but his brain is not quick to express any words.

“I want to dance, I just want to dance, please,” Yeosang whispers, but he hears him.

His voice is low and uncertain, as if he thinks he's asking for too much with those words. He just wants to be allowed to dance.

Yeosang again takes his hands off of him, but this time gently, without pushing him away, and gives him a look to then walk past him and join Mingi and Yunho, not waiting for him to say something.

He takes a step towards him but stops.

Join.

Yeosang just joined them.

Where was he?

He turns his gaze to where Yeosang came from and bumps into the bar. 

Yeosang went there for water. That's good. Water is good. 

He narrows his eyes.

“Mierda,” he says after seeing Seonghwa's face. “I mean, shit. I— what—”

He covers his mouth with both hands, aware that he's not being understood, until he slowly stops keeping his lips covered as Yeosang's question echoes through his head, hitting all the nooks and crannies.

Seonghwa.

Yeosang asked him why he invited Seonghwa.

He allows his jacket to fall from around his shoulders to his arms as he decides to approach Seonghwa instead of returning to the others, and grimaces as he sees the seriousness on Seonghwa's face once he's close enough to him.

It isn’t fair, it isn’t fair at all the way Seonghwa is so pretty even when he's so serious.

“Hey, what happened with Yeosang?” he asks once beside him.

Seonghwa seems surprised to see him and he arches an eyebrow, wondering why Seonghwa seems to be impressed to see him if he's invited him to the party, so his presence isn't a surprise. Oh, so far he's only been with Yeosang, Mingi, and Yunho. Sure, he hasn't seen Seonghwa all night. Oops, he forgot to say hello first.

“You tell me.” Seonghwa expresses seriously.

He puffs out his cheeks. “Mh—”

“You gave him drugs. I saw you. You said you would take care of him.”

His sudden confusion is replaced by exasperation as soon as he hears him.

He doesn't like his concern for Yeosang being doubted when he always wants to make Yeosang feel his best. He wants to think of his presence as synonymous with something good in Yeosang's life. He doesn't like hearing that Seonghwa is suggesting that he’s hurting Yeosang.

“He needs to disconnect for a while, that's all.”

“And he needs drugs for that?”

Seonghwa's accusing tone of voice gets a hollow laugh to leave his lips.

“It's not the first time he's taken drugs.” he expresses, quickly realizing that perhaps Yeosang has looked serious because Seonghwa has asked him a series of questions identical to those he’s receiving.

Shit. He says that he takes care of Yeosang but Yeosang looked at him the way he did because of Seonghwa's presence. And he invited Seonghwa, so it's his fault.

“I haven't seen him touch a single pill since we moved in here and now he swallows one right in front of me?”

He parts his lips, not quite knowing what he's planning to say until h— in front of him? But how if—

He did give Yeosang another pill.

“Oh really? Do you think he would do everything in front of you?” he says. He doesn't quite know why.

“I think I'd know if my own brother was on drugs.”

“Mh, you didn't even know that he went out with San and that he was sad,” he expresses those words as his previous exchange of words with Yeosang appears in his mind.

“You're supposed to be his best friend.”

He remains serious as soon as he hears him.

Supposed? He is supposed to be Yeosang's best friend?

He is Yeosang's best friend.

“What is that supposed to mean?” he’s aware of his irritation.

“Are you high too? I will not have a conversation with you.”

“Are you implying that I'm a bad best friend for giving him a pill?” he shakes his head as he remembers that he actually gave him more than one. He doesn't move from his spot because he doesn't like what Seonghwa has implied with his words. “Pardon me. Humor me, please. And how are you doing, brother of the year?”

“Low blow.” Seonghwa glares at him.

“Payback for Yeosang.” He allows a fake smile to decorate his face after remembering that he has previously mentioned the same words Seonghwa just said. The course of the day appears in his mind. “A few hours ago you thanked me for being here, and now you are here, telling me this?”

“Getting high isn't the solution to everything.”

“No one is saying it is.” he fists his hands before smoothing them out.

He thinks his system isn't clouded enough because he's been dancing non-stop with Yunho and Mingi, so he understands the conversation he's having. Or who knows, maybe he's able to defend Yeosang and their friendship no matter how cloudy his head is.

“Don't worry, okay? I told you I would take care of him and I am.”

“Oh right.” He doesn't appreciate Seonghwa's irony. “Yes, sure.”

He doesn't know if the laugh that leaves his lips at that moment is sincere because he thinks that the situation is pathetic, or fake because certainly, he would prefer to be with Yeosang at that moment.

“Seonghwa-hyung, I'll tell you what you need. A good smoke, a good drink, and a good fuck. I can offer you the first two. We could go for the third one too, but I'm sure you'd prefer Hongjoong to do it and he'd be more than okay with it. He's been eye-fucking you all night.”

He momentarily slides his gaze to the DJ booth, where Hongjoong stands with headphones over his ears.

He doesn't know why he mentions those words, perhaps because he usually remembers what Yeosang tells him easily, and that afternoon he told him why Seonghwa is angry with him and Hongjoong. 

“And what about people who don't like sex?” Seonghwa's voice draws his attention.

“Then a good smoke, a good drink, and good cuddles.” he replies, “And if you don't like smoking or drinking, then a good sandwich, a good smoothie, and good cuddles. But you and I both know that you prefer the three I mentioned first.”

Seonghwa narrows his eyes at him, and he opts to smile. Fakely again.

“We both know it's better for you to have me as an ally instead of an enemy.” he hates it when his friendship with Yeosang is questioned. “But in case you forgot, you don't want me to play the villain. Please, try to enjoy the party or else go home.”

He decides to walk away from Seonghwa after saying those words, a frown still present on his face. He wants the volume of the music to replace Seonghwa's words in his head.

He’s a good best friend. He is. He is. Of course, he is.

He shakes his head, thinking, that maybe, he needs another pill too.

Notes:

editing this while listening to utopia was quite the experience

Chapter 13

Notes:

additional warning: drinking

Seonghwa keeps his gaze on his hands, on his arms now left on the bar as he knows that turning his head will only lead him to keep on getting irritated.

First Yeosang, then Wooyoung.

Instead of fixing things —he doesn't like having to fix things, it means he has broken something; he complicates them even more, and he no longer knows if he’s to blame or not.

He cares about Yeosang but Yeosang gets angry, and as Wooyoung himself has said, Wooyoung can be an ally but also a force to be reckoned with.

He doesn't know why he thought that going to the party would be a good idea. It's true that if he hadn't chosen to know the details of Illusion, his situation with Yeosang would still be the same. However, he believes that it has only gotten worse, and having argued with Wooyoung doesn't lead him to express that he's having a great night.

Apologizing to Yeosang hasn’t done any good and he doesn't know if it's because Yeosang's senses are clouded with drugs, or because despite his hopes, he can't get along with Yeosang.

He thinks it's sad, and is only able to keep his eyes on his hands because Yeosang's words keep spinning around his head. What is he supposed to do? He knows that Yeosang will only lift another emotional wall in case he runs to their mom to tell her that Yeosang gets high. But he’s worried.

He has mentioned being able to tell if Yeosang is on drugs or not while Wooyoung has assured him that he doesn't know any important details of Yeosang's life.

He doesn't know how to act and not knowing how to proceed makes him feel uncomfortable.

Should he pay more attention to Yeosang even though Yeosang is only looking to get away from him? Should he trust Wooyoung to take care of Yeosang?

He releases an exhausted breath of air.

He definitely isn’t in the mood and going home sounds like the ideal plan, but a part of him will continue to worry about Yeosang if he leaves. He probably won't get a good night's sleep no matter what he does, and being close by sounds better in case something happens, so he doesn't move from his spot at the bar.

Even if he wants to leave, he again forces himself to act the way he has to.

Suddenly someone occupies the stool next to him but he keeps his eyes on his hands. Unless he hears Yeosang's or Wooyoung's voice calling out his name because something has happened, he doesn't plan to pay attention to his surroundings.

“There's a strawberry drink here that's very good.”

He tenses up as soon and his hands automatically form fists as he hears that voice. His previous thought is soon put aside after allowing the sudden yet not-so-unfamiliar presence to lead him to turn his head, and he stares at Hongjoong.

No, just no.

He parts his lips, prepared for whatever his head offers, but he forces himself to loosen his grip as he feels his nails digging into his palms, and decides that really, he's had enough.

“Look,” he clears his throat when he hears how low his voice sounded. “I'm having an awful night, and the only good thing I thought happened to me today turned out to be a lie.”

Hongjoong thankfully listens to him instead of just interrupting him, and he's not shy about assuring Hongjoong that he's really enjoyed his company before. But now it's night instead of day, and he knows the truth.

“I wake up with... like a box, a gas tank, fuel, whatever you want to call it, you know? But instead of being a car, I'm a person and throughout the day I simply wait for that tank to be filled with anger.”

He's patient, he really knows it, and if he reacts when he least expects it, it's because he's aware that he usually puts up with more than he should, more than he can. But he refuses to admit that he's not capable of withstanding everything that is thrown his way.

“So I'm asking you, please, if you've come here to ruin my night, don't waste your and my time. It's already ruined.” is the last thing he adds before returning to leave his gaze on his hands.

He thinks he's barely breathing despite the grandeur of the place, and all he's missing is—

"Yeah, I don't really care about all the crap you just said.”

He immediately turns his head towards Hongjoong with both eyes widening, and feels his hands twitch as Hongjoong dares to look at him with both eyebrows slightly raised, showing that he certainly doesn't care about every word that has left his mouth.

“I swear I will—”

“What, what will you do to me?” Hongjoong cuts him off. “You think you are the only person who has shitty days?”

Since he set foot in the nightclub, he’s been aware of Hongjoong’s presence. Hongjoong himself has invited him to the party, but he’s been hoping for a quiet night.

He should leave to show that he doesn't want to be around him, simply get up without even wasting time to express words that clearly won't be heard, but Hongjoong is the one who has interrupted his space, so he doesn't plan to give him the pleasure of leaving.

“This is the bar of the club and I wanted to order a drink,” the simplicity with which Hongjoong accompanies his words throws him off so once again he leaves his gaze on his hands.

He hears Hongjoong talking to the bartender but he doesn't pay attention.

He's already paying too much attention to Hongjoong.

“Did you want me to say for you? That I’m here for you? Because I can say that, I was planning on ordering a drink later but I saw you here, so I came over now.”

Well, if Hongjoong won't listen to his words, he hopes he understands the heavy sigh he chooses to exhale as evidence enough that his presence by his side is still unwelcome.

“Don't you even think, don't even delude yourself, for a single second, that I've come here for you.”

“You've come for Yeosang, haven't you?”

Again he feels his body tense, but at least he prevents his hands from forming into fists. He blinks but the image of Yeosang popping a pill into his mouth still doesn't fade from his mind.

“And because Wooyoung told me to come.” he says, still tense. “I know you know him.”

“He is... interesting.”

Silence is what he decides to offer at the mention of those words.

He doesn't want to have a conversation with Hongjoong and has already made his reason for being there known —one that definitely doesn't involve Hongjoong, so he straightens up and doesn’t look away from his hands.

He doesn't find it to be the most entertaining image, but he prefers to see his hands instead of being irritated by the image of Hongjoong next to him.

His body remains tense because both Yeosang's and Wooyoung's words keep spinning around his head, and Hongjoong is still by his side, but it's a matter of time. He will wait for Hongjoong to get his drink and leave.

For the same reason, he frowns, confused when a glass with a pinkish liquid in it is slid in his direction until it almost touches the back of one of his hands.

He glares at Hongjoong again, in whose hand he notices a different drink.

“I didn't ask you to order a drink for me.”

“I know,” Hongjoong takes a sip of the one he's holding. “But it's strawberry, you'll like it,” he smiles, as if they were lifelong friends and those years of friendship were enough for Hongjoong to know what his tastes are.

“We have classes tomorrow, you do remember that, right?”

“I asked for it with a low amount of alcohol because I knew you would say that.”

“Why on earth do you keep talking to me?”

He thinks they may be exasperating each other, as finally, at his question, Hongjoong exhales and lets go of his mildly amused expression to replace it with neutrality. He sets his glass on the bar and turns to face him with his body.

“I know you haven't come here for me and you don't even want to see me, but you're talking to me.”

He frowns as he doesn’t consider that moment a conversation. He's simply waiting for Hongjoong to stop being next to him.

However, before he can say those words out loud, Hongjoong continues speaking.

“I’m really sorry. Look, I worry a lot about Yunho and what your mom has done didn't seem fair to me.”

“But deceiving me is.” he considers Hongjoong’s words to be an irony. Hongjoong thinks that Yunho's situation is unfair, while approaching someone and feigning interest to get something through lies and fake attention is more than fine. “Sure, it's completely fair.”

“It’s true that I approached you with that purpose, but at no time did I think of Yunho and at no time was I completely convinced to do so.”

“You still did it.”

“I was wrong, I accept that I was wrong, okay? Are you never wrong?”

He allows an inevitable dry laugh to leave his lips as soon as he hears that word.

He constantly fights so that the word error is not associated with his figure.

A single mistake is more than enough to fall.

“You can't even imagine.” he replies.

He tries to be the best version of himself, the best possible version because he doesn't want the word failure to be associated with his image, but he knows that he isn’t perfect, that he’s far from perfect, and that he will probably never reach that state no matter what he does and says.

Perfect, praiseworthy, promising Park Seonghwa.

He’s a fool.

He tries. He really, really tries. Repetition, constancy, success. He tries.

“Then give me another chance.” Hongjoong stares at him and he holds his gaze even if he doesn't like the trace of sincerity he glimpses in Hongjoong's words. “Tonight. Just tonight. If by the end of the night you still think I suck, I'll leave you alone.”

He looks away as soon as Hongjoong finishes speaking. He wrinkles his nose, annoyed with himself as his mind replays Hongjoong's just spoken words. He should have already shaken his head and expressed that he doesn't intend to give him another chance.

He thinks it's not fair the way Hongjoong looks good in clothes other than the uniform they usually wear —a red shirt with a partial plant pattern as well as black and red pants. The first few buttons are undone.

He shouldn't know those details.

It's not fair the way the lights of the place bring out the grace of his facial features.

He looks good, he knows that he thinks Hongjoong looks good.

Perhaps at no time has Hongjoong brought up Yunho's name, but as he has mentioned, that doesn’t mean that he hasn’t approached him with the wrong intentions anyway.

He doesn't know why Hongjoong is talking to him, why he keeps insisting.

Yunho's situation is already resolved and perhaps he continues to press because he wants the director's son to be on his side. Has Hongjoong approached him because it’s convenient for him to be on his side?

He’s used to people seeking to approach him because he’s the son of his mother, a CEO, not because he’s the son of the director. Maybe it's the same, maybe not.

It is true, however, that Hongjoong has expressed that he will leave him alone if, by the end of the night, he fails to convince him that it’s worth giving him another chance.

If Hongjoong approached him with the idea of making friends with the director's son, he wouldn't express those words, right?

He’s aware that anyone can make a mistake. He knows this from his own experience. 

Perhaps in the eyes of others, he’s a person free from all mistakes, but when he sees his own reflection in the mirror and when he inspects himself under his own gaze, he knows that he hasn’t broken ties with the word mistake.

He swallows hard at the thought of Yeosang.

“Your drink will get warm,” he hears Hongjoong mention.

Does he have the right to blame Hongjoong when from the very beginning Hongjoong said, that certainly, it would be convenient for them to get along?

He rests his eyes on the glass still in front of him. He doesn't know whether to think that Hongjoong remembers that he likes strawberries because he has genuinely paid attention to him or because he’s pretending to be interested. He’s tired of wondering what Hongjoong's true intentions are toward him.

He believes that Hongjoong must be too foolish to spend so much energy approaching him, and for the same reason, he considers himself a fool for taking the glass at that time.

“Only tonight.” he agrees, staring at him.

If he agrees to give Hongjoong another chance, it's not because Hongjoong deserves it, but because he doesn't want to stop thinking of himself as a gentle and patient person.

Perhaps he often ends up with a broken heart for the same reason, but as quickly as he provides opportunities, he has also learned to seal his heart, so he doesn’t regret saying those words.

“Tonight.” Hongjoong offers him a smile, and continues to hold said smiling gesture even though he looks at him confused when Hongjoong gets up. Hongjoong offers his free hand to him. “Now come with me.”

“Wha— where?” he arches an eyebrow.

“I want to be with you, but I'm still the DJ.”

He lowers his eyes to Hongjoong’s hand.

He has cast a few glances at the DJ booth after seeing Hongjoong in it, but most of the night he has chosen to avoid looking at said place precisely because of Hongjoong's presence. He looks up at Hongjoong and wonders why he's thinking so much about whether or not he's okay with holding someone's hand.

“Can I call you President here or should I call you DJ?”

Hongjoong lets out a short laugh.

“I'm still the president, Park, nothing will change that. It doesn't matter if we're not in class right now.”

He forms a line with his lips.

Music guides and songs transmit. The same person who was declared the leader after being chosen by his classmates is the same person who also coordinates them regardless of where they are. 

Hongjoong is still the leader, uniform present or not.

“You don't want me to go with you,” he says, suddenly as he opts to keep his hand in his own lap. “Apparently I don't behave like people our age.”

He looks down and feels stuck in his place. He can't leave the bar.

Is it wrong to want to stay in the same place in case something happens?

“What are you talking about?” He looks up when Hongjoong sounds beyond confused. “Has the dynamic duo straight out of My Little Pony said anything to you?”

He can't help but be surprised to hear that Hongjoong has seen him talking to Yeosang and Wooyoung, and he tilts his head when he thinks about how he has referred to them.

“You know, because of the color of their hair,” Hongjoong continues speaking. “Anyway. Do you know all the times I've been told I act like an old man? Kids these days. They are a year younger than you and treat you like a grandpa.”

Like a dad, he thinks.

He never— he knows he could never replace—

“So, then, wh—” He's grateful that Hongjoong has lowered the volume of the music before approaching the bar because otherwise, he believes that his voice wouldn't have been heard. “What are people our age supposed to do?”

Still not having lowered his hand, Hongjoong doesn't seem to be looking at anything in particular before looking at him again.

“Survive?”

Survive?

“I know how to do that.”

Continue to exist despite the difficulties.

He knows more than well how to do that.

“Then come with me,” Hongjoong wiggles his fingers slightly.

His eyes fall on Hongjoong's palm again, on the hand that he's never lowered even though he could have. He brings his hand closer to his but keeps it an inch away.

Stay, Yeosang and Wooyoung need you, his voice repeats inside his head. Not a voice, but his own voice because no one but himself forces him to react or behave in a certain way. But that same voice also assures him that he's not needed, and that in fact, he has a better view of the entire nightclub from Hongjoong's booth.

His shoulders relax as he finally takes Hongjoong's hand, and he soon finds himself being guided through the crowd.

His eyes fall on the way Hongjoong holds his hand, making sure to keep it in his even though it's strangely easy to get past all the people present.

He feels that his hand tickles when he holds the glass with both hands once Hongjoong lets go of his hand after he gets to the booth with him behind.

He looks around, taking in the details as Hongjoong leaves his drink next to his equipment, not worrying about it tipping over as there’s no one but the two of them.

He watches the tide of people dressed in black and red that keep dancing to the music, now higher in volume, but his eyes drift towards Hongjoong when Hongjoong turns his head towards him with headphones in hand.

Maybe he’s going to ask him to move away because he needs some space, or he regrets inviting him, but Hongjoong offers him a short smile.

“Enjoy the music, yeah?” He tells him, and he snorts.

Hongjoong laughs at the sight of him and stops paying attention to him once he rests the headphones on his head. Hongjoong turns around and he looks at him before lowering his eyes.

It’s true that he has previously accepted the smoothie that Hongjoong has given him, so he stares at the drink in his hands, and decides to take a short sip.

He doesn't intend to accept out loud that he likes it.

People seem to enjoy the chosen music —not only at that moment but also for as long as he has been inside that place, and Hongjoong seems to take equal delight in the fact that people enjoy his music. He makes people have a good night and fun with each other with the help of his music.

He pretends that the drink in his hands is more than interesting the instant Hongjoong turns his head towards him.

“Don't you dance?” He hears Hongjoong ask, and he looks up to find he's moved one of his earphones so he'll be able to hear his answer.

“There’s no way I’ll dance in front of all of them.”

He loves to dance. He doesn't remember the last time he did it.

“No one will pay attention to you,” Hongjoong mentions, but he doesn't get mad at those words because he detects the reassurance behind them. “Except for me, of course.” he wonders how many times he will roll his eyes that night. “They are all within their own worlds. Don't you like my music?”

“I do,” He regrets his answer the second he visualizes the beginning of a grin on Hongjoong's face. “I mean, it seems decent to me.”

“Decent.” Hongjoong repeats.

“Decent.”

“Decent enough to dance?”

Dancing has always been his way out when he feels that things around him are getting too tense. He used to go to a studio to dance in his old city, and even when he was much younger. When he still didn’t know the word responsibilities and the way the world works.

Between the move and the changes around him, he hasn't had time for anything other than to destabilize his relationship with Yeosang even more and try not to leave pieces of himself as he moves.

“When was the last time you did something for yourself?” He hears Hongjoong ask him. “Not for your mom, not for Yeosang, but for yourself.”

As soon as he can't think of a specific moment, he allows a short breath to leave his lips.

He doesn't want to fail but he's made of fractures. He supposes that he should congratulate himself for proving the opposite of what is inside of him. 

That's what he's always wanted, right? 

Perfect, praiseworthy, and promising Park Seonghwa.

When was the last time he did something for himself?

“I don’t know.”

He doesn't know if he is happy or sad with the pronunciation of those words.

“You deserve to have a good time too, you know? After all, this is a party.”

Hongjoong puts his headphones back on to pay attention to his laptop as he says those words.

He promptly dwells on his words, focusing on the fact that he too deserves to have a good time. Not just because it's a party, but because he's human.

Eldest son and eldest brother, day and night that responsibility pressures his shoulders and his thoughts. To the point of even acting like another member of the family, he thinks.

He can’t falter, he can’t hesitate, he can’t break.

He doesn't remember the last time he did something for himself. When he isn't thinking that he doesn't want to disappoint his mother, he’s worried about Yeosang.

He has ceased to be his own priority.

Words previously spoken by Wooyoung appear in his mind.

He looks down at the drink in his hands.

A good smoke, a good drink, and a good fuck.

The drink is already in his hands while no pack of cigarettes is within reach and that's okay, he's never been a fan of the smell of cigarettes.

Hongjoong is next to him but— he's not— he's not a fuc— he's his friend— no, he's not even his friend. He’s a classmate, just an acquaintance. Well, maybe more than just an acquaintance.

What he needs is a break —a big, giant, and enormous break, he realizes, and that precise moment turns out to offer him the chance to get it.

As Hongjoong has said, the rest of the people are within their own worlds, and he has the right to do the same, to stop worrying about others to worry about himself.

If there’s no one to judge him, there’s only himself left to judge himself, right? But isn't that how he works? When there’s no other look to reproach any detail, his own brownish gaze becomes the supreme judge.

Said eyes fall on the drink at that moment. Alcohol. He can blame the alcohol in case something happens. It isn’t the best solution, but it’s a reliable excuse in case he needs it.

He takes another sip of his drink the second he thinks he now understands why Yeosang and Wooyoung have turned to drugs, and starts moving his head to the music.

He wonders what he should and shouldn't do, what he should say and shouldn’t say, day and night. He has forgotten how much he likes being able to feel the music with his body. Feel, just feel and not think.

He doesn't choose to slow down his movements once he notices Hongjoong turning his head to look at him again. Hongjoong drops his headphones on his neck, and he finally rolls his eyes when Hongjoong opts to take a sip of his own drink while glancing at him.

Right, the others at the party are in their own world, while Hongjoong is next to him.

With Hongjoong he doesn’t have to worry about thinking about how to act, planning his every move and word. It’s weird and he doesn't know why. He doesn’t hold himself back from being who he is when Hongjoong is the person in front of him.

“Am I making a good impression?” Hongjoong asks him.

“Your music,” he decides to reply.

Maybe he doesn't fake his acting, but he does watch the words he mentions. Not because he feels that he has to deal with a certain vocabulary when Hongjoong is the recipient of his words, but because he doesn't want Hongjoong’s ego to fly even further.

His strategy doesn't seem to work, though, as Hongjoong grins.

“Well, something is something.”

Hongjoong again offers him a hand.

He switches his eyes between him and his hand, and this time, he takes less time to accept it. Hongjoong spins him around once he takes it, and he stares at him while Hongjoong reciprocates his gaze.

He can't help the smile that his lips form, though he promptly takes advantage of the fact that Hongjoong frees his hand to bring it to his lips and hide the smiling gesture that threatens to stay on his face.

That's how parties usually are, right? Fun, entertaining.

It shouldn't be hard to smile, much less at a party.

Perhaps he turns out to be the exception. He really doesn't behave like someone his age.

“What is it?” He looks at Hongjoong as he hears him, thinking that he hasn't realized that he probably has lost his smile at the same speed that it appeared.

“Nothing,” he offers. He knows he's lying.

“Do you want me to play another song?” Hongjoong asks instead of pressing on the lack of his earlier smile. “Because I'll play the circus song if you ask me to.”

“You wouldn't dare.” The corners of his face rise slightly at the mere thought, but he widens his eyes because he realizes that Hongjoong has taken his words as a challenge as soon as Hongjoong turns around. “Hong— don't d—”

The song that he has played so far is promptly replaced by a tune that no doubt everyone present recognizes.

His jaw drops as the characteristic circus song starts playing and he doesn't hesitate to cover his mouth with the glass in his hands as Hongjoong turns to him again.

People laugh and seem even more excited instead of complaining.

“This is a circus after all,” Hongjoong expresses, pointing around him.

He doesn't hesitate to duck as soon as he notices that some of the people start to direct their gazes towards the DJ booth, exactly where they are, and he covers his mouth with a hand when a laugh leaves it.

“What are you doing?” Looking equally tempted, Hongjoong crouches down next to him.

“I won't be seen with you,” he covers his mouth again, although this time with the fingers of his hands because his words left his lips between laughs impossible to contain. “They won't associate me with you,” is the only thing he manages to say before allowing himself to laugh because the melody continues to play.

Hongjoong laughs and shakes his head, appearing to surrender.

“I told you, people our age survive,” Hongjoong expresses, and he feels the way his lips draw a small smile. “Based on sudden and funny moments that compensate others, that's how we survive.”

Others. His life is a string of those others.

“Mingi is going to fire you,” he says.

“I'm sure Mingi is enjoying this and will probably ask me to play Let It Go from Frozen next.” Hongjoong seems to poke his head over the edge of the structure that keeps them hidden. “Mingi isn't even here and I can't see Yunho either so I assume they must be fighting, so guess who gets to keep his job.”

“You're crazy.” With the melody still playing in the background, a laugh escapes his lips.

Hongjoong lowers his eyes to his mouth, and it's a second, it's really just a second the time Hongjoong slides his gaze to his lips and then locks their eyes again, but he's seen it.

“I got you to start the day smiling, I had to make you end it laughing,” Hongjoong says looking at him with a smile, and this time he covers his mouth with the rim of his glass because a less animated but more appreciative smile appears on his face. “My expectations are high.”

His gaze follows Hongjoong as he stops crouching next to him, and he's aware of the laugh Hongjoong makes when he decides to straighten up slightly, and only gets up once he sees that no one is looking at them.

Hongjoong looks at him and he wets his lips with pink liquid.

“You almost said my name, Park, I heard you.”

He rolls his eyes again. He wants to tell him that it's because he hasn't thought that he would really get circus music to go off all over the place, but he just shrugs it off, pretending not to be so aware of that detail.

Maybe, just maybe, it wasn't such a bad idea to leave his place by the bar to be with Hongjoong.

“I guess you're not so bad, President.”

“You're not so bad yourself, Park.”

Notes:

i think we all... needed a little break

Chapter 14

Notes:

the outfits of the party are based on fireworks' red outfits but mingi doesn't have one 🤧 so for being the host of the party i gave him a different one 👌

“You... you too... did you listen to that music or am I going crazy?”

Mingi blinks, being more than certain that a familiar tune reached his ears.

“You're not crazy, I heard that too,” Yunho assures him.

He hums, narrowing his gaze and slightly cocking his head in case his ears distinguish the continuation of said tune, but he soon feels the beat of another song.

“Do you feel better?” he listens.

He takes in the details around him but doesn’t focus too much on them —well, he’s not able to.

He's aware of the words he hears as well as the glass still present in one of his hands, and the heavy breath he lets out doesn't go unnoticed either as his shoulders drop.

His clothes cling to his figure and it’s uncomfortable, but the completeness of his surroundings represents a blurry situation.

He clears his throat before leaving his eyes on Yunho.

Yunho. Yes, he's aware of Yunho's presence too. Yunho is in front of him, his gaze fixed on him as well. He believes that getting away from the other was a good idea, since they are alone in one of the secluded bathrooms —which only he can access as the owner of the place, but Yunho's figure doesn’t get the warmth of his body to leave.

Yunho looks so good.

“Just a little hot, that's all.” He pushes his bangs back with the help of his free hand.

“A little?”

He believes that the implication behind Yunho's words as well as the accompanying smile doesn’t help lower his body temperature.

He blinks and allows a lopsided smile to spread across his face, realizing he's not the only one feeling hot. He promptly wrinkles his nose though.

Perhaps he’s not at his best and being able to detail his surroundings is not a possibility, but the lack of optimal conditions makes itself felt on his shoulders. And while he expects Yunho to always find him hot, preach poetry about the proportions of his body, and feel said silhouette with his fingertips, he knows that his current high body temperature is due to more than Yunho's effect on him.

It's impossible to remember the last time he got high, but he can remember never feeling so flushed before.

“You're so funny.” he manages to articulate.

He exhales, licking his upper lip as he gently tugs at the light fabric of his blouse to give himself more air, even if much of his chest remains exposed thanks to the neckline of the garment. Maybe he could take it off. He’s alone with Yunho and knows that no one will bother them.

“Here, let's trade,” Yunho interrupts his thoughts.

He stops looking at him when Yunho moves his glass toward him and extends his other hand. He doesn't understand the intent behind his words until he sees him move his hand toward his glass, and he draws it back.

“Na-ah,” Yunho continues. He doesn't understand why he wants to take the glass from him. It's a party, it's his party, and he's supposed to be allowed to drink. “You, water. I, booze. I'm taking care of you, remember?”

He doesn't know if Yunho manages to swap glasses with him because he remains somewhat confused by the words he hears, or because he’s aware of them. Right, he shouldn't mix alcohol with drugs.

Yunho is taking care of him.

He allows a smile to settle on his face again, and though a different glass has been placed in his hand, he decides to leave it on the counter against which he keeps his hips to balance himself.

“My baby boy, y—”

“Baby boy?” Yunho snickers, “What even?”

“You.” He doesn't know exactly why, but he laughs too, “You always take care of me.” He takes Yunho's face in his hands to bring him closer. “No matter what you said, you would have felt guilty had I choked on the pill.” The words simply slip past his lips.

He takes advantage of the closeness to explore the details of Yunho's face. He blinks even though he feels his tired gaze. He doesn’t want to miss the opportunity that Yunho offers him by staying close to him.

It doesn't matter if it's a simple bathroom, he thinks Yunho is beautiful.

“You've already had bigger things in your mouth, you wouldn't have choked.”

He clears his throat and feels the way all tiredness leaves his gaze, as he widens his eyes at the mention of those words coupled with a more than confident tone of voice. Yunho offers him a more than amused smile, and he blinks.

“Wow.” He whistles, and puffs out his cheeks after his mind proves to work enough to remind him that indeed, Yunho is right.

He looks at Yunho and Yunho holds his gaze, thinking that they both know that staying face-to-face is not always completely necessary to be able to see each other.

He licks his lips as he recalls all the times he's dropped to his knees for Yunho.

“What an image.” he adds.

He thinks he's capable of doing it right then and there, but he doesn't want to stop staying completely close to Yunho, so he caresses Yunho’s cheek with his thumb.

It isn’t fair the way in which only the walls of that bathroom bear witness to the great appreciation he feels towards Yunho.

Everyone, every single person should know about the kind of emotions that Yunho arouses in him. He should be able to hold a microphone and just allow the club's speakers to make his words reach every nook and cranny of the place, into the ears of everyone present.

“I only wish—”

“Don't let your mind go there.” Yunho cuts him off.

He keeps his mouth slightly open but doesn't say a word as Yunho sets a few inches between them.

His hands fall on the fabric of Yunho's clothes and he thinks red is a color that suits Yunho more than well. He’s the host of the party and the owner of the place, and momentarily looking down at his outfit gives him the opportunity to visualize that the color pink allows him to stand out.

“Enjoy your party.” Yunho adds, and he looks up.

“I am enjoying it.”

He gently catches the fabric of Yunho’s clothes between his hands and thus once again makes the closeness dominate. Yunho doesn't object as he pulls forward to draw him closer to him, and his eyes fall to his lips. He’s enjoying the party, his party. 

How could he not enjoy it when Yunho is next to him?

One of Yunho's hands finds his waist. He licks his upper lip again as he feels his mouth go dry. Maybe he should take a sip of the water offered by Yunho, but he doesn't want to end the closeness with him. On the contrary, he eliminates all traces of distance.

He catches Yunho's lips with his own, promptly letting himself get lost in the sensations provided. He stops keeping the fabric of Yunho's clothing trapped between his fingers to wrap his arms around his neck, not wanting Yunho to pull away from him though luckily the mutual search for closeness only leads him to continue kissing Yunho.

He's happy. He’s so happy that Yunho is with him. He organized the party for that same reason, right? Yunho doesn't have to drop out, the threat of no longer being able to look at Yunho on a daily basis doesn’t exist anymore.

It's not fair, nothing is fair.

Yunho deserves more. Yunho deserves so much more.

He tightens his grip around his neck but Yunho's fingers dig into his waist. He doesn't understand why he's suddenly given the chance to take a deep breath —deep, he's apparently forgotten how to breathe— until a slight frown and a slight shake of his head are enough to realize that Yunho has pulled apart.

“Easy, tiger.”

“Tiger?” he expresses as soon as he hears that word. He closes his eyes because the details around him fade but that doesn't stop words from leaving his lips. “I'm a wolf. You are a puppy.”

Hearing Yunho's laugh leads him to open his eyes as he doesn't want to miss the smile that Yunho usually holds when he laughs, and he smiles because indeed, he runs into the image of Yunho smiling.

He chooses to leave his forehead against Yunho's temple. It’s comfortable.

“You really have no idea where your mind is right now.”

“Here.” he gently taps Yunho’s temple with his forehead. “With you.”

Where else but with Yunho?

He always thinks of Yunho.

Either making sure he doesn't make any mistakes because even though sometimes he wants to rest his hands on his shoulders or put his hand around one of his arms, he can't. At least not when there are people around them.

Or delighting in the images that his head gives him despite being surrounded by people. Not counting on the possibility of making physical contact with Yunho doesn’t imply that his hands haven’t found Yunho's body more than once.

Yunho's hands find his body as well.

“I want you to fuck me.” The words that leave his mouth in a low tone of voice simply expose what both his head and his heart want.

Yunho barely moves away from him so he can see him, but he doesn't stop keeping his hands on his neck, and luckily Yunho doesn't stop keeping his hands on his waist.

Please, he wants to add, but his head is too confused to remember if he usually adds those words when he asks Yunho for something.

“One, you are high, so no.” he allows his shoulders to slump and forms a frustrated line with his lips when Yunho expresses those words. “And two, no matter how fancy your nightclub might be, I won't fuck you in here.”

“You think my Illusion is fancy?” He smiles, quickly getting ridden of his frustrated expression. Pride takes over his tone of voice when Yunho describes his nightclub with good adjectives. “Why? You just said it's fancy. Your body knows the showers of the locker rooms of our university. How is this any different? Haven't we fucked here yet?”

He wants Yunho even closer to him, he wants his skin to burn under Yunho's touch. He swallows, deep and still thinking his clothes make him uncomfortable, when he slides his eyes to Yunho's lips.

“Fucking you in your territory sounds really tempting, but I won't, you are high.” Yunho again refuses.

“High and drunk in you,” he smiles.

Yunho laughs this time, sincerely, but he doesn't laugh because Yunho moves a bit further away from him.

“Yeah, that's exactly why I won't fuck you,” he smiles as despite pronouncing those words, Yunho approaches him, pressing his body against his, but he frowns when Yunho doesn't kiss him, and his disappointment only deepens when Yunho stops keeping his hands on his waist.

Yunho holds a glass of water between them, and he doesn't hesitate to glare at it because it got Yunho to stop holding him. Maybe the faster he agrees to drink the water, the faster Yunho will touch him again.

Although he doesn't want to, he agrees to stop keeping his hands on Yunho's neck to hold the glass, and promptly wets his lips as well as soothes his throat.

“Then, can I fuck you?” He asks, satisfied when Yunho's hands find his waist again. He wants to touch Yunho again but he doesn't know what to do with the glass in his hands.

“No,” Yunho shakes his head, and he frowns when Yunho touches his nose with his.

“You owe me a fuck.” frustrated, he finally accepts.

He can feel his body asking for Yunho, a part of his head exclaiming to throw the glass of water so that it stops preventing Yunho's chest from touching his, but for the moment he keeps still because he doesn't know where to put the glass.

“We owe each other so many things, but fine, I owe you one.”

He grins, enthusiastic and happy with the promise of a future closeness, and continues to smile because Yunho gently takes the glass from his hands. He takes advantage of the fact that his hands are free again to wrap Yunho's neck with one of his arms.

“You want to dance?” Yunho asks him. “We should go back.”

Go back? He wants to complain. Why should they go back? Why doesn't Yunho want to be alone with him? He uses his free hand to brush his locks back. He rubs one of his eyes and lets out an exhausted gasp of air. Right, he likes to dance.

“Why do you want to go back?” the words he says don't agree with the idea of going back, “Wooyoung is here.”

He stares at Yunho when Yunho tightens his grip around his waist, and not necessarily for the closeness between them to increase.

“We won't have that talk right now, Mingi.”

His lips pout at Yunho's serious tone of voice. He never likes it when Yunho looks serious because he knows something bad is going on if Yunho gets rid of his typical smile.

He doesn't want Yunho to get mad or for the drug's effects to keep him from focusing on the sensations Yunho provides, so he finally nods. He moves as Yunho does, but the sudden buzz that comes from one of his pockets stops him.

He pats his pockets until his phone is in his hand, and narrows his gaze as he brings said object closer to his face, but quickly moves it away and widens his eyes.

“What is it?” Yunho asks him.

“Mom. My mom— I— my mom is calling me?”

He brings the phone closer to his eyes again and moves it away with the same speed when indeed, the screen flashes the word queen.

“What?” Yunho doesn't seem to believe him but he reacts the same way when he shows him his phone. “Queen?”

“If I'm the princess, my mom's the queen, duh,” he tilts his head, “You take the call,” he extends his hand toward Yunho.

“Mingi, are you crazy?” Yeah, over you, he wants to answer, “I can't talk to your mom, I'm not even supposed to talk to you.” Yunho pushes the phone back toward him. “Just wait, she will surely end up hanging up.”

His eyes fall on his phone and he feels the same buzz in his hand, but he just watches it.

“Did she tell you that she would call you?”

“I... I don't know.” He really can't remember.

“And if it's an emergency?”

He bites his lower lip, thinking that maybe Yunho is right because his mother never calls him this late, much less when she knows that he has chosen to host a party.

The second he decides to accept the call is the moment his mother seems to give up because his phone stops ringing.

“Maybe she got it mixed up,” he says before blowing out a deep breath. “Can't you really take the call?”

He opens his eyes and blinks several times in a row because Yunho leaves his hands on his shoulders and stares at him.

“If she calls again, don't mention my name.”

“Yunho,” he says, confused.

“No. Exactly that is wh—”

“She won't call bac—” the vibration of his phone makes them stop looking at each other.

“Answer and press the speaker.”

He again looks at his phone and scans the words on the screen, and turns his face away from it because Yunho slides his finger over it. He looks at Yunho, not understanding why Yunho switches his gaze between him and the phone until he remembers that he s—

“Mingi, cancel your party right now.” he listens.

His mother? That’s definitely his mother.

“What?” he forms a slight pout with his lips.

“Cancel your party right now. The prime minis—”

He taps the screen until he manages to interrupt his mother's voice, and smiles proudly, until he tilts his head because he doesn't understand why Yunho is staring at him.

“What?”

“You just—”

“I don't want to cancel my party,” he shakes his head and puts his phone away. “Can we go dancing now?”

He smiles when he feels Yunho's hands on his shoulders, but frowns when Yunho happens to stand behind him and slowly guides him out of the bathroom.

He thinks that Yunho is muttering something about the prime minister but he doesn't understand why he’s talking about politics when they are in the middle of a party, his party, even though every word he expresses is soon drowned out by the music that reaches his ears.

---

Wooyoung feels satisfied when Yeosang finishes the glass of water in his hands. He gently takes it from his hands and places it on the small table next to them.

He parts his lips but Yeosang speaks first, and he understands that not necessarily to him.

“Can we dance?” he asks, a smile already appearing on his face.

Yunho nods and extends one of his hands toward Yeosang. He follows them with his gaze as Yeosang gets up and takes Yunho’s hand, until soon enough the space next to him is taken up again, and keeps a big smile on his face as he watches Mingi plop down next to him on the couch.

He tilts his head to one side and a trace of amusement begins to accompany his grin as he thinks that both have appeared at the same moment.

He follows the direction of Mingi's eyes and smiles as he watches Yeosang and Yunho dance together. He's glad that Yeosang has someone to dance with because he's already tired and he never gets tired of dancing, so he really has been dancing all night.

Feeling dizzy has led him to choose to sit on one of the couches of the private section of the place while Yeosang continues to dance. He's been reveling in the sight of Yeosang moving his body to the beat of the music, and now Yunho's presence just makes the scene an even better picture.

He stops focusing on them when he hears a gasp. He looks at Mingi, and opts to stretch his legs across MIingi’s lap. Mingi leaves his back against the couch, and he smiles, thinking that just as Yeosang has company, so does he now.

“Hey,” he says before brushing a lock of hair from Mingi's face.

“Mh?” Mingi stops keeping his head tilted back slightly so he can look at him.

Mingi's profile is attractive, and the words that Yeosang has mentioned spin around in his head. He should stay away from Mingi or at least not seek physical closeness because Mingi isn't available.

He doesn't consider it a pity. He thinks that just like Mingi, Yunho is also handsome.

“Since when are you and Yunho together?”

“Wh—”

“I won't say anything. Promise.” he doesn't hesitate to express the second Mingi tenses under him. He covers his own mouth with both hands to assure him that he won't, though he promptly stops doing so to continue talking. “Yeosang hasn't told me.”

He doesn’t want Mingi to accuse Yeosang and he has only needed a few seconds with him and Yunho to realize the attraction between them. “If you don't want people to be suspicious, you should be subtle, though,” he suggests, the words leaving his mouth on their own.

He likes the smiles that both Mingi and Yunho have given him throughout the night. He wouldn’t want them to disappear. He thinks he really likes their smiles.

He suddenly caresses one of his temples when his head hurts. Did he really like their smiles or is he lying?

“But why is it a secret?” He decides to ask.

He rests the side of his body against the couch so he can keep his elbow on its edge and his cheek against his knuckles, and he stares at Mingi.

Love shouldn’t be hidden, held back from being displayed to others, but celebrated. He pouts with his lips as he thinks of himself as not being able to kiss Yeosang freely. He wants to kiss Yeosang.

Mingi leans towards him.

“I won’t tell you. You will forget by tomorrow.”

Instead of frowning at those words, he chuckles as he closes his eyes, content to have someone close to him even if that person isn't Yeosang. The couch is comfortable as well as Mingi’s proximity.

The music caresses his ears as where they are it doesn't sound as loud.

He opens his eyes to look at Mingi, blinking a few times to focus on him.

“That's fair,” he says. “And did you like it? What I gave you,” he asks him without really knowing why. The words just leave his mouth. Mingi nods. “Awesome. Keep the other one for whenever you want, okay? And if you want more—”

He suddenly stops his own sentence and stares at nothing in particular. Seonghwa's image appears in his head and he wonders if he’s doing something wrong by assuring Mingi that he can ask for more.

“And San? What if he wants?”

Mingi’s amused tone of voice distracts him and gets him to wrinkle his nose.

He knows that Mingi has said that name on purpose.

“No, San, no,” he shakes his head slowly, though even the slow speed of that gesture leads him to stay still as it makes him dizzy. “I pushed him against the lockers.”

Mingi's laugh reaches his ears.

“Seriously?” he nods. “Never push me,” Mingi asks him.

“Never.” he brings his free hand to his chest to assure him that he really means his word. “I promise.” he leaves his hand between them, though this time, with his hand forming a fist while he points out his little finger.

Mingi intertwines his pinky with his and he smiles happily. He tugs on Mingi’s finger, and shares an amused look with Mingi as they allow their laughter to mingle.

“What the fuck?”

“San!”

Seriousness guides his face as soon as Mingi stops looping his finger around his and diverts his attention.

He turns his head and finds San standing in front of them, looking back and forth between them. He doesn't hesitate to squint at him when San looks at him.

“Speaking of the devil,” he mutters.

He looks around because he doesn't want Yeosang to stop having a good night just because San has decided to show up. He doesn't find Yeosang with his eyes but promptly stops decorating his face with a worried scowl when he hears Mingi's voice.

“There, they are there.”

He follows the finger that Mingi points in a certain direction and a smile decorates his face after seeing that Yeosang is still dancing with Yunho, not seeming to have noticed that San has appeared or that they are looking at them. He’s so happy that Yeosang is dancing, enjoying the night and Yunho's company instead of standing still in place as he has been before.

He feels Mingi's finger against his cheek and he tries to bite down on it.

“Are you two drunk?” He hears San ask.

“Not really.” Mingi touches his own cheek with his index finger and he rests his hands on his own cheeks, wondering if Mingi has left any mark on his skin after poking it several times.

“Are you two high?”

He lets out a gasp of air, frustrated after hearing San's voice again. He looks at him and tilts his head.

“I think?”

“High! Yunh— shit! Not his name! He wanted to dance!”

A sudden exclamation of surprise leaves his lips as he goes from sitting more than comfortably on the couch with Mingi next to him, to lying on the floor as Mingi gets up so quickly, probably forgetting that his legs were on his lap.

He complains when his body hits the ground and he feels forced to close his eyes and bring one of his hands to his forehead. His head hurts and his hand feels sticky when he leaves it on the floor to straighten up.

The whole nightclub spins around in his head as soon as he sits down.

“What the hell? I promise not to push him but he pushes me,” he frowns.

A chill runs through him from head to toe and he opens one of his eyes, confused when his gaze lands on an offered hand.

He opens his other eye and blinks several times until he’s able to focus on the hand that is indeed extended toward him.

That's not Mingi's hand.

He looks up to find San crouching next to him, and wrinkles his nose as well as frowns when he notices that he has approached him instead of left.

That reaction doesn't stop him from taking his hand, though, and with the help provided he gets up to once again sit on the couch, this time with San sitting next to him instead of Mingi.

“Thank you, I guess,” he expresses before resting his head on the back of the couch as he leaves one side of his body against it and bends his knees to the side. He keeps his gaze on them as he notices them touching San's thigh.

He doesn't know if he grimaces because San doesn't pull away or because of the next words that leave his own mouth.

“I can't believe he remembered Yunho because he's tall... high...”

“What are you doing here?” San asks him.

He looks up at him. He thinks he could ask him the same question.

“If there's a party, I'll be there,” he replies since that's the only explanation.

He doesn’t avoid the giggle that leaves his lips after thinking that indeed, although there are still boxes to order from the move and he’s still disoriented, anyway he’s at that party.

“And where is Yeosang, mh?” All traces of amusement leave his expression when he hears San mention Yeosang. “You defend him so much and now he is not with you. Haven't ordered your priorities yet, mh?”

He sits up quickly, the same leading him to close his eyes for a few seconds as the colors fade to then shine even brighter. He opens his eyes again as he feels a hand on his elbow, keeping him steady, and he doesn't hesitate to speak as soon as he sees San beside him.

“And you?” he asks San. “You're here too. Don't you have to order your priorities too? Or am I your priority?” He delights in the way San remains completely serious, and he allows a smile to appear momentarily on his face until he again becomes serious. “You don’t get to say my best friend's name with that m—” He lowers his eyes to San's mouth to cover it with both hands. “Your beautiful mouth.”

Soon his wrists are taken and San's lips come into view again.

“Don't do that, you just touched the floor.” San says. “Now I understand why you threaten me.” he looks up when San lets go of his wrists, and he chooses to sit on his own knees while San stares at him. “You two look pretty good together, mh.”

He smiles contently as he closes his eyes and stretches his arms above his head, his muscles appreciating the stretch. He smiles at the thought of his closeness with Yeosang, of Yeosang's lips with his and Yeosang's body close to his, until he promptly opens his eyes and tilts his head to stare at San.

“Enjoying the show? Envying us?” he asks along with the beginning of an amused smile. He lowers his arms to rest his palms on the couch, at the sides of his legs so he leans toward San. “Are you jealous? I would be. I am so hot. Yeosang is so pretty.” He tilts his head the other way. “You could have joined us if you hadn't decided to be a jerk.”

He blinks, fast when San leans into him.

“Says the guy who literally pushed me the first time we met.”

“I'll make it clear to you in case I haven't been clear enough, that I'm very, very, very, very, very loyal to my friends,” he expresses, determinedly and confident as he rests a hand on his own chest to show the certainty of his words. “Devoted, even.”

“Me too.” San imitates him by resting one of his palms on his chest. “And to my family.”

“Me too.”

“Then you understand why I'm so angry.”

“Mh,” he straightens up to form soft fists with his hands and rests them on his lap, allowing a slight pout to decorate his lips as he tries to think what he should understand. “You were mean to Yeosang. And Seonghwa too, maybe? I don’t know. Whatever. It's not Yeosang's fault or Seonghwa's. Yeosang didn't even want to come here.”

He frowns at his own words, forming a confused expression because saying Seonghwa's name out loud gives him a bad feeling.

He rests one of his hands on his cheeks, that unconscious gesture reminding him of Seonghwa because he usually does the same thing but with both hands. Right. He talked with Seonghwa that night.

He flops back against the couch before staring at San.

“You can't go around blaming people for whatever happens to you,” he adds, nodding at his own words because he doesn't think it's fair for his best friend to be the target of words he doesn't deserve. “Tengo hambre,” he complains, puffing out his cheeks, the image of a big piece of meat making him smile.

“What?”

“That I’m hungry,”

“Are you speaking in another language just to confuse me?”

He doesn’t hesitate to watch San, not at all impressed.

“Like you're important enough for me to choose to do that.” he wants to roll his eyes but doesn't, and instead, allows a smile to guide his face. “I’ve lived in Spain for many, many years. Since forever. It's hard to get out of the habit.”

He soon feels his smiley gesture disappear, though, since remembering that detail causes his head to be plagued by memories that make up his life. He believes that everything used to be much simpler and easier.

“Are you okay?” San asks him.

He raises an eyebrow upon hearing him.

“Why do you even care?”

“Yeosang is high too?”

“Duh.”

“Who are you going home with?”

“With Yeosang, duh,” he scoffs and this time he does roll his eyes.

Why does San ask questions when the answers are more than obvious?

He scratches the black fabric of the couch with his index finger to promptly caress it at the soft touch.

“And anyone else?”

He turns his attention to San again upon hearing another question.

“Jealous?”

“No, worried because you two are high.”

“Then come with us,” he replies along with a fake laugh, but suddenly chokes on his own laughter and sits back up, his eyes widening. “Wait. Wait a minute. That's a great idea.” A sound of surprise leaves his lips after being taken aback by his own words.

“Oh sure,” his frown is a product of the sarcasm in San's tone of voice. “You hate me, and Yeosang hates me too, remember? And I don't have particularly good feelings towards you two.”

“Rude.” he gives him a serious look. “But think about it! Wait. What?” He arches an eyebrow. “I don’t hate you. That is, as long as you treat Yeosang better. You should apologize. Come with us and apologize to Yeosang. And everything will be more than fine!” he maintains along with the sudden grin that decorates his face.

“If you weren't high you wouldn't be inviting me.”

He opens his mouth, ready to retort his words but remains speechless though his lips are parted as he thinks that San’s right. However, he’s aware that he’s high. He is, right?

“Probably,” he chooses to accept, quickly deciding to continue when San glances at him. “But I am high so take the chance. So what do you say? Are you coming to my house with me and Yeosang or...”

He looks at San expectantly, blinking several times because he doesn't want to miss any details in case San decides to react instead of continuing to stare at him. He wonders why San is looking at him that way, even though he is too. He really, really wants to eat meat.

“If I don't survive tonight, I'll blame you.” San agrees.

His answer is the kiss he blows at him.

Chapter 15

—and someone is handing him flowers. Sunflowers, his favorite. But he can't delight in its vibrant yellow color or in the softness of the petals under his touch, not when the hand that offers him said flower looks pale. And it's cold—

Yeosang opens one of his eyes and immediately regrets that action.

He closes it again and brings both hands up to his face to rest the base of his wrists over his eyes.

A mix between a gasp and a strangled whimper leaves his mouth and everything around him spins around. He sees nothing but darkness when he closes his eyes and decides to open one, keeping it slightly open this time.

He promptly opens the other one, and narrows his eyes as much as possible as the first rays of the day highlight his facial features by seeping through the small space left between the curtains.

Refusing to close his eyes no matter how much light burns his gaze and feeling his heart pounding against his chest assures him that his own mind has just yanked him out of a nightmare. He brings one hand to his chest, it rising and falling rapidly under the extension of his palm.

The yawn that makes its way past his lips contrasts that abruptness and another whimper threatens to leave his mouth as his muscles complain once he tries to move, only to stay still when he feels something around his waist.

He ignores the way his hand shakes as he lifts the comforter instead of snuggling deeper into it, and slides his eyes down to his waist to visualize a protective arm around that part of his body.

His chest drops again, and this time the air filling his lungs is accompanied by a slower rhythm. He relaxes, recognizing Wooyoung's golden skin, since more than once he has fallen asleep or woken up to run into the same image, so he chooses to turn to the other side, and he certainly bumps into Wooyoung, sleeping peacefully as his eyes remain closed and his chest rises and falls slowly.

Still somewhat shaken by the abrupt way his consciousness decided to wake him up, he looks around. He understands that he's in Wooyoung's room. Wooyoung is next to him and it isn't the first time he visualizes the details that make up Wooyoung's new room.

He thinks it's weird, the way he must think of forgetting all the previous details of Wooyoung's other room because they've both changed cities, countries even, while another part of him leads him to hold a calm —as well as somewhat sleepy— smile, realizing that no matter where they are, they are still side by side.

Wanting to focus on that calm instead of the chaos that his mind represents, even if he has barely gotten up, he brings one of his hands up to Wooyoung's face to touch one of his cheeks with his index finger. He again doesn't have the opportunity to delight in details that are to his liking, though, since as Wooyoung seems to hold the beginning of an unconscious smile on his face, he remains completely still when he hears a noise.

His eyes wide as he hears a groan but Wooyoung is still asleep.

If the nightmare's been enough to shake his unconsciousness, his eyes finally get rid of all traces of sleep when resting his elbow on the mattress, craning his neck, and looking over Wooyoung, is enough to find out that three are able to fit in Wooyoung's bed.

He blinks several times, thinking that maybe he’s still sleeping —or having another nightmare, he doesn't know very well—, but he’s sure that San is the person who at that moment turns to the other side to continue sleeping.

Dumbfounded, he keeps staring at him, better said his back and the back of his head, because San turns his back on Wooyoung. His platinum streak stands out among his dark locks, even more so considering that Wooyoung's sheets are dark in color.

He shifts his eyes back to Wooyoung, leaves his eyes on San, and again looks back at Wooyoung, until a new yawn threatens to escape his mouth, and he chooses to turn the other way to luckily find his phone on the bedside table.

He closes his eyes as the brightness of the device illuminates his facial features, but promptly allows his sight to adjust to it.

06:32

Hell.

Why is it so early? Why is he up so early?

Blaming the nightmare would be enough, but his eyes drift to the clock icon that assures him that he has an alarm set, and again his eyes go wide as he remembers that he doesn't set alarms unless he has to wake up to attend classes in the morning.

Class! It isn’t the weekend.

He quickly sits up but regrets the speed of that action as dizziness guides his head and tiredness his body the second he peels his back off the mattress. Wooyoung's arm slides into his lap, and he looks at Wooyoung when Wooyoung allows a faint sound of complaint to scratch his throat.

He leaves one of his hands on his arm for a light caress, and Wooyoung goes back to holding a neutral expression instead of the beginning of a frown.

With Wooyoung's arm still around his body, and deciding to ignore San's obvious presence for the time being because he thinks he's already too confused, he rests his eyes on his phone. He tries his best to ignore the discomfort he feels coming from every muscle in his body. Something pops and he doesn't want to know which bone it was.

He has as many texts from Yunho as he does from Mingi.

Tell meee once you go backjk to your house— Text me when you wake up— [Three Images Attached]— We're going to be so screwed— oh, he has a text from his mom too, but he decides to ignore it when he reads the words new student. She’s probably talking about Wooyoung.

His unfocused gaze finds the dark color of Wooyoung's comforter.

Slowly but determinedly, he begins to allow the texts to make sense after beginning to put the words together inside his head.

His muscles are tired and his head feels heavy because last night he didn't just crash at Wooyoung's. No, they didn't stay in.

The party. Mingi's party.

He frowns slightly, certainly confused when Seonghwa's name doesn't flash in his notifications, but promptly locks his phone and rests one of the corners of it against his forehead. He doesn’t need to squeeze his head to remember that Seonghwa has been there too.

The grimace that guides his face assures him that there's probably an explanation as to why he doesn't have any text from Seonghwa when in fact, it's normal to have some word —a lot of words— from him.

He sucks in a short breath. It’s too early.

His head throbs in pain and the vague memory of blurred sunflowers shows up in his mind. Although the lack of light in the room helps him to blink easily, he believes that it’s still too early for his head to come up with so many questions. Besides, he wants to get rid of the sour taste that he feels seizes his throat when he swallows.

He looks down to notice that he’s wearing one of Wooyoung’s old t-shirts, one with a drawing of a piece of meat in its center as well as soft pink pajama bottoms —Wooyoung is currently wearing the top part of said set.

His eyes inevitably slide to San, but he shakes his head. He refuses to add any more questions to the equation. He gently grabs Wooyoung's arm to slide it off his body.

Fortunately, the only thing Wooyoung does is take advantage of the warmth created by his previous presence once he gets up. He leaves one of his hands on the edge of the bed, taking a few seconds to get used to the fact that he’s standing, and watches Wooyoung dwell on the now-empty space.

He opens the door to the room, making as little noise as possible, and allows a long puff of air to leave his lips after finally exiting the room.

The house remains empty but the same doesn’t surprise him. Wooyoung's parents and his younger brother must still be sleeping.

He smiles as he comes across a framed photo of him and Wooyoung on his way to the kitchen, and his eyes fall to the coffee machine as soon as he catches sight of it. He stops in front of it, thanking whoever he has to thank for getting said machine to be in front of him, until the image of a cup of coffee leads him to form a line with his lips.

Soon that grimace continues on his face and his stomach complains at the mere idea of coffee. He glares at the coffee machine, as if it were to blame for the part of his head that reminds him that only one thing can make him react in that disgusting way at the idea of a hot cup of coffee: drugs.

This routine is familiar.

He wakes up. Confused, and then all the crap that he's avoided feeling and remembering comes crashing down on him.

His eyes widen and he quickly reaches for his phone to remove the case, and calms down when he notices that the strips are still present. He might have to find a new place to keep the drugs. Wooyoung usually grabs his phone sometimes, either to take a picture or whatever. What he least needs is Wooyoung feeling curious and taking off his phone case.

He already feels mentally tired but he forces himself to try to remember the night before nonetheless. Mingi's party. Wooyoung. Red and black colors. Yunho and Mingi— and then— ah, songs— he wrinkles his nose. Seonghwa. Seonghwa? Seonghwa. He rubs his face with both hands, his phone still present in one of them, and heaves a sigh as he remembers that indeed, that moment is just the beginning of another day because it's not the weekend.

Who the hell throws a party in the middle of the week? Mingi. And why does he agree to go? Wooyoung. Wow, he’s in Wooyoung's new house because Wooyoung is living in the same city as him now.

“Coffee is never good, you'll probably feel nauseous.”

He’s suddenly pulled away from thoughts related to Wooyoung once that voice takes his complete attention, and he believes that his neck will hurt for turning his head to rest his eyes on San.

San’s hair sticks out everywhere but he doubts he's any better than him. San’s wearing Wooyoung's clothes, just like him, but a long-sleeved black t-shirt covers his torso while loose pink and yellow square pants complete his look for that morning. The clothes fit his body a little more than necessary.

“Yogurt is good, for the stomach to be okay,” San adds.

So far he has chosen to ignore his presence, but he can't do it anymore.

They haven't spoken since that time they met at Utopia, or rather, since San decided to ruin his night after suddenly appearing, to express words that later have been one more break for him to feel his own collapse.

Instead of saying a word, he thinks yogurt certainly sounds better than coffee. He doesn't plan to say a word to him and momentarily allows himself to be distracted after heading to the fridge. He opens it and scans the products present until he finds a bottle of yogurt. He narrows his gaze as he leaves his eyes on San once he takes the bottle and closes the fridge.

San has only shown up. He hasn’t approached.

He decides to express the only word in his mind.

“How.”

His voice sounds hoarse, dry. He doesn’t express it as a question, but as requiring an explanation. He doesn't want to know how San knows yogurt is better than coffee for his stomach after getting high, and he doesn't want to know why San knows he got high either. No, he and San know the question that encompasses his thoughts.

“Wooyoung invited me,” San answers the unspoken question.

He assumes that the confusion must be more than evident on his newly awakened face, because San continues speaking as he places the bottle on the table in the middle of the kitchen. He leaves his phone and takes a glass.

“I was slightly worried about you two.” San’s words don't clear up his disorientation. “And Wooyoung said that he invited me to take care of you two, and well, to apologize to you.”

He chooses to stop looking at him and focus on pouring himself a glass of yogurt as soon as he hears him. He's not surprised that the name of his best friend is part of the equation, but he does tilt his head, still confused when Wooyoung's voice expressing that he's threatened San to stay away from him sounds loud and clear inside his mind.

Wooyoung also got high, didn’t he? Yes, he doesn’t doubt it. Maybe the drugs have led Wooyoung to make strange decisions —such as asking San to end the night with them— but he thinks he can dismiss that thought. San mentioned wanting to apologize to him.

He takes a big gulp of yogurt and promptly gets rid of the sour taste on his palate to replace it with the smooth vanilla flavor of the yogurt. He licks his lips.

He’s tired, really tired, and big and deep eyebags decorate his face. He doesn't doubt that. He has gotten used to the constant presence of black bags under his eyes. He wants to go back to bed to sleep longer, but he'd rather avoid the possibility of another nightmare, so he looks at San. Well, at least his hands don't shake anymore and he was able to pour yogurt without spilling a drop.

“How do you know about the yogurt?” San hasn’t moved yet.

“I've had my own... fair amount of confusing nights.” Neither of them needs San to mention the word drugs to know he's referring to it. “I'm not judging you.” San brings one of his hands to the back of his neck, seeming to scratch it apologetically. “People do stupid things when they get high... I mean, Mingi almost said Yunho's name last night. He will die if he finds out,” he adds with a slight smile.

He does his best and opts to stay put instead of just widening his eyes at the words he hears. He'll die if you actually find out that he says Yunho's name when he's not even high or wasted, he wants to add, but he doesn't.

He thinks that it’s still too early to be aware that he’s at Wooyoung's new house, having a conversation with San while Wooyoung is still sleeping. He takes another gulp of yogurt but his eyes again focus on San when San finally takes a few steps closer to him.

He still can't decide if his presence bothers him or not. After all, a part of him has wanted to talk to him ever since he found out that their parents know each other.

Shit. Right. Their parents know each other.

“I don't want Wooyoung to think I lied, and I feel like I wanted to talk to you anyway, so I'm sorry.” his mind blurs a bit as he feels he has heard those words before. Seonghwa? He focuses back on San when he continues speaking. “I shouldn't have gone to Utopia instead of Mingi, or made you feel bad.”

He believes that he would be a bit of a hypocrite if he thought that San's apology was totally necessary. He certainly appreciates the apology, but he wonders why people constantly find themselves apologizing to him. Perhaps he’s the one who is looking for people to mention those words frequently. He doesn’t know it. He feels tired.

“Did you know that our parents know each other?” he chooses to ask him.

The obvious confusion on San's face tells him the answer, but San parts his lips anyway. “No,” he replies, arching an eyebrow. “How do you know that?”

“Yunho told me that his staff saw your dad and my mom together.” Yunho's name seems to lend truth to his words because San stops frowning after hearing him.

He doesn't understand why his mother and San's father would meet up, and he knows that he’s unable to provide an answer to that question not only because it’s early. 

“I'm sorry if this question offends you, but what happened while your dad was the director for my mom to be called in?” he needs some explanation, any words to make sense of the situation.

“To be honest? I don't know.” San folds his arms. “Yes, there were arguments from time to time, but nothing weird. He has always complained about your mother out loud ever since you came here. Why would he do it if they know each other?”

“A facade, perhaps.”

“But why?”

He wishes he had an answer, but he shrugs.

“My mom has denied knowing him,” he tells him.

“What's going on between the two of them?” San sounds just as confused as he does. “Do you think they are together?”

“No thanks, I have enough with a half-brother, I most definitely don’t need a stepbrother.”

San stares at him at the same time that he holds his gaze after understanding the sentence he just mentioned. A few seconds pass in which neither of them mentions a word, but the sudden echo of their mixed laughter reaches the corners of the kitchen. He brings one of his hands to his mouth to hide his smile, but said gesture doesn't disappear after seeing that an amused smile makes its way on San's face.

He just laughed, freely and spontaneously. He thinks he’s missed the feeling.

He feels that he’s still high because he would never have believed that he would start his day talking to San, much less laughing with him. Still, the reality of the situation leads him to realize that San has certainly expressed accepting Wooyoung's invitation to have the opportunity to apologize to him.

He's argued with San while they are now laughing, and he thinks the opposite happens with his mother. He just laughed, but he doesn't know how he would react if his mother told him that she was dating someone, whether that person was San's father or anyone else. It's too soon, isn't it? His smile begins to fade and he brushes the necklace present around his neck with his fingertips.

The nightmare he had isn't real. The floral pendant present between his collarbones is.

“Look, I know we got off to a bad start, but now that you mention that our parents are hiding something, I think it would be better if we joined forces instead of being apart.” This time San says those words approaching him, and leaves his hands on the table.

He stares at San, knowing that he's been waiting to talk to San ever since he heard their parents know each other.

“How about we start over?” San proposes.

They haven’t had the best of starts thanks to the way they have defended their respective parents from each other. They probably would never have cast serious glances at each other if their parents hadn't happened to be connected by their jobs.

He reaches for another glass to pour the yogurt in and slides it over to San, gently offering the same before taking his own glass with both hands.

His mother lies to him while San tells him the truth. He thinks it's interesting how the tables change.

“Kang Yeosang,” he introduces himself. Officially, they never have.

San accepts the offered glass.

“Choi San.” He offers him a morning smile.

He thinks it's probably a bit silly, but he agrees to clink his glass with San's when he raises his to him, and they both allow their words to be accompanied by traces of yogurt.

San agreed to be with them out of being slightly worried —probably because he and Wooyoung were high—, so he thinks the reasons to trust San are honest while those to trust his mother are decreasing at the same speed.

“I'm sorry about your dad,” he hears San mention to him. “And I don't know if it will help you if I say this or not but... my mom isn't around either.”

He stops holding the glass with both hands to bring one to the ever-present golden floral pendant that rests on the juncture of his collarbones.

He simply chooses to form a line with his lips, realizing that he is not the only one who knows the meaning of mourning.

It's not your fault. Thank you. Okay.

It’s a habit to pronounce those words.

Their pronunciation takes him to another city, to think of all the times he has heard those words, and therefore, all the times he has recited his reply in the same way. Monotonously, automatically. He has gotten used to it. Sometimes he doesn't even mention them. Whose fault is it? Of life?

He catches the flower pendant in his hand, but he allows Wooyoung's new house to surround him with familiarity —ironically, considering it's a new house he barely knows.

He decides not to express any comment about San's mother. Maybe San is tired of always repeating the same phrases too. He now understands why San got angry after hearing his mother express that a mother is always the person who supports a family, why he allowed irritation to guide him after the introductory talk.

“I feel like it would be very hypocritical to keep fighting with you, you know,” San continues. “I always tell Yunho and Mingi that they shouldn't let their parents affect how they see each other, so behaving the same way with you would be hypocritical.”

He tilts his head slightly. Mingi's apparent mention of Yunho's name seems to have been nothing more than a drug-induced mistake, at least to San. He sounds wistful as he mentions those words, sincerely disappointed in the lack of a good relationship between Yunho and Mingi. He wants to assure him not to worry, that everything is more than fine, but it's not up to him to say those words.

At the moment, unfortunately, he has to help Yunho and Mingi in another way.

“Ah, so their parents are the reason behind their bad relationship?” he decides to ask. He feels curious, in fact, since he doesn't know exactly why Yunho and Mingi's relationship —or whatever they have going on— is a secret. He has only promised not to bring it up.

“Yeah, their parents' businesses clash, so they clash too,” San sighs.

He bites his lower lip, thinking. Yunho owns Utopia while Mingi owns Illusion. He assumes that the words San says make sense, but his mind inevitably drifts to Wooyoung since his parents are known to have a night business as well.

“Can I give you some advice?” San says, looking at him and tearing him out of his thoughts again. “As the son of the former director, I can assure you that many people will seek to approach you solely because of who you are. Somehow, as we have planned with Hongjoong and Seonghwa,” he can only wonder how many people haven’t hesitated to leave San aside just because he’s no longer the director's son. “My advice is to surround yourself with honest, good people. Although I must admit, you have a more than interesting best friend.”

“Nothing like waking up to the sound of people praising me.”

Though he has started to smile at the mention of his best friend's name, he allows that smiling gesture to decorate his face after seeing Wooyoung entering the kitchen, a line of skin remaining in sight after stretching his arms above his head. The extension of his legs too, because of course Wooyoung sleeps in simple colored t-shirts and boxer briefs. How he's not cold, Yeosang doesn't know and probably never will.

“But I didn't like waking up alone at all,” Wooyoung deadpans.

It's clear that he's barely out of bed, but he believes that even with his lilac locks sticking out everywhere and traces of sleep following his facial features, Wooyoung is still a more than appreciable sight at that time of the morning.

“Now that you're in your senses, do you want me to leave or...”

He looks back and forth between San and Wooyoung after hearing the former ask Wooyoung that question while Wooyoung chooses to approach them. He rests his eyes on him when Wooyoung leaves his head on one of his shoulders.

“No, you two were talking so I assume everything is fine,”

He keeps his eyes on Wooyoung when he mentions those words, but also when he takes the opportunity to wrap his hands around his arm. First, it was his waist, now it’s his arm. For Wooyoung it doesn't matter if it's day or night to establish physical contact.

Taking advantage of that characteristic detail of Wooyoung is what he decides to do after burying his face in Wooyoung's locks, his forehead brushing his temple after taking his closeness in his favor. It's comforting, knowing that Wooyoung is next to him. He knows that smoking is a bad habit and that more than once he has tried to get Wooyoung to quit it, but he relaxes when a faint trace of cigarettes, now a peculiarity of Wooyoung, takes over his senses.

“We should have breakfast, anyway,” he hears Wooyoung add. He straightens up as Wooyoung does. He closes his eyes when Wooyoung rests a kiss on his cheek and opens them again. Wooyoung's hands don't leave his arm. “No joke I'll skip my second day of school, I have to charm the professors.”

“There's a problem, though.” Both he and Wooyoung rest their eyes when San expresses those words. “I don't have my uniform here.”

He laughs as soon as he listens to San, making Wooyoung look at him with a smile before looking at San.

“You can go check my closet if you want, I'm sure you'll find something...” Wooyoung clears his throat. “I hope...”

He prevents a smile from appearing on his face upon hearing those words from Wooyoung. He's not the only one who has noticed that Wooyoung's clothes seem to be a bit —well, straight up— too small for San, then.

That doesn’t prevent San from following his words, since he promptly leaves the kitchen.

Wooyoung turns to him as soon as they are alone and is not surprised when he's hugged. Wooyoung's touch feels comforting and warm so he opts to hug him too.

“How are you?”

“How are you?” he asks instead of answering.

Wooyoung is still the person that just came to town after all.

He knows there's something going on as Wooyoung just hugs him tighter before barely breaking away from him. He parts his lips but remains silent, and then smiles, sweet as always but briefly as he doesn't usually.

“I'm glad we're together again,” Wooyoung replies.

And he believes him, he really believes Wooyoung because he knows that his affection for Wooyoung has always been reciprocated, and Wooyoung always makes sure to let him know how much he appreciates their friendship.

But he also thinks there's more to say, so he doesn't regret taking advantage of having Wooyoung in his arms to gently nudge him.

“It's...” Wooyoung glances around them before looking back at him. “It's just like in Spain. Nothing has... nothing has changed.”

He looks at him, confused for a moment, wondering why his smile has disappeared and he said those words.

Like in Spain?

“I don't know what was worse, being told that they already know me because my last name is known or their smiles being immediately fake,” Wooyoung says.

Wooyoung looks down, sad, and he thinks he understands why he expresses those words. As Wooyoung has said before, he's happy that they're together again, but maybe other people aren't equally happy that he's there.

“I mean no harm yet I'm still the biggest threat.” Wooyoung adds.

He wants to press because he thinks he's sure that he's talking about Yunho and Mingi, even more so since San indirectly assured him that Yunho, Mingi, and Wooyoung could become each other's competition. But he can't formulate questions because San comes back to the kitchen, and Wooyoung assures him that it’s no longer the right time to talk about it as soon as he lets go of him and expresses that they have to hurry if they don't want to be late.

---

One second.

A single second in which he questioned his existence after waking up with sore muscles and a confused mind, is the same second that at that moment leads him to approach the car that’s waiting for him to take him to college.

One second late and his mother chose not to wait for him.

With sunglasses hiding what Seonghwa hopes is nothing more than a faint trace of dark circles on his face, he finally leaves the house to approach the car, but his hand remains a centimeter from the handle when out of the corner of his eye, he sees another car approaching.

“What even—”

It’s the same car that Hongjoong picked him up with the other time.

What is Hongjoong doing in front of his house? They haven't agreed for Hongjoong to pick him up again, have they? He has hardly had any alcohol the night before. He doesn't think he was drunk enough for that detail to slip from his attention.

Still confused, he approaches Hongjoong's car and runs into him when Hongjoong decides to roll down the window.

Unlike him, Hongjoong hasn't gone out of his way to hide his dark circles with sunglasses or makeup. However, instead of focusing on the black eyebags that decorate Hongjoong's eyes, his gaze falls on the smile that Hongjoong offers.

“It's good that you got up late and I came to save you by giving you a ride.”

Well, he didn't expect his morning to start like this.

He doesn't think it's fair the way Hongjoong pronounces those words with a hint of amusement following them while he feels like he can barely articulate a sentence. He doesn't remember the last time he's been this tired —perhaps because he always feels tired, and his schedule isn't particularly light. In any case, he doesn’t hesitate to speak.

“It was only a single second and my driver is about to take me.”

“Yet here you are.” He grimaces as soon as he hears him because he knows that Hongjoong is right. “I'll play circus music again if you choose that car over mine.”

He looks at him confused for a moment, wondering why he adds those words until both the amused smile that Hongjoong holds, and the images from the night before appear in his head.

He rests his eyes on his car and thinks that he will probably have less chance of falling asleep if he's chatting with someone, and for that reason alone, and well, also because he doesn't want to hear that familiar tune so early, he tells his driver that he doesn't need to take him and then decides to get in Hongjoong's car.

Hongjoong moves over to let him sit and he takes off his sunglasses so he can throw Hongjoong an unfazed look.

Hongjoong's tie is loosened up and he seems to have set his blazer aside as the absence of it allows him to watch the black and orange lines he has added to one of the sleeves of his shirt. Despite thinking that they look good and that they match the lines of the tie, he looks up at him.

“You look awful.” he doesn't hesitate to express.

He thinks it's certainly strange, yet interesting how at that moment he feels comfortable to be able to express those words without a filter. He doesn't see the point in pretending with Hongjoong when the night before they were side by side, enjoying the music produced by Hongjoong —and laughing, laughing too.

He doesn't know why, but he thinks of Hongjoong as his exception. He can be direct and doesn’t need to think about every word that leaves his mouth. Probably because Hongjoong acts the same way towards him.

“And you too— you don't. Why don’t you?”

He allows himself to hold a proud smile as he sees the confusion in Hongjoong. One glance is enough to certainly realize that unlike Hongjoong, he has taken his time, like every morning —albeit with a second of delay—, for his appearance to be described as correct.

Perhaps he isn’t with his mother because he has taken a second too long, but that doesn’t take away the correctness of his posture and that no part of his uniform is misaligned.

He feels tired and he just wants to sleep a few more hours, but it isn’t in his plans to allow his tiredness to be noticeable. He’s aware of his decisions and he will attend all of his classes and do his homework without complaining.

He has gone out the night before, knowing that he would sleep less than usual, so no complaint will leave his lips. However, although he doesn't plan to complain about himself, he does have some misgivings about Hongjoong's presence, and not because of his looks.

“What are you doing here, Kim?”

“Too tired to remember my position?”

He arches an eyebrow as Hongjoong smiles, satisfied as for that occasion he has chosen not to add the word president to his speech.

“I’m here even if I'm super asleep to show you that I want us to get along,” Hongjoong adds.

He stares at him as soon as Hongjoong mentions those words.

True, he’s just now realizing that Hongjoong must have gotten up earlier than necessary to be by his side at that moment, even if it means sacrificing a few minutes of sleep —sacred that morning since neither of them slept much.

“You haven't told me to leave you alone by the end of the night, so here I am.”

He assumes that Hongjoong is right.

The words exchanged the night before remind him that they have indeed agreed that Hongjoong wouldn’t bother him with his presence in case he expressed so by the end of the night, but he hasn't, so Hongjoong is close to him again.

Considering that he has already said no to his driver and that Hongjoong's car is already moving, getting down the car isn’t a good idea, but going to the campus leads him to form a line with his lips.

If he's to be honest, even though his body is tired and the thought of Yeosang and Wooyoung manages to deepen his seriousness, he considers that he had a good night. Allowing himself to get distracted from his responsibilities for a few hours has been pleasant, and Hongjoong's music, as well as Hongjoong himself, has accompanied him throughout.

“Okay,” he decides to say instead of expressing all the thoughts in his head.

Yet anyway he chooses to cross his arms and rest his gaze on the window after remembering that the night before he not only exchanged words with Hongjoong, but also with Yeosang and Wooyoung, and not exactly good ones. He hasn't seen Yeosang when he got up so he knows that Yeosang is probably —no, surely— at Wooyoung's house.

A part of him still thinks it's a surprise that Wooyoung has entered the scene again —if he ever really left it. Now Wooyoung lives in the same city as them, and he doesn't know how to feel about it. He's happy with his sudden presence because he knows that Wooyoung is a fun, good person who also makes Yeosang feel better, but he's worried as well, since he knows the enigmatic duo that he forms with Yeosang.

He curls one corner of his mouth at the memory of the drugs present last night.

He knows that both Yeosang and Wooyoung are adults and responsible enough to make their own decisions. He's only a year older after all. Yet he still can't help but worry, much more so when he’s aware that Yeosang is —the two of them are, actually— going through a period where his emotions are in chaos. He doesn't want Yeosang to miss out even more.

He turns his head away from the thoughts running through his head as he feels something cold against his shoulder, and he looks down to see Hongjoong offering him a large strawberry smoothie.

He looks at him, finding Hongjoong holding a coffee with his other hand, and notices that he has been so focused on his thoughts, that at no time has he realized that the car has probably slowed down for that moment to be on the move again.

“I haven't had breakfast today, so,” Hongjoong explains the reason for the muffin he has left on his lap. He accepts the smoothie, and the coolness is welcome in his hands. Instead of letting the strawberry flavor sweeten his morning, though, he just stares at it. “Wow, you're not even drinking your smoothie. Do you prefer to sleep?”

He shakes his head and looks at him after hearing his words.

“No, I just have a lot on my mind,” he comments, realizing that Hongjoong has decided not to interrupt him while he has remained distracted.

He may be able to hide his tiredness with sunglasses that currently remain over his head or with the help of makeup, but his restlessness is impossible to hide.

“Thank you,” he says before taking a short sip of the smoothie.

He feels that one part of him welcomes the same while the other continues to think that not even another round of smoothies will help him to distract himself from the fact that while last night he has chosen to go out with the idea of fixing his situation with Yeosang, he has only made it worse and also brought Wooyoung into the matter.

It's kind of hard for Wooyoung not to be in the middle, he knows that. He doesn't know what to think, though. He doesn't want Yeosang to be mad at him, but he's upset too.

He feels that the more he cares for Yosang, the more Yeosang pushes him away.

He bites his lower lip, thinking that while he wants to be the best big brother he can be, Yeosang accuses him of trying to look like his father. He swallows, and the taste of strawberry is not enough to free him from the bitterness that surrounds him.

“I'm sorry, I'm sure you expected a better morning,” he mentions to Hongjoong.

They enjoyed the music and being side by side last night, but there’s currently no background music to fill the void he leaves with the absence of words.

“It’s fine, I'm tired too,” Hongjoong assures him, “You fight with Yeosang a lot, don't you?”

He doesn't even need to mention Yeosang's name for Hongjoong to assume his downcast expression must be because he's thinking of him.

“I don't know why. He worries me. I don't quite know how to express my concern,” he agrees out loud.

When he runs into problems, it's usually easy to fix them. With accounts, it's a matter of checking numbers until the result is correct. With phrases, just review them until you understand the meaning. It’s easy. Find a problem, fix it. He gets rid of it. It's like cleaning, he thinks. When and where there’s dirt, clean it. When something is out of order, he puts it in order.

But with Yeosang, oh with Yeosang everything is a bit more complicated.

“What if you told him what you just told me?”

“He doesn't want to listen to me.” Last night the conversation ended after Yeosang refused to listen to him. Many times that is what usually happens. He continues trying as Yeosang walks away. He wants to fix, fix, and fix, but Yeosang won't let him. “And now Wooyoung doesn't either,” he knows it’s convenient for him to have Wooyoung on his side taking into account Yeosang and Wooyoung’s closeness, but sometimes he can't help but question the same too.

Despite spending much of the night with Hongjoong, both Yeosang's and Wooyoung's words continue to circle his head anyway. Wooyoung did say something that caught his attention, unexpectedly after not expecting those words.

“I did hear Wooyoung, though,” he eyes Hongjoong, “He said you've been eyefucking me all night,” he chooses to add, and catches the straw between his lips at the same time Hongjoong seems to choke on a piece of muffin.

Hongjoong promptly clears his throat, and from the way he looks at him, he assumes that Wooyoung hasn't lied and that indeed —what a surprise— Hongjoong has kept his eyes on him.

“Well— it's just— I planned to talk to you, so I was looking at you— you know— pretty good view— yes, I mean, the bar— you know.” Hongjoong again clears his throat and he allows a small smile to grace his face.

Having gotten used to Hongjoong facing him without hesitation, it's entertaining to see him stumble over his own words.

“Mh. So you have known Wooyoung for a long time?” Hongjoong adds.

Instead of commenting that he’s aware of the change of topic on purpose, he chooses to nod.

“Yes, for as long as I can remember. Yeosang and he are closer because they are the same age, I think. He has always been close to us,” he replies, thinking that indeed, Wooyoung has always been a constant in his life.

He believes that despite the events of the night before, he’s happy that Wooyoung has once again decided to follow them after moving to another city as well. He considers that Wooyoung's family is also his family, that Wooyoung is family, and said closeness is what makes the argument of the night before feel bad, feel wrong.

Wooyoung hasn't only changed cities to be with them at that time, but also when they left Spain to come to Korea.

Although only Yeosang is his younger brother, he sometimes feels like he has a duo to take care of. He knows that Yeosang and Wooyoung take care of each other, but he wants to think that he also makes sure they're okay —when they let him.

“Isn't that, mh— Yunho?” He narrows his gaze after suddenly believing that certainly, the person who is walking down the block is Yunho.

He hasn't exchanged words with him so far, but he doesn't think he's confused as Hongjoong turns his head to follow the direction of his gaze and nods. They are already close to campus.

“Oh, yeah, I guess we all got up a little late today.”

He holds on to a short smile because Hongjoong's words remind him that he's not the only one who got up a second late, but he holds a neutral expression as the speed of the car drops. Hongjoong's driver probably also knows that it’s Yunho. 

Hongjoong rolls down the window on his side. “Hey, Yunho.”

Yunho doesn't get startled even if he hasn’t expected to be greeted, and a pleasant smile spreads over his face once he turns his head and recognizes the person who greeted him. He stops walking to approach the car.

“Hello!” Yunho seems to wave to the driver even though he can't see him through the window, and then looks at Hongjoong. “Hello hyung!” Yunho greets him with a cheerful smile, and luckily it doesn't change even though his eyes meet his. “Hi, good morning.”

He stops holding his smoothie with both hands to wave at him, feeling lucky that instead of ignoring his presence or opting to give him a serious look, Yunho greeted him as well as targeted his smile at him.

He doesn’t doubt that Yunho is aware of the plan that initially led Hongjoong to approach him, so he believes that the situation between them is somewhat strange —even tense— although they have never exchanged a word before.

“Do you want to come up?” Hongjoong asks him, but Yunho looks at him as soon as he hears that question.

Yunho shouldn't answer that question wondering if he feels comfortable or not. At the end of the day, it’s remarkable that he and Hongjoong have known each other for a long time while despite all the situations, he’s still the new student. He nods slightly to indicate to Yunho that he shouldn't respond negatively just because he’s present, and Yunho smiles.

“Okay,”

Even if they stayed close the night before, he notes that it isn’t always necessary to be in a nightclub to be close to someone, since Hongjoong stops being on that side of the car to stick to him and thus leave space for Yunho.

He’s suddenly aware of his closeness to Hongjoong, the way their thighs touch while their shoulders don't because he sits sideways. He gets a chance to notice with more affinity the highlights that interrupt the white color of Hongjoong's shirt, but he promptly shakes his head when he hears Hongjoong's voice.

“Tired?” he asks Yunho.

Yunho nods but the small chuckle he lets out reassures them that his energy isn't planning to drop just because he too has had little sleep.

“Of course. I left before you, anyway,” Yunho switches his amused gaze between them until once again they share a look. “It was good to see you with hyung, he says he gets bored sometimes,” he keeps a smile on his face not only because of the words he hears, but also because Hongjoong groans. “Song always asks him to play at his parties.”

“Hey,” Hongjoong complains but Yunho continues to smile.

He wonders if Hongjoong usually asks someone to be with him while he's playing music, or if he prefers to stay alone so he can focus easily. He doesn't know but assumes that he should consider himself lucky because Hongjoong has asked him to stay with him throughout the night.

He continues to smile as he thinks that Hongjoong has indeed taken it upon himself to stay by his side when he could have been with other people.

“I think we don't know each other officially,” he says, looking at Yunho.

Yes, he knows that Yunho is the person who fell asleep during his mother's talk and that he thought about not wanting to be near him, but it’s also true that he has seen him talking to Yeosang as well as Hongjoong at that moment. 

“I’m Seonghwa.”

“Yunho,” he keeps smiling.

“I wanted to tell you that— well— I could have helped you— maybe— with the exam—”

“No,” Yunho shakes his head and he lets out a breath of air because he’s aware that he just tripped over his own words. “I, well, I think it wasn't right to go against your back.”

Hongjoong tenses up next to him and he too is somewhat aware of the awkward air that suddenly surrounds them.

Yunho is the main reason why they have talked, but soon enough he seeks to get rid of that change of environment because both the night before and at that moment, Hongjoong has assured him that he doesn't want the relationship between them to remain focused on the fact that his first approach wasn’t neutral.

“I think I understand. Desperate measures, desperate times.”

It did hurt him that Hongjoong approached him without being honest at first, but he relaxes when Hongjoong does. Hongjoong apologized to him and mentioned that he has made a mistake.

He also makes mistakes, he’s aware of them.

Yeosang still hasn't apologized to him for coming up with the plan himself, but he believes that if he starts relating his arguments with Yeosang to others, then he will never allow himself to open up to other people.

His instability with Yeosang is more than stable.

He holds a short smile.

“Is this common?” Yunho points between them.

He shakes his head as he locks eyes with Hongjoong because Hongjoong does too. 

“No, no, no, no,” Hongjoong determines, moving his hands and both rest their eyes on Yunho when he laughs.

He doesn't know why both of them have quickly denied his words.

Their lockers are side by side and they share the same classes, so in case Hongjoong doesn't pick him up, they'll still gravitate toward each other anyway.

He’s not upset for the same reason, but another doubt pops into his head after remembering that Hongjoong hasn’t only talked with him, but also with Yeosang before.

“Were you with my brother yesterday?” He asks although the target of his question is Yunho. It was easy to spot him the night before thanks to his height. “Do you know if everything is okay?”

Yeosang expressed that he’s all over him all the time, that he doesn’t let him breathe, and that he may be too much. That he even resembles their father.

He’s hurt. He just wants to stay close to Yeosang because he cares about him.

“Ah, yeah, he left with Wooyoung and San.”

He allows a shocked expression to embrace his face as soon as he hears those words. Judging from the way Yunho switches his gaze between him and Hongjoong and then chuckles, he assumes that Hongjoong is looking at him the same way.

“I know, I reacted the same way. I don't know. I hope there wasn't a murder last night,” Yunho laughs.

Several questions run through his head but none have answers attached. He wonders if drugs have spoken for Yeosang and Wooyoung, and for the same reason they ended up getting close to San, or if San has gotten close to them for drugs. Has Yunho gotten high too?

He opens the door on his side once the car stops in front of the main building, and he’s grateful for having lowered his sunglasses to his eyes, since instead of getting off the car, he opens his eyes wide after bumping into the image that appears in front of him.

“Oh no, this isn't about my exams, is it?”

From the words that Yunho expresses, he assumes that both he and Hongjoong are aware of his mother's presence. She’s standing in front of the main doors, with her arms crossed and a serious look on her face.

“Shit, I was going to say it can't be because of my uniform but it can be because I sat in front of the doors,” Hongjoong says.

He rules out that Yunho and Hongjoong are the reason behind his mother's stance, waiting for them. Waiting for him.

The second he glimpses Yeosang standing next to his mother, without seeming to want to be there and connecting his eyes with his, is the second that assures him that there’s only one possibility.

“No, this has to do with me.”

Chapter 16

Yeosang scans the details that make up his mother's office, trying to distract himself from his thoughts. Unsuccessfully, certainly, since even if he thinks that the windows behind his mother are a hassle because they allow the office to be fully illuminated, he can’t free himself from the questions that weigh on his mind at that time.

He wants to know why he’s in his mother's office, with none other than Seonghwa sitting in the chair next to him. Perhaps that situation should be more than obvious since the two of them are her children, but his mother previously separated him from Wooyoung and San, saying that she wants to talk to him and Seonghwa.

He didn’t overlook the way Wooyoung greeted his mother while San remained a bit uncomfortable; or the fact that he saw Seonghwa getting out of Hongjoong's car with Yunho present as well. Seonghwa didn't even throw him a serious look, nor did he ask if he did anything to get them both called. He's used to the Seonghwa who reprimands him, not the one who is next to him but doesn't acknowledge him.

The victim of his uneasiness turns out to be the inside of his cheek, as he keeps biting it. The only flower in her mother's office, shimmering a bright orange and made of plastic, only reminds him of the nightmare that woke him up. He doesn't know if it was a nightmare or not, but he didn't like getting up abruptly or with trembling hands.

“My two sons. Well, it is certainly nice to see you two again.”

He rests his eyes on their mother when she finally addresses them. Sitting in front of them, behind the desk that keeps them apart, he avoids narrowing his gaze as with those words, their mother claims that she hasn’t seen Seonghwa that morning, which explains why he hasn’t seen the two arrive at the same time. 

Seonghwa spent the night with Hongjoong? Now that would be more than interesting and intriguing.

“Good morning,” she greets them.

“Good morning, mom,” Seonghwa expresses.

He wants to roll his eyes but he doesn't. He settles further in the chair and thinks that he still doesn't like the blazer. The color is still awful and he has to slide it off his shoulders a bit if he wants the sleeves to cover his hands.

It isn't a good morning. Perhaps he did start the day by softening his situation with San and allowing a smile to be found on his face as he approached the university with him and Wooyoung, but he hasn’t missed the look that his mother gave him after seeing him with San.

Whether she looked at him like that because she finds it strange that he can hold a proper conversation with San, or because seeing that they know of each other's existence after she denied knowing San's father unsettles her, he doesn't know.

And to top it off, he doesn't feel like being in the same space as Seonghwa. Now that his head is a little clearer and his senses not partially cloudy, he’s aware of some of the words he’s exchanged with him last night.

He probably owes him an apology, he thinks, not only for what happened with Hongjoong, but also for the words he said in the nightclub. The words death and dad ring loud and clear in his head. Tired, but now conscious head.

His head continues to hurt and he no longer knows why. He's sleepy, and annoyed too, as while Seonghwa looks like he slept the same number of hours as each night, he’s one second or yawn away from becoming synonymous with the word disaster.

“Dear,” he looks at his mother when he feels her eyes on him, even if Seonghwa has been the one to answer while he hasn't. “Wooyoung is here. His mom called me, and well, we both know that I saw him a little while ago.”

A short hum is the answer he offers. Where do you think I was last night, all day and night, actually he wants to say, but he doesn’t. He doesn't see the point.

He doesn't feel like speaking, but hearing those words reminds him that indeed, Wooyoung is part of the scene now. Again, thankfully. He’s somehow not surprised. He has barely been with Wooyoung by his side for a day, but fortunately, it feels as if they had never been separated, at least not anymore, even though he has felt the consequences of the momentary separation.

“Well, it's always nice to have familiar faces.” his mother seems genuinely happy with Wooyoung and his family’s presence.

He considers it an irony, since she was the one that separated them after deciding to move to take a job that at that time is the one that allows them to be in that office. 

“But also new ones.” Their mother adds, looking back and forth between him and Seonghwa. “And speaking of which, someone very important is joining our faculty today, and I was hoping one of you could show him around the facilities.”

“I’ll do it, mom,” Seonghwa expresses. Of course you will, he thinks.

Someone important. Important enough that their mother chooses to call both of them to make them aware of said new addition. He now understands why it has been strange for him to spot people in suits, intimidating men if he must be honest, wandering around, and also, why, then, her mother sent him a text about a new student.

Turns out she wasn't talking about Wooyoung.

He’s torn between wondering how important the university he’s studying at is, and not being surprised by Seonghwa and his quick offer to take his mother's request. He doesn't plan on complaining out loud, though, since Seonghwa looking to once again please their mother means he won't have to make the effort to interact with whoever their mother is talking about. He doesn't care. He’s still sleepy and tired.

“Can I go now?” he asks.

He believes that it will be a terrible day —it already is. He hasn't slept much and he can't even complain about the classes because going to the house he happens to share with Seonghwa and their mother sounds worse than professors, essays, and presentations. As much as he wants to shelter in Wooyoung's house forever, he can't do it. He wants that day to be over and it's not yet nine o'clock.

Though his mother doesn't seem pleased with the mention of that question, she nods. He’s aware that his mother just gave him the green light he’s asked for to leave, but his eyes fall on the strawberry smoothie present on their mother's desk.

He knows that it belongs to Seonghwa because only Seonghwa can consume so many strawberries so early, but strangely enough, it’s almost full.

Seonghwa hasn't turned his head towards him or rested his eyes on his figure ever since they sat side by side. He expected him to glare at him for not greeting his mother, for only offering a hum as an answer, or even for asking if he can leave, but he hasn't. Nothing, absolutely nothing, not even a quick, serious glance.

He wonders if his previous conversation with Seonghwa is what leads him to behave the way he's doing. But Seonghwa often reacts by pushing even harder, not without even seeming to notice his presence.

Seonghwa did mention that Wooyoung invited him last night, didn’t he? He doesn't know what the two of them talked about while he waited in Wooyoung's car the day before, but he does know that Wooyoung traced his same actions, since he commented not having exchanged very nice words with Seonghwa either.

He doesn't know if he feels guilty about what he said the night before or not, but he does know that he's not used to Seonghwa giving him the cold shoulder, so he parts his lips.

“A— are you... going to finish that?”

He watches the way Seonghwa leaves his eyes on the smoothie after understanding that he’s talking about it, but instead of expressing yes, that he plans to finish it and therefore won't give it to him, or no so he can grab it; Seonghwa leans forward to take it and stretches his arm toward him with the glass in hand.

He doesn't look at him or say a word about it. He does look at Seonghwa, but Seonghwa doesn't turn his head toward him.

“Is that yours, Seonghwa?” he leaves his eyes on their mother even though the question was aimed at Seonghwa. He stops his hand an inch from the smoothie. “Remember that we have people at home who can prepare whatever you want, you don't have to resort to buying those things, you don't know what they have. It could be full of sugar and those artificial ingredients.”

Their mother stands up and turns around as soon as she mentions those words, wanting to take advantage of the view offered by the windows.

He can’t help but slide his eyes to Seonghwa.

Seonghwa crosses his arms —as he can since he still has the smoothie in hand— and turns his head the other way, even more, to avoid looking at him.

He looks back at their mother. Maybe he shouldn’t take the smoothie considering the words she said —even if they were for Seonghwa, they're also for him, no matter if his name wasn’t part of the equation.

But when has he chosen to listen to his mother? He doesn’t remember.

He parts his lips but stays quiet because he doesn't know what to say. He looks at Seonghwa but Seonghwa still doesn't look at him. Knowing that he probably won't drink the smoothie, he finally grabs the glass and continues to stare at it once he's outside their mother's office.

His plan to get Seonghwa to talk to him —he wants Seonghwa to talk to him?— hasn't worked and now he has a strawberry smoothie in his hands. He keeps his eyes on it as he walks down the hall, wondering if Seonghwa is mad at him. He believes that he would be mad at Seonghwa if the situation had gone the other way around. He curls one corner of his mouth at the thought that he certainly feels guilty, and getting high is not an excuse.

He watches the smoothie with a slight frown as if it’s the cause of all his problems, until it does turn into a problem when it’s all splashed down his shirt as his path is abruptly interrupted.

A sound of surprise scratches the back of his throat but he doesn’t end up on the floor thanks to the firm grip on his forearm that prevents him from losing his balance.

His wide-open eyes fall on the hand that's still clasped around his arm. He barely looks up, noting the way the fabric of an orange blazer seems to strain against the muscle beneath it.

He swallows, but promptly looks away when once he straightens up, a piece of banana falls to the floor.

“Ugh!” The complaint leaves his lips without hesitation. His morning only goes from bad to worse. Frozen strawberries, yogurt, ice, milk, and of course, bananas too, everything has turned his shirt into an improvised and disgusting canvas. “You—”

He swallows and whatever he meant to say gets stuck in his throat as he looks up. The grip on his arm softens as his eyes scan unfamiliar facial features. Black hair, half slicked back. Soft cheeks. Brown eyes look at him with the same kind of curiosity instead of being accompanied by a frown.

Ha— handsome. He’s handsome.

I manifested you. He blinks, and snorts, disgusted with himself. Back at the party, he did allow his mind to wander with the thought of a strong pair of arms.

Handsome, yes, but a handsome moron for bumping into him.

"Bufón!" is the word that ends up leaving his mouth.

He's sleepy, he wants to be anywhere else except there, he's in a bad mood, confused, now his uniform is ruined, and maybe Wooyoung's presence is already starting to affect his behavior because so far he has never mixed up languages.

Maybe it’s nothing more than a wasted smoothie, but problems just keep finding him. It doesn't matter if he moves to another country, to another city, it doesn't matter if his mother forces him to move, his bad streak won't go away just because now the color of the walls in the house is different.

He knows he’s probably exaggerating and is guilty too for not being aware of his surroundings, but he frowns nonetheless, even more confused when instead of hearing an equally sudden curse, his eyes land on a calm smile.

“That was so refreshing.”

He huffs again, but this time not because he's upset with himself.

“Is that supposed to be a pun?”

He doesn't think of himself as a forward person, but the lack of sleep is getting to him and the fabric of his shirt is starting to stick to his skin.

He hasn't had the best of nights. Even if he has danced, and enjoyed the company and the party, his reality remains the same. It's the same as with drugs. No matter how much he manages to dissociate for a few hours, his reality doesn't change.

He has fought with Seonghwa, he’s aware that taking drugs isn’t a wise decision, and he has hardly slept. He can't escape from problems, but that doesn't mean that he at least won't try to get rid of them for a few hours.

“No, I literally can't remember the last time someone cursed at me, and I studied Spanish so I know you just called me a buffoon.”

Dumbfounded, he looks at him. The lack of irony confuses him.

Even though he's still frowning, he gently releases himself from the hold, again getting mad at himself because all he can think about is that while the person in front of him can't remember when someone last insulted him, he can't remember the last time someone grabbed him like that.

He doesn’t hesitate to speak once he realizes that just as he’s used to being treated delicately, there are certain moments in which he prefers that said softness be left aside.

“In your face.”

A chuckle is what he gets in return.

“Let me buy you a shirt.”

He doesn't avoid the way his lips part, both surprised and offended when he hears those words. Although the calm smile he continues to see doesn't go away, he notes that his own expression is enough to ensure that he’s stunned, and not in a good way. 

“Or— or a smoothie, or let me buy you a smoothie, if that sounds better to you.” is quickly added.

He keeps staring before deciding to throw the now definitely wasted smoothie in the closest trash can and promptly crosses his arms, quickly regretting it because now his blazer is ruined too. 

He doesn't want another strawberry smoothie, he has never wanted a strawberry smoothie. He’s wanted —he wants— for Seonghwa to talk to him.

A shirt, really? If the university is prestigious it’s because the students who attend it are rich enough to decide to offer to buy him a shirt instead of saying the word sorry for bumping into him.

He speaks up before he hears the offer of a new blazer.

“Better, let's share it.”

He has never been described as a person who initiates physical contact, never, but that doesn’t stop him from currently choosing to close the distance between them, to surround his sudden company's neck with his arms, satisfied when he gets to ruin a uniform too.

He quickly pulls apart, anyway, and not only because he considers that he has fulfilled his objective, but because he notices that the men that he glimpsed once he crossed the main doors, suddenly approach them, but it’s enough for his company to raise one of his palms and get them to retract.

Bodyguards.

He doesn’t know how to react anymore. Not even Mingi has bodyguards.

“May I ask for your name, please?” At no time has he stopped being looked at.

Instead of lowering his eyes to his now also stained shirt, brown eyes stay connected to his.

“Why? What for? Are you going to complain to someone?”

Ironic since he just left his mother’s office —that is, the director’s office.

“No, I find you beautiful and interesting. I'd be a real buffoon if I passed up the opportunity to ask your name.”

He blinks. One, two, three times. Perhaps he has never really woken up and is still sleeping in Wooyoung's bed, comfortably and dreaming about flowers and rainbows, or having nightmares, who knows. Or maybe he has never closed his eyes and is still high.

He doesn't understand how despite sporting dark circles under his eyes and being far from his best version, flirty words still reach his ears.

He doesn't think he knows very well what’s going on, he has never known, but his mind decides to assure him that the quicker he says his name, the quicker he’ll know which name to curse when he thinks about what a terrible morning he’s having.

“Kang... Kang Yeosang.”

“Choi Jongho, my pleasure.”

He was right in thinking that identities would be swapped.

However, he narrows his gaze and soon backs away the second he realizes the words he just heard.

“Oh no, no, no, no.” He unfolds his arms before taking another step back. “I definitely don't need another Choi.”

Perhaps that very morning he smiled at San and San smiled at him, but that doesn't imply that he's ready to add another Choi to his life.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Are you San's family or something? Cousin, maybe?”

“You don’t know who I am?”

The honest confusion behind that question only leads him to raise an eyebrow. 

Should he know who he is just because of his —uncle? Could he be San's cousin? He didn't even know that San is the son of the previous director, how is he supposed to know who the nephew is?

No, he definitely doesn't have the time or energy to flood his head with more questions. At least San didn't come across as self-centered.

“No, and it's best we leave it at that.”

He backs up until he turns around to go the way he came back. He prefers to walk longer than to pass by Jongho. He ignores the other bodyguard he notices is staring at him, following him with his eyes.

Why does he even have bodyguards? It makes no sense.

The person that Seonghwa will receive better be ready to understand that they should think of those bodyguards as decoration. He only plans to avoid said person, he doubts that his mother wants him to receive someone with a stained shirt.

He lets out a groan. He really needs the day to be over.

---

Wooyoung continues sticking out his tongue. He doesn’t plan on giving up until the man in front of him finally breaks his character and throws him a serious look or expresses a word.

He’s aware that he’s not the wealthiest person in that university, and that’s actually a detail that pleases him, but he has never expected the presence of bodyguards. Or at least he thinks they are. He could be wrong and maybe someone important has been invited to give a talk or something.

However, those doubts stop spinning around his head once he promptly allows a sound of a surprise to leave his lips as he suddenly feels something wrap around his wrist. He’s pulled away from his place and his eyes find the details of the bathroom.

It’s the same bathroom where he found Yeosang crying, but instead of getting distracted by looking at the counter where he kissed Yeosang, he leaves his eyes on San since he turns out to be the one that pulled his wrist to be face to face.

San lets go of his wrist, and he leaves his hands on his own hips to look at San with a pout on his face.

“You just ruined my moment.”

“Moment?” San looks at him confused.

“I was sticking my tongue out at one of those people dressed in black.”

“Have you noticed them too?”

He nods even though he thinks San's question is a bit silly. It's somewhat —quite— hard not to notice people dressed in black suits, much more so when said formal attire contrasts with the bright orange color of their blazers.

“Yes. Do you always have those around here?” he asks.

Perhaps the institution counts with its own security and he’s realizing just now because the day before he was way too focused on Yeosang. He wouldn't be surprised.

“No, do you know why they're here?”

“I only got here yesterday, how could I know?” With those words, he does allow indignation to accompany his tone of voice.

He’s barely getting used to the magnitude of the campus and the city while San is the son of the former director. San is supposed to have the answers, not him.

“Good point.”

He shakes his head, opting to rest the side of his body against the wall.

“Anyway, why did you pull my wrist?” He asks him, questioning the creation of the sudden moment between the two.

San seems to remember the reason for his actions since he copies him by leaving one side of his body against the wall. Unlike him, San keeps his hands behind his back.

“I wanted to tell you that I said sorry to Yeosang, this morning before you showed up, and that I'll try to get along with him,” he replies, nodding at his own words. “Everything's fine?”

“Mh? Yes, of course,” he already assumed that he apologized to Yeosang since he believes that if he hadn't, he wouldn’t have run into him and Yeosang talking comfortably in the kitchen of his house.

He frowns for a moment, confused when San looks equally confused.

“You said everything would be fine if I did that?”

San's question sounds more like a reminder than a doubt.

He certainly manages to remember himself saying those words, or at least something similar. He trusts himself to know that he wouldn't have allowed San to spend the night with them unless the promise of an apology to Yeosang was present. 

He trusts himself to stand up for his best friend no matter what state he's in, high or not.

Perhaps San has sought to be alone with him —and therefore without Yeosang in between— because he’s still uneasy, wondering if he will act aggressively again, so he chooses to speak.

“I'm... I'm nice, you know,” he doesn't doubt the kindness that is part of his personality. “I know that I haven’t been with you, but, as long as everything is fine with my best friend, nothing bad will happen. And Seonghwa? Maybe with Seonghwa too,” he adds, his mind reminding him that Seonghwa mentioned having a certain altercation with San.

He considers himself a bit of a hypocrite, since while he claims that he also defends Seonghwa, he did the opposite last night. But even though he can seem a bit too much at times and can come off as a bit rough, he doesn't doubt the sincere joy of his smile and the good intentions that guide both his heart and head.

“We fought a little, we haven't spoken ever since.” San clarifies.

“Well... that puts us in the same bag now.”

He crosses his arms before allowing a breath to leave his lips.

While a part of him is happy because Yeosang and San have talked and the three were able to be together in his car, without thinking the worst of the other and getting on campus on time; another part of him still feels uneasy about the argument he had with Seonghwa last night.

“I apologized,” San says, “You could follow my example.”

He fake-laughs.

“Very funny. But, I don't know, I’m not really sure. I don't know if it's up to me to apologize,” he remembers the way Seonghwa called him a bad best friend.

His words are still spinning around his head. He doesn't mind when he hears some people refer to him as a loud, fidgety, and peculiar person. But bad best friend? It hurts. 

“I won’t say sorry to you for throwing you against the lockers.” he adds.

He believes that it’s indeed strange the way things can change from one day to the next.

While the previous day he started his morning by pushing San against the lockers and then chatting with Seonghwa and assuring him that he’s there for him too, now he’s talking with San while his relationship with Seonghwa is on unstable ground.

“Oh, I see. So I go with you to take care of you two, I apologize to Yeosang, and I say I’ll try my best, but nothing. You— just, nothing, not even a— I don’t know, not a thank you,” he’s aware of the dramatic tone that San decides to use to pronounce those words, so he’s not surprised when San looks at him with the beginning of an amused smile on his face.

Nor when an equal grin appears to guide his expression.

“Do you live for the praise, mayhaps?” He offers, but even though San uttered those words jokingly and with a trace of seriousness, he believes that San is right.

He did apologize to Yeosang, as he asked him to, and further made sure that both he and Yeosang got through the night without any accidents —well, perhaps their respective conversations with Seonghwa can be considered accidents.

Perhaps a phone has fallen at some point and he’s sure he fell asleep on the couch of the living room and not in his bed; so San has certainly taken care of them. He woke up in his bed with his phone intact. 

For the same reason, he keeps on talking.

“Gracias,” he says, and smiles when San leans a bit towards him, not understanding him. “Thank you for coming yesterday,” he clarifies.

He promptly throws a serious look at San when a more than satisfied smile appears on San’s face, yet he softens his facial features again as San replaces said smiling gesture with a neutral expression.

“Do you get high often?” San asks him.

“Not often, just sometimes,” he answers. San's tone showed simple curiosity rather than accusation.

He feels the way his gaze goes out of focus and he gets lost in his mind when Seonghwa's words resonate in his mind again. He gets high with Yeosang, and he gave drugs to Yeosang, and just for that, he’s a bad best friend. But, he's not a bad best friend, is he? He keeps talking before getting consumed by his thoughts.

“I smoke most of the time,” he adds. “Tobacco, I mean,” He may not do it at his house because he doesn't want the smell to reach his brother, but he’s aware of the cigarette pack and lighter that always occupy one of his pockets.

“That's not good.”

“Really? I didn't know,” exaggerated irony follows his words.

“Can I ask you a question?”

He raises an eyebrow instead of replying right away.

San did explain why he has decided to tug on his wrist, but he finds it odd the way he keeps asking questions, until he remembers that this is how people get to know each other. With Yeosang at the center of his thoughts, he has forgotten that changing cities certainly means meeting new people. Even more so when said city turns out to be Seoul, beautiful and chaotic Seoul.

He has always liked meeting new people, so he nods after also remembering that San has apologized to Yeosang, and as such the tension between them has disappeared.

People often assume details about him simply because of his last name, so he finds it strange to find himself answering questions instead of hearing assumptions.

While Yunho and Mingi have given him a fake smile, San is sincere when talking to him. Either to face him or just talk.

“You keep talking about Yeosang as a best friend, but I saw you two kissing.”

Rolling his eyes is the only thing he feels like doing because it isn’t the first time those words reach his ears. Perhaps he doesn't listen to assumptions about himself, but yes about his relationships with other people.

Fortunately, his parents have understood that a great and long friendship is the bond that keeps him close to Yeosang, so he doesn't listen to suggestions about the existence of something more when he's with them. But other people continue to question his relationship with Yeosang even though both always state, over and over again, that they are best friends.

“Best friends can kiss," he determines.

“Do you do that with all your friends?”

“No, I said best friend, not friends. Yeosang is my best friend,” he crosses his arms.

Annoyed, because he doesn't like that people wait for him and Yeosang to change the term that defines their relationship simply because sometimes they share a kiss or their bodies stay close. They trust each other, blindly, completely, and without hesitation, and for that very same reason, they feel comfortable with each other. He doesn't understand why people always seek to separate friendship and affection.

“Are you sure about that?” San presses.

“Do you think I don't have the ability to define my friendship with my best friend?” he asks him, crossing his arms even more and narrowing his gaze. At least in Spain, no one questioned his friendship with Yeosang. “Whom I've known my whole life, by the way, while you, let's see...” he looks around him, pretending to think, and looks back at San. “For a day and a few hours.”

“Defensive.” San doesn't seem to take his words as an offense, because although he straightens up and keeps one side of his body against the wall, a small smile plays on his face.

“Justly so. What makes you think that we are more?” There must be a reason, attitude, or behavior that leads San to think that between him and Yeosang there’s more than a friendship. Sometimes hard to understand friendship, but friendship nonetheless.

“Okay. Friends,” San innocently raises his hands instead of answering his question, but Wooyoung doubts it's because he has finally understood that Yeosang is his best friend. And San makes it clear to him with the following words he says. “Friends with benefits? Maybe that's what you mean when you say friends?”

How he ended up finding himself in an interrogation, he doesn't know. But he supposes that he should have expected it. Much to his regret, he’s still a new person in a new city, and people don't know how he handles himself.

“Do you want to hear if we've fucked? Is that what you want to know?” he looks at San, and delights in the way San swallows deeply once he finds himself under his gaze. Friends with benefits? “Ask it next time, be forward. Yes, and multiple times. We haven't done it in a long time, though. Allow that detail to tone down your jealousy. But he's not my friend with benefits. He is my best friend.”

“Jealousy?” He narrows his gaze when San leans slightly towards him, taking in his favor the difference in height between them to look at him. He doesn't hesitate to lift his chin. “It's confusion, not jealousy.”

San looks at him without looking angry, there's no trace of irritation on his face, and he just assured him that it's confusion. He may have acted unnecessarily defensively, but sometimes he can't help it when it comes to Yeosang.

However, he doesn't plan to admit that out loud. He relaxes his facial features as well as the way he keeps his arms crossed.

“Don't question my friendship with Yeosang.” this time he doesn't sound defensive.

“I won't,” San assures him. “I don't. I— I just...” he tilts his head, now him being the slightly confused person when San leans back and momentarily stops looking at him. San scratches the back of his neck apologetically and looks at him again. “I guess I wanted to know what’s your status so I know what I can do.”

“Status?” he asks him. San looks at him, as if expecting him to figure something out for himself, and Wooyoung tilts his head to the other side. He asks him about Yeosang and then about his status? Stat— oh. He raises both eyebrows. “You?” He asks, this time a little more amused, and San licks his lips. “Why? What were you planning to do?”

He allows a smile to guide his face. Amused, he uncrosses his arms and looks at San, expectant of his response.

“Well... you did happen to mention that you are hot, and I happen to agree with said statement,” San finally says.

He doesn’t remember very well at what moment he expressed those words but they are not a surprise. He certainly thinks he's hot. He observes the way people tend to run their eyes over his body, and more than once he has heard that he’s considered as such.

“What about you?” he decides to ask.

“Mh?”

Unless he just misunderstood a whole conversation, San just asked him whether or not he's with Yeosang to find out if he's single. And not just to know that detail, just because.

“Your status,” he clarifies.

“No best friend than I kiss,” San replies along with a lopsided smile. He narrows his eyes at him because he just knows that he used those words on purpose. “Nor anyone else.”

He arches an eyebrow. He finds those words odd since not even his irritation made him overlook the sharpness of San’s facial features as well as the definition of his figure.

Lowering his eyes to San's body reminds him that San is wearing his clothes after accepting to come back with him and Yeosang.

San is taller and wider than him, and he's actually wearing one of his father's white shirts because his didn't turn out to fit him well. His father's doesn't seem to be perfect either, though, but a temporary solution, as it's evident in the way the buttons on the white shirt he's wearing struggle to keep both sides of the piece of clothing together, while the details of the black trousers he lent him lead him to raise both eyebrows, but he promptly looks up again.

The length of his waist contrasts with the width of his shoulders, and he only thinks that even irritated and annoyed, he previously didn’t hesitate to mention that he would be interested in him if San wasn’t such a prick.

It turns out that San isn’t a prick.

“Interesting,” he says, looking up at him.

He tilts his head as San watches him through narrowed eyes, wondering if San somehow managed to decipher the thoughts that just went through his head, but for now, San holds a neutral expression.

“Interesting,” San copies him.

San keeps looking at him and he’s beginning to wonder if San has wanted them to be alone for some other reason, for more than to tell him about what he has said and done, and perhaps to tell him about what he can say and do, but as soon as he parts his lips to speak, San grabs his arm and pulls him towards his body as the bathroom door is flung open.

Though San's hand on his arm and the closeness between their bodies are welcome, he frowns, ready to curse whoever decided to enter the bathroom like that, but he forms a line with his lips when he recognizes the speck of pink hair that appears.

Looking more than annoyed and honestly done, Yeosang walks past them without seeming to notice them, or at least without taking the time to recognize them.

He stops in front of the mirrors and groans before rolling his eyes. He wonders what's wrong with him until his eyes slide to the pink mess on his shirt.

“What happened to your shirt?” he asks.

Yeosang casts a surprised look at them through the mirror, realizing that he's not alone, but that surprise is soon replaced by a pout and a frown.

“Just because you're the director’s son doesn't mean you can go around like that,” San expresses, amusement following his words. At another time he probably would have said those words with a bitter tone of voice, but Yeosang reacts by deepening his pout.

“I met your cousin or whatever, so technically, this is your family's fault.”

Yeosang shrugs off his blazer to put it aside and lowers his eyes to his shirt.

“Eh?” San looks back and forth between him and Yeosang, and he can denote sincere confusion guiding his facial features. “I have no cousins here.”

“Jongho?” Yeosang asks, still looking at his shirt. “Jongho, that's what he said.”

He allows a shocked expression to spread across his face as soon as he hears the name Yeosang utters, and it only accentuates his face when San looks at him to share an equally scandalized look.

San’s astonished expression assures him that he's not the only person who knows who Choi Jongho is. Though apparently, no, clearly, not everyone knows.

He peels off the side of his body away from the wall to approach Yeosang, opting to turn his back to the mirror after leaning his hips against the counter. He clasps his hands and stares at Yeosang. 

“Sangie. My dearest and beautiful Yeosangie.” He gets Yeosang to stop focusing on his shirt and hold his gaze. “By any chance, do you mean Choi Jongho?” Yeosang mentioned the name and implied that he has the same last name as San, but anyway he decides to ask.

“Yes, how do you know that?”

“Choi Jongho.” he licks his lips. “Son of the Prime Minister. The Choi family.”

Yeosang stares at him, without pronouncing a single word and without changing his expression. He doesn’t take his eyes off him, and their long years of friendship allow him to denote the exact moment in which his sentences seem to reach Yeosang's brain.

“What.”

“How can you not know him?”

“Mi— Mingi is related to politics too and you— you didn't know who he was!” Yeosang tries to defend himself but his stumbling words assure that he didn’t expect, at all, for Jongho to be the son of Prime Minister Choi.

“Oh, no, wait.” They both stop looking at each other to look at San, who at that moment approaches them and shakes his head. “One thing is Mingi, and another, completely different thing is Jongho.” he emphasizes the name of the latter.

He points San out before looking at Yeosang again, assuring him that he agrees with San because really, perhaps Mingi's last name is known, but no person doesn’t know the family of the prime minister.

Well, Yeosang turns out to be the exception.

“I have lived in Spain all my life!” Yeosang exclaims, bewildered and wide-eyed. “How am I supposed to know?”

“What?” San asks, confused. “You too?”

Perplexed, he looks at San though the question was aimed at Yeosang.

“How do you think we became friends?”

“But you don’t talk in Spanish,” San looks at Yeosang.

“I do, my mom made us drop it,” Yeosang sighs and looks at his shirt.

If he's to be honest, well, somehow he doesn't think he can blame Yeosang. He's not sure. He too has grown up in Spain, but Yeosang, with his shoulders pressed down, his head anywhere but where it should be, and his heart aching, has been least focused on knowing which surnames make up the political sphere of South Korea.

He believes he wouldn't have even bothered to be aware of the elite last names in the country had he been in Yeosang's place. He only knows about Jongho because he has heard his name from time to time.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit.” Yeosang rests his hands on his temples while holding an expression of terror and surprise, and he raises both eyebrows, thinking it's kind of interesting to hear Yeosang curse as he doesn’t do it often. “My mom told me someone important was joining us today.”

It’s his and San's turn to remain dumbfounded again.

“Jongho is going to study here?!” he can't help the obvious surprise that suddenly characterizes his tone of voice, but he promptly raises an eyebrow as he realizes that what he had previously thought of as private security probably turns out to be Jongho's bodyguards. 

“What the hell,” San says.

“Oh shit, that explains his bodyguards,” Yeosang exposes his thoughts in words.

A second is the time he remains worried after thinking that he has been sticking his tongue out at one of the Prime Minister's son's bodyguards, for as soon as Yeosang follows those words with a puzzled expression, he can't help but wonder how exactly Yeosang has met Jongho.

“They hurt you?” he doesn't hesitate to ask him.

“No, he stopped them,” Yeosang answers, casual this time.

“Why the hell did he have to stop them?”

“Because... maybe... I... I hugged him?” is what Yeosang manages to offer along with a grimace.

“You hugged him?”

“Holy shit, I hugged the son of the Prime Minister.” Yeosang opens his eyes again and raises both hands to his head. “And to ruin his shirt! Holy shit. Shit. Shit. Sh—”

He doesn't hesitate to take Yeosang's hands in his when he notices that he starts to look around him, moving his hands like he's trying to gesture something but not saying a word other than shit. But Yeosang looks at him and promptly breaks free of his grasp to clap.

“Shit, it doesn't matter.” Yeosang lowers his gaze back to his shirt and holds part of it between the tips of his fingers to pull it away from his body. “I need new clothes.”

He can't avoid the giggle that leaves his mouth, calming down when he realizes that Yeosang has probably hugged Jongho only to ruin his shirt just like Jongho seems to have done with his.

“No, silly, you just need to wash this.” He moves to one of the stalls to get toilet paper and then back to Yeosang's side to douse it with water and rest one of his hands on his waist to pull him close.

He takes his shirt off from his pants and holds the fabric to start wetting the traces —of strawberry? He thinks it's strawberries— that interrupt the white color of the shirt.

“Where did you even find this... smoothie?”

He slides his eyes up when Yeosang allows a slight sound to scratch his throat, and he looks back down at his shirt even though he denotes the beginning of a scowl on his face.

“Seonghwa.”

He again glances at him after hearing his answer, but Yeosang looks down and brings a hand to the back of his neck to stroke it apologetically.

“Have you two talked?” he asks before looking back down to continue cleaning his shirt after once again wetting the paper and adding a little soap.

The pink is starting to leave the fabric. Considering that the prime minister's son will now apparently be studying with them, he finds it strange that there’s no laundry service available.

“Not really.”

A part of him wonders if Seonghwa spilled his smoothie over Yeosang on purpose, but Yeosang mentioned that his shirt is Jongho's fault. Even if he doesn't understand the chain of actions very well, he rules out the possibility of Seonghwa choosing to waste a strawberry smoothie after throwing it on him.

“We both probably said mean things to him yesterday,” he says.

He doesn't quite know what kind of words Yeosang and Seonghwa have exchanged, and his conversation with Seonghwa still represents a blurry moment inside his mind, but Yeosang's words and reactions assure him that the conversation between them can’t be described as nice.

“He pissed me off just the same.”

He sets the toilet paper aside and takes a look at him.

“You two need to talk.”

He gently grabs the edge of Yeosang's shirt to bring it closer to the dryer and turns it on to leave some of the cloth under it.

His eyes slide toward his own arm when Yeosang rests one of his hands on it, and he can’t help the sad look he gives him when Yeosang’s downcast expression assures him that he doesn't like the idea of having to do what he just listened to.

“Whether you like it or not.” he decides to add once the dryer turns off.

He knows that the communication between Yeosang and Seonghwa hasn't been the best lately. It’s been the worst, actually.

He has only needed a day to figure out that Yeosang is staying partially away from Seonghwa while Seonghwa continues to try to get closer. He still thinks that Yeosang loves Seonghwa, but the lack of communication between them is so deep that they only end up clashing when closeness is established.

Yeosang's hand stays on his arm as he tucks his shirt back into his pants, and though only his uniform was ruined, he still opts to brush a rebel pink lock from Yeosang's face.

“See, like new.” He takes the blazer to leave it over Yeosang's shoulders. “Now we have an excuse to be late,” he adds because he knows that those words will make Yeosang put aside his crestfallen expression, and he holds a side smile because indeed, a small smile decorates Yeosang's face.

“What happened to oh, I want to charm the professors?”

He chuckles as he hears a poor imitation of his voice.

“Shut up, they'll like me even if I'm late. That's how charming I am.”

“Well.”

Both he and Yeosang suddenly stop looking at each other when they hear San, and he remembers that at no time have they been completely alone, Actually, Yeosang interrupted his moment with San.

“I can't risk missing classes since I'm not the director’s son anymore and I'm not his best friend either, so I’ll go.” Without another word, San turns to leave the bathroom. 

He arches an eyebrow, having noticed that he didn't express those words with an amused tone.

“What's with him?” Yeosang asks.

“I have no idea,” He leaves his eyes on Yeosang to fix the collar of his shirt and gently pats his chest. “I can't believe you met Jongho.”

“My shirt is his fault. He did this.” Yeosang assures him that he probably bumped into Jongho, or better said, Jongho bumped into him, causing the smoothie to reach its end. “What about your Choi, mh? What were you two doing here?”

He scoffs as soon as he hears him.

“My Choi? So Jongho is your Choi?” He holds up an amused smile as Yeosang wrinkles his nose. “He told me that he apologized to you.”

“He did,” Yeosang assures him, “So you two were here talking about that? That sounds suspicious.”

“Sh.” he rests his index finger on his lips.

He doesn't want Yeosang to voice out the thoughts that have also been running through his head. He’s aware that San could have talked to him in the hallway, without necessarily needing to be alone.

“Do you want to hang out for a while or go to class?” he asks with his gaze now on his lips.

Yeosang wraps his hand around his wrist to make his index finger stop meeting his lips, and he takes that gesture in his favor and joins his hand to Yeosang's.

“You can't yell at Jongho in case he comes here, so we better go to class.”

He rolls his eyes but doesn't refuse when Yeosang stops holding his other hand on his arm to promptly leave the bathroom. Holding Yeosang's hand, he still doesn't hesitate to stick his tongue out at the man he now assumes is there to protect Jongho.

He could go to prison, or be tackled to the ground, he doesn't know. Who knows, maybe he’s also untouchable for certainly being the director’s son's best friend.

“Sure, I can't yell at him, but you can curse him.”

Yeosang looks at him with wide eyes, as if he has just expressed one of his secrets out loud.

“How do you know I cursed him?”

“I know you.” he smiles. “You want to go to class so you don't cross him.”

“Shit, what if he studies with us?” Yeosang asks in a low voice.

“No, he's a year younger than us. I still can't believe you don't know him.”

“Shut it.”

“Make me.” he winks at him and Yeosang wrinkles his nose.

“No, wait. Actually... I... wait.” he remains somewhat confused when Yeosang stops in the hallway, thinking that strangely, Yeosang has agreed to kiss him, but he quickly concludes that this won't happen because Yeosang is staring at him. “Can we continue the conversation that you and I know we need to continue?”

He parts his lips to say no but Yeosang gives his hand a squeeze, assuring him that he really wants to continue the conversation that they both know he purposely paused in the kitchen of his house.

“Not the place,” he tries.

Yeosang gives him an unimpressed look, and understands the void of emotion behind said gesture because while he hasn't hesitated to assure him that he's willing to be late if it involves kissing, he's assuring him that this isn’t the time to talk.

“Speak in Spanish if you don't want anyone to understand you,” Yeosang offers, perhaps believing that he'll feel more comfortable talking if they speak in the language they've become accustomed to using.

“I'm sure their rich asses know Spanish,” he rolls his eyes, but this time Yeosang gives his hand a stronger squeeze, and just as he can be insistent, Yeosang too, so he promptly lets out a sigh. “Yunho and Mingi know who I am while I don't know who they are.”

It was easy to realize that they are together in the same way that it wasn’t difficult for him to glimpse the falseness of their smiles.

Yes, he danced and had a good time with them, but he thinks the same has to do with getting high and Yunho's effort to get along with him. Not simply because he did, but because he noticed the way he looked at him when he said his last name.

“The nightclub belongs to Mingi, and Yunho surely has a restaurant or a bar, right?” His frustration only continues to grow as Yeosang nods. “It’s just like in Spain.” he repeats the same thing he told him before. “They see me as a threat to their businesses just because I am the son of my parents, because of the last name I carry.”

He regrets saying those words as Yeosang tilts his head and looks at him the way he does when he feels sorry for him.

He doesn't want the pressure on Yeosang's shoulders to grow, not when he's used to fake smiles being sent his way as well as serious looks.

“Did they tell you something?” Yeosang asks him.

I don't need them to, he wants to answer, but he shakes his head.

“I talked to Mingi,” he remembers. “I told him I know the two of them are together but we were both high so I don't really know what he thinks. At least about that.”

He thinks it's foolish to complain about fake smiles being sent his way as well as groundless mistrust of his person when only the day before he found Yeosang crying in the bathroom for missing his father, when he talked to Seonghwa and it's noticeable that he's sad too.

He really feels silly. And besides, he remembers that the night before was also interrupted by certain moments of tension with Yeosang. He may forget which song was his favorite and he doesn't quite remember what time he fell asleep, but he does remember Yeosang assuring him that he doesn't know him and he doesn't know himself.

“Don't worry,” he doesn't hesitate to speak as soon as he notices that Yeosang is about to part his lips. It’s evident that Yeosang maintains good relations with Yunho and Mingi, and what he least wants is for his presence to threaten to destroy said closeness. “I was high and I'm still used to being here, I must have imagined it.”

He knows, and more than well, that he hasn't imagined it, but he's the one who gives Yeosang's hand a squeeze this time nonetheless. He gets them to stop standing still in the hallway, and even though he feels Yeosang's gaze on him, he still seeks to hurry to get to the classroom.

He doesn't know how to feel when Yeosang chooses to rest a kiss on his cheek. Happy because there are few times when Yeosang chooses to be the first to increase the closeness between them, or sad because usually when Yeosang is the first to make the first move, it's because they both know that he's sad.

---

Mingi chuckles at the string of groans he hears once they all cross the main gates of the university.

With his elbows out after keeping his hands clasped behind his head, a smile is found on his face as he turns to see San stretching his arms above his head, Yunho with a smile that claims to be happy for having finished classes that day, and Wooyoung staring at his phone with a calm smile.

However, his smile quickly diminishes in size when he notices Yeosang approaching him. He's not entirely serious, but it's clear he's not entirely happy either.

“Mingi... can we... mh, talk?”

Taking advantage of the fact that San and Yunho have started talking to each other and that Wooyoung is still distracted by his phone, he nods to step aside.

“All good?” he doesn't hesitate to ask him.

They all have dark circles under their eyes after getting less than normal sleep the night before, but a trace of uncertainty also accompanies Yeosang's facial features.

“I... Wooyoung told you that he knows about you and Yunho. Yesterday. Do you remember that?”

He appreciates that Yeosang has chosen to talk in a low voice not because he doesn’t open his eyes when he hears that Wooyoung knows that, but because he’s certainly aware of that detail even though he wasn’t fully aware last night, and he’s intrigued to know why Yeosang stepped them aside to formulate that question.

He can't help but glance at Yunho before looking back at Yeosang.

Yunho still doesn't know that Wooyoung already knows about them.

“Yes, why?” he asks, beginning to worry and understand the previous paranoia that has accompanied Yunho.

He said that they don't have to worry because Wooyoung isn't even with them, whereas by that time Wooyoung already knows about the closeness between him and Yunho. He may have underestimated Yunho's concern.

“He means no harm,” Yeosang says along with a soft tone of voice, but his words take him by surprise and leave him perplexed. “Just... he's my best friend and I consider you my friend, and I'd like it if you all could get along with each other.”

He thinks that either Yeosang has realized the sudden tension that decorated both him and Yunho when they glimpsed that Wooyoung is the person they found closest to Yeosang, or that Wooyoung must have said something for Yeosang to approach him and have that conversation.

He doesn't quite know how to feel.

Somewhat guilty because he knows what it's like to have to deal with prejudices just because of the last name he carries, or sure of his position because there are already two people who know about his closeness to Yunho, and one turns out to be Wooyoung, son of the famous couple who managed to become known and renowned abroad.

If Wooyoung opens his mouth, Utopia and Illusion fall down.

“If I tell you a secret of mine, are we even?” Yeosang asks him. “If it lets you off the hook because Wooyoung won't say anything if he knows that if he does, then you can tell something about me.”

He doesn't hesitate to shake his head and sigh as soon as he hears that proposal.

Yeosang doesn't have to tell him a secret of his to assure him that he will be nice to Wooyoung from then on. He thinks that proposing to tell him something is enough to realize that Yeosang really wants everyone to get along with each other.

“Look, just don't say anything to Yunho, okay?” that’s all he asks, “That Wooyoung knows about us, because he's going to freak out,” he's sure of what he expresses.

If Yunho became paranoid when Yeosang told him that he knows about them, he can only imagine how he will react if he finds out that the person he didn't want to know about them now knows.

Yeosang nods and they return to the others. He realizes why Yeosang has approached him, for as San and Yunho continue to talk to each other, Wooyoung looks around.

He knows that there’s no tension between San and Wooyoung anymore because San and Yeosang are fine, so it’s clear that Wooyoung has opted out of the conversation for Yunho.

“Finally!” he doesn't hesitate to capture everyone's attention to assure Yeosang that he really does plan to get along with Wooyoung, “We all get along now, so we can go out,” he says, hoping those words will do the trick so that Wooyoung feels included.

He realizes the sudden group that has been formed in a matter of days? hours? Yeosang is still a new student but now Wooyoung is present as well.

He isn't worried that he said all, since while Yeosang and Wooyoung know about him and Yunho, San is used to him using the word all and not including Yunho —even if inside he really means it.

“I don't know.” Yunho feigns innocence in his tone of voice and he recognizes true entertainment. “Wooyoung and Yeosang are always like,” he ducks his lips to imply that the two are always within their own world, with their attention —and also lips— on each other.

Wooyoung laughs, hugging Yeosang, while Yeosang partially hides his face behind his hand. He watches San when he doesn't seem to find the comment funny.

“Do you want me to kiss you too?” Wooyoung releases Yeosang to approach Yunho.

“Hey.” They both turn their attention to him when he says that word. “At least kiss me too.” he expresses upon seeing Wooyoung jumping up to unsuccessfully try to place a kiss on Yunho's cheek.

He doesn't know how sincere or how much Yunho is faking, but the look he shares with him is enough to know that neither is upset by the loosened attitude with which Wooyoung doesn't hesitate to handle himself.

He thinks a part of him is suddenly jealous of the fact that without any obstacle, Wooyoung can behave this way with both Yunho and him, but instead of starting to think about what he can or can’t do, he’s distracted when Yeosang grabs the collar of Wooyoung's blazer to get him to stop trying to kiss Yunho.

“Well, I'll be leaving,” San expresses.

He follows him with his eyes when San only chooses to wave his hand before leaving. 

He wonders if something happened the night before, since San left with Wooyoung and Yeosang, but he thinks he would have found out if there was any sort of argument. He finds it ironic considering that both Yeosang and Wooyoung have chosen to stay close to him instead of moving away.

He promptly locks eyes with Yunho to understand that he’s not the only one who noticed San's weird attitude, but they stop seeing each other when Yeosang speaks.

“Us too.”

He waves to them while Wooyoung makes them laugh by blowing kisses in the air after not being able to kiss them, and soon enough he shoves his hands into the pockets of his pants because the urge to grab Yunho’s waist is strong, stronger than usual.

“Do you need a ride, Jeong?” He lifts his chin as he asks that question.

He's tired and just wants to go home to sleep after a busy morning of classes, but he still thinks he has enough energy to express that he has unfinished business with Yunho in case anyone questions why Yunho got into his car.

However, Yunho shoots down the idea of that plan as soon as he shakes his head.

“No,” he replies. “Did something happen with Yeosang?” Yunho adds in a lower voice.

He isn't surprised by the question, so he shakes his head.

“He just wanted to see if I'm okay from what, from, the, ah, after getting high,” he lies.

It's not right to lie to him because he would like to know if someone knew about his secret closeness with someone had the situation been the other way around, but Yunho should focus on the exams he still has to take instead of worrying that more people will find out about the falsehood of their hatred mutual.

“Are you okay? You've been kind of weird all day.” Yunho adds.

He's not surprised at the mention of those words either. Yunho always manages to read the emotions he hides no matter how well he tries to appear.

He could mention that he's tired since he hasn't slept much and got high not many hours ago, that San’s weird attitude worries him, or assure himself that the conversation with Yeosang keeps spinning around his head, but just as Yunho has partially guessed, another kind of concern and another person are what have kept him on alert throughout the day.

Even if it makes him happy to realize that Yeosang has gone from asking him if they are friends to telling him that he considers him as such, he’s not able to allow that happiness to fully embrace him.

“Jongho's presence,” he says quietly, though taking a look around him has assured him that no one is listening. “I have a bad feeling.”

Jongho's presence has gone from being a surprise to a detail that everyone is aware of in a matter of hours.

Not only because of the bodyguards, but also because his last name is well known, and the fact that Jongho is a student there will undoubtedly bring even more prestige to the university. He can't help but feel a little unsettled, and not necessarily because Yeosang has told them that he bumped into Jongho.

“Do you know him?” Yunho asks him.

He has surely run into him at some other event since his parents are also related to politics and his last name is not exactly unknown, but he’s aware of the great distance between his family and Jongho’s.

His is nothing more than a simple pawn within a network while Jongho's last name is that of weaving the cloth. He doesn’t feel uncomfortable at the fact that so far his last name has been the one that stands out the most within the facilities, while now Jongho's last name is the one that leads the conversations.

He’s grateful that some of the attention has been diverted from his person.

“Not really.”

Yunho crosses his arms, and instead of letting his mood decay because he knows he does that so as not to hug him, he feels better because at least he's not the only one that wants to eliminate the distance between them.

“Well, at least now we know why your mom called you.”

He looks at Yunho, blinking and silent, and Yunho widens his eyes.

“You do remember that your mom called you last night, right?” Yunho adds.

“Care to repeat that again?” It's all he can offer.

“Mingi!” He knows that Yunho only exclaims his name in a low voice because he shouldn't even pronounce the letters of his name with a normal tone of voice. But still, the confusion is evident in his expression. “Haven't you talked to your mom today? She called you, yesterday, when we were at Illusion and she named the Prime Minister.”

“I... mh... well... I basically hurried to leave the house this morning.”

He swallows, thanking his past self.

Although he has hurried only so as not to receive questions from his parents and so that they don’t see his disastrous state, since they also tend to judge him with their eyes when he organizes a party in the middle of the week; he now understands that he has saved himself a situation.

“Boram offered me tea, though, and she also asked about you—”

“No, I definitely don't have time for this.” Yunho straightens up as soon as he hears that the only person who has never been against a possible closeness between them has asked about him. Boram, the sweet old lady who has been around since he was born. “I have to go to Utopia because I have things to do and you have to talk to your mom. Send me a text if you need to talk. Okay?”

He nods and Yunho narrows his eyes at him —he does that when he can’t say goodbye with a kiss— before finally walking away from him. He gazes after him, promptly allowing his head to remind him that he'd like to be Wooyoung to kiss— or try to kiss Yunho.

Wooyoung clings to Yeosang without hesitation because he probably doesn't care what is said about him, while he must keep looking at Yunho until he shakes his head.

If there's one thing he's learned, it's that he shouldn't waste time wishing for something that can't be, so he too promptly moves to approach his car.

He climbs into it, wondering which playlist he'll pick.

“Well, at least I know you didn't get drunk enough to decide to skip your last class because your head is about to explode from a hangover.”

He suddenly brings one of his hands to his chest and he’s thankful for having closed the door because a screech of surprise leaves his lips.

“Shit! Mom! You scared me! What the f—”

“Language.” his mom stops him.

Releasing a deep breath, he flops down on his seat after realizing that somehow his mother got into his car before he did. Even if she offers him a brief smile, he continues with one of his hands over his chest, his fingers clutching his shirt.

“It's good to see you too,” his mother intones with a trace of irony, certainly amused at his reaction and choosing to gloss over the almost utterance of a curse.

Another type of sensation suddenly surrounds him when he realizes that the sadness that usually embraces his thoughts for not being able to act with Yunho as they want in public, is better than worrying and regretting certain actions.

His mother would have questioned his closeness with Yunho in public had they chosen to behave differently from what they are used to.

Yeosang and Wooyoung knowing about them is one thing. But under no circumstances should his mother even suspect that he’s capable of having a proper conversation with Yunho.

Calm with his own decisions, he stops holding his hand on his chest.

“It's good to see you,” he expresses without knowing if he’s being completely sincere. Her presence doesn’t represent complete disgust, but he’s confused. “What are you doing here?”

“You don't answer the phone, or rather you answer and cut me off, so I have no choice but to come in presence.” He can't help but grimace, Yunho's words being more than present in his head. “I guess you have heard that Choi Jongho has started studying at your university today.”

He refrains from letting out a sigh —a breath of air that he's probably been waiting to release ever since he found out that the university has incorporated another student.

He soon begins to think that his bad feeling is getting stronger. He doesn't think it's a coincidence that his mother is there, mentioning that name.

“Yes, I haven't seen him, but yes.”

“Well, soon that will change.” he stares at his mother when she doesn't look away and loses the smile she initially gave him. “His family will organize a charity gala, and since you study here and our family is the best of the best here, you will go with him.”

He wants to complain at the words that his mother expresses, mentioning out loud that their family is the best in the university, and thus dismissing all the other students who are also part of important families.

His mother doesn't think that others matter just because they don't belong in the political sphere, while he believes that Hongjoong's mothers are the best people out there, both for their jobs and creativity, and their personalities.

“I called you to cancel the party so that you could somehow be presentable today. But here you are. You sure have a hangover and I really appreciate that you don't seem to have met Jongho. So now you will compensate all that with what I ask of you.”

“I don't know him,” he says upon hearing that a new event has been added to his agenda. He’s used to his days being loaded with events that often don’t capture his attention, but his mother added that this time, he must attend accompanied.

“Perfect opportunity for you to do so.” His mother uses his words to his advantage. “We never ask anything of you,” No? And all the events, galas, and fancy dinners? “And we let you do what you want all the time,” You don’t allow me to be with Yunho, he thinks. “So just do your family a favor and go with him, okay?”

He parts his lips but promptly forms a line with them because beyond his will and his inner reproaches, he knows his mother is right. Although his last name is known, his parents don’t put as many limits on him as people surely think.

While he must attend events that are not of interest to him and interact with people he wouldn’t particularly seek to be near, his parents are not entirely strict.

They let him become the owner of a nightclub, they allow him to throw parties in the middle of the week —such as the one that happened the night before—, and they don't complain about his behavior as long as he proves to be decent without needing someone to be behind him, reminding him that he can't tarnish his family's reputation with words or actions.

“Who's going?” he chooses to ask, knowing that he has just accepted what his mother proposed.

Pretending to be interested in someone for one night won’t be the end of him, he has done it many times. He might even get along with Jongho, he doesn't know. At least this time he’s someone similar to his age.

“All the students of this university and their families are invited.”

He stops thinking of the event as a complete dud as soon as he hears that seeing his and Yunho's friends at the gala is a possibility. He clearly won't be able to attend it with Yunho by his side, but knowing that Yunho will be present leads him to hold a neutral expression instead of crossing his arms, annoyed with the plan.

“Okay.”

“Good. We'll go buy you a suit.”

He wrinkles his nose, believing that there’s no need to buy another suit when he could use one of the many suits he already has, but his mother doesn't allow him to start thinking about all the suits present in his closet after further talking.

“Was Jeong's kid bothering you?”

He looks at his mother when he hears Yunho's last name, but luckily her attention is on her phone. He doesn't feel nervous about her pronouncing Yunho's last name, since more often than not he hears that set of letters in his own house, though always preceded or followed by comments that don’t imply anything good.

He feels uneasy as his mother just assured him that she has seen him talking to Yunho.

“Kid? He's my age mom, literally in my classroom?” he decides to answer.

“You are still a kid too. Was he?” she insists.

He thinks there's no point in assuring his mother that she just picked him up from the campus of his university instead of kindergarten, but just as his parents don't bother him unless it's —unfortunately— about Yunho, he won't bother her by expressing that he’s not her little kid anymore.

“He's always bothering me.” he chooses to say before looking out the window.

With his bright smile and his goofy presence, he thinks as he starts the car.

“Have you seen that the Jungs are here now?” he hears his mother ask, “Hopefully they will be able to finish what we haven't.”

He grimaces as soon as he deduces that she’s talking about Yunho and Utopia.

He's only able to think that he was right about the bad feeling, even though he no longer knows what last name to associate it with.

Notes:

i think clicking the 'post' box has never given me so much satisfaction and relief. my god the way i felt the jongho/yeosang tag that leads this fic side-eyeing me all this time uf i'm never doing this again, it was like a slowburn but between me and my own fic

Chapter 17

Notes:

reminder to please be aware of the tags

Seonghwa is relieved once the last plate is cleared from the table.

He still doesn't understand why his mother insists on having people doing everything for them when he considers both he and Yeosang to be capable of cooking —well, him. Not Yeosang. Yeosang does set the table, though. Slowly and his face shows that he doesn't feel like doing it, but he does it.

It has been a long time since he stopped thinking of dinners as a pleasant moment. There’s an empty chair and Yeosang is silent, completely focused on his food. But Yeosang eats instead of living off lollipops, so it's progress.

Thinking about food only leads him to keep holding onto that feeling of relief once all the dishes are cleared from the table. He’s aware that he hasn't eaten much but his mother's words plague his head. She's right, he shouldn't fill his body with unnecessary sugar. He has an image to maintain, and that image doesn’t include gaining weight.

Maybe he can keep on having the same portions as always and offer Yeosang what he doesn't eat. He always tries to keep an eye on Yeosang and luckily he doesn't seem to have lost much weight. Wooyoung asked him if they were eating well, well, if he was eating well, but now that question only makes him wonder if Wooyoung formulated that question because taking a look at him was enough to decipher something that he didn't.

He loosely wraps one of his arms around his stomach, wondering if perhaps he should spend even more time looking at himself in the mirror. Unlike previous nights, he noticed Yeosang sending the occasional glance in his direction instead of simply focusing on his own space throughout the dinner. Whether it's because he's noticed he's eating less or just because, he doesn't know.

In any case, he’s relieved. He gave short and simple answers instead of choosing to follow the conversation like he usually does. Maybe he should have made an effort, but the hours of sleep lost and not yet recovered from going to Mingi's party still weigh on him.

He has only himself to blame. But he’s finally free, or so he thinks until their mother speaks up.

“Now that we're done with dinner, I can finally tell you about our next family plans while you're awake.”

He shares a fleeting look with Yeosang once their mother talks. It’s the first time that he decides to catch Yeosang's gaze with his instead of pretending not to feel Yeosang's eyes on his figure.

Maybe they haven't spoken all day —well, he’s sure that Yeosang did try to have a conversation with him but he hasn't said a word, yet they can't help but look at each other, knowing that she has said those last words on purpose since the two of them didn’t sleep much last night.

One second. A single second. He only took a second too long to get up that morning while Yeosang didn't even wake up in his bed.

He promptly stops looking at Yeosang as the thought of them having little sleep reminds him of the reason behind that lack, and as such, the conversation with Yeosang at the party pops into his head. He lowers his eyes to the golden cards that she slides toward each of them.

Even if he reads the words written in black, he still looks at their mother.

“What is this?” he asks.

“A benefit gala hosted by the Choi family.”

He arches an eyebrow, intrigued when Yeosang widens his eyes, though Yesang promptly snaps back to a normal gaze when he realizes that he caught his reaction. He can't help but wonder if it's because he knows it's the Choi family, meaning the Prime Minister, and not San, or because he's thought it's San’s family.

“Since we are the family that represents the university now, I expect the best from you two. No shenanigans.” their mother adds.

It’s the first event they will attend together as a family, the first time they will officially appear before the public eye. His fingers tighten around the edge of the card as he realizes that then, it will be the first event they'll show up without their father. They will go out as a family, for the first time, since their father passed away.

Trying to be subtle, he gazes at Yeosang, and he doesn't know how to feel when he senses that Yeosang doesn't seem to have noticed the same detail as him. Yeosang seems to be focused on scratching the golden color of the invitation with his finger, and if he didn't notice, it means he will do it later.

He loosens his grip on the card and rests his hands on his lap.

For the moment he chooses to turn his attention back to their mother. He knows that what they do and how they behave outside the university walls also matter, so her words come as no surprise.

“I've seen what you’ve been up to. Yeosang.” their mother stops looking at him to rest her eyes on Yeosang. “Keep talking to Mingi, okay?” he frowns slightly. “And I've seen that you've gotten closer to Hongjoong.” he stays serious when he hears Hongjoong's name. “I talked to one of his moms and she told me they’re looking for models, and luckily you two have good family genes, and we'd better get along with them, so stay close, okay?”

He thanks himself for keeping his hands in his lap as he notices the way he makes soft fists with them. He doesn’t like being told that staying close to Hongjoong is convenient for both families, nor hearing that his mother is aware of their closeness.

Hongjoong got close to him, to use him because his presence is convenient. What he least wants is for the same thing to happen the other way around, not when he knows how much it hurts to hear that the sincerity received only turned out to be feigned interest.

He can’t express those words. It would lead him to have to explain that Hongjoong guided his behavior with lies to get help for Yunho, so he nods and forces himself to relax until his hands are no longer clenched into fists.

Understanding their mother seems to be difficult as of right now, he thinks. When she doesn't seek to add a word about how it will be their first time in the public eye without their father, he no longer knows if they are on the same page.

He can't be the only one to notice that detail, right? Or maybe their mother will talk about it with Yeosang later. He doesn’t know and he doesn't understand either. Even if his last name and Yeosang's are different, he lost a father too.

Two, actually, it’s a real irony. First, when he was a child, a newborn baby, and now when he’s a young adult. Age doesn’t matter. He keeps getting hurt. Both absences make him angry and sad, even if he knows that one is still alive while the other isn't.

He thinks it's unfair, the way he knows that his biological father —a person who hasn't hesitated to leave his family— is still alive, while Yeosang's father and who he considers his real father too is no longer with them simply because life is tragic, sad and unfair sometimes.

He has been waiting for dinner to end ever since it started, so instead of trying to understand their mother, he takes the invitation and heads toward his room.

He sits at his desk, with the invitation in hand because he doesn’t doubt that he will get asked to stay close to Jongho as well. They exchanged some words and he showed him around, tired, but explained the facilities to him nonetheless. He doesn't know if Jongho noticed his tiredness, but he didn't express any complaint. 

He knows how to pretend, he truly knows.

A part of him calmed down when their mother expressed wanting to see him as soon as he got down from Hongjoong’s car to talk about a new student rather than for any other reason. He no longer knows what to expect when it comes to his and Yeosang's mother, so at no time has he expected her to require their presence for that reason.

He doesn't know if he wants to attend the event or not, but the truth is that he doesn't have much of a choice. He has to go even if he doesn't want to and now he’s been left wondering if he's happy or frustrated with the fact that Hongjoong will be there too.

He probably would have smiled if his mother hadn't mentioned their closeness. Now that he’s aware that his mother wants him to stay close to Hongjoong only for conventional reasons, he doesn’t know to feel.

Thinking that he would like to attend the gala if Hongjoong is present leads him to feel confused. He did get what started as a terrible night to end up being a memory that at that moment leads him to lift one of the corners of his mouth though.

He’s pulled from his thoughts when out of the corner of his eye he glimpses a strawberry smoothie being slowly slid over the desk in his direction. He looks up to find Yeosang hesitantly moving the glass until it touches his arm, and promptly pulls his hand back to play with the sleeves of his sweater.

He looks at the smoothie, thinking that he probably won't drink it because as his mother said, he doesn't intend to fill his body with sugar, but he lets out a short sigh.

“Why does everyone offer me strawberries when they want something?” He can't help but ask. He mentions it more to himself though the words leave his mouth.

First Hongjoong and the morning strawberry smoothie, then Hongjoong again with the mention of a drink made with strawberries, and now Yeosang and what he thinks is a smoothie made by Yeosang himself. It’s noticeable by the way the strawberries are irregularly cut. Who knows how many spoons of sugar Yeosang added.

Yeosang looks at him, with his eyes a little more open than usual. “Mh?”

“Nothing.” he brushes the invitation aside to rest his arms on his desk, opting to look at the smoothie and then at Yeosang.

They haven't spoken to each other all day. Well, Yeosang did ask him if he was going to finish the smoothie initially offered by Hongjoong, but he chose not to answer. Throughout the day he has been thinking about his conversation with Yeosang, and how he feels both annoyed and frustrated with it —about how every attempted conversation he has with Yeosang leaves him feeling that way, actually.

“Why the smoothie?” he asks.

“Mh... I noticed you tense during dinner and mh...” Yeosang takes one of his hands to the back of his neck, seeming to have problems choosing the right words to explain why he’s in front of him, while the night before he made it clear he doesn't want him around. “That conversation... if... if we could have it again since I... I wasn't in my best condition.”

He’s aware that perhaps Yeosang mentioned words that he didn’t plan to say simply because he was high when he ran into him, but those words have reached his ears anyway. He’s all over Yeosang all the time. He looks up at him. Their father’s death doesn’t give him the right to act like him. Yeosang looks down. He looks nervous.

Because he’s trying to talk to him or because he knows that he got high last night?

He doesn't know, but instead of shaking his head and rejecting the smoothie offered as a clear peace offering, he points to his bed to assure him that he can stay. He pulls his chair closer to the edge of the bed and sets the smoothie on the desk for the moment.

He doesn't miss the way Yeosang makes sure to close the door to the room before sitting on the edge of the bed. He's used to Yeosang moving away from him instead of approaching him, so he doesn't know how to react to Yeosang choosing to stay next to him at the time, apparently intending to talk, and this time, free of substances that could lead him to mention words that shouldn’t have been expressed in the first place.

Well, he doesn't know, Wooyoung mentioned that maybe Yeosang takes drugs without him realizing it. He looks at Yeosang, noticing that Yeosang has chosen to play with a loose thread of his comforter.

He doubts that Yeosang seeks to talk to him after confusing his senses, or perhaps it’s precisely the consumption of drugs that leads him to approach him. But no, he refuses to believe, to even accept that Yeosang needs to get high to have a conversation with him.

A conversation that hasn’t yet started. He believes that he’s not the only one not knowing how to react to the unusual pattern that they are establishing, so he decides to take advantage of the fact that Yeosang has decided to get closer instead of leaving him alone, with no other option than to create a monologue.

“I think—” he decides to be the first to speak but promptly interrupts himself. He thinks it's disappointing, how he's really gotten used to wanting to have a conversation with Yeosang instead of actually having them, so he ends up stumbling over his own words.

However, he’s aware that certain words said by Hongjoong have been going around in his head. He’s tired of being misunderstood by Yeosang, of meaningless arguments breaking out between them simply because they refuse to listen to each other.

“No. It isn’t something I think. I know I care about you.” he finally decides to express. “I don't know how to express that concern. I don't want to screw anything up, I just worry.”

His intention isn’t to protect Yeosang from all evil or to keep him safe inside a box, but he doesn’t want him to suffer more than necessary. Yeosang isn't made of glass either, but he doesn't want him to break.

Yeosang doesn't smile easily and he’s composed of small fractures. He doesn't smile or laugh like he used to, not since their father left them. He knows how it feels. He doesn't want the weight on Yeosang's shoulders to increase.

Yeosang has changed. The way he acts, the way he communicates, the way he behaves. He only wants the best for him, but it seems that many times that concern drives Yeosang away from him.

“You don't have to,” Yeosang assures him.

“You're my brother.” he stares at him, noting the way Yeosang swallows hard. 

Different fathers or not, different last names or not, those details don’t matter, at all, to him. They’re family. A family, a dysfunctional family recently struck by a tragedy, a family that is still trying to put itself back together. A broken family, but a family nonetheless.

“Of course I do.” he insists.

Yeosang looks down to fiddle with the sleeves of his sweater.

He doesn't care about Yeosang because he has to, because it’s an obligation, or because their mother has asked him to keep an eye on him or talked him into being nice to Yeosang.

He cares, he cares so much, and suffers when Yeosang suffers, and smiles when Yeosang smiles because neither the difference in parents nor last names will be enough to prevent him from worrying about Yeosang.

“Sorry about... Hongjoong,” Yeosang looks at him and tilts his head.

A silent breath leaves his mouth after finally hearing Yeosang express those words. That's exactly what he wanted to hear last night, the reason why he expected an apology from Yeosang.

“You're mom's weakness, so I figured if anyone could talk her into something, that’s you.”

He can’t help but look at Yeosang confused.

“Me?” Although at all times he hasn’t doubted that Hongjoong went after him because he’s the director's son, he hasn’t expected Yeosang to add those words to the explanation, much less together with the confidence with which he pronounces them. “Mom's weakness?”

He thinks he's anything but their mom's weakness. Or maybe yes, he is? Because he doesn’t represent a strong person for her? He believes that he and Yeosang are not thinking about the word weakness in the same way. He doesn't understand why Yeosang nods when he asks him that question.

He wonders how Yeosang came to such a conclusion, but his head soon leads itself back to the words he previously exchanged with Yeosang. Yeosang expressed that between him and their mother, he always takes their mother's side without hesitation.

While Yeosang calls him their mother's weakness because apparently, if there's anyone who can convince her of anything, it's him, he thinks of himself as their mother's weakness because he doesn't meet the standards that his mother sets for him. They have different meanings for the word weakness.

He considers that he does his best to try to remain neutral, to be a bridge between their mother and Yeosang because that is his role as Yeosang’s older brother and the oldest son.

However, soon a series of words said by Yeosang appear in his head, a set of letters that ensure that although he tries to be the communication between the two, his decisions aren’t the best. Great, another way he fails. He just keeps failing.

“You said before, that mom is lying to us,” he says, realizing that he catches Yeosang's attention because he seems surprised at the mention of those words. “Why do you think so?” he asks instead of rejecting his words as he did before.

“Now you believe me?”

He doesn't blame Yeosang for sounding both offended and surprised.

“Let me help you,” he isn’t able to stop thinking about the fact that eventually, what Yeosang told him about Hongjoong approaching him for other kinds of reasons ended up being true, so the words about his mother should also count with a trace of truth. “Why do you say that?” he repeats.

Yeosang glances at the door, making sure it stays closed, but scoots closer to him anyway and uses a low tone of voice.

“Mom and San's dad know each other.”

He doesn't know very well what he expected to hear, but it definitely wasn't that sentence. He furrows his brows, confused, but soon enough he thinks that those words make sense since they are connected by the job their mother has now. Yet another question pops into his head.

“I heard that San left with you and Wooyoung,” while he started his morning a second late, Yeosang wasn’t present after getting up with Wooyoung and San. “Does that explain why?”

“Not exactly,” Yeosang shakes his head. “Mom denied knowing San's dad when I asked her. San didn't know that our parents know each other. Don't you think it's weird that they gave the position to mom, a CEO with zero experience in the area of education?”

Seconds in silence is the only thing he can offer at the moment. From Yeosang's words, he deduces that San ended his night together with Wooyoung and Yeosang for no apparent reason other than the simple fact.

He still hasn't exchanged a word with San again.

“Not really,” he decides to reply, focusing on his last question.

He doesn’t find it weird that the position was given to their mother even though she didn’t specialize in education. He believes that their mother has the skills to be the head of a university. And besides, everyone is aware that many times a last name takes you much further than a resume. Ah, maybe that's what Yeosang means. But still, their mother's resume is extraordinary.

Why would their mother deny knowing San's father?

“I saw you,” Yeosang interrupts his chain of thoughts before he can even begin, and he tilts his head, confused when Yeosang blurts out those sudden words. “At the party, together with Hongjoong. Did you spend the night with him?”

“Don't even say that.” He clears his throat, wondering why he seeks to quickly deny the words he listens to. Yes, he did spend the party with Hongjoong, but not all night.

Having spent the party with Hongjoong doesn’t embarrass him, well, he did feel embarrassed when Hongjoong played the circus music, so it’s unknown to him why his cheeks burn. He doesn't mean to act as if the night before didn't happen, that just like the name of the nightclub, nothing has been more than a wishful illusion, but he doesn't want to be fully aware of his actions.

“Then? Is everything okay between you two?” Yeosang asks him, “Did Hongjoong pick you up today?” He asks even if both know that Yeosang already knows the answer since he saw him get out of Hongjoong's car.

He forms a line with his lips.

He wonders if this is how brothers usually treat each other, jumping from one topic of conversation to another. Well, that was how he used to behave towards Yeosang not so long ago, but he hasn't been looking forward to talking about their mother with Yeosang at the time, much less about Hongjoong.

Certainly, everything is fine with Hongjoong.

“Yes, but I'm close because I want to,” he determines, even if at no time has Yeosang hinted that they are close for other reasons. He’s sure he’s expressing the words that he would have liked to say to their mother.

Yeosang seems to understand that since he hums.

“I don't want to be around Mingi for mom,” he agrees.

“Mom will be at the gala,” he reminds Yeosang. “Stay close to Mingi even if it’s not for mom.” He keeps talking when Yeosang parts his lips to interrupt him. “Only do it to make her believe that you are doing it for her. We represent the university now, okay? We have a reputation. If you do it, mom won't be all over you.”

Perhaps he doesn't want to follow his mother's words either but he will do it.

He doesn't want the family situation to break down even more. He’s aware that Yeosang doesn’t talk much with their mother, that he’s having problems with her, and that his own relationship with Yeosang isn’t exactly stable even if at that moment they are talking instead of arguing. He doesn't want it to get any worse.

“Reputation? I insulted the Prime Minister's son today.”

Both puzzled and expressionless, he stares at Yeosang as Yeosang switches his gaze between him and the bed. He doesn't even know what kind of question to formulate about it. He decides to inhale a deep breath of air, and exhales just as slowly.

“Will they let you into the gala?” he decides to ask him.

He now understands why Yeosang widened his eyes by reading Jongho's last name on the golden card. While he showed Jongho around along with a kind smile and positive attitude no matter how tired he felt —and continues to feel—, Yeosang countered the politeness of his actions and words.

Insulted?

He supposes it's a good thing that at least he hasn't come across the image of any of Jongho’s bodyguards against Yeosang. Still, a series of images begin to plague his mind, from Yeosang being pushed away from Jongho, to a massive reaction on social media.

“I don’t know...”

“Yeosang.”

“It's not up to me...” Yeosang looks at him as he shakes his head. “I don't think it was offensive, it was just a dumb word, and, in my defense, I did get worried when I realized it was him, okay? But—”

“What do you mean when you realized it was him?”

“I... I didn't... I didn't know who he was— is.”

He can't help the long sigh that leaves his lips.

Again, while he recognized Jongho, because their mother might not belong to the political sphere but everything and every one represents an influence when it comes to being an important person in the economic world, so they are aware of the people at the top; Yeosang didn’t even associate Jongho's face with the important person their mother mentioned.

He’s beginning to believe that maybe it would be better if Yeosang is denied entry to the charity gala. He won't insult anyone he doesn't have to insult and more trouble won't be created.

His head is starting to hurt.

A part of him supposes that he shouldn't be surprised because he too has allowed the world to blur around him since their father passed away, but Jongho’s father assumed the role of prime minister even before they came to Korea after leaving Spain.

“Please stay away from Jongho.” Seonghwa asks. “Please.”

He doesn't want to know why Yeosang insulted Jongho —well, at least he knows it's not because of a political difference, nor how he found out that Jongho happens to be the prime minister's son, and therefore the important person that their mother mentioned —someone they definitely shouldn't insult.

He prefers for Yeosang to keep a safe distance to avoid future problems.

“Don't worry. I will do it.”

Fortunately, Yeosang eases him with those words. Nonetheless, he grimaces, wondering if he should take the time to show Yeosang certain faces for him to connect facial features with the names of people he should learn and thus avoid during the gala.

Maybe he should stay close to him, but their mother has asked him to be close to Hongjoong and she will surely ask him to be close to Jongho as well. Yeosang and Jongho, two people whose paths should definitely not meet, at least not again.

He thinks it will be easier for him to stay close to Jongho. That way he will comply with his mother's request and will also know if Yeosang is near Jongho. However, one detail —not a small one at all— reminds him that perhaps it’s not a good thing to stay away from Yeosang.

Yeosang gazes after him as he chooses to stop sitting in his desk chair to sit next to him. He doesn't know if it's the best time to ask that question, but he doesn't think there’s a right time to do it, and he believes that the earlier he asks it, the better, so that Yeosang is aware of it before the gala.

“Have you realized that this event will be the first event that...” He clears his throat not only because he believes that Yeosang won’t react in the best way, but also because pronouncing them leads him to feel the presence of a lump in his throat. “Dad won't be around?”

It's not only difficult for Yeosang, but for him as well.

From the way Yeosang stops looking at him to bow his head and look down, without any kind of emotion on his face, he assumes that just now, with the pronunciation of those words, Yeosang is realizing that they will be three to show up instead of four.

He bears his biological father’s last name while Yeosang bears his father's, but he has considered and still considers Yeosang's father as his own. He’s dealing with the recent loss too, while still dealing with the loss of another since forever.

However, the difference is, that he has to be strong because he can't afford to break, much less in front of Yeosang.

He brings his hand closer to Yeosang's face because Yeosang hasn't lifted his head again, but he stops his hand. He doesn't know if Yeosang wants him to make physical contact or not. He wants to comfort him, but he doesn't know exactly how, not when his relationship with Yeosang has been so rocky lately.

“Whatever.” Yeosang whispers, but Seonghwa knows he doesn't mean it.

For the same reason, he decides to rest his hand on the back of his neck.

He has to be strong. Yeosang doesn't have to try.

Yeosang tenses under his touch but doesn't seek to get away from it. He doesn't know which is worse, that their mother didn't mention that detail, or that she plans to have a one-on-one talk with Yeosang. He wouldn’t understand why. He has also suffered —and suffers— the loss. Their mother doesn't have to leave him out.

He again clears his throat to get rid of the lump in his throat.

“I can stay close to you,” he offers.

He doesn't care if he previously thought that staying close to Jongho and thus away from Yeosang during the gala would be the best idea. Even if he doesn't like to think about going against their mother's explicit and implicit instructions, he doesn't want to leave Yeosang alone with the mess his emotions represent.

“It doesn't make sense,” Yeosang says. “You heard mom.”

“And since when do you listen to her?”

Yeosang raises his head to look at him with a frown —it doesn't matter if his gaze is glassy. Yeosang frowns at him to show irritation, though he never takes his hand away from his nape.

“Since when you don’t listen to her? Are you recriminating me?”

“No.” he believes that it isn’t the time to get angry. This time, instead of resting his hand on his nape, he traces some of his pink locks with his fingers. “I'm saying, I can stay close to you.”

He’s the older brother. He can't give up.

He caresses Yeosang's scalp carefully, staring at him as he wonders what kind of thoughts collide inside that head. He wishes he could read Yeosang's thoughts so he could help him. But he can't, and as such, instead of taking his hand away because Yeosang is staring at him with a serious expression, he continues to stroke his pink locks.

Wooyoung told him that Yeosang did it on purpose, that he dyed his hair pink because he previously said he wanted to. Because this is how Yeosang shows that he cares.

“You said it.” Yeosang doesn't bow at the contact but doesn't back away from the presence of his hand either. “If I'm close to Mingi, and you're close to Hongjoong, we get rid of mom.”

He clicks his tongue, telling him not to worry about his previous words.

Surely their mother's heart isn't small enough to prioritize social connections over family connections, right? He doesn't know what to think when he realizes he's not totally sure of the answer.

He would like their mother to also seek refuge with them since just as they have lost a father, she has lost a husband. This is how they should present themselves, as a united family, incomplete but still united, not under the illusion of an ideal family.

Yeosang doesn't complain about the caress he makes on his scalp, but his gaze seems lost. He doesn't know if it's because the words said by his mother are colliding with his since he said that if he wants them to be together then they will; or for some other reason. But it isn’t the first time that he has noticed Yeosang sporting a lost look.

He clears his throat. This time not to get rid of a lump in his throat, but to get Yeosang's attention. He again decides to speak because he believes that waiting for the right moment to ask Yeosang certain questions is a waste of time.

“Are you taking any medication?”

Wooyoung's words keep spinning around his head.

He believes that there’s no point in wanting to help Yeosang when he doesn't know precisely if Yeosang’s doing something to help himself. If his mother is doing something to help Yeosang. He won't be able to advance with Yeosang unless Yeosang himself advances.

Yeosang has changed drastically since their father's death.

At first, he thought of his personality changes as an understandable way to respond to the death of someone close to him, but weeks have passed, and though he doesn’t pretend for Yeosang to be completely fine, since he’s not either, he believes that Yeosang is even worse than before.

“No.” Yeosang replies.

Yeosang used to be a somewhat shy and reserved person, someone who prefers to listen rather than talk. Now, if he's reserved, it's not because he has a hard time opening up to people he doesn't know, but because he doesn't lower his walls to people he does know. He doesn't listen as easily.

“Are you going to therapy?”

“Do I look like I'm going to therapy?”

He doesn't quite know what to think.

What is he supposed to do upon knowing that his brother is not taking any medication or going to therapy? He knows that not everyone who loses a family member must go through those steps, but he’s aware of the constant dark circles under Yeosang's eyes, the weariness that seems to haunt him, and the obvious lack of a smile.

The image of Yeosang messing up his makeup on purpose to show him the depth of his eyebags and saying that he cried keeps spinning in his head.

What is he supposed to do?

“Have you been taking drugs recently?” he decides to ask him.

He isn’t surprised when Yeosang looks at him with a serious expression that assures him that the formulation of that question is not to his liking. He assumes that they are both thinking about the conversation they shared the night before at the club.

“Why, do you want some or did mom make you ask me?”

“Since when do you think and assume that I don't care about you?”

He feels hurt. Yeosang doesn't seem to take his own emotions seriously and he assumes that he can care about him only because their mother forces him to. He doesn't understand what he has done or said to make Yeosang stop thinking of him as the person he can get close to, he can reach out to, without hesitation and without a doubt, no matter how he feels.

“I haven't been taking anything.” Yeosang comments, and this time he does turn his head away from his touch. “It was only yesterday with Wooyoung,” he says. Seonghwa allows his shoulders to drop, as well as his hand. “It was a party.”

“So you took drugs because it was a party?”

At what point has Yeosang stopped trusting him as well as he trusting Yeosang? He assumes that he doesn't know who the culprit is, if there’s even anyone to blame. 

While he previously would never have dared to think that Yeosang is capable of lying to him, at that time he doesn't know what to do. Why is it that while Wooyoung suggests to him that Yeosang is capable of getting high without him realizing it, Yeosang assures him that he doesn't? He mistrusts Yeosang's words while Yeosang mistrusts his.

“Can you stop interrogating me?”

He notices that Yeosang is starting to get annoyed but he doesn't want Yeosang's willing approach that night to end that way. He doesn't want Yeosang to continue to think that he’s only asking him questions because their mother has asked him to. He doesn't want Yeosang to think of him that way, so he forces himself to calm down and stop facing Yeosang's seriousness with an identical expression.

“It's just like when we were little,” he assures him along with the beginning of a small smile, and he continues speaking because he notices the confused frown decorating Yeosang's face. “You used to hurt yourself a lot, remember? And I would run to you with a small first-aid box in hand. You just needed a band-aid, but I asked you all kinds of questions. How are you? Are you okay? What hurts? Do you want me to carry you? Do you want to paint something to distract yourself? Do you want a cookie?”

He used to be able to stop Yeosang's tears just by being present, while now he feels that his presence often triggers Yeosang.

“I'm not a little boy anymore,” Yeosang says.

He keeps a small, sad smile on his face. He’s aware that time has passed and that Yeosang is no longer the younger brother who needs him to stop his tears because he has hurt himself.

Yeosang doesn’t need his small first-aid box or his actions or words. Now, he pushes him away, not letting him see his cheeks wet from spilled tears. He doesn't have a first-aid box to offer either, and band-aids are no longer enough because the wounds are emotional.

“I know.”

It's sad.

Notes:

i was editing this chapter, i realized that it's sad, or at least it made me sad, and i was there like why am i posting this on a MONDAY, but the next chapter is nicer i promise

Chapter 18

“How am I supposed to keep my hands off of you at the gala?”

Yunho supposes that the words that find his neck and the hand that explores his body should lead him to hold a smug smile on his face.

With Mingi hovering over him, his hands making direct contact with his skin and his lips leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses on his neck, he should probably take that question as a reason to boost his ego, but it only keeps his head turned to the side.

He observes the amplitude of Illusion, this time empty and without people, demonstrating the grandeur of the place in the absence of souls that usually seek to spend a good night during the weekend and the last few days of the week. The music doesn't reverberate against his ears, it's nothing more than a soft accompaniment.

Mingi doesn't need to yell to be heard over the beat of the music, and for the same reason, he doesn’t have to raise his voice when he allows a half-fake half-honest laugh to leave his mouth.

He finally stops keeping his gaze on the details that make up Illusion although he has never ceased to be aware of his closeness with Mingi, and continues to keep his hands on Mingi's jaw when Mingi turns his face away from his neck to look at him, noticeably confused after having heard him laugh.

“So naive of you to think that I'll go to that damn gala,” he slides his eyes towards the details that make up Mingi’s face, and caresses his jaw to then lead his gaze to his lips.

“What?” Mingi is still hovering over him, but he only needs to look up to notice the way his thoughts are spinning around his head, quickly trying to understand the words he just expressed. “No, what do you mean you are not going?”

“One, I have work because, you know, my work is serious and I'm responsible.” He grins when Mingi remains serious at the slight provocation hidden behind his words. “And two, you know my family doesn't agree with the way the minister does things. Mind you, neither my dad nor my mom, they agree on something for once. And I don't agree either, so going makes no sense. Charity? Please.”

He has watched with an arched brow the golden card that has momentarily been placed in his hands. He believes that if he didn’t have to work, he would still have found an excuse not to attend, or even told the truth.

He won’t be against Jongho because of the positions that his parents occupy in politics, but he won’t waste his time faking a smile, much less when at that moment he chooses to express the other reason why he hasn’t hesitated to throw the invitation in the nearest bin.

“Besides, why would I want to go and see you make heart eyes at Jongho?”

He can't tell if he regrets those words or not, as staying more than close to Mingi allows him to watch the way Mingi slowly allows the seriousness on his face to be replaced by a trace of amusement, until said entertainment is evident in his expression.

He inhales a short gasp of air when Mingi stops being completely still and presses up the knee he’s left between his legs against his crotch. He lowers one of his hands and presses his palm to Mingi’s stomach as his arm finds the edge of the couch, it proving to be more than comfortable and useful in case two people decide to use it for something other than resting after having been dancing for hours.

Mingi presses down even more, almost leaving the total weight of his body on his on purpose, reducing the distance between them and therefore allowing him to feel his bulge, probably motivated by the words that he has just listened to. Of course Mingi allows his body to delight in words that make his lack of joy explicit.

“Are you jealous?” Mingi smiles sideways, showing his amusement.

His provocative words tickle his lips and a bluish strand that falls down on his forehead brushes his.

He didn't smile when Mingi told him that he’s obliged to participate in the gala. And neither when he added that his mother asked him to stay close to Jongho.

Mingi’s bad sensation has turned into a bitter reality, as even if only one of them has always belonged to the political sphere, both know that there are times when they can only nod in agreement and follow the words that are instructed.

“I pity you,” he offers.

“Why?”

“For having to feign interest when I'm the real deal.” Even if his body is trapped between the couch and Mingi's body, and he feels his heart beating, fast and enthusiastically, because the rhythm of his beats always hastens when he's with Mingi, he shrugs.

Usually, he would find himself with his eyes closed and porting a satisfied smile after once again being trapped between something —he doesn't care what it is— and Mingi's body. But he remains serious even if he counteracts what he doesn’t doubt is the severity in his expression with the gentle way he traces the definition of Mingi's jaw with his thumb.

“You pass exams and now your ego is off the charts?”

Mingi leans into him, getting their mouths to brush but not enough for the gesture to be considered a kiss. Despite the provocation, Yunho allows himself to slightly lift one corner of his mouth up, since as Mingi has just expressed, exams have finally stopped being a problem over his shoulders.

He’s supposedly there to celebrate the lack of a possibility of leaving the university. Along with Yeosang's help and his efforts, he avoided holding a more-than-satisfying grin when Yeosang's mother told him that he has passed all his exams, and that as such, for the moment —he hopes— the existence of his scholarship will no longer be questioned.

Mingi is the reason he has been awarded it, although one is supposed to get a scholarship for good and not bad behavior, so celebrating with him has made sense —ironically. He won't complain, at least not anymore. Besides, in a certain way, he has finally ended up cheating on his exams. He couldn't have made it without Yeosang's help.

“Tell me I'm wrong.”

“I would never dare,” Mingi assures him.

He narrows his gaze because he knows that Mingi speaks both honestly and falsely after accompanying that lack of doubt with an amused smirk.

Mingi would dare —dares— to stop him when he thinks he’s making a mistake, but there are also times when he feels that Mingi is capable of kneeling in front of him to watch him with complete devotion in his gaze.

He swallows at the thought of that detail and his hands find Mingi’s chest.

“Go ahead and do well. It's better if you show interest in Jongho and people make up situations in their heads. We have to be more careful.”

As much as the idea of thinking of Mingi being forced to get close to someone else is not to his liking, much less when the same involves feigning interest, it’s convenient for them to use the creative abilities and great imaginations of people who are bored enough with their lives to look around and be interested in others.

“On that, we agree.”

He remains slightly confused when Mingi abandons all traces of amusement to allow seriousness to guide both his words and his expression.

“What?”

He watches Mingi touch the corner of his mouth with the tip of his tongue before turning his head to rest his gaze somewhere in the club. He doesn't know if Mingi takes a few seconds to wonder if it's worth mentioning the words that have already been formulated in his head or not, but he doesn't complain because Mingi quickly turns to look at him.

“Okay. Don't freak out.” He arches an eyebrow as Mingi looks at him in the way he knows means he'll say words that won't make him smile or laugh. “I was waiting for you to take the exams because I didn't want to distract you and—”

“Spit it out, Mingi.”

“Wooyoung knows that we are together.”

His body tenses up even if Mingi stops keeping the palm of his hand over his waist to take in his favor the fact that he has previously unbuttoned his shirt, to currently slide his hand up over his bare torso, his touch managing to soften the rigidity caused by the mention of those words.

“What do you mean Wooyoung knows about us.”

Mingi presses his palm to his chest gently, probably sensing the way his touch counteracts the rapid speed his heart has adapted to because Mingi told him not to freak out but he's about to—

“He told me that he won't say anything and that Yeosang hasn't told him either,” Mingi seeks to assure him as soon as he understands that the words that he has said are winning over the phrase through which he has asked him not to freak out. “I was high, and he was high too, but I remember him saying that.”

“Fuck, not another person,” he stops keeping his hands on Mingi's chest to run his fingers through his own locks, frustrated.

He has felt uneasy ever since Yeosang expressed being aware of the closeness between him and Mingi, and now he only hears that another person has also already noticed that they don't stay away from each other all the time.

And that said person turns out to be nothing more and nothing less than Wooyoung. Jung Wooyoung.

“He won't say anything,” Mingi continues trying to calm him down. “Besides—”

He doesn't hesitate to narrow his gaze, no longer knowing what to believe when he knows, he simply knows that Mingi forms a line with his lips because there’s more to tell, more to hear. Mingi's hand on his body isn't entirely welcome anymore.

“Spit. It. Out. Mingi.”

“Maybe... I lied when...” He’s partially satisfied when he notices Mingi gulp, probably from being under his serious gaze. “When I told you that Yeosang asked me how I was doing. He actually asked me not to pretend, and to be friends with Wooyoung because Wooyoung doesn't want to hurt us.”

“You lie to me now? Isn't it supposed to be the other way around? You lie to others but not to me?”

“I didn't want you to freak out.”

“I am freaking out! How can you n—”

He inhales a breath of air when Mingi suddenly leaves both hands on the sides of his neck to connect their gazes.

Mingi watches him, and by the third time he inhales a short but deep breath through his mouth and then exhales, he realizes that he wants him to imitate the slow pace. He doesn't quite know why he agrees to do it.

“They won't say anything. Look, Yeosang even offered to tell me something about him so as to have something against them if they ever open their mouths,” Mingi says. “If it will make you feel better, I'll tell Yeosang to tell me whatever. But for now, please don't freak out,” he asks him.

It's true that so far Yeosang has been nice to them, more so to him since he probably wouldn't be a student anymore if Yeosang hadn't come up with the answers.

And it’s also true that both he and Mingi haven’t hesitated to fake identical smiles on their faces as soon as they realized that now Wooyoung is in the same city as them. He doesn't like to pretend because he doesn't like people pretending with him, and he understands that maybe this attitude has hurt Wooyoung.

“I still don't understand why you had to get high.” He stares at Mingi.

With his clouded senses and lack of a clear head, Wooyoung could have had that same conversation with someone else, making the number of people aware of them one digit higher.

Mingi himself could have done something wrong, make a mistake, but he has made sure to gravitate around him in case the drug's presence in his system kept him from remembering that their relationship is a secret rather than a detail they have the luxury of telling to others.

“It was my party,” Mingi seeks to defend himself with the pronunciation of that phrase.

His party, his nightclub, his territory, so rules don't exist for him, don't apply to him.

He doesn't scold Mingi for getting high since he doesn't equate alcohol, drugs, and cigarettes to an unknown world, but he does believe that remaining disoriented with his surroundings is equivalent to not being fully aware of the words he says and the decisions he makes.

And he doesn't believe it just because Mingi has told him about the apparent conversation he has had with Wooyoung, but because he has had the opportunity to note the way Mingi behaves when he is not lucid.

“You called me baby boy,” he reminds him.

“Shit. Did I?” Mingi remains confused for a moment, and then replaces said confusion with a smirk. He keeps looking at him even if Mingi brings his lips closer to his. “Baby boy.”

“Don't baby boy me.” He again seeks to leave his hands on his jaw, this time to tilt Mingi’s neck. His eyes momentarily slide to the side of Mingi's neck that remains exposed, but he raises his eyes to look back at him. “Maybe I shouldn't have come to your party, maybe I shouldn't even be here.”

Neither Yeosang nor Wooyoung hasn’t specified which details were the ones that exposed —how, he doesn’t know, apparently only by seeing them— that the rivalry between them is not completely true.

They are still rivals, yes, he believes that they will continue to be until one of the two leaves the industry they share and he doubts that day will ever come, but it’s also true that rival is not the only word that appears in their heads when they think of each other.

“Yet here you are, baby boy,” he stays serious when Mingi leans towards him to pretend to kiss him. “With me,” Mingi expresses on his lips, but the hiss that soon follows Mingi's words satisfies him, as he takes advantage of the hand that he's left on his jaw to press his fingertips onto his skin, and thus impose a few centimeters between them.

“Yeosang did give me the right answers, so we know he doesn't want me out, but Wooyoung, Mingi! Wooyoung!” He exclaims in a low voice even if no one else but them is present and their voices are only accompanied by the music that is still playing in the background, not allowing the recesses of the place to remain completely silent. “He could take us out any minute.”

Wooyoung is not just Wooyoung, but Jung Wooyoung, the son of a couple of successful chefs with a chain of restaurants under their names. Successful past, successful present, and successful future.

They are well-known abroad, they are backed by a great fortune and an international reputation, and they have enough investors and loyal customers to become their direct competition the moment they set foot in Seoul —they could be planning their downfall as they speak.

“The world doesn't revolve around you, doesn't revolve around me, and it doesn't revolve around us, so that means that neither Yeosang nor Wooyoung cares about this.”

Though he narrows his eyes because Mingi doesn't seem to be realizing the seriousness of the fact that Yeosang and Wooyoung know about them, he’s aware of the way his body misses Mingi's hands as soon as Mingi points between the two of them with one and leaves the other on the couch, right next to his head.

“But I do care and I don't want it to get ruined.”

It would be pathetic if the closeness that they have so carefully taken care of for it to be a secret despite sometimes feeling the need to stay close in front of others' eyes, was revealed simply because perhaps they are not as subtle as they think they are.

If Yeosang and Wooyoung haven't required them to open their mouths, it's because their actions have spoken for themselves.

“I care as well.” he swallows as Mingi straightens up and stares at him as he determines those words. “So it's better if you don't go to the gala, because as I said, I don't know how I am supposed to keep my hands off of you.”

He believes that so far Mingi hasn't appeared to be even slightly concerned with the fact that two people are aware of the closeness between them. Two people who, in a matter of hours, have managed to decipher them just by looking at them when they haven't previously had to worry about that detail.

“You care?” He doesn’t ask that question irritatedly, but genuinely intrigued.

“What makes you think I don't?” Mingi does sound irritated.

He parts his lips to answer but no words leave his mouth. He feels uneasy because although neither Yeosang nor Wooyoung has expressed a word so far, they could at any moment.

Mingi too.

The possibility of being betrayed when he least expects it exists. A part of him is always waiting to feel a dagger on his back. Or rather in his heart, because he would feel hurt, he knows that he would feel more than hurt if Mingi chose to throw away all the steps they have taken toward each other.

“I don't think you don't,” he chooses to express. “I just need reassurance sometimes. Everything is so... we are faking and pretending all the time, we are honest and then we are not, so everything is blurred and I simply don't know what to think anymore.”

Being used to lying, pretending, and faking doesn't make the situation any easier.

He doesn't want Mingi to think that he's making some kind of claim, but he does want him to be aware that they can't afford to make a mistake.

The fact that they are currently in Illusion alone is evidence of the same. Mingi is not welcome in his house while he's not welcome in Mingi's house, so invading each other's territory is the rule despite all the times they have complained about each other's respective presence.

He shakes his head, thinking that perhaps his restlessness has been speaking for him for the last few moments. Maybe he’s still freaking out after all and he now understands why Mingi didn’t tell him everything sooner.

He’s wasting a moment alone with Mingi solely because the type of relationship he has with him can’t be described as normal.

“Forget it, I just—”

Mingi's lips on his interrupt the sentence that he never manages to finish, and that he doesn't seek to complete either as soon as he feels the way Mingi claims his mouth. 

Demanding, requiring him to stop paying attention to his thoughts to allow them to make no sense by only focusing on Mingi's mouth on his, on the tongue that he allows Mingi to slip past his lips.

Finally, finally both of Mingi's hands return to be left on his figure, and the small gasp of satisfaction that rises in the back of his throat is caught by Mingi's lips as Mingi adjusts him beneath him.

He slides his hands to Mingi's head to trap his locks between his fingers, and a satisfied hum rasps his throat as he feels Mingi's hands on his waist. His unbuttoned shirt reminds him that he wants to complain because Mingi continues with his own; but Mingi's hands on his skin distract him. Pressing, holding, keeping him in place.

In any case, he hasn’t thought of pulling away, and he feels the increase in the rhythm that guides his chest when Mingi rubs his erection against his through the fabric of his jeans. And it's nice, it's annoying, and it's uncomfortable, and he would like to be able to snap his fingers and get rid of every fabric.

But performing such a gesture with his fingers would be boring, actually. Feeling Mingi's muscles flex beneath his touch every time Mingi allows him to remove his clothes is better, it feels better. It's a power, he believes, as silly as it sounds, that only he possesses because only he has the opportunity to undress Mingi, and in return, he allows Mingi to expose his skin as well. Mingi grinds down on him and clothes or not, it doesn't matter because his body is already more than used to molding to Mingi’s figure.

He inhales a breath as soon as Mingi stops kissing him, though only a millimeter is left between their respective faces. He lowers his gaze to Mingi's mouth. Plump, pink, and full lips denote that they have been busy for the last few minutes.

“Don't ever assume, ever again, that I don't care, that I don’t care about you.” he looks up when Mingi makes sure to express those words not only with his mouth and his voice, but with his eyes as well since he doesn’t let him look away. “It's not the first time you've done it, don't let your head repeat it to you.”

He demands not only to awaken his body but also to quiet his mind.

Of each other, he thinks. He feels the caress Mingi traces over his stomach with his thumb, and he doesn't need to slide his hands down Mingi's chest to be aware that Mingi's breathing is characterized by the same unsteadiness as his own.

“I almost grabbed your wrist when you were about to enter the office to say you were going to drop out.” Mingi expresses, staring at him. “You told me you weren't going to do it.”

“I just didn't see the point,” he tries to defend himself.

He’s aware that while at one point he did tell Mingi that he wouldn’t be able to leave the university despite not seeing the point in if his integrity will keep on being questioned, the next day he got up, determined to stop wearing the particular orange blazer.

He doesn't know what he would have done if Yeosang hadn't come up with the topics he's finally seen reflected in the exams he's passed, because the least he wants to think is that Mingi just expressed thinking of stopping him himself.

Mingi is supposed to be the person who most wants him to stop attending the same classes in the same classrooms as him.

“You get to see me every day, what more do you need?”

For Mingi there’s no other possible explanation, another way of reasoning, and he forms a line with his lips because it is true that being students at the same university has certainly allowed him to create private moments with Mingi.

“Okay, maybe I don't hate the fact that you are not going to the gala because I want to be close to you, but we need to pretend and it will be easier if you are not there.” Mingi adds.

“I know.”

Perhaps he’s also allowing himself to be carried away by the thoughts that are no longer so abandoned in the corners of his brain. While at first he got distracted by the closeness created with Mingi, now hiding leads to a grimace being present on his face instead of an intrigued smile. Mingi wants to be as close to him as he wants to be to Mingi.

He's getting tired of constantly pretending, and he knows it.

“The other day, after class, I wanted to kiss you so badly when Wooyoung tried to kiss you, well, us, and I know you wanted to kiss me too. But I refrained and I was smart because my mom was waiting for me and it would have been a disaster.”

Mingi is also having a hard time, it’s evident —both figuratively and quite literally. But words like the ones Mingi just expressed are the reason why they must hold back and fold their arms when they feel that their hands are about to betray themselves. 

They don't hide from others simply because they want to, but because they have to.

“I envy his freedom,” he doesn’t have the opportunity to publicly demonstrate that for him, Mingi is so much more than just a person his age who turns out to be his rival.

They are pitted against each other because they share the same industry and their respective businesses, and their last names are best known when the sun falls and the moon appears, the lights are turned on and the horizon is not possible to see.

“Me too,” Mingi agrees. “And Yeosang’s too,” he tilts his head when he listens to Mingi. “He can just say whatever to Jongho while I'm here, having to play nice.”

“Just tell him to curse him on your behalf.”

“Not for now, I barely know him,” he doesn't roll his eyes but widens his gaze when he remembers that Jongho doesn't turn out to be a stranger to Mingi as they've crossed paths at once or another.

He will be busy thinking how much Mingi will have to smile at someone else.

“It's funny the way your face gets all gloomy when you get jealous.” Mingi says.

He remains completely serious at the lopsided smile that decorates Mingi's face.

He doesn't find it funny, not when he knows that unlike most of the time, Jongho isn't much older than them and therefore someone who isn't even capable of attracting Mingi's interest.

“I'll be busy making money while you will be busy wasting money on a suit.”

His own words only lead him to continue wearing a serious expression as he won't even get a chance to see Mingi wearing a suit —and he knows how well suits highlight Mingi's figure.

“I already bought a suit, so your words make no sense.” Mingi winks at him. “You will be busy thinking of me, getting jealous, while I’ll be busy delighting in that spectacular thought,” Mingi leans towards him to make him the personal audience of his entertaining smile.

“Thought, mh?” Just as they can silence each other's thoughts, they also can make certain images the main attraction of their respective minds. “Let's give you something to remember me, then, yeah? To entertain your mind. Something better than the thought of me getting jealous.”

He slides one of his hands towards Mingi's nape while he continues to slide the other down his body. The shirt that Mingi is still wearing doesn’t represent an obstacle as that part of his body doesn't turn out to be what he’s thinking about.

“Why would I get jealous when I'm the one that knows your body?”

He finally takes advantage of the fact that he has previously unbuckled Mingi's belt to slide his hand past the waistband of his boxers and grab his hard cock through the fabric.

“Yunho— fuck—” Mingi breathes on his lips, and he smiles, pleased because his name is the one that leaves Mingi's mouth, a mouth that only he gets to claim with his.

“When I'm the one that gets to hear you like this,” he isn’t completely satisfied with the damp fabric under his fingers, but soon enough he allows a smiling gesture to grace his face again, contented when the hand that he holds on the back of Mingi's neck lets him feel the way Mingi contracts his shoulder blades, and he welcomes the pressure Mingi's hands exert on his skin as a reflex once he pulls down his underwear and finally wraps his hand around Mingi's cock. “To feel you like this.”

This time he catches Mingi's lips with his after tilting him towards him, and stifles the moan that Mingi lets escape his lips as he begins to move his hand over his cock, the administrations of his fingers being accompanied by the way Mingi moves as well. He moves as Mingi thrusts into his hand, Mingi himself seeking that contact as well.

It's an uncoordinated and erratic kiss but he doesn't care because Mingi quickly drops his head into the gap between his shoulder and his neck, allowing him to hear the way he pants against his skin in response to the way he strokes his cock.

He keeps his hand on his neck to prevent Mingi from falling off the couch even though their bodies are completely attached and he crosses one of his legs over Mingi’s. He’s still aware that he’s thinking about the nonconformity that his pants represent since just as his body awakens Mingi's, Mingi's awakens his, but he keeps moving his hand over Mingi's cock because Mingi is the person that matters.

The important thing is to ensure that Mingi doesn't stop thinking about him, even when he decorates his face with a polite smile because perhaps he has to feign interest in someone else, but both his body and the unsteady way he breathes against his neck show that he’s only interested in him and the pleasure that he is capable of giving him.

Both have learned to know what the other prefers and both know how to take advantage of that knowledge.

“You remember that you talked with Wooyoung but you don't remember our conversation,” he wants Mingi's mind to only repeat his name until the letters of it are engraved in all the nooks and crannies of his head. “Are you sure Jongho is the person I should be jealous of?”

“I talked about you so— fuck—” he caresses the head of Mingi's cock with his thumb and takes with it the traces that show that he certainly knows how to please Mingi while others can only try to do it. Mingi shudders and his hip movements lose their stability. “I remember you,” he manages to articulate.

“Does anyone else let you do this?”

Does anyone else allow him to set the pace because he increases the rhythm of his hand when he denotes despair in Mingi's figure?

“Do you let someone else do this to you?” he murmurs close to his ear, and by keeping his head hidden in his neck, Mingi misses the smile that appears to guide his face when Mingi reacts by leaving one of his hands on his waist to balance himself.

“N— no, I d— don’t—” Mingi dips his fingertips on his waist while he moves his hand up and down, making sure to drag his hand down his cock and glisten his shaft with precome. “That feels so good,” Mingi's hips twitch at the contact becoming more comfortable, at the way both his actions and his words continue to affect him, his body speaking for itself.

“Of course it does,” he already has months of experience. And he would like to say that he's better, but he is not. The fabric of his pants feels uncomfortable and sticky.

“You?” Mingi's locks stop tickling his face as Mingi raises his head, just enough to look at him and make him think that the red LED lights from his nightclub only bring out the definition of his facial features. “Do you let someone else?”

He hasn't felt the need to notice anyone else, not when Mingi is with him. Not when Mingi also knows where to press, what parts of his body to praise to make sounds leave his lips, and his figure to respond appropriately.

“No,” he answers, “Only you are the lucky one.”

Mingi is once again the one to seal their lips, this time leaving his hand near his neck and the other probably a few centimeters from his head because unfortunately he doesn’t leave it on his figure, but is unable to complain when Mingi again wets his lips with his tongue and presses his body with his.

He knows that Mingi is close. He loses himself in the kiss, his movements aren't coordinated and he simply lets himself be carried away by the sensations provided. 

He thinks he no longer needs an answer to his previous questions, not when Mingi doesn't need words to show him how well his body responds to his hands, to his mouth, to his presence; but in any case, Mingi silences his insecurities again.

“I don’t let anyone else but you,” Mingi murmurs against his lips, kissing the corner of his mouth.

“Do you want to know something, baby boy? Oh, my bad, princess.” He continues to stare at Mingi though he delights in the way Mingi inhales a breath of air and his hips buckle forward at the mention of that word. “That's what turns me on the most.” 

Knowing that despite everything and anything, only he knows how Illusion looks under the natural rays of the day while Mingi knows the hours after Utopia closes.

He knows that Mingi is obsessed with that detail too. He doesn't suppose it, he knows, because Mingi presses his fingertips into his neck and a shiver runs through his body before he’s soon coming into his hand, evidencing that they have indeed learned to provoke each other with more than words.

He keeps moving his hand, although this time slowly, to accompany Mingi through his orgasm, and he chooses to move to the side to prevent Mingi from staining his shirt, even if that only leads to feeling Mingi's lips against his neck as he drops his head again.

Mingi breathes against his skin, sporadically leaving kisses until he manages to calm his breathing. He caresses Mingi’s nape and stops keeping his hand around his cock. He hears Mingi laugh, and he looks at him to find a funny and blissed smile on his face.

“Baby boy,” Mingi says, laughing again.

He too smiles because he has chosen to copy words previously spoken by Mingi, but Mingi responds particularly well to the word princess. And a princess shouldn’t be about to fall off a couch, he thinks, so he sits down even though Mingi complains.

“I'm going for tissues, wait a second.”

He makes sure to keep his shirt open so the fabric doesn't get dirty and he misses the warmth provided by Mingi's body as soon as he leaves him, but he heads for the nearest bathroom anyway —he shouldn't know every nook and cranny that makes up Illusion by heart, but he does.

He wets paper with warm water once he’s in the bathroom, but being in front of one of the mirrors leads him to remain with his hand a few inches from his body when he looks at his reflection.

Dark locks pointing everywhere, marks created around his neck, he notes —shit, he'll have to figure out how to hide them when he puts on his uniform, though he's not excited about scolding Mingi about them. Exposed torso and traces of Mingi scattered across his stomach. The color white reflects that perhaps he shouldn't care who Mingi should stay close to because he’s the person who happens to be the protagonist of both his reality and the images produced by Mingi’s mind.

He supposes it should disgust him, but he's aware of the smug smile he finds in his reflection before he finally accepts the warmth of the paper.

He runs a hand through his hair, and promptly reaches back to Mingi, only to find him sprawled on the couch, his jeans now completely discarded while he seems to have put on his boxers without much effort. He has undone some buttons on his shirt but hasn't taken it off. It sure is an interesting sight.

“Mingi, don't be all sprawled like that,” he says before getting Mingi to change position after sitting next to him.

“There's no one in here,” Mingi sits up and watches him pass the wet papers over his figure to clean him up. “I always make sure of it because I don't want anyone to get the chance to see how good you make me feel,” Mingi is still talking when he glances at him. “They would want you for themselves.”

He follows Mingi with his eyes when Mingi stands up to throw the paper into the nearest bin.

He would like to tell him not to spend his time having those kinds of thoughts because no matter if Illusion is empty or not, Mingi is the person he usually looks for in the sea of people present, but he believes that Mingi also has the right to be jealous.

“Need a hand with that?” Mingi stands in front of him, and he follows the direction of Mingi's index finger to find the bulge in his pants. “Or a mouth.”

“I just need you to think of me.”

Although he doesn't provide a direct answer, Mingi still holds an amused smile, and in a matter of seconds, he drops himself into his lap. He forms a line with his lips because the pressure generated by Mingi's closeness is uncomfortable but welcome to the bulge in his pants.

“You are jealous.” His hands find Mingi's waist —a waist so slim, that fits so well under the grip of his fingers when Mingi wraps his arms around his neck to keep him close. “Admit it.”

He stares at Mingi as they both know Mingi doesn't need him to admit it out loud. He doesn't doubt his expression speaks for itself. He doesn't need to nod or give an affirmative answer for both of them to know that he is jealous. Still, Mingi presses for an answer anyway, both figuratively and literally because a gasp caresses his throat as Mingi moves his hips.

“It's always been you versus me,” he admits, and Mingi stands still. “And now Wooyoung gets into the scene, Jongho gets into the scene. Seoul suddenly feels more chaotic and I don't like that.” His frustrated tone of voice is enough to show not only his jealousy but his irritation as well.

He doesn't mention Yeosang because Yeosang is a case apart, while Wooyoung appears along with his family to remind them that sometimes a rivalry can involve more than two people. And Jongho bursts in to not allow them to forget that although they share an industry, he has always belonged to a circle and Mingi to another.

“You are wrong,” Mingi stops keeping his arms around his neck, and their mouths almost brush as he lifts his back from the back of the couch to allow Mingi to slide his shirt off his shoulders until he discards it to the side, soon followed by his trousers. Just as he thought, using their hands to expose each other's skin is better than just snapping his fingers and hoping it all goes away on its own. “It's always been you and me.”

Perhaps even before they replaced the distance between them with closeness, he thinks. Maybe Mingi is right, because always, from the beginning, it’s been about him and Mingi.

Mingi is the person that he has always had to keep his eyes on, as well as present in some corner of his head because Seoul is big but only Mingi’s name has been kept in his memory after representing his only true competition.

It’s always been about him and Mingi because their actions have always complemented rather than contradict each other. When one improves, the other is bound to. They have always been together because being oblivious to each other has never been an option.

He inhales a deep breath as Mingi slides his hands from his chest to his stomach, tracing inches of skin that have previously hosted traces of pleasure in response to the way they've learned to read each other.

“Pinky promise I won't flirt and you won't let your clients flirt with you,” he lowers his eyes to the way Mingi leaves one of his hands between them. He forms a fist with it and points out his little finger. “I wasn't planning on flirting anyway.”

“Pinky promise? Really?”

“Okay, Minki promise, then,” he raises both eyebrows when Mingi smiles, but Mingi moving his fist is enough for him to let out a breath and decide to hook his little finger with Mingi's.

“Minki promise.”

Mingi tugs gently on his little finger before flashing him an amused smile, but his hand is soon free as Mingi sits up in his lap and drops his hands onto his stomach.

“Want to know something?” Mingi asks, leaning into him, and he forms a line with his lips because he doubts the way Mingi casually rotates his hips on his body is neutral. “I did, I do remember our conversation. I just find it amusing how jealous you get, baby boy,” Mingi mentions those words on his lips, and he doesn't doubt their veracity because his tone of voice is entertaining just like his smile.

He leaves his hands on Mingi's waist to press him against his body, and Mingi smiles as he inhales a slight breath when both delight at the friction Mingi creates.

“No, don't look at me like that,” Mingi asks him at the same time that he feels his hands on the waistband of his boxers.

Like that. Seriously because the thought of Mingi flirting with someone else doesn't amuse him.

“Have fun at the gala.”

“I'd send you a pic of my suit, the one I've already wasted money on but, I think I could give you something better,” Mingi tugs at his briefs, his intentions clear.

He lifts his hips to allow Mingi to get rid of them, though he follows Mingi with his eyes because he doesn't expect him to leave the comfort of his lap to kneel in front of him.

“Let's give you something, yeah?” Mingi leaves his hands on his knees to spread his legs and settles between them. “To entertain your mind,” he thinks that he only doesn't narrow his gaze at the imitation of his previous words because this time he's the person who inhales a breath of air when Mingi finally gives him some relief by taking his cock in his hand. “While you are at work.”

He drops the back of his head against the edge of the couch as Mingi wraps his mouth around his cock, and he doesn't even waste time trying to form a line with his lips to prevent a moan from scratching the back of his throat.

He knows that trying to hold back will be a waste of time when both know that Mingi knows him just as well.

He has never said that Mingi doesn't have the same ability to destroy him after all.

Notes:

i'm still getting used to the fact that i'm posting smut so please know i'm trying my best

Chapter 19

Jongho continues with his arms outstretched at his sides as his mother enters the suite. He doesn't understand why they have made another suit for him when he’s aware that he has too many in his closet.

Probably because the press would say you're repeating a suit, he thinks to himself.

“Do I have to wear something extra again?” he asks. He knows that expressing what color he prefers or what accessories he thinks would go best with his clothes is a waste of time.

“It's not necessary tonight,” his mother replies.

Well, he settles for that. Nothing can be worse than that time when he had to wear an orange suit, he believes, but anything can happen —a grimace threatens to take over his face as he remembers that the uniform turns out to be that shade.

Fortunately, the black suit with silver details that he’s currently wearing represents a rest for his eyes. He can't express being completely surprised by the monotonous color and the lack of extravagant accessories. After all, he’s currently allowing the stylist to check his figure and set up the last details before the charity gala starts.

The intention of that night is to get people to talk about the gala, not about his family. His last name should be on everyone's lips, but along with words like how good of them to organize this gala or they invited everyone, how kind.

He lowers his arms and keeps his shoulders straight as the stylist makes sure the suit highlights his best attributes —the stylist’s words, not his. He thinks it's a waste of time but stays quiet about it. He was last measured probably less than a week ago and he’s always careful with the clothes he’s given.

The stylist finally nods her head, and soon enough he’s left alone with his mother.

“Have you studied the folder I gave you?” he hears his mother ask.

He raises both eyebrows, not impressed by the mention of those words. He casts a sidelong glance at the mirror and turns to see his mother with her attention on her phone.

It's always the same routine.

A folder or files with the faces of people whose names and titles he must memorize are left on his desk before an important event. An event that is only considered important because of the people who attend it is, as well as their wallets and respective reputations and families.

One would think that at twenty-two years of age and after many folders and lessons, knowing the names of the people around him would be a habit, one more detail, instead of a constant change, but the political field has proven to be the opposite of immobile.

“Don't make that face, there’s a name that I know you like and another that will be of interest to you,” his mother adds.

Lessons on how to control his reactions and his facial features have also always been part of his schedule. And yet, it seems his mother doesn’t need to take her eyes off her phone to know that he's not happy about learning new names.

“Why do you say that?” He sits next to her. He has an idea about the name that she expresses he likes, while the second name that will be of interest to him is equal to a mystery.

The measurement of a new suit and the implication of a new folder indicates the organization of a new event. A benefit gala, this time. An irony, he believes, considering that they have rented an entire hotel for it to take place.

While he’s wearing a new suit that he doesn't need, as well as learning the names of people who are probably more concerned with the fabrics of their suits and dresses, they're holding a benefit gala. Beneficial for themselves, Jongho thinks.

He doesn't look away when his mother finally looks at him.

“Because you have already learned one, and the other will be more convenient for you than for me,” his mother says, putting aside her phone.

He takes in his favor the fact that no one else is with them to get rid of his constant correct posture, and leaves his elbow against the back of the couch to rest his cheek against the palm of his hand. Maybe he shouldn't do that if he wants to keep his suit wrinkle-free, but if his mother doesn't scold him, then he has the green light.

“Song Mingi. Park Seonghwa.”

Instead of expressing any words, he narrows his gaze. By the way his mother continues to watch him, not exactly with a smirk, but neutrally, she assures him of the answer to the question that leaves his lips.

“Do your spies know that I met Seonghwa-hyung?”

“They're not my spies. When will you stop calling them that?”

He snorts as his mother rests one of her hands on his thigh, seeking for him to drop his attitude with that gesture. He changes his position to sit up straight and chooses to stop looking at his mother.

They are spies. Her spies, specifically. They are men who give his mother the chance to know everything about him without needing to be present. They follow him to then provide luxurious details to his mother. They are spies, not bodyguards as his mother chooses to call them. Spies.

“But yes, your bodyguards told me that you have met Seonghwa.”

He wants to roll his eyes but he doesn't.

He understands the need for security around him. He understands it. He is aware that his last name is extremely important, and that just as there are names that he must learn, at that precise moment there are people learning even his favorite hobbies as he’s the person who heads the list of outstanding faces.

Some people see the image of his face as the first one they used to throw darts at, though.

He understands the need for personal security, he really does.

But he doesn’t understand why they act as spies. They don't just follow him to keep him safe, but also to see what he does, what he says, and who he talks to. It’s tiresome and only gets people to cast strange glances in his direction.

“Song. Ministry of Strategies and Finance, isn’t it?” he chooses to ask.

It’s the last name of said minister, and again, he’s not surprised when his mother nods. Mingi is the son. His mother did make him study his profile after all. So Mingi is the person he supposedly likes because they are both ministers' children, while Seonghwa is the person whose name happens to be beneficial to him.

He thinks he knows the answer to his next question. 

“Why is it better for me than for you?” he adds.

“Seonghwa, as you may know, is the son of the current director of the university you'll be studying at now, so it's better for you than me to get along with him. And Mingi studies there as well. They will probably approach you at the gala. Let them.”

He lets out a silent breath. He guesses that he's not completely upset with the request because as his mother already knows from his spies —bodyguards—, he's already met Seonghwa.

He introduced himself with a sweet smile as well as a kind demeanor. By goodwill or force, he doesn't know, it's the first time that he finds it hard to realize if someone, in this case, Seonghwa, is nice to him because that's his personality or because he has probably been asked to show him around. Anyway, even though he doesn't know his intentions, he has liked Seonghwa.

He doesn't know anything about Mingi other than that he studies at his same university. Well, he knows more, but if he’s to be honest, he may have skipped some details of his profile as Mingi doesn’t turn out to be a complete stranger.

They have an age difference of one year, and even if they have never had a conversation, he’s sure they have crossed paths at some other event. He's not completely bummed out about the request because he's taken a liking to Seonghwa, and because Mingi, as the son of a minister himself, surely knows how to handle forced conversations and boring events.

“Mom,” he chooses to say.

He turns to look at her. He’s not surprised by the phone already present in his mother’s hand. She surely already has a pile of notifications stacked on her screen, much more considering that they are minutes away from the start of the gala.

His mother rarely decides to be present when his suits are given one final glance by the stylists. That can only mean that she’s actively looking to share time with him. And he knows, they both know, that only one emotion could be the reason behind that: guilt.

“You do know this is your fault, right?”

This. The change of university. The organization of the charity gala. This. Everything.

His mother does know. Otherwise, she wouldn't be looking to spend time with him.

His mother watches him and opens her arms instead of suggesting that he shouldn’t express words of such caliber. He accepts her hug, assuming that his mother is trying hard if she doesn't mind him wrinkling his suit and her dress.

Although the years go by and both he and his mother grow up, he supposes that the words there’s nothing like a hug from your dear mom continue to count with a special meaning.

“A son must be for his mother as well as his mother for his son,” his mother expresses while gently combing one of her hands through the dark color of his locks.

He thinks those words make sense. Not because there must be some sort of reciprocity between mother and son simply because her mother has given him birth and she continues to help him, and in return he must help her too when her mother asks him to. But because they are not like the rest of the families, they are unique.

They are the family of the Prime Minister. If there's one thing she shares with his mother, it's being related to one of the most important people in the country. His mother, as his father’s wife, and he, as his father’s son and heir, know the places they occupy. For that very reason, they understand each other and he allows his mother to take refuge in him while he takes refuge in his mother.

He’s right though. This is his mother's fault, but his mother wouldn’t have hesitated to act the same way had he made a mistake. It explains why he’s not surprised by his mother's actions, and by the decisions she makes for herself. It’s difficult to be surprised, to feel surprised as well as to be surprised by someone else when the routine is always the same.

He suddenly thinks that despite the constant lack of surprises in his life, he has recently been surprised.

“Have your spies also told you that someone has... interrupted my path?” he asks.

He has expected phones to be raised in his direction and friendly smiles to be sent to his person, so he has certainly been surprised once he ended up being the main protagonist of a particular situation that is still circling his head.

“Bodyguards.” While he will never stop insisting that his mother has his squad of hers, his mother will never stop correcting him. He supposes that it’s his mother's role, to seek to correct him whenever she can. “I heard more than the simple interruption of your path. Buffoon, could it be?” his mother accompanies her words with a small chuckle.

Song Mingi and Park Seonghwa, his mother says.

Kang Yeosang, his mind provides.

“All the students were invited?”

“You know the answer,” his mother replies.

He hasn't seen Yeosang's name or last name on the list of people his mother gives him before every important event.

Honestly, he thinks he doesn't care about it.

For the first time in a long time, he feels excited about an event.

---

Mingi allows himself to let out a short sigh and ruin his back after getting rid of his correct posture once he notices that his parents are no longer present since they head towards another hall.

He believes that just as he knows when to allow his body to express for itself how much he likes the songs that Hongjoong composes and luckily agrees to play at his parties, he also knows when to remain still, carrying a formal demeanor because he has an image to give.

Back straight and hands together behind his lower back.

He doubts that anyone cares about his position when that night, well, always, the important family turns out to be the one that has a different last name than his own, so he has the luxury of trying to relax.

A smile doesn’t get to guide his face though. A neutral expression continues to lead his facial features. He's not forced to maintain a smile, at least not currently, since he’s not taking part in any conversation, and he can't allow disappointment to be part of his expression no matter how frustrated he feels with Yunho's absence.

He has gotten so excited about the idea of the event after hearing that all the students have been invited, that he has forgotten that Yunho has other responsibilities besides classes. He also has his own, but while his duties involve being present at that event, Yunho's is equivalent to being characterized by his absence because he must prioritize his work instead of a charity gala.

He understands why Yunho is absent, but he's still disappointed. Even if they can't stand side by side, he still would have found a way to smile often after connecting his eyes to Yunho's.

But Yunho is not there, and he has to admit that just as he’s frustrated, he also feels a bit calmer. He feels it’s getting harder and harder to look away to pretend that he hasn't been looking at Yunho and that his hands don’t itch when Yunho is near him.

Since Yunho is not present, he decides to approach one of the two people who know that Yunho’s absence is the reason behind his lack of a wide smile.

Finding Wooyoung isn't hard, not when he's sporting lilac locks, and not when he seems to be the only one relaxed enough to choose to offer a pleasant smile to one of the bartenders at the place's square bar.

He shakes his head as he thinks he'll just continue to ruin his own mood when he thinks Utopia's bar is prettier, and finally decides to approach him.

“Well, at least someone seems to be having fun,” he mentions as he slides into the space left by Wooyoung and a couple.

Wooyoung seems surprised to see him, but he promptly keeps a smile on his face and wets his lips with whatever he ordered to drink.

“Don't you like being surrounded by people who are twice our age, triple even, and do nothing more than tell you about the news that you can easily find on Twitter?” Wooyoung expresses with total irony, and he doesn't avoid the laughter that leaves his mouth.

“And Yeosang?” he asks him. He doesn't know if it was conscious or unconscious of Wooyoung to leave a gap by his side. Maybe for Yeosang, maybe because there has simply been someone by his side before but not anymore.

Still, he finds it strange that they're not side by side. He himself has chosen to get closer to Wooyoung after being a familiar face, so he can only wonder how Yeosang isn't by his side when they haven't gotten apart since Wooyoung has shown up.

“With Seonghwa,” Wooyoung smiles, and he smiles too because it's rare to hear that kind of response. There’s an unstable relationship between Seonghwa and Yeosang, that's more than certain, so he's glad to hear that they don't seem to be arguing at the moment. “And your...”

He stares at Wooyoung when he leaves the sentence unfinished and looks at him as if he’s waiting for him to do it, until his eyes widen when he realizes that in a certain way, just as he has grown used to seeing Wooyoung and Yeosang as a duo, Wooyoung must think of him and Yunho in the same way.

“Working,” is what he manages to offer as an answer.

A person with whom fucks in secret? No, it sounds bad, and Yunho is more than that. Friend? No, definitely not that term. Rival? No, he's not convinced either. Yunho is just... Yunho. His... Yunho? His Yunho? A smile threatens to appear on his face.

“Bar?”

He nods, but is only able to think that Wooyoung must have guessed that Yunho works in a bar because Yeosang told him, because he read about it somewhere, or because of the way they've previously behaved towards him can only be explained if they, both Yunho and him, have thought of him as competition after also being part of companies that work at night.

“You know, ah, I wanted to...” He's actually glad to find himself chatting with Wooyoung. A part of him has been feeling a bit uneasy ever since Yeosang assured him that Wooyoung isn’t a threat. “Apologize if we made you feel uncomfortable.”

It’s never been his intention for Wooyoung to probably tell Yeosang that he didn't have such a good time at his party, since otherwise, Yeosang wouldn't have approached him about it. But he believes that he, too, can’t be blamed for acting the way he has. He smiled immediately, faking a smile at the person he considered a threat.

That same night is evidence that he’s used to responding that way. Smile at people you don't want to have against, falsely and hoping the other person falls for your fakeness. Wooyoung deserves better.

“I'm used to it,” he thinks it's sad the way he's used to reacting the way he does, and for Wooyoung to look down at the contents of his glass, the sudden melancholy that guides his face showing that it's certainly a habit for him to run into such reactions.

“Even if you are used to it, I’m still sorry,” perhaps Wooyoung's not used to hearing those words, so he likes to express them, and smiles when Wooyoung looks at him again, with a small pleasant smile. “It was my party, I don't want anyone to feel uncomfortable.”

“Don't worry, the only awkward party is this one,” Wooyoung exhales.

He nods, agreeing, and decides to continue talking because he hopes that Wooyoung will counteract the seriousness of the event they're currently at with the fun that his nightclub's parties provide.

“I've already told my...” He’s aware that they are surrounded by people, so he gesticulates with his hands instead of expressing Yunho's name, and he doesn't know what to think when he only needs to express the word my for Wooyoung to understand he’s talking about Yunho. “That you know that we are...”

Together. Wooyoung nods again, understanding the lack of the word that remains to express out loud but that he understands anyway. “And he's fine with that,” he finally manages to finish.

His.

Together.

Well, actually, Yunho is not fine with it but he won't say that out loud. He runs a hand through his hair, thinking he's not used to getting so caught up in his own thoughts when it comes to Yunho. But it's also true that he never talks about Yunho out loud because Yeosang and Wooyoung represent his first chances to do so.

“Thank you.” He allows Wooyoung to distract him. “Let’s toa— don't you drink? I'll drink even if you don't. I have to because the catering organization was offered to my parents, but they declined the offer and they told me to consume everything I see so they don't think we don't plan on consuming something just because of who we are.”

Mingi remains a bit speechless, with a negative answer stuck in his throat because all the words that Wooyoung just said come to his head.

“Your— your parents were offered the catering for this gala and they said no. They— they rejected the Prime Minister.”

Wooyoung nods and takes another sip from his glass.

“I think they should have said yes, I tried the tuna aperitive and it wasn’t that good,” Wooyoung pouts.

“I—” He opens his eyes and again words remain to be said as the reason he doesn't choose to drink that night returns to the main hall. “Shoot, I have to go,” he says when he notices that his parents are present.

“I'm sure Seonghwa too, so I'll go with Yeosang,” Wooyoung finishes the drink in one gulp and they both quickly walk away from the bar. “You have my full support if one day you decide to throw a party on the same day as one of these events. We will all thank you.”

With a smile and a hand from Wooyoung on his arm to back up his own words, the two cease to find themselves side by side.

He believes that the last thing he needs is to end the night by being scolded by his parents for not doing the only thing they asked him to do that night: stay close to Jongho. Accompany him, in fact.

He hasn't spoken to him yet, but a part of him hopes to do so just so his parents won't shake their heads if he mentions that he hasn't been able to talk to him. And in order to avoid that scene, he approaches one of the tables close to where Jongho is, and just as Wooyoung suggested, Seonghwa turns out to be the person in front of him.

They both look at each other, aware that they haven't been there as long as they probably should have been, and he decides to be the first to speak.

“I don't say anything, you don't say anything,” he proposes.

He doesn't know if Seonghwa has also been asked to stay completely close to Jongho or just say hello, but he does know that he’s surely expected to be seen around him, since just as he has stopped being with Wooyoung, Seonghwa has stopped being with Yeosang.

“Deal,” luckily, Seonghwa says.

He’s aware that it’s the first time they have spoken to each other despite both knowing Yeosang, and for the same reason, he decides to speak again.

“I know you know my name and I know yours, but either way, I'm Mingi.” he offers along with an animated smile. It isn't a false gesture, but a sincere one.

He might be angry that Seonghwa hasn't helped Yunho with his exams while Seonghwa might be angry with him for knowing the motives behind Hongjoong's initial approach towards him.

But he isn't, as Seonghwa has never owed him anything, and the way Seonghwa stops seeming to be interested in the glass of champagne in his hand assures him that he doesn't hold a grudge either.

In fact, a nice smile is sent his way. “Seonghwa,” he says.

“Did you... did you like my party?” he asks along with a smile since unlike with the others, with him, as well as with Wooyoung, he doesn’t need to dig into the corners of his head to think of a topic of conversation.

He tilts his head when Seonghwa opens his eyes, but promptly smiles, amused because he realizes that Seonghwa thinks he asked that question not because he recognized his face in the crowd of people present at his party, but because he spotted him dancing along with Hongjoong.

It’s a somewhat blurred memory, fuzzy details that he wouldn’t have been able to capture on his own. Yunho told him that Hongjoong wasn't alone. 

He decides to continue talking to distract himself from the fact that while Yunho has been by his side before, taking care of him as well as highlighting certain types of details for him, he isn’t present at that moment.

“Did you have a good time?”

“Yes, it was a fun night,” Seonghwa offers.

His cheeks are slightly pink and he knows that said coloration isn’t a byproduct of the champagne that Seonghwa decides to continue drinking at that moment.

He’s aware that his last name is equivalent to not having to try too hard to get what he wants, but his parties have always been and still are the exception. He throws parties and the expectations are high. Not because of his last name or family. A good party is always expected, always sought after if Illusion is the place, and as the host, he doesn’t seek to disappoint.

He knows that the vast majority of people who attend his same classes —if not all— have responsibilities that they try to forget about for a few hours. Whether with the help of music, alcohol, cigarettes, or even something else, everyone who walks through the doors of Illusion seeks to detach from reality, to feel free for even a single moment, and he seeks to provide that freedom.

His parties are his and no one else's. His first name is what matters, not his last name, so he always likes to hear an affirmative answer.

“More than this, don't you think?”

With Wooyoung’s positive words about his party, he takes a look around him and Seonghwa copies him. He agrees with Wooyoung, and not only because it was his party.

Around them, people in formal clothes are chatting with each other, most with a drink in hand. He knows he shouldn't complain considering it's a charity gala and as such, the reason behind the organization of the event is a good one, but he still can't help but think about how boring the night is.

He must admit that the place is more than nice, dreamlike, almost, but he can't express being completely surprised since Jongho's family has organized the evening —well, the entourage of people behind them ready to keep their last name in the big mouths.

“I take it you're also used to events like this?” Seonghwa asks him.

He nods. Certainly, he’s more than used to those kinds of events. Formal, endless.

“You can't even imagine,” his response to him proves him right. He’s used to having to stay quiet or start conversations, depending on his parents' wishes. “Have you also been asked to be close to Jongho?” He decides to ask Seonghwa.

Jongho is in his field of vision now, and he assumes that both of them are waiting for Jongho to finish chatting with the people who stay around him. To then release a breath, relaxed after being able to express that they have at least greeted Jongho.

Both he and Seonghwa don't behave in the same way as the people present around Jongho, he thinks, as ironic as it may sound. They are available to Jongho, in case he gets tired of talking to other people and decides to be with them. He believes that if Seonghwa chooses to shake his head, it will be a waste of time.

It's kind of boring keeping an eye on someone else, especially when it’s someone you don't know.

Seonghwa nods and he’s not surprised.

“Yes, I spoke to him to show him around our campus.”

“I don't know him, I mean, I don't think he's a bad person, I just...” he moves his hand around him, searching for a certain type of word that he can't find.

He doesn't know how to formulate words to explain how he feels. He realizes that he really isn't used to talking about his feelings.

“You would like to be with someone else right now?” Seonghwa asks him.

“Yes.” he nods again, grateful that Seonghwa put it into words. Apparently, he doesn't need to finish the sentence for Seonghwa to understand what they're talking about. Perhaps, he thinks, it’s because he's not the only one to feel like he misses a person. “You too?”

When Seonghwa chooses not to answer, he follows the direction of his eyes, and he can’t help but lift one of the corners of his mouth when his eyes land on Hongjoong. Seonghwa takes a second to look back at him, but he knows better.

Of stealing quick and sneaky glances, oh, he sure is an expert on the matter.

He thinks the way one looks at the other when the other isn't paying attention is interesting. While at that time he caught Seonghwa looking at Hongjoong, he previously caught Hongjoong looking at Seonghwa. The only thing different is the location. College or not, it doesn't matter.

Seonghwa clears his throat, and he chooses to keep an amused smile on his face.

“Perhaps,” Seonghwa agrees.

He parts his lips to speak, amused by the situation, but stays silent as he notices Jongho approaching them at that moment. He maintains a neutral expression at the exact moment he sees a smile appear on Seonghwa's face. If it's a sincere gesture or not, he really can't figure it out.

“Hello,” Jongho greets Seonghwa with a small smile while he gives him a shorter smile gesture.

“Hello,” Seonghwa greets him, and he realizes that Seonghwa is quick to deduce relationships without needing information.

Or who knows, maybe he has the information, but nonetheless, Seonghwa decides to introduce them once he notes they don't know each other personally, or at least not formally because they've seen each other at other events since their parents belong to the same sphere.

“Jongho, this is Mingi, Mingi, this is Jongho.”

At the introduction, he waves his hand as he smiles.

He's glad he doesn't have to shake someone else's hand. He doesn't think so because of Jongho, but because many times he has to shake the hands of ladies who trap his hand in theirs to express how handsome he’s, and no thanks, he prefers to listen to the compliments that come out of Yunho's mouth—

Okay, Yunho definitely got his way by sticking his hand into his boxers and whispering the right words so he couldn't stop thinking about him.

His sincerity seems to be picked up on by Jongho as he smiles too, though he promptly rests his eyes on Seonghwa.

“I was wondering if I could ask you a question?” Jongho says.

“Yes, of course.”

He remains attentive and intrigued.

“There's a student I've seen, he has a birthmark here.”

As soon as Jongho brings his hands close to his temple to indicate where the birthmark is, he can’t help but raise both eyebrows. He knows exactly who he’s talking about.

“Do you know if he will attend the gala?” The look he shares with Seonghwa assures him he's not the only one who knows who Jongho is talking about. “His hair is pink and his name is Yeo—”

“Yeosang,” Seonghwa nods, and Mingi’s more than amused. “My brother, Yeosang.”

Jongho looks shocked.

“Brother?”

“Half-brother,” Seonghwa says. “Brother.”

He looks at Seonghwa, noticing that just as he previously heard Yeosang express the word brother to refer to Seonghwa, to determine that there’s no room for anyone to imply that Seonghwa is not his real brother, Seonghwa seems to pronounce those words with the same intention.

Seonghwa is probably used to people reacting with some surprise when he says that Yeosang is his brother. They are both pretty, really pretty, that’s easy to tell, but their facial features don’t resemble each other, so he must be used to providing explanations for the lack of resemblance with the help of a single word.

“He is here. Why?” Seonghwa continues.

"I wasted his smoothie and ruined his uniform. I want to apologize for said actions."

He appreciates the lack of attention to his person because he tries to avoid laughing by forming a line with his lips. He can only remember Yeosang grumbling about how Jongho indeed ruined his uniform with a smoothie.

“I'm sorry for any reaction he might have had,” Seonghwa chooses to say.

"No apologies are necessary. I didn't look well where I was walking and didn't pay attention, the incident was my fault," Jongho says instead of looking annoyed. He looks around them and promptly gives them a short smile that doesn't really look like a smile. “Excuse me for a moment, I must greet this person,” he adds before leaving them.

He finally allows a chuckle to leave his lips, though he coughs to hide it as Seonghwa doesn't hesitate to throw him a look and take a sip of the champagne in his hand.

Whether it's because fortunately, Jongho doesn't seem to be angry with Yeosang, because he has asked about Yeosang, or because he surely did expect Jongho to complain about his messy encounter with Yeosang, Seonghwa wets his lips with champagne.

“So, interested in Yeosang, huh?” he asks, amused.

He’s aware that both his smile and his tone of voice aren’t innocent.

Until now, he has been able to notice that the relationship between Yeosang and Seonghwa can’t be described as the best, so he finds it entertaining how both don’t hesitate to pronounce and defend the use of the word brother to refer to the connection between them when the other isn’t present.

“Yeosang told me that he insulted him,” Seonghwa chooses to tell him, “And I've been paying attention since the gala started so their paths don't cross.”

He can’t help but laugh.

Jongho seems interested so good luck with that he wants to say, but doesn't.

It's apparent that while Yeosang doesn't behave as he's probably expected to behave, Seonghwa deals with his frustrations by keeping a half-empty glass of champagne in his hand. Yeah, he definitely doesn't say those words out loud because neither of them wants Seonghwa to end up drunk.

Jongho once again approaches them, though this time with what appears to be an apologetic smile.

“Thank you for being with me,” he says, shifting his gaze between him and Seonghwa. “I know you surely have other plans.”

He wouldn’t have hesitated to tell him that he’s right, that he wouldn't even be there if he could have chosen the plans for that night, but he never forgets that his family is where it is not only because his parents are good at what they do, but also because of the connections they have —that they create, that they build and that they make sure to take care of.

He has to play his part too. However, he doesn’t find it tedious that night.

“Don’t worry, this is interesting," he chooses to say. Maybe it's true that he would prefer to be with Yunho, wearing comfortable clothes, or maybe none, who knows, smiling when he wants to and if he wants to, but he doesn't think he can complain.

Seonghwa nods, agreeing with him. They probably wouldn’t have exchanged many words with Jongho in case their mothers hadn’t asked them to, but just as they are for Jongho, Jongho is for them.

Having to be with him means not having to be fake with other people, not being forced to approach other people of different ages. At least Jongho is in his age range, so it's not a nightmare having to keep him close.

Though he previously associated a bad feeling with his presence, and he still hasn't completely gotten rid of that sensation, he doesn't think he can say that Jongho is unbearable.

“At least I get the chance to talk if you two are with me,” Jongho curls one corner of his mouth. “Most of the time I have to keep quiet,” he adds.

“I envy you,” Seonghwa says. “I just have to talk, talk, and talk again.”

“I think the three of us have something in common,” he assures them.

Their last names are different and Jongho is part of the tip of the social pyramid while he’s a step behind and Seonghwa is far from them. Yet regardless of what their parents work for or how many numbers identify their bank accounts, the reality is that the three know how to pretend and to be polite.

“Besides the uniform,” Jongho laughs.

“Why have you started studying at our university?” he asks, noting that Seonghwa doesn’t avoid looking at Jongho after hearing his question.

He’s been curious ever since his mother voiced Jongho's name, ever since he learned that Jongho is at his university now. The institution is indeed privileged, but that doesn’t mean that there aren’t other prestigious universities throughout the country, some even more exclusive. So it's certainly intriguing to suddenly have the Prime Minister's son wearing his same uniform.

“The new director is very good, that’s what we have heard.” though he has asked the question, Jongho offers Seonghwa a small smile after pronouncing those words.

He chooses not to say a word about it. It's not that he doesn't trust Seonghwa's mother's abilities —he doesn't think he's capable of commenting on it, but he can't help but think that Jongho's sudden presence at the university is more than just a fluke.

And besides, although the problem has been solved, he doesn’t forget that Yunho has spent stressful days due to the possibility of being kicked out of it.

The fleeting glance that he crosses with Seonghwa assures him that he is not the only one thinking that information is missing to be expressed, but they both choose to end the visual contact.

“I assume it's not the best time to be here.”

He can't avoid the sudden tension that embraces his shoulders when he recognizes San's voice, and turning his head is enough to indeed find San beside him.

He wishes he could disappear or at least stop being the tallest of the four. San's serious expression ensures that he isn’t amused, he knows that San and Seonghwa don't get along, or at least don't smile at each other, and he doubts that Jongho chose to mention the words he said with the intention of insulting someone.

He decides to clear his throat.

“San, this is Jongho.” San looks at him before looking at Jongho. “Jongho, this is San,” both Choi, he realizes at that moment.

San only offers a small smile, a fake one, he notes, since if they are capable of formulating false smiles with their mouths it’s because more than once they have had the opportunity to observe the same ones dedicated in their direction.

“It's good to know that nothing more and nothing less than the son of the Prime Minister is already enjoying the new mandate.”

“I'm sorry, did I say something?” Jongho seems honestly concerned about the possibility of having mentioned hurtful words.

“Don't worry. Nothing I haven't heard before.” it's the only thing San tells him before allowing their eyes to connect again, though he lowers his gaze when San does. “I just wanted to give this back to you. Thank you.”

When San drops his car keys into the hand that he opens between them, he remembers that San asked him if he could leave his blazer in it.

“All good?” he asks, his voice a bit low as San moves, indicating that he plans to drop out of the conversation.

“Yeah, I just hate being here,” San replies, and walks away from him before even allowing him to ask another question or if he wants him to be with him.

He knows that San has never been a fan of big events and that he only attends each of his parties because he organizes them and Illusion is a familiar place, familiar to San already, but he doubts that the presence of many people and an unknown place are the sole motives behind his words.

“Did I say something?” Jongho's voice distracts him.

“His father is the former director,” he refocuses on the conversation when Seonghwa chooses to respond, showing that he was silent because of San and not because he suddenly lost his voice. “We have argued about it.”

He looks at Seonghwa because he doesn't think it's fair for Seonghwa himself to take credit for San's short but serious presence.

He parts his lips, prepared to express that San probably isn't enjoying the evening because some of the people present are the same people who have taken his father's job, but Jongho speaks first.

“Ah, so he and Yeosang don't get along either?”

“No, only me. Don't worry.”

“I think you could get along.” This time he manages to speak, getting both Jongho and Seonghwa to look at him. “Just like you've started to do with Hongjoong.”

San and Yeosang get along well after all, and with Wooyoung too although Wooyoung himself has told him that he has pushed San. If even Seonghwa and Hongjoong get along, more than well he thinks, but this is not the time to focus on that thought, then San and Seonghwa could also choose to leave all traces of hostility aside.

Instead of answering, he notices that Seonghwa looks at Hongjoong again, and that on that occasion, Hongjoong's eyes do meet Seonghwa's.

Fortunately, all the seriousness that appeared to guide Seonghwa disappears when Hongjoong waves and smiles at him. Soon enough, though, Seonghwa turns around and holds the beginning of a grimace.

He raises both eyebrows when Seonghwa again takes a sip of his champagne.

“Is that your boyfriend? I've noticed the looks that he's been giving you from time to time. I’m sure you two must look quite good together.”

Seonghwa chokes on his drink and Jongho doesn't seem to understand why his words elicit such a reaction.

He grins.

Oh well, he misses Yunho, but maybe the night won't be as boring as he thought.

Chapter 20

Wooyoung again rests his eyes on Yeosang when he speaks.

“You... you were okay, right? I mean, you were talking to him, weren't you?” Yeosang asks, tugging gently on the end of one of his sleeves. “Perhaps I said or did something that bothered him,” though the lollipop present in Yeosang's mouth doesn’t represent an obstacle to the pronunciation of those words, his tone of voice is low and he keeps his eyes down.

He takes advantage of the fact that Yeosang isn’t looking at him to narrow his eyes. 

He doubts that the way Yeosang fiddles with a piece of his clothing as he keeps his mouth busy with a lollipop is coincidental. He’s nervous. And besides, he keeps staring at the floor.

Yeosang's behavior is only characterized in two ways if he’s nervous and they happen to be side by side. Either one of Yeosang's hands clings to one of his arms to stay close to him, or he keeps his eyes glued to the ground to avoid crossing glances with everyone. Yeosang’s low tone of voice only assures him that he probably would have been absent from the gala if he could have chosen, and the lack of a smile on his face is evidence enough that being present was certainly not his choice.

“Why don't you go with Kyungmin?” he asks Yeosang, taking in his favor the presence of his family because Yeosang is close to them. A smile tends to grace Yeosang’s face when his younger brother appears, and Yeosang’s presence never fails to make Kyungmin smile. “I’ll take care of this.”

Yeosang raises his head as soon as he hears him.

“N— no, you don't have to.”

“Of course I have to,” he says. Yeosang isn't having a good night even if he's next to him. “We were more than okay and now he's acting weird, so you go have a good night and I'll take care of this, okay?”

He can only describe as weird the way they are currently talking about San as only a few days ago he found San chatting with Yeosang in the kitchen of his house.

Yeosang doesn't nod but he doesn't shake his head either.

He places a kiss on Yeosang’s cheek when Yeosang doesn’t answer. Such a gesture usually reassures Yeosang, he knows that. His affection tends to appease any bad feelings.

“Okay?” he repeats.

Although he takes a few seconds, this time, Yeosang nods.

He follows Yeosang with his eyes as he approaches Kyungmin, and allows a smile to spread over his face after seeing his younger brother asking Yeosang to pick him up. That smile soon disappears though, as he turns his head, and catching San with his gaze on him isn’t a surprise, since San's serious eyes have been the cause behind the conversation he just had with yeosang.

San does seem surprised by the way he decides to head toward him at a directed pace, but he doesn’t seek to pull away once he takes his wrist after invading his personal space.

“You. Me. Now.”

He doesn't expect San to say a word and he doesn't resist the contact either, so he drags him away from the eyes of others. As it’s his first time in that hotel, he scans the place with his eyes until he finally finds a room that seems to be empty.

He closes the door behind them as soon as they enter and he doesn't hesitate to let go of San and cross his arms once they are alone.

San watches him with a neutral expression as he opts to raise an eyebrow, shifting the entire weight of his body to one of his legs. He believes that San should consider himself lucky for the fact that he doesn't choose to push him around like he did the first time they met.

“So?” he decides to ask him. “Do you have a problem with us or what?”

“Eh?”

He rolls his eyes as San looks at him in confusion.

“I thought we had fixed everything,” he starts, not thinking he has the patience to have that conversation. “But ever since the gala started, you've been looking at us with this serious look on your face. Do you want to mess with Yeosang again?” he asks, moving closer to him. “Or with me, huh?” Once again, even if San is taller and broader than him, he faces him.

He doesn't understand why San has been glancing at them ever since the gala started. He even talked to Yeosang before the gala, and both agreed that staying close to San would be a good idea since they get along now and San knows the people around them while Seoul represents unfamiliar territory for them. Yunho is not present and Mingi said that he has to stay close to Jongho.

And he did appear with Yeosang, thinking that with Yeosang by his side and San close by, they could make the gala an entertaining night, but that idea became a discarded plan as soon as they noticed that San looked at them seriously instead of along with a smile.

Yeosang agrees with him that San has been acting strange ever since the three of them were in the bathroom when Yeosang interrupted them after meeting Jongho. Perhaps San has chosen to throw away the advances that the three have made toward each other and they are finding out about that change of attitude that night.

“What?” San still seems to be beyond confused with his words. “No. I don't have a problem with you two. It's not that.”

San backs up to leave his back against the wall behind him and copies him by crossing his arms. He doesn’t hesitate to close the distance between them after once again standing in front of him.

“What is it, then?” He insists.

He doesn't understand why San has been looking at them throughout the night, then. If San expresses not having any problem with him or Yeosang, his wary behavior makes no sense.

Even if San looks away instead of giving him an answer, he keeps looking at him. He doesn’t understand the reason for the sudden change in attitude. He’s aware that both Yeosang's mother and San's father are present at the gala, but he doubts that San's seriousness is related to that detail.

San looks back at him again, and he narrows his gaze when he's sure San lowers his gaze to his lips before looking up again. San throws his arms around him, seeming to give up, and huffs.

“Fuck— I just—” he rubs his face with both hands before looking at him. “I want to kiss you and I'm jealous, that's why.” San exhales a frustrated breath as he scratches the back of his head. He blinks as soon as he hears San and his eyes widen. “Damn it, I can't believe you just made me say that out loud.”

He blinks before tilting his head, and looks around him without really paying attention to the details before again focusing his dumbfounded gaze on San.

He wonders if perhaps he has had too much to drink and the current conversation is only taking place inside his head, but the truth is that up to now he has only drunk a glass, so he keeps looking at San, though this time, not with a trace of seriousness.

“You...” he can't help but interrupt himself as soon as he starts his sentence because he thinks he's still processing the words San just mentioned. “You've been looking at us— looking at me...” from what San said, the situation has never directly involved Yeosang. “Because you were jealous of Yeosang. Because you want to kiss me? Because you want to kiss me.”

Perhaps Yeosang has been collateral damage after being by his side.

He tilts his head to the other side, still a bit confused.

San just expressed, explicitly, that he wants to kiss him, right?

“Kinda?” San offers.

Forming a line with his lips is the only thing he feels capable of doing at that moment. Baffled, he wonders when people have decided it's better to cast uncertain glances throughout a night than take a second or two to choose to add candor to the repertoire.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“Wha—”

He doesn't allow San to finish his sentence after pressing his lips to his once he decides to unfold his arms, and closes the distance between them by placing his hands on his arms.

San tenses at the closeness, at the abruptness that accompanies his actions and the impulsiveness of his decisions, but quickly allows himself to relax, and a tentative hand finds his waist.

He believes that sometimes —if not all times— it's better to express oneself honestly than waste time doubting. He leaves a few millimeters between them at the same time that San seems to stop thinking of his closeness as a surprise, and he decides to speak when he notices the doubt that accompanies San's look.

Even if he considers himself a spontaneous person and San has certainly just said that he has wanted to kiss him, that he has been thinking of acclaiming his lips with his, he always seeks to know that the person who is with him is in tune with his words and actions.

“I told you the first time I saw you,” he starts, believing that San keeps focusing on the fact that he’s pushed him against the lockers instead of the first words he said to him. “I'd be so into you if you weren't such a prick.” he reminds him.

San forms a small pout with his lips.

“I'm not a prick.”

He allows a small chuckle to leave his mouth. Perhaps at first he did think that that adjective fitted him since they didn’t greet each other with a friendly shake of hands and nice smiles weren’t exchanged, but the current closeness dictates otherwise.

“No, you're not,” he says, “And therefore, I am very much into you.”

Even if he has sealed his lips with his and is still close to him, words seem to be the ones to do the trick for San to finally understand that he doesn't have to be jealous or give meaningless serious looks.

San stares at him, switching his eyes between him and his lips, and he doesn't look away when he feels San's other hand settle on his waist. He didn't expect that kind of closeness to happen at the time, but he expresses no complaint about it.

“It's mutual,” San assures him, and those words are all he needs to get closer to him and again find his lips with his.

Instead of being surprised by that closeness, this time San reciprocates his kiss with the same intensity. He accepts for San to guide him until he feels that he’s sitting on something soft —perhaps the back of a couch. He doesn't know and he doesn't waste time thinking about it since all he can focus on is the way San gets to place himself at the center of his thoughts by spreading his legs so he can stand between them.

San’s tongue slides in between his lips and he wraps his arms around San’s neck, not wanting that closeness to end.

It's a strange feeling, new but strange, allowing lips that don't belong to Yeosang to find his. Many kisses come and go with other people, but Yeosang has always been his only constant. But despite the habit that Yeosang represents, he doesn't turn away from San to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. He has kissed San first, after all.

San digs the fingertips of one hand into his waist and he would have complained about the obstacle that the fabric of his clothes represent hadn’t San chosen to slide his other hand to the back of his neck.

He continues with his eyes closed although San's lips stop meeting his. He takes advantage of the freedom that San gives him to lick his lips as San provokes a meeting between his mouth and his neck. He doesn’t know very well what to think, he doesn’t even know if he’s capable of thinking.

An itch decorates the back of his neck and he only knows that he wants San to continue to stay close to him. Since the beginning of the gala, he's been wondering what could have happened for San to choose to stay far away instead of close, and he realizes, then, that perhaps San isn't the only one who has been craving a more intimate closeness.

“I can't believe you fell for me because I pushed you and because you saw me high,” he chooses to express just because, for no particular reason other than to allow an amused smile to caress his face. 

“What about you, huh?” San’s whispered words tickle his neck.

Finally, he opens his eyes after feeling San's lips on that part of his body, and the wall of the room is a boring image when he could be admiring the definition of San's facial features. He leaves his hands on San’s nape too, although unlike him, he gets San to watch him by gently tugging on the beginning of his dark strands.

“I've never said I was better,” he says. One look at San was enough to know that he wouldn't mind kissing him to establish a closer proximity with him.

Instead of smiling proudly upon hearing those words, San is the one to catch his lips with his on that occasion, and he stops keeping one of his hands on San’s nape to hold onto whatever he’s sitting on so as not to fall due to the intensity that San doesn’t hesitate to guide his actions with.

“You showed up,” San says but again presses his lips to his. “With Yeosang by your side and both of you looked at me,” this time San does leave a little distance between them, and in a way, he thinks that he would have liked to have left his hand on his chest to feel the low rhythm of it under his touch. “Expectantly, and...”

San looks troubled and he decides to lower his hands to his chest, although this time to try to comfort him because he doesn't understand why he has suddenly replaced the desire present in his gaze with a tormented expression. San lowers his gaze to his own chest, seeming to observe the way he has spread his palms over that part of his body before looking at him.

“Nobody looks at me anymore, not since my dad stopped being the director. I no longer matter and still, you looked and you look at me.”

He can't help but frown, confused and impressed with the words he hears because he thinks there's more to say, and it's not simply what he hears, but he tilts his head. He can’t lie and express that he understands him, since his last name has guided his circle of people ever since he was born, and later he made his own with his own personality. Yet if the problem is that San doesn't feel wanted, then he plans to fix said problem with his own mouth and hands.

“And then jealous of what?” he asks. At all times San could have said that he was annoyed that he appeared with Yeosang by his side, and that he would have liked to ask him to go with him. He hasn't, and he thinks he won't either.

“Your closeness, your friendship with Yeosang is good for you,” San says.

This time San does leave space between his sentences when he opts to place a short kiss on his lips. San takes his face in his hands, but he frowns because he has always considered that his friendship with Yeosang is good for him.

“You will be and you are welcome here. If you are with me, that won’t happen.” San continues. “Yeosang is new just like you while I have been here all my life, and yet he is the one who can offer you something better instead of me.”

He parts his lips but no words are spoken, and once again confirms that San has no idea who he is, because no matter who is next to him, he will be welcome. And thinking about that is nothing more than irony since his parents left South Korea because they didn't feel welcome. Now they come back and everyone wants to shake hands with his family. Everyone except for San, because San is unaware of the greatness behind his last name. Instead of being the person used, San wants him to use him.

San does know his name and his relationship with Yeosang, but he doesn't know who he is. He realized the same when they met. Unlike the others, San has never considered him a threat. And if he has done it, it’s because he has pushed him in defense of Yeosang and not because of the letters that make up his last name.

He believes that San is naive for implying that he has chosen to stay away and allow a certain resentment to accompany his look for not considering himself enough.

It's not a surprise, it really isn't a surprise, to be drawn to the one person who has ever judged him by his first name and not his last name.

“I—” he thinks this is not the right time to mention that he doesn't need connections or other people to feel welcome. While he does consider that it’s the perfect occasion to assure San that he shouldn't feel more or less for his own connections, lost and broken for that moment. “I just want you to welcome me as no one else will,” he asks in a whisper, already bringing his mouth closer to his.

San’s lips graze his and he believes that San really wants to be close to him despite the words he said earlier, but none of that matters because his body finds a hard surface at the same time that he hears the sound of a door opening, and San replaces the ghost of his lips on his with his hand as they end up on the floor.

He wraps his hand around San's wrist, not expecting the abrupt change, but stays still when he understands that they are no longer alone.

“There's no one here so make it quick.”

He tenses up and his eyes widen as he recognizes Yeosang's mother's voice. He looks to his side but notes that he has certainly been sitting on the edge of the back of a couch until now since his eyes only find its back.

They are hiding.

“My son told me that he’s been associating with yours.”

He rests his eyes on San when he makes the same head movement when he hears the male voice expressing those words. There’s someone with Yeosang's mother, and from how San once again rests his eyes on him to mouth two words in silence, he understands that it’s San's father.

He doesn’t doubt that the surprise is more than evident on his face, enough that for the moment San chooses to continue with his hand over his mouth as otherwise, a sound of surprise would probably have left his lips.

Why did Yeosang's mother and San's father find a room to talk alone? Since when do Yeosang's mother and San's father keep in touch? Both Yeosang and San have previously fought on their behalf.

“They haven't exchanged a word all night,” he hears Yeosang's mother say.

“Not here, but when they have classes,” San's father clarifies.

“I denied to Yeosang that we know each other.”

He looks at San when he hears those words but San doesn't seem to be surprised by what he hears. How has Yeosang come to the conclusion that his mother knows San's father and why has his mother denied that they do? He believes that Yeosang has already mentioned that detail to San because he stares at him.

Having gone from standing still to hiding behind a couch is no longer a bother. His leg nor his hips no longer hurt from the abruptness of that change. No, what presses is his chest because Yeosang hasn't told him details that San does know.

Since when does Yeosang hide things from him?

“Then I'll do the same,” San frowns before turning his head, probably wanting to look at his father when he hears him, but his gaze only runs to the back of the couch. “I still don’t understand why you want them to stay apart.”

“I think it's better if they don't interact.” Yeosang’s mother insists.

“I think you're exaggerating. Even if they talk about us, what could it be about?”

“Let’s just make sure they stay apart.”

He recognizes the way San’s father sighs.

San forms a line with his lips, probably to force himself to stay silent and thus not give away that they are present. He wants to complain.

No words are added and soon their voices are replaced with the sound of receding footsteps and a door opening only to be closed again. Though they are sure that they are alone again, San doesn’t withdraw his hand from his mouth even if they stare at each other, both thinking about the conversation they are sure they weren’t supposed to hear.

Once he’s sure they won't be interrupted again, he gently frees San’s wrist from his hand and San stops covering his mouth with his hand. The two straighten up but stay behind the couch nonetheless.

They don't speak though they already know they can. He frowns, confused because while he knows that lately, even before he moved, Yeosang hasn't been having the best of relationships with his mother, he hasn't expected the lack of communication to be on purpose.

He looks at San, and as their eyes meet and it's more than noticeable that they're both just as confused, he finally decides to speak.

“What was that?”

San parts his lips to speak but closes them. He lets his back touch the back of the couch and bends his knees to bring them close to his chest while still allowing his face to be characterized by a confused expression.

“My dad is okay with me not interacting with Yeosang,” he says, reflecting on the words they both just heard. “Why? Damn it. I shouldn't have told him that I'm talking to him,” he takes his hands to his head to rub his strands in a somewhat violent way, seeming to be blaming himself.

“Hey, hey, stop that,” he rests one of his hands on his shoulder and fortunately the kindness that accompanies his tone of voice seems to be enough for San to watch him and stop his hands. “I wonder what they're up to.”

“They're hiding something, obviously,” San determines.

He knows that San is talking about his father and Yeosang's mother, yet he can't help but think about Yeosang and why he hasn't expressed a word about it to him.

“I can't get close to Yeosang at the gala. Not even you,” San captures his attention by adding those words, sounding more than sure.

“Now you will ignore us?” Wooyoung asks him. He doesn’t doubt that his blank look is enough to express that it doesn’t seem like the smartest decision to go from being more than close to deciding not to interact.

“You heard my dad.”

“You heard Yeosang's mom. Just tell your dad we're talking about stupid things, or, I don't know,” he shrugs, feigning innocence as he touches San's thigh with his index finger. “That we don't talk at all because our mouths are busy doing other kinds of things.”

While he believes that it isn’t the perfect time for his mind to be distracted by the closeness he has shared with San, he blames the interruption and not his body for still getting used to the lack of San’s hand over his figure.

He guesses he's not the only one allowing himself to be momentarily distracted, for instead of frowning at this, San puts a hand on the back of his neck and he inhales a short breath as San guides him toward him until their mouths remain close, a millimeter apart.

San's breath tickles his lips, but the moment they exchange a glance seems to be enough for both of them to silently understand that if they eliminate all the distance between them again, it will be the moment they allow themselves to be completely distracted, so he doesn't complain when San's hand is no longer on the back of his neck.

“I want to find out what's going on,” San whispers over his lips.

“We need Yeosang.”

He forms a line with his lips as he utters the name of his best friend. While a part of him doesn't want to change the course of Yeosang's night, another part can't help but think that Yeosang probably won't be as impressed with what happened because apparently, he knows more than what he says.

“Come on, we have to tell him.”

San gets up and they finally both stop being behind the ouch once he accepts San's hands to stand up.

He may be exaggerating, he doesn't know, but he feels his chest heavy. Why wouldn't Yeosang tell him that his mother knows San's father? Has he previously talked about it with San? Is it possible, that perhaps, they talked about it in the kitchen of his house before he showed up?

“A... a question.” he can't help but stop San when he notices that he's about to head for the door. “From what I understand, has Yeosang already told you? That his mom denied knowing your dad.”

“Yes, why?”

“Nothing,” he quickly shakes his head at the same time that he’s aware of the heaviness that is accentuated on his chest as he confirms that Yeosang no longer tells him everything.

They have barely spent a few days apart, living in different cities. How much can change in a couple of days? Is it wrong to expect Yeosang to tell him details about his life?

“Just to make sure we have the same information so we don't get tangled up more than enough,” he adds as San tilts his head.

San nods, seeming to believe his words, and they both approach the door, but San is the one to stop him this time.

“A question for you. This...” he looks down at the hand that San leaves between them to shyly point between them. “Mh, later? Can we pick it up later?” he asks, sounding like he's nervous about the answer he may hear.

He quickly soothes his nerves. “Yeah,” he says.

A short smile comes over San's face upon hearing this, and they both make sure to fix their outfits as well as their locks as much as they can before finally opening the door.

---

“Hello, you little muffin,” Seonghwa pats Kyungmin on the head before Kyungmin smiles at him and runs to his parents, no longer being more than comfortable in Yeosang's arms, whom he watches at that moment. “It's weird not seeing you with the other Jung,” he adds, since not seeing Wooyoung next to Yeosang is why he has decided to approach him. “Where is he?”

“He went to talk to San...”

“Mh?”

He raises an eyebrow when Yeosang opts to fold his arms even if he tries to feign disinterest in the situation after shrugging his shoulders.

“He was looking at us weirdly, so...”

“Have they had a fight?”

“Not really,” he’s relieved to hear that negative answer. “I've seen you with Mingi and Jongho,” Yeosang says, probably to change the topic of conversation. “Are you listening to mom?”

He opens his eyes when he hears that Yeosang has seen him close to Jongho, and therefore Jongho, but he blinks because Yeosang hasn't chosen to get closer. At his words, he believes that he has done Yeosang a favor by certainly staying close not only to Jongho but also to Mingi. Both are important people because their families are related to the spheres of politics. Yeosang has assured him that if he stays close to Mingi it’s because he wants to, though, not because his mother asks him to.

“I'm here now, aren't I?”

He has spent the whole night getting close to both Yeosang and Jongho. First, to make sure that their paths don't cross since one time was enough to understand that for the moment it's preferable that the two of them stay on their own unless they want an accident to happen in the middle of the gala. But also because just as he has chosen to stay close to Yeosang because he has told him so even though Yeosang hasn’t said any answer, it hasn’t been a bother to be close to Jongho.

He can’t express being surprised. Jongho was polite when he showed him the buildings of the institution and thanked him for taking the time to do it. Staying close hasn't been a problem, much less with Mingi present as well, even when San momentarily decided to join their conversation.

But Mingi is nowhere to be found and Jongho is currently in the middle of a conversation with other people, so staying close to Yeosang again shouldn't be a problem. He remembers that Jongho mentioned Yeosang, but before he can elaborate on the subject, he stops sharing a look with Yeosang when they are interrupted by the mention of their names.

“Seonghwa. Yeosang. Hello,” A woman who doesn’t seem to be very young or very old greets them, sporting a nice smile on her face.

She's beautiful. Both her hair and her clothes make her stand out among all the people present, since she matches the light blue color of her undercut with the shirt she’s wearing. It has a bow, big enough to occupy the center of the shirt while the sleeves are pompous, and said article is tucked inside a white high-waisted skirt, the color of her heels too.

“Hello, I think you both know my son. I'm Hongjoong's mother, Kim Seri.”

He allows surprise to wash over him before forcing himself to keep a neutral expression upon hearing who she turns out to be. Seri. Ma, according to Hongjoong. He thinks it just makes sense to hear that she's Hongjoong's mother, he doesn't doubt that she's the mother who works in the fashion world. She looks stunning.

He prefers not to know why he feels sudden nerves creeping up his shoulders. Perhaps because of his own clothing. It must be for that, but he hopes that the corset top that he has decided to combine with high pants and a short blazer is enough to probably pass an outfit check.

“I think your mother has already told you a little about me, maybe?” she adds.

Able to hold conversations with people he barely knows, adept at continuing to talk without necessarily being completely enthusiastic about the topic of conversation. He knows how to behave, he knows what to do.

But everything feels so different. He doesn't know why he feels so nervous and intimidated knowing that the woman in front of him is Hongjoong's mother. She hasn't even approached with a dark aura, what's more, she’s smiling at him and it’s a genuine smile gesture, it’s easy to tell.

He doesn't know what's happening, but he really, really appreciates Yeosang's sneaky nudge at him.

“Yes, hello, yes,” he says and forces a small smile on his face when Hongjoong's mother smiles. He hopes it's not because of the clumsiness with which he just phrased those words. “Yes, a bit.”

“Great!” If Seri has noticed his emotional imbalance, she doesn't choose to mention it, and instead, switches her gaze between him and Yeosang, seeming enthusiastic. “I wanted to ask you two a question. I have a photoshoot tomorrow. My models have canceled. I wanted to know if you two were available to replace them and if you would like to do it.”

He’s aware of the looks and compliments that both he and Yeosang often receive due to the grace of their facial features, and yet, even though his mother has mentioned to him that Hongjoong’s mother would approach them before, he can't help but ask, “Us?”

“Yes, you two,” she smiles at them, “I don't think it will be difficult to get good angles of you two.”

“Well... yes... okay,” he says before he can even register what he's saying.

“Great! Thank you so much,” Seri smiles at them again. “Thanks for accepting, I'll keep in touch with more details.”

He exhales as soon as he's alone with Yeosang again, still wondering why he felt beyond nervous in the presence of Hongjoong's mother. Maybe it’s a family thing? Sometimes he feels nervous with Hongjoong too. He forms a line with his lips as Jongho's voice echoes in his head and the words Hongjoong's boyfriend guide his thoughts.

He tries to relax his shoulders and is promptly forced to stop keeping his gaze on Hongjoong's mother's back when Yeosang tugs on the fabric of his blazer to make him look at him.

“Why did you say yes?” Yeosang asks him as he lets go of his arm to cross his arms, not seeming to be happy with the not-so-sudden weekend plan since their mother did mention that Hongjoong's mother would probably approach them. “I don't want to spend the weekend doing things I don't want to.”

“You listened to her, it's a favor,” he says, not understanding why Yeosang reacts the way he does when it's just a photoshoot. “Why would I say no? If you can help someone, I don't see why not.”

“Because you know you can ask a favor in return considering who's the person that just talked to you, or because you really are a good person?”

He frowns as soon as he hears Yeosang. He believes that the formulation of that question and the questioning of his intentions is unfair, but as he parts his lips to reply, he’s interrupted, and not by Yeosang a second time.

“I have the same question.”

He stops looking at Yeosang when both turn their heads to the same side and find Hongjoong holding a serious expression. He straightens up as he notices that for the first time all night, Hongjoong has chosen to move closer to him, though with no trace of the smile previously sent his way.

He feels Yeosang’s eyes on him, but he keeps looking at Hongjoong.

“Your mom asked us to model for her tomorrow. I don't see why I'd say that we are not available when we are,” he says.

Why would he say no to a person who has been nice to him and only needs a favor that he and Yeosang can easily handle? Maybe it's true that their mother has mentioned it, but he thinks he would have agreed nonetheless.

“I bet not.”

He promptly holds a similar expression to Hongjoong’s as he notes the trace of irony and annoyance behind his words. The nervousness invoked by his mother's presence is quickly cast aside as he recognizes the irritation that accompanies Hongjoong's facial features.

“What does that mean?”

“My mom is pretty well known, isn't she? Oh, how the tables have turned.” Hongjoong narrows his eyes before crossing his arms. “Is this some kind of revenge?”

“What?” he asks, more than confused.

“I go to you first. Then you to me for other reasons.”

“Mom did ask him to come closer to you, but he didn't think about doing it,” Yeosang finally joins their conversation.

Hongjoong simply raises an eyebrow at those words, and he turns from Hongjoong to look at Yeosang.

“I don't think you're helping.”

“Why not?”

“Oh, no, no,” they both look at Hongjoong when he speaks. “Let him speak.”

“You have no right to react the way you are reacting when you did, in fact, approached me first, while now I’m only doing it for the sake of it,” Hongjoong has no right to reproach his actions or words when, as Hongjoong has said and they both know, Hongjoong has been the first to approach him under lies.

“It was his idea.” Hongjoong nods at Yeosang.

“But you did it anyway.” he believes that both Yeosang and Hongjoong were and still are to blame for disappointing him, and for the same reason, he has received an apology from both of them. They wouldn't have said the word sorry if they didn't feel guilty.

“Don't fight,” Yeosang tells them, “That has already been fixed.”

“He needs to calm down, not me,” he points to Hongjoong with his hand, still not understanding why that conversation is taking place.

Throughout the night Hongjoong has been smiling at him from afar, while at that moment he remains more than close to him, but without a trace of a smile.

“No, no,” Hongjoong shakes his head. “I don't have to calm down.”

“Enough,” the two stop looking at each other when Yeosang looks at them, looking back and forth between them. “It's just a photoshoot.”

“Exactly,” he emphasizes, not only for Hongjoong but also for Yeosang himself since just a few seconds ago he was complaining about it. Yeosang seems to notice that because a sudden frown decorates his face. “There’s nothing wrong with it.”

“But your mom asked you to do it, to accept whatever my mom told you, didn't she?” Hongjoong takes the way none of the two back down from the look they share as an answer to his question. “Ah, bingo. Do you do everything your mom asks of you, Park?”

He arches an eyebrow.

“Watch your words, Kim.”

“He's right.” he stops glaring at Hongjoong when Yeosang speaks. “If you don't want to do it, you don't have to. Mom has asked me to be near Mingi but I haven't. I'll talk to him if I feel like it, not if mom makes me.”

“Wow, one who thinks for himself.”

He chooses to ignore Hongjoong's comment.

“It's so easy for you to say that. So, so easy.” he can't help but express. He thinks it's a bit unfair the way Yeosang thinks he's a free person while he feels his hands are tied and his lips are sealed. “I'm always here to save you. And I don't know what's wrong with you.” He leaves his gaze on Hongjoong. “But I do think for myself.”

“Really? And do you remember when I asked you when was the last time you did something for yourself and you didn't know what to answer?”

He narrows his eyes at Hongjoong as soon as he listens to him, and feels betrayed. At no time have they expressed that the words they share between them should equal a secret, something that stays between them, but he feels betrayed nonetheless.

He feels betrayed and can't find other words to describe his frustration because Hongjoong's words let him down. He’s turning what he considered a nice moment between them, a good and entertaining night, even, into reproachful words.

“How do you always save me?” Yeosang asks him.

He touches one of his upper fangs with the tip of his tongue as he begins to feel irritation take over. He doesn't understand why Hongjoong is mad at him when he has only agreed to do a favor, not even thinking about his mother's words. And in any case, if he decides to listen to her and do what she asks him to do, it’s because he’s aware that he’s the puppet of the family while Yeosang still has freedoms that he doesn't.

Frustration is creeping up his shoulders because neither Hongjoong nor Yeosang understands him, and they don't even try to do so. They just attack him.

“Why are you two attacking me all of a sudden?”

It’s tiring.

“I don't need to be saved,” Yeosang assures him.

He stares at him.

“Yes, you do.”

Whether it's him with his concern that he still doesn't know how to express or Wooyoung and his presence, Yeosang does need to be saved.

“Is this something mom has asked you to do too?”

“No. I do it because I'm your older brother.”

“I never asked you to be.”

He's ready to reply to whatever Yeosang mentions, but every attempt at a sentence that he has thought of vanishes in his throat as soon as he hears the words that make up that sentence.

His chest hurts and he hasn't been pushed. No, it hurts because it hurts him to hear, to understand that he doesn't think of Yeosang the way Yeosang thinks of him. A good conversation won't solve everything, that's obvious, he understands that now. But one bad conversation is enough to lead to another, the communication ceases to exist, and Yeosang doesn’t hesitate to express that he doesn’t need him, that certainly, he has never asked him to be his brother.

Being half-siblings does make a difference sometimes.

“Okay,” he accepts in a low tone of voice.

Yeosang softens his expression upon hearing his tone of voice and Hongjoong looks as concerned as lost with that exchange of words. But it doesn't matter, nothing matters. His intentions don't really matter, do they?

“I don't... I don't know what I'm doing here,” What's the point of staying when Yeosang just assured him that they are brothers simply because they have the same mother and not because they have chosen it that way? “I'm not your friend,” he looks at Hongjoong and then at Yeosang. “And I'm not your family, so...”

For the first time since he dressed for the gala, he feels the corset hindering his breathing —or maybe it's not the corset. His makeup is a nuisance and he’s uncomfortable. The place is big, more than big, it’s a beautiful and luxurious hotel, but the space around him is getting smaller.

“You two seem to get along great, so talk to each other.”

He turns around, not waiting for them to mention a word. He places a hand on his stomach, not comfortable with the feeling of bitterness that embraces him, and hurries to leave once his vision blurs but ruining his makeup is not a possibility.

---

Yeosang glances at Hongjoong before choosing to walk away. He doesn't follow Seonghwa, he doesn't go in the same direction, but in the opposite. He tilts his head, bringing one of his hands to his neck as he bites the inner part of his cheek because he doesn't know what just happened.

Shit. Shit. Shit— he just hurt Seonghwa. He knows that.

He doesn't hesitate to take one of the glasses of champagne from one of the trays as soon as he feels his hands start to tremble. He holds the glass in both hands, knowing that sometimes having something to hold helps calm him down, even if said something is not stable between his fingers.

He feels guilty, but it's not his fault, is it? Seonghwa mentions that he always needs someone to save him, especially him. Is that true? If he isn’t guilty then why are his hands shaking and he feels restless?

He continues to bite the inner part of his cheek. He didn't expect to fight with Seonghwa tonight. How is he supposed to react when Seonghwa assures him that he constantly has to take care of him, that he's a bother? He says that he cares about him because he’s his older brother but implies that he has no choice but to save him, that he turns out to be nothing more than another task on his list.

He’s aware that their mother mentioned that Hongjoong's mother would probably approach them, but why do they have to do what their mother asks when their mother won't listen? At least not him.

He asked her not to move, and she didn't listen.

He asked her not to make him leave Wooyoung, and she didn't listen.

So why should he care about what his mother wants?

He swallows. He really thought that his relationship with Seonghwa was finally ab—

“Sangie!” He’s suddenly stopped and both Wooyoung and San become the major focus of his field of vision. “We have to tell you something, we just listened to your mom—”

“No, no, no,” he shakes his head, denied as soon as his mother is mentioned and he doesn't hesitate to interrupt Wooyoung. He’s tired. He’s exhausted. “I don’t— enough about my mom.”

“Sangie, what?” Wooyoung asks, confusion showing in his expression because he probably hasn't expected him to react that way. “Something happened?”

He can only wonder when something doesn't happen.

“I need air,” he says, walking past them. He needs much more than air.

“I'm going with you,” Wooyoung soon stands next to him.

“No, no,” he stops as soon as he’s accompanied. Wooyoung stops along with him. He doesn't want to ruin Wooyoung's night— Maybe by saying yes— Ah— He doesn't know if— Maybe allowing Wooyoung to be with him— He feels completely lost. “I just— I just—”

He wants to leave.

That event is nothing more than another scheme, another night of a much larger network, a crossroads where being fake and wearing a hypocritical smile is the default behavior.

But he doesn't feel capable of smiling, even if it's a gesture free from all honesty. He doesn't want to be around his mother, Seonghwa doesn't want to be around him, and he doesn't have a chance to be around his father.

Seonghwa told him that he would be close to him and he believes that they have never been this far from each other.

“It— it's... my first event without my dad. I need air. Don't follow me.” he says.

He picks up the pace again, but this time in a hurry so that Wooyoung doesn't follow him. He doesn't know if he takes Wooyoung not following him as a good thing or a bad thing. He doesn’t know and he doesn't want to know either, he's completely lost.

He doesn't understand why while his mother can show up with a smile and Seonghwa is ready to talk and approach others, he can’t. He doesn't know if he doesn't have the ability or just chooses not to use it.

Everyone seems to keep moving on except for him.

Maybe he’s exaggerating. Or maybe not?

Does mourning a death have a time limit?

With the beginning of a lump in his throat, he opens the door closest to him but stands still as the night unfolding before him isn’t the only image offered.

“Mingi.” Mingi falls into his presence as he turns to face him. “S— sorry, I didn’t—”

“Do you need fresh air like me?” Mingi offers instead of kicking him out. The small smile that appears on Mingi's face after asking that question doesn’t eliminate all his problems, but it does diminish his rush of nervousness.

He nods and closes the door behind him. He doubts the fresh air will make him feel any better, but at least the tightness in his chest has lessened and he doesn't have to worry about someone approaching him to later try to be part of his mother's intimate social circle.

“Join in, I could use some real company,” Mingi adds.

He approaches him and leaves his arms on the railing of the balcony. Just like Mingi, but he keeps holding the glass in between his hands. There's still a trace of tremor accompanying his fingers but the champagne doesn't threaten to leave the glass.

It’s not the first time that the city of Seoul unfolds before him, its lights making the city remain alive despite the dark sky that stands above them. He glances at Mingi and looks ahead again.

“Real?” he chooses to ask him.

He feels the way his fingers tighten around the crystal of the glass as he remembers the easy escape that lies between his phone and its case. It would all stop feeling so real if he just chose to cloud his senses again. He shifts in his place, uncomfortable with his own thoughts.

“I was with Jongho.” The name that leaves Mingi's mouth only leads him to feel the urge to give his glass to Mingi in order to have both hands free and thus be able to get high after decorating his palate with a bitter flavor. It would be so, so easy.

He’s aware that Jongho's family is the last name behind the gala, but so far he hasn't crossed paths with Jongho and he hopes the night continues that way. Seonghwa has asked him to stay away from Jongho, and for the first time, he plans to comply.

He swallows, worried as the fresh image of Seonghwa speaking in a low voice and walking away replays in his head.

“He wasn’t that bad,” Mingi shrugs, “I was with your brother but then we left.”

He’s not surprised to hear that Seonghwa has indeed chosen to listen to his mother, staying close to Jongho as she has requested him to. He doesn't know if he feels lucky because Seonghwa following his mother's instructions means his mother will stay somewhat satisfied, or unlucky, since after all, it means hearing, again, how Seonghwa is the son every mother wants, while he isn’t.

“Guess why I'm here...” he mentions.

He feels Mingi’s eyes on him. Mingi. He has to focus on Mingi. He’s afraid that the glass in his hands will break when he thinks that maybe he doesn't need only Seonghwa to save him. Maybe the people around him constantly save him and he doesn't even realize it.

If Seonghwa has stopped being together with Jongho while he hasn’t sought to continue being part —or at least being present, he has never felt part of the party— of the gala, it’s because his path has crossed with Seonghwa's.

“Have you two argued again?” He supposes the seriousness of his face is enough to offer an answer because Mingi doesn't need him to nod. “Damn. Are you okay?”

Mingi has barely entered his life and yet he’s already able to deduce that his relationship with Seonghwa can’t be described as nice. A kind and caring relationship between two brothers, he doubts those adjectives can relate to his endless clashes with Seonghwa.

He supposed or at least had supposed, that that night he would stay close to Seonghwa because for both of them it’s the first event without their father. But Seonghwa isn't even close to him, and he feels the necklace around his neck squeeze his throat when he thinks his father would probably be disappointed.

Is it his fault? Seonghwa’s or even Hongjoong’s?

Is he okay? Since when has he not been able to answer that question with an affirmative answer?

“I'm... I’m tired.” Maybe Seonghwa is too.

He’s not there by choice. Maybe he is by being next to Mingi, away from the rest of the people and the gala per se, but not at that event. He doesn't have the urge to practice a perfect smile, and he doesn't want to either. If Seonghwa is so perfect, then he can take it upon himself to charm the right people and keep away the ones he doesn't determine to be useful.

He doesn't want to pretend. He can, but he doesn't want to.

Why would someone as perfect as Seonghwa want him as a brother?

“Me too.” Mingi says.

He tenses up when Mingi leaves one of his arms around his shoulders, but he soon feels his body relax under that contact, and he even scoots a little closer to Mingi.

He looks at Mingi at the pronunciation of those words. He looks a bit bored, as well as disappointed. He doesn't blame him, nor does he question the reason for the certain seriousness that accompanies his facial features.

If he's already tired and it's only been a couple of hours, he wonders how exhausted Mingi must feel. He must be used to this type of parties, to this type of people, and although he shows himself with a big smile at social events, currently said smiling gesture doesn’t guide his expression.

Mingi is also allowed to be tired of pretending.

“Do you miss Yunho?” He doesn’t doubt that Mingi's night would have been different —more interesting, more entertaining— if he had seen Yunho's face among the dizziness of the people present.

“Yeah, but he has work. He couldn't miss it because he already changed his shift to go to my party.” Despite Yunho's absence, a small smile caresses Mingi's face.

He allows a small smile to appear on his face when he listens to Mingi.

“That’s cute.”

“Yeah, it is,” Mingi raises one of the corners of his mouth, certainly seeming to agree with him.

He misses Mingi’s warmth when Mingi opts to turn around and leave his lower back against the railing to then fold his arms. In any case, their arms touch, and he believes that Mingi will never know how much he appreciates that contact. Maybe that's his problem. He never says the words thank you when he should.

“The elite boy asked about you.” Mingi adds.

He allows confusion to guide his expression as Mingi adds those words, watching him along with a smile that has now turned into an amused lopsided smirk.

“Mh?”

“Yeah, Jongho asked about you. If you were here,”

He sighs. “He sure wants to kick me out. Well... the truth is that it wouldn’t bother me...”

His mother probably won't be happy and won't smile if he's escorted out of the party just because his first meeting with Jongho wasn't the most polite, but if he's to be honest, at least his absence will have a valid reason.

Mingi's laughter interrupts his thoughts.

“Quite the opposite,” Mingi follows his words with a wink and he frowns slightly. Quite the opposite? Jongho doesn't want to kick him out? “Your brother was there too. Seonghwa told me that your mom asked him to be close to Jongho. You too?”

"Not really, she asked me to be close to you.”

Fortunately, Mingi allows a chuckle to leave his lips.

Once again he allows a slight smile to appear on his face. Although he’s next to Mingi, it isn’t because his mother has asked him to, but because it has simply happened. It’s the first time that he’s close enough to Mingi to have the possibility of observing the bright dark blue details of his suit’s shoulder pads.

“I don't really listen to her...” he continues.

His hands have stopped shaking and he lets out a short breath when distracting himself from the drug present in his phone case turns out to be a possibility thanks to his conversation with Mingi.

Being around Seonghwa and his mother only leads him to feel bad, to feel like he has to resort to confusing his head and clouding his senses, or else restlessness and nerves will end up consuming him completely. What is he supposed to do?

“I guess we're both defying our moms right now,” Mingi opts to give him a slight shove next to his shoulder, and they both offer each other the same kind of smile. 

While he should have searched for Mingi from the first moment he entered the gala, Mingi shouldn’t be next to him, and instead, should still be around Jongho.

“You know, I'll go.” Mingi adds as he straightens up.

“Mh?”

“Yeah, this gala sucks, I have already gotten close to Jongho, and I miss Yunho,” he says before looking down at the watch present around his wrist. “He must have finished his shift by now, or at least he’s about to. I’ll go. Do you want to come with me?” Mingi looks at him.

Though it’s more than a tempting proposal, he refuses.

“No, I don't want to ruin your time with him.”

“It’s not a problem.”

“Just go,” he smiles as he gently rests his free hand on his back to move him. “I'll probably go soon.”

He doesn't care about his mother's instructions. Be at the gala and stay close to Mingi. Mingi doesn't care about his own family either, because he laughs when he hears him and agrees to follow his words after smiling at him. He waves his hand at him and soon finds himself without company.

He rests his eyes on the city as soon as Mingi closes the door.

If a family like Jongho's is organizing the gala and a family like Mingi's is present—or at least now part of it— his name doesn't turn out to be the most important. People won't spend time looking for him.

That doesn't stop other kinds of people from looking for him, though. He knows that seriousness is part of his expression when he thinks about the offer that Hongjoong's mother has made to both Seonghwa and him and the argument that followed it.

Perhaps their last names aren’t the most important, but they are still important since otherwise they wouldn’t have been invited that night.

He doesn't see the point in staying. He doesn't want to see his mother, he thinks it's better if his path doesn't cross Seonghwa's for now, and he has moved away from Wooyoung and San. Furthermore, he knows that if Wooyoung appeared with San by his side, it’s because he has imagined San's hostility all along. With Hongjoong he is not in his best moment either, Yunho isn’t present, and the only person who has made him smile just left the party.

He’s only able to wonder, at what point will even both Mingi and Yunho stop being patient enough with him once they realize his true personality.

It will be a matter of time before all his ties are broken.

Ah, because he's the problem, isn't he?

Maybe... maybe he did Seonghwa a favor by saying that h— He blows out a breath and takes a look at the city. Unfortunately, he’s getting used to that sight.

He heads towards the door and opens it, but once again, he’s assured that he’s a problem in constant motion, since drops of champagne splash onto the fabric of one of his sleeves when while he has planned to leave, a person has seemed to want to go to the balcony.

Maybe Seonghwa wasn't wrong when he mentioned that he needs to be saved, and not just this once.

The firm grip on his arm that steadies him is familiar this time, as is the face he finds once he no longer sees the wet fabric of his outfit after looking up.

“We must stop meeting like this or I will have no choice but to insist that you let me buy you clothes, strawberry,” Jongho says.

Chapter 21

Yunho slides his backpack over his shoulders before saying goodbye to his staff with a wave of his hand and a small smile.

Despite feeling tired, he allows said smiling gesture to continue present on his face.

It's the beginning of the weekend and that means he doesn't have to get up early tomorrow. He does have to open the doors of Utopia, though, but at least he won't have to listen to alarms, wear a uniform, and attend classes.

He stays serious when he takes out his phone, not knowing what to do until he decides to open his social media. He’s aware that the gala organized by Jongho's family is currently taking place, so the posts his eyes scan are no surprise.

He’s been invited as well as his father, but both have prioritized work and wouldn’t have gone if they had been free.

Mingi sent him a picture of himself wearing that night’s outfit and he smiles upon seeing it. He keeps one of the corners of his mouth up, thinking that said picture isn’t the only image that Mingi has managed to engrave in his mind.

“I hope to be the reason behind that smile.”

The phone almost leaves his grasp and the smile that has begun to guide his face is quickly put to an end when a voice startles him. He brings a hand to his chest as he raises his head. He recognized Mingi's voice but his hand is still over his chest even when he looks up to find Mingi in front of him.

He exhales a breath of air and stops clutching his hand to his jacket.

“You are, actually.” He shows Mingi the screen and the smile that Mingi forms distracts him, but soon enough he shakes his head and puts his phone away. “Wh—”

“Do you need a ride?” Mingi asks, glancing at the car he's leaning his body against. “Anatomically speaking, but also my car,” he offers.

“Mingi.” he brings his hands to the handles of his backpack.

The idea of going back to his house in Mingi's car sounds good, more than good, but that image as well as many others has always been nothing more than a piece of his imagination. He shouldn't even have said Mingi's name out loud.

He tilts his head.

“What are you doing here? You can't show up here.” he says.

Mingi can show up, but he shouldn’t.

It isn’t the first time that Mingi decides to appear unexpectedly at the doors of Utopia, but he doesn’t understand how is it possible for Mingi to be in front of him when just a few seconds he saw posts about the gala.

“Don't you want me to be here?” Mingi straightens up.

“Isn't the gala happening right now?”

“Exactly,” he tits his head to the other side, confused when Mingi agrees with him instead of expressing that the gala has ended earlier than expected. “All the attention is there, so here I am,” Mingi points to himself and flashes a proud smile.

He lets out a little chuckle and stops being in front of Mingi to cross his arms and rest one side of his body against the car to stay next to Mingi. He takes advantage of his sudden presence to scan him with his gaze.

The photo definitely doesn't do justice to the way the suit hugs Mingi's figure, showing off the width of his shoulders as well as the smallness of his waist.

He feels the need to fix his tie but is aware that even though it’s late, they still are outside. He has gotten used to having to refrain from doing certain actions when he’s with Mingi, but that doesn't mean his hands don’t itch to do them anyway.

“Didn't your mom ask you to be with Jongho?” he asks Mingi to distract himself.

His responsibilities and Mingi's are different. Start conversations with certain people, approach or move away depending on the faces and last names behind them. A part of him always wonders if it's easier for Mingi to act, to pretend that nothing exists between them, simply because he's used to feigning interest while he has to deal with the odd rude customer.

He narrows his eyes when he understands that Mingi's noticed that he’s been appreciating his figure with his gaze as Mingi shows him a more than amused smile.

“He was too focused on Yeosang,” Mingi says, and Yunho widens both eyes, not having expected to hear those words. He knows that Yeosang and Jongho didn’t meet under the best circumstances, so he finds his sentence interesting. “Accept my ride and I'll tell you more,” Mingi points to his car with both hands.

He takes a serious look at Mingi. He just knows that Mingi has pronounced those words on purpose, being aware that he's not able to resist said phrase. Perhaps their families weren’t born with the same amount of money and their last names don’t have the same importance, but gossiping is something they can’t resist.

And besides, he doesn't know if Mingi offers him to get in his car because Mingi always acts cheeky, it’s easy for him to grin and in some way or another always seeks to provoke him, or because he thinks that the gala getting all the attention means not having to worry about the eyes of others. At least not at the moment.

Still staring at him, he decides to open the passenger door and rolls his eyes. Nonetheless, he allows a smile to grace his face as Mingi closes his door and walks past the car, promptly opening the driver's door to sit next to him.

He denotes the blazer left in the backseat once he takes off his backpack to leave it in there, and slides his eyes over to Mingi to notice that he has his blazer on. Mingi looks up at him and they soon both lean toward each other, knowing that their closeness is shielded by the tinted windows of Mingi's car.

Mingi's hand finds the back of his neck and he smiles as his lips meet Mingi's. No matter how many times Mingi kisses him or how many times Mingi touches him, it always feels comforting, and said conformity only leads him to realize that despite all the changes around them and the new people that have entered their lives, Mingi is still with him.

“You look so good,” he whispers over Mingi's lips, imposing a few inches of distance between them to allow his eyes to fall on Mingi's suit. He spreads one of his hands on the blazer, the texture feeling smooth under his touch.

Mingi winks at him and caresses his nape. He wonders if after probably shaking unfamiliar hands and holding the occasional drink in his hand —or maybe not, he knows that Mingi's parents don't support the idea of Mingi drinking in public, at least not when the people they think Mingi has to impress are present—, Mingi has been waiting to feel the familiarity of his skin under his fingers.

“I'd give anything for a hoodie right now,” Mingi says, and he laughs as Mingi pulls away from him to allow a complaint to leave his lips as he leans back in his seat. “How has work been?” Mingi asks, straightening up.

“Oh, come on,” he pats his chest gently, “Gossip is more interesting.”

Mingi laughs when he hears him and leaves his hand over his to take it. He brings it towards his mouth to leave a kiss on his knuckles and intertwines his fingers with his to then leave their hands on his lap.

He can't help but let his eyes fall on the way Mingi keeps their hands together. He has caused a momentary encounter between his lips and his skin so naturally, so habitually, that he doesn't know what to think. The ring his mom gave him, still present on one of his fingers, assures him that the image of his hand with Mingi's should make him feel repulsive rather than warm.

He looks at Mingi and widens his eyes for Mingi to keep on talking.

“Immediately smitten by Yeosang,” Mingi allows a small giggle to leave his lips.

After hearing about Jongho's apparent attraction to Yeosang, he can only laugh. He doesn't think he can blame Jongho. Indeed, Yeosang is very pretty.

“He's nice,” he's glad to hear that even if Mingi's been forced to be social, at least Jongho seems to have been good company. “I also talked to Seonghwa, he was tasked with doing the same as me, apparently. I think Yeosang and Seonghwa fought.”

A sigh leaves his lips.

“They really don't get along, do they?”

Yeosang is the person who first said that approaching Seonghwa under feigned interest —on Hongjoong's part— would be the smartest plan for him to get help with his exams. He guesses he shouldn't be surprised. It isn’t the first time he's heard about an apparent fight between Yeosang and Seonghwa, and it probably won’t be the last either.

“No, I don’t think so,” Mingi curls one corner of his mouth. “Oh wait, you have to listen to this too.” Mingi seems to be holding back his laughter to speak. “Jongho thought that Hongjoong is Seonghwa's boyfriend.”

He isn’t able to avoid the surprise that no doubt invades both his gaze and his facial features. He brings his free hand to his chest, certainly impressed with those words.

“Hongjoong wasn't present when he said that, right? I think he's capable of killing someone if he's called someone's boyfriend, even if the person that said that happens to be the Prime Minister's son,” he says.

Hongjoong has always been clear with his limits.

No dates. No relationship. No boyfriend.

“Well, he's not the only person against that word,” Mingi says looking at him, and unfortunately Mingi's quick enough to keep his hand locked in his when he notices that he tries to pull his hand back as soon as he realizes he's talking about him.

He gives up and Mingi still holds his hand, but he doesn't hesitate to take a look at Mingi nonetheless.

“No, he wasn't there, but Seonghwa's reaction was funny,” Mingi adds.

He thinks that if Jongho has expressed those words it’s because he must have seen some kind of behavior that has led him to think that Hongjoong and Seonghwa are together —just like Yeosang and Wooyoung thought of him and Mingi, he believes. But no, that's not true, because Mingi is not his boyfriend.

“Do you think... I don't know, that maybe... Hongjoong has feelings for Seonghwa?”

He knows that Hongjoong has been with someone every now and then because not wanting a romantic relationship doesn't mean not wanting to have sex, or at least that’s what Hongjoong has explained to them. But Seonghwa seems to be different, to represent something —someone— different for Hongjoong.

“I don't know, but I wouldn't like him to deprive himself of feeling just because... I don't know, he doesn't want to change?” Mingi says. “I don’t know how to explain it. He can be so stubborn sometimes.”

He hums because he understands what Mingi is talking about. He thinks it's okay for Hongjoong to feel confused and that he should take that disorientation rather than push it to the side in case Seonghwa blooms emotions he's not used to.

Being stubborn will get him nowhere. He wouldn’t be talking to Mingi, right next to Mingi in Mingi’s car, and his hand wouldn't be linked with Mingi's if both of them had chosen to react stubbornly once they realized that perhaps mutual resentment isn't the only emotion between them.

Fortunately, Mingi’s voice distracts him.

“So, how has work been for you?” Mingi caresses his hand.

He can only look at him, puzzled.

“You have left all those interesting situations just to ask me that question?”

“I prefer to know how you are,” Mingi grins.

He’s torn between wanting to smack his own forehead with his other hand because he doesn't understand Mingi's actions, and allowing himself to feel lucky because Mingi left the gala to be with him.

A small smile spreads across his face.

“It was good, now with the exams out of the way I can focus.”

He wants to apologize for not going to the gala, but he doesn't. He doesn’t retract his words but he would have liked to go to be with Mingi and the rest of their friends.

He hasn't previously lied to Yeosang by saying that it's hard for Mingi to approach people as he's usually approached because of his last name or his money, but he seems to have opened up easily with both Yeosang and Wooyoung.

He wouldn't have been able to interact with Mingi, at least not without irony, but he could have stayed close to San and Hongjoong. He would have liked to be around to see Mingi interacting with Seonghwa, and to be with San as well, since he doubts that certain people will continue to behave in the same way towards him now that his father is no longer the director of their university.

However, just as Mingi's responsibility is to attend said social —and sometimes political— events, his responsibility is to keep his job, and he's not going to disappoint his mom for an event with his friends, much less if said event is political. He still thinks that the word charity is just an excuse.

“Don't worry,” Mingi shakes his head. “I’m here now, am I not? And besides, it was boring anyway.”

“But so much happened,” He pouts his lips.

“And so much can happen here now.”

Mingi lets go of his hand to rest it on his nape again, but just as Mingi leans toward him and he anticipates a kiss, he makes a small movement with his shoulder to touch it with his chin, and Mingi stops an inch from him.

“Should I worry about that blazer?” he asks in a whisper, and turns his gaze towards it to quickly look back at Mingi.

Without turning away, Mingi glances at the backseat and looks at him again.

“It's San's,” Mingi says. “I think he... just wanted to leave his blazer as an excuse to leave the gala for a few moments. I forgot to give it back to him...”

He definitely would have liked to go to the gala, at least to be with San. He's been acting weird lately, and after all, it's the first event he's attended without the title of the son of the university director.

“Because I was busy thinking about you and wanting to see you.” Mingi presses his fingertips into the skin of his nape and their faces remain impossibly close. “Why would you worry? You don't think I can cheat on you, do you?”

“Cheat?” he whispers, shifting his gaze between Mingi and Mingi's lips. “Shouldn't we be in a relationship for that?”

Mingi stares at him, seeming to want to denote with what kind of intention he has expressed those words, but even he himself doesn’t know very well why he has chosen to ask that question. Mingi turns serious, but promptly curls up the corners of his mouth.

“It's funny how you try to provoke me, but you said the word worry. Why would you worry, then, if we're not in a relationship?”

He feels his hand curl over Mingi's lap, that gesture being enough to show that Mingi's words are not pleasant to hear. Mingi leads him to tilt his head by still keeping his hand on his nape, and this time he does allow Mingi to finally capture his lips with his.

It bothers him, it bothers him so much the mere thought of Mingi with someone else. Even if he’s the person currently in Mingi's car, with Mingi's lips on his, he doesn't hesitate to reciprocate his kiss so Mingi understands that he won't see him smile if he ever shows up to say he's been or is with someone else.

He wraps his hand around Mingi's thigh, thinking that having to hide from the rest of the world with the help of tinted windows is sad. He would like to show that he wants Mingi just as Mingi wants him, and perhaps it's not jealousy what has led him to ask about the blazer, but insecurity because anyone else, really, anyone else, can offer Mingi something that he can't: a kiss regardless of place and time.

He doesn't need others to watch him for him to know what kind of feelings his heart holds towards Mingi, but he thinks that Mingi deserves more than kisses shared in a car, hidden from others.

No complaint leaves his mouth when Mingi forces a few millimeters between them to trace his bottom lip with his thumb.

“You were jealous of Jongho for nothing, he's pretty much into Yeosang.”

He rolls his eyes at the amused smile he sees on Mingi’s face, but relaxes his facial features instead of hardening them after remembering that Mingi has done enough for him to only be able to focus on him throughout the night.

And that in addition, he has also gotten Mingi to think about him with words that have previously left his mouth and previous actions guided by his hands.

“How was I supposed to know that if Yeosang cursed him?”

“I think we are not the most adequate to talk about insults and attraction.”

This time he doesn't roll his eyes because he knows Mingi is right. They are not the best people to have a conversation about the limits that exist between different tensions.

“I know I look good in these clothes, but I'm also confident that I look good without them.” Mingi adds. “I can take you to my Illusion, or to your house. Or... to... my house since my parents won’t be there.”

He doesn’t doubt that Mingi is telling the truth because on more than one occasion he has had the opportunity to unbutton Mingi's shirt and feel for himself the firmness of his abdominal muscles as well as the flesh of his waist, but the words that he tentatively adds puzzles him.

“Are you joking with me?” He can't help but ask, and he notes the way Mingi seems to sense that he may have said something he shouldn't, or that he at least didn't expect because all traces of amusement leave his face. “Your house? Your house? Have you forgotten that there are people who know about us?”

They never go to each other's house.

Never.

“I talked to Wooyoung,” Mingi says suddenly, and just as abruptly he stops keeping his hand on his nape and straightens up in his seat, as if he's remembered something important. “Oh, you have to listen to this. Can you believe he told me that the Prime Minister asked his parents to cater the gala, and they said no?”

He reacts as slowly as fast. Slowly because until a moment ago Mingi offered to go to his house, and fast because hearing those words sounds just as crazy to him.

“What?”

“You should have seen my face. I stayed there, like,” Mingi looks to the side with his eyes wide open and looking surprised, recreating his previous reaction, and then looks at him again. “How entitled can you be?”

“Ugh!” His frustration ends up being met by Mingi's thigh as he pats it several times in a row. “It makes me so mad! Can you imagine if Utopia had had that opportunity? My mom would have been so proud!”

That’s exactly another reason why he has remained serious as soon as he saw Wooyoung and why at that moment he allows a deep breath of air to leave his mouth.

“Fucking true elite right there and then.” he adds, again letting out an exhausted sigh because whenever he thinks he's better than other people, someone shows up to remind him that someone is better than him.

“I'm sure your mom is already proud of you,” Mingi leaves his hands on his cheeks to express those words. The gold ring his mother gave him feels heavy on his finger. “It's not a missed opportunity because you said so yourself, neither you nor your mom like the Prime Minister. And besides, your chef is good.”

“I know that,” he moves away from Mingi's touch. “But we are not the Jungs.”

Mingi doesn’t have to worry because his business is a nightclub and his parents are part of the political sphere. But he does, and it irritates him to hear that while his mother has taken it upon herself to grow and prosper, people who have always had everything will only continue to have even more —well, maybe he's being a bit of a hypocrite because Mingi fits that criteria, but in his defense, he did use to resent Mingi for the same reason.

“Fucking entitled,” he grumbles.

Once again Mingi leaves his hands on him, but this time on his neck. “You are a Jeong,” Mingi expresses, staring at him. “And I'm attracted to that last name.”

Some of his irritation dissipates as Mingi keeps his eyes connected to his and he certainly expresses that the letters that make up his last name are attractive, that he's drawn to him. Him and no one else.

“Actually, mine and Wooyoung's last n—”

“Please, let's go back to where we left off before,” Mingi asks. “Does it seem so crazy to you for me to want to have a decent night with you?”

He doesn't seem crazy. He also wants a decent night with Mingi, where they can stay side by side without worrying about any details.

“How can you even—”

“Nobody cares about us.”

“I care.” he jerks back but Mingi’s hands on the back of his neck keep him close.

Despite being classmates —of being more, so much more than just classmates— there aren't many opportunities for them to be together, to exist without being alarmed by sudden interruptions.

He wants to shake his head and say no because Mingi shouldn't have left the gala just to be with him, shouldn't ask him if he wants to go to his house, and shouldn't mention the words a decent night.

He feels the beginning of a capricious and sad pout guide his lips but Mingi still doesn't let him get away from him even though he pulls back again.

“And I care too.” Mingi says, staring at him. “And just because for the first time my parents will be completely immersed in a gala all night, I am offering you to come to my house. I want to be alone with you. Just with you, just you and me.”

Mingi doesn't know his house and he doesn't know Mingi's house, and he can't be blamed for being human and feeling.

Others are fortunate to see Mingi well dressed while he has the luxury of seeing said pieces of clothing thrown on the ground by the action of his own hands. But just as he has that right, the others have the possibility of approaching Mingi whenever they want while he doesn’t.

Mingi is offering him the chance to have that opportunity for one night.

He really is torn between smashing his lips against Mingi's right then and there, and starting to complain because Mingi knows that suggesting going to one of their houses is a risky move.

He stops pulling, and with that lack of intent away, Mingi brings one of his hands to his jaw to offer him a caress.

He knows that his house is also empty because his father took the night shift.

“Tell me no and I won't insist anymore,” Mingi says.

Can they really afford one night? One night, just between the two of them?

He doesn't want to disappoint Mingi and he knows he'll spend the whole night tossing and turning in his own bed if he chooses to discard the plan, filling his head with images of everything he could have said and done if he'd agreed to be with Mingi.

He knows the answer he has formed in his head because a part of him thinks that he would have liked Mingi to push him more so that he could blame Mingi instead of himself.

He succumbs.

“My house.” he offers. “If you accept.”

Mingi succumbs to him as well.

“You'll never get a no from me.”

He allows Mingi to kiss him like Mingi always does, sure of himself. Mingi hasn't even questioned whether his house is empty or not, he just trusts that he protects him in the same way that he believes Mingi protects him.

Despite expressing words and taking actions that make him believe that Mingi is impulsive, he knows that Mingi protects him.

He believes that Mingi only stops kissing him and adjusts their seatbelts because he already wants the night between them to truly begin.

Leaving Utopia behind because Mingi starts the car seems like a horrible metaphor. Even though seeing Utopia's lights off and its doors closed relieves him because it means that another day has ended and he can now rest, a feeling of uncertainty embraces him every time he says goodbye to Utopia each night.

Mingi deserves so much more than short candid moments, and he shouldn’t get used to looking at the night through Mingi's car windows, but a small smile appears to guide his face as his eyes fall to the hand Mingi rests on his thigh.

Mingi offers him a smile before looking back at the front, and this time, he's the one who catches Mingi's hand in his.

They are allowed to be happy too.

---

Jongho lets go of Yeosang's arm as Yeosang keeps his balance. He notices the way Yeosang looks at him, frowning slightly.

“Strawberry?” Yeosang asks him, looking confused and a bit offended. “Really?” he adds. “You think it was funny how the smoothie—” Yeosang seems to give up mid-sentence as he allows a short sigh to leave his lips. “It doesn't matter.”

Instead of feeling the need to speak as soon as he notes that Yeosang has misunderstood his words, he opts to join his hands behind his back and lean slightly into him.

“Laughing at people and wasting smoothies aren't on my list of hobbies, at least not the last time I checked,” he says, feeling somewhat amused by Yeosang's slight frown. “I said it because of your hair...” He flicks his eyes to Yeosang's pink locks, partly brushed back that night, and looks back at him. “Strawberry.”

He finds it amusing the way Yeosang forms a line with his lips, a soft pout with his mouth as he realizes that he has never made fun of the way they met.

“But since you bring up the first moment and unfortunately the last time we met as well, I was looking for you,” he adds.

"You were looking for me?" Yeosang asks him.

He hasn't expected to run into Yeosang when he opened one of the balcony doors, but he has been expecting their paths to cross sometime during the night.

“Yes.” He doesn't see the point in lying. “I wanted to offer my deepest apologies for spilling the smoothie over you. It was inappropriate of me not to offer them as soon as I had the opportunity. And forgive me, too, for our abrupt meeting just now. It’s a mess.”

He has no doubt that Yeosang has chosen his outfit for that night with care, whereas it took him a measly second to ruin said choice.

Thankfully Yeosang has relaxed his facial features and is no longer scowling at him, but a trace of mistrust is still present in his gaze. He’s wary of him, he can tell.

He wants to smile because it certainly is unexpected. Throughout the night people have done nothing but smile at him, while Yeosang continues to stare at him without a trace of a smile. The one person he's expected to smile at him doesn't. It's an irony.

He doesn't smile, though. Neither he nor Yeosang. He doesn't want Yeosang to misunderstand the genuineness of his smile as a mocking gesture.

“Well, this mess was just leaving, so don't worry.”

They finally stop standing face to face with the door next to them as Yeosang walks past him. He stays still for a few seconds, trying to understand what he just heard.

He's aware that it may not be the most interesting night for Yeosang —it certainly isn’t for him, it's just another event he's forced to attend because of the last name that follows his name, but he has hoped to entertain Yeosang since Yeosang entertains him.

He reacts and luckily Yeosang stops when he gets in front of him, though this time he makes sure to leave a certain distance between them because he will consider himself a buffoon, as Yeosang has called him, if he ruins Yeosang's outfit for the third time.

“I find the apparent ability you have to misinterpret my words fascinating,” he chooses to mention.

“It's a talent of mine, apparently, so don't feel special. It happens to me with everyone.”

He remains with his lips slightly parted, somewhat stunned to hear the words Yeosang expresses. Is that why he was outside? Because he got tired of the people around him not understanding his words?

Just in case, he decides to be explicit with his words.

“It's a mess because I haven't made a bad first impression, but two.”

It has never been his intention for Yeosang to think of the word mess as a synonym for his person, and if he thinks so, then Yeosang is a beautiful mess.

“Don’t worry, you said, and I won't if it means you'll let me make up for ruining your clothes, twice already,” he adds.

“I don't understand,” Yeosang says simply.

He doesn't understand why Yeosang looks genuinely confused.

“What, exactly?”

“I'm sure you're used to people kissing your feet.” Yeosang replies as if that's the only reasonable explanation to give. “Don't you want to kick me out?”

He tilts his head, understanding two important details.

Yeosang thought that he appeared to ask him to leave the gala as a result of the meeting that allowed both of them to learn each other's names. And judging from the words he just said, Yeosang knows that the gala is organized by his family.

He’s somewhat disappointed. He knows that sooner or later Yeosang would surely find out who he is, he even thought that Yeosang pretended not to know him. But that illusion is quickly put aside.

“You seem to be aware of my identity now,” Yeosang nods. “You haven’t committed a crime and the power to throw someone out of this gala isn’t in my hands. And even if it did, I wouldn't use it to ask you to leave this event.”

If he really could, he would have kicked out the vast majority by now. He wouldn't even be at the gala himself if he could decide when to be present at certain events and when not.

He thinks that being explicit with his words is a good decision because Yeosang looks at him, now with his facial features a bit more relaxed, seeming intrigued.

“I did say it was refreshing after all. Insult instead of compliment. Buffoon, wasn’t it?” He does allow himself to hold a small smile when Yeosang momentarily frowns and looks away.

“Your... taste for degradation isn't my business,” he raises both eyebrows, amused when Yeosang looks back at him. “Or do I have to insult you again just because you liked it?”

“It depends, does it also include the hug?”

“It's not funny.” Yeosang counters his smile with the way he narrows his eyes.

Those brown eyes, again accompanied by a birthmark and that night by pink glitters on his eyelids, once again stare at him.

“I appreciate your honesty,” he chooses to say.

Praises are sent in his direction without hesitation because surely if he’s complimented, he will open his mouth to repeat said words in front of his father. He will express the names of the people who have been nice to him so that he can speak wonders about them.

It’s extremely easy for him to detect the interest that some people feign, as well as to detect the falseness of a smiling gesture.

Yeosang doesn't feign interest or give him a fake smile.

“I'm glad my honesty seems to be appreciated by someone, it's not generally well received,” Yeosang says, the glass of champagne present in one of his hands not seeming to represent an obstacle to hugging himself.

He tilts his head, wondering if perhaps Yeosang seemed about to leave not just because he thought he wouldn't be welcomed by him. He won't stop Yeosang if he feels truly uncomfortable being there, but he thinks he can offer him a solution.

“Do you mayhaps want to go somewhere quieter?” He proposes.

Not only for Yeosang's comfort, but for his own as well. Some glances have begun to be sent in their direction, and he’s aware that his mother's bodyguards —despite being still and silent in their respective places— remain attentive to his actions.

“The lack of honesty here is unpleasant.”

Yeosang watches him, seeming to be doubting his honesty. He doesn't blame him.

He doubts that all the people present at the gala believe one hundred percent what is said and what is heard, so he understands Yeosang's uncertainty. However, he assumes that Yeosang must also understand him and the role he must play, at least for that night, as he nods.

“Okay,” he says softly.

He stops keeping his hands behind his back to offer one to Yeosang, but Yeosang lowers his eyes and his attention to it instead of accepting it.

“Won't people talk?”

He's not surprised when Yeosang exposes being aware of the glances.

“Do you have a partner who will rightfully provoke a scene of jealousy if you are seen with me? It wouldn't be a surprise with your beauty. Though I must admit, my disappointment will be noticeable.”

“Are you basing my usefulness on whether or not I have a partner?” Yeosang raises an eyebrow, but he smiles, he finally allows a small yet attractive smile to guide his face, and he can't help but cheer up when he visualizes said smiling gesture.

“It didn't sound as good as it did in my head.” Momentarily distracted by Yeosang's smile, Yeosang seems the one to be caught off guard when he opts to slightly bow his head in regret. He supposes that even a person like him, who has trained how to function in public and improve his speech when interacting with people, is capable of tripping over his own words. “Forgive me.”

He glances at Yeosang as Yeosang lets out a small giggle, but this time he’s not totally distracted by the appearance of that sweet sound as soon enough his eyes slide to the way Yeosang grounds him by wrapping both of his hands around his arm, once again the glass of champagne not seeming to be a problem for his movements.

“You are... funny,” Yeosang smiles at him, and he only hopes to hear that no one will show up to reproach him for the way he can't stop looking at Yeosang, as it will be much more difficult for him to do so now that he has observed how beautiful Yeosang's smile is too. “No, I don't,” he replies. “And you?”

“No.” he says, “I find it funny how people always talk even when there is nothing to say.”

Again Yeosang smiles at him, and he doesn’t focus on the presence of others because certainly, people always talk. If he does something or if he doesn't do anything, if he stays low or if he seeks attention, if he stays quiet or leads a conversation. People always have words to express about his person.

Yeosang's hands stay on his arm as they move through the sea of people. He has proposed a private place, away from the eyes and ears of others as well as from the words they might whisper about them.

He calls one of the elevators and they are soon free of the constant hum and the people who create it.

He exhales a short but deep breath of air, not realizing how long he's been holding the air until he feels some of the stiffness leave his shoulders. He's so used to performing the way he's asked that he doesn't even realize how hard he's trying anymore. Just because it's a habit doesn't mean he doesn't make an effort.

He takes a look at Yeosang, noting that he has chosen to continue with his hands around his arm even though they are alone, and that he seems to be distracted by the details of the elevator.

His family has made sure to rent the entire hotel for the gala so that the guests can choose to stay if they prefer so. It’s ironic, he thinks, a charity gala taking place in a fully rented hotel. But it’s also ironic that people focus their eyes on the words charity gala when they guide all the news portals instead of the photos of the place where the event takes place.

“The rooms are this way,” he says once the doors open.

“Rooms?” Yeosang looks at him.

He stops.

“We can go back if you want, it's jus—”

“Don't worry,” Yeosang stops the image of going back in his steps upon hearing him. “I don't feel like going back either,” he assures him as they resume their pace. “What about you, though? Shouldn't you be downstairs considering who you are?”

“I was asked to entertain the guests,” he looks at him.

“Do you think you're entertaining me?” Yeosang holds up a small smile.

“Am I doing it?”

Unfortunately, Yeosang stops keeping his arm trapped between his hands to lean against the wall once he stops in front of the door to his suite, but the small smile that still decorates Yeosang's face compensates for that loss of contact.

He really hopes that he’s entertaining him, not only because if he says no, Yeosang would be showing that his training to interest people has been nothing more than a waste of time, but also because he really hopes that Yeosang thinks of his company as something better —much better— than the event they just left.

He has convinced Yeosang not to leave, now he has to convince him to stay.

“Maybe,” Yeosang offers.

He offers himself the luxury of watching Yeosang for a few seconds, delighting in the small smile that Yeosang chooses to hold as he leaves his hands behind his back. He still doesn't understand how he hasn't seen a single drop spill from the glass still present in one of his hands.

He soon slides the keycard, thinking they'll be more comfortable inside the suite, and waves his hands around the room to allow Yeosang to enter.

He doesn't doubt that some bodyguard is already present in the hallway, but no complaint leaves his mouth because they could easily have been interrupted, and he still doesn't understand how he managed to get them to be alone.

“This is my room,” he says, closing the door behind him. He says room and not suite, although it's more than easy to conclude that it is, because he still remembers the way Yeosang reacted as soon as he decided to offer to buy him a shirt. He doesn’t intend to come off as a show-off.

He allows Yeosang to dwell on the details of the suite after both take their shoes off. Sometimes it’s advantageous for him to know who he is and the last name he carries, letters that indicate what family he’s from. He assumes that Yeosang isn't materialistic, but he also assumes that it's better to be able to present a suite.

Large windows make up one half of the suite while the other has enough space for Yeosang to walk freely, without fear of bumping into the couches or furniture. It's definitely too big of a room for just one person, but he doesn't express any complaints as Yeosang approaches the large windows to watch the way the city and its respective lights unfold before him.

“Do you like the view?”

“Not really,” Yeosang caresses the glass with his fingertips as he walks in front of the windows.

Jongho looks after him, certainly impressed because if he's to be honest, he's expected a positive response. Yeosang's reflection assures him that it's not in his interest to ask questions about it, so he opts to continue looking at him.

“I like it,” he says with his eyes on Yeosang.

Yeosang turns his head towards him to hold his gaze. The turning up of one corner of his mouth assures him that Yeosang knows he's not exactly talking about the buildings.

“I know who you are,” Yeosang gets close to him, now holding the glass from its rim, “Do you know who I am?”

“I'm still surprised that you didn't recognize me,” people don’t owe him anything for his face, for his last name, and for his identity, but he’s used to eyes resting on him and whispers containing his name as soon as he walks through the doors of a place, so Yeosang's confusion has been a surprise.

“Not me, I'm with my head anywhere...”

Yeosang stops looking at him but doesn't look around him. He looks lost, certainly with his head elsewhere even though they are both facing each other, but luckily Yeosang looks back at him.

Yeosang knows who he is, but who is Yeosang?

“I didn't know you were the brother of—”

“Don't mention him.” Yeosang cuts him off, and once again he follows Yeosang with his gaze when he stops standing in front of him to go through the rest of the details that make up the room. “I didn't know you're so important.”

“Will you treat me differently now?” he asks, wanting nothing but the truth.

In a distant way but also close, keeping a certain distance from his person but also getting closer because leaving a few centimeters between them means —supposedly— a more likely chance of meeting the Prime Minister of the country.

He will never understand why people seek to pretend with him. It’s true that as his son, he has power, and he can influence, but offering him a smile and complimenting him won’t lead him to offer an equal smiling gesture.

He looks at Yeosang when he shakes his head, and again stays in front of him. 

“No.”

It's true that Yeosang could have continued to pretend not to know who he is in order to somehow outsmart him. Yet Yeosang hasn’t sought to shower him with compliments and he has sought to find Yeosang.

For the same reason, he chooses to extend his hand, with his palm up.

“Give me your phone.”

“At least say please...” he parts his lips to interrupt him but Yeosang keeps on talking, with an amused smile on his face despite the words he expressed. “I'm playing with you,” he says before taking his phone, though he stares at it, seeming to wonder if it's a good idea to leave it in his hand or not, until he finally does. “I know who you are, or, well, your last name, so, it's fine.”

He doubts that Yeosang is after his money or reputation since he has stopped him from leaving the gala, but one can never be too careful. After all, whether he likes it or not, he knows who his parents are.

Fully trusting Yeosang would be a bad decision. An unexplained photo or video in the wrong context is more than enough to ruin a person, so he also leaves his phone on top of Yeosang's.

“Be glad there's no one else here besides us,” he tells him before going to the bathroom with the intention of leaving the phones there.

He could easily have required a bodyguard to accompany him and Yeosang because being alone is both an advantage and a disadvantage.

Advantage because strangely enough, he feels that with Yeosang he shouldn't pretend. His interest is genuine, and the topic of conversation doesn’t revolve around political or social issues.

Disadvantage because Yeosang might be faking it, carrying a weapon along with him or any object that could hurt him, and he will end up getting hurt simply because he has trusted Yeosang enough.

He doesn't think he's exaggerating. Just as there are people who love his last name, there are others who hate it. He’s aware that not everyone agrees with the decisions his father makes, that his speeches are both booed and cheered, and just as there are people who don’t hesitate to stay close to his father, there are groups with names and established rules that only exist to show themselves against his father's mandate.

If Yeosang turns out to be a liar, he will applaud him for his excellent work.

“Degradation, exhibitionism, what more...” he hears Yeosang say.

He allows a short chuckle to leave his lips before setting both phones down on the counter. Should an emergency occur, the bodyguards led by his mother won’t hesitate to break down the door, so leaving the phones doesn’t make him feel anxious.

“I'm okay with giving you my full attention,” he says once he comes back to the main room, his eyes falling on the way Yeosang has chosen to settle into one of the couches.

Yeosang looks at him when he gets close, and he doesn't know if Yeosang has calculated his movements or not, but he sits down on the space left between Yeosang and one of the corners of the couch. It's not much but no complaint threatens to form in his throat.

“You really are funny...” Yeosang says after listening to him and along with a smile, yet it no longer seems to be an honest gesture, but rather a drawn gesture to compensate for the trail of uncertainty that his words leave, as if his words had made him laugh because he doesn't believe they are true even though he has been sincere when expressing them.

With his legs slightly bent to one side on the couch, one of his elbows on the back, and his temple against his knuckles, Yeosang stares at him.

He looks at Yeosang as well, taking in his favor the proximity since up to now leaving the gala has been more important.

His eyes scan the black color of Yeosang's leather pants as well as the top that hides his abdomen but exposes his collarbones. Transparent long sleeves with black dots show the firmness of his muscles as well as the contrast between the color of the outfit and his paleness. The trace left by the previous spilled drops of champagne isn’t visible.

The grace of his facial features is on full display since he's styled his pink locks back. The pink glitter that decorates his eyelids match the color of his hair and stand out as the only colorful detail of his person.

“I'm sure you are used to it, having people's eyes and attention on you.”

He knows that he only needs to turn his head to rest his eyes on the windows and therefore his attention on one of the cities that his father leads, but he considers that performing that action would be nothing more than a great waste of time when Yeosang is sitting next to him, giving him the opportunity to watch with his own eyes the way his clothes highlight his figure.

Yeosang's cheeks don’t hold a similar hue to the strands of his hair. He doesn’t blush and he doesn’t lower his head, shy either.

“Not really,” he says.

“A pity.” Yeosang stares at him when he does. “A shame, really.”

He doesn't consider himself a superficial person for loudly complimenting Yeosang on his appearance.

Throughout his life, he has learned that appearances are deceptive and that the most beautiful person on the outside can be the most rotten person on the inside. A friend can end up being an enemy and an enemy can end up becoming a friend, for which he’s always careful with the images presented before his eyes.

However, he believes that beauty should be appreciated when it appears. Whether through a landscape with harmonizing colors, all kinds of art represented in different ways, or even through a person who seems to carry both the concept of delicacy and strength.

“Trying to buy me with compliments?”

Despite the question asked, Yeosang shifts a little closer to him. His knee touches his thigh and the rest of the couch remains forgotten.

It isn’t his intention to express compliments for any other reason than to be completely sincere. As he himself has mentioned to Yeosang, he’s tired of the dishonesty around him.

“I don't want to buy you.” In fact, he's used to people trying to buy him off with repetitive compliments. “You still haven't let me buy you a smoothie, though. And I already owe you two outfits.”

He doesn't hesitate to keep talking because he doesn't doubt that Yeosang took his offer to buy him a shirt as an attempt to show his fortune.

“I've noticed you like lollipops a lot though,” he adds.

Yeosang raises both eyebrows upon hearing this.

“Now we're really talking about real business,” Yeosang decorates his face with an equally enthusiastic and entertaining smile as he straightens up. “Do you look at me a lot?”

His eyes follow the way Yeosang takes his free hand to one of the back pockets of his pants, and the glass that Yeosang has been holding thus far comes into his possession when Yeosang hands it over to him to unwrap a lollipop.

“Do you look at my mouth a lot?”

He’s aware that Yeosang is teasing him, yet nonetheless, he still allows his eyes to fall to Yeosang's lips when he brings the lollipop to his mouth, holding the stick in one of his hands.

Yeosang takes the glass back and he swallows when their fingers brush.

“You sure are something,” he says after clearing his throat.

Yeosang only offers him a smile and once again leaves his elbow on the back of the couch and his temple against his knuckles. He forces himself to sit up when he thinks his hand should replace the glass of champagne and his mouth the lollipop.

“So you're the director's son,” he adds to distract himself.

“And you the Prime Minister's,” Yeosang moves the lollipop to the other side of his mouth.

“It would be convenient to reduce the distance between us.”

Their respective parents hold totally different positions and they know that, but he also believes that just like him, Yeosang is aware that they attend the same university. It’s a prestigious and acclaimed institution, and that is enough for Yeosang's mother to have the green light to join the game that the elite of that city represents.

This time the proximity suits him too. His mother mentioned Seonghwa and Mingi, and perhaps she's right, since Seonghwa is the son of the director too while Mingi knows what it means to be part of the political sphere.

But Yeosang is different. They didn’t start off with a polite smile or a simple exchange of words.

"Why are you here?" Yeosang asks him. “I deserve honesty.”

Just as he can't fully trust Yeosang, Yeosang can't fully trust him.

He prefers to take a few seconds instead of responding quickly or choosing to come up with some lie that will satisfy Yeosang's curiosity for now. Yeosang deserves honesty because he deserves Yeosang's honesty. He can't expect sincerity if he doesn't provide it.

“Have you ever had to make up for your parents' mistakes?”

Instead of squinting at the lack of a concrete answer, Yeosang seems to understand his words because he stops looking at him. He lowers his eyes, not to look at the black color of the couch or the carpet that covers the floor of the suite, but to have the opportunity to delve into his own thoughts for a few seconds, until he raises his head to look at him again.

“You can't even imagine,” Yeosang’s answer doesn't surprise him.

“Let's say that they made a mistake and I paid, I am paying, the consequences,” his last name implies more than benefits, luxurious suites, and rented hotels. Being a Choi also implies responsibilities and discomforts. “So I'm here to get away from the cameras, away from the attention. Your mother promised to offer that.”

“And your presence is convenient to her,” Yeosang deduces.

He nods.

For the Prime Minister's son to attend the most prestigious university is an advantage for both parties. Yeosang's mother takes the credit and his image is protected within those buildings.

“Won't you hug me this time?” He chooses to ask. He provided sincerity, so he has the right to ask for a smaller distance between them.

He reminds Yeosang that the first time they met, he didn't hesitate to hug him. He thinks it's been fun having to stop his bodyguards from getting close just because Yeosang guided his actions with stubbornness.

Yeosang looks at him and he hopes that Yeosang understands his intentions.

Yes, it’s true that it would be more than convenient for them to stay close to each other. That like all the people present at the gala, all the people they left behind when taking the elevator and closing the door of the suite, they could allow their actions, words, and gestures to be guided by their respective last names and family trees.

But if Yeosang approaches him, he wants Yeosang to do it because he wants to.

He keeps his eyes on Yeosang as Yeosang slowly closes the distance between them. Yeosang’s careful not to spill the champagne still present in his glass and tentatively surrounds his shoulders with his arm. Yeosang’s knees press against his thigh, and his body welcomes the warmth that Yeosang's figure brings with it by staying close to him.

Yeosang holds his gaze and he only thinks about how lucky he feels, as well as how unwise he was not to sit in another of the couches because now he would have to ask Yeosang to straighten up to be able to surround his waist with his arms, as he keeps one side of his body against the back of the couch and he doesn’t want to bother him.

"You used me?" the lollipop stick moves when Yeosang asks that question. “Just now. For the attention to be on us. Your presence, the gala. It's all a strategy, isn't it?"

He isn't surprised by the words Yeosang expresses, by the deductions he manages to weave inside his own head. After all, he doesn’t doubt that everyone at the gala is aware of the various roles they play.

It’s a game and they are two of the many pawns.

However, as in any game, there are alliances that arise unexpectedly.

“My mother has given me a list of important people I should memorize,” he decides to tell him, “Your brother was in it, you weren't,” for the same reason he was so surprised when the word half-brother left Seonghwa’s mouth.

“Rule of the second child,” Yeosang turns the lollipop in his mouth. “We don't matter.”

Yeosang’s surrendered tone of voice assures him that he isn't appreciated enough. He first suspected it when Yeosang simply told him that he's funny for mentioning that he's fine with giving him his full attention.

“I'm not using you.” he decides to tell him. Using Yeosang would be tantamount to both still being present at the gala, surrounded by people, and Yeosang with his hands still around his arm. “I didn't need a folder to remember your name and your face. Just a moment and a smoothie.”

Still, he doesn't understand why his mother hasn't added Yeosang to the list. Either she really doesn't consider him important, or she hasn't wanted him to be aware of Yeosang. But it doesn’t matter.

What does matter is the soft chuckle that Yeosang allows to leave his mouth, lips that now hold a reddish gloss due to traces of the fruity flavor of the lollipop. Yeosang looks at him again, and he doesn't mind being caught looking at his lips.

Yeosang could have left the gala even though he interrupted his path, he could have refused when he suggested they be in a more private place, and he could have moved or even moved to another couch when he sat next to him, but he didn’t.

And he's even closer to him than before.

“You talk to me just because you happen to find me pretty,” neither irritation nor annoyance accompanies Yeosang's words. He doesn't frown or turn away from him as he says the words. He simply expresses what he believes to be the truth.

“And you stared at me the first time.” Just as he accepts that Yeosang has captured his attention from the start, it's only fair for Yeosang to admit his reality. “Do you find me attractive?”

Maybe it's true that he hasn't paid enough attention to avoid bumping into Yeosang in the middle of the hall, but he did notice the way Yeosang kept watching him for a few seconds.

And he confirms that he’s not the only one who has allowed himself to be dazzled by the other's beauty because he takes Yeosang's silence as an answer to his question.

“You ogled my biceps when we met.”

“No I didn't!”

Yeosang's immediate denial amuses him.

“So you were admiring the orange color of my blazer?” He asks him. “There's nothing wrong with getting carried away by a person's physique,” he adds when Yeosang starts to lower his eyes, looking embarrassed.

His knuckles barely brush Yeosang's chin to prevent him from lowering his head, and he doesn't know if that fleeting contact has prevented Yeosang from doing it or if Yeosang alone decides to look at him, but he does know that he wants more, and from the way Yeosang stares at him, he thinks he's not the only one.

He doesn't feel used or shallow, and he doesn't think Yeosang is either. He actually feels powerful, as he realizes that then, Yeosang does find him attractive, and just as he's attracted to Yeosang, Yeosang is attracted to him.

How he turns out to be so lucky, he really doesn't know.

“You said...” he doesn't take his eyes off Yeosang when Yeosang takes the lollipop from his mouth. He believes that what he wants to pronounce is important and for that reason he prefers to keep the candy away from his lips. “That you wanted to buy me a smoothie, but... what if... you can do something for me other than that?”

Still with Yeosang's arm left loosely around his neck, he turns his body towards him. He wants to take his blazer off because it's hot, but Yeosang has expressed those words without an amused smile and with a somewhat uncertain tone of voice.

“I'm all ears.”

The way Yeosang lowers his eyes to his body is all he needs to understand that definitely, he's not the only one with a hint of hunger in his gaze.

Yeosang switches the glass and the lollipop to the same hand to reach his free hand towards the texture of his suit and trace its silver details with his index finger. That action causes him to feel a slight tingle that only leads him to swallow, to wonder what would happen if Yeosang decided to press harder, if in fact Yeosang decided that said fabric is unnecessary. The fateless lines would be drawn over his chest by Yeosang.

Yeosang promptly pulls back his hand and looks at him again.

“Well, not for me. But... to me,” Yeosang clarifies, and he swallows because there’s a big difference between for and to and both are aware of that detail. “I need a distraction. Do you think you can offer me that? A distraction?”

“Bold.”

Yeosang's sentence is not explicit, but the intention behind it is.

“Isn't that what we all crave? Honesty?” Yeosang offers, and certainly, if they are side by side at that moment, it‘s because they are tired of the lies. “What do you think?”

Jongho thinks that he craves more than honesty said in words.

“I need you to be a little more specific,” he presses because he's enjoying this, having Yeosang next to him, staring at him while suggesting that the current closeness can't be described as enough.

This time he lifts one corner of his mouth, amused as while he thinks that Yeosang has already thought more than enough of what he wants to say, parting his lips to express those words is less easy. And besides, he really wants to hear Yeosang be clear.

Yeosang shifts a bit in his place but doesn't move away from him.

“I'll accept your apology if...” he searches for Yeosang's gaze as he lowers it and Yeosang agrees to meet his eyes. The slightest trace of a pink hue has appeared to decorate his cheeks this time, and he doesn't widen his smile solely because he wants Yeosang to keep talking. “If instead of buying me clothes... you...”

Yeosang again starts to play with the silver details of his suit, but he thinks that this time he’s doing it to take the time to get enough courage to keep talking. He decides to leave one of his hands on his knees, hoping that such contact reassures him that there’s nothing to fear, and that seems to be a good decision because Yeosang looks at him again and finally completes his sentence.

“Take them off.”

He definitely wants to take off his own clothes as soon as he hears that Yeosang wants him to take off his. He's feeling hot and wearing a suit exactly tailored to his figure is becoming uncomfortable when the person he couldn't take his eyes off assures him that the same happens vice-versa.

“Have you been drinking?” He asks him, because that damn glass has prevented and still prevents both of Yeosang's hands from being on his body.

“No, I was just holding it,” Yeosang replies instead of tilting his head, confused when instead of answering his question, he asks another.

Upon hearing his words, he doesn't question why Yeosang has chosen to hold a glass if he has never planned to drink the champagne. He stops looking at him and sees that indeed Yeosang is holding the lollipop and the glass in the same hand.

He gently takes the glass from Yeosang's grasp, and leaning to the side is enough to set the glass down on the small table next to the couch, and he finally has the chance of slipping his arm between Yeosang's body and the back of the couch.

He surrounds Yeosang's waist with it while Yeosang hasn’t stopped keeping his arm around his neck. He turns his gaze back to Yeosang and Yeosang brings the lollipop back to his mouth before deciding to wrap both arms around his neck from the side.

“I could definitely distract you,” he opts to reply, knowing that he'll probably, no, definitely, he will get distracted in the process as well. “And I definitely want to put my hands all over you.”

He didn’t propose to leave the gala with a certain idea in his head other than to get away from the others, but it's becoming apparent that they're both starting to think about the privacy they've managed to get to be honest.

Honest with each other as well as with themselves by putting into words what their bodies want. Use their mouths for more than just keeping up their conversation and their hands for more than just accompanying their sentences with certain gestures.

“I could use a distraction as well.” he adds.

He’s used to thinking of relationships with the people around him as small businesses, as clients, even. There’s a supply and a demand, invisible contracts are pronounced aloud, and short alliances are established.

The goal is to satisfy certain needs, and Yeosang happens to offer him something that he can’t bring himself to deny.

“Let's make a deal.”

“I’m listening,” Yeosang agrees.

“I don't want you to forget about me so easily,” he says.

If he offers everything at the first opportunity, Yeosang can later opt out.

“You don't trust your abilities?” Yeosang smiles, entertained and with the lollipop still present between his lips.

“How do you want me to distract you?”

This time he smiles, without a lollipop to sweeten his palate but just as amused when Yeosang loses his smile upon hearing his question. It's evident that they both know how he wants to be distracted since he's previously mentioned taking his clothes off, but he revels in the way Yeosang swallows.

“Tell me your terms,” he presses. It's a deal after all.

Yeosang stares at him, looking somewhat impressed with the fact that he’s indeed giving him the chance to ask for what he wants. And he can only wonder how anyone would be able to tell him no.

“Kisses...” Yeosang says. “I want kisses.”

He lowers his gaze to Yeosang's lips while being fully aware of Yeosang's eyes on him. He wants to eliminate the inches between them to fulfill Yeosang's request right then and there, but he forces himself to look up because the meeting of their lips could be the beginning of it all.

“Done.”

“I...” Yeosang looks down and he knows there’s more, they both know there’s more to say, more to ask for. “I want you to touch me,” his hand is still on Yeosang's knee. “And I want to touch you,” Yeosang looks at him.

“Done,” he says, and clears his throat after feeling a tingle travel through his body. Expectantly, his body anticipates what can happen between them, what he imagines can happen between them.

His arm remains firm around Yeosang's waist, without pressing or squeezing. It just stays around Yeosang's figure, keeping him close even though Yeosang has never moved away again.

“Anything else?” he adds when Yeosang stays with parted lips but doesn't speak.

“I want you to...” Yeosang again slides his gaze down, his sentence remaining unfinished. He bites his lower lip and the blush is more prominent on his cheeks.

He really can only wonder what he did to find himself holding Yeosang at that moment, what kind of fortune has fallen on his shoulders not to need Yeosang to finish his sentence because the way Yeosang again shifts in his place is enough to know what Yeosang wants from him, what Yeosang wants him to do to him, just like Yeosang said before.

He leans into Yeosang and notices how Yeosang's eyes follow the movement of his hand as he moves it from his knee up to his thigh. Even if Yeosang doesn't look at him, he holds a lopsided smirk.

“You want me to fuck you, don't you?”

He revels in the way Yeosang tenses under his touch only to quickly relax again, looking grateful that he didn't have to say those words but embarrassed that he didn't need to say them for him to decipher.

Yeosang nods although he continues not to look at him, and he feels his hands itch to touch Yeosang. His hands are already on Yeosang's figure, but just like Yeosang, he believes that closeness is not enough.

His fingers already want to cover centimeters of skin, but he knows that he will only enjoy the moment even more if he listens to Yeosang express what he wants him to do to him, what kind of images are the ones that lead him to remain silent and with a blush on his cheeks.

“I can't give you what you want if you don't tell me. You have to say it,” he gently reminds him. Yeosang choosing to look away instead of at him allows him to observe the particularity of his birthmark as well as to trace his profile with his eyes, but Yeosang has to say it. “Terms, remember?”

“I want you to fuck me,” Yeosang suddenly blurts out, looking at him.

He guesses that he's not the only one letting the exchanged words guide his body because he feels Yeosang's hands press on the side of his neck.

“Why do you make me say it?” unlike his previous words, this time Yeosang speaks in a whisper though only the two of them are present.

“Because maybe, just maybe,” he says, bringing his face closer to Yeosang's, getting Yeosang to straighten up. He pretends to be searching for the right words by looking away, and promptly looks back at Yeosang. “My ego goes up a bit, quite a bit, actually, when I hear that you want me to fuck you.”

“You haven't said done,” is all Yeosang says.

He again imposes the same distance between them, and he smirks.

“Observant.”

“You don't want to fuck me. Maybe you don't like—”

“I never said that.” he doesn't hesitate to interrupt him.

He hopes that his fixed gaze is enough to reassure Yeosang that he's definitely interested in having him beneath him, sporting a deep blush on his cheeks, his locks now neatly combed together representing a mess after doing what Yeosang has asked from the beginning. Take off his clothes.

“You did say a deal,” Yeosang says. “Your terms. What do you want in return?”

“Just one condition. Come back to me,” is all he asks of him.

He believes that he doesn’t succumb to the images that his mind provides him solely because he wants Yeosang to remain excited, wanting more, wanting more from and of him.

He hasn't said the word done for the third time because despite the tickling of his hands and the discomfort of his clothes, he doesn't want everything to end that night.

“Deal?” he asks him.

People take and leave, get what they want, and never show up again. Alliances are usually momentary, and the current face can disappear the next day.

He doesn't want to feel compelled to stay tuned in the halls of the university just to catch Yeosang with his gaze. Just like he said, he wants Yeosang to come back to him. That's all he’s asking, that’s all he wants.

“Deal.” Yeosang agrees.

He slightly raises one of the corners of his mouth upon hearing the conclusion of the deal between them, and he doesn't see why he shouldn't start showing Yeosang that just as he considers himself lucky to have Yeosang, Yeosang can consider himself lucky to have him.

“I offer you a blowjob tonight,” if Yeosang is capable of provoking him with his mouth, the same can happen the other way around. He notices that Yeosang forms a line with his lips to avoid smiling, and he simply knows that it’s because, as Yeosang has told him, on more than one occasion already, he finds him funny. “And if you deem my abilities as worthy, you can ask for more.”

If Yeosang needs a distraction, then he will distract him with the help of his mouth. Being the son of the Prime Minister hasn’t prevented him from having his respective sum of certain experiences throughout his life, to consider himself worthy of giving Yeosang a moment, but said moment will only occur if Yeosang accepts his words.

He stops keeping his hand on Yeosang's knee to hold it between them, his palm facing up. Yeosang doesn’t need him to say a word out loud to understand his intentions, and before long, their hands finally meet as Yeosang agrees to take it.

It's a soft and a bit wet and cold touch since previously Yeosang has been holding a glass, and he gently tugs on his hand to increase the closeness between them.

“Such a gentleman,” Yeosang expresses, allowing himself to be guided.

Yeosang accepts his hand for guidance and finally, finally stops sitting next to him by sitting on his lap, his legs left at the sides of his thighs. The city of Seoul is no longer his main view when Yeosang blocks the windows with his body, but he can't bring himself to complain or care.

He always has the opportunity to observe Seoul.

Yeosang? He really hopes that night is not the only chance.

“I have manners,” he assures Yeosang.

Instead of saying a word about it, Yeosang once again wraps his arms around his neck as he leaves his hands on his waist and takes advantage of the newly established closeness to denote the dreamy details of his face.

“Isn't this the moment where you tell me that this will be purely and exclusively physical?” Yeosang asks him. “Some crap about how I shouldn’t fall in love with you?”

“No, not at all, fall in love with me, it will be reciprocated,” he doesn’t hesitate to express along with a smile.

True, Yeosang's beauty is the first detail that managed to captivate him, but that doesn’t mean that although they have just expressed that the deal between them will be based on staying physically close, that proximity can’t lead to another.

“You have no idea what you're saying,” Yeosang shakes his head softly.

Just as he doesn't know what kind of fortune has befallen him to actually have Yeosang on his lap, he doesn't know what kind of misfortune has chased Yeosang into uttering those words, indicating that it isn’t in his best interest to fall for him.

“Let's start our deal, shall we?” He proposes, believing that his fortune may now make Yeosang's misfortune less.

Yeosang holds the beginning of a small smile.

“I’m not one to deny the son of the Prime Minister.”

Yeosang's free finds his nape as he takes advantage of the fact that he's left his hands on his waist to pull him close, and the deal between them finally ceases to be nothing more than a crossroads between them when his mouths find the taste of cherry that decorates Yeosang's lips.

The promise of more, much more begins between them and he revels in the way Yeosang's fingers slide up to his hair to balance himself as he wraps one of his arms around Yeosang's waist just like before, but now to pull Yeosang towards him and keep him impossibly close.

His other hand finds Yeosang's jaw, and instead of pulling apart to take in the sensation that their lips cause, they completely immerse themselves in it. Yeosang allows him to slip his tongue past his lips because they've had plenty of time to make sure this is what they both want and need.

He can't remember the last time he's felt like this, comfortable with someone close to him, his senses relaxed and his body excited for more. Correct posture. Proper demeanor. With Yeosang he doesn't need to act, he just has to let go.

Yeosang releases his gentle grip on his locks to slide his hand under the collar of his suit as his hand is caught between the back of his head and the back of the couch.

His arm only continues to squeeze the inches of Yeosang's waist as Yeosang grinds down on him, pressing and looking for more, wanting to feel more, and the breath they haven't sought to take before is finally given a place, as he believes the placid sounds they both let out are enough for him to decide to slide his hands down Yeosang's back thighs.

“Hold on to me.” he asks him.

Yeosang doesn't question his words and makes sure to keep his arms secured around his neck. Yeosang’s ragged breath is interrupted by the slight expression of surprise that escapes his lips as he lifts him up, and stands up, bringing Yeosang's legs around his waist to prevent him from falling.

Yeosang on his lap is a placid reality rather than a fantasy and he would never forbid him from seeking his pleasure by brushing his body against his in that way. There's nothing he wants to do but repeat his words as he sees the smile that appears to guide Yeosang's face as a result of the display of strength, but he has made a deal with Yeosang, and he plans to respect it.

He turns around for his back to be the one facing the windows, and he gently releases his hands from Yeosang's thighs so that Yeosang rests his feet on the ground. He wants to catch Yeosang's smile between his lips again, but that damn lollipop is in his mouth again, so he makes sure to finally take off his blazer first, throwing it onto the couch.

It isn’t his intention for Yeosang to find any impediment to caressing his skin.

“You have to help me,” Yeosang says, low and soft against his lips, and Jongho thinks he wouldn't hesitate to help him no matter what it is as long as he hears that Yeosang needs him again.

Still with the lollipop between his lips, Yeosang turns to expose the back of his body.

He takes his time running his eyes over his figure until he understands what kind of help Yeosang referred to once his gaze falls on the zipper of his blouse.

He doesn't ask can you help me, please? No, Yeosang has already asked him to take off his clothes, and it would be unfair of him to go back on his word.

He leaves one of his hands on his shoulder and soon his fingers find the zip of his clothing, and he only feels able to look down when he takes in the new inches of exposed skin. Yeosang's back muscles flex under his eyes as Yeosang also gets rid of the shirt sleeves that are attached to said garment.

The item meets the same fate as his blazer, and neither of them utters any comment about the previously spilled champagne once Yeosang turns to look at him.

But Yeosang does complain.

“I want your shirt off too.”

He smiles when he listens to Yeosang as well as when he sees the way the lollipop stick follows the words that leave his mouth. Instead of following Yeosang's words with actions, he gently pulls the lollipop out of Yeosang’s mouth and replaces it with his lips once he leaves his free hand on the back of Yeosang's neck.

Yeosang hums over his mouth, turning pliant under his touch, and he feels Yeosang's hands on his torso to keep him just as close no matter how spacious the suite they are in. Yeosang's lips meet his, and the only sweetness he accepts is the cherry taste that decorates Yeosang's lips.

He gently traps Yeosang's lower lip between his teeth and tugs on it, getting Yeosang to catch the fabric of his shirt between his fingers. Whether to try to control his own breathing or to admire Yeosang breathing heavily and the way his abdominal muscles demonstrate the unsteady rhythm of said breathing, he leaves a few millimeters between them.

“Tonight is about you, not about me.”

Yeosang seems to use the short distance to breathe and stop keeping one of his hands on his shirt to wrap it around his wrist. He feels enchanted under Yeosang’s fixed gaze as Yeosang takes hold of his wrist to bring his hand close to his mouth, and wraps his cherry-flavored lips around the lollipop.

He tightens his hand on the back of Yeosang’s neck because he knows that Yeosang is taunting him, and the smile that Yeosang draws only evidences his thought.

Yeosang takes the lollipop and brings it back to his mouth.

“It's about me and I want your shirt off.” Yeosang repeats.

With the lollipop now present in his mouth and glitter scattered around his gaze as a consequence of the closeness between their faces and the previous proximity between their mouths, Yeosang stares at him.

Standing face to face with little space between them, he doesn’t withdraw his hand from Yeosang's neck, and despite the request heard, he brings his now free hand to his waist.

Yeosang's hands linger on his torso as he presses their bodies together to leave a knee between Yeosang's legs, and tilts Yeosang's head to place his lips on his neck. Yeosang's hands spread out over his chest definitely feels much better than the slight tingling Yeosang previously caused after running his fingers through the fabric of his blazer.

He wants to appreciate Yeosang, to show that he doesn't take his presence for granted and that Yeosang deserves to be appreciated, and he plans to show said appreciation with the help of his hands and lips.

He listens to the ragged breath that leaves Yeosang's lips when he kisses his neck, and Yeosang makes sure to keep his head tilted to provide him better access. He begins to trace a path of slow kisses, taking his time to rest his lips on different centimeters of his neck, and raises his head to leave a kiss on his jaw.

“Bossy,” Jongho expresses on his lips.

The corners of his mouth turn up as Yeosang stares at him instead of uttering a word. 

Yeosang decides to take control of the situation, or rather, he gives it up after allowing Yeosang to unbutton his shirt, and his hands are no longer on Yeosang's body as Yeosang slides his shirt off his shoulders to get rid of it.

“Satisfied?” he asks him when Yeosang leaves his gaze on his bare torso.

Despite the constant events, meetings, and tasks that busy his schedule, he's always made sure to reserve a certain amount of time to solidify his muscles and strengthen his figure.

He doesn't pull apart Yeosang when Yeosang slides his hands down his arms —and if Yeosang notices that he chooses to flex his muscles under his touch on purpose, he doesn't say so.

“Very,” Yeosang looks at him.

“I can satisfy you even more.”

His hands find Yeosang’s waist again, bare and soft skin this time, and he reminds Yeosang of the presence of his knee between his legs by pressuring his crotch.

Yeosang's fingers dig into his muscle as he performs that action, and a sound scrapes his throat. He can feel the consequences of the closeness established on his own body, bothering his pants and wanting to take them off, and notices the same in the figure of Yeosang.

The lollipop prevents him from kissing Yeosang so he places a kiss on the corner of his mouth. He wants Yeosang eager for more once he makes good on his word and his mouth wraps around the cock that he rubs his knee against at that moment, and perhaps he no longer hates the impediment that the lollipop causes because the moan that leaves Yeosang's lips caresses his ears.

He again traces a path of kisses over his neck and begins to lean down as his mouth stops meeting his clavicles. 

He feels the definition of Yeosang's silhouette beneath his fingers, the way his muscles tense under his mouth to then turn pliant, his skin is awakened by his lips, and having a lollipop in his mouth doesn't stop Yeosang's irregular breathing from echoing off the room's walls.

His knees finally touch the ground, and Yeosang's hands come to settle on his shoulders, soft but present. He slightly tilts his head back to look at him and allows one corner of his mouth to lift as he notices Yeosang's hooded eyes and his inability to keep his lips sealed.

“Off,” he says this time.

Yeosang helps him and he helps Yeosang.

He unbuckles Yeosang's belt, and slides his pants down along with his underwear, not seeing why he shouldn't discard all fabric when both are aware of how they've established the beginning of the deal between them.

He looks at Yeosang, aware of the already aroused skin in front of his face.

He thinks it's strange, being the person who has to look up. As the Prime Minister's son, he’s used to situations unfolding the other way around. People kneel before him in attitude, they don't seek to face his words or impose themselves. He ends up getting bored because people get close but not really, while Yeosang assures him that if he wants his shirt off him, then his shirt will stop covering his torso.

By finding himself kneeling for the first time, being looked at by brown eyes characterized by the presence of a birthmark, he’s intrigued, excited, even. His boredom is replaced by enthusiasm.

He offers Yeosang a hand, and Yeosang agrees to rest his hand on his to sit on the edge of the couch. Yeosang allows him to spread his legs to accommodate himself between them and initiate the beginning of a more intimate closeness.

He caresses one of his legs with his knuckles while Yeosang settles into the couch, and he can only wonder how he is not supposed to be and feel excited when Yeosang lies in front of him, naked, offering him the chance to run his eyes over the firmness of his muscles, and the softness of his skin with his hands.

“Are you sure of this?” he asks him as he begins to kiss his leg, covering inches of skin with his mouth, climbing up until he kisses his thigh and looks back at him.

Yeosang's hard cock assures him of the answer to his question, but he wants Yeosang to express in words that they both want the continuation of the moment that perhaps started ever since Yeosang decided to wrap his hands around his arm.

Yeosang pulls the lollipop out of his mouth, the candy already reduced to a small cherry ball.

“Having the Prime Minister's son on his knees for me is not something I expected to happen to me tonight, but now I would become the buffoon of the two if I decided to stop you.”

“That's not an answer,” Jongho digs his fingertips into the meat of his thigh.

Yeosang bites his lower lip and Jongho hopes it's because they both react to each other's touch.

“Yes, I'm sure.”

“Good.”

Instead of adding another word, he spreads one of his palms over Yeosang's thigh as he finally takes the base of his cock between his fingers. Yeosang's legs threaten to close but the hand that he has left on his figure prevents him from doing so.

He looks up at Yeosang to watch him allow a breath to leave his lips before closing his eyes. He begins to move his hand up and down, and the relief that his touch produces, despite being somewhat dry, fortunately relaxes Yeosang. It gets him to settle further into the couch, and allow himself to forget the details around him to let himself be carried away by the hands present on his body.

Stimulation is what he wants to give, as well as pleasure is what he seeks to generate as he makes sure to excerpt enough pressure over the head with the help of his thumb, giving slow yet firm strokes. A distraction is what Yeosang has asked of him, and the chance to forget about everything and everyone except him is what he will give him.

A breathy moan scrapes Yeosang's throat, and Jongho takes that sound as the cause to finally fulfill what he promised and takes his cock in his mouth, pressing his tongue against the tip and lowering his head to take more inches of heated skin between the pinkish hue of his lips.

Both his presence and the invisible crown over his head get people to seek to satisfy him —always, without fault. It's true that being the Prime Minister’s son gives his shoulders a rest since several responsibilities are taken off no matter if he makes sure to always be next to his parents, ready to question —accept their decisions when it comes to leading the country.

But any possibility of feeling something, of even trying to feel anything is ruled out. At external eyes it may seem that his sensations are the ones prioritized since a nod from him is what is sought, and even so, boredom embraces him.

He wants to cause good sensations and be more than a simple heir and the mixture of the decisions of his parents. He wants to know that he’s capable of entertaining, and not precisely because he knows what words to express. He wants to be the reason, the cause, and the provocation behind other people's moans —Yeosang's.

So when his eyes find the image of Yeosang with his head thrown back against the back of the couch, with his eyes closed and his lips parted to allow the scratching of his throat to become a reality, he doesn't lose concentration and lowers his head even more.

The pressure of Yeosang's cock on his tongue is welcome, and his trousers only continue to bother him with each passing second. He expected Yeosang to feel eager, not realizing that he would also share that feeling of excitement.

He swallows the taste of pleasant sensations as Yeosang begins to allow the closeness between them to guide his senses, and the hand that buries itself between his dark brown locks is welcome too.

“You know— ah— you know what you are doing...” The trembling of Yeosang's voice is followed by a strangled moan.

A tingling sensation runs through his body as Yeosang's words guide his thoughts, and he leans back to lick his lips. Now Yeosang's cock glistens with precum and his saliva, and throbs in search of the warmth of his mouth. He caresses Yeosang's thigh with his other hand, feeling the soft skin crumbling beneath his hands and mouth.

Yeosang's fingertips caress his scalp, and from the warm sensation that hugs his stomach and spreads to the different parts of his body, Jongho thinks he could get used to the compliments escaping from those pretty and still tempting cherry-flavored lips.

“I know how to use my mouth.”

Just as many times he must remain silent, listening to phrases that he doesn’t really hear, many other times he must respond to them with previously practiced or memorized words. He smiles when the moment calls for it, and his lips form a line when he should.

After deeming himself capable of charming people when people actually believe they are the ones charming him, he considers that he certainly knows how to use his mouth.

Yeosang opens his eyes upon hearing him and their gazes meet.

Jongho thinks that perhaps it’s true that they are still strangers. He knows Yeosang's name, why he’s been invited to the gala, and therefore why his last name is important, but they remain complete strangers.

They are part of the same world, and yes, before his eyes Yeosang lies flushed and bare, but exposing himself physically doesn’t imply showing his feelings. Even so, he believes that up until now Yeosang has inadvertently allowed him to glimpse some of the emotions that guide his thoughts and actions.

The pronunciation of helpless phrases and ineffective lies are the kinds of words that guide the world of which both are part. He would like to say that he doesn't understand how or why Yeosang hints at not being, not feeling appreciated when he doesn't doubt that all kinds of compliments reach his ears.

However, he knows that such compliments can be said on purpose or dishonestly, as he too is used to expressing and hearing words laden with praise, and yet he doesn't feel appreciated.

They are strangers, but they understand each other —at least enough to seal a deal where he promises to distract Yeosang, and Yeosang guarantees to come back to him. As subtle as that may seem, he believes the desperation to be obvious.

Yeosang again allows a pleased moan to leave his lips and the grip on his hair tightens when Yeosang shows him that having led him to be on his knees, once again lowering his head to Yeosang’s cock to pleasure has given him the opportunity to find himself discovering a new world, a place where his actions bring pleasant consequences —to Yeosang, but also to himself.

A new moan caresses his ears and the tips of his fingers seek to exert pressure on Yeosang's skin as he feels him twitch and shift under his touch, though that results in his hair being slightly pulled.

He gives and Yeosang receives, yet he feels saved because Yeosang gives him a moment of sincerity, where nothing is calculated and only feeling matters. Hands steady different body parts, fingers hold onto skin, mouths give and express pleasure.

He watches the way Yeosang swallows hard.

“It's— I'm close.”

Jongho pulls back and bites his lower lip, feeling slightly mean for not keeping his mouth around Yeosang's cock just as Yeosang happens to mention that he’s about to hit his limits. But as he watches the way in which Yeosang's chest rises and falls, and how a thin layer of sweat has appeared to cover his porcelain skin, feeling a little bad feels a little too good.

The muscles of Yeosang's stomach tighten and relax, and the half-whimper half-complaint that leaves Yeosang's lips leads him to caress his thigh and stroke his cock, believing that for Yeosang, vulnerability doesn’t appear in the form of nudity, broken moans, and muscles contracting.

“It’s good to know that I offer good entertainment to the guests.”

The effort made by his throat turns his voice into a rough melody that gets Yeosang's attention to fall on him. A dry laugh reaches his ears, and Yeosang looks at him through half-lidded eyes while he keeps on stroking his cock.

“I totally mistook your obsession with compliments for the opposite, didn't I?”

Jongho raises both eyebrows, allowing the formulation of that question to lead him to lift one of the corners of his mouth. Thinking of that phrase, he looks back at him to then lean in again, and Yeosang's fingers promptly take his locks once more.

He hollows out his cheeks and uses his tongue in the right way, with his hands he caresses where he should, and his mouth follows the proper movements. The paleness of Yeosang’s skin hosts a slightly rosy hue, and Yeosang’s figure succumbs to his touch.

Obsession with compliments? He doesn't have what Yeosang hints at as a praise kink. He has a stubborn attitude that hasn’t allowed him to put Yeosang off his mind; and when Yeosang trembles and his moan echoes throughout the place, and he soon finds himself swallowing the consequences of what words demonstrated in actions can do, he understands why he has refused to stop thinking about him at all.

“Jongho, Jongho, Jongho—” His name leaves Yeosang's mouth repeatedly, accompanied by a strangled tone of voice as he comes, and Jongho thinks he doesn't come right there too because he doesn't want his own pleasure to distract him from Yeosang's pleasure. He sounds so nice, so tempting, his voice only invites him to want to continue stimulating him in whatever way Yeosang prefers.

He feels the trembling of Yeosang's body beneath his hands and he licks his lips once he straightens up. He clears his throat and watches Yeosang take a deep breath, still with his eyes on him, certainly hodded as the pleasantness of the sensations has been the same for both of them.

Jongho wipes the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand and he doesn't mind the pulsing discomfort in his trousers. He leaves a kiss on the inner side of Yeosang’s thigh before he gets up, and leans into Yeosang’s space one more time, though this time to leave his face close to his after leaving one hand on the armrest of the couch and the other on the couch, next to Yeosang.

Yeosang stares at him, expressing no complaint at the closeness. He again brings what’s left of the lollipop into his mouth, and as Yeosang bites into it and leaves the stick aside, he again finds himself despising said candy for not having allowed Yeosang to bury both hands into his strands.

Yeosang brings one of his hands towards his chest and he wishes he had been forced to put a necklace or something around his neck so that Yeosang would have a chance to tug on it to pull him closer to him.

But he continues to keep Yeosang trapped between his body and the couch, so he doesn't complain. Yeosang makes sure to close the distance between them as well as he straightens up and leans towards him. The mere distance between them ensures that a single, simple movement on the part of one of the two would suffice to bring their lips together.

Jongho scans his figure with his eyes, allowing the corners of his mouth to curl up, satisfied, as he watches the way Yeosang's chest rises and falls, now beginning to be characterized by a calmer rhythm. Pink interruptions decorate his skin as a result of the sporadic encounters between his lips and his body, some revel locks fall onto his forehead, and his reddish lips already know his mouth.

He believes that it isn’t worth turning around to look at the wonderful and majestic city of Seoul through the windows of the suite, not when he’s delighted with the image in front of him.

“Nice view,” he says. “Strawberry.”

Soon enough the absence or presence of any accessory around his neck loses all meaning, since Yeosang slides his hand to his neck and pulls him towards him to kiss him.

Notes:

i do feel a little bad about the number of words... but... in my defense... i had to make up for the lack of jongsang... so... i’m sorry... but not really

Chapter 22

Notes:

i didn't do it on purpose, but i was listening to take home while editing this and realized that it fits perfectly with the chapter overall, so if you listen to music while reading, i recommend reading this while listening to that song

Seonghwa continues with his eyes on the dark sky, admiring the stars he has always liked. Even though all the lights in the hotel lessen the impact the stars might have, he keeps his gaze on the bright lights that interrupt the darkness of the natural ceiling above him.

He usually takes advantage of the lack of light at night to rest his eyes on the sky and try to relax. Having the opportunity to keep his eyes on the sky instead of a ceiling with luxurious hanging chandeliers certainly offers him a sense of tranquility, but on that occasion, stargazing despite the buildings around him and the exaggeration of lights, is not enough to rid his body of all present stress.

He allows a sigh to leave his lips, noticing the way his breath contrasts with the cold weather around him. He doesn't know what else to do anymore. He truly thought that his talk with Yeosang would be followed by an ease to stay close to each other.

But again they argued, and again, Yeosang hasn’t hesitated to assure him that he’s being a lousy big brother.

He doesn't understand why he can't approach Yeosang the way he wants. Everything was easier when they were younger, when Yeosang used to nod when he asked him if he could draw with him, instead of shaking his head when he asks him if he can stay close to him.

Well, everything was easier when their father was alive, he thinks.

Perhaps Yeosang's father's blood doesn’t run through his veins, but he has been around for as long as he can remember and his heart presses for that emptiness as well.

But he can't, he can't afford to grieve like he thinks he needs to.

Shedding tears would be a waste of time as crying won't make him a part of their lives again, and with Yeosang coping the way he can, he can't afford to wrap his arms around his legs and look at the ground.

Thinking about that image leads him to straighten up. His corset no longer presses against his body and he hasn't ruined his makeup with useless tears. That's what matters.

Taking part in conversations would be the right thing to do, but going back to the gala makes no sense when he doesn't consider himself capable of faking a smile —at least not anymore.

“Seonghwa?”

Stars finally stop being the main attraction for his eyes once he hears his name, and he lowers his head to find Wooyoung and San side by side.

He hasn't spoken to Wooyoung since Mingi's party, and he really doesn't have the energy for another late-night argument.

“I don’t... I don’t have the energy to fight,” he says. Sometimes, just sometimes, he can take little moments to be completely honest, to show how he truly feels.

Finding the two side by side is no surprise. Wooyoung has always been a social person, charismatic and genuine, so even if Wooyoung made him aware of his previous confrontation with San, the lack of distance between them is not surprising.

“With none of you,” he adds.

He hasn’t exchanged a word with San ever since they somehow insulted each other's parents in the middle of the hall, and his last conversation with Wooyoung at the party indicates that he’s not in the best of conditions with him either. Perhaps he has known one his whole life while the other is still a stranger, but he shakes his head as he believes that he no longer has the energy to be the protagonist of another discussion.

His eyes follow Wooyoung as Wooyoung approaches him. Unlike the last time they exchanged words, he doesn't seem angry and there's no trace of a frown in his expression.

“We ran into Yeosang.” As soon as that name leaves Wooyoung's lips, he understands why he has appeared before him without annoyance being the guide of his facial features. “He seemed to be upset.”

Again, while he doesn't get a chance to show how he really feels and what kind of feelings guide his heart, Yeosang is free to show how he feels, either with words as well as with actions.

He feels trapped. Even with a starry sky above him, he feels cornered.

“We fought.”

Expressing those words has become a habit.

If at some point he thought that changing cities would bring him closer to Yeosang as well as Yeosang to him, it turns out that it was nothing more than an illusion. A frustrated hope and another harsh reality.

They keep drifting away from each other, and that distance, that night, especially that night when they should have stayed together, hurts even more.

“Again.” he adds. Because certainly, again, they fought.

“It seemed more serious this time.”

He shakes his head, surrendered.

He doesn't know if Yeosang has ended up being nothing more than a side effect of his argument with Hongjoong because they don't understand each other, or because both have allowed the absence of their father to make them more sensitive that night.

He considers himself a patient person, more than patient, but as he has told Hongjoong before, he has limits too. He waits for feelings of anger, sadness, and irritation to surface, but there comes a time when he can't take it all anymore.

“You repeat to me that he needs me, while he expresses not needing a brother.”

Sometimes Yeosang is so wrong when without hesitation he determines that he doesn't need him, but there are so many other times when he’s only able to walk around those words, of the uselessness that he represents as an older brother, for Yeosang, and for his family.

“Not needing me. So where does that leave me?”

Wooyoung parts his lips and brings one of his hands close to his arms, but closes his mouth and his words seem to lead him to choose to withdraw his hand before he can touch him.

He doesn't doubt that the seriousness on his face is as severe as his tone of voice.  

Wooyoung doesn't move away from him even though he doesn't touch him.

“Why did you argue?” he asks.

“Not only with him, Hongjoong too,” perhaps simply for not being able to have stable relationships with the people around him.

His intentions don't matter because he continues making mistake after mistake. He’s wrong and his efforts are put aside. The words perfect, praiseworthy, promising Park Seonghwa echo in his head, loud and clear, press his shoulders and alter his thoughts.

“His mom asked us to model and I said yes. Not for our mom, but just because. But of course, nobody tries to understand me and here I am.”

Is it wrong to want to be understood? Is it too much to ask for understanding?

He’s aware that sometimes he’s told what he’s told as a byproduct of the definition of his facial features. His appearance is a detail that he has learned to take into account when dealing with the people around him. Just as they have apparently inherited financial stability, sharp features and striking faces are part of the heritage as well.

He thought that modeling would be fun and entertaining to get Yeosang to take his mind off. But no, again Yeosang doesn't understand the motives behind his words, and Hongjoong happens to be in the middle of the equation.

He no longer knows what to think.

At the very least, his mother will be pleased that he has struck up a conversation with Hongjoong's mother —even if he's no longer sure how much pride he represents in his mother's eyes.

“Hongjoong...” both he and Wooyoung rest their eyes on San when he joins the conversation. “He has problems with it.”

“We all have them.” he determines.

Words produce as many sensations as actions. Joined letters can provoke alliances and wars, emotions of anger and sadness, and represent temptations as well if they are pronounced in the correct way, with confidence, and in the right tone of voice.

Truths and lies become one in a world where strategies depend on one's own abilities.

Hongjoong is allowed to mistrust his intentions, he doesn’t expect full trust, but he believes that Hongjoong is a hypocrite for reacting the way he does when so far, he has valid arguments to distrust Hongjoong.

He doesn't know if his frustration is noticeable enough that this time Wooyoung does opt to rest his hand on one of his arms.

It's a soft, comforting touch, and he doesn't know how to react to the fact that he needs to be comforted. Instead of uttering a word about the apparent argument that has taken place, Wooyoung stares at him with a pained look.

“I'm really sorry about our discussion.” Wooyoung says.

He still doesn't understand why both Wooyoung and Yeosang would seek to get high, much less Wooyoung along with Yeosang when both are aware of the instability that haunts Yeosang; but if he’s to be honest, he has to admit knowing that Wooyoung's presence makes Yeosang look less lost.

“I'm sorry too.”

Unlike with Yeosang, arguing and getting back on good terms with Wooyoung is easy. 

Wooyoung offers him a small smile when he hears his apologies, he smiles at him as he usually does once they manage to get close to each other after allowing harsh words to be said between them. Wooyoung is his friend too.

Yet as soon as he notices that said gesture stops decorating Wooyoung’s face when he shares a look with San, he assumes that offering an apology is not the only reason that has led him to be in front of him.

“With San, we just, mh— we heard something,” Wooyoung says. “His dad and your mom, they... don't want you guys to be around each other.”

He frowns, confused. Having expected him to mention Yeosang's name, he allows disorientation to guide his expression.

“What?”

“Yes, that it's better if you and Yeosang aren't close to San and San to you.”

“Why?” He asks him, but soon enough he formulates another question once he realizes that Wooyoung mentioned San’s father, not just another person. “Wait. Did they talk?”

As both Wooyoung and San nod, he allows a breath to leave his lips. Yeosang did tell him that their mother and San's father know each other, and that she denied said relationship. While he doesn't hesitate to easily mistrust people, he doubts that Wooyoung and San are lying.

He looks at San because his father is the other person involved, and his serious expression only assures him that they are telling the truth, and that as such, Yeosang is right.

Their mother denying said proximity and expressing that it’s better if they stay away from San doesn’t make sense. He has always known that his mother is capable of pretending, but he thinks that until now he has never thought about the possibility that his mother also has the ability to lie to them.

While he follows his mother's instructions without question, his mother plays her own game.

“I'm going home,” he determines. House, Yeosang would say.

Leaving the gala without letting his mother know will probably make his conversations with Jongho and Hongjoong's mother lose all merit, as his mistakes and not his successes are always highlighted, but the truth is that he doesn't care. He will probably regret it later, but at that moment his shoulders aren't decorated with said regret.

While his mother chooses to lie, he chooses to be honest with himself momentarily, and he accepts that he doesn't have the energy to cross the main doors of the hotel again, to continue to function as his mother expects him to.

Yeosang doesn't want him around, neither does Hongjoong, and he doesn't want to be around himself; but while he doesn't have the chance to abandon himself, he can leave the gala.

“We'll accompany you,” Wooyoung offers.

“You don’t need to,”

“No, it's okay,” San insists. “This sucks anyway.”

Wooyoung nods to show that he agrees with those words, and he doesn't shake his head because if not even Wooyoung, social and always eager to go out, wants to be there, then resisting the company is a waste of time.

“I'll call my driver,” San adds when he doesn't see him shake his head.

Wooyoung looks at him when they're left alone, and he stops looking at San to hold his gaze.

“So... you... and... him?” If both Wooyoung San listened to the same conversation, they were together. “I assume you won't stay home,” he adds.

Wooyoung allowing the corners of his mouth to rise at the utterance of his words assures him that he’s been correct in thinking that he shouldn’t be surprised if he and San appear side by side again, but Wooyoung promptly remains serious instead of allowing the beginning of his earlier smile to morph into a full grin.

“I don't know where Yeosang is.”

Seonghwa parts his lips but quickly forms a soft line with them. He doubts it's a good idea for both him and Wooyoung to leave the gala without knowing Yeosang's location. However, if Yeosang has chosen to even get away from Wooyoung, it's because he doesn't want to be found.

For that reason alone he keeps his eyes on the car that stops next to them. San opens the door, already in it. Wooyoung looks at the hotel behind him, seeming indecisive and uncertain, and he leaves a hand on his shoulder instead of copying his actions. 

Wooyoung looks at him, and the hand he slides to his back is enough to convince him that staying makes no sense. It's a strange feeling, but he doesn't stay still, and Wooyoung doesn't press against the palm on his back to try to stay.

Once he ends up sitting in the car, with the window next to him and Wooyoung between him and San, he slides his eyes out into the night after mentioning his address. The hotel lights soon stop bathing their facial features in a golden hue, and although he can't make out the stars in the sky because of the height of the buildings, he lets out a short breath anyway.

He hasn't thought of ending the night that way —much less leaving the gala with Wooyoung and San by his side—, but he's not surprised. Arguing with Yeosang has become a habit, and this time, he’s the first of the two to walk away.

“I...” he stops keeping his gaze on the window when he listens to San, and notices that he has leaned forward to watch him. “Sorry for our discussion. I was angry.”

Thinking about the words they have said to each other leads him to believe that the discussion between them has been nothing more than a waste of time. While they have chafed at each other on behalf of their parents, their parents haven’t hesitated to lie to them just as determinedly. It's an irony.

“It's okay. I'm sorry too.”

“I can talk to Hongjoong if you want,” San offers.

He shakes his head.

“Not worth it,” he says before turning his head to the window.

There’s no need for San to waste his time trying to convince Hongjoong that he hasn't approached him with any intention other than just because, when Hongjoong hasn't even made the effort to try to understand him.

Why would he want to be around a person who won't listen to him?

It makes no sense.

Hongjoong is a hypocrite for even hinting that he’s an interested person when Hongjoong didn’t hesitate to get close to him, feigning interest in order to favor Yunho. He doesn’t have the right to reproach when his decisions speak for themselves.

His ears capture the slight murmur caused by Wooyoung and San’s voices, and his eyes scan the different details that make up the night version of the city of Seoul until his gaze quickly falls on a structure that although he recognizes as familiar, he can’t describe as home.

The car stops in front of his house, and he straightens up.

“Thank you for accompanying me,” he thanks them.

He tenses up and widens his eyes the moment Wooyoung hugs him. His back straightens and he feels his hands form fists. The gesture feels nice, certainly comforting even, and while a part of him thinks he shouldn't need to be comforted, another part of him quickly relaxes, remembering that physical contact has always been to his liking.

He relaxes and finds himself reciprocating the hug, not remembering the last time Wooyoung hugged him, that someone has hugged him. Maybe at his father's funeral, but no one hugged him as Wooyoung did. Genuinely hoping that he would feel better soon, he wrapped his arms around his body to assure him that he was there to comfort him —that he still is.

It's true that he might be used to pretending and listening to lies, as well as feigning interest, but Wooyoung's arms around his body have always felt like a sincere gesture.

He doesn't need Wooyoung to ask out loud if he wants him to stay with him because all he has to do is meet his gaze to know that he's formulating that question, but he shakes his head because he thinks Wooyoung's done enough for him.

He offers them a short smile, and the car pulls away as he enters the house. Yeosang and their mother’s voices don't reach his ears, and yet he has never felt more fortunate. The lights of the hotel are replaced by the darkness of the house, and he allows himself to leave his back against the door for a few seconds before straightening up.

Although he’s no longer present at the gala, the exchanged words continue to spin around his head, so he heads towards his room and soon finds himself opening one of the drawers in his closet to retract a box.

His eyes fall on a gold bracelet that sports a star charm, and he leaves it around his wrist before sitting on the floor with his back against his bed. He stares at the accessory, feeling that it burns him though his wrist doesn’t turn red.

His father has always assured him that no matter how bright the stars in the sky are, he’s the brightest star of all. He forms a line with his lips at the thought that he no longer knows if that's still true.

A crystal layer doesn't appear to cloud his gaze, but he’s aware that he blinks several times as his eyes fall on the rest of the things in the box, and he finds photos of him together with Yeosang when they were kids.

---

San watches Wooyoung as Wooyoung slides to the side of the car where Seonghwa has been to look out the window, his eyes settling on what soon becomes Seonghwa's house in the distance.

“Are you okay?” he decides to ask him.

Seonghwa has remained silent for most of the trip, and though Wooyoung has exchanged a few words with him, Seonghwa hasn't noticed all the sidelong glances Wooyoung gave him ever since they left the gala.

“Yes...” Wooyoung continues with his face a few millimeters from the window, but soon enough straightens up to look ahead. Despite his positive response, concern seems to guide his expression. “I just wonder if he is. His mom is particular.”

“I can't believe that we fought over our parents only for them to decide to lie to us,” he says.

Both he and Seonghwa jumped to their respective parents' defense, being honest with their reactions, while their parents choose to lie to their own faces.

He told his father that he gets along with Yeosang just to keep him calm, so that he knows that even though he no longer holds the position of director at the university, he shouldn’t worry about him, but his father has only taken those words —and that closeness— as a concern.

Why? He also wants to know the answer.

“We're not perfect, and neither are our parents,” Wooyoung expresses.

He stares at Wooyoung as Wooyoung accompanies his words with a lost tone of voice that assures him that he isn't just talking about his father and Yeosang and Seonghwa's mother.

“I don't know why we always expect them to be like that.” Wooyoung adds.

It's true. Perhaps they should be annoyed with themselves instead of with their respective parents for thinking that they are not capable of being wrong, of making mistakes like anyone else. Is it their fault for expecting their parents to be honest?

He knows that his father isn't perfect, he has never expected him to be, but he hasn't expected to hear him share the kind of words that he shared with Yeosang and Seonghwa's mother either.

Perhaps he’s disappointed because, in a certain way, their parents do expect them to be perfect.

“Are they... always like this?” he chooses to ask him.

They have mainly approached Yeosang with the idea of commenting on what they heard, since Yeosang has been the person who first approached him to assure him that their parents know each other though his mother has denied doing so.

But Yeosang refused to stay close, and running into Seonghwa has been enough to know that again, they are not in their best condition.

He’s not surprised.

Even if he can't express knowing them, he has noticed the constant closeness and rupture of it between Yeosang and Seonghwa. Yeosang doesn't hesitate to correct him when he says that Seonghwa is his half-brother instead of his brother, but he doesn't hesitate to push Seonghwa away either.

“Not always but... currently...”

He’s only able to think of phrases previously mentioned by Yeosang when he hears the word currently. While he attended the gala together with his father, Yeosang and Seonghwa showed up only with their mother.

“Yeosang... he... he told me that their father passed away.”

Wooyoung rests his gaze on him as soon as he mentions those words.

“He did?” he asks, looking impressed.

“It wasn't our best conversation,” he seeks to clarify as he assumes that Wooyoung must be wondering how or why Yeosang decided to share that information with him, as they first met because Wooyoung didn’t doubt to push him against the row of lockers as a consequence of his bad start with Yeosang.

“He passed away, recently...” again San is not surprised to hear him.

His father's new job, Yeosang and Seonghwa's presences, and the problems between them. He knows what it's like to live with only one parent after death hit his family, but he was a newborn baby when his mother died, so the situations are still different. While he has gotten used to living with such an absence, both Yeosang and Seonghwa must get used to the change in their family.

“I thought... that... I really thought that my presence would improve everything a bit,” Wooyoung adds before lowering his head.

He forms a line with his lips because he knows that Wooyoung and Yeosang are more than close, so Wooyoung also enters into the equation of learning to live with an absence.

He doesn't doubt that Wooyoung’s sudden presence is helping both Yeosang and Seonghwa, even if they are alone at that moment because Yeosang has moved away from them and Seonghwa has thanked but denied the company.

“At least a little... just a little bit...” Wooyoung whispers.

He wants to tell Wooyoung that his presence has indeed improved the situation, that his smile makes Yeosang smile, and that it's obvious that Seonghwa has appreciated the hug they've shared.

“Do you want me to take you home?” he offers instead of expressing all the phrases that go through his head.

Wooyoung has made it clear to him from the very beginning. If he’s next to him, if he’s there, it’s because Yeosang moved to another city and he followed Yeosang. 

“I don't— do you think you could— for a while jus—” Wooyoung looks at him. “It's— that is—”

He opts to interrupt Wooyoung the second he seems to regret his words.

“We can still spend some time together,” he assures him.

Maybe Wooyoung likes his company the same way he likes Wooyoung's company.

He offered to drive him to his house in case he's tired of the night's events, but he won't voice any complaints if Wooyoung prefers the night to just start rather than end.

Wooyoung does improve the situation, he did improve the night, at least his, and as such, he also wants to improve Wooyoung's night. He considered the event horrible and tedious until Wooyoung took his wrist and led them away to be alone.

“Here we will certainly not be interrupted. And it's later, isn't it?” he adds.

The mutual distraction they shared was cut off when they were interrupted, but as he mentioned, the gala has already been left behind and at that moment they are in his car.

They won't be interrupted, he knows that.

However, he keeps looking at Wooyoung when Wooyoung looks down.

“Are you okay?” he asks Wooyoung.

“Yeah, I just—” Wooyoung raises his head, “Time together, yes, I like that,” he says.

Wooyoung eliminates the previous space created between them once Seonghwa got out of the car, and gets close to him.

“Are you okay?” Wooyoung asks that question this time, and his eyes slide to the hand that Wooyoung brings closer to his body to trace the black color of his tie with his fingers as he pronounces those words. “With your dad and all that.”

He allows a breath of air to leave his lips instead of responding.

He didn’t attend the gala with the idea of hearing his father talking to a person he never thought he would be in contact with, much less listening to him say that it would be convenient for him to stay away from Yeosang and Seonghwa.

It feels strange.

His surroundings have already gone through several changes as he has gone from getting used to waving his hand in greeting every time he passed by the university director’s office, to avoiding going through the same door when he walks down that corridor.

That night has been different too. He hasn't been approached by different people, and although he likes not having to pretend, it's been hard having to face the reality that there are people who are no longer interested, who have never been interested in him, actually, because he’s no longer the director's son.

He doesn't want his relationship with his father to change, not when he doesn't have a mother to listen to him. It's always been him and his father, and he doesn't want that to change, too. He can't afford to change it.

“Yes, I guess I also want to stay with you a little longer,” he chooses to express. “Maybe we can... maybe we could continue where we left off earlier?” tentative, he offers.

They could continue the night by delving into their own thoughts, or they could take advantage of being side by side to prevent certain thoughts from spinning inside their heads.

His answer comes in the form of Wooyoung opting to let go of his tie to settle his hand over his shoulders and straddle his lap. His hands find Wooyoung’s thighs, and he stares at Wooyoung as he gets comfortable in his lap, leaving his legs to the sides of his.

“Don't take me home,” Wooyoung asks.

“Mine, then.”

Wooyoung leans into him and seals their lips together.

A part of him has remained attentive, eager since the previous closeness they established was cut off abruptly, so he takes in his favor the final continuation of said moment by pulling Wooyoung even closer to him after sliding his hands up his thighs.

The hands on his shoulders disappear but he soon feels Wooyoung wrap his arms around his neck, indicating that he too wants to continue reducing the distance between them. It doesn’t matter if the car is spacious since staying close to each other is what matters.

He didn’t lie when he previously said that he has thought about kissing Wooyoung, about catching his lips with his. He’s been explicit in asking Wooyoung if he has a chance to get closer to him after he denied having a partner. He thinks he's already made his intentions clear, and Wooyoung his too, and yet he brings one of his hands to Wooyoung's chin to tilt his head and be given permission to pass his tongue between his lips.

Just as they haven’t hesitated to face each other and use their mouths to be rude, they assure each other that eliminating the distance between them with the help of their mouths is a possibility too. If Wooyoung wants them to be together, then they will be together.

He slides his lips to Wooyoung’s jaw and uses the gentleness of his grip on his jaw to tilt Wooyoung’s head to the other side so he can rest his lips on his neck.

One of Wooyoung's hands finds his locks as his mouth finds his skin, and he lifts one corner of his mouth since even if Wooyoung seeks to deny the sound that scrapes his, he shifts in his lap. 

“It's soundproof,” he murmurs against his lips after understanding Wooyoung's reaction to the closeness between them, but he doesn't want Wooyoung to feel forced to stop himself from expressing how he feels out loud, much less when his reactions lead him to want to eliminate the distance even more. “Don't worry.”

“But we have to get down of this at some point,” Wooyoung pouts.

“It's a long way.” He traces Wooyoung’s bottom lip with his thumb, his eyes momentarily lowering to the visible mole on the pink color of his mouth as he caresses his waist. “Don't worry,” he seeks to reassure him again.

Wooyoung bites his lip instead of shaking his head, and his hand on his waist seems to be reassuring enough for Wooyoung to decide to settle further into his lap, moving closer to him until a few millimeters remain between their chests and hips.

“Me? Worry?” Wooyoung asks him, and a sudden as attractive as dangerous smirk hugs his face. “I wasn't saying it for me.”

He understands Wooyoung's words as well as the presence of his amused smile as Wooyoung rolls his hips down tentatively, and his hands remain firm on Wooyoung's waist. But his fingers don't guide Wooyoung. His hands simply accompany Wooyoung's pressure.

“I said it for you,” Wooyoung grins, cute and sure, and he sees the tip of his tongue poking out between his teeth. “It's your car, your rules,” Wooyoung adds.

Well, he doesn't think he can blame Wooyoung for the confidence that accompanies his words and the conviction that follows his body. He’s worried about himself too, and not about Wooyoung because who knows what state he will get out of the car in —only Wooyoung holds such knowledge.

But one thing is true. Although he doesn’t doubt that Wooyoung has already imagined how he wants the closeness between them to develop, how much he wants to push and how much he wants to advance, he does know that he won't be the only one getting out of the car with his breathing a little more agitated, and his heart a little more reckless, desperate for the promise of more.

He wants to and will make sure of that.

Already under the promise of a fun moment, of another moment, fortunately, because this time he really hopes they won't be interrupted, instead of forming a pout with his lips because Wooyoung stops keeping his arms around his neck, he enjoys the show that Wooyoung only performs for him as he slides his blazer down his arms to leave it aside.

Said action makes him remember that he has left his blazer in Mingi's car, but he doesn’t grimace or curse himself for not remembering to ask Mingi for it, since the absence of that blazer at that moment represents one less item of clothing to get rid of, one less obstacle for Wooyoung's hands to find his figure.

Wooyoung tugs on his tie, and he allows Wooyoung to pull him closer to claim his lips again. Hands that previously pushed him away are now left on his chest to keep him close. This time he doesn't take the expansion of his shoulders and the definition of his figure to his advantage to face Woooyung, but to allow Wooyoung to trace said width with his fingers before once again emphasizing his hands on his chest.

His hands slide to Wooyoung's thighs and his fingers promptly dig into the fabric of Wooyoung’s trousers as Wooyoung grinds his hips down, no longer tentative.

With more determination, more sure of what he’s doing, of what reaction he wants to elicit from him, and without thinking so much about his surroundings, Wooyoung rolls his hips. Without hesitating, Wooyoung exerts the right amount of pressure to be able to draw the moan that leaves his mouth.

Wooyoung kisses him, seeming to be content with the sounds that leave his mouth as the rhythm of his hips is more assertive, and he can do nothing but accept Wooyoung's movements, nothing but slowly harden under Wooyoung's certainty.

He isn't afraid of Wooyoung's eager demeanor, the amused laughter that reaches his ears and accompanies their kiss doesn't alert him. Wooyoung's confidence is not a threat, and he brings his hands to Wooyoung's lower back to assure him that he's free to repeat that action as many times as he wants.

He wants Wooyoung to think of him as the right person to keep by his side, to think of that moment as further cause to smile and think that night wasn't a complete fiasco.

“Get what you want,” he decides to express on his lips, giving him the green light, or rather, offering himself.

He knows what he himself wants. For Woooyoung to choose him, for Woooyoung to have fun, for Wooyoung to feel good.

He’s aware of his own arousal, of the sensations that Wooyoung's closeness awakens in him. Knowing that he’s the cause behind Wooyoung’s both physical and emotional amusement is enough for him to feel pleased.

Wooyoung stares at him, understanding what is unspoken but given, and this time, he leans in to kiss Wooyoung. Just as he allowed Wooyoung to guide him before, Wooyoung accepts the hands that he leaves on his hips to lead him to keep one of his thighs trapped between his legs.

With the words exchanged and their lips together, Wooyoung again picks up the rhythm of his hips, pressing against his thigh this time. He seeks the friction created between their bodies, through the clothes that keep their bodies covered but no less interested in each other.

He can feel himself getting hard in his pants, allowing the forward movement of Wooyoung's hips to force him to stay focused on him. Dazzled by the way he feels the movements of Wooyoung's body under his hands, he now understands why Wooyoung mentioned worrying about him.

“Get what I want—” Wooyoung barely pulls apart to offer him a lopsided smile that doesn't last long since he parts his lips and his agitated breath tickles his lips. “I like how that sounds.” he composes himself enough to add those words. His tone of voice is no longer as strong or as stable, but his body certainly is.

How he's supposed to be able to walk at a steady pace from the car to the front door of his house when Wooyoung doesn't allow his body to falter, he truly doesn't know. 

One of Wooyoung's hands falls on his stomach while the other stays on the back of his neck, and he has no doubt that despite the clothes present, Wooyoung is able to feel the contraction of his muscles under his fingers as well as the way his hips threaten to buck up.

He believes that the only fun part of the events on his schedule is that although it’s known how they begin, with photos being taken and the occasional speech, knowing how they will end is never a possibility. As a quiet night, with all the social portals up in a matter of hours, with a good atmosphere, or dramatic scenes unfolding in front of his very eyes.

He started the night with the absence of a smile and the presence of tense shoulders, feeling unable to look away from Wooyoung and Yeosang when they appeared side by side, while now he has the chance to relax and release all the tension that has previously haunted him, trapped between the car seat and Woooyung's body.

Wooyoung keeps him close while he welcomes him like —he hopes— no one else will, just like Wooyoung has asked him to. He can't offer him a perfect night, a round of interested people, or a ramification of eccentric connections, but he can offer him a fun time.

This time he does take in his favor the presence of his hands on Wooyoung's waist to guide him, to press him down so that Wooyoung’s aware of the reactions that he has sought to invoke in him and that he has certainly managed to get, so that he feels the outline of his cock, half-hard in his pants.

He chooses Wooyoung and Wooyoung chooses him. He lowers his lips to Wooyoung's neck and revels in the little breathy moans that reach his ears. His own body responds to Wooyoung as well, it reacts by not caring if they're in a car, if his blazer will never come back to his closet, and if the gala was horrible.

“Get what I— what I want?” Wooyoung presses his hand against his stomach and they both sit up to stare at each other. This time his words are accompanied by a tone of voice that shows doubt, a lack of being completely satisfied with what he has previously heard.

Wooyoung has replaced his downcast demeanor with a pleasure-driven expression, the makeup on his eyelids only accentuates his half-lidded eyes, and he really hopes he didn't make a mistake by saying the car is soundproof. He doesn't want anyone else to have the chance to revel in the little but constant sounds that leave Wooyoung's parted lips.

The image, the captivating reality that Wooyoung represents leads him to curse himself for forgetting his blazer instead of his pants —as stupid as that sounds. It could have been a much more direct, much more intimate contact, and even so, he doesn't know why he complains so much if, despite his clothes, he feels the way in which the steadiness of Wooyoung’s rhythm starts to slip.

“I want you.” Wooyoung assures him as he leans into him, and they kiss.

More desperate, closer to his culmination, him or Wooyoung, he doesn't know, maybe both. He does know, though, that he kisses Wooyoung and Wooyoung kisses him until pulling apart is a must because they are no longer able to breathe, and Wooyoung lays his forehead against his.

Wooyoung's hand leaves his neck and falls with his other hand onto his stomach, and he thinks that maybe he inadvertently drank champagne, or that Wooyoung is addictive on his own because the thought of Wooyoung's hand sliding a little lower to ease him only makes him feel like it's getting harder and harder to try and stay composed.

He swallows and his fingers dig into Wooyoung's waist as Wooyoung again brushes his bulge with his. Wooyoung's fingers catch the fabric of his shirt, so he has something to hold on to while allowing his own limits to pose a looming threat, and the breathy moan that leaves Wooyoung's lips tickles his mouth.

The closeness allows him to denote the second Wooyoung's moan turns into a whimper, and he doesn't know why he's so surprised when Wooyoung finally loses all sorts of stability and comes, if at all times Wooyoung has told him that he's who he wants.

He offsets the tremor that accompanies Wooyoung's body with the firmness of his hands on his waist, and he can only describe Wooyoung's ruined pants as fascinating. He is the reason. He is the cause.

Wooyoung’s ragged breath tickles his lips, and drifting his eyes to the way Woooyung keeps the fabric of his shirt caught between his fingers makes him think that he would have liked him to get rid of said item to make his touch more direct.

But just like before, he won't waste time thinking about what he could have done, but about what he's got, who he's got, and he looks up to thread his fingers through Wooyoung's lilac strands.

Wooyoung shifting in his lap to stop keeping his forehead against his leads him to straighten up, to threaten to close his legs and thus trap Wooyoung's thigh between them. If Woooyung is sensitive because he just had an orgasm, he’s sensitive because Wooyoung only needs his personality to rile him up.

Well, it's been like that since the beginning.

Wooyoung looks down and swallows after licking his lips.

“A mess.”

He doesn't doubt that Wooyoung is talking about his stained trousers. Even if the color of the garment is dark, the wet patch is noticeable.

“You can buy another suit, can't you? I'll buy you another one,” he decides to offer once he looks up.

Wooyoung is still looking down, so he bucks his hips up, and though a hiss leaves his lips as Wooyoung's body rubs against his, it’s worth it when Wooyoung parts his lips and finally looks back at him.

He doesn't know if he feels lucky or not when a new hiss leaves his mouth, though this time, because Wooyoung grins as he relaxes his hands and palms his clothed bulge. The touch barely soothes him and the fabric of his pants is uncomfortable while the warmth of Wooyoung’s hand is welcome.

“Do you need help with that, guapo? I think you do,” Wooyoung asks him, knowing the answer, expressing the answer.

He knows that word, he knows he does. Wooyoung said it before, he's sure of that. Handsome. Yes, it means handsome. And what an irony it is, because he also remembers that Wooyoung mentioned that he would never hear him say that word again, but oh, he sounds so nice.

His eyes fall on the taunting grin that Wooyoung forms with his lips, and yes, he definitely needs help, as that gesture only assures him that they can once again share another moment of fun, and he doesn't know if he prefers the car to stop so he can offer Wooyoung the comfort of his bed, or terrible traffic blocking the streets to make it impossible to be apart for even a second.

“The night is barely beginning,” he agrees.

Chapter 23

Notes:

additional warning: panic attack

Yeosang buries his face in the pillow as soon as he realizes that he just woke up. He allows a small whining sound to scrape the back of his throat as he rolls his shoulders, his shoulder blades complaining at the stretch.

He keeps his eyes closed, and his facial features seek the comfort of the soft texture of the pillow trapped between his arms as the covers slide off his shoulders, exposing them. He curls up to stay warm, and he feels comfortable once the sheets cover his shoulders again, until he immediately raises his head because it's impossible for a comforter to move on its own.

Dim details are all his eyes capture when he opens them for a split second, but he promptly closes them again as natural light illuminates his face and his head falls back on the pillow.

A small soft laugh caresses his ears, and he gives himself a few seconds to try to understand where he is and why he's just getting up. Instead of wondering why a laugh he hasn't let out reaches his ears, he hides his face in the pillow.

Because he moves or because he apparently needed a good rest, his muscles complain regardless of the cause. A feeling of sleepiness haunts him, the kind of fatigue that follows one after a good night's sleep.

He turns his face towards the other side and opens his eyes again. He blinks. Once, twice, thrice, and the details around him begin to take shape.

He brushes his own cheek against his shoulder, realizing that a white comforter is what protects his shoulders. He avoids turning his head again since he doesn’t want the natural light to illuminate his figure. He doesn't recognize the details that make up his room —because he obviously isn't in it— but he doesn't get upset.

Another kind of warmth is present next to him, inviting him to want to lose himself in his unconsciousness again. He doesn't blink to close his eyes again, and he makes sure to keep them open as his gaze scans inches of exposed skin. He traces the figure next to him with his eyes, and hugs the pillow under his head and between his arms tighter as his mind is awake enough to recognize Jongho.

He looks down as soon as Jongho looks at him.

“Good morning,” he listens.

Jongho?

All threat of being drawn back into a state of unconsciousness disappears as he wonders why the hell he's woken up with Jongho next to him in a room that is not his. It would have been worse if he had woken up with Jongho in his room though.

He takes in his favor the fact that he hasn’t reciprocated Jongho's gaze to take a slight look around him and acknowledge that he’s in a hotel room.

He frowns slightly.

Hotel?

The gala.

The gala that took place the night before. The gala organized by Jongho’s family.

He forms a line with his lips.

He hasn’t been able to recognize Jongho before, the intonation of his last name and the presence of bodyguards around him, while now he's aware of the importance of his figure, of the person present next to him in a bed.

“Good morning,” he murmurs, his voice muffled by the pillow.

He swallows at the hoarseness of his voice and keeps avoiding Jongho’s gaze.

He doesn't quite know why. Perhaps because moving his head the slightest would be enough to replace his pillow and use Jongho's arm as such. Perhaps because he now understands that Jongho has covered him with the comforter.

Not holding his gaze doesn't seem to be a bother for Jongho, as he promptly hears his voice again.

“How did you sleep?”

He allows a silent sigh to leave his lips at the formulation of that question.

Blinking to wake up hasn't represented an effort and he can't remember the last time he woke up calm, comfortable between his sheets. His thoughts don’t haunt him and his body appreciates the rest.

If he wants to continue sleeping it’s because he wants to pursue that conformity and not because he feels exhausted from having slept little.

“Good... actually...” he replies, impressed with his own response since he’s used to holding a grimace when he realizes how little he has slept, “You?”

“Very well,” he can simply feel the smile that accompanies those words.

He stops keeping his gaze on the white color of the comforter to finally raise his eyes to Jongho when he hears his answer, and Jongho certainly keeps the corners of his mouth turned up when their eyes meet.

He widens his eyes when he remembers that said lips have traced his skin and met his own lips. He digs his fingertips into the pillow as he lowers his eyes, finally remembering why he has gotten up with Jongho.

They haven’t fucked even though they have slept side by side because neither his body nor his mind deals with traces of that possible closeness. They have established physical contact, though, he does remember that.

Closing his eyes allows him to remember how close he's been to Jongho before, how exposed he's allowed himself to be beneath Jongho's hands and mouth. Now the scenes that appear in his head are more detailed. Jongho's facial features are real instead of imagined.

He forces himself to open his eyes. He curls up under the covers, thinking that going over the chain of events from the night before is not a good idea unless he wants said thoughts to amount to a more real, more physical awakening —is it early? He doesn't know what time it is—, and he looks at Jongho.

“Thank you,” he says, softly.

Confusion embraces Jongho's face.

“What for?” he asks.

He keeps looking at Jongho, hoping that Jongho himself can figure out what he's thinking. Jongho holds his gaze and tilts his head when he doesn't offer an answer. 

“For giving you a blowjob?”

“For making me forget about everything and everyone for a moment.”

He doesn't want to push himself to remember how exactly he’s ended up with Jongho in one of the hotel rooms where the gala was held the night before, what conditions have led to him being alone with Jongho.

But he's aware of his habits, of the patterns that he usually repeats when everything is becoming too much and closing his eyes and covering his ears with his hands is not enough, and if he hasn't woken up surrounded by the details of his room, it's because he hasn't sought to be in it.

Despite looking surprised by his words, Jongho parts his lips.

“You are welcome.”

Being with Jongho has made him forget about what remains on the other side of the door, yet he knows that he can't afford to lock himself in that uncertainty for as long as he wants, so he turns his head towards the other side.

Once again he feels forced to close his eyes when the natural light that the large windows allow to illuminate the room finds his face, but he promptly opens them again.

Even if this is how he wants to stay, lost between the sheets, feeling warm under them, he allows the comforter that Jongho has tucked over his body to slide off his shoulders as he sits up.

His skin is not exposed to the details of the room and he slides his eyes to the fabric that continues to cover his shoulders and his arms. Wearing one of Jongho's long-sleeved t-shirts —it isn’t his, he knows that— and his own underwear assures him that he did hook up with Jongho, while his head reassures him that said conclusion is incorrect.

A sidelong glance at the couch is enough to remember that the distance between him and Jongho has been eliminated though. Swallowing and curling up one of the corners of his mouth at the memories, he leaves the bed to head to the bathroom.

Finding his reflection assures him that he may not feel like a wreck but he certainly looks like one. His pink strands are pointing everywhere while the pink glitter that has decorated his eyelids is now scattered around his eyes.

He takes one of the disposable toothbrushes, and seeks to fix the mess that his hair represents with his free hand, as well as the sparkly disaster with his fingertips.

His eyes fall on the rest of his body since it seems to be decorated with different shades of that pink color. But it's not makeup. No. They are consequences of Jongho's lips. His neck, his collarbones, barely visible and interrupting his skin, but present nonetheless.

He slides one hand under the white t-shirt to caress his stomach gently, remembering how his muscles have contracted under Jongho's hands. And maybe he likes the way Jongho's t-shirt hugs his torso. The sleeves cover much of his hands and he feels comfortable.

Stay away from Jongho, is what Seonghwa told him.

Splashing his face with water once he finishes brushing his teeth is not enough to avoid noticing the way his reflection tenses at the thought of Seonghwa, and this time he doesn’t need to come down from a high of drugs so that the tranquility that until now has accompanied him disappears from one second to the next.

He reaches to his neck, searching for a familiar sensation, only to open his eyes wide and rest his palm over his chest.

His necklace. Where is the necklace?

Where is his necklace?

His eyes don’t find any floral pendant and his hand misses the golden chain that is always around his neck —always, except for that moment.

He casts aside all traces of sleep and he scans the floor around him, with no trace of his necklace. An instant pressure appears on his chest at the obvious lack of said accessory and he quickly comes back to the room, removing the pillow as well as the sheets.

Please, please, please, his head repeats.

“No, no, no, no,” he repeats as his eyes don’t find a golden detail.

“What is it?”

“I lost my necklace,” No. How can he be saying those words? Lose? His necklace? “Have you—” He’s aware of the tremor that has begun to accompany his hands. “Have you seen it? It's, it's a flower and— a detail, it's golden.” He takes his hands to his chest but his fingers wrap around nothing. “Do you remember if I was wearing it last night?”

He feels a lump in his throat the second Jongho seems confused.

“No, I don't remember seeing it,” he says.

“That's worse!” he shouts. “Sorry, I didn’t mean t— I didn’t—”

He sits on the bed and flexes his legs, thinking that he doesn't want to yell at Jongho and that Jongho doesn't deserve him to raise his voice at him. He brings his hands up to his head to run his fingers through his locks, feeling hesitation take over his body. 

His vision blurs and blinking doesn't remove the crystalline layer that decorates his eyes.

“Hey, hey,” he looks at Jongho once Jongho approaches him. “Do you remember where you bought it? I could ask—”

“It isn’t replaceable!”

He pulls away from the hand that Jongho tries to move to his arm and feels his lower lip start to quiver because he’s yelling at Jongho again, and he knows that Jongho means well but the necklace is not replaceable.

“It's the only thing I have left of my dad and I can't—”  His voice cracks and his hands don't stop shaking. “I can't replace it— I can't—”

“My family rented the whole place. I'll find it.” Jongho stares at him and a whimper leaves his lips even if Jongho expresses those words with determination. “Do you want me to stay here with you or do you want me to go outside to look for it?”

“I just want my necklace,” and my dad, he thinks. And my brother too, his head adds, and Wooyoung, his heart provides.

A sob erupts from his throat and he hugs himself.

“Hey, hey,” Jongho forces him to continue looking at him even though he feels the urge to look around him, desperate to find a golden detail. “You keep looking here and I'll go outside.”

“Please,” he only feels able to say.

It has to be somewhere, it has to be.

Although he doesn't seem sure to leave, Jongho stops being next to him as soon as he says those words, and the noise of the door opening and then closing barely reaches his ears.

He looks around him and doesn't know why he runs the back of his hand over his cheeks to try to get rid of the tears that are now sliding down his face, if with every second that passes and he can't find the necklace, his chest presses, and breathing is harder.

He goes to the bathroom again, searches near the couch, and moves the cushions in case it has fallen between them, but he can't find it. Even if it doesn't make sense because Jongho said he doesn't remember seeing the necklace, he takes off the sheets from the side of the bed where Jongho slept but it doesn't appear either.

His necklace is nowhere to be found and he comes to a halt, suddenly and abruptly, realizing he's about to check the same places again. He can’t distinguish the details around him and he can't get a breath in.

The room shrinks and he sits up on the bed, bringing his hands up to his face. He feels suffocated but strangely enough, he doesn't feel his throat completely block as soon as he recognizes that the beginning of a panic attack is threatening to set in.

It's not a completely unfamiliar feeling and he's been through something similar before. Wooyoung. Wooyoung was with him when it happened. What did Wooyoung tell him to do?

He takes the pillow closest to him and hugs it with both arms as he buries his face in the softness. He doesn't care if it makes it harder for him to breathe.

The details around him, he has to feel them, he has to be aware of them. He has to calm down if he wants to keep looking for the necklace. But its absence only leads him to hug the pillow even tighter, the whitish color drowning the sobs that leave his lips.

He’s so stupid. How did he not realize its absence the second the necklace left his neck? 

Thinking that Seonghwa would surely be helping him look for it only leads to keep crying as he remembers the argument they had the night before. They haven't spoken since and he even has sought to push Wooyoung away as well. He's alone, completely alone.

He presses the pillow against his chest and it strangely dulls the pressure he feels inside it. He keeps the pillow close to his body and stops hiding his face in it to press it against his chest, the heaviness increasing but his own pressure lessening.

There's no one to help him and he squeezes his eyes shut, even if the tears don't stop when he realizes that he's fought Seonghwa for nothing because just like Seonghwa has said, he does need to be saved.

How? How did he lose it?

With a clouded look, he tenses and directs his eyes toward the door when it opens.

“Here! I have it.”

His eyes widen as he glimpses a golden detail despite the blurriness of his gaze, and sees Jongho holding the necklace —his necklace. If Jongho adds another word or not, he doesn’t know. His attention doesn’t abandon the accessory present in his hand.

His fingertips dig into the pillow and inhaling a deep breath makes him feel dizzy but he doesn't care. He doesn't take his eyes off the necklace even when he feels the mattress dip.

He exhales deeply the moment the flower is left between his collarbones. He immediately brings one of his hands to the pendant to catch it between his fingers, and keeping his hand on his chest makes him realize the erratic rhythm of his breathing.

Tiredness embraces his body and exhaustion his head, but tranquility hugs his heart and a sense of relief calms all emotion.

It really is all he has left of his father. He’s an idiot for not noticing the instant it stopped being around his neck. He would have lost hadn't it been for Jongho, he would have stopped having a constant memory of his father.

He closes his eyes as his hand keeps the necklace locked in a tight grasp, protected.

He feels the tentative hand that Jongho places on his back, and he doesn't move away from the contact because what matters is the necklace and he actually welcomes the hand that is now left over his back.

Said warmth contrasts with the coldness that he feels coming from the rest of his figure. Even if another whimper doesn't threaten to leave his lips, his chest hurts and his muscles are rigid.

“One of my bodyguards found it near the balcony door, and gave it to one of the bodyguards who stayed in the corridor. He was waiting for one of us to come out to return it,” he hears Jongho express.

Anxiety surrounds him at the thought of how long he's been without his necklace, all the hours he's gone without the accessory around his neck, not noticing its absence. 

Anyone could have taken it and he would never have gotten it back. He again feels his chest tighten at the image of Jongho opening the bedroom door with nothing in his hand.

“Forgive me, it must have fallen when we ran into each other.”

He opens his eyes and doesn't hesitate to turn his face to the other side when he hears Jongho taking the blame for the mistakes he makes. Jongho is not to blame for anything, he shouldn't say those words.

Again apologies reach his ears and he presses his lips when a new tear slides down his cheek.

Seonghwa, always, except for that moment. Wooyoung is another constant. Mingi after not hesitating to give him a smile and keep him company last night. Yunho too, when he went to Utopia for the first time. Hongjoong gave him sunglasses simply because he noticed his downcast expression. His conversation with San in the kitchen of Wooyoung's house.

Jongho the night before and at that precise moment.

Seonghwa didn't lie when he said that he needs to be saved. Constantly, by different people. He just keeps falling, falling, and falling, and he can't even say thank you.

He rubs the area under his eyes with the sleeve of the t-shirt, the fabric feeling real against his skin, as well as the previously shed tears.

“You'll scratch your face doing that,” he hears Jongho say.

Jongho's hand is no longer on his back and he allows Jongho to gently grab his chin to turn his head towards him, but he refuses to look at him. Jongho gently slides his finger over his skin, and he keeps looking down when he feels Jongho thumb away the new tear that threatens to leave the corner of his eye.

He already has his necklace, so he should stop crying, but he only feels guilty and aware of all the actions and words that have led him to be the protagonist of that situation.

“You are far too pretty to allow sadness to embrace your face,” Jongho says, almost in a whisper, soft and calm.

“S— sorry,” He only feels able to keep his gaze fixed on the mattress, and bites his lower lip as soon as he feels the same quiver after remembering that he hates people seeing him cry.

Sadness? He has grown used to its presence, to its constant stalking.

Does Jongho think he's pretty even after the hectic moment he's forced him to be a part of?

“Sorry, I’m really sorry,” He doubts that this is how Jongho wanted to start his morning.

He owes so many apologies and now Jongho has become another person on his list. Just like that, he dragged Jongho into his chaos. Jongho doesn't deserve that.

Guilt tenses him up, and though he just wants to continue to look down, embarrassed, and even wants to leave, he allows Jongho to once again rests his fingers under his chin. And this time he does look up, because the least he can do is hold Jongho's gaze to prove that he really means it.

His eyes slide to the traces of pink glitter he finds on Jongho's face, probably as a consequence of the closeness established the night before when their faces were close.

It's his turn to brush Jongho's skin with his finger to remove the glitter, though he promptly lowers his hand when he notices that a tremor continues to accompany it.

Guilt continues to consume him when he thinks of the abruptness that has interrupted the calm with which he has gotten up. He starts to look down but Jongho doesn't allow him as he searches his eyes with his.

“No, you forgive me for assuming it's just another necklace. When something happens, the first thing I do is offer to buy something, don't you think so? It isn't appropriate of me.” Jongho says instead of assuring him that he’s annoyed because he didn’t go to sleep with the idea of quickly leaving the suite when he got up, in search of a necklace that now, fortunately, is around his neck.

He parts his lips but doesn’t reproach anything. Jongho really shouldn't be uttering those words.

“I'm sorry...”

For bumping into him the first time. Jongho has already apologized to him and in fact, also took the blame when he knows that he hasn't paid attention to his surroundings either. For not having resisted the night before and therefore not leaving the gala. Jongho's weekend wouldn't have been ruined if he had simply chosen to shake his head and leave the night before. For everything, really.

“You're cold,” Jongho says instead of insisting on listening to the same words.

He doesn't know if he misses Jongho's warmth or not when he stops being with him, and he follows him with his eyes, watching Jongho approach one of the available cabinets.

It's probably because he's still dealing with the nerves that not finding his necklace has given him, but he remains silent as Jongho lays several items of clothing in front of him.

He’s aware that it isn’t the hottest time of the year and that a simple t-shirt won’t keep him completely warm.

“You may wear whatever is of your preference. You can keep it or... or you can return it when and if you choose to do so.” 

He looks at Jongho when he adds those words.

No need to read the small letters, no need to overthink. The message is loud and clear. When and if he chooses to do so. They study at the same university now. That means that Jongho just assured him that he has his permission to return his clothes with the attention of others on them in case he decides so.

They don’t have to keep secret what has happened between the walls of that suite, or at least, the decision is in his hands.

Instead of uttering a word, he lowers his eyes to the clothes.

“And I sent your clothes to be washed, everything is in that bag, I didn't want your clothes to get ruined by the champagne,” he listens.

Does he really have the right to agree to put on Jongho’s clothes after the morning he has put him through and is still putting him through? He has to go, he really has to go, and the clothes he put on last night won't keep him warm.

With Jongho’s t-shirt still on, his attention falls on one sweater that seems to be big enough to fit him comfortably. It’s red, his favorite color, turtleneck, and oversized, perfect to hide the pink marks that Jongho has left on his skin.

It’s soft under his touch and feels comfortable once he puts it on. It hides the slight tremor that continues to accompany his hands and covers what is necessary.

He finds Jongho looking at him but soon enough Jongho clears his throat.

“I— I'll call for breakfast,” he says. “You want breakfast?”

“I don't—” Again one of his hands wraps around his necklace. He doesn't want to lose it again. “I don't want to be a bother.”

“You're not,” Jongho assures him.

He is, he really is.

He’s aware of the feeling of guilt attached to his figure not only because he considers that he has ruined Jongho's morning with his shed tears, but also because he knows, simply knows, that he has thought of Seonghwa when he felt that everything, including himself, collapsed.

Whereas the night before he told Seonghwa that he doesn't need him as a brother, just a few minutes ago he thought of needing him.

“My— my phone, sorry,” he says, remembering that they've left both phones in the bathroom.

He leaves the bed and avoids looking at the mirror once he goes to the bathroom. He swallows and a shaky breath of air leaves his lips as he sees a text from Seonghwa that only denotes the name of Hongjoong's mom and an address.

The photoshoot.

Not a word more and not a word less.

Seonghwa must be so mad at him.

The crystal layer that covers his gaze doesn’t stop him from seeing the time difference between the time when Seonghwa texted him and the current time.

He can’t stay and he doesn’t really know if he wants to stay.

He turns Seonghwa into the main target of the mess that his emotions present only to feel bad afterward. It's a pattern that he continues to trace, a spiral that he continues to follow.

“I have to go,” he says as soon as he's out of the bathroom. “I'll— I'll give you this another day,” he says without thinking through the details, pointing to the sweater he's wearing.

“Don't worry. Are you sure? You can stay as long as you want. You haven't even eaten anything,” Jongho expresses.

“It’s okay,” He's not hungry. “You know how this is, schedules and all that,” going to places he doesn't want with people he doesn't know, but he does know Seonghwa, and he swallows again at the thought of him.

“Do you need something else?”

He takes his pants out of the bag and puts on his shoes too, and remains still when he hears that question.

Something else?

He looks at Jongho and still doesn't understand how he manages to stay so calm. He looks at him, until he realizes why Jongho's calmness is so easy to notice.

The room is a disaster. And not because the hotel service is not good, but because he has caused all that mess. The bed is completely unmade and nothing is in its place. All the pillows are thrown on the floor, the sheets are falling off the edge and the couches are also a mess.

What he needs is to stop being such a mess.

He hugs himself, still with one hand around his necklace, because he really doesn't want to cause any more mess, but that's exactly what made Seonghwa take it out on him at the time, isn't it? Seonghwa himself has said so, he does and says what he wants, no matter what mess he leaves behind.

With Jongho he has only spent one night and he has already altered everything. He again feels a lump in his throat and his vision blur as he thinks of all Seonghwa has endured up to that point.

But he promptly clears his throat and blinks when he notices Jongho looking at him and parting his lips to speak. He has to stop wasting Jongho's time.

He approaches the bed to fix anything, at least something, but Jongho's voice stops him.

“No need to worry about that, I'll tidy up later, or someone else,” Jongho blocks the bed with his presence before he can even try to do anything, remedy anything he's done.

There’s always, always someone dealing with all the mess he causes.

He accepts for Jongho to save him one last time so he can save Jongho from his person.

“You have...” maybe the tears have stopped. But he knows that it’s momentary. “Sunglasses. Do you have sunglasses?”

Instead of looking at him in confusion, Jongho nods and promptly stands up again to approach another cabinet. He approaches him when Jongho waves his hand at him and his eyes fall on all the pairs of sunglasses Jongho offers him.

But he doesn't waste time looking at all the options.

Square and thick-rimmed sunglasses. Square and thick-rimmed, that’s all he needs.

He points to a pair when his eyes find one that meets those characteristics, and blinks when Jongho opts to leave them on top of his pink locks.

Jongho looks at him but he walks away to take the bag. He has to go.

“About what happened yesterday...”

He looks at Jongho when he hears him say those words. He doesn't know if he accompanies his phrase with an uncertain tone of voice because he takes his sudden departure as an excuse to stop being by his side, or because he really wants to hear what he thinks.

He blinks.

He really hasn't expected to end the night with Jongho, let alone start his morning with him. But he's sure of one thing.

“You can... forget about it,” he offers.

No matter what words they have said the night before, he prefers to avoid an awkward situation and make the moment easier for Jongho.

Even if Jongho has expressed that he can approach him to return his clothes, and now his sunglasses too, he doubts that Jongho wants to keep him close. He has already taken up too much of Jongho's time.

He has enjoyed the closeness between them, but he won't voice any complaints if Jongho says he won't do it again and he will try not to be disappointed if he nods. If Jongho acts like nothing really happened between them, he won't resent him.

However, Jongho is the one who looks disappointed.

“I— I'd rather remember it,” he says, “And you too,” he perks up, “Maybe we... can be... could be friends? Friends with benefits? Is that okay with you?”

He frowns slightly at the addition of those words, puzzled.

Jongho wants to make sure that another moment will happen between them by pronouncing that term, or has he simply sought to put a term to the previous moment they shared to make sense of it?

He believes that it isn’t necessary, it isn’t always necessary to put into words what happens.

What benefits could Jongho possibly gain from his company? He doesn't know. 

Unless he remembers wrong —which he doesn't think he does— Jongho was the one that lead him to pleasure him enough to forget about everything, not the other way around, while in return, he has only given him a chaotic morning.

“We are not... we are not even friends,” he reminds him.

His hand tightens around the bag, thinking that now he not only ruins the lives of the people around him, people he does know, but also strangers unlucky enough to cross his path.

“Ouch,” Jongho brings his hands to his chest dramatically. “Then... what about business partners?”

They certainly have called a deal on the spot between them the night before. Business partners, that's what they've called each other. Is it business? Maybe.

Both sides have something to give, and something to take, even if so far only he has received while Jongho has given.

“I—”

Seonghwa's voice appears in his head, this time telling him to stay away from Jongho. The guilt only continues to build, and he takes a look at the door.

“The term is not of interest to me, honestly, I just thought it would make sense,” he looks at Jongho when he talks. “But... then, can I add your presence to my schedule? In a near future,” he can only wonder why Jongho insists so much on seeing him, “You can come back to me if you want more from me, that is, from this. Yes?”

He widens his eyes at the familiarity of those words.

Right. That’s been Jongho's only request, to come back to him.

To combat loneliness, his own thoughts, and the life around him, perhaps he has managed to distract Jongho in the same way that Jonho has distracted him.

But how? How is it possible that Jongho wants him to come back to him when he has shown how erratic his behavior is? How come— he just continues to feel guilty, thinking that Jongho doesn't deserve to have to deal with him.

Maybe one more time, one more moment. He has to fulfill his part of the deal. It would be unfair if he didn't. It's already unfair.

“Okay,” he agrees, and swallows when Jongho flashes him a gummy smile.

Yes, it's definitely not fair to keep ruining Jongho's morning.

He waves to Jongho and Jongho does too.

He closes the door behind him as soon as he leaves the room, and exhales a deep breath. The bubble around him breaks and he straightens up to stop keeping his back against the door.

He spots a person dressed in black next to the elevator door. Bodyguard, it’s easy to tell. He wouldn't be surprised to turn around and find one on the other side of the corridor, but he isn't intimidated to think that one of them has probably found his necklace.

Forcing himself to maintain his composure, he approaches the elevator and calls for it. The hand that is not holding the bag stays around his necklace. His arm is aching from always keeping it flexed but it doesn’t matter, he won’t let go of the necklace.

Though the bodyguard isn't glaring or giving him a fixed stare, he turns his head toward him.

“Thank you...” he says softly.

He doesn't know if that’s the person who found his necklace nor does he know if he knows that he’s talking about his necklace, but the lack of response doesn't bother him before entering the elevator.

He leaves the back of his head against one of the elevator walls, and swallows at his reflection.

Perhaps his locks are no longer completely messy and Jongho's sweater comfortably hugs his figure, but his eyes fall on the fine pinkish color that his cheeks have adapted as well as the puffiness that decorates his eyes —a sign that he has previously cried.

You are far too pretty to allow sadness to embrace your face, Jongho said.

He takes his eyes off his reflection and curls up one corner of his mouth, not wanting to look at himself.

He doesn't let sadness embrace him, sadness just consumes him. It doesn't ask for his permission, it doesn't talk to him, it just shows up to be present.

Just like at that time.

A slight movement of his head is enough to lower the sunglasses toward his eyes. He tightens his grip around the bag and presses it against his chest.

Maybe the sunglasses are better at hiding tears, just like Hongjoong said, but he still feels a tear slipping down his cheek.

---

“Mingi.”

Mingi frowns slightly at the pronunciation of his name. He thinks he recognizes the voice that expresses the letters of his name —even when it barely manages to interrupt his unconsciousness.

“Mh?”

“Mingi.”

This time his name is said with more determination and louder, and he stops frowning as he definitely recognizes Yunho's voice.

“I love your voice,” he decides to articulate even though the words scratch his throat.

“You have to get up.” he frowns again when instead of acknowledging his compliment or feeling Yunho's lips on some part of his face, Yunho speaks with the same determined yet soft tone of voice. “My dad is coming here.”

“Mh? What?”

From one moment to the next he leaves all traces of comfort behind him as he’s trained his mind to be alert when he hears the words dad, mom, or parents.

He rubs his eyes with his fingers, and shakes his head before looking around.

“Where the fuck— where am I— huh? Oh.”

Having never been in Yunho’s room before doesn’t stop him from recognizing the details around him as part of it. Thanks to all the photos Yunho has sent him with an identical background, and because his eyes catch glimpses of certain particularities that assure him that he’s in Yunho's room.

He frowns for a moment, wondering how he ended up in Yunho's room if he doesn't feel any trace of a hangover, so he can't blame alcohol for whatever decisions led to them being together; until he remembers that he left the gala to look for Yunho the night before.

Blinking several times in a row to shake the sleep off him, he stretches his arms above his head and a sigh escapes his mouth.

“I'm sorry,” he listens.

He turns his head to find Yunho scratching the back of his neck apologetically, not seeming to be pleased with the fact that he's awoken him. He looks down to guide his hand to Yunho's, and gives him a small smile.

“No, it’s o—” he doesn't interrupt his own sentence because the words scratch his throat again, but because he doesn't think he can pronounce them.

Yunho shouldn't have woken him up just because his father is about to arrive, while he shouldn't have reacted the way he has done —alerting himself— only because of the possible presence of Yunho’s father.

“No, you know what? It’s not okay. I’m so tired of this. Can't you say that I came here for a project?”

He’s tired.

Having had to wait until he was surrounded by the tinted windows of his car to be able to kiss Yunho.

That being his first time in Yunho's house even though their closeness has been going on for months now.

Not even being able to study with his eyes the details of Yunho's room because they have to worry about their respective last names.

He’s tired.

Perhaps because he wishes he could have slept more, or perhaps because he’s really tired, and not being able to enjoy the fact that he’s woken up with Yunho by his side is unfair.

Even more unfair because that's the first time they wake up side by side, and he should have the opportunity to hug Yunho, to snuggle up to each other for the rest of the day, to use the blankets because it's cold outside and not because they should seek to hide. He should be able to spend time with Yunho, without worrying, without thinking about anyone or anything other than Yunho.

“You? A project?” Yunho asks, puzzled. “What kind of project includes you in my bed? Shirtless, may I add.”

“Biology?” he tries.

“We don't even have biology.”

He stops looking at Yunho when Yunho looks down at their hands, and he allows a small smile to decorate his face when Yunho opts to trap his hand in his.

Yunho should have the opportunity to hold his hand regardless of the time and place, and that gesture should bother him instead of making him smile, and it does bother him, because knowing that Yunho doesn't do it often because he can't and not because he doesn't want to bothers him even more.

“I could, but who goes to someone else's house first thing in the morning on a Saturday?”

“Me because I'm responsible and I love academics?” he tries again.

He doesn't know if Yunho gives him a deadpan look looks because he doesn't know what’s further from the truth, the fact that although he’s responsible, he definitely wouldn't get up early to take the morning of his weekend to do a project, or because even though his grades aren't bad, he doesn't consider himself a fan of the classes they have. 

“What if I have a schedule and the only time I have available is now?” he adds.

“My dad wouldn't like you because he would say you make me get up early when I'm supposed to be free,” Yunho replies.

“You want your dad to like me?”

Yunho again lowers his gaze to their hands, and this time he brings his free hand to Yunho’s cheek to stroke the soft skin with his thumb, feeling contented when a small smile appears on Yunho's face. Yunho lets out a slight sigh, and looks back at him.

“I would like him to. I know your parents don't like me, so having at least one side of our families, one parent with us and not against us would be nice. But I don’t think my dad likes the idea of us together, so it doesn't matter.” The beginning of a smile is wiped from his face to be replaced by a surrendered expression.

He understands Yunho's frustrated tone of voice as well as his grimace.

For the same reason, he has expressed being tired.

Although the constant teasing with Yunho entertains him and he has learned to adapt sarcasm to his vocabulary, reducing everything that happens with Yunho and everything he feels for Yunho to a rivalry as pretended as it’s true is starting to be a constant nuisance.

Yunho deserves more than hidden kisses, secret caresses, and little moments away from the eyes of others. He deserves more too. Both.

“I'm just so tired of having to hide how I feel for you,” he can't help but say.

He’s not welcome where he currently is and Yunho is not welcome to approach his house, let alone walk through its doors.

They should take advantage of the expansion of the territory of the university campus to walk side by side, laughing with each other or complaining about the classes they have to attend, instead of thinking about the most remote corners of the buildings to prove to each other that what they feel for each other is real.

“They wouldn’t approve,” Yunho reminds him even though he has never forgotten it.

“Your dad is not even part of our industry.”

He wouldn’t have hesitated to open the window of Yunho's room, hoping he won’t break any bones, in case Yunho’s mother had been present, since he’s aware that Yunho's mother is the person who managed to defy his family and still be a strong force, now with Yunho in the lead; but unlike Yunho’s mother, Yunho's father isn’t part of the same industry as them.

“My time to take one for the team.” he decides to add.

Yunho tilts his head, looking at him confused.

Perhaps he should take advantage of the fact that he has barely woken up to not think too much about his actions and simply follow his heart, or perhaps, really, he’s tired of having to hide.

“If his reaction is bad, just say you lost a bet and that I told you to play a prank on him just to see his face.”

He doesn't know what will happen, if he will be kicked out or not, if his ears will be the victims of screams that show annoyance, or if his presence will only receive pure silence in return. But he does know that he’s tired, that Yunho must also be tired of constantly having to hide from others just to show his true self to him.

“How can you think so early?” Yunho asks instead of refusing.

“I got the brain, you got the beauty,” he winks.

Fortunately, Yunho chooses to draw a smile with his mouth, and he takes advantage of the fact that he has left one of his hands on his cheek to trace Yunho's lower lip with his thumb, the curvature under his touch being welcome.

“I think you are handsome too.”

He stares at Yunho as Yunho says those words, holding his gaze.

He’s so used to the falsehood that decorates Yunho's insults, that he sometimes forgets the effect that the purity of his sincere tone of voice also holds —or perhaps he chooses to forget about it, since he considers that he constantly finds himself at Yunho's mercy.

Whether it's practiced insults, perfectly memorized to maintain an appearance, or words voiced so that only his ears are the ones to hear, Yunho's voice awakens his senses.

“Damn, you can't be that fruity this early,” he decides to say, aware of the heavy way he must swallow just because Yunho has complimented him.

“Fruity?” Yunho asks him, a breathy laugh leaving his lips, but soon his laugh loses all traces and he straightens up when the noise of a door opening and then closing is heard by his ears.

Yunho stops looking at him and his eyes widen.

“Was that... the door?” he asks, knowing the answer.

Yunho's hand tenses up under his.

“Fuck,” though it isn’t a direct answer to his question, said expression is equivalent to a positive answer. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Yunho lowers his voice but his eyes continue to widen as worry takes over his face.

“Why so stressed?”

Yunho's alarmed gaze meets his again.

“Mingi, you would be freaking out if this was your house and I was with you in your room, with your parents on the other side of the door.” Yunho seeks to speak in a low voice although at no time have they heard footsteps approaching. “Telling my dad would make this even more real and... Mingi, I— I just—”

He tilts his head and doesn't hesitate to hold Yunho's face between both hands as he realizes that panic is beginning to take hold of his tone of voice.

Yunho interrupts himself and the hand that Yunho places on his stomach as if to somehow make sure that he’s there with him, or that he won't walk away, assures him that Yunho is thinking more than he’s saying.

“I... I'm so scared all the time because I... Mingi, I don't want to lose you.”

Frowning at the uncertain pronunciation of those words is the only thing he feels capable of doing.

His heart didn't skip a beat and his emotions didn't get disappointed when Yunho said that he doesn't want to be called his boyfriend. But at that moment he does worry when Yunho holds his gaze, allowing him to glimpse real concern in his eyes.

Yunho doesn't care about the terms, but about something that exists.

“Why would you lose me?”

What doubts haunt Yunho's thoughts?

“So many reasons. Our families top the list.”

He wants to appease the obvious disturbances that keep Yunho alarmed. The concern reflected in both his tone of voice and his expression reminds him why they certainly always seek to hide.

Their families represent the main reason why they caress each other away from the eyes of others. Sometimes, even if it hurts, it’s easier to continue with the routine, looking for corners to share kisses because they know that nothing will change, and that they are safe from the reactions of others.

“I can jump through the window even though this is the second floor and I can't even see my shirt,” he doesn’t hesitate to express, even being aware that he's not a fan of heights. “You can tell your dad that I'm here for a project, or you— we can tell him the truth.”

Yunho is right. He probably would have started walking aimlessly across his room if that situation had occurred in his house, but this isn’t his house. He understands Yunho's concern, and he understands why they constantly seek to hide, but Yunho has to understand that in this case, whatever they have between them, can't continue the way it is forever.

Pretending, lying, even to themselves sometimes.

He's been thinking about it for some time now. First a week, then they kept seeing each other. And a month passed, then another, and more months went by. He has no plans to let Yunho go, and they certainly can't go on like this forever.

“I won't get mad. It's up to you. I just want you to feel safe with me,” he adds.

He observes that part of the concern is no longer present on Yunho's face after hearing him say those words. That's what he wants, for the sound of his voice to reassure Yunho, for his presence to equate to a sense of calm.

He won't force him to tell the truth if he doesn't want to —just like Yunho doesn't force him to be honest with his respective parents. Even if having to hide irritates him, ending his closeness with Yunho would hurt him more. He knows that.

Yunho rests his hands over his, and lets out a silent breath as he gently pulls away from his contact.

He looks at Yunho when Yunho takes his hands for a few seconds, until he’s following Yunho with his eyes because Yunho leaves his bed and his room. 

He hasn’t closed the door completely, he notices that.

He gets up to look for his shirt, as silently as he can, since no matter what Yunho chooses to do, he will have to leave the house sooner or later, and if he does meet Yunho’s father, appearing shirtless won’t leave a nice impression —although he doubts his impression will be good even if he’s wearing the most expensive suit from the most expensive brand.

He finds it on the floor and buttons it up as he stays completely still when his eyes find the door once he hears Yunho clear his throat.

“Hi, dad.”

He’s used to the abruptness that accompanies the comments he gets from Yunho the minute he walks through the university doors in the morning, so he stays rigid when Yunho accompanies his greeting with a calm tone of voice, though he recognizes the same as appeased nervousness.

“You are awake! Good morning to you,”

“How did the shift go?”

He runs one of his hands through his bluish locks, feeling guilty, thinking that he’s listening to a conversation that he shouldn't, but Yunho does know that he’s behind the door.

Even though he told Yunho that he chooses what to do, he wonders if he has somehow cornered him by picking him up at Utopia last night.

“A few problems now and there, but it's okay. How are you? It's weird to see you up this early. Don't tell me, problems with Utopia. I've already told you th—”

“Dad.” Yunho interrupts him. “I’m— I’m... is, I— I’m with someone here.”

He’s aware of the possibilities that he has given Yunho, but he glances at the window nonetheless, realizing that he won't have to open it to —probably, unsuccessfully— exit through it.

He doesn't know whether to be happy because his body won't have any bruises —or even a fracture, who knows—, or nervous because he assumes that Yunho making his presence known means that he will have to leave the room through the door, and that may end up being more dangerous than the window.

“Oh! Do you want me to kick them out? Is that why you are here?”

“Dad, you want to see me happy, right?”

He focuses on Yunho's words instead of wondering if he finds it nice that Yunho's father is willing to kick someone out of his house if that person has made Yunho uncomfortable, or not nice because the kicked person could end up being him.

“Not if that someone is my age, you don't need to be with someone for money. We have plenty. I want you to be greedy but this is not the wa—”

“No! No, dad,” his eyes stay glued to the door because Yunho's voice sounded closer, and he assumes that his father tried to approach the room. “Just— I'm trusting you so, so much by doing this, and I don't want you to make me sad.”

“You are worrying me.”

He hears Yunho let out an exhausted breath instead of saying another word, and he only thinks about wanting to open the door to be next to him and comfort him. 

Perhaps he should have jumped out the window and made Yunho appear to have drunk the night before, or that he has slept little simply because he did and that the lack of sleep has led him to express incoherences.

But all those possibilities leave his head the moment the door is slightly opened and he’s given the chance to be next to Yunho, because he spots Yunho’s hand.

Inviting him to grab it, probably expecting him to, Yunho extends his hand. He can't counter his words with his actions, he gave the idea of at least stopping lying to one person. So he swallows heavily, and agrees to take Yunho's hand.

Just as Yunho has followed his words, he follows Yunho's actions.

He no longer stays behind the door, and he can't help but scratch the back of his neck apologetically with his free hand as he happens to find himself right next to Yunho, right in front of Yunho’s father.

The surprise is more than evident in his gaze, but he’s only able to focus on the way he feels Yunho tense up. He opts to slightly squeeze his hand even though he, too, feels nervous under Yunho’s father's gaze, and somehow manages to clear his throat.

“Hello...” he says.

He has often thought about the possible disastrous outcomes that could —and still can— happen from exposing his closeness to Yunho. But he never thought that he would be at Yunho's house, wearing a pair of Yunho's pants, with Yunho beside him.

Yunho's father crosses his arms.

“Well. I now understand the particular pink car I spotted on the drive here.”

He doesn’t avoid the grimace that caresses his face, and he doesn’t need to turn his head to know that Yunho is probably insulting him in his head for having a fascination with the color pink, but surely he's also insulting himself for not making him leave the car even further from his house.

“How long has this been going on, gentlemen?”

This time, he does turn his head towards Yunho.

Since when has this been going on? Since when are they together? He assumes that Yunho holds his gaze with the same uncertainty because neither of them is able to provide a specific answer.

Hiding is routine, and if Yunho currently finds himself under a scholarship, it's because they've started seeing each other differently even before he felt pressured enough to cheat on a test.

Maybe not a year ago, but several months ago already.

“Since... last year?” he offers.

“And why am I finding out now?” He stops looking at Yunho when Yunho’s father accompanies those words with a certain tone of voice. “Are you making this a secret? Are you ashamed of my son? Because—”

“Dad.”

“We were—” he interrupts them both. He doesn't see the point in avoiding the truth when they've chosen to stop lying for now. “We are afraid of the reaction.”

Irritation, annoyance, disappointment, disapproval.

“Did you think I would judge you?”

His first instinct is to hold Yunho's hand tighter when Yunho’s father stops looking at him to look at Yunho. Maybe he's not used to behaving that way with other people present, but that doesn't take away that a part of him has also gotten used to wanting to protect Yunho.

“Because I remember when you were nineteen, and you came out to me, and I—”

“No, dad. You and I both know who he is. Not even our friends know.”

He understands that Yunho also seeks to protect him because he feels the way Yunho copies his previous gesture after giving his hand a light squeeze.

Secretly or not, far from the eyes of others or not, just as they have become accustomed to falsely insulting each other, they have learned to sincerely care for each other.

Shouts, silence, even sarcasm. He has expected everything, except the sincere laugh that leaves Yunho's father's lips before leaving his gaze on him, unfolding his arms to leave his hands on his own waist.

“Your family gives my ex-wife trouble. I understand what you two are saying, but you are welcome to be here as much as you want. Besides, I need someone to take care of him when I'm not here. He can be quite stubborn, and he doesn't like it when people take care of him.”

He believes that his eyes remain more than open, unblinking, and completely immobile until he remembers that he needs to blink, and he does so several times in a row.

Yunho's father is looking at him with a slight smile on his face instead of a frown or a dismissive expression.

“I— Y— yes, of course!” he doesn’t hesitate to say, although he continues confused.

Beyond clueless, if he’s to be honest.

“I'm regretting this,” he hears Yunho say.

Could it be? That just as he has thought of Yunho's father as different from Yunho's mother, Yunho's father therefore also has a different opinion about him?

Before he can keep wondering about it, the questions beginning to pile on each other inside his mind, Yunho's father assures him that indeed, Yunho's mother's business is the reason behind his lack of rejection.

“Don't you want to buy Utopia?” He’s asked.

“Utopia is not for sale, dad.” Yunho answers for him.

He can’t help but feel confused. He recognizes some uncertainty in Yunho's tone of voice even though his words are clear, and can only wonder why he cares if he’s the owner of Utopia.

“No, I'm fine with Illusion,” he decides to answer anyway.

He knows how important Utopia is to Yunho, and even before becoming physically and emotionally close to Yunho, he has never thought of acquiring Utopia.

He slightly narrows his gaze, wondering if just as Yunho is used to hiding his closeness, it‘s also a habit to defend Utopia from his father.

“I don't know why you still keep that shack. I'll sell it at any time,” Yunho's father's words assure him that definitely, Yunho must be more than used to worrying not only about the relationship they have started, but also about the business that has made them fight as well as later approaching each other.

Sell it? Can Yunho's father do that?

“Dad, don't you dare.”

“It's a really good business,” he chooses to say.

At no time has he thought that Utopia can represent more than a place of conformity for Yunho, since he has always known that the business is related to his mother, so he doesn’t understand why his father implies that although his ex-wife has left control to Yunho, he also has some power over the place.

“Business... business... what do you even do with a bar...” Yunho's father chooses to turn around instead of waiting for a possible answer to his question.

He follows him with his gaze, not being able to avoid the confusion that embraces his face because he believes that he has yet to understand that he has stopped hiding in Yunho's room.

He has not only just accepted that he’s close to Yunho to another person —towards Yunho’s father, nothing more and nothing less—, but also that he considers Utopia to be a decent bar.

Well, he's always thought so, but accepting that his competition is good out loud is something he didn't think would happen that morning.

He shakes his head, and turns it towards Yunho. He doesn't need Yunho to express any words to show how he feels because the confusion is more than evident on his face. He can only think that he probably looks the same way.

Yunho also prepared himself to face his father, to explain himself.

Although he knows the answer, he still chooses to give Yunho's hand a slight tug so that Yunho returns his gaze.

“How do you feel?”

“Weird...” Yunho's response is not a surprise, “Sad because he still is against mom, but for the first time in my life, I think that works in my favor,” Yunho forms a line with his lips, showing his evident uncertainty.

“I’m sorry.”

Yunho shakes his head. “Don't be. This could've gone so much worse...”

He only feels capable of raising both eyebrows to agree with him. He definitely has waited for another type of situation to develop. He hasn't expected a divorce that constantly proves to meddle in Yunho's life to work to their advantage.

He looks down at the way their hands have never stopped being locked together, but looks up to see Yunho placing a kiss on the back of his hand after bringing said part of his body towards his mouth.

The important thing is that they were —and still are— side by side.

“So... you need someone to take care of you, mh?”

Though Yunho only narrows his eyes upon hearing this, he smiles. Yunho stops looking at him when a melody comes from his room, and Yunho finally lets go of his hand.

“That's my phone.”

“Don't leave me here, this is your house,” he says when Yunho enters his room.

Pronouncing those words leads him to think that although he has just been introduced to Yunho's father as a close person, it’s still the first time he’s in his house, in his room.

He smiles when he looks at a photo of Yunho as a little boy, wearing a cap backward, but the grin on his face soon begins to diminish as he realizes that, with the photos he sees, he doesn't appear in any.

He's not surprised nor does he blame Yunho, since being tired from having to hide wouldn’t make sense if they exposed in their own rooms evidence that they are more classmates, rivals.

While his phone gallery is full of photos of Yunho, and him with Yunho, there isn't a single one in his room. He stops keeping a serious expression and allows one of the corners of his mouth to turn up at the thought that maybe, now, at least one of the two of them can have photos of the two of them on display.

Notes:

one day, many months ago now, i was minding my own business when out of nowhere this phrase "you're too pretty to be sad" popped into my head. i really liked it and i thought well, i want to write something about this. my first choice was jongsang because as it's easy to say i like jongsang a lot, and i thought okay, a scene where yeosang is sad, jongho comforts him, i want there to be a necklace and it has to be a hotel room, that's literally all i had in mind. i thought about writing a one-shot with just that scene, but it didn't feel right, it seemed like the whole build-up was missing. so i thought about writing a long one-shot or a fic with a few chapters. and i went from that to this mess of a fic. i actually ended up not liking the line when i first wrote this chapter, but i refused to leave it out of the chapter and the fic because it's literally what led me to write all of this. it will never stop making me laugh and sigh

Chapter 24

Notes:

it always feels satisfying when i post the chapter the summary came from

Wooyoung allows the smoke to leave his mouth and again brings the cigarette to his lips.

The coldness of the morning threatens to bloom his skin into goosebumps even if he hugs himself. He would rather drown in the clothes he’s wearing than close the window next to him. The smell of cigarettes needs to dissipate, and he doesn't want to stink up the room he's in with the distinctive odor that already clings to his figure and hair.

Starting his day by wasting a cigarette always means the presence of a sour feeling.

He knows that he can only blame himself for currently taking advantage of the fact that San's room has a window seat, to be with his face towards the offered view and allow the smoke to mix into the cold air.

The chilly air keeps him cold but the smoke that travels down his throat and the cigarette trapped between his fingers keep him warm. He runs his free hand through his lilac locks, thinking that the smoke poisoning his lungs is the least of his problems. The cigarette is one of the many consequences of his problems and not a cause per se.

While he unhesitatingly chooses to ruin his inside, his outside remains serene. He tends to wake up energized, ready to start another day, but while the empty bed in the room doesn't invite him back into the sheets, a smile isn't plastered on his face.

Contrary to what others think, he pays attention to those around him.

Perhaps he does laugh easily and it’s difficult for him to remain still —regardless of the fact that he has already forgotten how many minutes he has spent by the window by now, he stays attentive to his surroundings, to the people around him.

So he lets out a sigh, and this time smoke doesn’t leave his lips as he thinks how foolish he’s been for not realizing that last night's gala was the first time Yeosang and Seonghwa appeared without their father, the first time they attended an event since their father passed away.

He allows the ashes to fall by the window, he doesn't know exactly where, but they fall, and he shakes his head, realizing that he’s where he is —in San’s room, in San's house, with a cigarette that he takes back to his lips—, for thinking with his dick and not with his head.

He stops keeping his gaze on the treetops near San's house when he hears a soft scratching sound against the wooden floor, and he follows Byeol as she gets close to him and hops to get comfortable on his lap.

“Well, at least you're okay with me,” he strokes her fur, making sure to keep the hand with the cigarette away from her.

Byeol purrs at the caress and seeks to get even more comfortable in the space left between his thighs. He smiles, as last night Byeol approached them to welcome San the second they walked through the door of his house.

He keeps smiling at how Byeol constantly interrupted his kisses with San and how close he was to San, yet soon that smile leaves his face when he remembers that he ended the night with San because while Seonghwa chose to stay in his own house, Yeosang didn’t even seek to stay close.

Questions about his loyalty continue to try to break his head, since Yeosang stays away and chooses not to mention all the important details to him.

It's not something personal since over and over again Seonghwa has shown and assured him that Yeosang doesn't tell him absolutely everything either, but it's assumed —it has always been assumed— that he's the exception. Being his best friend makes him the exception.

He's no longer so sure of that reality. Not after realizing that Yeosang didn't tell him that his mother knows San's father, while San assured him that Yeosang did.

He exhales the last drag, and turns his face again as Byeol leaves the comfort of his lap to walk between San's legs once he appears carrying a tray in his hands.

“Your breakfast won't taste like anything with that.” San takes a look at what's left of his cigarette before opting to sit on the bed.

“I didn't fill the room with the smell, I promise,” just as he has gotten used to not smoking in his own room to take care of his younger brother's health, he has also gotten used to opening windows when he’s in another place.

He closes the window and approaches San.

“It's not because of the smell,” San assures him, “I doubt it's healthy to start the day with that.”

He’s aware of the way San’s eyes follow his chain of actions as he lights off what's left of the cigarette on one of the napkins on the tray. He sits across from San, leaving the tray between them, and shrugs.

“Don't worry about me.”

Each person has their own destructive habits.

San snorts, but instead of complaining about it, he points to the tray left between them.

“I hope you like it, it's what I know how to do...”

He thinks it's a nice touch what San has opted to make for what he thinks is breakfast. His eyes recognize kimchi toasts as well as two cups of coffee and glasses of orange juice, and a bowl with various fruits.

He’s so used to scanning various dishes with his eyes, that he allows his lips to stretch into a smile. He thinks it's always so nice when one person chooses to cook for another.

“You should have told me, I like to cook, I could have helped you,” he offers, smiling.

“One, my dad was in the kitchen and if he doesn't want me to be near Yeosang, I doubt he wants me to be near you,” he allows a grimace to guide his face when he hears San mention those words, much more when San doesn't seem pleased with the fact that he crossed paths with his father. “And second, I didn't know you cook.”

He can't help but raise his eyebrows, certainly surprised. With those words, he confirms what he has been thinking up to now. San has no idea who he is, he’s completely unaware of his family, and therefore all the implications behind his last name.

He has never felt so relieved.

“My parents are chefs,” he offers instead of starting to talk about the international restaurant chain that has blown up their reputation. Keeping his family away from San's knowledge is pointless. “I guess it runs in my veins.” He holds up a smile that quickly turns into the opposite of a sincere gesture.

Thinking that despite having inherited a taste for cooking and his last name, he hasn’t inherited anything, only leads him to want to replace the glass of orange juice with another cigarette.

“Even if they won't let me be a part of their company,” he adds before San can even ask him if he works with them.

“Why not? Do they separate family and business?”

“I don't know,” is the only thing he chooses to answer before taking a bite of one strawberry.

His parents often imply that he’s not ready, often say no, no, and no, but he knows that although he can be abrupt and reckless, cooking is what he likes to do. He doesn't think now is the time to share those details with San —probably never, if he’s to be honest.

“This chef approves of these strawberries,” he decides to add, and smiles.

“What an honor,” San gets him to laugh by bringing his hand to his chest and pretending that his words have been the greatest compliment he has ever heard in his life.

San smiles at him and takes one of the coffee cups to bring it to his mouth after getting Byeol out of the bed so she doesn't eat anything on the tray.

“Did you talk to your dad?”

“I didn't ask him what his talk with Yeosang’s mom meant if that's what you want to know,” San sounds frustrated, and runs his fingers through his locks. “I still don't know what to do,” he doesn't blame him for the mention of those words.

He doesn't understand why Yeosang and Seonghwa's mother knows San's father either, and why they would both prefer that there was no relationship of any kind between them.

“So... tha— gra— gracias,” He raises his eyebrows, and a smile threatens to appear on his face when San speaks. “For staying.”

“Thanks to you too,” the interruption caused by a conversation that he’s sure they shouldn’t have heard hasn’t prevented them from currently being face to face.

He’s aware that if his suit is currently washed and folded on one of the chairs in San's room, it’s because they had the opportunity to pick up where they left off once they left the gala.

“For helping me.”

He doesn't know whether to feel guilty or not.

Was he supposed to stay, seeking to get closer to Yeosang instead of leaving the gala with San? He doesn't know it, but he doesn't back down when San gently catches his chin between his fingers to watch him. He doesn't object either when San brings his face closer to his, and places a soft kiss on his lips.

“Maybe we could... pick that up again?” San proposes.

He smiles and moves the tray left between the two of them, but San is the one who leaves his cup of coffee on it and allows him to approach him to get comfortable in his lap.

San's hands fall to his waist and his arms find San's neck. All traces of previous coldness leave his body when San's lips meet his, and he doesn't need another cigarette to feel the sensation of warmth that embraces him as San caresses his waist.

A vibration reaches his ears and San holds him even closer by flexing his legs and getting his chest to brush his. He digs his fingers into San's dark locks and a second vibration reminds him that he's left his phone on San's nightstand.

The encounter between the bitterness of the coffee that accompanies San's lips and the sweetness of the traces of strawberry in his mouth is interrupted when a third vibration makes him aware of what is around him, and he stops keeping his fingers lost between San’s strands.

“Wait.”

While sometimes he doesn't know how to react, other times it's just automatic.

Yeosang.

Three vibrations mean Yeosang.

He doesn't even read the name on the screen before bringing his phone to his ear.

“Wooyoung?”

He knows something is wrong the second Yeosang doesn't even let him say a word by accepting his call, and instead, pronounces his name with an unsure tone of voice.

He stops holding onto San's lap as the guilt that previously sought to blossom finally settles on his shoulders.

“I'm here,” is the first thing he thinks of saying, but even though he's for Yeosang, he's not really with Yeosang.

His eyes fall on his folded suit and he stops finding himself on San's lap. He promptly replaces the pajamas that San lent him with the pants he wore the night before.

“I'm sorry—” his confused frown finds nothing in particular and luckily his phone doesn't fall to the floor when he manages to replace the t-shirt with his shirt. “I know I don't— I don't know if— I'm really sorry—”

“Sangie, hey.” Even if he feels his heart race against his chest, quickly and with concern, he tries to sound calm to counteract the anxiety with which he listens to Yeosang accompany those words. “Tell me what's going on.” He begins to button up his shirt.

“Can you come? Please...”

“Yes, send me your location. I will be there.”

He quickly puts on his blazer, phone in hand even though Yeosang has ended the call. His phone buzzes again and he has no doubt that it’s Yeosang's current location.

“I have to go, sorry,” he says even if he doesn't doubt that the speed of his actions has shown the same.

If he had insisted a little more last night, if he had pushed enough, if he had opted to catch Yeosang's arm to stop him from moving away, if he hadn’t left the gala and if he had been a good best friend, he wouldn't feel so guilty.

“I—” He stops himself from walking out of the room when he hears San, and tilts his head when he notices his confusion as well as the frown present on his face. “Yeosang calls you and you just leave?” It's his turn to frown when San watches him as he expresses those words. “You follow him like a dog?”

Stunned, he allows surprise to guide his facial features upon hearing the not-so-pleasant way in which San chooses to refer to him. Just as the feeling of guilt quickly fades from his figure, all jumbled emotions come to an end as he feels irritation take over his body.

He approaches San at a determined pace as his facial features harden and he can't remember the last time he felt so angry. And for the first time, he looks at San by taking his chin between his fingers, not with the same gentleness with which San has previously made said gesture.

“One single, isolated, and pathetic orgasm.” People constantly mistake a simple moment of pleasure and temporary bliss for undying and pure devotion. He finds it fascinating. And certainly annoying too. “And you think you know absolutely everything about me?”

He believes that it’s only then that he realizes that he has also left the known details of his former city. Having left Spain weighs on his head and also on his shoulders, and he’s beginning to believe that perhaps, having replaced one country with another isn’t something that easy to get over.

People are used to his personality, they know how to handle themselves and what words to express when he’s around. Equating physical closeness with emotional closeness has never been one of his rules, people know that. But now, although he knows names and knows which faces to attach them to, he represents a new entity.

He allows a dry, wry laugh to leave his lips.

“You know nothing about me, you know nothing about my friendship with Yeosang.” 

Whatever country it is, whatever city it is, if he has moved, it’s because Yeosang has done it first. He isn’t a dog for choosing to surround himself with the same details as Yeosang —and Seonghwa, too, but a person who knows which friendships he should and will prioritize. 

“There's a lot of things that I don't know either, but I do know that maybe you are a prick after all.” He lets go of San and keeps his eyes narrowed. “Priorities, right? You said so yourself.” he decides to add before turning around.

He doesn’t have the energy to deal with San's reaction.

Dog? He has a new insult to add to the list.

---

Seonghwa allows a small smile to spread across his face.

He likes the way the outfit they have chosen for him hugs his body, though he’s quick to slide his eyes from his own clothes to the hairstylist who is currently doing his hair.

Despite having always been interested in the world of fashion, it’s his first time so close to it, and he doesn't know if it’s something common or not, but even all the people who work there are well dressed, not just the people who will go out in the photos. He likes the pants he's wearing, but also the skirt he sees.

“Your skirt... is very pretty...”

“Thank you,” The hairstylist offers him a smile before focusing back on his hair.

He thinks he's always been interested in fashion —maybe not like Hongjoong, he sighs at the thought of Hongjoong, but in the same way, he's always wondered why he should wear pants when there are other items of clothing that call his attention.

He tilts his head, thinking that probably, if Hongjoong hadn't caught his eye because of his hair, surely his eyes would have fallen on his clothes, on the particular way he styles his uniform.

But he knows that their cases are completely different. While Hongjoong's mothers are both people associated with industries that express freedom, he has grown accustomed to simple trousers and white shirts.

He's only able to wonder what Hongjoong would wear to class if they didn't have a uniform, but he promptly forms a line with his lips at the thought of the words they've exchanged the night before.

He slightly turns his head to the empty chair next to him once the hairstylist stops fixing his hair, and shakes his head because Yeosang should already be there. It’s no surprise that he's running late and he won't be surprised if Yeosang never decides to show up either.

Even if Yeosang had slept at their house, he would have been late anyway, he believes. He doesn't know where he spent the night, but he does know that Yeosang has at least read his text.

A more than pleasant smile would be found on his face not only if he were on good terms with Hongjoong, since although he hasn’t approached him, he’s sure that he has seen him in the corridors of the house they are in —it's not hard to spot red hair. But also if he hadn't argued with Yeosang the night before —again.

Somehow or another he always ends up having arguments with Yeosang, and with every sour exchange of words, he feels a step closer to his limit. He is not only irritated but hurt as well. Yeosang's words hurt him. Yeosang’s attitude toward him hurts him.

He looks down at the bracelet he's chosen to keep around his wrist, and wonders why he feels his family is further away than ever when they should be close to him.

“You can go to that empty chair,”

He looks up, and thinks that for better or worse, he has gotten so used to Yeosang making his presence known with some sarcastic comment or glare sent in his direction, that he frowns as soon as Yeosang lowers his gaze and remains silent instead of looking at him when he does.

Yeosang doesn’t say a word. He doesn't look angry or grumpy, annoyed for being there, just like he thought he would.

He notes that both of his hands are shaking, but as one is on his lap curled into a soft fist, the other is close to his neck —keeping his necklace caught between his fingers? Probably. He looks at him, and as soon as Yeosang turns his head so as not to let him see the subtle blurriness of his gaze that nonetheless he doesn’t fail to notice, all thought about giving him the cold shoulder leaves his head.

It’s automatic to get up when he sees the staff about to approach Yeosang.

“Could you give us a moment, please?” he manages to stop them, and luckily they nod instead of giving him serious looks.

He doesn't doubt that they all have their respective schedules, but whether he's upset or not, he won't allow others to get close to Yeosang after noticing that anxiety seems to be driving him.

He stretches out one of his hands to Yeosang, and Yeosang barely lifts his head to look at it. He doesn't know if Yeosang will choose to take it or not. At the moment it seems not because one of his hands is still around the necklace while the other doesn’t leave his lap.

He repeats the same gesture so that Yeosang understands that otherwise he will choose to kneel next to him and look at him, and Yeosang stops keeping his hand on his lap. He acknowledges the doubt behind his action, but Yeosang finally takes his hand in his.

His determination dulls Yeosang's trembling and he manages to get him to leave his chair to get out of the room where they are.

“What's happening?” He asks him, because he doesn't doubt that something is happening.

Yeosang continues without looking at him and without saying a word.

The opposite occurs when they argue. Yeosang seeks to provoke him with words and doesn't hesitate to meet his gaze.

“Let's...” Yeosang's voice is barely a whisper, “Let's go back.”

He doesn't hesitate to give his hand a little tug when he hears the crack in his voice.

“Talk to me.”

“The... the photoshoot... it's important," Yeosang insists.

“You are important.”

He makes sure to keep his hand clasped in Yeosang's when his words only seem to worsen Yeosang's condition, since Yeosang's insistence on not looking at him doesn't stop him from noticing the tear slipping down his cheek.

“I... I’ll behave, I promise...” Yeosang gently tugs at his hand, probably wanting to break free of his grasp, but he won't let him. “I’ll be on my best behavior, I swear...”

He widens his eyes and doesn't know what's going on, but Yeosang is definitely not ready for a photoshoot, so he makes sure to hold Yeosang's hand, firm in his, as he walks down the hall, deciding to sit on a couch when he finds an empty room.

Yeosang sits next to him, and he notes that in no time has he stopped holding the necklace around his neck with his other hand.

He doesn't think it's a coincidence that last night was the first night they showed themselves to the public without their father, while at that moment Yeosang doesn't let go of the accessory that their father gave him.

“Is something wrong with your necklace?” Yeosang shakes his head. “Something happened to you? Where did you spend the night?” He asks him, his concern growing.

“With... Jongho.”

“Did he do something to you?” he's only able to ask when he realizes that he's been accompanied. Prime Minister's son or not, he doesn’t give a crap about Jongho’s last name. He will throw all proper etiquette aside in case someone has hurt Yeosang. But Yeosang shakes his head. “Then what is it?”

He hasn't seen him since the night before, but it's clear that something has happened or that someone has done something to him because Yeosang doesn't let go of his hand or of the necklace still present around his neck.

He knows that Yeosang thinks of that accessory as an equivalence of security, of familiarity, which is why he's worried.

Yeosang looks at him but it only lasts a second and he quickly lowers his eyes. His shaky exhalation as well as the increase in the blurriness of his gaze indicates that he's not right.

“Please,” he tries.

He thinks it's ironic, how vulnerable Yeosang shows himself to him when he's behaved differently ever since they moved, even before. Expressionless, and sarcastic, he has gotten used to it.

“I... I lost my necklace,” Yeosang follows his words with a sob, and he slides his eyes to his neck immediately.

He hopes that his eyesight isn't playing against him as Yeosang expresses those words, but although he can't see past the hand that Yeosang keeps around it, he denotes the golden chain that is always around Yeosang's neck.

“I didn't realize it fell... and when I, when I woke up I realized I didn't have it,” he stops looking at the necklace to look at Yeosang as soon as he understands why Yeosang is in front of him.

He widens his eyes in surprise, only being able to think about the desolation Yeosang must have felt when he couldn't find his necklace. He chooses to keep his hand trapped in his, assuring him that he doesn't have to worry anymore, that it was just a scare.

“Jongho found it but... I almost... I— I could have lost it forever and... I was panicking and I— and I thought of— I thought of— you— to help me and how unfair I was— and I—”

“It's okay, it's ok—”

“I'm not okay—” Yeosang interrupts him and this time he does look at him, allowing him to visualize all kinds of sadness in his eyes. “I want to stop crying every day,” is the only thing Yeosang manages to add before breaking down in tears.

He thinks that, in a way, it's automatic. It hurts him, it destroys him, and he feels his heart shatter. Yeosang cries, and he doesn't hesitate to let go of his hand to promptly wrap his arms around Yeosang, holding him close to him, and strangely enough, his heart just keeps breaking as it begins to heal the second Yeosang reciprocates his hug.

And it’s at that moment, with his arms around Yeosang and Yeosang with his arms around him, making sure to stay close to each other instead of pushing away from each other, that he realizes how much he has missed Yeosang, how much he has needed to hug Yeosang and for Yeosang to hug him.

He exhales a breath of relief, and all the discussions, all the arguments, all the fights that have happened between them don't matter, they lose all their meaning.

Yeosang's crying caress his skin as he hides his head in his neck, and he tightens his embrace around him, squeezing his eyes shut. 

“I'm here.” he always has been, and Yeosang finally accepts his words.

Yeosang's erratic sobs only increase and he doesn't know if he hugs Yeosang tighter because at all times Yeosang has thought the opposite of his words, or because he doesn't remember the last time Yeosang let him hug him, and certainly, be there for him.

“I miss him so much,” Yeosang's broken voice only leads him to swallow heavily.

A part of him has waited for Yeosang to get those words out despite the present lump in his throat, for he wouldn't find himself crying in his arms if the necklace was just another mere accessory instead of the most important memory of their father.

“I miss him too,” he assures him, feeling the beginning of a lump in his throat.

Torn between feeling relieved because this is what he wanted, letting Yeosang know that they both feel the same, that they are both suffering from the same loss no matter how they are coping with it, and letting his eyes water when he opens them because Yeosang has been suffering as much as him; he holds Yeosang and Yeosang holds him.

“But you seem okay...”

“Seem.” he emphasizes, and he's not sure if he's proud of himself or not. “I'm... not.” he accepts. He finally accepts it out loud and it hurts. It hurts him because it breaks not only Yeosang's reality, but also his own. No matter how much he's tried to fool himself, he's not okay. “I have to be strong for you, for you to know that I'm here.”

He's not okay, he knows he's not okay, and it only drives him crazy.

He feels that everything is out of control, that just like Yeosang has said, he seems to be okay.

He gets up, knowing that he must face another day, and complete the hours of it, but he doesn't feel ready to do it. He seems okay because he has to look okay, he can't afford to act erratically like Yeosang even though they are both in the same situation. He can nod, smile, and accept the words he hears, but he knows that he’s in pieces.

He doesn't know if he has the right to be angry at Yeosang, to blame him or not since he believes that if there’s someone who understands him, that person is Yeosang, but it’s evident that neither of them is okay, no matter how much they seek to prove it.

While he tries, he really tries, Yeosang’s behavior pities his.

Faking being okay, or proving not to be okay, both he and Yeosang are falling.

Strangely, he feels the trembling that accompanies Yeosang's body subside when he utters those words. And he thinks, that maybe, all this time, Yeosang has needed to see beyond his facade and not as he has thought Yeosang should see him.

“I don't like fighting with you,” Yeosang says, still with a broken voice and sniffling, and yet, he thinks that Yeosang can't even imagine what it means to hear him mention those words. “You must hate me.”

“I don't hate you.” he seeks to assure him, taking one of his hands to his strands.

It doesn't matter if Yeosang dyes his hair the color he has expressed wanting, if many times Yeosang seeks to misunderstand him on purpose, or if he doesn't understand Yeosang either.

He has always thought that he needs Yeosang more than Yeosang needs him, but he has made sure to hide so many parts of himself that perhaps he hasn't noticed that Yeosang also chooses not to show himself fully.

“I could never. No matter how much we argue.” maybe irritation hugged him more than once and many times he has been angry after fighting with Yeosang, but he has never hated him. No, he's always hated how they ended up going their separate ways. “I worry about you.”

He doesn't hate Yeosang, he hates arguing with him.

“Why would you care about me when mom doesn't?”

He’s aware of the lump that now indeed appears in his throat, and again he finds himself pretending that he’s okay as he tries not to cry the second those words leave Yeosang's lips. Said with a tone of voice that indicates that he’s sure of the question he asks, and therefore, the implications behind it.

His eyes spot a red detail near the door, but a simple look is enough for Hongjoong to understand that if the photoshoot hasn't started, it's not because they don't want to, but because they can't.

He makes sure to hold Yeosang tightly when Hongjoong is no longer near the door —he appreciates the concern, even more so after remembering that they argued the night before, but this time it's not up to Hongjoong to be present.

While last night Yeosang expressed not needing him, never having asked him to be his older brother, at that moment he shows that he does need him as an older brother, that he has always needed him no matter how many times the opposite has been expressed in words.

Maybe it's true, Yeosang has never asked him to be his older brother, at least not with words, but with actions. But he doesn't blame him, as in the same way, he needs Yeosang to be his younger brother, for Yeosang to agree to be there for him.

“I thought of you... Wooyoung... dad...” he suffers because he knows what are the next words Yeosang will add. “I didn't think of mom as someone who can help me...”

Something is really wrong if Yeosang says what he says without hesitation, and it’s even worse when he understands what Yeosang is talking about.

A sour sensation washes over his body not only because Yeosang continues in his arms, slightly trembling under his touch and allowing little whimpers —although thankfully more spaced— to leave his lips, but also because he doesn't like being aware of the fact that Yeosang's words don't sound silly, as he too has come to feel that his mother doesn't care about him.

Up until now, he has been wondering if his mother has been dealing with the aftermath that their father's death has left on Yeosang, while Yeosang assures him that that isn't the case.

They are dealing with that absence as they can, and while Yeosang does it by making mistake after mistake, he does it by wanting to avoid them.

He hugs Yeosang for all the times Yeosang hasn't let him do it and for all the times he has stopped himself from doing it. Both deserve better, of that, he’s sure. Both of them deserve much more than to get angry and irritated with each other.

He’s not afraid that Yeosang will push him away again when he barely pulls apart from him, and he isn't surprised when Yeosang brings one of his hands to his necklace. 

Thankfully Yeosang does allow their eyes to meet again, and though he’s able to glimpse the pain in his gaze, he would rather have the chance to meet Yeosang’s glassy brown eyes with his than find Yeosang with his head down.

He slides his thumbs under his eyes, forcing himself to let out a slight breath to try to get rid of the lump that continues in his throat at the thought of Yeosang crying without him present, suffering because both have made that happen.

“I thought the new air was going to make you feel better...” he tells him.

“She made us abandon everything.” Yeosang says, staring at him, perhaps not with tears leaving the corners of his eyes, but altered, not understanding the pronunciation of his words, as if the possibility of smiling had never existed for him just because they changed cities. “The place where we had the last chance to be with dad.”

“I know she's not perfect but at least she stayed, she is with us.”

This time they are not arguing, they are not yelling, they are just expressing their points of view.

He’s only able to wonder if it's his own fault that he didn't get angry about the move because at least his mother is still present. Is he silly, for not waiting for more, for not expecting more, for settling for the minimum, or is he right because his mother being present is enough, since, in addition to a father who left recently, he has another who left a long time ago?

His mother didn’t abandon him, and for him, so far, that’s been enough.

“Is she, really?”

This time, he takes away Yeosang's chance to hold his gaze by resting his forehead against his and lowering his eyes. Determined and decisive, that's how Yeosang sounds, and he needs to take a moment to realize that although he doesn't accept it with words, he’s accepting that everything Yeosang expresses makes sense, and that can only mean, then, that being present is no longer enough.

Is she, really?

If she were, they wouldn't be having that conversation, Yeosang spouting out thoughts that he hasn't wanted to weave into his head for fear of what they might trigger. If she were there, he wouldn't have heard on more than one occasion how she lies to them.

Is it wrong to want to cling to the idea of perfection for fear of what the impossibility of perfection might bring?

He slides his eyes to their hands as he opts to catch Yeosang's hand in his, and he forms a line with his lips at the image that the bracelet his father gave him represents. A necklace for Yeosang, a bracelet for him. A flower for Yeosang, a star for him.

He guides Yeosang, shines when the rest is dark and Yeosangs needs to have someone to focus on, and Yeosang blossoms to keep him company and be bathed in his light. An odd combination for the others, but obvious to them, obvious to his father because he was the one who expressed those words.

“I have lost my dad,” only one, perhaps, not two, because the man who abandoned him when he was little is not his father, but the man who has seen him grow until life has allowed him. “Mom, I think I’ve lost her too,” it hurts, even more, because their mother's heart is still beating, but is she present, really? “I don't want to lose you too. I really don’t want to.”

Maybe he worries too much, he exaggerates, his reactions can’t be described as the best, and his words are not the wisest choice, but he refuses to lose Yeosang, to allow Yeosang to lose him. Not only because he fears for Yeosang, but because he fears for himself too.

“I've already lost myself...” Yeosang has stopped crying even though his cheeks are still wet. Sobs no longer leave his lips and his breathing seems to have calmed. And yet he sounds just as desolate, just as surrendered.

Has he failed as a big brother by not shining enough to prevent Yeosang from losing himself? Being aware of the blurriness that embraces his eyes, he stops holding Yeosang's hand in his, and leads both towards Yeosang's other hand.

Slowly, he gets Yeosang to agree to stop keeping the pendant between his fingers, and leaves said flower pendant on his palm, knowing that as he’s the only person who's allowed to touch said accessory without receiving a bad reaction from Yeosang, he’s also the person most affected by the golden petals.

He lets the pendant dangle around Yeosang’s neck, and a part of him wonders if all isn't lost when Yeosang doesn't quickly seek to catch the pendant in his hands as he allows their hands to lock again.

“You are my brother,” he reminds him, opting to give his hands a light squeeze. “And that will never change.” they are small and Yeosang needs him to put a band-aid on one of his scraped knees, or they are older and Yeosang needs him to heal his heart. “I can't protect you from the world, but I can be by your side to face it.”

The world is cruel, they know, but he has to shine, and Yeosang has to bloom.

He won't let anyone say that they are not true brothers, not even Yeosang.

“I'm sorry,” Yeosang doesn't withdraw his hands from his. “I'm so sorry for... being me.”

“I accept your apologies, but you don't have to apologize for being you,” Yeosang can apologize for several phrases that have led them to distance themselves, but it doesn't seem fair to him for Yeosang to apologize for who he is. “I haven’t been the best either so we were both wrong. I'm sorry too.”

He doesn't even know if the right thing to do is for both of them to apologize to each other, if there’s even something to apologize for, or if they've both gotten entangled in their own misunderstandings. He no longer knows what to expect and what not. He does know, though, that when Yeosang shifts to leave his head on his shoulder, he doesn't avoid the deep breath that leaves his mouth as he rests his head on Yeosang's, their hands still together.

He welcomes the silence, the lack of words that appears not because Yeosang doesn't want to talk to him, but because the conversation they had more than pending has finally taken place. He allows Yeosang’s strands to tickle his cheek, he basks in Yeosang's presence just like Yeosang basks in his.

His heart is still broken, and he continues to suffer, but Yeosang diminishes the pain, he doesn’t allow his heart to be completely torn apart.

His eyes slide to the door when a colorful detail again catches his attention, although this time, lilac in color. He allows a small smile to caress his face, and he thinks that just as silence is good sometimes, it's also nice when a familiar voice interrupts it.

Wooyoung sits next to Yeosang, leaving a hand on Yeosang’s cheek while his other hand finds his arm. He smiles at the touch, and Wooyoung looks back and forth between them. 

He has always thought that not only Yeosang is lucky to have met Wooyoung, but also him.

“Hey...”

“You are here,” Yeosang says but doesn't sound surprised.

“Of course I am, someone has to remind you two that you are not the only two pretty faces around here,”

Wooyoung can get on his nerves sometimes, and he’s sometimes worried when he’s by Yeosang’s side, but another part of him doesn't deny that he feels calm whenever he sees Yeosang and Wooyoung side by side, laughing and talking between them.

A short laugh leaves Yeosang's lips, and Wooyoung agrees to take his hand in his when he opens his palm. Holding Yeosang and Wooyoung's hands, this is how he needs to be.

He thinks he and Wooyoung both smile when they hear Yeosang laugh. Wooyoung looks at him, and a slight flick of his wrist is enough for Wooyoung to notice the presence of the bracelet, as well as to understand the reason why he found him with Yeosang.

Once again Wooyoung shifts his eyes between them.

“Some days will be okay, and some days it won't. Some days it will hurt too much, and other days it will seem like it has never happened. But you two have each other.” 

Although Yeosang continues with his head on his shoulder, he knows that he’s paying attention to Wooyoung's words as much as he is. They have to be there for each other. 

“You are not alone. And you have me.” Wooyoung continues. “I loved him too, and I still do. You don't have to hide the pain,” he swallows when Wooyoung looks at him. “Feeling like shit is okay,” Wooyoung looks back at Yeosang. “And feeling okay is fine too.”

He believes that problems start when you pretend to be fine when you're not.

There are days when he’s fine, and there are days when he’s not, but it always hurts, and he believes he’s no longer thinking of the absence of his father when he thinks of that constancy, but of himself.

He follows Yeosang with his gaze when Yeosang stops keeping his head on his shoulder, and settles back when he understands that Yeosang wants to use his chest to rest his head on. He looks exhausted, and he doesn't wonder why because he doesn't doubt that he's been on alert ever since he woke up without the necklace around his neck, and that constant alertness has drained all his energy.

Feeling tired too, he rests his head against the back of the couch.

With Yeosang slowing his breathing, drifting off to sleep in his arms, he can only wonder how they got to that point. Yeosang wants to stop crying every day while he wants a day to cry. He doesn't resent Yeosang.

He raises his hand to bring it closer to his face when he feels discomfort, but stops it a few millimeters from his skin when he hears Wooyoung.

“You are allowed to grieve too.”

He doesn't understand what Wooyoung is talking about, until he recognizes the wet trail he feels on his cheek as a tear. Crying for what, exactly?

His eyes and Wooyoung's slide to the door when they hear a slight knock.

“We...” Hongjoong doesn't stop looking at him. “We postponed the photoshoot, so don't worry about it,” he sees Hongjoong understand him when he mouths the words thank you, and after barely nodding his head, he leaves them alone again.

His gaze follows Wooyoung as he moves from sitting on the other side of Yeosang to settle on the floor, opting to wrap his arm around one of his legs to rest his cheek against it and leave his free hand on Yeosang's arm to give him a little caress.

Once again he lets his head fall back on the couch, and sighs.

Yeosang is still unaware that Wooyoung and San overheard their mother and San's father talking, expressing that it would be better if they didn't have any type of relationship.

Wooyoung remains silent, and there’s no trace of San, nor is there any mention of his name.

He can feel the tranquility but also the discomfort that the words spoken and heard have caused him.

Crying for what, exactly?

Because perfection is nothing more than a fantasy, he believes. Because perfection has never been, only is, and will always be, nothing more than a fantasy.

Notes:

the next ch will be nicer I PROMISE...

Chapter 25

Notes:

half of the fic already 🤙

As he places a pillow on the floor next to his bed, Wooyoung watches the way Yeosang wraps his hands around his necklace’s charm.

“Black covers in case you drop the necklace so you can find it quickly,” he straightens up and tucks the sheets over Yeosang's figure, making sure they cover him up to his shoulders. “And a pillow on the floor in case it falls.”

From the way Yeosang refuses to let go of the necklace, he doubts that said accessory will leave his neck, but he doesn't hesitate to express those words anyway.

Few words have been enough for him to understand that Yeosang's short call and anxious tone of voice have been a byproduct of the momentary lack of his necklace.

Again Yeosang cried, and so once again he finds himself comforting him, this time hoping that those simple details will be enough for Yeosang to quickly find the necklace should it come off again.

“Thank you,” Yeosang replies, already settled on his bed.

“Rest, okay?”

Yeosang looks tired. Exhausted, even. He's seen him falling asleep over Seonghwa before, so he's not surprised when he seems to be struggling to keep his eyes open as he nods.

He knows that he lost his necklace and that Jongho later found it because those were the only words he’s expressed along the way. He is no fool and is aware of what the pronunciation of Jongho's name implies, but he's chosen to avoid thinking too much about that detail for now.

“And you?”

“I'll go see what's to eat, don't miss me,”

The smallest smile caresses Yeosang's face before he closes his eyes and promptly falls asleep.

Wooyoung watches him along with a similar smiling gesture until it begins to leave his face to make way for a neutral expression. Yeosang looks so tired.

He lightly traces his knuckles over his face, his skin still feeling moist under his touch, and he opts to leave Yeosang’s side to slowly close the door of his room.

This is how he has expected the situation to be ever since Yeosang and Seonghwa's father stopped being around, as it has been since that moment, actually.

Just as he has told them, some days will be better than others. Some days they will wake up and smile, happiness will guide their expressions, and remembering won’t lead to tears. While other days everything will hurt, everything will feel a little heavier and tedious, and smiling will be unthinkable.

But he hasn't lied when he said that Yeosang and Seonghwa have each other as well as him. No brotherhood is perfect, he knows that. Both Yeosang and Seonghwa have their respective quirks and letting rage speak for them is so easy. But they can’t forget that they have each other.

Despite all the fights, arguments, and misunderstandings that might arise, they will only be able to face the difficult moments if they have each other.

He lets out a quiet sigh once he's downstairs, and he's not surprised to find the kitchen busy, since it would be rarer if the lights were off.

“How is Yeosang?” His mom asks him when she sees him.

“Resting,”

“It's good that we came here so you can be with him,”

Wooyoung holds a light smile upon hearing his father's words. He will always be grateful to them for agreeing to move so he can be close to Yeosang and Seonghwa.

Just as he didn't even need to say a word, and his pleading eyes were enough for his parents to agree to leave their lives in Spain to travel to South Korea with Yeosang and his family, they have once again chosen to listen to him when he brought up the idea of leaving their previous city after Yeosang moved to Seoul.

His family has always been close to Yeosang and his parents consider Yeosang another son, Seonghwa too, honestly. So he remains at ease knowing that Yeosang has another home to go to —just like back then. Or well, just one home because Yeosang never doubts to assure that his house is not his home.

“What are you doing?”

His eyes scan the central table of the kitchen, where he finds different types of plates and pages full of scribbles and notes.

“Devising a new menu since we'll be opening a restaurant here,” even if his mother's response isn't a surprise, he watches her closely. “That's why we didn't want to do the catering yesterday, we have to make a very good first impression.”

“Great impression, not good. It’s already known that we are good,” his father contributes.

Wooyoung looks back and forth between them. He supposes he should let Yunho know since even though Mingi is also part of the business, Yunho's bar would directly compete with his parents' brand, and they are a force to reckon with.

“Can I help?” he proposes. “I could give a young point of view.” Excited, he rests his hands on the counter.

Perhaps his parents will finally accept his help since they would benefit from his participation. This is no longer Spain and perhaps that means that he will finally be allowed to express his opinion.

Excitement travels through his body as he thinks that he will have the opportunity to establish competition with Yunho and Mingi, especially Yunho, so—

“We appreciate your enthusiasm, but no,” his mother says, and he feels the way his shoulders drop. “Why don't you cook something for you and Yeosang? There are leftovers in the fridge if you don't feel like cooking,”

“But I know I can help,” he tries.

How many times has he expressed that phrase regardless of the context?

“Is this going to turn into another discussion?” His mother raises both eyebrows at him.

It’s an argument because they are in denial, Wooyoung believes, since although his mother is always the one to answer his questions, his father usually shakes his head with the same conviction.

“I still don't understand why you won't let me help. I'm a good cook, you know that,” he says, switching his gaze between them.

His knowledge comes not only from education, from courses taken and lessons learned, but also from his own parents, from all the hours he has spent watching them cook since he was little, standing aside and then starting to ask if he can help. To deny him is to deny themselves, and not just because of his last name.

“I know, that's why we've recommended many places for you to work at and you haven't seen any. You know that a call from us would be enough.”

Wooyoung sighs.

He knows that it would only be enough to express his last name to be accepted in other restaurants, in any restaurant, really, but that's the problem, exactly what he doesn't want to do. He doesn't want to work in another restaurant, no matter how easy it would be to get hired thanks to his parents.

“I want to be in the family business.” he determines.

What's the point of accepting other offers when the question he will always get will be, why don't you work with your parents if they also have a restaurant? A chain of restaurants, in fact. A very famous and renowned chain. So exclusive to the point that the Prime Minister requested their services as soon as they set foot in Seoul.

“Wooyoung, we’ve already talked about this. We will not risk the good relationship we have for the sake of the business.”

Wooyoung forms a tense line at the pronunciation of those words. Indeed, they have already talked about this, time after time, but his parents refuse to listen to him.

He's aware that most of the people he knows work with their parents or are prepared and being instructed to inherit their families' companies, and that many times that succession has caused fights and ended up with broken family ties, but he only wants to cook.

Is he asking for too much?

“It doesn't have to be risky,” he reminds them. “All my friends work with their parents. Why not me?”

“And look how they're doing?” His mother asks him.

He forms fists with his hands as soon as he hears those words, his brow furrowing.

It’s not fair, he knows she's talking about Yeosang and Seonghwa, and it’s not fair. Their mother has allowed them to be free from their work activities since their father's death, and he believes that it’s good for both Yeosang and Seonghwa, as he knows that neither of them is interested in working for their mother’s company.

But his case is different.

He does want to work with his parents, he does want to belong to the company, and while Yeosang and Seonghwa's mother trusts them to work with her —even though they aren't interested, he doesn't get the same trust from his parents.

“Whatever.” Again, he gives up. He doesn't know why he thought something would change. “Just say the truth and admit that I’ll never be good enough for you two.” he adds, turning around.

“Woo—”

“B—”

“I'm not hungry!” He exclaims as soon as he hears that both his mother and his father try to stop him.

If they don't listen to him, then he won't listen to them.

The slight discomfort in the center of his stomach reassures him that he is hungry, but just as it often pleases him to see the kitchen lights on, other times it's nothing more than a constant reminder of what he can’t have, so he shakes his head to himself and goes back up the stairs.

Opening the door of his room and finding Yeosang in his bed only leads him to think that the discussion he just had with his parents makes no sense. While Yeosang doesn't have energy because his father isn’t there, he argues with his parents instead of thinking about how grateful he’s to still have them both.

He carefully shifts the covers to snuggle up next to Yeosang, lying on his side, and forms a line with his lips as Yeosang scrunches up his nose, barely opening his eyes.

“Sorry... did I wake you up?”

“Mh,” Wooyoung doesn’t know if that’s a negative or affirmative answer, but Yeosang seems to take advantage of his company to face him and leave his forehead close to his. “I missed you...”

Perhaps he utters those words because he’s sleepy or because the events of the day have reminded both of them how close they are, Wooyoung doesn't know, but he slightly pouts his lips upon hearing him.

Of the two, he’s the one who expresses affectionate words and initiates physical contact the most, so he stares at Yeosang when Yeosang closes his eyes, seeking to stay close to him despite the expanse of the bed.

“I know,” he knows that Yeosang misses him. He knows that he probably meant it sarcastically because he's only been gone for a few minutes, but he also knows that Yeosang really means it. “You can't live without me,” and he can't live without Yeosang.

“No... so... please don't leave me,” Yeosang mutters.

Yeosang continues with his hands around his necklace —although barely grasping it now, Wooyoung notices, so he wraps one of his arms around Yeosang's waist to press their bodies together.

He always seeks to reassure Yeosang how much he loves him, and how much their friendship means to him, whether through words or actions, or even both.

“I won't,” once again, he assures him. “I came here after all, didn't I?”

“Thank you,” Yeosang murmurs, and his hand gets lost in Yeosang's pink locks as Yeosang slides down far enough to leave his head under his.

Yeosang's hair tickles his chin as he leaves it on the crown of his head.

He may have moved, not just because Yeosang needs him, but because he needs Yeosang too. So that he can be with Yeosang, but also so that Yeosang can be with him.

He doesn't remember the last time they were like this and he doesn't think he wants to know what that means.

Yeosang remains docile under his touch, breathing calmly as he surely hasn't been able to lately. And while he hasn't expected Yeosang to smile like he used to just because he too has moved, he has hoped for his presence to comfort Yeosang.

Yes, he will always be there and indeed he is there to comfort Yeosang, but his presence should get Yeosang to smile more, not continue to look downcast, the only difference being that he witnesses his tears.

Nothing has changed. He leaves Spain and nothing changes, he leaves one city for another and nothing changes.

“What are you thinking about?” he hears.

Those words don't stop him from gently stroking Yeosang's scalp with his hand when he hears him, and his gaze falls on the rosy color of Yeosang's locks.

“Weren’t you sleeping?” he asks him in the same low tone of voice.

His voice is usually easily heard because he often doesn't measure its volume and Yeosang has never asked him to shut up or lower his voice. But there are times when his tone of voice drops on its own.

“I prefer to be awake because I feel you with me.”

Yeosang accompanies his words with his arm around his torso, and he decides to hook his leg over Yeosang's waist because it really doesn't matter how big his bed is, and words that he previously mentioned to Seonghwa appear in his head.

Maybe sometimes he does need a good smoke, a good drink, and a good fuck, while other times a sandwich, a smoothie, and good cuddles are necessary to feel good.

Now he's a better friend for keeping Yeosang close instead of slipping drugs into one of his pockets? He believes that he wouldn't question himself and his actions and words if he was completely sure that he’s a good best friend.

“About many things,” he chooses to express because he knows that otherwise, Yeosang will end up pressing until he decides to answer.

“That's not an answer,” Yeosang says, his voice muffled slightly as his words find his chest.

“It's been a long day for both of us, Sangie.”

His ears heard Yeosang's anxious tone of voice while his eyes found Yeosang finally seeming to open up to Seonghwa. The last time he saw him, Yeosang walked away from him, while they are together now.

What Yeosang needs least is hearing that his chaotic mind matches his chaotic personality.

But apparently, he doesn't get to decide that, since he looks down as soon as he feels Yeosang shift, and Yeosang barely detaches himself from him to throw his head back so he can look at him.

His hand is still present in Yeosang's hair while Yeosang hasn’t stopped keeping his arm around his torso. His other hand is still keeping his necklace safe and secure, and he can only wonder if Yeosang makes sure to hold onto him because just like his necklace, he's afraid of losing him.

“I had a panic attack when I couldn't find the necklace.” Yeosang expresses, staring at him, and this time his hand does stop caressing Yeosang's hair. “And I remembered you, how you taught me to deal with it. I don't know what you're tormented with, but it better not be me.”

“You shouldn't have panic attacks if I'm here, Sangie.” This time he presses the fingers of his hand into Yeosang's scalp so that Yeosang is aware of both the words he says and the words he hears.

While Yeosang felt that he couldn't breathe and allowed despair to grip him, he wasn't around to reassure him that yes, he can breathe.

“You can't control how I feel.” This time Yeosang digs his fingers into his figure and his voice no longer amounts to a whisper. “You can’t.”

He doesn't expect Yeosang to grin every time he's around and he doesn't want to dictate how Yeosang should feel about every situation. He knows, he knows very well that he can't control how Yeosang feels.

But in the same way, then, Yeosang can't control how he feels.

“You said I don't know you and that you don't know yourself,” he decides to say.

His senses have been clouded and Yeosang hasn't been in his best condition either, and yet those words have echoed loud and clear in his head.

Yeosang holds his gaze instead of lowering it because he knows he's right, because he remembers saying those words too.

“I think I'm broken, Wooyoungie.”

No kind of blurriness threatens to cloud Yeosang's gaze, and he thinks that it only means that Yeosang has long since accepted that he is, as he just said, broken.

If it hurts him to hear him, it must hurt more to admit it.

Well, after all, he thinks that Yeosang has always been a bit braver than him despite what everyone thinks.

“Me too,” he says. “But that's okay, then, because I give you a piece of me and you give me a piece of you.”

Isn't that what he wants, how it's always been?

He completes Yeosang and Yeosang completes him.

“What could I offer you?” Yeosang asks him, and it’s the intonation of that question that makes him realize that perhaps they are side by side, their bodies pressed together while they don’t stop looking at each other.

And yet, there's still so much to say.

“You understand the thoughts that torment me now?”

As they both question what makes the other stay, he also wonders why, he certainly has never chosen to get away from Yeosang. Why he has left Spain to follow Yeosang to South Korea and why he has left his former city to find himself near Yeosang again.

Yeosang is a constancy.

He knows what kind of arguments to expect from Yeosang and what kind of reactions he will get. Kissing him feels natural, it feels good because he doesn't waste time wondering what it means. No questioning caresses his ears. Yeosang accepts him as he is and he accepts Yeosang as he is. He believes that both have begun to depend on each other because their years of friendship and all the moments they have spent side by side have given them the opportunity to anticipate future reactions.

They refuse to let go of each other because breaking away would imply instability for both sides.

“Sangie,” he swallows, and he can't believe that he will express out loud the fear that plagues his head. “Do you think we are toxic?”

Yeosang's facial features harden and he thinks, no, he knows Yeosang is mad.

“Who told you that?”

“My mind.”

They hurt each other instead of healing, and do wrong instead of good.

Yeosang leaves Jongho and calls him, and he leaves San and goes after Yeosang.

He lets out a breath that probably tickles Yeosang's lips.

“Didn't you hear me before?” Yeosang asks him, and all traces of sleep have already disappeared from both his tone of voice and his facial features. “I can’t live without you. You said it. Don't you hear yourself?”

Is it good or bad to know that they can't live without each other?

Good or bad to be aware that they really can't?

That not everyone depends a little bit too much on the people around them?

He blinks when Yeosang stops keeping his arm around his torso to leave his hand on his cheek, but as Yeosang brings his face closer to his, to kiss him, he knows that, he leaves his fingertips on Yeosang's lips, stopping him.

He slides his hand to Yeosang's jaw, and Yeosang looks at him, seeming both surprised and hurt.

“Why aren't you kissing me?” Yeosang asks him.

Wooyoung blinks. One, two, three times.

“¿Qué?” Stunned at both his own actions and Yeosang's, he continues to look at Yeosang.

“Where did you spend the night?” Yeosang barely pulls back to stare at him.

“What?” he only feels capable of repeating.

“You had your clothes from last night and your bed was made, so where did you spend the night?”

At Yeosang's insistence, he finally feels able to react. It has always been like that.

“Not in your bed, right?” He expresses, allowing a half-sincere half-fake smile to guide his face. “Feel free to correct me if I'm wrong.”

Yeosang narrows his gaze as he listens to him, and he swallows because Yeosang's hand stays on his cheek while his hand doesn't leave Yeosang's jaw. It isn't jealousy what guides the words of both, and the phrases they express don't represent a reproach either. If the night before he has worried about Yeosang, it's because he didn't like the idea of Yeosang being left alone, not with company.

“I don't want you to refrain from doing something because of what others think and say.” Yeosang expresses, having softened his facial features, and he lets out a silent breath because he believes that Yeosang has spoken those words only for him to listen, for him to be truly aware of them. “I know how I feel about you and you know how you feel about me.”

And at the mention of those words, and the determination that accompanies them, all tension leaves him.

He talks, talks, and talks, and Yeosang is silent as he does. But other times, many other times, Yeosang is the person to express the words necessary to get his head to stop being tormented and his heart to stop being confused. Yeosang also talks, talks, and talks, and he has never taken that trust for granted.

“I know, don't I? I really know, you know, we both know,” it has always been like that, while both know they are best friends, the others question them. He lets out a dry laugh, frustrated with himself for letting other people's words start to affect the way he sees his friendship with Yeosang. “I really let myself be swayed, didn't I?”

“Ah, so it wasn't your head the one to tell you that we are toxic.” Yeosang arches an eyebrow.

He doesn't hesitate to form a line with his lips.

“You're always so perceptive.”

“I know.” Yeosang doesn't smile even though he agrees, and he looks at him when Yeosang stops keeping his hand on his cheek. “You are my best friend no matter what. This doesn't change anything.” Yeosang stretches the collar of his sweater —Jongho's sweater. He knows Yeosang's clothes by heart, and knows that it doesn't belong to Seonghwa either—, and bares his neck, and he understands exactly what Yeosang is referring to when his chest doesn't press down and his eyes don't widen as they fall on the hickeys that adorn Yeosang's skin.

He didn't get angry when Yeosang told him that he spent the night with Jongho, and he doesn't feel irritation possessing him at that moment either. If he gets upset, it's because he has allowed words previously spoken by San to cloud his head. He is not jealous nor does he make Jongho his number-one enemy inside his head. He even allows a small smile to appear on his face.

Yeosang looks at him and surrounds his body with his arm, putting his head under his chin again. He brings his hand to Yeosang's hair and buries his face in his pink strands.

“Just as you follow me, I will follow you if you ever think about getting away from me.” Yeosang says.

Unconditional. That's the word that defines their friendship, isn't it?

He snuggles back to Yeosang, smiling.

“You reek of cigarette smoke,” he hears Yeosang say.

He allows a laugh to grow deep in his throat. Yeosang doesn't tell him that smoking is bad for him, Yeosang knows that he already knows that it's bad for him. Yeosang understands his habits in the same way that he understands Yeosang's. Perhaps they stay side by side no matter what to balance all those destructions.

“You like it.”

“I know.”

Yeosang is his best friend and he is Yeosang's best friend, and that will never change.

He only hugs Yeosang tighter when Yeosang shivers.

---

Hongjoong pushes back his reddish locks with the help of his hands once he emerges from the water. He rests his arms on the edge of the pool, and casts a simple glance back, fortunately not denoting traces of hair dye in the water.

He turns his head again and rests his eyes on Seonghwa.

While for him the lack of natural light is a minor detail, Seonghwa seems to take advantage of its absence to keep his eyes on the sky. Through the window glass, since they are in the indoor pool on the rooftop of his building.

He doesn't know if feeling his gaze on him is what leads Seonghwa to stop keeping his gaze on the sky, but he doesn't look away nor lowers his eyes when Seonghwa turns his head to connect his gaze with his.

“Thank you for letting me be here,” Seonghwa expresses, and Hongjoong thinks he's gotten so used to Seonghwa keeping his voice high and determined, that hearing him accompany those words with a soft tone of voice is strange. “Yeosang is with Wooyoung and I really needed to be far from everyone for a while.”

“Everyone but me,” he adverts.

Seonghwa lets out a small chuckle upon hearing this and once again rests his eyes on the glass —the sky.

Hongjoong finds his own words amusing, and the corners of his mouth turn up at the thought that indeed, while Seonghwa stays away from everyone, he seems to be the current exception.

Sitting on the edge of the pool with no part of his body near the water, but Seonghwa is close nonetheless.

“You have a nice view,” Seonghwa says.

The moon has already replaced the sun and the cool air of the night is an alien sensation since they are surrounded by the characteristic humid environment of the indoor pool.

He too tends to be in the building's pool when he wants to get away from others, taking advantage of the lack of company as well as the view that the windows certainly provide after being on the building's terrace.

But stopping Seonghwa and asking him if he wants to be with him has been enough to strangely find himself accompanied for once.

“I know,” Hongjoong replies, his eyes locked on Seonghwa.

He thinks it's interesting to finally get the chance to see Seonghwa as he really thinks he is —or at least he wants to believe, because he's sure he would be disappointed if Seonghwa was pretending at that moment, when it's just the two of them.

Seonghwa fakes, constantly, habitually as well as without hesitation, he knows that, so he’s wanted to give him a chance to have a moment to be himself.

He again meets Seonghwa's gaze as Seonghwa looks back at him.

“I'm glad you accepted,” he opts to say, with Seonghwa's attention on him. He asked Seonghwa if he wanted to be with and Seonghwa agreed. He still doesn't know what surprises him the most. “I didn't mean to interrupt before, and I wanted to say that I'm sorry for what happened between us at the gala.” he adds.

Twenty-four hours ago he was arguing with Seonghwa while less than eight hours ago he saw him holding an expression that denoted sadness. He hasn't wanted to interrupt his moment with Yeosang, but he hasn't expected to find Yeosang hugging Seonghwa and Seonghwa comforting him once his mother asked him to find them to start the photoshoot.

It's evident that it's been a vulnerable time for both of them and that Seonghwa keeps thinking about said moment, even if there are no traces of tears on his cheeks.

“I think I understand...” maybe he's not as angry anymore as Seonghwa isn't so offended anymore. “I know what it feels like to be on constant alert, having people coming to you for interest. But I did what my mom said, I've always been curious about modeling, and I thought Yeosang was going to enjoy it.”

While he did approach Seonghwa after wanting to get help for Yunho and Seonghwa didn’t doubt his intentions, Seonghwa meant to approach him with no other intention than to get closer and he suspected his demeanor.

He isn't proud of his reaction and may have overreacted. It’s tiring, as Seonghwa has said, being on constant alert for the hidden intentions of others, so he thinks it was a good decision to invite Seonghwa to be with him.

Strangely, Seonghwa can just be with him, and he feels the same about himself when he's with Seonghwa.

“Nothing went according to plan, mh?”

He doesn't miss the fact that Seonghwa mentions doing what his mother asks, but he doesn't think he can focus on that detail when with his own eyes he has seen the close way Seonghwa and Yeosang have held each other, as well as with his own ears he’s heard the anxiety in Wooyoung's voice when he appeared to ask where the two of them were.

“I did enjoy it a little bit, and even if I... cried, I'm glad Yeosang finally talked to me.”

Hongjoong opts to hum, slightly turning up one corner of his mouth when Seonghwa still manages a small smile as he utters those words.

Since he has known them, Seonghwa and Yeosang have clashed constantly. He himself has even approached Seonghwa under the premise of Yeosang’s words, so he’s aware that their relationship can’t be described as the best. However, the events of that day assure him that just as they can clash, they can also hold each other.

“Is he okay?” He asks him, “Are you okay?”

They have been side by side for some time now, enjoying each other's company. He’s been enjoying the warm waters of the pool, calming his head and relaxing his muscles, while Seonghwa’s been with his eyes on the dark colors of the sky. Yet it’s the first time he formulates that question.

He doesn't know what has happened. If another argument has broken out between them, serious and tiring enough for the two of them to let frustration guide them and end up in tears; or if assuring each other that they are present for the other despite the constant arguments has been the culminating point.

Seonghwa looks down for a second before answering.

“When I said that you won't see our dads around here...” Hongjoong follows him with his gaze when Seonghwa's eyes fall on the bracelet present around one of his wrists, and looks up to see him. “Mine abandoned me when I was really small, just a few months old. And then, Yeosang's dad, my dad as well because he raised me, passed away, recently.”

Hongjoong swallows, remembering the pronunciation of said words.

At the time he didn’t seek to ask more because he knows that it was none of his business while Seonghwa didn’t press about the mention of two mothers and no father, but now he understands the reason behind Seonghwa’s soft tone of voice.

Both Seonghwa and Yeosang are dealing with much more than a new city, a new house, and a new university.

“I'm sorry,” He doesn't know what else to say.

Is he supposed to change his way of acting just because he now thinks he understands the reason for the arguments between Seonghwa and Yeosang? Does he plan to treat him gently simply because just like everyone else, Seonghwa is dealing with something?

Even though he initially approached him with a clear idea in mind, he has always been sincere with Seonghwa, and he doesn't want to change the way he acts around him.

“I just want—” Seonghwa again rests his eyes on the glass, but this time he doesn't seem to focus on the landscape offered by the city lights. “I need our family to be okay.”

Hongjoong rests his cheek on one of his own arms, and watches him.

Seonghwa is vulnerable, it’s easy to tell, but he doesn’t think that he will regret the words once they stop being side by side. While he doesn’t doubt that Seonghwa is being sincere, he believes that there’s something, something that leads Seonghwa to behave the way he does, constantly seeking to maintain a correct posture, a correct attitude, and a correct vocabulary. 

Instead of wondering why Seonghwa doesn't hesitate to show himself as he is when he’s with him, he’s only able to wonder why Seonghwa changes his demeanor when they're not together.

He can’t be a hypocrite and criticize Seonghwa, since his lack of complete genuineness decides to make an appearance when he's around people, even when he tries to stay as true to himself as possible.

There’s always an interested person close enough, someone to smile at and seek to please, to talk to, while other times he must stay silent, listen, and nod. He doesn't blame Seonghwa for handling himself the way he does, but someone or something must be the cause behind his constant rigidity.

He feels intrigued as he thinks that he interrupts that rigidity.

“You know you...” he swallows when Seonghwa looks at him.

He’s not used to comforting people —even if he has become used to the fact that for some reason that he still doesn't understand, San, Yunho, and Mingi gravitate towards him when they need advice, so he doesn't quite know what to do. However, he does know that it isn’t fair for Seonghwa to feel that he has to keep his back straight and his shoulders back at all times.

“You are allowed to mourn for however long it takes, that's how you will be okay, I think,” he manages to articulate.

He’s used to caressing San's dark locks when he allows his mother's absence to be the center of his thoughts, his mood drops, and his dimples are impossible to visualize. He manages to stop a possible fight from happening between Yunho and Mingi when the distance decreases as the volume of their voices increases. But he doesn’t consider himself a comforting person.

“I guess...” Seonghwa doesn't look confused but he shakes his head. “Sorry for the photoshoot.”

“Don't worry, it can be done another time,” he assures him.

Sometimes he doesn't understand his mother, but other times they understand each other without needing to say too many words, and suggesting postponing the photoshoot was enough for his mother to understand that Seonghwa and Yeosang weren't available.

“So, you like it?” He decides to add, remembering that Seonghwa said he's interested.

“I know that your industry isn't perfect,” Hongjoong is aware of the way one of the corners of his mouth turns up when he hears Seonghwa refer to the fashion industry as his industry instead of his mother’s industry. “But I've always liked the idea of... clothes and cameras. Runways too,” Fortunately, Seonghwa holds a small smile.

“You could be my plus one on some runways if you want,” he says before thinking about the words he says.

He raises his eyebrows at the realization of their mention but doesn’t regret them. The offer seems to take Seonghwa by surprise as well, since just as he previously thought, they were discussing just twenty-four hours ago.

Hongjoong allows his own surprise to be replaced with a simple smile at the thought of attending runways both out of interest and as part of his job. Sometimes it can become somewhat tedious, since some people seek to invade his space and chat with him, so having Seonghwa by his side would allow him to avoid those conversations, and he has no doubt that all eyes would fall on them —well, on Seonghwa.

He clears his throat as he realizes that he's thinking about Seonghwa's attractive facial features.

“I saw you eyeing the skirts,” he adds, since even if he sought to stay away when Seonghwa arrived at the place, he’s glimpsed the way in which his eyes have constantly slipped towards the different clothes.

He doesn't hesitate to keep talking when Seonghwa's eyes widen.

“There's nothing wrong with that!” Seeking to clarify, he notices the uncertainty on Seonghwa's face, as if he had been found committing some kind of crime.

Seonghwa follows him with his eyes when he chooses to stop being in the pool after resting the palms of his hands on its edge, and gives himself enough strength to soon sit next to Seonghwa.

He keeps his respective distance so as not to drench his clothes since at no time has Seonghwa opted to dip into the pool. He picks up one of the towels left on the lounge chairs and drapes it over his shoulders, not missing the way Seonghwa's eyes momentarily slide to his body.

He wonders if he's looking at his tattoo since it's not visible when he's wearing his uniform, but he also has a tattoo on his ankle and Seonghwa hasn't lowered his eyes to that part of his body. Perhaps, then, the black letters aren’t what Seonghwa's looking at, but the skin where they are tattooed, and maybe, then, he is not the only one to allow certain thoughts to appear in his head.

“I like skirts too,” he adds to get Seonghwa to get rid of his uncertainty, even if fortunately it seems to have dissipated since he left the pool to sit next to him. “I even have some, but they won't let me wear them to college,” he rolls his eyes.

Though he’s free enough to add certain modifications to the uniform that turns its constancy into an original piece each day, San's father has previously told him that while he favors his expression and the details he adds, certain clothes remain off the table. And he hasn't even thought to talk about the same thing with Seonghwa's mother because he doesn't doubt her answer; a position that Seonghwa suggests at the time.

“You don't... think it's... weird that I like them?” tentative, he asks.

“No, it's just a piece of cloth,” he answers without hesitation. “You like what you like.”

“I like what I like,” a dry laugh leaves Seonghwa's lips.

Hongjoong narrows his gaze slightly.

He thinks that Seonghwa’s probably learned to think of his own tastes as something foreign.

His mother was the one who taught him that his clothes could and can be a statement and not just a fashion declaration, that he shouldn't refrain from wearing certain clothes and get used to wearing others just because a part of the industry does, so he wonders if, in Seonghwa's case, his mother has been expressing otherwise.

“Do you want to stay for dinner?” He offers, “You can sleep over if you want to,” he adds, thinking that despite the emotional moment he's shared with Yeosang, Seonghwa has accepted his offer to spend time with him instead of rushing back to his house.

“No, thank you,” Seonghwa shakes his head. “I don't want to be a bother,” Hongjoong stares at him because it isn't the first time he's heard Seonghwa express those words. “It's enough that you let me be here. It's very peaceful.”

Seonghwa rests his eyes on the city again and he wonders if he uses that term because it means he knows the definition of chaos too.

“I'll eat at my house,” Seonghwa looks back at him.

“You can take food with you if you want,”

“No, it's fine, thanks,” again Seonghwa quickly denies. “I should make dinner for you and your mothers for today's situation.”

Seonghwa is looking to make up even though he thinks there’s nothing to make up for.

“No need to. Don't worry about it, actually, my mom wanted to talk to you because she really liked what you were wearing last night,” And so did I, he thinks, “And she said something about not being able to find any pictures of you so she wanted to ask you about the outfit. I understand her, what you wore really suited you,” Seonghwa goes from frowning to raising both eyebrows, and tilts his head. He clears his throat and continues speaking. “What I mean is that— the important thing is that you are for Yeosang and that Yeosang is for you, and you two will be okay.”

The slight trace of amusement that appeared on Seonghwa's face is promptly brushed aside.

“I really hope so...” Seonghwa lowers his head as he says those words, and he notices that his attention once again falls on the bracelet around his wrist.

He hasn't glimpsed said accessory before, and he doesn't know if it was a gift from Yeosang, his father, or someone else, but he does know that said bracelet seems to be important because of the way Seonghwa looks at it.

“Hey...” he says softly.

Seonghwa raises his head to look at him.

He has never considered himself the best option for comforting people, but he does know that it’s automatic for Mingi to hold his hand when he’s scared, that San interlaces his fingers with his if he needs to be guided, and that Yunho, despite being taller, feels smaller when he holds his hand.

Seonghwa stops looking at him, though this time, to look at the hand he offers him.

“You will be.” he assures him.

About comforting, about grieving, he doesn't know about that. But he does know that he doesn't want Seonghwa to think of that accessory as his only source of comfort.

Does he want to be someone Seonghwa relates to with ease? He doesn't know either, but he does know that he's been comforted by the thought that Seonghwa thinks of him as a person he doesn’t have to pretend with.

Seonghwa looks at him to then accept his hand, and looks down at the way their hands stay together.

“Jongho... he... thought we were boyfriends,” Seonghwa says, now looking at him. “If you don't want people to think... I don't know, something that isn't... I don't know, I won't look at you anymore.”

He blinks, confused when Seonghwa mentions those words. Jongho? He remembers seeing Seonghwa and Jongho talk the night before, so he assumes that Jongho must have noticed the looks they've shared between them.

He isn't a liar, he knows that throughout the night he has been casting glances in Seonghwa's direction, and that on many occasions, Seonghwa has reciprocated his gaze. But boyfriends? Just because they've been looking at each other?

“Are you romanticizing holding hands, Park?” he chooses to ask.

Seonghwa has only chosen to mention what he has said after looking at their hands. He doesn't feel the need to stop holding Seonghwa's hand even if he understands that such a gesture has led him to remember what Jongho has mentioned, what Jongho has concluded about them.

“I'm simply repeating what I heard, Kim,” Seonghwa doesn't let go of his hand either.

“I can keep looking at you, then?” he asks after remembering that Seonghwa suggested stopping looking at him because Jongho thought that the glances they give each other mean that they are dating. “I knew I would have boyfriend rumors one day. I'd rather it be you than someone else.”

First Mingi, now Jongho. Are they supposed to be signs, that he's supposed to take the words he hears as a sign of something? Of what, exactly? He doesn't feel guilty about being caught looking at Seonghwa.

It’s true, however, that he hasn't seen anyone the way he does with Seonghwa. But he has never met anyone as pretty as Seonghwa. Yes, stubborn, but pretty too. He was beautiful last night, and now too.

“Trust me, you don't really mean that,” Seonghwa looks down.

He has expected to feel irritated, perhaps Seonghwa too, and for that very reason Seonghwa has warned him about what Jongho said. He doesn't want Seonghwa to stop looking at him, let alone stop reciprocating his glances because people spot the attention they offer each other.

Maybe not getting irritated is a sign of something too. But of what?

He just knows that he doesn't like it when Seonghwa implies that he doesn't believe in himself.

He gives his hand a gentle tug, and Seonghwa looks at him.

“I do.”

Seonghwa smiles, and Hongjoong thinks that definitely, he wants to be the person that Seonghwa thinks he can turn to when he needs peace of mind to balance the apparent chaos that his life represents.

And then, he too, can turn to Seonghwa.

Notes:

chapter dedicated to hwa for his birthday 💋

Chapter 26

A small complaint leaves Yeosang's lips as he’s dragged away by Wooyoung. He’s more than used to Wooyoung resting a hand on his arm or taking his hand in his to drag him somewhere.

Wooyoung often says it's because he's easily distracted. He doesn't think otherwise. He’s a bit silly and aware that he probably would have gotten lost more than once if it hadn't been for Wooyoung, especially once they left Spain and all the spaces around them turned out to be unknown once they set foot in South Korea.

The hand that Wooyoung leaves on his arm is no surprise, but he does allow confusion to guide his expression as Wooyoung drags him out of one of the halls of the university and into one of the break rooms. Wooyoung sighs in relief, looking strangely grateful at the lack of people.

“You've been acting weird all day,” Yeosang opts to say.

Just as Wooyoung is able to tell when he's distracted enough to need someone to guide him, he knows Wooyoung's behavior. Wooyoung is usually such a confrontational and direct person, that it's more than easy to notice when his personality undergoes a momentary change. And certainly, his demeanor can be described as strange ever since they walked through the front doors of the building.

He assumes that Wooyoung is aware that he has expressed the truth because he lets go of his arm in favor of crossing his arms, and keeps one side of his body against the wall.

Ever-social Wooyoung would take advantage of the free time between classes to establish entertaining conversations and hold a charming smile, not to stop finding himself in the middle of the corridor with neutrality decorating his expression.

“I'm—” Wooyoung starts, and he stares at Wooyoung as he takes a quick glance down the hallway. He has sought to get out of the classroom, quickly and with him following behind. He’s even stayed completely focused on classes —he's the absent-minded one, but he knows Wooyoung couldn't be less interested in the subjects taught within those walls. “I'm avoiding San.”

Yeosang tilts his head. He remembers that Wooyoung stopped being by his side during the gala to approach San after both acknowledged San's serious gaze, yet he doesn’t think of a possible fight because later on Wooyoung appeared with San by his side.

He barely saw them, though, as he quickly sought to get away. He swallows his guilt, and looks at him.

“Why?”

“He insulted our friendship, he insulted me.”

“What?” Yeosang frowns, confused.

Wooyoung exhales a breath. He doesn't always need to keep one of his hands on some part of his body to guide him. The pronunciation of certain words is enough sometimes.

“One orgasm and he thinks he owns me.” Wooyoung determines.

Yeosang raises both eyebrows at the actions those words mean. Wooyoung stares at him, but the pleasure that his sentence implies contrasts with the permanent seriousness of his expression.

“I can't believe I'll say this, but,” he exhales, “More details.”

“I left with him and Seonghwa after the gala, and when we left your brother, things happened.”

Brother. Yeosang forces himself to focus on the other words Wooyoung uttered. He doubts that the mention of that word was a neutral decision, but he’s getting closer to understanding why Wooyoung has apparently been avoiding San.

“So... mh... things happened... a car? There was a car?” Tentative, he tries to put the puzzle together.

“Yes, a car, there,” Wooyoung answers, and Yeosang grimaces because he’s used to the Wooyoung who grins and doesn’t hesitate to provide great detail when telling him about his intimacy with other people, not the Wooyoung who doesn’t even lift up the corners of his mouth. “I got your call the next day and he got mad that I left to be with you.”

Yeosang no longer feels able to once again swallow the guilt that threatens to take over, effectively succeeding as the implications behind Wooyoung's words lead him to hold a serious expression.

He called Wooyoung and Wooyoung showed up. He felt grateful and still is. Wooyoung took his call and was by his side. Most of the time he doesn't even need to call for Wooyoung to show up at his side. In the same way that he follows Wooyoung when Wooyoung puts a hand on his arm, he doesn't need to take Wooyoung by the hand for Wooyoung to follow him. But that gratitude is faced with the guilt that his own actions denote.

“So you were with him when I called you,” not only did he interrupt Wooyoung's time, but his time with someone else as well. He’s no fool. He noticed the way San looked at Wooyoung when Wooyoung appeared in the kitchen of his house wearing a t-shirt and boxer briefs. And he knows Wooyoung, he knows that he finds San attractive.

Wooyoung shouldn't have left, San shouldn't have gotten mad at Wooyoung for leaving, and Wooyoung shouldn't be mad either. He shouldn't be avoiding San.

No kind of tension would exist if he hadn't called Wooyoung.

“Yes, and he acted all offended,” Wooyoung rolls his eyes.

“Woo, I—” Wooyoung stares at him, thoughtfully as soon as those letters leave his lips because he usually pronounces his full name, but Yeosang doesn't think it's fair for Wooyoung to change his behavior and feel that he should hide.

Every sentence he's thought of gets stuck in his throat, though, as he remembers the conversation he had with Wooyoung. Wooyoung has asked if perhaps there’s a possibility that they are both toxic, that they do harm instead of good to each other. Wooyoung told him that his own mind instilled that idea, but it was the first time Wooyoung said anything like that, so he can only wonder if perhaps, his previous apparent discussion with San has led him to wonder about their friendship.

He did suspect that San might have been the person who led Wooyoung to mix up his thoughts, but he can't bring himself to get mad a San. He didn't like that Wooyoung uttered the word toxic, much less with the friendship between them involved, and even so, he doesn't feel the urge to tell, to ask, Wooyoung to get away from San. He thinks the worst part is knowing that Wooyoung would stay away from San if he asked him to.

“I—” He really wants to get mad at San if he's the reason behind the supposed toxicity of their friendship, but the situation only ensures that perhaps they are indeed too dependent on each other. And that said codependency isn’t necessarily healthy. “I really appreciate that you are here, I really do,” he doesn't know what he would do without Wooyoung, he really doesn't know. “How you are always there, well, here, for me, I really appreciate it, but it isn't fair for you to always be available for me.”

“What are you—”

“I don't know what he said.” This time, he catches Wooyoung's hand in his. 

Wooyoung lowers his eyes to said contact and then looks back at him, his frown still present. He has to get used to not always finding Wooyoung's hand to hold, while Wooyoung has to get used to not keeping his hand out so he can catch it in his.

“I don't know what he said,” he repeats, “But I do know that you deserve to worry about yourself, and prioritize yourself,” he called Wooyoung, knowing he wouldn't hesitate to answer. Wooyoung waits to be called. Once again he allowed Wooyoung to save him. “You have to find your own happiness, and in this case, I think it could be with San.”

“But you're my best friend and you're dealing with your dad's death.” he forms a line with his lips as Wooyoung catches his hands in his, his words and his hold firm. “I have to be for you. In the good times, but also in the bad times, remember? That's a best friend, that’s what a best friend does.”

True, a best friend is also supposed to be there when one can't smile, but it isn’t right to abuse that closeness to demand the constancy of a presence in the worst moments. He knows that as different as he and Wooyoung are, they both care about each other.

“I know, and you are. You are my best friend and I am yours. And you don't know, you have no idea how much I appreciate you, and I'm really sorry if sometimes I don't tell you or I don't let you know enough.” Wooyoung being in front of him instead of miles away proves his words.

Wooyoung left Spain for him. Wooyoung moved to Seoul for him.

While Wooyoung is used to putting his arms around his body and showering him with compliments, he’s used to Wooyoung invading his personal space to hear the particularity of his laugh and know that he’s not alone. He is not alone. He really isn't, and he has to learn to repeat those words to himself even when Wooyoung isn't next to him.

“But you don't have to give up your life for me,” he continues. Perhaps he's the reason why Wooyoung has moved, but he doesn’t have to be the only reason why Wooyoung decides to stay. “I won't get mad if you're happy.”

“I also want you to be happy.”

“I'm better.”

Yeosang can't help but inhale a small breath of air as soon as he utters those words.

It may seem like an irony after the eventful weekend he's had, but he believes that allowing his emotions to finally get the better of him has been what he's needed. He's not quite sure, but it makes sense to him. He is sure, though, that everything that Seonghwa has surely classified as erratic behavior, for him it has only been his own way of repressing himself.

Words previously spoken by Wooyoung immediately appear in his mind. Some days will be bad, while other days will be good. With Wooyoung in front of him, and believing that indeed he’s better not only with himself, but also with Seonghwa, he’s able to express that he feels, in fact, better.

The necklace present around his neck dazzles its floral pendant. He doesn't think he needs to keep his hand around it to feel safe. His chest hurt and tears slipped down his cheeks. His breathing hitched and his hands trembled, but he's better.

Smiling is not completely easy and he’s aware that there are still drugs hidden in his phone case. Just in case, because just as today he feels better, tomorrow he can feel worse. But it’s progress. Small, and one talk won't fix everything, but it's progress nonetheless.

“I'll be honest with you, but you have to be honest with me.” Wooyoung stares at him as he says those words, and he tilts his head, confused. “Seonghwa already knows this. At the gala, I was looking for you because we heard your mom and San's dad talking, saying that you shouldn't talk to each other.”

“What?”

“Why didn't you tell me that your mom knows San's dad but she denied knowing him?”

“Wha—” Yeosang frowns, his gaze sliding to nothing in particular.

Have his mom and San's father talked? Again?

Again Wooyoung guides him. This time, by giving his hands a light squeeze. Yeosang stares at him, remembering that Wooyoung has expressed being sincere but expecting sincerity in return as well.

“I don't know, I— I have my head everywhere,” it's not a lie, but it's not the truth either.

The last thing he wants is for Wooyoung to get entangled in his problems. But apparently, what he wants and what he doesn't isn't what determines the course of Wooyoung’s actions and words. He believes that all the words spoken and decisions made only indicate that it's too late to try to keep Wooyoung out of his troubles.

“So they really know each other.” he says, more to himself.

He hasn't doubted it since Yunho told him that his mother and San's father chatted at Utopia, but now the reality of that situation falls on his shoulders. “They don’t want us to get along?” He continues, remembering Wooyoung's words. “Why would she deny knowing San's dad, then?”

“I don't know, Sangie, but I told San not to pretend not to know us. It doesn't make sense,” Wooyoung says, and they stop holding hands.

“Nothing makes sense.”

He doesn't know if it's worth questioning his mother about it, not when she's already chosen to lie to him once. He doesn't understand why she needs to lie.

He looks at Wooyoung when he suddenly tenses up, opting to take a defensive stance, and he thinks it might be San, or even his mother, until he turns his head and raises both eyebrows as his eyes find one of Jongho’s bodyguards, the same one he thanked for finding his necklace after leaving the hotel room.

He admits he's a bit intimidated, but he swallows the uncertainty.

“Goo— good morning,” he greets him gently.

The bodyguard doesn't respond to his greeting and doesn't smile either, but Yeosang's eyes drop when he stretches out his arm. He offers him a small silver square bag, and Yeosang understands that he wants him to take it.

“Oh... thank you...”

The bodyguard doesn't say a word before he stops being in front of them, and Yeosang eyes the small bag that is now in his hands. He hasn't seen Jongho all day nor his bodyguards in the corners of the corridors either, so the presence of one of his bodyguards is a surprise.

“Don’t open it!” Wooyoung's exclamation startles him and almost makes him drop the bag. Alarmed, Wooyoung switches his gaze between him and the bag instead of allowing his curiosity to guide him as it usually does. “It could be something dangerous.”

Yeosang gives him a blank look, thinking that such words are meaningless, so he decides to open the bag despite Wooyoung's protests. His eyes widen as he glimpses what appears to be a small bouquet, but instead of flowers, it's made of lollipops —shaped like an apple, he notes. Next to it, he finds two cards, and he takes the first one to scan the name of the hotel where the gala was held, where he ended the night with Jongho.

He chews on his lower lip. He didn't pay attention to the room number where Jongho took him, but he doesn't doubt that the card in his hand turns out to be a keycard —an invitation, perhaps? He takes the remaining card, and his eyes scan a string of numbers.

"Why did his bodyguard give you that?” Wooyoung questions.

Yeosang looks at him, thinking that just as Wooyoung has apparently chosen to stay close to San, he has allowed himself to gravitate toward Jongho. So far it hasn’t occurred to him to share the way in which he ended the night of the gala, at least not all the details, so he parts his lips and decides to copy Wooyoung's vocabulary.

“One orgasm and he sends me this.”

The bell that rings indicating the beginning of a new period doesn’t prevent the loud exclamation of surprise that leaves Wooyoung's lips from reaching his ears.

“KANG YEOSANG!”

He closes one of his eyes at the volume, believing that probably more than one student must have heard the pronunciation of his name, and that staying hidden no longer makes sense.

“Go to class, you heard the bell,” Yeosang holds a lopsided smile.

Wooyoung allows a complaint to leave his lips. He pouts and this time leaves both hands on his arm, jumping on his spot.

“Come with me and we talk,” he asks, “Please, please, please!”

“I have a number I have to talk to.”

He lets out an amused chuckle because he hasn't planned on being late for his next class and Wooyoung could easily drag him into the classroom with him, but Wooyoung understands that he wants to have a conversation that doesn't necessarily include him.

“Spare a detail!” Wooyoung pleads.

He's intrigued when the corners of his mouth threaten to stay up. He doesn't remember the last time he had Wooyoung asking him to please tell him something about the closeness he's established with someone other than him. But he doesn't forget how pushy Wooyoung can be if he leaves him wondering.

“Blowjob.”

He has always known Wooyoung as a loose, expressive person that doesn't hesitate to put into words whatever his brain says. His reactions are sincere, so once again he allows a chuckle to make its way across his mouth as surprise once again embraces Wooyoung's face.

Wooyoung stops keeping his hands on his arm, though, since he heard the detail that he requested, and approaches the door, moving excitedly in his place.

“You know... you also look for your happiness,” Wooyoung offers him his best smile.

“Part of... part of my happiness,” he says, believing that to be the truth.

He knows that Wooyoung's smile widens because they both know that he just implied that Wooyoung makes him happy. It's his reality, and he still keeps thinking about how in a certain way Wooyoung has hinted, perhaps without realizing it, that he believes that he doesn't make him happy, so he doesn't regret assuring him that he does.

He doesn't doubt that Wooyoung stops being in front of him to walk down the hall doing little jumps of joy. Again a laugh rises from the bottom of his throat, and he takes advantage of the fact that the bell has rung to sit on one of the couches in the room, not having to worry about the presence of other students.

He sets the bag down next to him as he swings his legs up on the couch to flex them, and his eyes fall to the row of numbers written on the card in his hands. He knows it's Jongho's phone number.

He’s aware that he told Wooyoung that he has a number to call, but he doesn't dial right away. The emotion provided by the bag reminds him that Jongho has seen him panic and worse, cry. He hates crying in front of people, and one morning has been enough for Jongho to know all his flaws.

Nothing would have happened if he had noticed the lack of his necklace as soon as it left his neck. But distracted by Jongho, he didn't even notice. A feeling of uncertainty embraces him as he remembers how long the necklace wasn’t around his neck, but a fleeting look down assures him that said floral pendant is still present, this time on top of the fabric of the shirt.

He bites the inside of his cheek, and wonders what to do. Jongho did tell him that he wants to see him again and in fact, asked him to come back to him for more, but it’s possible that he regrets those words and doesn't want to know anything about him.

Maybe he's had one of his bodyguards give him that bag so he has to call or text him to make it easier to leave the night of the gala behind, forgotten. Well, he supposes that a phone call is less awkward than a face-to-face conversation. Not so excited anymore, he dials the number and brings his phone to his ear. He doesn't know why a bitter sensation caresses his throat. He's been thinking of cutting off all contact with Jongho after all. He doesn't want to drag him into his instability.

The back of his neck tickles and it’s no longer emotion that pools in the center of his stomach. Maybe he should have gone to class with Wooyoung.

One ring.

Why did he even decide to call? He could have sent a text.

Two rings.

Maybe he should have stayed away from Jongho as Seonghwa asked him to.

“Hello?”

He bites the inside of his cheek when he recognizes Jongho's voice, but parts his lips because he knows that it will hurt later unless he stops repeating that action. It could have been another number —he doesn't know exactly whose— but he assumed that Jongho would be the person to answer.

“Hello...” he says, and waits. Maybe Jongho doesn't recognize his voice.

“Strawberry,” a smile threatens to spread over his face when Jongho pronounces that word with what he notices is a trace of emotion. The formality of answering a call from an unknown number is replaced by what sounds like joy, at least for him. “I see that you got my number,” Jongho continues.

If he thought that Jongho was waiting for another call, Jongho quickly undoes that thought because he doubts that he asks his bodyguards to give his phone number to several people.

“Or I forced your bodyguard to give it to me,” he says though he would never force someone to give him his number —much less one of Jongho's bodyguards, he thinks.

“The only one that can force them to do anything is my mom,” he forms the beginning of a pout when Jongho sounds serious again. “Even I can't and I have muscles.”

He tilts his head, thinking that indeed, Jongho has muscles. Strong enough to hold him. “You sure do...” The words leave his mouth along with a whispered tone of voice, and he promptly widens his eyes and clears his throat when he realizes that he drifted off and allowed his mouth to betray him.

The short laugh he hears on the other end of the line leads him to hold a small smile despite the slight burning sensation that he feels threatens to appear on his cheeks. 

He had the opportunity to travel Jongho's muscles with his own eyes as well as feel their firmness with his hands. Jongho himself assured him of the strength behind them. He bites his lower lip, thinking that just as he wouldn't mind having another chance to feel Jongho's muscles under his touch, he wouldn't voice a complaint in case Jongho's hands were on his body again.

“Are you okay?” He listens. “Are you feeling better?” 

Yeosang lowers his gaze upon hearing those questions and plays with the strips of the bag absentmindedly.

With the necklace around his neck, the words exchanged with Seonghwa, and Wooyoung's smile still on his head, he thinks he's better. But the formulation of that question only implies that he has been worse.

He doesn’t want to entertain himself with the idea of constant stability since his moment with Jongho is evidence enough to know that everything can go from good to bad in a matter of seconds. Jongho didn't deserve to start the morning the way he did just because he lost his necklace.

While he has seen Jongho's steadfastness, Jongho has seen his vulnerability.

“I... well... mh, I wanted to apologize for that,” for being a mess, “I... I didn't mean to startle your morning or anything. And... you know, I don't... I mean, I won't be mad if you decide to end this call or something like that,” he'll probably go to class and Wooyoung will ask him what's wrong, but he won't be mad. Maybe he will be disappointed and frustrated with himself, but he won't resent Jongho.

He thinks he's better, he's even told Wooyoung. He’s definitely feeling better, as there are no traces of tears on his face and he's able to speak without stumbling over his own words, his own breathing an obstacle rather than a constant help. But it's not fair to make other people deal with the ups and downs of his emotions.

“What?” Jongho sounds genuinely confused. “Apologize for that? I should be the one to apologize to you for not noticing when the necklace fell off. I was looking at you the whole time, I should have realized.” this time he bites the inside of his cheek when he hears that he has been Jongho's focus at all times. “I don't want to end the call or for you to think that I want to. I have a meeting and I wanted to check if you are interested in me by calling me or sending me a text.”

Interested? He doesn’t regret ending his night with Jongho, as well as starting the morning with him. He thinks he wouldn't have called Jongho if he wasn't interested at all. Maybe it's because they’ve made a deal —not written or signed— but a deal nonetheless, and while Jongho has already fulfilled his part, he's doing it by coming back, by staying close, just as Jongho has asked him to.

“I guess I could say... I already wasted a smoothie, then champagne. The third time's the charm, isn't it? I didn't want to ruin any more clothing items with... coffee, perhaps? So a call was smarter this time,” Jongho says, and just like that, makes him laugh.

“If you are in a meeting, how come you are talking to me?” he called, and Jongho answered.

“I could ask you the same question since I'm pretty sure you should be in class,” Jongho retorts. “I know I told you to come back for more, but I couldn't wait,” he adds, and Yeosang understands that although he called, Jongho made that a possibility by giving him his phone number.

He licks his lips, thinking that if there’s someone who understands how much he seeks to distract himself, that person is Jongho. He’s in a meeting but he talks to him over the phone, and the worry about being late to class hasn't even crossed his mind since he heard Jongho's voice on the other end of the line, nor the implications of the words previously crossed with Wooyoung.

Jongho distracts him, and he distracts Jongho.

He settles into the couch, knowing that he’s in no rush to enter any classroom, and continues to play with the strings of the bag. Maybe Jongho is willing to accept the chaos he represents because he needs a little bit of chaos, and he happens to have plenty of it.

Mutual distraction, that's the —their— deal.

“How can I go to you, to ask for more, if you are not here?” He asks him.

This time an intriguing sensation does sit in his stomach, and one corner of his mouth lifts up when he hears Jongho inhale a short breath, as well as when he takes a few seconds to answer.

“No, don't do that to me.”

Maybe he should feel exposed? Or fragile, even, because unexpectedly Jongho was by his side when he felt vulnerable, when he was vulnerable. But Jongho has asked him to come back for more nonetheless, for their paths to cross again. Isn't he exposing himself just for having made that call? Doesn't Jongho expose himself to him, too, by expressing that he needs a distraction?

“All alone with no one,” he pays no attention to Jongho's denial since he could have cut the call and hasn't. “I'd rather have you with me right now,” everything would be easier and simpler if he could turn his head and look at Jongho instead of listening to Jongho on the other end of the line.

“You can't say that to me,” Jongho utters.

“Why not?”

“What am I supposed to do now?”

Yeosang allows a small smile to caress his face. He doesn't think he chose to dial the phone number with Jongho with any idea other than listening to his voice, but he won't voice any complaints in case being side by side isn't completely necessary to distract each other, even if he just thought that it would be easier if Jongho was present.

“Think of me as I think of you.”

Any existing worries are sent to some far corner of his mind as he thinks of the closeness he established with Jongho, the way Jongho held him but he also made sure to keep Jongho close to him, his hands as well as his mouth on his body, tracing inches of skin. He thinks of Jongho, of his abilities to keep him entertained, remembering that Jongho told him that if he deems Jongho's abilities worthy, he can ask for more.

“Thinking is not enough,” Jongho says, and Yeosang thinks he understands him.

Perhaps then, he has permission to ask for more.

“Your fault, we could be making out in the bathroom right now,” he’s definitely interested in keeping in touch with Jongho.

“You deserve so much more than making out in a simple bathroom.”

“You could have your hands all over me and I my hands all over you,” he no longer cares to be aware of the blush now perched, present on his cheeks, pressing hotly on his skin, and he parts his lips because Jongho said more. “All over me. I did tell you that's exactly what I wanted, what I still want, right?”

“Yeosang.” Jongho breathes out, notorious instability accompanying the mention of his name although they are only a couple of letters, and ah, maybe he understands the satisfaction he saw on Jongho's face when he allowed himself to repeat his name over and over again.

He peeks the tip of his tongue between his teeth at the mere idea of Jongho hovering over him, keeping him close and once again entertained. He chants Jongho’s name and Jongho whispers his.

“Is that the reason behind the keycard? You want that?” He decides to ask to ground himself. He refuses to have to settle for listening to Jongho on the other end of the line when the mention of his name could be expressed closer, could tickle his lips.

Said keycard happens to be in his hand when looking for it inside the bag.

Jongho exhales a breath, probably to connect with his surroundings as well, he believes. “Go there whenever you please,” he offers before clearing his throat. “And I'll go as well if you want me to. It's all on me.”

Yeosang looks at the keycard, thinking that while he should be used to being spoiled since his last name is important and he’s aware of the sum of money that follows him, a different feeling embraces him when Jongho mentions those words. Is this one of the benefits that Jongho mentioned? A room —suite, really— available to him at all hours of the day, every day of the week?

“I have to go, but, keep your mouth busy,” Jongho says, “With the lollipops you now have, not with someone else's mouth,” he quickly adds. “Since I'm not there...”

The faint trace of jealousy amuses him and again Yeosang allows a soft smile to caress his face. They are both part of the same deal, and if he can't touch Jongho, then he'll taint his thoughts.

“Lollipops? Way too small to keep me completely entertained.”

“Strawberry.”

He lets out a short giggle, satisfied when Jongho seems to understand there’s no need to worry. “The son of the Prime Minister should stay focused.” An irony, really.

“And the son of the university's director shouldn't be skipping class.”

“Your mistake for taking me for someone diligent, you got the wrong son.”

Seonghwa takes it upon himself to follow their mother, while a serious expression guides his face when he thinks of her. If people mistake him for someone ported, then they make the mistake.

“Text me, yes?”

“Maybe,” he offers. Definitely, he thinks.

He's still smiling once the call ends, and he's only able to wonder about what he's getting himself into as he lets the back of his head touch the back of the couch. He doesn't consider himself interested because Jongho turns out to be the Prime Minister's son. No, he can't remember the last time someone caught his eye enough for him to want to stay close, to ask for more.

Staying close to Wooyoung is an exception because they can hug, kiss, and even hook up, but he knows that Wooyoung is still his best friend and their friendship won't turn into something more —he avoids rolling his eyes at the word toxic.

While Wooyoung represents a sense of conformity, everydayness, and security, Jongho represents something new, an intriguing emotion.

He told Wooyoung to follow his happiness, while Wooyoung said the same to him. He believes that he will be happy if they stay side by side, but now, perhaps, with other people too. And if that person turns out to be just his type, well, he won't complain. He straightens up when a shiver runs through his body, and he thinks about putting on the sweater he left in his locker since he couldn't give it back to Jongho.

---

San looks at Wooyoung, and after one last sigh, presses his palm onto the horn of his car after stopping it. Wooyoung brings a hand to his chest, clearly surprised by the sudden noise close to him. When Wooyoung doesn’t end up getting into his car in favor of taking a bewildering look at him, he cheers —internally, of course.

“Don't scare me like that!” Wooyoung exclaims, complaining.

“Can we talk?” he asks him, composed.

It wasn’t difficult to notice that Wooyoung is still upset by the way they parted ways the last time they saw each other. Wooyoung has made sure to disappear from his field of vision throughout the day, not hesitating to walk away every time he found himself fairly close to him. He has stayed close to Yeosang, which is not surprising, but he has also talked to everyone except for him.

“Please?” he adds. He’s not composed at all.

He assumes that Wooyoung isn't satisfied with the way they currently are either, and that in fact a bit of distance has done them well, since although he has chosen to stay away and at that moment he could shake his head and then get on to his car, he approaches him.

Wooyoung stares at him, and San takes in his favor his lack of movement to reach out with his arm and open the passenger door. Wooyoung follows said action with his eyes and he wonders if Wooyoung just came over to slam the door in his face. But despite letting out a deep breath, Wooyoung gets in the car.

He didn't like the way they parted ways, Wooyoung obviously mad at him while he glued his eyes to his back, irritated.

His current expression shows no annoyance while Wooyoung continues to stare at him. He did ask him if they could talk and he’s aware that he’s certainly been waiting to have a word with Wooyoung, but instead of parting his lips, he reaches out to the backseat to grab a bag and offer it to Wooyoung.

“What is it with bags today?” Wooyoung asks though he accepts it.

“Mh?”

“Nothing.”

Wooyoung looks at the bag and then at him. The bag glitters with the letters GUCCI, he knows that, so he looks at the bag, only to have Wooyoung's eyes fall on it again —luckily. He squares his shoulders as Wooyoung opts to open the bag instead of throwing it out the car window, and he watches the way Wooyoung takes in his hands the shoulder pads of the red suit he's bought for him. His car is red so he’s assumed that it must be a color that he likes.

“Nice suit,” Wooyoung says before dropping the blazer in the bag. “Nice car,” he takes a look around them, certainly seeming to take into consideration the details but not looking impressed. “So?” Wooyoung looks at him. “Are you expecting me to say nice guy?”

The calm that came from hearing Wooyoung say that he likes the outfit is quickly replaced by a sour feeling when he hears the last words he chooses to mention. Wooyoung just needs to open the door to stop being next to him. But he's looking at him, he hasn't thrown the bag out the window yet, and his facial features show neutrality instead of a serious scowl.

He finally seeks to talk so that Wooyoung doesn’t think that he has only asked him to get into his car to hand him a bag.

“I told you I'd give you a new suit, and I did,” he says, hoping that Wooyoung remembers the previous pronunciation of said words. “I'm really sorry for... I'm really sorry for what I said and how I reacted.”

He means more, that he knows that probably, well, no, that it wasn't a justified reaction. He doesn't want Wooyoung to think that he said what he said only because he opted to leave when they were about to stay close to each other. Wooyoung owes him absolutely nothing. And he was more hurt than angry when Wooyoung left. He wants to say it, but Wooyoung has the right to speak too.

“You called me a dog simply for being a good friend.” San doesn't avoid the grimace that embraces his face when Wooyoung stares at him. Piercing brown eyes fixed on him when determining those words. “I've been called worse, and yet I've never felt more offended.”

“I shouldn't have said that.” Wooyoung leans towards the door next to him when he stops keeping one of his hands on the steering wheel, and he makes sure to keep his hands close to his own body so that Wooyoung doesn't feel like sticking even more to the door. “I was just... happy that you were with me, and when you suddenly had to leave for someone else, I didn't take that well and I'm sorry.”

He thinks that it wasn't jealousy what led him to react the way he did and made Wooyoung leave the way he did. No, he believes that jealousy has never been the reason behind his serious look when he sees Wooyoung together with Yeosang. Even if one time or another, since the first start, Wooyoung has asked him if he’s jealous of his closeness to Yeosang, or rather, Yeosang's closeness to him, he believes that the answer has always been no.

“It's just that...” he knows that Wooyoung will only understand his point of view, and hopefully his attitude, if he's sincere. With himself too, he thinks. “I told you that I don't feel important, and you, like everyone else, left me for Yeosang because he’s the director’s son.”

His hand still present on the steering wheel hardens but he quickly seeks to soften the grip of his fingers, trying to release the tension from his frame. He considers that the gala was a failure, that he regrets going, and that in fact, he should have gone to Utopia, to at least spend the night with Yunho and his cheerful personality. But the reality is that he never expected to face such a harsh reality.

He knows how things work around him, he's no fool. He considers himself lucky to have people to call friends, even if Yunho and Mingi constantly fight with each other, and he has never gotten into trouble, but he hasn't expected so many people to stop smiling at him and ignore him simply because his father isn’t the director of the most important university anymore.

He has grown up with his father in that role, hearing praise for his person and being asked if he’s also interested in the area of education. It’s been annoying, irritable, and even painful to experience that lack of interest, an interest that has never been genuine.

He, unfortunately, took it out on Wooyoung.

“The same thing happened in the bathroom,” he decides to continue. “When I was talking to you, Yeosang showed up and the same thing happened. He appears and you silence everything around you. I tell you that I'm interested in you, and I think you're interested in me, but then Yeosang just shows up and you just change.”

“You're wrong.” Wooyoung looks at him again, now with a slight frown. “I didn't leave because Yeosang is the director's son. No, I left because Yeosang is my best friend.” he corrects him. “Since we've met, from the first moment, you've told me to order my priorities. You can't get mad at me when I decide to listen to you. I pushed you for Yeosang without even knowing you, I think I've made my priorities clear from the very first start.”

Maybe he's a little jealous of Wooyoung's loyalty to Yeosang after all. Someone who leaves everything and everyone for you. Unconditionally, without hesitation. But he doesn't think it's very healthy to want something like that, nor to grant it. That was the reason why he got angry.

“But it's not normal for you to turn off the rest of the world for a single pers—”

“Can you hold this for a moment?” Wooyoung cuts him off.

He hands over the bag that he gave him, and though he remains confused, he takes it, only to regret it because as soon as he holds the bag, Wooyoung's seriousness only deepens.

“I don't need a lecture from you.” Wooyoung determines before opening the car door.

“Wait—”

“Why do you even want me around?” Wooyoung asks him even though he has already gotten out of the car. He gets frustrated with himself because if he hadn't agreed to hold the bag, he could have tried to hold Wooyoung's wrist, even if he thinks Wooyoung wouldn't have wanted him to. “I'm clearly obsessed with Yeosang, aren't I? Yeosang, Yeosang, and Yeosang. He's all I think about so this conversation is a waste of time!” He slams the door in his face after allowing the sarcasm to leave his mouth and the noise of the door makes him react.

He unbuckles his belt and quickly opens his car door.

“Woo—”

Wooyoung actually says something to him that he doesn't understand because of course he speaks Spanish when he's angry, but his tone of voice and his face assure him that it was probably an insult. Wooyoung gets into his car as he closes his own and approaches Wooyoung's, letting out a breath because Wooyoung's car has tinted windows so he can't see him.

But he crosses his arms and looks at the black color of the window.

“You can't move your car because mine is behind yours,” he says, certain of his words because he did leave his car right behind Wooyoung's car. He didn't do it on purpose, but now it's convenient. His face falls when he hears Wooyoung start the engine. “Don't crash my car.” He unfolds his arms and holds up his palms innocently. “I doubt you'd want to crash yours.”

Fortunately, Wooyoung seems to listen to him and chooses to turn off the car's engine. He doesn't know if Wooyoung is glaring at him or not, but he still sees the black color of the window that separates them.

He refuses to let them end up the same as before, both of them upset while Wooyoung walks off, upset with the words he's said. He rests his hands on his waist and raises both eyebrows, letting Wooyoung know that he doesn't plan on moving at the moment. He still has a lot to say and he's sure Wooyoung has a lot to say too.

He believes that if Wooyoung refuses to listen to him, it's because he knows, deep inside, that he's right. Or he doesn't know, he really doesn't know anymore why it's so easy for Wooyoung to react to him. Whatever the reason, he assumes his words must not be so wrong because he straightens up when Wooyoung barely slides the window down.

It's just a line that barely allows him to catch a glimpse of Wooyoung, but he listens to him.

“Get in.”

He doesn't need Wooyoung to say it twice, so quickly, and before Wooyoung can regret it, he hurries past the car and hops into the passenger seat.

“You're lucky it's a car I hold dear so I won't crash it.” Wooyoung says as they are side by side again, though this time in his car.

San looks at the details around him, and thinks he's never felt so lucky to have heard the words nice car leave Wooyoung's mouth before. His car is a tricycle next to Wooyoung's. Well, he understands why Wooyoung said nice instead of oh yeah your car looks fabulous, I love it when his eyes fall on the Lamborghini logo in the center of the steering wheel.

Yeah, he wouldn't crash a Lamborghini either.

He shakes his head slightly, and rests his eyes on Wooyoung.

“Let's talk,” he asks again.

“I can't talk to you when you've clearly made up a whole story that isn't in your head, a perfect novel to read before going to sleep.” Wooyoung frowns, still looking at him, but San doesn't want to interrupt him because at least Wooyoung is talking. “Let me guess. You think that I like Yeosang, that Yeosang doesn't like me, or that he does, who knows what you came up with, and that I kissed you to try to get over my feelings for Yeosang, that I react quickly because I refuse to accept my own emotions. You don't know shit about me.”

He thinks he accepts that he made a mistake by calling Yeosang Wooyoung's friend with benefits. He would also react badly if someone called someone he appreciates his friend with benefits. Not because the term is bad, but because it's the wrong one.

Over and over, Wooyoung assures him that he doesn't know him, and knows absolutely nothing about him. He thinks both are at fault. He can't do anything but assume because Wooyoung doesn't let him know him, while Wooyoung repudiates such assumptions.

“Then let me know you.”

“I can't if just like everyone else you make assumptions about me!” and again, Wooyoung is angry. “You don't know my heart, you don't know my head. I'm always, always standing up for others, so this time I'm defending myself.” Wooyoung straightens up in his place, certainly showing that he's sick of listening. And San is fine with that, because he really wants Wooyoung to talk to him. “I am sure of what I feel, for whom, and why. So I won't let you or anyone else make me question things I've never questioned before.”

San looks at him, wondering if perhaps, instead of being the first to have questioned him, he has been the last and therefore the last straw that has managed to break Wooyoung's limits. He really doesn't know anything about Wooyoung, and he's to be honest, that bothers him.

“Don't ask to know me,” Wooyoung says, like he's just read his mind. “Why would you want to do it? It clearly is a waste of time.”

“Don't say that.”

“You want to know me? Then know this. I grew up getting everything I ever wanted.” he thinks it's a bittersweet irony the way Wooyoung finally decides to speak after expressing that he doesn't know anything about him, that asking him to know him is useless. “Toys, clothes, accessories, whatever, it was enough to say the word or point and it would appear. Yeosang grew up in the same way. But love? You can't buy love.”

San knows it, he really knows it.

“Love is all I have to offer, the only thing I have to offer that Yeosang can't buy. And no, not a partner, not a boyfriend as you probably think. A friend, a best friend. Someone you can lean on without hesitation, someone you can trust knowing you won't be betrayed.” Wooyoung says, no longer looking angry or irritated, but anguished, and suddenly he feels so, so foolish.

He probably deserved the insult that Wooyoung threw at him and he didn't understand. Giving him a suit feels silly, comparing their cars feels silly.

“Do you want to know what's wrong with me?” Wooyoung asks, and his tone is no longer high or determined. “My love has always been there, here, it has always been more than enough. And now, for the first time, it isn't. I am here, present, and it's not enough, my love is not enough. My best friend tells me that I make him happy, that he appreciates my presence while I'm here, thinking that I'm not enough, and do you know what I've been wondering these days, what's the only thing I've been thinking about? If it hadn't been better for me to stay in Spain.”

San thinks of the words that Wooyoung has previously said in his presence. My presence was supposed to make everything better, but now the meaning is so much clearer. All this time he has thought that Wooyoung gives too much while Wooyoung thinks that what he gives is not enough.

Wooyoung shakes his head and stops facing him with his body after sitting up straight in his seat. He allows part of his head to touch the window, and his gaze doesn't seem to fall on any specific detail of the car.

He's been waiting for Wooyoung to be honest with him, but he's also just been honest with himself. Allowing your head to question you if you are necessary doesn't sound pleasant.

“And love towards you?” He manages to make Wooyoung turn his head towards him at the pronunciation of that question. “Don't you reserve a little to love yourself too? You shouldn't think that you are worth more or less only if you make the people around you happy or not.”

“He is my best friend, I can't make him feel sad. His words make me feel better, but they contradict reality.”

“You don't make him feel sad, and if you did, that's okay because no friendship is perfect. But you can't rest on your shoulders the weight of a smile or the lack of it.” he thinks that Wooyoung is unfair to himself by thinking that his presence is only worth it if he gets all the people around him to decorate their faces with smiles.

“Yeosang said that I can't control how he feels.”

“I agree with him.”

“You're a hypocrite for forcing me to be honest with myself," Wooyoung looks at him. “I think you should accept that maybe you're with me because other people stopped being interested in you.” he says, and San doesn't hesitate to frown because what he hears isn't true. “See how bad it feels to have assumptions made about how you feel?”

“I'm not with you because other people stopped being interested in me.” he doesn't want to improve his situation with Wooyoung because there are people who certainly have stopped greeting him only because he's no longer the director's son, but because he really wants to be okay with him.

“And I'm not with you to get over anyone.”

“Then I want you and you want me.”

It should be easy, it should be simple, but Wooyoung takes a look at him.

“You are a walking red flag, as red as the color of my car, if your jealousy goes off the charts when we are not even a thing.” San parts his lips to express himself but forces himself to form a line with his mouth when he realizes that Wooyoung hasn't finished speaking. He listens. “I don't mind jealousy and a little bit of possessiveness, I'm a little crazy myself, but for the last time, Yeosang is my best friend. He, along with Seonghwa, is the reason I'm here. First in this country, second in this city, and third in here because he said some words that may or may not be helping your case right now.”

San raises both eyebrows upon hearing this, surprised. He hasn't expected Wooyoung to utter those words, let alone hear that Yeosang is one of the reasons Wooyoung apparently chooses to actually be in front of him instead of far away.

“What did he say?” Curious, and certainly tentative, he asks.

“That I have to prioritize myself too, not be aware of him all the time,” Wooyoung responds, and lets out a breath. He wants to tell him that being ready to leave everyone and everything for Yeosang at any minute is not healthy, but he thinks that Wooyoung may have already figured that out. “I guess I got used to it, even more since Yeosang's dad is no longer around, especially since then, and it's hard for me to hear that we shouldn't need each other that much.”

Sorrow embraces Wooyoung's face, and San understands that perhaps both of them have acted in ways they shouldn't for the wrong reasons. He took it out on Wooyoung while Wooyoung took it out on him.

“Being a friend is being there in the good moments and the bad moments,” fortunately Wooyoung looks at him again when he talks. “You are not a worse or better friend for imposing limits on a friendship. I suppose that's how I saw it, although my words obviously couldn't convey the point.”

He hasn't reacted in the way he has, as well as expressed the words he has said because he’s jealous, because he believes that Wooyoung should’ve stayed with him instead of going with Yeosang since, certainly, just like Wooyoung said, he’s in that city, next to him at that precise moment, for Yeosang.

“Yeosang and I weren't the reason you were upset, then? Is that why you were so serious at the gala? Because people are shitty?” Wooyoung asks him, and he doesn't know what to do but nod. One can be nothing from one day to the next, from becoming the center of the round to not even being included in it. He was even reluctant and stubborn towards Jongho only because he heard him praising Yeosang and Seonghwa’s mom’s direction. “Well, it sucked for me too.”

Regardless, they did leave the gala together so he knows Yeosang and Seonghwa haven't had a good night either, and therefore Wooyoung.

“I liked it when I was with you, though,” he says.

Wooyoung isn't so serious anymore, he thinks he himself isn't either.

He woke up with Wooyoung next to him and with the idea of spending his morning with him, while Wooyoung acted as if he wasn’t even there, in his own room, the second he accepted Yeosang's call. He felt left out, just like it happened in the bathroom when he was talking to Wooyoung and Yeosang showed up. And while he understands that Yeosang is a priority for Wooyoung, that shouldn't amount to being kicked off his senses.

“I accept your apology and I’m sorry too,” Wooyoung finally says, “And I like the suit, red is my favorite color so your choice was smart.”

San allows a small smile to appear on his face upon hearing this. He glances at Wooyoung as Wooyoung sits up on his seat again, shaking the stiffness out of his shoulders. Wooyoung faces his body with his and seems to look at him expectantly. San keeps the corners of his mouth slightly raised, no longer having to worry about waiting for his body to unwind because all rigidity has already disappeared.

Slowly, in case Wooyoung objects, he moves his hand towards him, and when Wooyoung only draws a small smile instead of pulling back, he gently cups his chin between his fingers, bringing his face close to his to leave a kiss on the corner of his mouth.

Wooyoung looks at him. He blinks and his eyes are no longer withering. Both he and Wooyoung move at the same time to form a new encounter between their mouths, and he feels the relief spread to the rest of his body. He remembers that his lips met Wooyoung's after agreeing to be jealous of Yeosang, but he didn’t express those words because of the friendship between the two of them, but because he wants to be close to Wooyoung as well —without taking Yeosang out of the equation.

He glances at Wooyoung though Wooyoung looks down once they part ways, opting to caress his cheek as he notices that despite still holding onto a small smile, a somewhat downcast expression continues to decorate Wooyoung's expression.

It's the same kind of expression he's had when they were in the car, when Wooyoung assured him that he was disappointed in himself because his presence was supposed to make all the problems go away. But he believes that Wooyoung doesn’t deserve to carry that weight on his shoulders.

“Did it feel good to let all of that out?” He chooses to ask Wooyoung.

He believes that Wooyoung has ended up exploding with himself for having been carrying more thoughts and feelings for longer than he imagined. He can't blame him, and neither does he since the same thing has happened to him.

Fortunately, Wooyoung nods.

“One word to Yeosang about what was said here and I will crash your car.” Wooyoung warns him anyway, and he nods because he knows Wooyoung really means it in case he decides to approach Yeosang to tell him that Wooyoung is carrying more than he's letting on.

“Yeosang will be fine,” he assures him, getting Wooyoung to look at him. “I... I kind of understand his situation,” he chooses to mention, and continues once Wooyoung barely tilts his head, confused. “My mom passed away when I was just a baby, practically newborn, so I've always felt her absence. We are not in the same situations, but although it can be difficult, and it is and will be, he will be fine.”

His closeness with Yeosang hasn't started out in the best way, but he has sought to get closer to Yeosang ever since they ironically fell out in Utopia. After Yeosang expressed the absence of his father, he’s meant to talk, not to fight again, but to assure him that he also knows what it’s like to have only one parent. Certainly, he knows what it's like to deal with an absence, and for the same reason, he doesn't hesitate to express that Yeosang will be fine.

“I know no words will change anything,” Wooyoung's phrase caresses his lips, and San doesn't blame him because he doesn't doubt all the times he must have repeated the words my condolences or I'm sorry. The hand that Wooyoung leaves on his thigh is worth more than repeated words.

“It's okay,” he assures him. “It's the little things. I should have understood better, and maybe I can be for Yeosang too. But details are all that matter,” this is how he has learned to embrace the absence of his mother. Wooyoung follows him with his eyes when he leans back. “My dad found a new pic of her recently.”

Photos or small anecdotes with his father are the memories he has. Certainly, it’s the details that make him hold a smile instead of teary eyes. He opts to tap his phone and he shows the screen to Wooyoung as it lights up.

Wooyoung stops looking at him to take the phone in his hands.

Perhaps he has never had the chance to meet his mother, but his father's words as well as the photos that he keeps are what allow him to feel that he does know her.

He tilts his head, confused when Wooyoung frowns.

“Mh. This will be a really, really dumb question,” Wooyoung lets out an awkward laugh though he doesn’t seem amused. “But, mh, are you sure this is your mom?” he asks, showing him the screen. “Not an aunt, like, twin, or something,”

“Mh, no?” Even more confused, he replies. “My mom. Why?”

Wooyoung parts his lips to reply but looks at the screen again, seeming to make sure of the details his eyes scan

“How do I say this,” Wooyoung swallows and clears his throat, “San,” he looks at him. “I've seen this woman before.”

Chapter 27

Notes:

additional warning: i think it doesn't need a warning but just in case... i don't know how to tag it but let's see... it isn't violence per se (i think?), there's no blood and no one fights with anyone, but it's like the person allows his impulses/thoughts to guide his actions, and that brings harmful consequences physically speaking

Wooyoung straightens up as soon as he hears the doorbell.

“I’m going!” he exclaims.

“His energetic and chatty personality has definitely surpassed yours if he’s willing to open the door at this hour,” he hears his father mention to his mother before leaving the kitchen.

He wants to reply that he still doesn't consider himself a morning person no matter how lively his personality is, but opening the door is more important at that time.

“Hello...” San barely waves his hand to greet him once he opens the door, and Wooyoung forms a line with his lips because San looks terrible.

Considering the reason why San is currently at the door of his house, he hasn't expected to glimpse a lively smile, and it's still early, so it's not a surprise to see traces of sleep. But that's the problem. San doesn't seem to have slept at all.

“Hello,” still, he opts to offer San a small smile, hoping the gesture is enough to at least try to make up for the seriousness on San's face. “Come in,” he steps aside to allow San into his house.

San already knows the details of his house since he came back with him and Yeosang after Mingi's party, and the smallest of smiles threatens to guide his face at the thought that while that night he passed through the doors of Illusion hoping not to find San, now San is next to him because he himself has invited him.

But he can't smile, because San is still serious, and he hears his father's voice coming from the kitchen.

“Sorry, they tend to be here at this hour,” he says though San hasn't expressed any complaint.

The house is usually much quieter and the kitchen is empty for the rest of the day, but the clock hasn't even struck eight in the morning. He would like to take San's hand to guide him through his house, or simply to hold his hand. San seems to need that kind of support, but the least both of them need is to be questioned by his parents, so he soon finds himself crossing the threshold of the kitchen with San at his side.

“Ma, pa, this is San,” he says when he feels their eyes on them.

San gives them a little wave with his hand. “Hello...”

“Hello San,” his mother smiles, “You can eat whatever you want,”

“But don't let Wooyoung force you to eat,” his father adds.

They do know San and he did smile innocently as he gave back to his father the shirt that he borrowed for San. Even so, he notices the way his mother gesticulates the word handsome before she talks again.

“Eating breakfast is important.”

“Yes, but maybe he already had breakfast, you don't want him to leave this house with a stomach ache.”

“Ma.” Wooyoung interrupts after realizing that he and San will turn into the main spectators of the exchange of words between his parents unless he stops them. Though he only called his mother, his father looks at him. “I was wondering about this din—”

“My answer is still n—”

“It's not related to that.” he doesn't hesitate to say when his mother interrupts him back.

Despite feeling San's gaze on him, he continues to look at his mother. Yes, your answer is still no, thank you, I already understood that you don't want me to work with you, thank you very much, he thinks. This time he's not in front of his parents to convince them of his aptitudes, but to help San.

“You hosted a dinner, once, for a hospital. Last year. I remember because you decided to make the meat dish part of the menu since then, since it was praised.”

That’s why he thought he recognized the person on San's lockscreen —San's mom, according to San.

He knows that when it comes to cooking, it's not just the food that matters. The ingredients, the recipes, the creativity, the dishes where the food is served, everything matters. But also the person who will judge the dish with all their senses.

He doesn't consider himself the smartest person but he tends to remember important events as well as the people involved. Spending more time behind other types of doors, with white uniforms and stoves around them doesn't exempt his family from remembering names and faces, and preferences.

Social, friendly, and easy to talk with. He’s aware of the adjectives that follow his persona. A person who doesn’t seek to walk away when conversations blossom and stays, getting the people around him to pay him attention. He knows when it's convenient for him to walk away and when it's not, or at least he wants to believe that.

He’s sure that he has seen San's mother's face before, and he hopes he's not mistaken because San's face still holds onto a sour expression, an expression that has appeared ever since he assured him that he recognized the person in his photo.

“Oh yes, I did,” luckily his mother remembers. “Why?”

“San here...” He gives San a sidelong glance, and that fleeting look is enough for both of them to silently agree that it isn’t the right time to express the true motive behind the formulation of the following question. “He has a friend... a friend whose uncle is... interested in investing in hospitals, or at least getting familiar with that area, so I thought... maybe... you still have the contact?”

“I don't really save contacts, Wooyoung, I only have the lists of people who attend our events,” his mother replies.

Wooyoung takes a small breath, relieved when his mother doesn't make questions.

“That's okay, we can work with that,”

“Okay, I'll send it to you.”

“Great, gracias.”

He does spread the palms of his hands over the expansion of San's back to guide him out of the kitchen, and looks at him again once they are up the stairs to head toward his room.

San is down, it's evident in his expression as well as the way his shoulders remain slumped. He opts to leave his hand on his thigh as they sit facing each other on the edge of his bed, and San forms a line with his lips —it's an attempt at a smile.

Wooyoung pulls out his phone when it buzzes, and notices that his mother has indeed sent him a list of the people who attended that dinner. He turns his phone over so that San has a chance to take the phone and go over the list himself.

“Do you see your... mom's name in there?” he asks, feeling nervous himself.

In case San nods his head or answers yes, or both, it means that the person who turns out to be his wallpaper isn't dead, but alive. Fidgeting, he switches his gaze between San and his phone, until his eyes widen because San widens his.

San stops scrolling and stares at the phone.

“You— you found something?”

“Not—” San swallows, “Not the name but...”

San turns his phone towards him and Wooyoung has the opportunity —he really wishes he didn't— to confirm that perhaps his grades have never supported his intelligence, but his memory does because he brings a hand towards his chest when the face of the person he has seen as San’s wallpaper appears in front of him.

Seo Kyung.

It's a small round photo, just to be able to connect names and faces because his mother has always made lists that way, and at that moment he doesn't know if he's grateful or if he wants to insult that way of making lists.

San told him that his mother died when he was just a baby, while he’s sure that the dinner that woman attended was within the last year as that’s the amount of time he has been in South Korea. One of the two is wrong, and considering the photo still displayed on his phone, his words take the lead.

He looks up at San, and this time, he does offer him his hand. San looks at it to take it, and that simple contact allows him to feel the nervousness that has embraced San. If he feels uneasy himself, he can't imagine how unsettled San must be feeling.

A person who until now has been dead is now alive.

He lowers his eyes when he decides to look up the name on the internet, and changes position so that San can read what his eyes see. He strokes the back of San’s hand as they read that Kyung currently works at a hospital in Seoul —which makes sense since he's attended the dinner hosted by his mother as part of that hospital, even if the event has been in another city.

That's how demanded and well-known the service of his parents is —well, the Prime Minister did ask them to cater his gala after all. But so far they have only chosen to organize small dinners. They haven't wanted to establish themselves in South Korea so far, or now they do since his mother assured him that the idea is to open a restaurant, the first of the chain in South Korea.

Kyung is head of the Department of Midwives, and from the information he reads, she continues to work in the same position. She's alive, everything assures that she’s alive.

He drops the phone on his bed when he hears the deep breath of air that San lets out, and catches his hand in his before looking at him, not knowing what to say or do. Although the matter has been going around in his head ever since San showed him the photo and the person didn’t turn out to be a complete stranger in his eyes, he’s not able to offer any concrete explanation as to what's happening.

Though he knows the answer, he still chooses to ask, “Are you okay?”

He’s aware that it isn’t a smart question. Instead of answering, San opts to drop his forehead onto his shoulder, and Wooyoung tilts his head to leave it over his. He keeps San’s hand trapped in his to try to provide comfort.

In case the situation had been reversed, he believes that he would be confused, bewildered, and desperate to find answers to the questions that appear in his head. 

Did San's father lie? Why does San say that she’s dead while the rest shows that she’s alive? Why don't the names match but her face does? Twins, maybe?

“I'm sleep deprived... and I didn't look for pictures because supposedly there aren't any, at least not of me with my... I don't... what if she's not my mom?” San's voice sounds low, doubtful.

Wooyoung forms a line with his lips. He hasn't thought of that possibility.

If the person they have searched for isn’t San's mother, it would explain why they have found current information about her and why he has recognized her face. But it wouldn’t explain why San's father has told him throughout all those years that that person —who now turns out to be a stranger— is his mother.

“We can stop here,” he suggests. San hasn't smiled again. “Or we could... visit the hospital? It's up to you.”

San stops keeping his head on his shoulder and they both straighten up. San looks around him, not necessarily taking into account the details that make up his room, since he doesn't seem to be focused on anything specific.

He recognizes that look. Lost, out of focus. Yeosang's brown eyes are accompanied by the same uncertainty from time to time.

“I— it's too early for this.” San says. “What was that?” he finally looks at him.

He doesn't blame him for trying to push the unfinished business off his mind for a few minutes. It's still early and at any moment they should go downstairs to leave and attend that day's classes.

“What was what?”

“What just happened. In the kitchen, with your mom.”

“Nothing.” Wooyoung shakes his head.

“Come on,” San insists, “It can't be worse than my... situation, you know?”

And that's exactly why complaining is pointless, much more if you are the person in front of me, Wooyoung thinks but doesn't say. It's foolish to allow disappointment to settle on his shoulders when the people around him deal with worse frustrations. San spends a sleepless night while he knows that he will find his parents once he opens the door of his room.

But San squeezes takes both of his hands and squeezes them. Perhaps to distract himself from the information just collected, to listen to someone else's problems and thus forget about his own. Well, he thinks the least he can do is distract San, even if it means talking about the thoughts that are tormenting his head.

“Do you remember that I mentioned that my parents are chefs, and that they won't let me be part of their company?” he asks, San nods. He bites his lip, thinking that he previously told himself that he would never share his uncertainties with San. “They... simply keep... downplaying my efforts no matter how many times I ask...” He forces himself to clear his throat as he feels the volume of his voice drop with each word he allows to leave his mouth. “No matter if I love cooking and no matter if I'm really good at it. And I'm getting tired of being tied to the kitchens of the houses or apartments in which I live...”

It’s true that his parents told him that he has the possibility of joining any other restaurant, that one call would be enough to get him the job he wants. But he doesn't want to be part of other restaurants, to work in kitchens that he doesn't know. He craves a familiar environment, with dishes that he knows by heart, staff that has seen him grow, and customers who greet him because they know who he is.

It's frustrating, knowing that everywhere else he has a chance to be accepted, while where he really wants to be, he's not welcome —and by his own parents. He may be stubborn, but he doesn't care. He's not given the only thing he really wants and has always wanted.

Still, he knows that no one understands his frustration and probably sounds ungrateful, so he seeks to stop holding San's hands. It's his own fault for deluding himself with the thought that changing the country would imply that his parents would also change their attitude. He doesn't understand either, then, why going from one city to another has made him think that his situation would change when his parents continued to act in the same way since they landed in South Korea.

Yes, not everyone was friendly to him in Spain, but he knew how to move, he had a group of friends, and Yeosang smiled more. He used to smile more too.

He looks at San when San doesn't let him get away, though, and instead gives his hands a light squeeze again.

“What do you say we have breakfast together?” San proposes. He isn't told that he should appreciate what he has and that he doesn't deserve to be down. “Hongjoong always recommends this place that he goes to. To distract us both.”

He's not hungry, but he still nods. San needs to distract himself.

---

Seonghwa stops looking for his tie when a fleeting pink detail catches his attention, and he hurries to approach his bedroom door.

“Yeosang.” Luckily he doesn't need to raise his voice for Yeosang to stop after hearing the pronunciation of his name, and Yeosang approaches him.

Until now, he has chosen to avoid expressing certain words for Yeosang's well-being, since although at that moment they are face to face, looking at each other instead of arguing, he’s aware that they have reached that situation after having exchanged sincere words, in Yeosang's case with tears streaming down his cheeks; but Wooyoung has told him that he has already told Yeosang about the talk that he and San heard between their mother and San's father.

Even if he knows that their mother is downstairs, probably already out of the house since they will head to campus anytime soon, he still chooses to gently rest a hand on Yeosang's arm to pull him towards him, and lowers the volume of his voice.

“Wooyoung told me that he told you about Mom and San's dad.”

From the very beginning, Yeosang appeared in front of him, convinced about describing their mother as a liar, and although he has previously held his respective doubts, he doubts that Yeosang, Wooyoung, and San have agreed to lie to him.

“I don't really know what to think...” He doesn't blame Yeosang for not knowing what to say.

He believes that all the words would be nothing more than a simple fact if their mother had admitted to knowing San's father from the first moment. After all, she currently occupies the position that previously belonged to San's father, but denying that she knows him and agreeing that it’s best if the two of them stay away from San? It makes no sense.

"It's okay... maybe... it has to do with a deal about how San's dad left and mom took over,” he says, seeing no other reason why their mother would seek to deny the relationship. “Have you seen my tie?” he asks, not knowing what to think either.

Yeosang shakes his head and Seonghwa lets go of his arm.

“This one is mine,” Yeosang points to the tie around his neck, and he frowns slightly because he doesn't know if Yeosang adds those words because he's expected him to complain by saying that he has his tie on, and therefore to call him a liar.

“Boys!” they hear their mother exclaims.

Yeosang forms a line with his lips and soon turns around to mark the path previously walked and head to the first floor.

“Seonghwa is looking for his tie,” Yeosang adds as he goes down the stairs.

“Seonghwa, don’t be late!”

Seonghwa closes one of his eyes at his mother's raised tone of voice, a grimace taking hold of his face because Yeosang is usually the person who tends to take his time to come down the stairs while he’s the first, ready —even before their mother.

He grumbles, wondering if he can't find his tie because he stayed up texting Hongjoong the night before and as a consequence forgot to get his uniform ready like he does every night without fail. But he hasn't found the tie in his drawers or in his closet, and he thinks he now understands why Hongjoong adds his initials to his clothes —it would be helpful if he did.

It's the same uniform so maybe the people who work in his house left it in Yeosang's room by mistake. With that thought he walks through the door of Yeosang's room, thinking that an orange tie shouldn't be too hard to find. He ignores the mess the bed represents and opens the drawers closest to him, letting out a breath because he still can't find his tie. He opens the doors of the closet, but no orange detail catches his attention at first glance. He opens the first drawer and neither, so he opens the second, finally finding his tie.

“Yes!” He cheers, raising his arms, accidentally hitting one of the backpacks hanging from the closet door, and he complains because hitting a backpack shouldn't hurt as much as it does, nor should it make the noise it makes when it hits the ground.

He crouches down and winces as he opens it and notices that there's a box inside, one that must have been opened or probably broken after hitting the hard surface of the floor. He shouldn't see that, but just as he has a box with the things he has chosen to keep from his father, Yeosang surely does too, and he knows that Yeosang will be angry if he touches it.

But his hand comes to a halt, and he frowns just as the tie in his other hand ceases to be the focus of his attention when he notices that instead of photos or small objects, what appears to be sugar sachets peek out. He shakes his head, thinking that he prefers Yeosang to eat lollipops instead of saving sugar —even if it's almost the same.

He takes the box so that it’s no longer upside down, but his lips part, his hands remain still, and he feels his heart drop the second he realizes that Yeosang has never kept any sugar.

“Seonghwa!”

A sound of surprise leaves his lips and the box threatens to leave his hands when he manages to hear his mother’s voice from where he is. He blinks, once, twice, three times, until he remembers that he’s with the small box in hand after having been looking for his tie.

“Just go without me!” he exclaims.

“Don't be late!”

He thinks that his mother's warning and his decision to skip class at that very moment would have worried him more if it weren't for the fact that his eyes immediately fall on the box in his hands again, or rather, its contents. 

Drugs. They are drugs. Hidden in Yeosang's closet.

The sound of the door closing startles him and stops him from being totally still.

He takes the now empty backpack and hangs it in Yeosang's closet and closes both. He peeks his head in case there's someone in the hallway, and the lack of people leads him to quickly walk into his room, closing the door before going into his bathroom and closing that door as well. 

He leaves the box on the counter as if it were burning him and gets away from it.

Maybe his palms don't burn and his skin isn't pink, but the presence of that box, the presence of drugs, hurts him. It hurts Yeosang. He brings his hands to his head, wondering what to do. Should he put them back where he found them? Yeosang will definitely notice if he has taken them, but leaving them will allow Yeosang to continue accessing the same and their mother to find out that Yeosang is taking drugs.

He’s aware of the ragged breath that leaves his lips.

What is he supposed to do? What should he do?

Yeosang is taking drugs, Yeosang is hiding drugs. He forces a breath out, realizing that he's trying to steady his breathing but he's not succeeding. He remembers the conversation he had with Wooyoung, when Wooyoung had just arrived and they were in Illusion.

I haven't seen him touch a single pill since we moved in here, he said.

Not in front of you, Wooyoung replied.

I think I'd know if my own brother was on drugs, he was wrong.

Yeosang lied to him. He asked him if he was using drugs and he said no, that Mingi's party was an exception.

It's not pills, but it's drugs. He has deluded himself into thinking that he knows Yeosang well enough to establish that he would notice if his brother was taking drugs but he doesn't. The proof is in front of his very eyes and he has never felt like such an idiot, so stupid.

He has to hide them, he has to keep them and hide them somewhere. He knows that he won't be able to sleep or exist if he leaves the drugs intact in Yeosang's room, not being able to know when he chooses to take them and when he doesn't.

He doesn't care if Yeosang finds out that he has taken them, he prefers Yeosang to confront him about it instead of continuing to question how many times Yeosang has taken drugs and he hasn't noticed.

He frantically detects the details of the bathroom and decides to leave the box in one of the counter drawers since it’s indistinguishable from the rest of his products. He still makes sure to place items around it so the box doesn't stick out and closes the drawer, perhaps with more force than necessary.

He licks his lips and runs a hand through his dark blond locks, his gaze falling to the oval mirror in his bathroom, to his own reflection. He notes his worried expression, the uncertainty in his gaze, and the way his lips remain parted to inhale and exhale air erratically.

Is it because of their father? Is his death the cause behind that box? Where did Yeosang even get the drugs from? Does he always take drugs or when does h— no, they are not drugs to fight a cold or a migraine. He saw Yeosang take pills at the party but what he found is not— he doesn't even want to know what it is.

Wooyoung knows that Yeosang takes drugs and encourages him to do so? Why is Yeosang taking drugs? Are there other reasons? It’s clear that if he has so many, enough to fill a box, it’s not because he only seeks to confuse his senses when he attends a party. He can feel the doubts colliding with each other inside his head, fighting with each other to confuse him and stress him out even more because there are many doubts but he has no answer.

Is he a bad brother? How come he didn't notice? He buries his hands into his scalp, feeling the situation spiral out of his control, doubts keeping him alert, and anxiety creeping up his shoulders.

He doesn't like what he sees in the mirror. A bad older brother? A bad son?

Yeosang wouldn't seek to get high, he wouldn't lie if he had been more attentive, if he had paid attention. He wouldn't be a bad son if he knew how to take care of Yeosang, if he knew how to detect the lies that persecute him and the lack of honesty.

He doesn't like what —who— he sees in the mirror.

One disappointment after another.

He's made of frustrations and mistakes.

Perfect, praiseworthy, promising.

Each time he feels further away from those words.

His impulses guide his body rather than his own mind. The glass cracks when his fist meets his own reflection and an inevitable complaint leaves his lips the second his hand feels the consequences of his inability to be perfect. He grabs his wrist with his other hand and falls to the floor, squeezing his eyes shut as a sharp pain shoots from the tips of his fingers down the rest of his arm.

He notes the scratches on his knuckles as well as the immediate color that characterizes his hand once he opens his eyes, and he doesn't try to close his hand as a simple movement is enough for another wave of pain to run through his extremity. If physical or emotional pain is the reason behind his glassy eyes, he doesn't know it.

The bracelet his father gave him, present around one of his wrists, only leads him to assure that he does nothing but fail.

---

“Are you sure you want this to be on Saturday?”

Mingi isn't surprised to hear the hesitant tone of his assistant at Illusion, but he takes a look at himself in the car's rear-view mirror and rests his gaze on the front again.

“Yeah, this Friday off,” He also finds it strange to mention that Illusion will be closed on a Friday night but he doesn’t regret the words he expresses.

“It would be better this Friday...”

“Everyone will open there, people can keep on celebrating with us on Saturday,”

“I guess that makes sense...”

Mingi allows one corner of his mouth to lift. He knows that it’s an exception in the agenda, so it won’t matter if instead of having a party for Halloween like the other bars and nightclubs will do on Friday night since the date coincides with the beginning of the weekend, he will open Illusion on Saturday night.

“Be sure to buy the decorations,” he sing-songs, and chuckles when he hears the release of a resigned breath on the other side of the line.

“Bye, boss,”

“Bye-bye,”

Music replaces any sound and he promptly turns up the volume while still smiling. He’s aware that it would be convenient to open on Friday night to celebrate Halloween like other places, to remind them that people go to Illusion because of the good atmosphere it creates, but he has decided not to do it so that people attend what he’s sure will be the party of the night now that he won’t open, the one organized by Yunho in Utopia.

Constantly, night after night, they have clashed, and they still do, but now he’s aware that Yunho's father knows about the relationship, or whatever it is between them, and although Yunho’s father mentions that he isn't part of their industry, he wants to make a good impression. And if giving up one night means he'll still be —apparently— welcome at Yunho's house, then he's willing to keep Illusion closed for one night.

He lowers the speed as well as the volume once he's near campus, and presses Yunho's contact to call him.

It isn’t early as it usually is in the morning when they get together to spend a few minutes side by side, but at least he will have the opportunity to exchange a few words with him before they do it again, though with irony and sarcasm in front of the others —or at least that's what he thinks until the music resounds again and he forms a pout with his lips because Yunho doesn't answer.

He pulls up in the parking lot, taking one last look in the mirror before getting out of the car. He walks towards the front doors, noticing a group of students watching him, whispering amongst themselves. Confused, he opts to smooth over his blue locks even though he's sure he fixed them since he's just looked in the mirror —or maybe they're delighted with his facial features, who knows.

He keeps walking, and this time he frowns as he notices three different groups of people staring after him, phones in hand, whispering to each other. A bad feeling appears and settles over his shoulders. Although he’s used to some people talking to each other when he’s present by the last name he carries, the situation is usually more subtle.

He suddenly stops a few meters from the main doors when he’s interrupted.

“Mingi.” Wooyoung expresses without his typical amused smile.

He narrows his gaze, noticing that both he and Yeosang, who is next to him and has also stopped him from continuing to walk, have raised one of their palms as if to hold him back, while keeping the other behind their backs, hiding something —papers?

“Hello?” he tilts his head, wondering if something has happened with his parents but he's sure they would have called him without question if something related to the last name he inherited happened.

He frowns when once he tries to move, Wooyoung and Yeosang stop him.

“Don't go in.” Yeosang says.

“Why not?”

Yeosang parts his lips to answer but doesn't offer any kind of response. Next to him, Wooyoung also remains without saying anything. He thinks it's strange, the way the two aren't able to offer an answer even though they've both sought to hold him back. First Yunho doesn't answer and now they—

Mingi's eyes widen. Yeosang and Wooyoung are the only people who know how much he cares about Yunho, so he doesn't hesitate to walk past them and brush them aside before promptly approaching the front doors.

“No—”

“Mingi—”

He stops as soon as he crosses the entrance doors upon hearing the much louder than normal murmur that decorates the halls of the university, as well as the presence of students in them, talking to each other.

Several heads turn towards him the moment he becomes present, but his eyes quickly fall on the fact that everyone seems to be holding an identical piece of paper in their hands, pieces of paper that he also notices are taped to the lockers —papers that he actually denotes are photos.

Again his path is interrupted as he tries to move forward.

“Mingi,” Yeosang asks.

This time he leans to the side to notice that the photos are still present in his other hand, and manages to take one from him. His eyes widen and he feels his chest press. 

He understands why both Yeosang and Wooyoung have tried to prevent him from getting into the university, and swallows hard when he understands the reason for the excess attention on him since he got out of his car.

They are photos. It's a photo. He recognizes himself and Yunho.

At the door of Yunho's house.

Together.

Kissing.

Blinking several times in a row doesn’t make the photo stop being in his hands. The same photo is pasted throughout all the lockers of the university, for everyone to look at and talk about them.

He looks around him, and crumples the photo in his hands when his eyes meet a brownish look that denotes the same kind of panic he feels has taken over his gaze.

Yunho.

“Shit.”

Notes:

i've written a lot throughout my life, like, A Lot, but i think this is the first time i really feel bad about writing something

Chapter 28

Notes:

additional warning: rebound effect

Despite the blurriness present in his gaze, Yunho recognizes San's facial features when San kneels in front of him. He thinks it's bittersweet the way San's presence is enough to calm him down yet get the tears that slide down his cheeks to feel heavier.

“Here you are,” San rests a comforting hand on his knee. “I was looking for you,”

Yunho shakes his head and rubs his eyes, knowing it’s a wasted gesture. He has thought that locking himself in one of the bathrooms' stalls would be enough not to be found.

The toilet seat feels small and the walls make him feel confined.

San definitely doesn't deserve to ruin his uniform by kneeling in front of him.

“No, no,” he sniffles, “Go look for Mingi, please,” Saying Mingi's name for the first time in front of San, with a broken tone of voice and a lump in his throat, hurts him, and he feels another tear leave the corner of his eye.

“At least I could find one of you two,” he cries because San just assured him that he can’t find Mingi, because San wipes away the tear with his thumb, and because he’s heartbroken. “It's okay, no one here judges you. I'm judging the asshole who did this.”

He hides his face between his hands after San's words only get the feeling of guilt that has gripped his shoulders to intensify, and he can’t help the sob that leaves his lips and finds the palms of his hands.

He feels San's arms around him. He wants to shake his head and pull apart because he doesn't deserve to be hugged by San, he doesn't deserve San to be with him, unsuccessfully trying to comfort him.

“Why are you crying so much?” San asks along with a soft tone of voice, and of course San doesn't understand why he feels devastated and thinks it's a detail that he shouldn’t shed tears over.

San has always been good, and although many times he has imagined San looking and feeling betrayed for having lied to him, he has never thought that San would take all the lies he has allowed to leave his mouth —and Mingi's— as something unforgivable.

“Aren't you mad?” he manages to straighten up enough and stops hiding his face behind his hands.

Despite his blurry eyes, he holds San's gaze. It's what San deserves. That shouldn't be happening. Not in one of the college bathrooms, with their uniforms on and the day just beginning. Those are not the conditions he envisioned.

San answers his question by sliding his thumbs under his eyes instead of frowning at him.

“You are our closest friend and we have been lying to you all this time.” he adds.

San exhales a breath of air.

“I mean... I've always thought that if you two were to have sex, it would be such good hate sex, and I had my respective doubts when I asked Mingi where he would meet Yeosang and he told me Utopia. But I thought he only wanted to provoke you. I...” Always a little bit confused but good-intentioned San, doesn't sound or look angry. “No... I mean, I guess you two had your reasons, I know your families don't get along.”

San caresses his cheek and Yunho thinks he can't remember the last time it took him so long to stop crying. And his tears don't stop when he thinks that if he cries, it's because it hurts, because he's suffering, and because he really cares. He knows, he truly knows that he really cares, that he cares about Mingi because otherwise, that situation wouldn't be happening.

“Do you think that someone from your... I don’t know... industry or... or other business did this?” San asks.

He pulls away from San when he hears his question, wondering how he and Mingi deserve a person like San, a friend who instead of getting angry for having been part of the lies like the others despite their closeness, seeks to comfort him instead of reproaching the lack of honesty.

“No, San, you don't understand,” He doesn't deserve the comfort San is trying to give him. San doesn't deserve any more lies. “This is my fault.”

Guilt presses his chest and he has to force himself to swallow.

He looks down and rubs one of his eyes with his knuckles and the back of his hand, the encounter between the ring that his mother has given him and his skin only leading him to part his lips and cry as a feeling of uncertainty and desolation embraces him as soon as he thinks of his mother.

“What are you talking about, this is—”

“I did this, I—”

“You did this?”

Yunho feels that both his throat and his chest end up pressing when he knows that that perplexed tone of voice doesn’t belong to San. He looks up and his world crumbles when his eyes meet Mingi's.

Mingi is looking at him, and he notices that unlike him, Mingi hasn't been crying. But tears present or not, Mingi looks pained too. Mingi stares at him, the beginning of a scowl beginning to take over his face as his posture indicates that he’s speechless.

“This was you?” His first instinct is to get up because he's gotten used to wanting to hold Mingi, but he brings his own hands to his chest because Mingi looks so taken aback, so betrayed, and the step Mingi takes back when he hasn't even moved, hurts. “And here I was so— so... so worried about you. So much for not wanting to lose me!”

Both San and he move as soon as his head registers Mingi's words, but the bathroom door being slammed startles him.

“Min—” San tries to stop him but soon turns to him. “Go after him!”

“I can't!”

San's frown is replaced by a confused grimace that in a matter of seconds seems to change to an expression of realization.

He looks at San and swallows, but doesn’t pull away when San gently catches his wrists in his hands. The gentleness of his touch contrasts with the determination in his voice and the seriousness of his facial expression.

“Who did this to you and what are they blackmailing you with?” San asks.

Yunho is only able to wonder how sad he must look for San to understand that the picture he has seen not only represents a simple kiss, that he’s desperate to reach out to Mingi but he doesn’t do it not because he doesn’t want to, but because he can’t.

“Yunho. Answer.” the grip on his wrists tightens.

“My... my scholarship,” he replies. He manages to swallow despite the lump in his throat. “I... San, I never wanted Mingi to leave. I never blamed him for anything. I never tried to frame him for something he didn't do. He was cheating on an exam and I took his phone, and I blamed myself.”

Faced with the fall of the truth that he has always believed, San widens his eyes.

It no longer makes sense to continue lying, but having to express the truth in that way hurts him.

“This thing... between us...” The word thing hurts because he doesn't really know what else to say. “It's not something recent.”

He doesn't seek to blame himself for something he didn't do just for anyone, he doesn't accept being put under a supposed scholarship just for anyone. He doesn't agree to do things he doesn't want and that he knows will hurt him just for anyone.

He doesn't cry just for anyone.

“Somehow they found out about Mingi, and— and they said if I didn't give proof of my relationship with him because somehow they also found out what we have... or... had,” He looks down, thinking how hurt Mingi must feel, how betrayed he sounded. He looks up when San again squeezes his wrists. “They would spread the word about Mingi and how he cheated. I didn't think there would be pictures everywhere, I swear I didn’t.”

Although he approached the university with overlapping thoughts and walked through the main doors with worry being his guide —just how he's felt since the morning after the gala—, the sight of the pictures left him completely still. Yet at no time has he worried about the looks of others on him, the whispers he heard, or himself. No, Mingi has plagued his head as soon as he saw himself and Mingi in the photos. Mingi, Mingi, Mingi. Sad, angry, and irritated, Mingi has walked away.

“Halloween party at Illusion this Friday!”

He gets startled when he recognizes Mingi's angry voice coming from the hallway.

He isn't crying because Mingi just expressed that he's having a party the same night as him, but because the motive behind said phrase is his anger towards him.

Mingi hates him. Mingi has always been destined to hate him and now Mingi fulfills what has always been expected of him.

“Who, Yunho.” San demands. “Who told you this. Who made you do this.”

Should he lie? Should he keep his mouth shut? At no time has he been asked to keep quiet because the person who led him to do what he has done is aware of the difference in power between them —and he, as much as Mingi, as the fools that they are, have never thought that parents other than their own would care so much about them.

“Jongho's mom,” he replies.

San follows him when he sits on the floor, with his back against the wall and his gaze still blurry. He notes that San looks impressed by the answer given but doesn’t force him to keep on talking, explaining why they are still side by side, him with traces of tears present on his face —and new ones forming in the corners of his eyes, threatening to slide down his cheeks as San catches one of his hands in his.

He bites his lower lip and tries to compose himself, even a little, even if he feels he can't, because San doesn't say it but his eyes express confusion.

“Mingi... he...” He has gotten so used to pronouncing Mingi's last name when San is present, to mentioning the letters that make up the last name Song, that he can’t help the breath he exhales when he realizes that he no longer has to. “He came to pick me up at Utopia the night of the gala.”

Disrupting their respective bubbles within the walls of the university is normal because they share the same classes, walk the same corridors, wear the same uniform, and happen to be on good terms with the same people, but the story is different outside the campus territory. They have constantly invaded their respective personal spaces. It has always been dangerous, a risk approaching the other without their uniforms on.

“Someone must have followed him... and we didn't realize. They must have known that he stayed at my house because the picture is at the door,” he adds.

He's been instructed to kiss Mingi at the door of his house. Mingi never doubted the gesture because it wasn't in public, at least not in Mingi's eyes. He kissed him when he opened the door of his house once Mingi opted to leave so it would look like a simple goodbye kiss.

He never thought that he would see that moment captured in photos, glued on all the details of the university for everyone to see.

“No one else knew about this?”

“Yeosang and Wooyoung.” At the obvious confusion on San's face, he continues speaking. “We never told them, they figured us out.”

“Damn, I'm so blind.”

“No, San,” still with the back of his head against the wall, he shakes his head, “You and Hongjoong have always been the closest people to us. With you two, and especially with you, we have always forced ourselves a little bit more.”

“Do you think they said something? Though Wooyoung...” He looks at San when San takes a few seconds to continue. “He was with me, and Yeosang with... Jongho the night of the gala.”

Hearing that while he has been with Mingi during the night of the gala, San has been with Wooyoung and Yeosang with Jongho surprises him, but he shakes his head. With his own eyes he has seen the way in which both Yeosang and Wooyoung didn't hesitate to start taking off the pictures from the lockers as soon as they understood the reason for the emotionless expression on his face.

“No... it doesn't make sense that they would.” Mingi himself told him that he previously talked to Wooyoung. “They didn’t know the reason behind my scholarship, Wooyoung didn't even know about it and Yeosang never asked any weird questions. And I don't think Jongho has anything to do with it either.”

“But why would his mom do something like this? Because you didn't go to that fucking gala? And she knew that you are with Mingi, and she was afraid that you'd turn Mingi's family against her even if both are from the same party? It doesn't make any fucking sense, you don't even talk to Mingi's parents.”

“I don't know but— I couldn't— I couldn't let Mingi— I don't— I really don't—” He feels the way San caresses his hand to try to comfort him when he realizes that interrupting his own words is a consequence of the alteration of his thoughts. “I didn't know what to do, I just know that I didn't want Mingi to fight with his parents. He’s already in a tense situation, he's always in a tense position, and his parents would have been so angry and still now— I— no—”

He inhales a deep breath as San squeezes his hand, reminding him that he must try to steady his breathing if he wants to be understood. His chest aches, he's sure his eyes are red and his heart is pounding. Broken but still beating.

“Why didn't you tell him? Why can't you tell him?”

“He would have tried to stop me and I— I don't know, he won't believe me, I don't know. We're rivals, San, even after everything.”

He forms a line with his mouth as he feels his lower lip quiver. They are rivals but that hasn't stopped him from blaming himself when Mingi tried to cheat. They're rivals but he hasn't hesitated to expose himself just so Mingi wouldn’t. Mingi was also exposed, that's true, but it would have been worse if Mingi and the real motive behind his scholarship had come to light.

“My dad, my dad knows too. He found out the day the photo was taken.” he says.

“Could it have been him?”

“No, no, I don't think so, we told him on our own terms and I got the text seconds after we told him. I don’t know. Why would he even say it? He has never sympathized with Jongho's family.”

The calmness he has felt for his father not acting reluctantly at his closeness with Mingi has quickly been overshadowed by the nervousness that the texts he got caused him. Show his closeness to Mingi unless he wants Mingi's secret to get out.

He squeezes his eyes shut and opens them at the thought that now his father will always be the only person he and Mingi have ever told the truth to on their own terms. Yeosang and Wooyoung also knew, but as Yeosang talked to him and Wooyoung to Mingi, they both started the conversations.

Should he have talked to Mingi? Shouldn't he have done something? He has no doubt that Mingi's parents will probably be mad at Mingi for the photo, since with his own eyes he has always seen the way Mingi's parents don't approve of his presence, but even though it makes him sad, he prefers that rejection instead of knowing that Mingi must deal with his parents, even more, having to explain why he cheated when his parents and the pressure they exert on him is the only reason behind his despair.

“My dad knew about your scholarship, what if—”

“No, San,” he tries to stop him as soon as he hears him. “Your dad never said anything to me. This has nothing to do with—”

“Listen.” San determines, staring at him, and he swallows because he doesn't understand why San brings his dad into the dilemma he's facing. “He's a liar, he's a fucking liar so I wouldn't be surprised if he was in on all this shit.”

This time, he tilts his head, confused when he notices that San is serious. He has constantly heard San defend his father, complaining because Yeosang and Seonghwa's mother has taken over his position. The San who was upset because his father is no longer the director of the university is not the same San who expresses those words without hesitation.

“Is there something I should know?”

Has he been so focused on pretending with Mingi, that he hasn't noticed the true emotions that guide San?

“Your mind is a mess already, you should go home.”

Yunho bites his lower lip because San doesn't nod or shake his head, but he just assured him that something is happening. But as much as he wants to know why San says what he says, he believes that he’s right.

He's not in a position to help, not when indeed, his mind is a mess.

But no matter how pitiful he feels, Mingi’s words don't leave his mind.

“Can you please make sure that Mingi is okay? And please, go to his party.”

“Yunho.”

“Please, San.” This time he squeezes his hand. “He will need his friends to be there for him. I don't know—” He can't help but hide his face with his other hand and he feels San put his forehead against his as he continues crying. “I don't know if there will be a party in Utopia because I don't even know if Utopia will still be a thing.”

Mingi walking away and the doors of Utopia closed. It's a nightmare. Again, his finger that carries the ring feels heavy and he can't help but rest his gaze on said accessory. The thought that his father owns the majority of Utopia's shares doesn't make him feel any better.

“Mom told me to stay low and play nice. This isn't any of that. She's going to take Utopia away from me.”

San leaves his hand on his nape, and he agrees to look at him.

“I'm your friend too.” San determines. “You should talk to Mingi. He will literally end Jongho's mom once he finds out. You saw him. None of this wouldn't hurt him if you didn't mean anything to him.”

“He can't find out. It will only play against him.”

“Don't forget about Mingi's family.” San looks at him. “It will be war if they go against him. His parents might be strict, and pretty shitty if you ask me, but they will do absolutely anything under their power to keep their reputation clean and intact, and that includes Mingi. I'm guessing Jongho's mom did this for that, to mess with his family. Unfortunately, you and Mingi got caught up in the middle.”

Yunho lets out a breath when he hears him. Maybe San is right. Although they all have well-known last names, both Mingi and Jongho stand out more than the rest. Jongho starts studying at the same university as them, but now Mingi's last name is the one on everyone's lips —along with his own. But Mingi and Jongho's families are not the only ones involved, since everything has started because his family is too.

“In the end, it's just like it has always been. Mingi's family against mine.”

Just as he has no doubt that Mingi's parents will express their disapproval at the photo, with his own eyes and ears he has seen and heard Mingi get angry, not hesitating to get irritated and not needing explanations to distrust him.

He lets go of San's hand to again hide his face in his hands when he feels the tears pooling at the corners of his eyes. Maybe he's always been delusional for thinking that everything would be fine, that the root of his relationship with Mingi doesn't matter because they choose how they interact with each other.

“And then,” he sniffles, “Mingi against me.”

He feels San's arms around his body, and he doesn't know what to do but cry.

---

“Shouldn't we stop him?”

Yeosang also follows Mingi with his eyes when he hears Wooyoung asks that question. They're not the only ones as other students turn their heads towards Mingi as well, but they make sure to leave space to let Mingi move forward, at a determined pace and an obviously irritated expression guiding his facial features.

“He’s harmless,” both he and Wooyoung hear Hongjoong reply.

He stops keeping his eyes on Mingi and turns his head towards Hongjoong. The three find themselves continuing to pull out the photos taped to the lockers to crumple them up and throw them into the bin they have left behind them.

It doesn’t matter if some people have already taken pictures of the photos to keep them on their phones. They have to help as they can.

“He has to unwind as he can.” Hongjoong adds, and Yeosang forms a line with his lips, not convinced by what he hears, much less when Hongjoong is a second away from kicking the trash can behind them. But Hongjoong knows Mingi better than he does, so he lets out a silent breath. “Your brother?”

Yeosang raises both eyebrows when he realizes that Hongjoong’s asking about Seonghwa. He knows that while he has stayed with Wooyoung after the talk he had with Seonghwa —emotional words and conversation that has definitely exhausted him both emotionally and physically, but necessary nonetheless; Seonghwa has stayed with Hongjoong.

He doesn't know if Hongjoong is able to read his thoughts, but Yeosang lifts up the corners of his mouth when Hongjoong offers him a small smile, not needing words to let him know that he's sorry for whatever made him cry before, and that he's glad to see him better.

Well, if thinking about Seonghwa lessens Hongjoong's certainly threatening seriousness, he won't say anything about it.

“He was looking for his tie the last time I saw him...” Strange, he thinks, since first, Seonghwa is the type of person to leave his uniform ready for the next day, and second, it's been more than several minutes since the start of the first period. The first bell of the day has rung and Seonghwa still hasn't shown up, it seems.

Hongjoong hums and the mention of looking for a piece of clothing reminds him that he still has Hongjoong's sunglasses in his pocket. He has planned to give them to him as soon as he saw him but then the photos captured all his attention.

“Thank you,” he tells him, finally offering them to him after taking them out of his pocket.

Hongjoong switches his gaze between him and his sunglasses, and instead of accepting them, he gently pushes them back to him.

“It’s okay, keep them, I have a lot,” he says.

If Hongjoong decides to give them to him because he has seen him crying —although he hasn't seen Hongjoong, he has heard his voice— or simply because he does, he doesn't know it, but he allows a small smile to cover his face, and keeps them in his pocket.

It may sound silly, but he doesn't care. With Hongjoong's sunglasses in his pocket and Jongho's red sweater covering his torso, he feels safer, more protected.

They both go back to taking down the photos, and his smile soon drops as he still can't believe what his eyes are seeing. Not because the image of Yunho and Mingi together surprises him, since he’s been aware of their closeness from the very first moment; but because he doesn’t understand who would take the time to expose them —much less like that.

He shares a look with Wooyoung when they take two photos glued to each other, and that’s enough to know that the other hasn't said a word about it.

“Fucking shit.” They stop looking at each other when they hear Hongjoong. Hongjoong has stopped taking off photos to appear to be destroying the row of lockers in front of him with his eyes. “Fucking shit, I hate this!” the bin doesn't end up getting kicked, but the locker in front of Hongjoong. “Sorry. I— fucking hell, I need to calm down because unlike Mingi I am not harmless.” he says, giving them a look, and turns around to angrily ruffle his locks with his hands.

He doesn't blame him for his obvious irritation. He has known Mingi and Yunho since long before he and Wooyoung, and if he’s upset and clearly angry it isn’t because he found out the truth, but because of how he found out about it. It’s evident that neither Mingi nor Yunho has planned a repeat of the photo.

Wooyoung looks at him and then seems to look behind him, and as a sudden grin replaces his seriousness and he seems to be amused instead of worried like he's been so far, he decides to turn his head.

“How can I help?”

Jongho appears next to him, and he feels the way the corners of his mouth threaten to lift once Jongho offers him a small smile.

“I'll go try to calm down Hongjoong,” He listens to Wooyoung, but he doesn't turn around to look at him.

Jongho seems to look at Wooyoung before resting his eyes on him again, and smiles.

“Hello,” Jongho finally greets him, and Yeosang swallows, his lips stretching a little more to widen his smile because that word reminds him of the way they started the phone call they shared.

“Hi,” he says, and Jongho seems just as delighted with that short exchange of words.

While Jongho's number is listed on his phone, and the lollipops are on his nightstand, the keycard that allows him to enter the hotel room they've previously shared is tucked between his phone and its case. He bites his bottom lip when he notices the way Jongho runs his eyes over him, probably noticing that he's wearing his sweater.

“Taking down these photos,” he adds when he remembers that Jongho has asked him a question —and that the keycard to said room isn’t the only thing hidden between his phone and its case.

Jongho nods and doesn't hesitate to start taking down the photos.

Yeosang glances at him, somewhat curious about his reaction. He’s aware that Jongho and Mingi already know each other, or at least are aware of the other, but Jongho has just arrived at the institution —just like him, in a certain way— so he doesn't know Yunho.

Jongho doesn't raise both eyebrows or seem impressed with the image the photo represents. Jongho looks at him and again they both give each other a small smile.

He has previously wanted Jongho to be close to him again instead of on the other side of the phone line. Now that he has the chance to look at him, he forms a light line with his lips as his arm brushes against his. His head repeats the words that he has expressed to him before, and he prefers to speak as soon as he feels his cheeks begin to burn.

“Come...” Jongho looks at him when he speaks. “Come with me, I have to give you back your things,” he remembers, since just as he thought of returning Hongjoong's sunglasses, he also hoped to see Jongho to return his sunglasses as well as his clothes.

Even if he likes how the sweater hugs his torso and is warmer than the blazer, he can't just keep the sweater.

He rolls his eyes when he sees a picture of Mingi and Yunho taped to his locker. He doesn’t doubt to crumple it up before opening his locker, and takes the bag he's kept Jongho's clothes in to leave it on the floor.

“You could—” He stills his hands on the edge of the sweater when Jongho speaks.

He watches him, noting that his previous trace of a smile has been replaced by a doubtful expression. Yeosang notices that he’s switching his gaze between the photos around them, the bag now left on the floor, his sweater, and him.

“It isn’t an emergency. You can return it to me another day.”

Yeosang frowns slightly, confused since Jongho has previously mentioned that he’s free to decide what to do with the clothes, whether to approach him to return them or keep them.

As comfortable as he's felt wearing Jongho's sweater, he thinks he should return it —even if he thinks that a piece of clothing, well, two, since he kept his t-shirt too, and a pair of sunglasses, won't change Jongho's closet.

But Jongho contradicts his previous words.

“You'll be cold, don't take it off,” Jongho says, and he frowns again, more assertive and less confused, when this time, Jongho insists without him even saying anything.

He stops keeping his hands on the edge of the garment but not to smile and say thank you, how did you know I was cold, I appreciate you letting me wear it. No. Jongho wants to prevent him from taking off the sweater, and therefore from giving it to him, right?

“Are you... do you think I'm dumb?” He can't help but ask.

Cold?

“What?” He thinks that Jongho widens his eyes because he hasn't expected him to realize the intention of his words. “I would never—”

“You just did. You just treated me like I was dumb.” The sweater also covers the pink interruptions on his neck, doesn't it? Hickeys made by Jongho.

“I'm only suggesting another day,” Jongho specifies.

“You want this to be a secret.” he says as soon as he understands the reason for his words.

Is that why Jongho stared at him when he chose that sweater, because he knew that it would hide the traces of the closeness between them? He tilts his head. Is that why he sent one of his bodyguards with his phone number? Nobody knows what was in the bag, right? No one knows that Jongho was the person on the other end of the phone line.

“No.” Jongho shakes his head. “But take a look around us,” Yeosang doesn't need to because he knows he's referring to the photos that still decorate the hallway walls. “I wouldn't want—”

“We are not them.”

He interrupts Jongho because he doesn't doubt that coming across the sudden situation that Mingi and Yunho find themselves in leads him to express those kinds of words, but with his own eyes and ears he has seen and heard Yunho and Mingi pretend.

They have pretended not to get along, not to tolerate each other, only for the repetition of the same photo to prove otherwise, to show the opposite, the reality that they have carefully —though not so cautiously— woven.

“You hesitated when I offered you my hand,” Jongho says.

Yeosang widens his eyes. It’s true that at the time, knowing that some gazes were on them, he preferred to take Jongho's arm instead of his hand. But how does Jongho dare to assure him that he noted that it wasn't a neutral decision?

“One thing is trying to keep low, and another, completely different thing is forcing a secret.”

He wrapped his hands around his arm instead of taking his hand at the gala because he knows how fast people talk and how quickly rumors spread. Is Jongho really subtly asking him to be more discreet when without hesitation he had his dick in his mouth?

“I'm here for a reason.” Jongho stares at him at the same time he lowers his gaze, wondering how it has taken him so long to realize all the reasons behind the circumstances in which he has met Jongho. “You know that.”

Jongho has never expressed it in specific words, but even if Yeosang doesn't blame him for pronouncing them, he does look at him cautiously when he chooses to mention those words at that time.

Since the very beginning he has doubted that Jongho's sudden presence is nothing more than a simple coincidence.

“I can only afford discretion.” Jongho says. “Why do you think I gave you the keycard?” Jongho asks him, and he doesn't hesitate to take a step back, getting Jongho to look at him in bewilderment, once he finally realizes that he's been wrong all this time.

“Because it's a...” He can't even explain his lack of reasoning as a consequence of a lack of affection because Wooyoung has always been there and warmed him when he needed it. “Place to hide, not a... place to be, isn't it?” he asks, and he doesn't really know if he's more disappointed in Jongho or himself.

“No, that's not what—”

“I won't be your secret.” he determines, straightening up. “Now I understand the keycard. Your parents surely bribed all the staff not to say a word, didn't they?” it's not a place to be, but a place to hide, he repeats inside his head. “At least they agreed to make it a secret instead of assuming what the other person thinks.” he adds, pointing to one of the many photos.

Hide, lie, pretend.

He won't do something that hurt him to see Mingi and Yunho do.

He doesn't hesitate to take off the sweater, and even if he feels the lack of it immediately because these days he really doesn't know why the fuck he's so cold, he drops it in the bag and also takes the sunglasses from the locker to drop them into the bag as well.

He doesn’t throw it at Jongho's chest. He may be impetuous and often stubborn, but all this is also his fault for not paying more attention. He doesn't expect dates or chocolates or flowers, he doesn't want any of that. All of that has never been part of the deal, but hiding has never been mentioned either.

“They won't know it's yours. Our deal is off. You forgot to mention the small letters.”

“Yeosang—”

“Isn't it strawberry anymore?” he laughs, but he’s not entertained.

Jongho tries to rest a hand on his arm but he steps away from him.

“I would never be ashamed of you.”

It’s not about being embarrassed or not. He doesn’t consider himself an egomaniac, and despite the appreciative comments he often hears about his facial features, he rarely stops to look at himself in the mirror —he doesn't like his recent version and doesn't recognize himself in it either, so he's done it a lot less lately.

He tries to counter the words they've exchanged over the phone, with a smile on his face, hoping for more, with the lack of enthusiasm that Jongho's attitude brings him.

“It isn't about shame, it's about being tired.”

Jongho doesn't follow him when he turns around, but he isn't surprised. He hasn't expected Jongho to follow him either. If Jongho chooses not to follow him, then he chooses not to stay. Jongho should have clarified the conditions that would follow their deal.

Not sharing? He understands.

Not looking for attention? He understands that too.

But pretend? No.

He thinks he's faking enough already to further overlap his vocabulary with silence.

He gave Jongho the opportunity to tell him no, that the deal between them is over, that they can both forget the night of the gala; he told him more than once. Pretending that nothing exists while it does exist is worse than total absence.

He takes a lollipop out of one of his uniform's pockets when he feels the urge to bite the inside of his cheek, and he scrunches up his nose realizing it's one of the lollipops Jongho has given him —he now understands why he's given him so many of those candies. He's really expected him to keep his mouth busy —shut, rather. He unwraps it and his tongue promptly tastes apple.

He hugs himself and shifts his eyes between the ground and Wooyoung when he spots Wooyoung. Wooyoung doesn't hesitate to leave his eyes on the row of lockers in front of him when he stops next to him.

They've known each other for too long to decipher each other's behavior.

“Were you watching?” he asks, not irritated in case Wooyoung says yes. He's rather embarrassed, actually, because Wooyoung is the person who told him to seek happiness, implying that said happiness means being with Jongho.

He feels anything but happy.

“No, not at all,” Wooyoung answers immediately, but one look from him is enough for Wooyoung to look at him and let out a breath. “Maybe. Something happened?”

“Nothing.” If Jongho wants to pretend that nothing happened, then nothing happened. “He just raised my self-esteem a little...” At least he knows he retains a little self-esteem because he's not willing to be anyone's secret.

“If you say so...” Wooyoung looks at him, not seeming sure. “Aren't you cold?”

“And you? Something happened?” he chooses to interrupt him, since although Wooyoung has looked at him, he isn't with Hongjoong and he's not taking down the photos still present around them.

Wooyoung rests his eyes on them.

“I'm thinking about Hongjoong, and how he would have thought that we were the cause of this if he had known that we already knew about Mingi and Yunho,” Wooyoung says. “He's still trying to cool off, it's clear he's angry. I am too, this isn't fair, but you know what isn't fair either? I complain when people don't trust me but actions are worth more than words, or the lack of them, sometimes. Many times in fact.”

Yes, he definitely agrees with what he hears.

Wooyoung gives him a small smile, and he looks a bit sad.

“I can't expect Mingi and Yunho to trust me simply because. I have to show them that they can trust me.”

He looks somewhat confused at Wooyoung when he starts patting his figure as if he's looking for something and promptly frowns when he can't seem to find it.

“Damn it, I can't find my lighter.” He reaches for his own pockets as soon as he hears the word lighter. “I must have forgotten it because San—” Wooyoung's eyes fall on the lighter he offers him, and he remains intrigued at the mention of San. Wooyoung doesn't avoid San anymore so he hopes they're okay. “And why do you have a lighter?”

“You ask that as if you didn't know that I always carry one in case you lose yours,” he answers at Wooyoung's animated smile, as if carrying a lighter with him isn't a habit he's developed because it really isn't the first time he's heard Wooyoung say that he has lost or forgotten his lighter.

“Aren't you the best?” Wooyoung says, and he raises his eyebrows, thinking that well, at least someone will accept something from him that day.

He promptly continues to look at Wooyoung when Wooyoung takes one of the photos, but this time, instead of crumpling it up and throwing it in the bin, he looks at it and continues to hold it.

“If they want to talk about something, then let's give them something to talk about.” he says, and as soon as Wooyoung looks at him, he understands why Wooyoung has looked for his lighter and lights a small flame at that moment. “You and I have immunity after all.”

He watches the way Wooyoung's pupils light up as Wooyoung brings the small flame closer to the photo and the corner of it promptly starts to burn. He doesn't stop him when Wooyoung tilts the photo to speed up the process and increase its consumption, and promptly leaves the photo in the bin, along with all the other photos they've previously thrown away.

It isn't a scorching fire since he continues to feel cold and a simple movement would suffice to put it out. And yet, he looks at Wooyoung as Wooyoung allows a dramatic sigh to leave his lips.

“Oh no, fire.”

Wooyoung stops being in front of him and he follows him with his eyes until he sees him stop next to the fire alarm. Wooyoung looks at him, and he nods.

He stops hugging himself to cover his ears the second Wooyoung rings the alarm and the loud noise echoes all over the place. Wooyoung approaches him, looking annoyed with the noise too.

“I'm going to look for Hongjoong and I'll see you," he manages to hear Wooyoung tell him.

He quickly loses sight of Wooyoung among all the students that start to appear in the hallway and he doesn't hesitate to get away from the photos that start to be consumed by the fire. At least now Yunho and Mingi will stop being the only topic of conversation.

He finds Mingi standing in the middle of the hallway when he turns around, though. Unlike the others, he doesn't move hastily and he’s not walking at a steady pace and with an irritated expression on his face as he did before.

He’s standing still, with his gaze locked on one of the many photos. Yeosang gets close to him, noting the seriousness that guides his expression as well as the way Mingi keeps his arms at his sides, his hands balled into fists. He doesn't even seem to notice the incessant noise of the alarm or all the people who have appeared.

“Mingi,” he tries to mention his name as softly as he can, but that delicacy is drowned out by the sound of the alarm. Slowly, because he doesn’t want to startle Mingi, he hovers his hand over Mingi’s arms until he settles it on that part of his body. “Mingi.” he tries again, much louder.

The physical contact along with the second pronunciation of his name seems to be enough for Mingi to finally stop staring at the photo to look at him.

“It wasn't me or Wooyoung,” he seeks to express.

He doesn’t doubt that Mingi knows it since with Wooyoung they even tried to stop him from entering the building so as not to deal with the situation, and they have tried to remove as many photos as possible, and they just started the fire alarm, but one never knows where the betrayal can come from, so he adds those words.

“I know you two had nothing to do with this. It was Yunho!”

His hand is no longer on Mingi's arm when Mingi raises it to point down the hall, and from the seriousness in his facial features as well as the anger present in his voice, he understands that perhaps, indeed, the betrayal can come from the least expected person. Mingi just shouted Yunho's name in public, loud and clear, over the sound of the alarm.

“Mingi, let's leave, yes?” Mingi doesn't pull away his arm when he rests his hand on his arm again. This time, to try to ground him. He assumes there must have been a conversation he wasn't a part of for Mingi to sound angry at Yunho instead of looking for Yunho. “Let's go.”

Yes, Hongjoong probably knows Mingi best, but he thinks that the last thing both Mingi and Yunho need to do is argue with each other —or continue to do so— when they're clearly already dealing with too much.

Fortunately, Mingi decides to listen to him because he turns around the moment those words leave his lips. Perhaps because he certainly wants to leave, or perhaps because a part of him, no matter how angry he is, remembers that he doesn't want to hurt Yunho —no matter how much Yunho has hurt him, apparently. He doesn't know it, but he follows Mingi as he walks through the main doors of the building.

The noise of the alarm subsides a bit and students begin to gather at the front doors. He definitely doesn't want to see his mother handle this.

He understands Mingi's decision as soon as they keep walking and he sees Mingi's car's lights on, and as he gets on the passenger side, Mingi gets on the driver's side.

The car drowns out much of the sound, and although he has thankfully just replaced the cold environment with the interior of Mingi's car, he hugs himself again.

He isn't surprised when instead of resting his hands on the steering wheel, Mingi leaves the back of his head against the seat and allows an exhausted breath to leave his lips.

“It's private property so no one will enter here, but the moment I cross the limits of the campus, people will jump on me,” Mingi says.

Yeosang doesn't say a word, understanding why even though Mingi has agreed to walk away, he doesn't seek to get away. He turns his body to face Mingi with it, hugging himself as he moves the lollipop inside his mouth from side to side.

“You're shaking,” Mingi looks at him. “Where's your blazer?” Thankfully he doesn't have to reply that he forgot it after opting to wear Jongho's sweater because Mingi stretches his arm to the backseat to promptly offer him a blazer. “Here, San left his here the night of the—” Mingi sighs, and he takes the blazer. “The night of the gala.”

“Thank you,” he says softly, and his body certainly appreciates the fabric. He believes that he has never been so grateful for San having a broad back. The sleeves cover his hands and he seeks to drown in the fabric.

Mingi doesn't add another word but his facial features convey the emotions present. He looks frustrated and serious, but also tired. It must be weird, getting used to acting a certain way only to have it suddenly spit in his face that he no longer has to worry about pretending. Maybe it would have been liberating, if both he and Yunho had decided to be honest.

But Mingi made him understand that in a certain way, Yunho chose that to happen.

“What do you mean Yunho did this?” He decides to ask him.

A sigh leaves Mingi's lips, and he straightens up in his seat.

It's true that it's hard to trust people, but he has seen the way Yunho cares for Mingi, Yunho himself has thanked him for approaching Mingi only to be a genuine friend and not out of interest, his last name, or his money.

“I heard him saying it to San and he didn't deny it.”

It must be the reason why he has seen Mingi angry in the hallway, he thinks.

“Did something happen when you left the gala?”

“I went to Utopia. I went to his house,” although he now understands why the background of the photos is a manor, he doesn’t understand why they made the mistake of kissing at the door instead of behind it. “We told his dad. I— I didn't think anything else when he kissed me. I didn't pay attention if there was someone, but I didn't think that he— that he would do it for a photo to be taken on purpose. When I told him that I was tired of hiding, I didn't mean this.”

“What did his dad say?” Could it be, that Yunho's father did this?

“He accepted me?” Mingi expresses, confused. “I think. Now I don't know, I wonder if it was him,” Mingi reaches the same conclusion in a matter of seconds. If only he, Wooyoung, and apparently Yunho's father knew about it, and neither he nor Wooyoung have spoken, could it be that Yunho's father is the cause behind that chaotic morning? “Maybe... he forced Yunho to do this and now I turn out to be the idiot, but I'm still angry! Damn it!”

And now part of Mingi's hand does furiously find the steering wheel.

“But aren't your families... not nice to each other? It wouldn't make sense,” as much as Mingi's family isn't in favor of Yunho and as much as Yunho's family isn't in favor of Mingi, it wouldn't suit either of the two families if their respective sons were suddenly shown together while their last names continue to clash.

“I don't know. But I know what I heard. Yunho said he did it.”

Mingi pulls out his phone as it begins to ring, and Yeosang sees the way Mingi throws it into the backseat of the car, clearly choosing not to deal with the consequences of the situation.

“They don't mind that he's a guy. The last name Jeong is what drives them insane.”

He again rests his eyes on Mingi as he adds those words.

Mingi's parents or the press, he doesn't know who will seek to reach him faster.

“It's so weird talking to someone about Yunho.” Mingi looks genuinely confused before looking at him. He doesn’t smile, but the volume of his voice has decreased and he’s able to be inside his car without feeling like he wants to hit anything. “And you? You left too. The night of the gala. Why are you here with me? I’m part of this mess but you...”

“I ran into Jongho.”

The lollipop in his mouth cracks as he utters those words, and he blinks.

“I assume that being with Ministers' children is bad for everyone,” Mingi once again rests the back of his head against the seat.

Bad? He doesn't know it, but he does know that it comes with a price, and it's with that thought, that he lowers his eyes and begins to play with the sleeves of the blazer, pulling on one of the loose threads.

Did he just exaggerate simply for not being able to return three simple items, while at all times Jongho hasn't said anything but the truth, his reality, by saying that he can only offer discretion?

But even so, it doesn't sound fair. Jongho has never mentioned anything about having to pay attention to his surroundings or having to be cautious with what he does and says. He actually decided to get closer to Jongho because Jongho has given him the opportunity to stop paying attention to his surroundings, to forget all the details that surround him to only focus on the requests of his own body.

Who ends up being the hypocrite, Jongho or him? Both of them?

“Do you... remember this necklace?”

Mingi's eyes fall on the flower pendant that he complimented when they first met, and as Mingi nods, the words that Mingi certainly said to him when they first met bring a small smile to his face.

Perhaps neither of them should ever have stopped being on the balcony. Mingi wouldn't have gone looking for Yunho, and he wouldn't have ended the night with Jongho. Mingi talks to him out of convenience, and so does he. Everything would be so easy and simple.

“My dad gave it to me. He recently passed away.” he notes the way Mingi's expression softens as he continues speaking, and he continues to smile because it's the first time that he voluntarily speaks of his father, when previously it hasn't even crossed his mind to do so. “I lost it. I was with Jongho but he found it. We agreed to expect more from each other but...”

He moves the lollipop back and forth in his mouth, acknowledging every bit of the candy to continue sweetening his palate with the bitterness that the words exchanged with Jongho have left over him.

“I already have too many secrets to be considered one.” it’s the truth.

Jongho has seen with his own eyes and heard with his own ears the chaos he created in a single morning. He can't ask him to seek to suppress everything he feels and act cautiously just so they can both be side by side. He can ask him, actually, and he has, too, but he refuses to do it.

His mother already asks him, Seonghwa has done it too. He refuses to have to do it outside of his house, and thinking about it leads him to think that perhaps he's beginning to accept the chaos that he represents, all the swarm of emotions that currently shapes him.

“That's the worst part, you know?” Mingi expresses. “Not being able to just exist with him by my side. Being with him without constantly hiding.”

Yeosang noticed the way others reacted. Unlike him, they were surprised, they looked impressed. He can only wonder how they've been able to pretend for so long, and how no one has questioned the idea that Mingi and Yunho may be more than just heirs to the rivalry between their families. If no one has ever doubted the clash between them, it's because they have simply assumed that the clash between their last names would continue with them.

“It's an irony because now I just want to hide... I want to... protect him.” Mingi’s voice breaks and he feels sad when Mingi leans forward to rest his elbows on the steering wheel to hide his face in his hands.

He tentatively places a hand on Mingi's back because neither he nor Yunho really deserves to be as they currently are. Mingi drops his arms over the steering wheel and allows him to see the sadness in his expression.

“I'm so angry but he was crying and... I don't understand anything anymore.”

As he has guessed, Mingi cares about Yunho.

He’s not surprised. Just as they’ve grown used to pretending, they’ve also grown used to caring for each other —even if they are not currently side by side.

“Wanting to be with someone shouldn't be this complicated.”

This time he leaves his forehead against the side of Mingi's body because no, Mingi is right and it shouldn't be that complicated. Yunho should have a chance to hug Mingi and Mingi should have a chance to kiss Yunho.

“I'm really sorry.” he pulls the stick of the lollipop out of his mouth and exhales. If only he had been a little faster or he had thought better and hadn't allowed Mingi to leave the gala to go find Yunho, nothing would have happened.

“What are you saying? None of this is your fault.” Mingi straightens up and so does he. “We owe a lot to you and Wooyoung.” why? Simply for not telling something they shouldn't? He shouldn't be thanked just for being a good person, for being a good friend. “Yeo, you're shaking way too much.”

He looks down at his hands when he hears Mingi and notices that his hands are indeed shaking. But he's not cold, is he? He looks up when Mingi turns on the heater in his car and takes off his blazer to leave it over San's blazer.

He brushes the fabric with his chin, and tries to form soft fists with his hands, not remembering the last time it was hard for him to deduce if he's shaking because of the cold or because his tremors are acting up. Usually, it's more than easy for him to notice, but he's cold too —much less now with the heater and both blazers.

He glances at Mingi when he hears him let out the slightest chuckle, and finds him looking at the heater button.

“Once, when we still didn't get along very well,” Mingi looks at him, and melancholy seems to guide Mingi's face as he holds a small smile though his gaze only denotes sadness. “Yunho and I went to the same party, a pool party. I was really drunk, and I got into his car all drenched in water just to annoy him, and obviously he didn't let me out of his car until I got completely dry with the car heater. Mind you, it was summer and when I'm drunk, or high, even, everything feels extra hot for me.”

He smiles at the image of Yunho and Mingi looking at each other with genuine disdain, contrasting that scene with the versions of Yunho and Mingi that he knows. He also has several anecdotes that include alcohol, drugs, and Wooyoung, although unlike Yunho and Mingi, they have always looked at each other with a smile.

Fortunately, he only feels a little hotter when he drinks or takes drugs, and his tremors go away—

He widens his eyes and feels his pressure drop as he slides his gaze down to his still trembling hands, which he opens at that moment. Cold and tremors.

He feels hot and his tremors disappear when he gets high.

It's evident that it isn't that cold because no one has been shivering like him or complaining about the autumn atmosphere. Mingi has only turned on the heating for him.

Since when? He doesn't remember any of that happening before Mingi's party. He closes his hands and feels his nails dig into his palms as he remembers that he hasn't been consuming anything since said night. It's like everything is suddenly backfiring on hi—

“Yeosang,” he looks at Mingi and doesn't hesitate to hide his hands in the blazer sleeves when he notices that Mingi is switching his gaze between him and them. “Is everything alright?” Mingi asks.

But why? He has gone much longer periods without consuming anything.

No, no, no.

Thinking that he's better has only been a trick of his head?

“It— it just... amazes me to imagine you two like that at a party,” he decides to answer, forcing a smile.

He doesn't know whether or not Mingi believes his words or if he notices that he doesn't answer his question, but Mingi does make sure to secure the blazers over his shoulders.

“Talking about parties, go to his, okay?”

He looks at Mingi as Mingi says those words. He heard him express holding a Halloween party in Illusion while Yunho has previously made it known that he would hold a party in Utopia.

“Mingi.”

“Go.” he insists.

He doesn't say another word when Mingi shakes him off having to decide which party to attend. He thinks that they should stay together, not pit each other against their respective businesses, but he assumes that Mingi is used to that game.

Mingi blinks and still looks tired and sad, but he still smiles at him.

“Thank you for being here, I needed to calm the fuck down,” Mingi says.

Unfortunately, being accompanied is a risk.

“Thank you for letting me be here with you.” Even if I too, am a mess, he thinks.

Chapter 29

Notes:

thank you so much for 10k+ hits 🥺

Yunho rubs his face with both hands until he remembers that he definitely shouldn't do that unless he wants to turn the glitter around his eyes into a glittery mess.

What usually leads him to keep an animated smile on his face —the customers' voices, the noise of dishes being served, the background music that works as an accompaniment, and the sound of bottles being opened and alcohol being poured; is currently saturating his ears.

Adding the decorations and the flashes of that night, his senses are overwhelmed. And yet, his head doesn't seem to register anything that happens around him.

“Goodnight! The real party has arrived!”

The sudden pronunciation of those words accompanied by a familiar tone of voice that manages to stand out above all the details that press his shoulders with frustration, gets him to stop holding his face in his hands and raise his head in surprise.

“Wha—”

Perplexed, blinking several times doesn’t get the sudden image in front of him to disappear. Despite the makeup and costumes, he recognizes Wooyoung, as well as Seonghwa and Yeosang.

He’s aware that it’s Halloween. He has decorated Utopia with fake spider webs, and orange lights give the place a tetric yet moderated touch. The staff is wearing special makeup and has added subtle details to their outfits, and some of the customers have also chosen to wear more extravagant outfits and makeup that accentuates their facial features.

He's currently wearing a black blazer to show that he's the host of the party instead of another customer. The center shines with lines of crystals that resemble a spider, and in one of the upper corners it holds a small spider made of red and blue crystals —if he bought it and had it made as a little treat for himself to try to lift his mood and because he likes Spiderman, no one has to know.

He’s not surprised by the way Wooyoung, Yeosang, and Seonghwa have shown up, but because he hasn’t expected their presence that night.

“Shouldn't you... be at Illusion?” He can't help but ask.

Utopia is different from Illusion. Despite both being alive at night, once the sun leaves its place in the sky and the lights keep the city alive, they are different. While Illusion is a nightclub, Utopia is a bar and a restaurant.

They are still each other's competition even though the people who go to such places are of different ages. While he's used to seeing long-standing marriages or groups of friends who seem to have known each other for a long time, Mingi offers a good time to people who haven't finished college yet.

Thinking of Mingi only leads him to shrug off his shoulders and swallow, but his eyes follow Wooyoung, Yeosang, and Seonghwa as the three of them approach him.

“San is there and he told me it's because you asked him to,” Wooyoung says.

Indeed, he did ask San to attend Mingi's party, as even if it’s true that the three of them are friends —well, at least he and Mingi are still San's, he still feels guilty about what happened, so luckily San agreed to be near Mingi.

“Hongjoong is the DJ so he had to be there, and Jongho will go for his family,” Wooyoung continues, “So here we are. We may be new, but you deserve to be accompanied too, you know,”

The makeup smeared on Wooyoung's face doesn't stop him from noticing the smile Wooyoung offers him. Black surrounds his eyes and he seems to have extended the outline of his mouth with the same color. Much of his facial features are painted white and his black suit with white details assures him that he’s dressed up as Jack the Skeleton.

Sliding his eyes to Yeosang and watching him wave his hand is enough to understand that he has dressed up as Harley Quinn. He’s holding a bat with his other hand and he seems to have dyed half of his hair blue to offset his pink strands. He looks at Seonghwa and Seonghwa gives him a small smile before looking around him.

He remembers that unlike Yeosang, this is the first time Wooyoung and Seonghwa are at his bar. He scans Seonghwa with his eyes, noticing that he’s dressed up as a mermaid. He’s wearing a white top with white seashell details, as well as what appears to be green shorts that nonetheless cover the back of his legs with what seems to be the end of an added cape or skirt. A short white mesh jacket is draped over his shoulders, he’s wearing sneakers of the same color, and a crown of seashells and white crystals has been left over his blond locks. He believes that the most interesting details are the small blood spatters that decorate the entirety of the costume as well as the makeup present on his hand that denotes an injury.

Yunho is only able to think that while the three look radiant, the place doesn't turn out to be the right place for their respective presences. He looks at Wooyoung, since his presence is the one that has caught his attention the most, and he lets out a breath.

“Why... why are you here?” He can't help but ask. While he hasn't hesitated to form a fake smile as soon as they met, Wooyoung shows up with a genuine smiling gesture. “I definitely haven't been nice to you since the first moment we met.”

Although his smile fades a bit, Wooyoung still chooses to stretch his arm over the counter which separates them and leaves his hand on his arm. The touch feels comfortable.

“It's just... after everything that's happened, and seeing with my own eyes how people reacted, I understand why you would seek to protect your thing with Mingi at all costs, even if it meant distrusting people you don't know,” he says.

He thinks it's not fair how he's distrusted Wooyoung only for his own actions to be what ultimately leads him to form a line with his lips at that moment. He's worked so hard to make his thing with Mingi work, while now all that effort seems to have been for nothing.

“But you know that it doesn't concern me, what matters here is how you are now,” Wooyoung adds.

He'd like to say that he's fine, that his words and his hand on his arm make him feel better, and that the three of them choosing to show up is definitely not a detail that he overlooks. But despite that, he's not able to hold a smile. He feels tense, and alert, and is not enjoying the party he has organized.

“This is a disaster,” he believes that he expresses nothing but the truth.

“What's happening?” Wooyoung asks him.

Yunho allows a sigh to leave his lips.

“My chef has resigned and I’m sure it is because of what happened. I guess I forgot that even though I've learned to tolerate Mingi, this industry is still competitive and not everyone is in favor of—” Getting used to hiding to kiss Mingi and considering him someone competent to fight against doesn't mean everyone thinks like him. “And now the sous-chef is in charge but everything is a mess. I'm suspecting he'll burn all the dishes because he doesn't want to lose his job but he hates everything I've done.”

He again hides his face between his hands, frustrated, no longer caring about the blue and red glitter around his eyes. The employees are loyal to his mother, he knows that, even if his father owns the majority of the actions while he owns the rest. He can't blame anyone for not being in favor of his closeness with Mingi. But everything is a disaster. He's also loyal to his mother, but his actions prove otherwise. He's still waiting for the lights to be turned off and the doors of Utopia to be closed.

The hand he feels on his shoulder stops the start of another breakdown as he thinks of his mother, and he lifts his head to note that Wooyoung has chosen to come around the counter to his side.

“Do you trust me?”

“Mh?”

“Do you trust me?” Wooyoung repeats.

Trust Wooyoung? Wooyoung is in front of him instead of at Mingi's party —even when Mingi has definitely been nicer to Wooyoung than him. Wooyoung hasn’t opened his mouth despite knowing about his closeness with Mingi. He could have used that knowledge to his advantage because his parents also happen to be part of the industry that has tied him to Mingi from the start, but he hasn't. Nightclub, bar, or restaurant. At the end of the day, only one leads the night.

And Hongjoong did mention something about an alarm and a supposed fire, didn't he?

“I do.” he replies, remembering how he saw Wooyoung taking down the photos as fast as possible.

Those words are enough for Wooyoung to wink at him and straighten up. “Okay. Sangie, Seonghwa, stay here,” he tells them before turning back to him. “Show me where the kitchen is,” he asks.

He nods and heads towards the kitchen, trying not to run into any of the servers so as not to turn the night into an even bigger disaster. He doesn't know what Wooyoung plans to do, but his eyes fall on the menu that he offers him at that moment. Wooyoung scans it, and Yunho notices that some of his staff are beginning to take notice of him —not only because his costume is particular, but also because, perhaps, probably, definitely, they know who Wooyoung is.

Yunho is amazed at that precise moment when he realizes, he really realizes that Wooyoung is in Utopia's kitchen. His parents are known for the excellent control and amazing quality of their restaurant chain. He finally understands why Wooyoung has asked him if he trusts him and why he has done the right thing by saying yes.

“You.” Everyone in the kitchen stops what they're doing once Wooyoung speaks. The sou-chef points to himself. “Yes, you, stop being there and go over there, that thing is about to burn this whole place down.” He points to another part of the kitchen where he certainly spots a saucepan emitting smoke. “You,” he points to another of his staff.

Yunho looks at Wooyoung when Wooyoung looks at him, but Wooyoung’s eyes fall on the pen left in the pocket of his blazer, and he promptly takes it in his hand to write down what he thinks are numbers, and hands the napkin to the person he pointed to.  

“Call here. Tell them you're calling on behalf of Wooyoung and ask them for the ingredients for the last two dishes on the list. The ones you have here won't work.”

Yunho bites his bottom lip, not fully understanding the situation but thinking that Wooyoung's words make sense because the people Wooyoung points follow his words without question.

“You take care of the appetizers, and you,” He looks at the sous-chef again. “After taking care of that, watch over the others,” he looks at the rest. “If any of you have a problem with what your boss does outside these walls, or even try to sabotage a single dish tonight, you will have to deal with me.”

Not knowing how else to react, Yunho raises both eyebrows. He feels the eyes of his staff on him but he doesn't seek to counter Wooyoung's decisive words. It's a competition, yes, but if they're more interested in losing their jobs because of the emotions that guide his heart, he won't stop them.

His staff soon return to their assigned tasks, and Yunho doesn't really know if it's because they appreciate him and Utopia or because someone who hopes to prosper in the gastronomic world definitely doesn't want to have a problem with Wooyoung. 

He allows Wooyoung to gently tug on his arm to leave the kitchens and assumes that his face must show his astonishment because Wooyoung gives him a short but shy smile.

“I know... all about suppliers,” Wooyoung comments, scratching the back of his neck. While seconds ago he didn’t hesitate to make himself heard and articulate directions, a current timid smile decorates his face. “I studied everything important before coming here and made some contacts... and my family, that is to say— I mean, me, I grew up in kitchens, I know how this works.”

Yunho lets out a breath —one he's probably been holding since the night started to go downhill—, and careful not to mess up the makeup on Wooyoung's face, he hugs him.

Maybe it's unexpected and sudden and doesn't make much sense because he mistrusted Wooyoung when Wooyoung wasn't even in Seoul yet, and just a couple of nights ago he was talking about Wooyoung with Mingi, calling him entitled and not using a nice tone of voice. But it’s a genuine gesture, which comes from his heart, and he believes that said sincerity is what matters.

And when Wooyoung wraps his arms around his body instead of pushing him away, he allows a smile to finally appear on his face.

“Thank you. It's not a terrifying night anymore,” Wooyoung hardly separates from him to be able to give him a pleasant smile, and even if he wants to continue being surrounded by that warmth, he keeps talking. “But go to Mingi's party. Although I'd better have you stay, don't waste this look in the kitchens. You said it, San is there,” as Wooyoung opens his mouth to probably interrupt him, he keeps on speaking. “I know you are spending time together,” he remembers San mentioning that detail. “Do you know if he's okay? He seems worried lately.”

Despite the frustration still hanging over his shoulders due to his sudden distance from Mingi, he still thinks about the way San hasn’t hesitated to accuse his own father of being the person behind it. He believes that he has made a good decision to keep thinking about that disappointment because Wooyoung forms a line with his lips.

“I think it's something he should tell you when he's ready,” he replies.

There’s definitely something keeping San's mind busy.

He nods, and Wooyoung again places his hand on his arm.

“I'll go, but I came here to tell you that there's a party you have to go to too,” he says. “Come with us?” he tries.

“I won't leave Utopia,” some nights he does leave that establishment to find himself in territory that he shouldn't seek to approach, but Utopia is quite crowded and he fears for the state of the bar if he leaves it. He's afraid to leave, actually. His mother still hasn't said a single word and that silence is what keeps him alert. His mother is never silent, always has something to say. “And I doubt Mingi would want to see me,” even if he did decide to go, he doubts he would be welcome.

“You can't hide in here forever.”

“I know, I just...” He doesn't want Mingi to have the opportunity to show his anger toward him again. Once has been enough for him to keep thinking about the irritation that has taken over Mingi's facial features. Accustomed to his irony, to his sarcasm, he is. But because he knows it's fake, while now, Mingi's bitter emotions are true. “Enjoy the night, okay?”

Wooyoung doesn't seem convinced, but he nods.

“Okay but... can we take a picture?” Wooyoung asks, seeming to have noticed the photographer he's hired for the night. “You shouldn't waste your outfit either,”

He doesn't think it's a bad idea, actually. His blazer is one of the few details that is keeping him afloat, and he would like to have a picture of it. Wooyoung smiles as soon as he nods, and promptly calls Yeosang and Seonghwa over, as well as the photographer. He notices that Seonghwa doesn't stand next to Yeosang, but he tries not to overthink as otherwise his head will be overwhelmed.

The four of them smile, and once again Wooyoung's hand finds his arm.

“Call me if you need anything else?” Although he hopes that nothing will get worse again, he nods. “It's a really nice bar,” Wooyoung adds.

Those words tense him and lead him to smile.

“Thank you, my mom... she left it in my hands,” he says, and swallows because he's not so sure of those words anymore.

Wooyoung gives him a smile and approaches Yeosang and Seonghwa, letting them know that he hasn't been able to convince him to come with them, probably. The three of them greet him, but his eyes fall on Yeosang when, despite starting to walk away with Wooyoung and Seonghwa, he turns around to approach him, as if he had forgotten to tell him something.

“Mingi doesn't hate you,” Yeosang says, and he mentions those words so normally, and Yeosang has always sounded so sincere, that Yunho can't help but part his lips when he hears him. “He was the one who told me to come here,” he adds before holding a small smile and turning around again.

Yunho follows him with his eyes, thinking about the words he just heard.

Could it be, that Mingi told Yeosang to go to Utopia in the same way that he told San to go to Illusion?

He shakes his head. His own ears have heard Mingi’s irritated tone of voice. Even though Yeosang expresses that Mingi doesn't hate him, he doesn't know what the truth is. He only knows that Mingi's previously feigned irritation towards him is now sincere annoyance.

He feels his phone buzz, and he's not excited to think it's Mingi because he promptly inhales a breath of air when he sees that his mother is the one calling.

He doesn't know if it's better or worse, but a grimace guides his face nonetheless. He knows it's only been a matter of time, and he's even impressed that she didn't call sooner. Maybe he's about to find out that he has to end the party right then and there because his mother no longer trusts him, much less to continue leading Utopia. The happiness of seeing Wooyoung, Yeosang, and Seonghwa is soon pushed aside, and he lets out a shaky breath.

It will be worse if he chooses to reject the call, so he accepts the call and brings the phone to his ear.

“Mom?” he asks.

“Well, well, well, you do take calls,” he hears his mother loud and clear.

Hearing his mother's voice is enough to feel the beginning of a lump in his throat. He misses her, a lot, and he would have liked his mother to have been present to support him once he chose to listen to San and didn't attend the rest of the classes. But the reality is that he doesn't know if his mother would have supported him, if she would have held him.

Though he grimaces, he stops being behind the counter so he can talk in private without being disturbed.

“From you? Always,” he has never expected a call from his mother to make him nervous instead of happy, but he will never reject a call from his mother.

“Oh! Nice to know that someone in Seoul still bothers to answer me.”

Yunho allows an exasperated breath to leave his lips as soon as he hears those words. He's more than used to not needing his mother to mention his father to know that she's talking —complaining— about him.

“Dad again?” He asks even though he already knows the answer.

“Ding-ding! Correct answer,” his mother assures him. “I would ask how Utopia is going, but I trust you, and besides, I'm your mom, your super chill and cool mom. Son before business, so, how are you doing?”

He feels the tears pool at the corners of his eyes the second he hears the words I trust you and son before business.

“This phone call isn't a coincidence, is it?” he doesn't care if it's easy for his mother to notice that his voice breaks.

His mother communicates with him frequently and they have never argued about the way she left Utopia to him while she left town with other plans, but he believes that the call and the words she just mentioned are no coincidence.

“Is your father giving you trouble?” His mother asks instead of answering. “Because he sure does give me trouble and we even don't even share a city anymore,” she adds, and Yunho lets out a silent breath.

It's for that very reason that while he's always wondered what it would feel like to hold Mingi's hand in front of others, he's never felt completely desperate to do so. How is he supposed to believe in healthy relationships when his parents are constantly fighting each other?

“Mom.”

“Right, yes. I've seen some articles... I haven't read them, of course, but I have seen them...”  He has never thought that not being in the city of Seoul would prevent his mother from finding out about said articles. He doesn't even want to look up his own name or Mingi's.

He has always imagined himself telling his mother about his closeness with Mingi, while now said opportunity has been taken away from him. He forces himself to inhale a breath when he thinks of his mother, arching an eyebrow, remaining perplexed and confused when she reads his name next to Mingi's, and not precisely because the articles reflect the constant confrontation between them.

The guilt hangs on his shoulders but he swallows. Even if his mother isn't yelling at him, he blinks.

“If you called to judge me, please don't. I know that you have a lot to say because this is your business, this is the family you have always played against, but it's been an awful night already, a terrible week, and the last thing I need is my mom scolding m—”

“No, honey,” his mother interrupts him at the same time that he feels the tears threaten to cloud his vision.

Mingi is mad at him for something he didn't even want to do but anyway did because otherwise Mingi would have been hurt even more. The night is awful, and hearing his mother scolding him on the other end of the line will only lead him to end up the night crying —and besides, listening to his mother, whether it's to scold him or not, reminds him how much he misses her.

“You follow what your heart desires, or whoever your heart wants,” his mother continues, and Yunho blinks. “But it sure took an unexpected path. I just want to make sure you are okay.”

“What?” Although his mother can't see him, he looks around him, confused.

“You were expecting me to tell you to stay away or otherwise I will take Utopia away from you? I brought myself against that family, but you and that boy have nothing to do with whatever problems his parents and I may have.” his mother expresses.

He brings a hand to his chest and lets out a relieved breath when he hears that Utopia won’t stop being under his control. He has certainly thought of his mother calling him out to scold him, to tell him that he has betrayed the family and that he can't take on Utopia if staying close to Mingi is what he wants to do.

“So, I ask you, are you okay?” his mother adds.

If he’s okay? Yunho doesn't know.

Although his mother hasn't expressed disdain for Mingi's name and Wooyoung has managed to keep him from hearing complaints coming from the customer's tables, he can't express that he's ready to hold a smile on his face.

“I don't really know, Mom.”

“Do you want me to take care of it?”

He swallows as soon as he hears the question, and therefore, his mother's implication. Having gotten used to being around Mingi has always made him aware of the power that Mingi's family has. He isn't the son of any minister and politics isn't his area, but he knows that even if his family isn't one of the most powerful in the country, they have their own ways of defending and attacking.

Help from his mother would be helpful, but he thinks her words have already been more than enough. After all his mother is the person who has managed to face the Songs from scratch. She knows how to move the pieces in her favor and how to get the right people to stick with her, but he doesn't want to involve his mother in his mess. Parents against parents and children against children, that’s how it always should have been.

“No, you won't like what you will find if you try,” if his mother getting several social networks to stop combining his last name and Mingi's in the same articles implies his mother finding out that Mingi has cheated on an exam, he prefers to refuse her help. Besides, not only their families are involved, and he doesn't want his mother to try to go against Jongho's mother.

“Then, what about just... ignoring it?” His mother proposes.

“What?”

“You can come here if you want to.”

“And where is here, exactly?”

“Monaco?”

Yunho rubs one of his temples with his free hand.

“Wasn't it Japan last time?”

“See, this is what happens when you don’t travel,” his mother doesn’t doubt to say instead of answering his question. “Your mind will get rotten in that boring university. The world is bigger than you think, and all your problems will be smaller once you realize that. I'm simply offering for you to come here, you know you are welcome to stay with me.”

He knows it.

He knows that there’s always been the possibility of not being in Seoul.

His mother has never forced him to go with her even though she has divorced his father and doesn’t hold any kind of resentment towards him for staying in Seoul with his father, but he also knows that his father doesn't keep him tied to Seoul either. Even if he’s free to be wherever he wants, he has never thought of abandoning the familiarity that the city of Seoul —and its people— represents.

Taking a plane and leaving his problems behind sounds promising and interesting, like the best possible plan, actually, the ideal situation, but he doesn't think he'll be able to leave Utopia, nor do the people he's used to seeing.

“I really miss you, Mom, I really do, but I don't think I can leave,” he decides.

“I understand, and I miss you too. Just, he better treat you well, okay? And you treat him well too.”

Yunho parts his lips to express that while his mother thinks that he’s facing the sudden situation with Mingi by his side because they are both the protagonists, Mingi is currently far away; but he chooses to remain quiet about it.

“Yes, Mom.”

“Kiss Utopia for me, and call me if you need me, okay? Regardless of the time zone, I am here for you.”

He nods even if his mother doesn't see him, and assures her that he will before hanging up. He allows himself to let out a breath, relieved that Utopia's lights won't be turned off and the doors won't be locked.

Considering that he's been talking with his mother for several minutes, he returns to Utopia’s main space after blinking several times, hoping it isn't noticeable that he's been about to cry. He finally allows a small and sincere smile to cut through the seriousness of his face as he brings his index and middle fingers to his lips, and then rests his fingertips on the marble of the place.

First his father, then his mother. He thinks it's ironic.

He has spent so much time thinking about the reactions of his parents in case they find out that he has a close relationship with Mingi, he has worried so much about the words that both of them could say to them, to him, while now, having the approval of both, Mingi couldn't be further from him.

His mother's offer keeps spinning around his head, but he promptly forces himself to shake it off as he focuses on the details around him.

Mingi or not, he has Utopia. He can't leave.

---

Despite the headphones around his head and the play of lights highlighting the people around him and their distracting costumes, Hongjoong makes sure to keep an eye on Mingi and San.

While Mingi seems to be beyond bored at his own party, holding a serious expression instead of a smile as a product of all the events that have led him to throw a party, San doesn't take his eyes off Mingi either.

Hongjoong doesn't quite know what to do. He has made the costume that Mingi is currently wearing and has played all of his favorite songs, but Mingi still can't hold a smile on his face. He somehow can't express being surprised, since San told him that Mingi has probably —no, definitely— organized the party they are at just to antagonize Yunho.

While a part of him feels guilty because he wants to know how Yunho is doing, another part of him doesn't remove the headphones from around his head to end his night in Illusion.

He knows that Yunho is the cause behind the photos, that Jongho's mother is the real culprit, and that apparently Yunho's scholarship has never been a real scholarship. He knows more than Mingi because as San has said, and he agrees, Yunho himself should tell Mingi about such details.

Jongho is not present —weird, he thinks, since he has no doubt that his and Mingi's family want them both to stay close to each other. His absence makes him wonder if it's a strategy after what his mother did to Mingi, and therefore, Yunho. He doesn’t know. What he does know, though, is that his friends were hurt, and if he's upset it's not because Mingi and Yunho never told him and San the truth, but because the chance to tell them the truth for themselves has been taken from them.

Mingi and Yunho are avoiding each other now, that's obvious. The atmosphere is not the best and he's angry because he couldn't protect Yunho and Mingi, but he still allows a small smile to guide his face when he changes the song. The night is long and he believes that at least someone must smile.

He only feels his smile widen when he thinks of playing circus music to make Mingi laugh. It did make Seonghwa smile and laugh, so it might work out with Mingi too.

He stops keeping his gaze on San and Mingi as he looks down to grab one of the many candies that he left in the bowl next to his equipment. He looks up and tilts his head when he notices that San has stopped looking at Mingi after looking the other way, seeming both intrigued and frustrated.

His eyes follow the same direction, and he allows a short breath to leave his lips as the frustration of not finding Yunho's face —he doesn't know what would have happened, but it sure would have been a great plot twist— is quickly replaced by intrigue when he understands why San looks just as curious.

He recognizes Wooyoung, looking around excitedly, pointing out the details that characterize the place for that night while Yeosang nods. Hongjoong feels the candy in his mouth threaten to slide itself down his throat as he denotes that Seonghwa is with them.

He pats himself —slaps, actually, and quite hard— on his chest to stop the candy from threatening his throat, and clears his throat.

He thanks himself for making good decisions, and not just because he just avoided choking on candy. He has chosen to dress up as a pirate but the idea of wearing an eyepatch was discarded so that it wouldn’t be difficult to use his headphones or look at the laptop in front of him. He really thanks himself for not blocking his own view, as it gives him the chance to rest both eyes on Seonghwa.

From where he stands, he’s unable to visualize Seonghwa's costume, though he notices the crown of white details sitting amidst his dark blond locks. The seriousness of his face makes him wonder if a possible argument broke out between him, Yeosang, and Woooyung even though the three of them arrived together, but soon enough he shakes off that concern when Seonghwa's eyes meet his.

Hongjoong wishes he hadn't removed his hat from his costume —maybe it wasn't a very smart choice but he always likes to dress up as a pirate. However, he opts to take the hat that he left next to him and brings it to his head only to promptly take it off and appear to greet Seonghwa with it.

Fortunately, a small smile interrupts Seonghwa's seriousness, and he’s pleased when he sees him get away from the others to head towards him.

A sudden frown takes over his face as he’s aware of the beginning of the smile that his lips began to draw. Seonghwa showing up and choosing to head towards him despite all the options available in the entire party made him happy.

He shakes his head slightly, and his expression softens as he takes off his headphones once Seonghwa is close enough to him.

“I knew you like my mus—”

This time, almost choking on candy isn't what makes him stay silent, but Seonghwa himself.

A mermaid. He’s dressed up as a mermaid.

The seashells that make up his crown decorate the white color of his top, there’s a mesh jacket draped over his shoulders, and his green shorts resemble a skirt and as such a mermaid tail since the back is longer. He smiles, both consciously and unconsciously, thinking that Seonghwa has previously expressed liking skirts.

“I knew you liked my music,” he finally gets to say.

Being more aware of the rhythm of his heartbeat than the rhythm of the music, he pretends to change something on his laptop to give himself a few seconds to collect himself.

Seonghwa looks good, really good.

“Good to see you, I heard you were going to another party with another DJ,” he adds without needing to raise his voice because Seonghwa approaches him.

He actually expected Yunho to show up with the three of them after Wooyoung sent him a text stating that he would try to bring —convince— Yunho, but he says those words simply because.

He can't help the way his eyes inevitably slide to Seonghwa, noticing the blood spatters on his costume that turn his outfit into one suitable for Halloween night. Fortunately —fortunately?— the music brings Seonghwa closer, and the small distance allows him to denote the green glitter around his eyes as well as the chocker around his neck, a small white seashell present in its center.

“Did you miss me already?” Seonghwa's voice reaches his ears.

Hongjoong allows a snort to leave his lips. Miss him? Well, he's certainly glad to see that Seonghwa has agreed to be at a party, and go out instead of staying at home. He remembers him sad, with a downcast expression and his gaze lost in the image that the windows of the indoor pool of his building offer.

Just like he told Seonghwa before, he’s allowed to have fun too.

He glances at the laptop again, this time to make sure it will still play music, and looks at Seonghwa to signal him to follow him.

There's a glass partition behind the DJ booth, it allows him to view the rest of Illusion but also provides privacy by being a restricted section. Mingi, Yunho, and San spend their time there every now and then, whenever they get tired of dancing with other people. He has spent many nights looking over his shoulder from time to time, spotting Yunho with his arms folded and a frown after no longer wanting to see Mingi even though he's never opted to leave. They really didn't get along before.

Now, though, by himself he hears the volume of the music go down.

“You look good, Park, that's all,” he decides to admit out loud.

He slumps into one of the corners of one of the available couches and Seonghwa sits next to him instead of far away, or on another couch, even.

His eyes drift to the way Seonghwa crosses his arms —more like hugs his body at his words. He frowns slightly when he catches a glimpse of the gauze covering one of his hands, but Seonghwa's voice leads him to look up at him.

“You too.” The smile that Seonghwa gives him is minimal.

Hongjoong looks at himself when he listens to Seonghwa.

He believes that compared to Seonghwa, his costume is simple. Black boots and pants of the same color, a white poet shirt with suspenders, and a dark green coat that holds an armband that assures that he’s the captain. He could have done something more and better considering he likes fashion, but blame him, he's lazy sometimes.

“Are you cold?” It occurs to him to ask when he looks at his coat. He takes off the item even if Seonghwa never answers, and he leaves it around Seonghwa's shoulders.

Once again his eyes fall on one of Seonghwa's hands as Seonghwa grabs the edge of the coat so it doesn't stop shielding his body. The details of his hand look excellent.

“It looks so real,” he can't help but say.

Although Seonghwa holds a small smile at the comment, he seeks to hide said hand, taking in his favor the coat now draped over his shoulders.

“Advantages of liking makeup,” he offers. “You’re wearing as well,”

Hongjoong raises one corner of his mouth at the thought of his makeup. It's nothing flashy. Just a bit of dark eyeshadow and sharp black eyeliner.

“Want a drink?” He seeks to offer.

Seonghwa is acting weird and he doesn't know if it's because he has chosen to attend a party again. He hasn't made any sarcastic comments and the size of his smile is minimal. His situation with Seonghwa improved after offering him a drink the other time, he seemed to like the strawberry flavor, but Seonghwa shakes his head at that moment.

“I have strawberry cigarettes if you want one,” he says.

He doesn't quite know why, or maybe yes, since he knows that Seonghwa will consume what has strawberries, even if he just denied a drink. He blinks, realizing the details he's learned to take into account when it comes to Seonghwa.

“Will you offer me strawberry drugs too?”

He leans back, a little surprised when Seonghwa sounds serious, but he tilts his head.

“I mean... no... I don't know if those exist...” he's only able to offer.

Seonghwa lets out a sigh, and thankfully shakes off the seriousness that seems to have taken over him.

“Those exist? The... the strawberry cigarettes I mean...” He nods as he listens to Seonghwa. “I wouldn't... want to waste one.”

So you do want one, Hongjoong thinks.

He allows his lips to form a soft line as he deduces Seonghwa's words as another way of expressing that he doesn't want to be a burden. Seonghwa constantly thinks of his own comments as well as his presence as a nuisance, he has noticed that too.

“We could share one,” he proposes.

He’s aware that he usually shakes his head when Mingi asks him if he has cigarettes because he doesn't want him to ruin his health, and that even if he did agree to give him one, he never offered to share one with Mingi for the closeness that that implies. 

But a fleeting glance at Seonghwa's lips assures him that he doesn't regret his words. He looks up, thinking what he just thought, and swallows when Seonghwa nods.

He doesn't even need to light the cigarette for the closeness to lessen, as his cigarettes and his lighter are in one of the pockets of the coat Seonghwa is currently wearing. He feels Seonghwa's eyes follow his movements, and though he seeks to be neutral, he feels his heartbeat mimic the beat of the music when he takes his cigarettes.

He leaves the pink tip of the cigarette between his lips, wondering if Seonghwa is looking at him because the color attracts him or because his mouth does. He lights it up, and takes a drag, watching Seonghwa as the corners of his mouth turn up.

Really, he's gotten used to him being the one to annoy Seonghwa, which is why he now blows smoke into his face, holding back a grin as Seonghwa grimaces and waves his hand slightly around him.

“You are a tease,” Seonghwa expresses.

Hongjoong shrugs instead of denying those words. Maybe he is. Maybe he is when it comes to Seonghwa. But it’s also true that he has promised to share a cigarette, so he takes another drag.

Seonghwa doesn't move, and his eyes fall on his choker. He slowly brings one of his hands closer to said accessory, and Seonghwa doesn't object when he gently hooks his finger on it to pull him closer to him.

Seonghwa parts his lips at the same time he covers said accessory by wrapping his hand around his neck. He makes sure to keep the touch soft, light, he just wants Seonghwa to stay still so the smoke isn't wasted. His eyes fall on the plumpness and pink color of Seonghwa's lips, and he purses his lips to blow the smoke into his mouth.

He is aware, he is too aware of the details around him, or better said, he is too aware of Seonghwa. Seonghwa's face completely close to his, his lips a short distance from his, his hand around Seonghwa's neck. He likes the feeling that the contact between Seonghwa's neck and his fingers gives him.

Seonghwa holds his gaze as he accepts the smoke that finds his still-parted lips and then his throat, and doesn't seek to increase the distance between them. Hongjoong only feels capable of wondering if Seonghwa's mouth has always been tempting and he has never realized it by focusing on his ironic words instead of his lips.

He lowers his gaze when he notices that despite being side by side, close, extremely close, close as they have never been before, even if from the beginning they haven’t hesitated to lean towards each other so that their firm words are easy to hear; Seonghwa hasn't left any hand on his body.

He swallows, and again looks at Seonghwa.

He moves his thumb across his neck, softly, balancing the ruin that the freshly inhaled smoke implies with his delicate touch, and the music booms against his ears as the sprawl of the club couldn't matter less with how close they are to each other at the moment.

Moving just an inch would be enough to catch Seonghwa's lips with his, and he knows it.

Seonghwa must know it too, because he doesn't seem to notice the way his hand promptly leaves his neck, and as soon as he's about to catch Seonghwa's lips with his and let temptation embrace him, he lowers his hand until he catches Seonghwa’s hand with it and gives it a gentle squeeze.

He doesn't hesitate to pull apart the second Seonghwa is unable to avoid the hiss that leaves his mouth.

“Advantages of liking makeup, mh?” Hongjoong asks him, throwing him a serious look. Even if got away first, Seonghwa is the one who ends all contact between them after withdrawing his hand from his grasp, and grabs it with his other hand. “It looks real because it is real.”

He worries, he worries because he has barely touched Seonghwa's hand but that slight contact is enough for Seonghwa to not be able to glare at him even though he's trying because his hand hurts.

“Don't say a word.” Seonghwa says, and turns his head to exhale the smoke offered to then look back at him. Hongjoong frowns, his eyes falling on Seonghwa's injured hand. “Hongjoong.” he quickly looks up when Seonghwa speaks again.

He doesn't stare at Seonghwa because his seriousness has been replaced with concern, but because it's the first time Seonghwa says his name ever since they first introduced themselves.

“Promise me you won't say a word.” Seongwha asks him.

Hongjoong runs his hand through his red locks, puzzled.

Vulnerable. Seonghwa is vulnerable as otherwise he wouldn’t have voiced his name.

“I'm a pirate, I keep my word.” he offers. As ironic as it may sound, he thinks.

Seonghwa lets out a short breath, seeming relieved, but Hongjoong keeps looking at him because he just promised to stay quiet just so Seonghwa doesn't choose to back off.

“You didn't go to class the other day.” He points to his hand with his head. “Does it have to do with that?”

Instead of answering, Seonghwa looks down and once again tries to take advantage of the coat on his shoulders to hide his hand behind it, even though he has already realized that it's not makeup.

The only thing Seonghwa offers him is the lack of an answer.

“Fine, you don’t say a word either, but I'll wrap this up earlier and we’ll go to the hospital to check that out.” Seonghwa watches him as he pronounces those words until his eyes slide to the cigarette he offers him. “Have it. You clearly need it more than me.”

Seonghwa accepts the cigarette but doesn't put it in his mouth.

Hongjoong crosses his arms to let him know that he is not satisfied with that exchange of words. He is worried. He won't smile just because they are at a party. Why does Seonghwa have an injured hand and seeks to hide it? Why does he even avoid expressing why he got hurt in the first place?

“If it hadn't been for my hand,” he agrees to part his lips when Seonghwa brings the cigarette closer to his mouth, and though he told him to keep it, he doesn't move away when Seonghwa leaves the cigarette between his lips to allow him to take a drag. Seonghwa promptly takes it to his mouth as well to copy him, and looks up at him. “Would you have kissed me?”

Hongjoong allows an honest and wry laugh to leave his lips.

“Trying to distract me?” He asks instead of answering.

“Honest question.”

“We are talking about honesty now.” Seonghwa stops looking at him as soon as he understands the lack of logic between not offering honesty and asking for it. 

Hongjoong exhales the smoke, and swallows. Is he supposed to be honest with Seonghwa when he's barely honest with himself? It's not the first time that he hasn't felt able to take his eyes off him, right?

He remembers that Seonghwa mentioned that Jongho thought that they are boyfriends simply because they seem to keep looking at each other. Well, not remember, but think back on those words because he hasn't been able to stop thinking about them ever since Seonghwa made him aware of them.

Seonghwa has really captivated him from the beginning, hasn't he?

Either gazing at Seonghwa when he walked down the halls, looking at him seriously because Seonghwa's presence irritates him —irritated him— or because he certainly has always found Seonghwa attractive, his eyes have never stopped following Seonghwa.

“Did you know that mermaids lure pirates into their arms?” he offers.

Tempted, that's how he feels when Seonghwa looks at him again. He should find himself with his headphones around his head, his eyes on the screen of his laptop, and his attention on the music. And yet he is with Seonghwa.

Tempted, he can’t find any other word because he shouldn't want him, he shouldn't be attracted to him, and he should have dismissed Jongho's words as soon as Seonghwa mentioned them. He should have forgotten about them instead of allowing them to continue spinning around his head, thus causing his heart to change as well.

“They are deadly and beautiful.” he adds.

Seonghwa is beautiful. He's admitted it in his head since the first time he saw him, and never dared to even think otherwise just because Seonghwa has counteracted the beauty of his face with the ugliness of his wry words.

“Actually, it's sirens and sailors.” of course Seonghwa corrects him. “But pirates are known for falling into temptation, aren’t they, Captain?”

Seonghwa follows his question with the smoke that slips past his lips.

Hongjoong allows a dry chuckle to leave his mouth, and unfolds his arms.

It's true what Seonghwa says, but it's also true that the captain of a ship is always the bravest person of all, isn't it?

He doesn't take Seonghwa’s chocker to pull him closer, but he does leave his hand on his jaw. He doesn't part his lips with the intention of blowing smoke into his mouth, but he does open his mouth.

“Deadly,” his word tickles Seonghwa's mouth and he seals their lips together.

Isn't it brave to act on the desires that hunt one?

A subtle trace of strawberry is the guest of their kiss and he finally allows himself to fall, into temptation, into confusion, into madness, even, because for more than one reason Seonghwa has been driving him crazy ever since he entered his life.

Seonghwa can’t hold any part of his body as he sports an injured hand and holds a cigarette with the other, but he doesn't care. He keeps the distance between them reduced for both of them, knowing that Seonghwa would rather keep his mouth busy with his than a cigarette, and for him, that's more than enough.

His ears feast on the pleased hum that echoes in Seonghwa's throat, and he thinks of his closeness to Seonghwa, of his coat draped over Seonghwa's shoulders, of Seonghwa voicing out his name.

“And beautiful,” he murmurs against Seonghwa's lips as he leaves a millimeter.

He doesn't need to have a compass in his hands to know that everything points to Seonghwa. Not when once his lips stop meeting Seonghwa's, Seonghwa's rapid breathing tickles his lips and his eyes shine —and it's not because of the glitter that decorates his eyes or the colorful lights of the place.

The sudden change of music reminds him that he’s in a nightclub. Illusion, to be more precise.

“I—” It was a kiss, it was just a kiss. It isn’t the first time that he has kissed someone. But if it was so simple, if it was just a kiss, why is it so hard for him to compose himself? He clears his throat. Maybe it wasn't just a simple kiss. “I really would love to continue with this but I'm the DJ,” he gets to articulate.

“It’s okay, I have to take care of something,”

Alluring, desirable. They both stand up at the same time, and his eyes follow Seonghwa when he turns around, but Seonghwa stops and turns around again to approach him. Seonghwa pecks his lips, and blinking several times, he once again follows Seonghwa with his eyes as he walks away from him, with his cigarette in hand and his coat draped over his shoulders. Taking a part of him, Hongjoong believes, while his lips host the lingering taste of Seonghwa.

Take care of something? Why does he care so much?

He wonders why he cares so much as Seonghwa blends into the crowd and he puts on his headphones.

The music that infiltrates his ears doesn't cover the sound of the altered beating of his heart.

Chapter 30

Notes:

i know it may sound repetitive but please remember to pay attention to the tags

Mingi again glues the champagne bottle to his mouth to allow said sparkling drink to travel down his throat. His palate has already gotten used to the bubbly sensation while his face to the serious expression that guides it.

He wipes one of the corners of his mouth with his thumb. Instead of wondering how much he has already taken from the bottle, he thinks of all the times Yunho has caressed the corners of his mouth with his fingers —his bottom lip too.

Once again he takes another long sip from the bottle present in his hand as his head shows him a repertoire of images about Yunho. While around him people dance and have fun, he stays with his arms on one of the railings that separate the various sections of Illusion.

He doesn’t waste time looking around, hoping to come across a handsome and familiar face. He won't find Yunho even if he stands out because of his height. Yunho isn’t there, he knows that.

The crown perched on his bluish locks threatens to fall as he tilts his head, and he promptly brings his free hand to it to accommodate it before leaving his arms on the railing again.

He doesn't feel like a princess.

Where is his prince charming, his true love kiss, and his happy ending? He only has an almost empty bottle of champagne, a plastic crown on his head, and a jumble of emotions in his heart as well as in the pit of his stomach.

He doesn't even remember if he's a princess or a bride —a widower, perhaps? he wonders as he lowers his eyes to his pink outfit and sees it splattered with fake bloodstains. He looks at his free hand but no ring decorates his ring finger. Maybe he has taken it off? He may have already thrown it away, he doesn't remember.

He feels alone, betrayed, abandoned, and a princess shouldn't feel that way.

He lets out a breath, and decides to straighten up. Princess or widower, who cares about him? He has neither a prince nor a husband, and surely Hongjoong has devised that costume for him with that idea in mind, but Mingi believes that he doesn't need someone or anyone, he needs Yunho.

Don't call me boyfriend, Yunho told him. Deciding to throw a party that night should make him feel better, but it doesn't. He should be dancing, enjoying the night, and smiling, but he's not.

Why? He can only ask himself, why?

He can accept the mock irony as well as the pretended disgust, but the real pain? Why would Yunho seek to hurt him, to hurt them? Or it could be, perhaps, that it's not Yunho's fault, but his for not having been able to differentiate the truth from the lies?

He pulls out his phone but doesn't have any texts. Instead of focusing on the lock screen that Yunho represents, his eyes fall on the small zipper bag that fell to the floor after taking his phone. He frowns, and crouches down to then blink several times in a row once the bag is in his hand, the champagne in his system causing him to feel slightly dizzy when making those movements.

A pill? Why would he have a pi— the one Wooyoung gave him at his other party.

He licks his lips, thinking that Yunho was present on that occasion, expressing that he expects him to choke on said pill while away from the eyes and ears of others, he has taken care of him.

Yunho takes care of him and he takes care of Yunho.

Where is Yunho?

Maybe he will know the truth if Yunho can't refuse to take care of him. He promptly takes the pill to his mouth, and this time the champagne that travels down his throat is accompanied by the pill. But how will Yunho take care of him if he is not present?

He has to see Yunho.

He leaves the bottle —it feels light— on the table, and intends to move among the people to leave the establishment when a sudden hand on his arm holds him back. Yun— no, San, he realizes when he turns around. He shouldn't even have gotten his hopes up.

“Where do you think you are going?” San asks him.

Mingi frowns. Isn't the answer obvious?

“My car.”

“No, this is your party.”

“I just want to talk to Yunho,” Yunho, Yunho, Yunho, is all that his head repeats. “How rare...” An inevitable giggle leaves his lips, “Is it to hear me say that?”

“Then wait till tomorrow.”

“I want to talk to him now.” he insists. “Now, now, now—”

“No.” The grip on his arm tightens. “You are drunk.”

Mingi snorts. Drunk? He blinks several times, the lights blending with the dancing silhouettes of the people around him. Probably. It doesn’t matter, he needs to talk to Yunho. He looks down at his arm because San's hand on it is what prevents him from going to see Yunho.

“I'll just... go to the bathroom but... you can't come to the bathroom with me, I know we are best friends and all but—”

“I don't want you to do something stupid.”

“I won't... no, I won't...” wanting to be with Yunho is not something stupid, it's a habit. “Yeosang and... Wooyoung are though... drunk, they were fighting just now,” he says.

“What?” San looks confused, “They were just— ugh. Don’t move and stay here.”

Mingi once again lowers his gaze to his arm once he’s free of any hold that prevents him from leaving his own party. He stays still until San disappears from his field of vision.

“Nope,” he shakes his head even if San doesn't see him. “I'm definitely not doing that.”

He moves among the people, frowning at the lack of space and air until he puffs once he's out of the nightclub. A slight breeze clears his head a bit, and he promptly finds a pink detail. He allows a hiss to leave his mouth when he feels something hit his head as he gets into the car, and runs one of his hands through his locks before fixing his crown and starting the engine.

Yunho, he has to see Yunho.

---

Yeosang allows an excited smile to caress his face and claps, delighted as he notices the yellow candy flower he expected to see when he ordered the drink. He saw that someone else asked for it and agreed with Wooyoung that he orders the drink so he can eat the candy and Wooyoung gets the drink.

He grabs it but doesn’t get to eat the candy as a sudden yet familiar voice stops him.

“Hey,” He turns his head to look at San. “Where’s Wooyoung and why were you two fighting? Are you two okay?”

He tilts his head at the question he hears, and pointing not that far away from where he’s is enough for San to slide his gaze and find Wooyoung enjoying the music. 

San looks back at him, seeming confused.

“Wooyoung is there dancing and we weren't fighting,” he replies.

“But Min— just— ugh, that dumb— shit— awesome.”

He blinks as San rolls his eyes, caresses his hair, and leaves without adding another word. The gesture felt nice so he shrugs, deciding not to pay attention to the words heard unless he wants to keep getting confused.

His eyes fall on the candy and he smiles, but again is interrupted. Although this time, not because another familiar voice reaches his ears. He watches the way the drink in front of him is taken to be pushed away from him, and he thinks that perhaps it’s Wooyoung deciding to have the drink, until he looks up.

“What even?” He doesn't try to reach for the drink but he frowns when he sees Seonghwa.

“I thought we'd be honest with each other.” Seonghwa determines.

Yeosang decides to eat the candy before being interrupted again, yet the sweet taste is not enough to eliminate the confusion that Seonghwa's words cause him.

Seonghwa looks serious, mad, even, and he doesn't remember doing anything to irritate him —surprisingly. Seonghwa’s been quieter and more withdrawn than usual, he has noticed that, so perhaps he had a fight with someone else and is confusing the person —he wouldn't be surprised if Seonghwa's unconsciousness put him in the middle of all his arguments.

“Are you drunk?” he asks Seonghwa.

This time he does try to take the glass to get it back from Seonghwa, but Seonghwa holds it back.

“No. Are you high?”

“What?”

Perhaps Seonghwa just appeared next to him because he was high the last time they were there? He forms a soft line with his lips, thinking that while he has needed to take drugs to be able to have fun, or at least entertain his head with other kinds of thoughts, at that moment he hasn’t thought of adding drugs to the mix.

Actually, he hasn't been thinking about it all night, until now.

Seonghwa stares at him.

“I found your drugs.”

Yeosang stiffens and is sure that the shiver that runs through his body, replacing all traces of heat provided by the environment around him, is due to the words he hears and not because he hasn’t been consuming drugs.

How come he— he holds Seonghwa's gaze when Seonghwa only needs to continue to stare at him to assure him that he's heard him correctly instead of imagining the sentence that has just left his mouth.

“W— what?”

“And I'm not giving them back to you.”

“You were searching through my stuff?” Even if he curls his hands and leaves them in his lap, and is aware of the nervousness that accompanies his tone of voice and the guidance of his heartbeat, he frowns.

Does he blame Seonghwa or himself for leaving the box in the backpack? He hasn't even realized that it stopped being here.

Give them back? Seonghwa has taken the box, then?

“You won't even deny it?”

“You want me to deny it? You just asked me to be honest.”

Seonghwa scoffs. “I asked you if you were consuming and you said no!” Seonghwa's voice echoes above the music. He believes that he has stopped paying attention to those around him ever since Seonghwa mentioned finding his drugs.

“It's none of your business.”

“It is! Yeosang!” He gets startled when Seonghwa exclaims his name.

He widens his eyes, alert when the exclamation of his name reminds him that this isn’t the first time that Seonghwa scolds him, and that in fact, Seonghwa didn’t hesitate to scold him for the same cause in that same place.

But this time, instead of covering his ears and getting away from him, he stays in his place when Seonghwa seems to take a long breath of air to then exhale it. Seonghwa must have figured out that exclaiming his name isn’t a smart decision unless he wants a repetition of actions previously carried out.

“I just want you to know, you to be aware that drugs are bad for you, even more so when you mix them with alcohol.” Seonghwa says, calmer now, and leaves the glass completely out of his reach.

He forms soft fists with his hands, unable to prevent frustration from settling on his shoulders. Will Seonghwa assume that he's on drugs all the time now? He's actually dealing with the consequences that not taking anything is bringing him, and yet here he is, being accused of getting high when surprisingly he isn't.

“I didn't take any tonight.” He can't have the opportunity to enjoy a single night.

He has wanted to be well because Yunho and Mingi are not okay. He didn’t order the drink for him. Being accused of doing something that he's resisting only leads him to think that he shouldn't even try to get better, and should just allow himself to be distracted as he wants if nothing he does is worth it.

“It's not just for tonight. Unfortunately, I don't know if I can believe you or not.”

Irritated with Seonghwa, and with himself too, he believes, for not having been more careful when hiding the drugs, he stops sitting on one of the bar stools. He takes drugs, it's a bad thing. He doesn't do drugs, it's not worth it. Whatever he says, it doesn't matter.

“Then don't waste your time and leave me alone.”

He intends to walk away but Seonghwa's hand on his arm stops him. And surprisingly enough, when he turns to glare at Seonghwa, he notices that he has softened the seriousness of his facial features.

“I don't want to leave you alone.”

“Why were you searching through my stuff?” Why does Seonghwa ask him to be honest if he himself shows that he doesn't trust him by rummaging through his stuff? “Hoping to find what? Dr—”

“I wasn't.” Seonghwa assures him. “I wasn't. I was trying to find my tie.”

Part of the tension leaves his shoulders upon hearing that Seonghwa hasn't been searching through his stuff on purpose, that he found his box by accident. He tilts his head slightly, wondering if finding his box is the reason why Seonghwa has subsequently skipped classes and acted distant.

He frowns. Seonghwa now has his box.

“Are you going to tell Mom?” He can't help but ask him, and tries to control the fear that embraces his body at the mere image of Seonghwa showing the box to their mother. “We are not the only ones keeping things from her.” he doesn't hesitate to add as soon as Seonghwa opens his mouth, probably to say yes.

He assumes that it’s only fair. While his mother lies to them, so do they —or at least he does.

“I won't tell her but I won't give them back to you,” he doesn't know if he feels lucky or not because of the words he hears. “I was so stupid when I assured Wooyoung that you weren't taking any,” Seonghwa lets go of his arm and shakes his head.

Seonghwa and Wooyoung have talked about him and drugs?

If Seonghwa expresses assuring Wooyoung that he doesn't use drugs, is it because Wooyoung has said yes, that he does? He supposes he shouldn't be surprised because many times Wooyoung is able to figure him out without requiring him to speak a word, but he doesn't know what to think. Maybe Wooyoung isn't surprised because Wooyoung himself has offered him a pill after all.

Stupid? He thinks Seonghwa is stupid for thinking that he would deal well with the situation he finds himself in —they find themselves in, actually. Seonghwa himself has said it before, he has thought that a change of city would do him good.

“First day of class.” he decides to express although at no time has Seonghwa asked him a question. Even before, he's sure.

There have been so many situations where he has felt the urge to cloud his senses because he didn’t want to feel saturated, that he’s not able to remember the first time he chose to leave a film under his tongue.

“That's how bad I've been dealing with all of this.” he adds.

Seonghwa looks both exasperated and disappointed, and he forms a line with his lips and looks down when he feels that his chest presses because that expression is exactly what he didn’t want to find.

He's not proud of his decisions either, but what is he supposed to do?

“How many times do I have to tell you that you can rely on me?”

He stays rigid as Seonghwa reaches out to hug him, but he doesn't pull apart. This time the touch doesn’t feel comforting, but confusing.

He trusts Seonghwa, he really does, but then why hasn't he hesitated to think that Seonghwa would tell their mother about the drugs? He wants to rely on Seonghwa, he really does, but if everything was perfect, he wouldn't have started taking drugs in the first place.

His eyes fall on the coat that is draped over Seonghwa's shoulders. He's sure Seonghwa didn't have that before they got to the nightclub.

“Where did this coat come from?” he asks.

“Hongjoong.”

He’s not surprised.

“You reek of cigarette smoke,” he says. A simple sniff assures him that Seonghwa has been smoking because he can smell it on his figure, and looking down is enough to denote a cigarette between his fingers. “And strawberries.” the word strawberry echoes in his head and he curls up one of the corners of his mouth at the thought of Jongho.

“You ruin your brain, I ruin my lungs.”

“Yet I'm the one getting scolded?”

“My right for being older than you,” Seonghwa gives him a small smile when he stops staying completely attached to him. 

Yeosang looks around him, confused. He doesn't know where he currently is with Seonghwa. They haven't been arguing it as much lately, but he doesn't think he can fully trust him, and being aware of that bothers him as well as saddens him. 

He doesn't know if Seonghwa realizes it or not, if it's something conscious or unconscious, but Seonghwa is their mother's puppet. He can't trust him when Seonghwa keeps doing and saying what their mother wants. Of course Seonghwa is disappointed in him.

He’s confused and doesn't like to feel confused, much less in situations where keeping a clear head should be more than easy.

“I'll go.”

“I'm going with you.”

He shakes his head and imposes some distance between them. Seonghwa has to understand that he can't distance himself from him without explaining why and then thinking about staying with him, right next to him.

Now Seonghwa will want to control everything he does, right? Again.

“I just need some air,” he keeps talking as soon as Seonghwa opens his mouth. “That doesn't mean I'll get high.” he adds. He doesn't know if Seonghwa was going to ask him that question or not, but Seonghwa forms a line with his lips nonetheless.

“Just—” It's clear that Seonghwa wants to reach out to him but he forces himself not to because he assures Seonghwa that he doesn't want him to. He supposes it's some kind of progress. “Dance with me, or talk to me if you want... I don't know, if you want to clear your mind. Yes, please? You know that I like to dance and I know that you like to dance.”

Dance? He can't solve his problems by dancing. He nods, only for Seonghwa not to say anything else, and luckily Seonghwa doesn't follow him when he turns around.

He doesn't hesitate to take one of the lollipops from his pocket when he begins to chew on the inside of his cheek. He’s nervous, and restless, and he knows it, and putting a lollipop in his mouth doesn't turn out to be the best solution, not when he remembers it’s shaped like an apple because Jongho gave it to him.

He doesn't want to go to his house, but he doesn't have a chance to go to the hotel either, he supposes, not after the last time he chatted with Jongho. He can’t complain and then act in the same way. He can't distance himself and then pretend to be close without explaining either.

He runs his hands through his locks —now as pink as blue. He resents feeling confused. He hasn’t drunk, he hasn’t taken drugs. The lollipop inside his mouth cracks as he remembers that he still has drugs hidden between his phone and its case.

He could go with Woo— no, he doesn't doubt that San is with Wooyoung. And after learning that he was the reason behind their previous argument, he dismisses that idea. Maybe he did lie to Seonghwa, maybe he does want to get high. But he doesn't know, he's not sure. He's not sure of anything.

Placing a film under his tongue to get away from the reality around him would be so easy. He would only have to remove the case from his phone and thus he would be able to get away from his problems. Everything would be so easy for just a moment.

He hugs himself and the taste of apples doesn't make him feel any better. Doubts are taking advantage of his uncertainty and he will end up giving in to his thoughts. He wants to get away from everyone.

Bathroom. The bathroom. Mingi told him that there’s a bathroom that only the people he considers close to him have access to so surely no one will be there.

He’s aware that Seonghwa just told him that he knows that he takes drugs, that with those words, Seonghwa has assured him that now he only has the drugs left behind his phone in case he wants to get high.

The taste of apple continues to decorate his palate when he's fully aware of all those details, but as the music goes down and he recognizes the bathroom door, he opts to sit on the red settee next to it instead of going inside.

The costume jacket isn't long enough to hide his hands and try to play with the sleeves, and he's put the bat aside so he can't get distracted by playing with it either. He crosses his legs and his fishnets distract him, if only a little. He decides to take a deep breath, and exhales it.

Seonghwa knows about the drugs. He really doesn't want to go to his house, not when he knows that he will now find his backpack empty because who knows where Seonghwa has left his box of drugs. What if he tells Wooyoung, what if Wooyoung already knows? What if he tells their mother?

Now Seonghwa will look at every move he does, every decision he makes, every step he takes, and he has lost the opportunity to have a single place where he can’t worry because he hasn’t hesitated to get away from Jongho.

He looks at the bathroom door and assumes that Mingi doesn’t consider Seonghwa a close person, he doesn't know, but it's better to go into the bathroom than stay there. He gets up to open the bathroom door, but a detail causes him to stop.

Brown eyes just as surprised as his watch him.

“You are here,” Jongho says.

And you are here, he thinks.

“I— I'll—”

“Please don't say you'll leave,” Jongho expresses though he hasn't moved from his place. “I'll leave if my presence makes you uncomfortable.”

He doesn't know if he's surprised because he hasn't spotted the bodyguards who are present when Jongho is —they're probably camouflaging themselves with the lights of the nightclub as well as with the people present—, or because while he previously didn’t doubt to get away from Jongho, he doesn't feel the urge to turn around at that time.

Talking with Mingi to air his head has helped him to sort out his thoughts, at least enough to know that Jongho doesn’t make him uncomfortable, and that if at that moment Jongho utters those words, it’s because he has exaggerated.

He's still confused and guilt embraces his shoulders as he thinks that his exaggerations made them argue, but he’s not uncomfortable. So he opts to shake his head, and Jongho seems relieved when instead of leaving, he decides to finally enter the bathroom.

He stands in front of one of the round mirrors to see himself but quickly looks down as he realizes that he looks like a mess —you don’t look like a mess, you are a mess, his head assures him. Well, maybe it makes sense that Seonghwa looks disappointed and assumes things that aren't true when he looks the way he does.

Whether it's true or whether he's allowing his thoughts to take advantage of him again, he doesn't know, but he looks up again. His makeup is still intact and his costume still makes sense even if he doesn’t have the bat with him anymore, but his eyes say too much.

He barely turns his head to trace with his eyes the fake tattoo on his face. Rotten, it reads. He thinks, that maybe, after all, it's not a costume.

“Are you okay?”

Through the mirror, he notices that Jongho is looking at him. He’s in front of the other mirror so turning their respective heads would be enough to look at each other without needing a reflection, but he looks at him through the mirror nonetheless. A little more real, a little more distorted. He believes that his reflection expresses a negative response.

He still doesn’t know when he will be able to provide a positive answer to that question. Even if he doesn't feel cold at the time and his hands aren't shaking, he doesn't feel okay. High or not, the answer doesn't change.

“I thought you were at Yunho's,” Jongho says, and Yeosang wonders if Jongho doesn’t expect an answer and opts to add to those words because he's afraid he'll say he's not okay now that their paths have crossed. This time without spilling a drink in between, he notes. “I mean, I saw... I saw the stories on Utopia’s Instagram page,”

Well, Mingi did ask him to attend Yunho's party instead of his, and he did go, technically, if only for a few minutes. Meanwhile, he has never doubted that Jongho would be present at Mingi's party, though strangely enough, only then are their paths crossing.

“I didn't see you when... when I came here...”

“Well... that might be because I'm not supposed to be... here,”

This time he does turn his head to look at Jongho when he hears him pronounce those words. He has always assumed that Jongho would be present because he doesn't doubt that both Jongho and Mingi's parents want a good relationship between them. Mingi himself told him so.

“I was at another event but it was rather uneventful and I got tired of it,” Jongho adds. Organized by his parents, probably. He doesn't want to wonder if Mingi's family has been invited and yet Mingi has decided to throw his own party. “And I don't dislike Mingi-hyung, he’s quite nice. I was just trying to take this off,” Jongho points to his mouth.

Yeosang blinks and realizes that Jongho is also wearing a costume. As a vampire, he notes. It's easy to tell that he's talking about the trail of fake blood left in the corner of his mouth because it looks messy. Besides, he’s pushed his dark locks back, he's wearing a black cape, pants of the same color, a white shirt hidden by a red and black vest, and a black bow around his neck.

He has stopped thinking about everything and everyone since his gaze met Jongho's, so instead of turning around to leave the bathroom, he extends his hand towards him after realizing that Jongho's not being able to remove that decorative makeup by himself.

Jongho looks at him before handing over the piece of toilet paper in his possession. When he makes sure his fingers don't touch Jongho's, he knows he has a lot to say, and that a small, fleeting contact with Jongho would be enough to make him feel too much.

He douses it with warm water, noticing the fake fangs left on the counter, and turns around again. He stretches out one of his hands but quickly withdraws it as he thinks that even if Jongho has asked him not to leave and isn't uncomfortable, it’s likely that he doesn’t want his company considering the last words they exchanged.

He intends to leave the paper on the counter so that Jongho can continue with what he was doing, but Jongho approaches him, and he rests his hips against the counter, feeling grateful for the lollipop present in his mouth as he can play with it when Jongho traps him between the counter and his body.

Jongho doesn't seek to separate his legs with his foot or slide his knee between his legs, and even so, he straightens up when Jongho doesn't need to perform those actions to get him to hold his gaze.

Jongho doesn't touch him or leave his hands on any part of his body. Jongho leans towards him and spreads the palms of his hands over the counter, at the sides of his body.

It isn’t the first time that they are this close and they have been much closer to each other before. Knowing what can happen, what could happen, and thinking about what has already happened between them, gets him to feel lucky for the bathroom’s LED lights, since he hopes their red color will hide the probable blush he feels burning his cheeks.

Jongho doesn't take the paper from his hand or tell him to leave the bathroom because he was there first. Jongho looks at him, fixedly and without frowning. It would have been completely within his rights to throw him a bad look or leave the bathroom himself as soon as he saw him, but he didn't.

When he understands that Jongho isn’t planning on leaning back, he brings his hand to Jongho's jaw. Jongho's skin is soft under his touch, and leaving his eyes on the fake trail of blood to wipe it turns out to be difficult when he isn't able to stop his eyes from sliding to Jongho's mouth.

He’s aware that Jongho keeps his brown eyes fixed on him, so he forces himself to keep his gaze on the trail of blood that he gently seeks to remove with the help of the paper. Yet Jongho's skin under his fingers, and remembering that Jongho has wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand after allowing his lips to pleasure him leads him to swallow.

He thinks it's a bit strange, how despite having felt cornered at the thought that everything he does will be controlled, when it comes to Jongho's brown eyes, he doesn't feel caught.

“It's weirdly nice experiencing a party,” he looks up when Jongho talks. “A real party with people my age and alcohol instead of those old fashioned cocktails that only people twice our age, or thrice, even, find pleasant to consume,” he definitely believes that the previous party Jongho attended was organized by his parents or someone close to his parents.

“Do you like it so far? Saw something or someone that may have caught your attention?” True curiosity leads him to formulate those questions, since what for him is just another party, for Jongho is a particularity. Something as ordinary as a party turns out to be more than entertaining.

He raises both eyebrows when he glimpses the animated smile that Jongho holds.

“Yes... a strawberry,” Jongho replies, staring at him, and he feels the corners of his mouth threaten to lift when Jongho utters that word. “Although I think for tonight, said strawberry could also be described as a blueberry. Half-strawberry and half-blueberry, perhaps,” Yeosang holds his gaze, being aware that only for that night, just as some of his locks are still pink, others are blue.

He wonders how Jongho could possibly see attraction where he sees nothing but disaster.

“Before you say that a vampire has caught your interest—”

“I would stop talking if I were you,” he stops Jongho and raises the corners of his mouth as he expresses those words, and Jongho still smiles, entertained, despite the interruption.

He doesn't think he can remember the last time he was interested in someone, the last time someone certainly caught his interest, the last time someone managed to make him feel so much with so little.

His heart doesn’t beat fast and his head doesn’t offer him images of a perfect life with Jongho, but his body does remain attentive to Jongho's closeness while his mind rejoices in the moments already shared with Jongho.

“Can we talk?” Jongho asks him.

He nods instead of saying that they are already talking. He's not happy with the way he got away from Jongho last time, and he's been thinking about talking to him, actually.

He doesn't feel the urge to withdraw his hand from Jongho's jaw, and out of the corner of his eye, he notices the way Jongho slides one of his hands across the counter, bringing it closer to his body.

“I don't want you to be my secret.” Jongho starts, sounding sure of his words. “It was never my intention to make you feel like one. But there are moments, certain situations, in which sometimes, just sometimes, it’s better when certain things remain unsaid.”

While Jongho saw caution, he empathized with the sadness felt by Mingi and Yunho when Jongho suggested not returning his clothes simply because there were other people present besides them. He acted impulsively out of fear of having to act like Mingi and Yunho.

Mingi himself has said it, being with Ministers’ children is not necessarily the easiest thing to do. Well, Yeosang doesn't think he can express that being with him is easy.

“I know,” he accepts. “You're right,” he adds, thinking of himself.

Just a few minutes ago, he thought that he would have preferred if Seonghwa hadn’t found his box and therefore found out that he consumes drugs —that urgency is already forgotten, at least for that moment, he realizes. Certainly, sometimes it's better when certain things are left unsaid.

He looks down to finish removing the fake blood, and sets the paper aside when no red trace continues to decorate one of the corners of Jongho’s mouth. He looks at Jongho as Jongho moves closer to him, and he feels the soft texture of the cloak draped over Jongho's shoulders as he slides his hands down to it.

“If I'm here it's because I want to, because I need to get away too,” Jongho says. “If it were up to me, I wouldn't hesitate to let everyone know that you offer me the opportunity to stay close to you, to let everyone envy me because you allow this closeness between us.”

Though Jongho utters those words along with a confident tone of voice, Yeosang forms a soft line with his lips. He doubts that envy is what others feel. Maybe he should stay away from Jongho because he doubts that envy is what people feel if they spot Jongho near him, but he doesn't make the effort to stop finding himself trapped between the counter and Jongho.

“But I don't want people to meddle in my business, and for you to get hurt as a consequence.” Jongho adds.

Perhaps they have gravitated close to each other because they both have an equal chance of getting hurt. He's not the best or the right person to stay with Jongho, and Jongho looks for him because not everyone allows Jongho to stay around.

“I understand that.” His fingertips continue to delight in the texture of Jongho's cloak as he feels one of Jongho's hands leave the counter to ghost over his figure.

He’s aware of his irritation, his confusion, and his ups and downs. Unfortunately, Jongho turned out to be the target of the lack of control that his emotions continue to represent.

“Sorry for exaggerating and not letting you explain your point of view,” he says, and it feels good to allow the word sorry to leave his lips. He got confused, didn't allow Jongho to explain the reason for his words and actions, and simply refused to stay close to him.

“Forgive me if I ever made you feel a secret,” Jongho should really stop saying the words forgive me when he turns out to be the person in front of him. “Would you be willing to consider a review of our deal?”

Even if now he’s a little more aware of the fact that they could both get hurt, the urge to walk away and open the door of the bathroom to leave doesn’t appear.

Is it selfish of him to want Jongho to stay close to him, and has it been greedy of Jongho to ask him to keep coming back for more? Don't they deserve each other if they refuse to let go of each other?

“Thank you for clearing up the small letters,” he decides to reply.

Maybe they did say what they expect from each other, but at no time have they clarified how far they can push each other. Jongho is not free to act as he wants and he must be willing to deal with that detail while Jongho must deal with the freedom that usually takes over his emotions.

Friends with benefits or friends with disadvantages? He can only wonder how heavy the other disadvantages around them must be to still choose to stay close to each other.

Jongho smiles when he hears him, and he allows his body to get rid of all kinds of tension when Jongho leaves his forehead against his for a few seconds. He delights in Jongho's proximity, and luckily Jongho only pulls back a few inches to look at him.

“Surely you love this night with all the sweets,”

The lollipop present in his mouth is the very evidence of Jongho's words.

“You don’t?”

“I don't like sweet things,” From the way Jongho scans his body with his eyes, he believes that fake blood and fangs are not necessary to make him feel wanted. And again he thinks that Jongho provokes so much with so little, since Jongho doesn't even need to touch him to get him to gently catch the fabric of his cloak between his fingers as Jongho's next words brush his ear once he leans in. “Except for you, strawberry.”

He lowers his hands to Jongho's chest when Jongho leans back to look at him. Why, then, if he believes that he’s not worthy of appreciative words, he allows Jongho’s voice to cloud his senses?

Maybe he doesn't always need drugs to forget everything, and he only keeps thinking about that possibility when Jongho finally places his hands on his waist. Jongho stares at him, taking in the details of his facial features —probably his makeup, until his eyes fall to his lips.

“With your permission, allow me to... please, just—” One of Jongho’s hands leaves his waist, “Let's leave this aside,” Jongho gently pulls the lollipop out of his mouth by holding the stick.

“Hey...” he licks his lips but it's not a real complaint.

“And replace it with this,” Jongho replaces the lollipop with his lips, and Yeosang allows himself to get lost in the sensations that Jongho's mouth on his causes when the image that has been chasing his mind finally becomes real.

The details around him lose all importance and the only thing he can focus on is the press of Jongho's body against his, his hand still present on his waist as well as Jongho's lips on his.

“Much better,” Jongho expresses on his lips once he leans back, and he doesn’t complain when Jongho moves away to throw the lollipop in the nearest trash can —not even the words but you gave that to me threatens to leave his mouth.

He can only wonder if Jongho has felt satisfied to be able to savor the apple flavor on his lips, if he delights in the knowledge that he has chosen to savor the lollipops he has given him.

“Why are you here?” Jongho asks as he surrounds his waist with both arms again.

Why is he there? To get away from the confusion still present in some corner of his head, a hassle that threatens to become even more present when Jongho asks him that question.

“Some things are better left unsaid...” he offers.

He doesn't know if Jongho stares at him because he has voiced words previously spoken by him or because its pronunciation indicates the absence of a response, and he doesn't care because Jongho doesn't take his arms from around his waist.

He frowns at the realization that Jongho's costume has more layers than his, and opts to leave his hands on Jongho's forearms since the fabric of his white shirt is the lightest obstacle.

“Okay, then, if you don't want to talk, what do you want?”

What does he want? Why did he agree to be with Jongho the previous time? Jongho easily distracts him, and gives him the opportunity to forget about the problems that press his shoulders and hunt his head.

He wants to be distracted, he wants to have fun, it's a party after all. He wants to have a good night, a good time together with Jongho.

“You made me feel good,” Jongho made him feel so, so good.

He parts his lips when Jongho brings his face closer to his, but Jongho only threatens to kiss him instead of actually doing it.

“That's all I want, for you to feel good.”

He looks at Jongho, opting to slide his hands up his arms, liking the feeling of Jongho's hands on his waist. He’s fulfilling his part of the deal because he's back for more, but Jongho has never made it explicit what more means. 

“I want you to feel good too,” Jongho deserves to feel good. He wants Jongho to have fun too. He may be able to obscure some of the thoughts that lurk in his mind if he’s able to make Jongho feel good.

“You already do that,” Jongho assures him.

“Then I want you to feel even better,” He wants to know that he can make Jongho feel good, wants to assure Jongho that he’s able to distract him as he has distracted him.

Perhaps both look for each other despite all the disadvantages that staying close to each other represents because they manage to equal those inconveniences with small fun moments, where they make each other feel good.

“I won't stop you, then,” Jongho needs to be distracted as much as he does.

He holds a small, satisfied smile at hearing that Jongho won’t back away from his intentions, and takes in his favor the fact that he has slid his hands up to grab the edges of Jongho's cloak, and this time he kisses Jongho.

The grip around his waist tightening feels good. It feels nice, even, as it assures him that Jongho wants to stay close to him and kiss him back. Hold and be held. Jongho does get comfortable between his legs and does slide a leg between his, and he doesn't hesitate to pull on the edges of his cloak to press their bodies together.

His body is desperate for Jongho's body, and even so, Jongho gently tugging at his lower lip is enough to remind him that they could be interrupted at any moment, so he leans back.

“Let's give you the proper party experience,” he whispers against his lips.

Jongho doesn't object when he leaves his hand on his arm to guide him towards one of the stalls, nor when he leaves his back against one of the walls to close the door.

It's definitely not a big space nor the indicated one for two people, and there are better places to be, but he doesn't care because he only focuses on wrapping his arms around Jongho's neck and the way Jongho's hands find his waist.

He feels one of Jongho's hands slide down his back thigh to pull him closer, and he bites his lower lip when Jongho takes advantage of his ripped jeans to brush his skin with his fingers.

Jongho looks down before looking up again.

“Fishnets?”

“Do you like them?”

“Well, they are nothing more than another garment to dress, aren't they?” he doesn't complain because the way Jongho's eyes again slide to them assures him there's more to say. “However, when you use them, it is true that I feel appreciation for them and that my opinion differs.”

He bites his lower lip when he hears Jongho, and allows Jongho to peck his lips once he looks up. After having simply waited for the words I like them on you, a small smile appears to guide his expression.

“Has everyone seen you like this?” Jongho asks, staring at him.

Jongho doesn't take his eyes off him and stops keeping one of his hands on his waist to slide it up his torso and push his jacket aside so he can place his hand near his neck. The caress that Jongho traces over his clavicle is more than welcome, a familiar sensation.

He lowers his eyes to notice that the flower charm is still present around his neck, but the hand that Jongho has left near his neck promptly catches his attention. Jongho lifts his hand up to his jaw, and he looks up to see him before Jongho gently pulls him towards him and seals their lips together in a sweet kiss.

He doesn’t know if Jongho will choose to accompany his caresses with kindness because he has seen tears running down his cheeks before. He doesn't want sympathy, he doesn’t want pity.

He hasn't changed his behavior after finding out the importance of Jongho's last name. He doesn't want Jongho to change the way he acts towards him just because maybe his facial features are pretty, but his emotions are a mess.

Even so, he’s unable to deduce if the placid murmur that caresses his throat is a consequence of Jongho's lips on him or an attempt at an affirmative answer.

“But only you get to touch,” he murmurs against Jongho's lips after barely leaning back. Jongho's hand leaves his jaw, but he doesn't complain because both of his hands soon are on his waist again, and when Jongho presses their bodies together, he can only feel contented. “What about you?”

“Old people,” Jongho shrugs.

“They can still look.”

He keeps an amused smile on his face when Jongho grimaces.

Jongho is handsome too, he has thought that from the very beginning. He has no doubt that certain people take advantage of approaching him with the excuse of having the opportunity to speak with the Prime Minister's son to hide other types of intentions.

But he doesn't let images of Jongho accepting other people's advances plague his head. Jongho is with him now, making sure to keep their bodies together.

“But only you get to touch,” Jongho gets rid of his grimace to say those words.

He slides his hands down to Jongho's chest upon hearing that reality. A pleasant feeling embraces his figure when he hears that only he can be with Jongho the way they currently are, that only he has the chance of being with Jongho that close.

He wonders if this is how Jongho feels, special because he has a right that others can only wish they had. He allows that intriguing sensation to spread through his body, and he rolls his hips.

Satisfaction guides the small smile that appears on his face as he feels Jongho's fingertips dig into his waist. His movement was tentative as Jongho's hands remain firm on that part of his body.

“Let's enjoy the party, mh?”

“Let's enjoy each other,” Jongho says, and he can’t bring himself to say no.

That is their deal, after all, enjoy each other. Jongho slides his gaze to his lips, his eyes alone expressing the hunger he feels, and he prefers to satisfy that need instead of allowing Jongho to entertain himself with an image, so he brings his face closer to his to kiss him.

Allow pleasure to guide them, that's the deal, isn't it? He leaves one of his hands on Jongho's arms for stability as he grinds his body against Jongho's, and the music doesn't matter and the place doesn't matter either because Jongho deepens the kiss between them until he thinks he doesn't need cigarettes to ruin his lungs, not when the air barely manages to invade them with the way in which both refuse to separate from each other.

And he still doesn't care, because Jongho claims his lips and he claims Jongho's. His body seeks Jongho's warmth and kissing becomes more and more difficult when he can feel Jongho's bulge pressing against his figure. He assumes that they both resent the time apart, and feeling somewhat dizzy and breathless, he separates from Jongho to begin to slide his hand down Jongho's chest, the layers of clothes not representing an obstacle because his upper body isn't his focus.

Jongho's shortened breath tickles his lips, the bow around his neck is about to unknot and his chest rises and falls rapidly. Enjoying each other, that's exactly what they're doing, and he thinks there's something so nice about the way that while with the others Jongho is correct and composed, with him he allows himself to put that demeanor aside.

Unbuckling a belt proves to be a somewhat more difficult task when both refuse to leave even the slightest gap between their bodies, but he finally succeeds, and his patience is rewarded with the intake of air that Jongho takes as he slips one of his hands down his pants and grabs Jongho through his underwear.

“You sure are alive for a vampire,” he says, holding Jongho's gaze.

He smiles, genuinely sincere when Jongho allows sternness to accompany his face in reaction to the words mentioned, and his smile only widens further when Jongho is unable to hold said serious expression as his lips part to inhale a short breath and his fingers dig into his waist when he rolls his hips, and the way he holds Jongho's bulge through the fabric is no longer so subtle.

It pleases him, knowing that he awakens Jongho's body.

Probably to avoid hearing another set of mocking words, Jongho slides his hand to his nape and brings his mouth to his to trap his lips with his —he believes that Jongho is completely wrong if he expects him to complain because he no longer has the opportunity to tease him with phrases.

He lowers his other hand to Jongho's stomach, being aware that Jongho slides his leg between his, but as he has said, he wants Jongho to feel good, so he withdraws his hand only to slip his hand inside his boxers, and wraps his hand around Jongho's hardening cock.

Jongho groans in his mouth and he smiles when Jongho pulls apart to rest his forehead on his to look down. Jongho feels heavy and warm in his hand, and tracing his shaft with his fingers assures him that closing a deal with Jongho wasn't a bad decision.

He stays focused on Jongho's reactions, to the responses that his facial features show as a byproduct of his hand. But even if he strokes the tip of Jongho's cock with his thumb to drag with it the traces of precum and get the slide to be easier, it's dry.

His free hand curls over Jongho's stomach as Jongho brings one of his hands to the nape of his neck. Jongho half-groans half-complains when he withdraws his hand, and his voice is what stops him when he opens his palm and parts his lips.

“Don’t—” He’s forced to look up when Jongho takes advantage of the hand on the back of his neck to take his hair between his fingers and tug firmly enough to get him to raise his head.

He remains with his lips parted, although this time, because he hasn't expected that gesture or the firmness behind it, and Jongho's gaze fixed on him feels good, feels more than good.

“Don't spit in your hand, that would be inappropriate,” Jongho says.

“I'm—” it's not fair, it's not fair at all the way Jongho forces him to take a few seconds to think about what he says just by keeping a few of his locks firmly caught between his fingers. “I'm— I was with my hand in your boxers, we’re making out in a public bathroom, and that would be inappropriate?”

“Illusion is quite exclusive, and this bathroom is pretty private too," Jongho defends himself.

There's no lube available, Jongho doesn't want his saliva added to the equation, he thinks Jongho will say something like no, I don't want your knees to bother you later if he chooses to kneel, and true, Illusion is pretty exclusive, but he doubts Mingi would leave bottles of lube in the bathrooms.

Well, he decides right then and there that if he wants to make Jongho feel good, then he's going to have to do it with his own hands, his mouth, and his body, just like he's meant to do all along. And if Jongho doesn't complain, then neither does he.

He slips his hand into Jongho's boxers again, tugging them down a little, this time not allowing Jongho to leave his forehead against his as he inhales a breath. He stares at Jongho, and stops keeping his hand on his stomach to wrap his hand around Jongho's neck. He holds Jongho close to him, and makes sure to form a slight pout with his lips.

“Why don't you let me do what I want?” he drags his words with a pouty tone of voice and barely tilts his head. “You said I deserve more than kissing in a bathroom, what happened?”

He hopes that Jongho remembers the words that they have exchanged through a phone call, since the phrases that he has expressed that time has allowed him to hear the way in which Jongho has inhaled a breath of air.

The contact is still dry but he still moves his hand gently, hoping that both the words he expresses and his hand will excite Jongho enough that his own precum will be that in making the touch nicer.

“You deserve more, of course, you deserve so much more,” Jongho seeks to assure him, and he knows that Jongho believes that he deserves more, but even so he deepens the pout formed with his lips.

Although he knows the answer to the question he chooses to voice, he nonetheless allows a whimper to caress his throat.

“You don’t want me anymore?”

He swallows hard as he feels Jongho's fingers tug at both the pink and blue locks that grow at the base of his neck, and Jongho offers another kind of answer instead of a single word.

Jongho seals their lips together and kisses him, no longer so gently, catching his lips with his to assure him that yes, he wants him, and he smiles, pleased when he drags with his hand the precum pearls that pool at the tip Jongho's cock.

He doesn’t avoid the sound of pleasure that leaves his own throat when Jongho presses him even more to his body, when he seeks to keep him close to assure him that he certainly wants him, wants him, and wants him.

He's starting to get hard in his pants and his jeans feel uncomfortable, not even to mention the fishnets. Jongho kisses him, claiming his mouth, and running his tongue over his lips. It's a mess, and desperate, and he allows himself to lose himself in the feelings caused by Jongho as well as Jongho in everything he causes.

He moves his hand up and down, trying to match the desperation of the kiss and the rhythm of his hand, and his chest rises and falls, rapidly as Jongho pulls away from him to allow their shaky breaths to mingle.

Hooded eyes, bruised lips, and a still-not-satisfied gaze.

“Do you like that?” his words tickle Jongho’s lips. “Knowing that you're the only one who gets to claim me? Knowing that you're the only one who has me like this?”

“I want you, Yeosang.” Those words are so sincere, so real, so raw, and said without a trace of hesitation, that Yeosang remains stunned for a second.

He widens his eyes when Jongho responds to his taunting words with pure honesty and the pronunciation of his name so there is no doubt that Jongho really wants him.

His cheeks burn and he doesn't know what to think when he realizes that the red lights in the bathroom are not enough to hide his blush, since Jongho slides his eyes towards said hue, and smiles, amused.

Jongho likes what he sees, because the contact is no longer dry.

He blinks, and inhales a breath because he's supposed to be making Jongho feel good —even though Jongho himself has just shown him that he feels good.

“I want you too,” he brings his mouth closer to his, and it's really true that he wants Jongho too, because a part of him hasn't stopped wondering what would have happened if he hadn't lost his necklace that damn morning. “Jongho,” he whispers, and oh, now he's the one smiling. Jongho tugs at his hair and he feels Jongho tremble under his touch.

Always so polite and sweet, Jongho pulls at his hair because he isn't able to control how his body reacts under his hand and has probably denoted that he doesn't mind him pulling his hair.

“I told you, I want kisses, I want to touch you and for you to touch me, I want you to fuck me.” He forces himself to focus on Jongho and the way Jongho looks at him when he feels his own cock throb at the mere idea. “I want you to make me feel even better, to satisfy me, and make me think that the best decision I've ever made in my life has been to accept this deal with you.”

A whimper does leave his lips and it does hurt him when Jongho tugs at his hair again, to pull him away from him this time. And yet, even though Jongho stares at him and he doesn't hesitate to meet his gaze, he feels Jongho throb in his hand.

“You repeated my name last time, and I'll have you saying it, over and over again.” Jongho determines, and he thinks that Jongho is entertaining himself by thinking about him, about them together, because he notices how his jaw clenches and his hips, unconsciously or not, seek the contact of his hand.

Do you want me to repeat your name? Yeosang thinks about asking, entertained with knowing that only he’s in Jongho's mind, clouding his thoughts and body with his words and his hands, just as he thought of doing, but doesn't.

“Don't threaten me with a good time.” he says instead.

He doesn't give Jongho the chance to counter with another comment as he quickens the speed of his hand, Jongho's cock glistening with precum by now, and he smiles, satisfied with himself the moment he denotes that Jongho is close because Jongho stops staring at him to hide his face between his neck and shoulder and his knees threaten to buckle.

Jongho's faltering breath on his skin tickles him, and perhaps Jongho also feels how his ear is tickled by the breath that leaves his lips as soon as he thinks of the way Jongho has marked his neck before.

“I want you just like you want me, Jongho,” he assures him.

“I'm— I'm not going to last long,” he listens.

He turns his head slightly so that Jongho hears words that Jongho himself previously said. 

“I won't stop you.”

He can lean on Jongho so that Jongho makes him feel good, and Jongho can lean on him so that he makes him feel good.

It’s the knowledge that both represent an opportunity for the other to forget about their problems, no matter where they are because the important thing is to stay focused on each other, on the sensations that the other manages to arouse with their bodies and hands and the words sighed between broken breaths.

Just like Jongho himself said, he doesn't last long and finally comes in his hand, panting and making sure to stay close to him as much as possible, and he can only wonder what it means when instead of focusing on everything he has done and said for Jongho to reach his limits, his senses are called by the kiss that Jongho leaves on his neck.

He continues to move his hand along Jongho's shaft, although slowly to accompany him throughout his orgasm. The layers of their respective costumes don't keep him from noticing the way Jongho’s chest rises and falls, his breathing soothing with each passing second.

He doesn't object when Jongho takes his face in his hands and pulls him towards him to kiss him. It's a slower kiss, calmer and grounding, but just as assuring. He finally pulls his hand away and Jongho traces his bottom lip with his thumb once they part.

“Don't think about starting to carry a bottle of lube with you everywhere,” Jongho says, looking at him intently. “We have the suite for that. I told you, you deserve more.”

Yeosang supposes that those words should lead him to smile mockingly, to express some provocative comment, or to smile widely, but he only blinks, and just like that, Jongho reminds him of the possibility of more, more opportunities, more moments.

He holds the smallest smile, and misses Jongho's body heat as soon as he opens the stall door, and the distant music that still blares in the background slowly clears up his senses as he washes up his hands.

He raises his eyes to meet his reflection, noting the way his locks are messy while his lipstick is completely smeared but still somehow matches his aesthetic. The word drawn on his face as well as the heart are blurred.

He stops looking at himself when he slides his eyes to Jongho once he appears in his field of vision after cleaning himself. Ah, he thinks he should have done that first, but Jongho doesn't seem to care because he quickly stops missing Jongho's body when Jongho positions himself behind him and rests his hands on his waist as well as his mouth on his neck.

Jongho didn't even give him time to help him, and he wonders if perhaps Jongho is used to taking care of himself, expecting nothing from anyone. He doesn't know what to think when he can't decide if he too is used to not holding expectations, or if instead of taking care of himself, he destroys himself.

“I like the makeup,” he hears Jongho say against his skin, and their gazes connect as Jongho raises his head to look at him through the mirror. “But I like this one better,” he watches the way Jongho gently uses the fabric of his cloak to smear the makeup near the corner of his eyes, and his birthmark promptly becomes visible.

He turns around after hearing him, and again finds himself between the counter and Jongho's body. He fixes some of Jongho's black locks so that they don't fall on his face and adjusts the black bow around his neck. Jongho holds his chin slightly up to allow him to do it, and they stare at each other once he's done.

Yes, it's true that maybe staying close in a bathroom isn't the best thing, but he thought about showing Jongho what the world is like once he steps away from the people who are constantly around him. And even though he looks down and wants to wrap his arms around Jongho's neck, he believes that now that he has shown Jongho what the world is like outside of his political sphere, Jongho himself can continue to explore it.

Maybe he does deserve more, but Jongho too.

“I've already...” Perhaps it's better that he allowed himself to be distracted enough not to accompany each gesture, each word, and each caress with the word last. “Been back for more,” he says. That's what he said to himself, that he would keep his part of the deal.

He never said that he would continue with the same.

Not wanting to do it, but thinking that he has to, he opens one of the pockets of his jacket, and holds with both hands the hotel keycard that Jongho has given him. He holds it between them, thinking that just as he has given him back his clothes, or at least tried to, and now the keycard, he has to give him back his peace of mind.

“Thank you but... you deserve more too,” he says, forcing himself to hold the keycard closer to Jongho. “I don't want to drag you into my chaos.”

Maybe he does feel better, but Jongho deserves much more than small moments of pleasure. He doesn't deserve interrupted mornings or overreactions or emotions out of control.

His chills and tremors are not present but he waits for them to come back sooner or later. Just like he thought before, Jongho doesn't deserve his sudden mood swings.

He no longer wants people to save him, so he will start saving people from him.

“You saved me.”

He can't help but look up and widen his eyes in surprise when those words are what Jongho chooses to utter. His chest aches but he doesn't know why he’s so impressed when Jongho seems to agree with him.

He pushes the keycard closer to Jongho, wanting him to take it so he can finally leave.

You saved me from having to say something myself, you saved me from an awkward situation because I also wanted to end this—

“You saved me that night, the night of the gala. When we ran into each other in the hallway, even,” Jongho says.

Jongho pushes the keycard toward him instead of taking it, and he swallows.

“What?”

He straightens up when Jongho once again leaves his palms at the sides of his body, on the counter.

“My life is... boring,” Jongho expresses before letting out a deep sigh. “Monotonous, always the same, every time I get up. But you? You... I want your chaos. I want your mess. I don't even know why you call it chaos.”

Save? Jongho isn’t expressing that he saved him because he suggested ending the deal between them, but because it happened?

“I can never choose anything. But this? I choose this, I choose you, and you choose me. I want you.” Jongho expresses, again staring at him, and he once again holds his gaze. “And I want you to want me, just like I told you before, and I didn't just say it for the sake of it. You told me that you want me too.”

He looks down when Jongho does. Jongho does take the keycard out of his hands, but not to break it, throw it in the nearest bin, or keep it, but to reach his jacket, leave the keycard in the pocket he took it from, and zip it up.

He can't do anything but watch, observe the way in which with those gestures, Jongho assures him that returning the keycard is not an option, and therefore, parting is not a possibility. He accepts to meet Jongho’s gaze when Jongho searches his eyes with his.

“When I asked you why you think I gave you the keycard, what I meant was that I don't want anyone messing with this, with us. You said it. I'm just trying to stay low, not force a secret.” Jongho looks at him as he expresses those words. “I can't offer you complete freedom when I'm afraid I don't have it myself, but I want you, and you want me, of that I'm sure.”

He suddenly wonders if it hasn't been selfish of him to seek to end the deal between them. The deal includes both of them, Jongho also has his reasons for agreeing to stay close to each other, and he has just made them explicit.

“Please come with me tonight,” Jongho asks him, taking his hands in his, and Yeosang lowers his eyes to them, wondering if that contact can bring more than physical pleasure. “Let's save each other.”

Could it be that he does more damage to Jongho by moving away than by staying close to him?

Friends with benefits. The benefit is mutual salvation, apparently.

His chaos makes up for Jongho's monotony, and Jongho's tranquility balances his disorder. It wouldn't be fair of him to break that balance.

The suite is not a place to hide or to be, but to be free, or at least try to feel free, at least for a while. That's exactly what he needs, and Jongho too, isn't it? A bit of freedom, away from the eyes and ears of others.

He looks at Jongho, and he thinks it would certainly be more damaging to walk away than stay close, as Jongho seems relieved once he notes that he's made up his mind.

Both his heart and his body offer a single possible answer.

“Okay,” he accepts.

Notes:

I've been debating whether or not to post today. If you don't know about the current sad news in the kpop industry, it's not my place to say it here, and if you search, please do so carefully. I know that some people read my fics because my words give them comfort no matter what the chapter is about, or to take a break, so I decided to post to offer that safe space. I hope you enjoyed today's chapter, end the week well and have a nice weekend ❤

Chapter 31

Notes:

additional warning: super brief mentions of blood (max. one sentence) but nothing serious

It only remains to wonder if it is worth pretending to fall in love with someone to go after their mone—

Yunho blocks his phone and lets out a breath.

Pretending to be in love with Mingi for his money? Really? His money?

He doesn't know what frustrates him the most. His slumped shoulders because he chose to read articles with Mingi's name and his name in the center, because he doesn't understand why he reads the words pretend to fall in love, or because the phrases his eyes scan assure him that Mingi still has a fortune that he doesn’t have, and that he never will no matter how good the business he leads is.

He straightens up and tries to focus on the fact that the kitchen hasn't been a mess ever since Wooyoung gave instructions, and that no reporter has appeared to ask him questions without probably waiting for him to answer and just writing down the drama that others want to read. Maybe they have shown up, probably, but he hopes he hasn't seen any because the security of the place proves to be effective at their job.

Well, at least he also read about the supposed fire, and he hopes that Wooyoung doesn't get in trouble just for having sought what he has achieved: for the news portals to talk about something else beyond his closeness with Mingi. The articles didn’t include Wooyoung's name, but between the words Hongjoong mentioned to him in passing, and Wooyoung's presence that night, it assures him that nothing is a coincidence.

“Mh, boss.”

Although his manager on duty speaks with a soft voice, he still gets startled when she appears next to him. Taking a look at her assures him that she has to tell him something, but he clasps his hands together because he doesn't think he'll be able to continue dealing with the circumstances of that night for much longer.

“Please. Please, good news,” he asks, but grimaces as his manager opens her mouth and then closes it as soon as she hears him.

He sighs again, and not even her eccentric makeup is enough to distract him from the fact that she remains silent, as she’s not capable of giving him what he has asked for, and what he really needs: good news.

“Just say it...” he gives up.

“We have a problem...” Has a customer complained? The kitchen is a disaster again? Are there reporters gathering at the front doors? Should he already be running to find a fire extinguisher or dialing the number of the police? “A blue and tall problem...”

He has expected to hear all kinds of problems, except the words that he hears.

His eyes widen, and he doesn't know if he would have preferred for his manager to bring up some of the situations that have quickly overlapped inside his head instead of expressing the words she has said, as there’s only one possible conclusion of that sentence.

“Dressed in... pink?” his manager offers, “Claims to be... a princess?”

“I'll take care of it.” rather, him.

What is Mingi doing at Utopia?

His manager chooses not to ask questions about it and he leaves his place by the front desk.

He brings one of his hands to his chest, wondering if it's hard for Mingi to abandon his habits no matter the circumstances. It isn't the first time that he appears in Utopia without warning, but it is the first time that Mingi decides to show up when there are still customers present and during his shift and not afterward.

His manager would probably have added that another problem —reporters having a blast— has popped up if Mingi had opted to use the main doors, but if he doesn't hear the exclamation of his name nor Mingi's, it's because at least Mingi has chosen to use the back doors.

His path to them is promptly blocked for the very reason that led him there.

“You.” Mingi shows up, interrupting his space. He rests a hand on the wall as if he wants to block his path even though he has never planned to walk past him.

He can't help but swallow heavily once Mingi's eyes find his —Mingi's specs in between but a direct gaze nonetheless. Mingi hasn't sought to get close to him ever since the photos appeared pasted to the lockers, yet both Wooyoung and Yeosang have assured him that the problem he has created inside his head is worse than the actual situation, and Mingi stands in front of him.

“Mingi,” he says, because perhaps his head is imagining something not real, and saying Mingi's name leads him to let out a breath.

“That's me.” Mingi determines. “I meant you.”

He lowers his gaze to his chest when Mingi touches it with the tip of his index finger, and that simple touch reminds him that although his head has been repeating Mingi, Mingi, Mingi for the last few hours —the last few days, really, he doesn't know—, they are not alone.

He looks up and leaves one of his hands on Mingi's arm to quickly drag him towards the space that he considers his office although he never spends time there, but now its privacy turns out to be useful. Mingi doesn't refuse to be led, but the words he expresses clash with his lax demeanor.

“You want us to be a secret again? After exposing us?” Mingi stops at the door of his office and approaches him to stare at him. He’s only able to think of Mingi expressing the words I'm just so tired of having to hide how I feel for you. “You are no prince charming,” he expresses on his lips.

“Your party is so boring that you came here to crash mine?” He can't help but ask. 

The trace of champagne is easy to detect in Mingi’s words, and he did hear Mingi —as well as all the rest of the students— express that that night the doors of Illusion are open.

“The same way you crushed my heart?” Mingi brings a palm to his chest.

Yunho believes that he would have focused on the pronunciation of those words, if it weren't for the fact that he seeks to settle his hands on Mingi's shoulders once he notices that Mingi rests one of his hands on the door frame to stabilize the apparent balance that he has lost even if he hasn’t moved.

“Hey, hey, are you okay?”

Any trace of annoyance or confrontational motivation disappears to give way to a sense of concern as Mingi blinks several times and gently crumples the fabric of his shirt with his fingertips.

“Are you— are you drunk?” Perhaps he has underestimated Mingi's alcohol intake. He widens his eyes when Mingi licks his lips and seeks to show more of his collarbones by parting the lapels of his shirt, as Mingi only reacts that way under certain circumstances. “Are you high?”

Mingi doesn't respond but at least he’s able to straighten up to look at him again. Delicately, Yunho seeks to bring him closer and closes the door of his office —if it’s already not necessary to know that Mingi is present, much less to know that on top of that, he’s drunk and high.

He leaves his hands on Mingi’s cheeks, and brushes a few locks from his forehead because he knows that Mingi is often hot when he decides to get away from reality like that. He frowns when he notices that the inside of his wrist got stained after brushing the locks from Mingi’s forehead, and widens his eyes when he notices that it’s red.

“Mingi. Mingi!” he exclaims as low as he can, switching his gaze between his wrist and Mingi's forehead.

Mingi seems surprised to hear the pronunciation of his name but the apparent harm doesn't seem to bother him. He gently taps the dark color that interrupts Mingi's forehead, near his scalp, and after noticing the red color on his fingertip, he looks back at Mingi.

“Did you come here alone?” he asks him.

“I didn't crash my carriage.”

“You drove? You dr—” He feels that exasperation takes over his tone of voice with each passing second and it's getting harder for him to try to remain calm as well as not to raise the tone of his voice. “Are you crazy?”

“Over you,” Mingi again leans towards him.

“You are hurt!”

He stops looking at him to slide his eyes to Mingi's costume. He doesn't spend time scanning the pink color of his suit or the shining crown on his head. He pats all the red details that interrupt the pink hue of his costume, but the tension of his muscles lessens when his skin doesn’t continue getting stained with blood because the blood turns out to be fake. He still takes Mingi's arm and leads him to the couch so that he can sit on it.

“You hurt me,” Mingi looks at him when he sits next to him.

Yunho doesn't think he knows what to do. The cut on the side of Mingi's forehead isn’t deep yet the blood is fresh because the scratch seems to be recent. Mingi doesn't seem to be hurt in any part of his body, and Mingi doesn't look like he wants to throw up, but that doesn't take away the fact he's drunk, high, and under those conditions, he’s been behind the wheel.

“Are you stupid?” Those are the words that finally leave his mouth.

Mingi rolls his eyes instead of answering. He leans back to let his head fall onto the back of the couch and he seems to be distracted by the lack of detail on the ceiling, until he looks down and turns his head partly towards him.

“Fucking marry me.”

Stunned, all prepared comments disappear.

He remains puzzled, his brain barely registering the words Mingi has spoken while staring at him. He doesn't know how to react because he has learned to associate those words not with happy endings and smiles, but with a failed marriage with consequences that still mold his life.

Whether or not Mingi is aware of what he’s asking of him, of the proposition he’s making, Mingi continues to stare at him.

“Mingi, what the fuck.” is the only thing he manages to articulate.

He’s startled when he feels his phone buzz, and only that detail manages to cut with the look shared with Mingi. He recognizes San’s name, and reads his text.

PLEASE tell me Mingi is with you and ALIVE

Mingi is next to him, but is he really with him? Is he really okay?

He provides an affirmative answer so that San doesn't worry —poor San, he thinks, between him and Mingi they don't give him a break—, but he’s still not able to provide answers to the questions that appear in his head.

Mingi has gone from walking away from him, angry and with a determined scowl on his face, to appearing in front of him with dilated pupils, champagne in his system, and a proposal tangled between his lips.

“You weren't there to take care of me,” Mingi expresses.

He doesn't seem bothered by the lack of acceptance or rejection but he thinks it's because Mingi is barely aware of the words he's expressing. However, he seems to be conscious enough to sit up, and his facial features seem to soften.

“Just— please—” Mingi looks at him again, and Yunho forms a line with his lips because Mingi looks hurt —not because of the small injury on his forehead, but because of his emotions. “Just tell me. Why did you do it? Just tell me.”

“I can't.”

He inhales a short breath as Mingi leaves his hands on his cheeks as well as his forehead on his. He's gotten too used to, he realizes that now, too used to everything Mingi has come to represent in his life. He has missed his closeness, his touch.

“Why?” Mingi whispers on his lips.

It doesn't make sense to expose himself, it doesn't make sense to express that Jongho's mother convinced him to show his closeness to Mingi in a place where it would be easy to spot them just because he wants Mingi to remain protected from his own parents.

Why did he do it? Why can't he tell him? Both questions turn out to have the same answer.

“Because I care about you.” it’s the truth.

He doesn't doubt the sincerity in his own tone of voice, but Mingi swallows and remains serious instead of allowing a smile to appear on his face after hearing his response.

Mingi traces his lower lip with his thumb, and the gentleness of that action contrasts with the serious look that Mingi gives him before leaning back on the couch.

“That doesn't make any sense.”

Although a part of him wants to express that yes, it does make sense because he really cares about him, he remains silent because he knows that it's not worth arguing with Mingi, at least not at that moment. Not when Mingi won’t even remember coming to Utopia tomorrow.

“I'll get you some water,” he stands up but stops when he notices that Mingi is about to imitate his movements. “Stay here.” he doesn't know if it's because Mingi doesn't feel like arguing with him or just because, but fortunately he chooses to listen to him by once again settling on the couch.

He takes advantage of the momentary distance from Mingi to release a much-needed breath of air. 

Though he isn’t drunk or high, he feels that his head is also clouded and his senses are altered. He takes a bottle from the mini fridge in his office and searches the drawers of his desk for bandaids until he finds one. He takes a look at Mingi, noting that he hasn't changed his position, and approaches him again.

“Drink,” Mingi looks at the bottle and then looks at him. “Drink.”

Repeating himself is enough for Mingi to opt to follow his words. He takes the cap for him and releases a silent breath as Mingi brings the tip of the bottle to his lips. He won't stop being drunk or high just by drinking water, but hydration has always proven to be helpful.

Not knowing whether to be more puzzled by the fact that Mingi's mixed alcohol and pills or because he's driven while under the influence of both, he reaches his hands to the side of Mingi's forehead to place the bandaid on it. He gently traces it with his thumb so that it rests against his bruised skin, and his eyes slide to Mingi as Mingi leans into the contact.

He has left his other hand on his jaw, and he continues to stare at Mingi as Mingi closes his eyes. Perhaps, it’s possible, that Mingi has gotten too used to him too. He supposes he should have seen it coming, they've been fooling around for the past months after all. Week after week, month after month, and the words fooling around are not even the right words.

He really doesn't know how to feel. Angry and irritated because Mingi made decisions without being aware of them, worried that he himself placed Mingi in that situation, or happy that at least Mingi's unconsciousness has sought to approach him. He does know, however, he knows that he cares about Mingi, even if Mingi doesn't believe him, and for the same reason, he won't let him expose himself to others in the state he’s in.

“You will stay here until I finish and then we go home.”

Expressing those words is enough for Mingi to open his eyes and his hands stop being on his face after Mingi pulls apart.

“For more pictures?” Champagne decorates Mingi's words, but anger too.

“And then we go home.” he repeats himself, copying his seriousness.

He's willing to have to deal with Mingi's irritation as well as the sarcasm in his vocabulary if it means he won't worry at the thought of Mingi again getting behind the wheel to drive without a clear head.

“You are so sexy when you get mad.”

“And you are so not sexy when you get high.”

Mingi frowns.

He's not perfect either, he too many times seeks to replace the water in his system with alcohol, but just thinking about everything that could have gone wrong that night is enough to take a serious look at him.

Mingi seems to be upset until he doesn't seem to be.

“Then I'm so sexy when I'm not high.”

Well, Yunho doesn't think he can argue with that surprising presence of logic.

Mingi rests the good side of his forehead against the back of the couch, and Yunho is only able to think how different everything would have been if power didn’t reign in the world they share. Mingi would probably have commented on the blue and red crystals of his suit, while he, certainly, as much as he likes how pink looks on Mingi, would have looked to take Mingi's clothes off.

“I guess you are,” he decides to reply, and he fixes the crown on Mingi's head.

“Nice,” he doesn't know if Mingi expresses that word and allows a somewhat sleepy but true smile to appear on his face because of what he has heard, or because the caress that he performs on his bluish locks makes him smile. “I'm hot. I feel hot, like, I know I'm hot, but, really hot right now,” Mingi breathes in and breathes out.

“Take off your blazer,” he sits up and Mingi imitates him.

“You want to undress me now?” Mingi smiles, both provocative and giddy, and leans into him instead of paying attention to what he hears.

“Take your fucking blazer off.” he determines. He can't do much for Mingi other than keep an eye on him and hope the combination in his system doesn't get any worse.

Mingi bites his bottom lip, and with his help, he agrees to take off his blazer. “That was sexy,” Mingi says, taking in his favor that he's needed his help to take off his blazer to leave his face near his.

“How much did you drink?” he asks, as champagne still is the guest of Mingi's words, and Mingi stops looking at him, seeming to be searching for the answer to his question.

He leans back and Mingi lets his head fall back onto the couch.

“A lot.”

“You're an idiot.” Despite the pronunciation of those words, he takes one of the folders left on the table next to the couch and begins to fan Mingi with it.

“I miss you, I really miss you.” Mingi doesn't pay attention to the words he hears, but to the ones he himself utters. “Miss you so fucking much.”

Even if he knows that Mingi is drunk and high, and he really wants to frown at Mingi, he smiles. He believes that he has reached a point with Mingi that allows him to know that his unconsciousness expresses what he has previously been consciously thinking.

“Me too, you have no idea how much,” he assures him, and Mingi keeps smiling.

Missed now, fortunately, because they are side by side again. He will scold Mingi tomorrow, oh Mingi will hear him tomorrow, once he's sobered up, because no matter how much he's missed him, he can't drive under the conditions that he has, but for now he basks in Mingi's presence and Mingi delights in his proximity.

“I just wanted you to take care of me,” Mingi admits, still looking tired and confused, but sounding more than sure of his words.

“You don't need to do this for me to take care of you, dumbass.”

For Mingi to realize that he doesn't need to make illogical decisions to make sure he takes care of him, he leaves his hand between them, and Mingi looks down at it.

“You always take care of me,” Mingi takes his hand in both of his and looks back at him, smiling again.

He doesn't doubt that alcohol and drugs speak for Mingi, and even so, he looks at Mingi because he has definitely done what he has done to take care of Mingi.

With Mingi smiling at him, he's only able to think that definitely, what has bothered him the most to read is that his love for Mingi is fake.

---

“Mingi is alive,” he recognizes the relief in San’s voice. “He's with Yunho, and when they're together again, I will separate them because I'll end Mingi for leaving the way he did. I'm going to kill him.” San adds.

“Those two, I swear to—” Wooyoung sighs.

He doesn't know if he’s relieved to hear that at least now Mingi and Yunho are side by side instead of avoiding each other, or because being side by side means that Mingi’s left his own party with his senses not being fully clear.

San appeared next to him and in a matter of seconds, they found themselves side by side in his car, going at a speed he probably shouldn't have been, really hoping they wouldn't see Mingi's car in disastrous conditions.

They are parked now, not near Utopia since fortunately, Yunho has answered San's text, and they can finally relax, even a little.

He still can't believe that he had to intervene in the kitchen of Yunho's bar simply because his chef chose to leave his position after being against Mingi. He rolls his eyes, thinking that nothing makes sense, but he blinks when he notices that San is looking at him.

“You knew.”

Wooyoung parts his lips, realizing that while he and Yeosang tried to prevent Mingi from entering the university, knowing that seeing those pictures wouldn’t be a nice situation because they knew about his closeness with Yunho, San has remained oblivious to it despite the fact that he and Yeosang have been in the city for much less time.

He hasn’t asked questions about it, he has simply remained with the knowledge in his head.

San doesn't sound or look angry.

“I realized,” he chooses to correct him. While in class it’s difficult for him to focus and he’s easily distracted, outside the classroom walls that restlessness leads him to notice details that other people may not, “At least your friend answers you...”

“Still nothing?”

He shakes his head because his phone hasn't buzzed three times, and therefore Yeosang still doesn't reply to his texts.

“No, but... the other time he disappeared he was with Jongho. I'm just concerned that he's chosen to disappear, but he has the key to my house just in case.”

He raises an eyebrow when San tenses up, but he assumes that it's because if they don't know where Yeosang is, it's not just because Yeosang doesn't reply to his texts, but because he and San aren't at the party either. And they haven’t opted to park on any street after getting Yunho's text.

“Don't you want to go look for him?” San's words are evidence of the same.

He gives him a look that equals to a negative answer, and leans forward to rest his eyes on the building in front of them, which he no doubts is the reason why San doesn't hesitate to ask if he doesn't want to do something else instead of being there.

He hears San let out a breath, and he confirms his thoughts as San looks at the hospital they have chosen to approach after making sure that Mingi is fine. They could have gone back to Illusion, they are close after all, but they haven’t.

With Mingi and Yeosang in the arms of their respective companies, and Seonghwa with Hongjoong, a matter of seconds was enough for San to allow himself to show how he truly feels. He may have chosen to put on makeup and decorate his body with fake tattoos and black clothes, but it’s evident that he’s not in the mood to be at a party.

He doesn't blame him, as even Yunho asked him if something is wrong with San. But he doesn't think it's his place to answer for San, not when he thinks San is still dealing now with not only the past, but also the present.

“I know you just suggested looking for Yeosang to avoid going in there, but if you don’t really want to be here, we can leave,” he mentions. He stops keeping his eyes on the building and his eyes meet San's when San looks at him as well. “You don't have to do this.”

He knows that San himself has told him that he finally wants to know who Seo Kyung turns out to be, the person who happens to work at the hospital they are next to and has the same face as the person San has always thought of as his mother; but he doesn't want San to force himself.

“No, I want to.” San sounds confident but looks nervous.

For the same reason, he offers him his hand.

He told him that he would be by his side, since they are also initially in that situation because he recognized the facial features of the person who still is San's lockscreen. He gives a slight squeeze when San takes his hand, and tugs gently on him because even though he feels nervous too, he thinks they are capable of staying all night in front of the hospital, allowing their minds to continue to cloud instead of clear.

The night feels cold once they get out of the car, and smoke leaves his lips as he takes a deep breath before finally entering the hospital. Strangely enough, not many people keep their eyes on them as they walk down the aisles, and if they do look at them it's more likely to try to guess what they're dressed up as or just look at their costumes. He quickly realizes that it's because some other people are wearing costumes as well, but he doesn't want to know how they ended up in the hospital.

He stops once they are in front of the sign that mentions the hospital staff areas as well as their respective locations within the building, and assumes that San reads the same name as him because San squeezes his hand at the same time his eyes scan the words Seo Kyung, Head of Midwifery Directorate, Second Floor.

He looks at San, wanting to reassure him that at any moment they have the chance to backtrack and get the hell out of there, but San looks at him, and nods after exhaling a breath. He's the first to move again, and decides to use the stairs instead of the elevator so that San can at least relieve some of the tension —if that's even possible— by walking up the steps instead of looking at his stressed reflection in the elevator mirror.

Very few people are present on what turns out to be the second floor, especially where they go. He doesn't know whether to feel lucky because it's a quiet environment, or because someone exclaiming that they need a room for someone who is about to bring another person into the world would have been an interesting distraction. There seems to be a secretary, so he blows out a breath before keeping his hand locked with San's.

He’s also nervous, but he has to be sure for San.

“Excuse me,” the secretary is surprised to see them with makeup covering most of their faces.

He doesn't blame her, as while he pretends to have a wider mouth with a black line and black and white paint around his eyes, San has smeared lipstick as well as dark makeup around his eyes. They are being looked at but he tries not to take it personally. After all, they are the only people who stand out at that time.

“We were looking for Dr. Seo Kyung,” he says.

“Who asks?”

Wooyoung widens his eyes upon hearing her and pretends to cough because hearing that question is evidence enough that they really are looking for someone who is alive, a person that San has always associated with someone who is dead. He feels San tense up, and wonders if lying or telling the truth —partially— is the best option.

“Could you tell her that... Choi San is here?” he decides to reply with another question.

The secretary glances at them before getting up and disappearing through a door. He looks at San, and strokes his hand with his thumb because San looks terrified, and not necessarily because he's dressed up for Halloween. He feels nervous too and it isn’t the identity of his mother that is in doubt, so he doesn’t doubt that San feels much worse, although he hopes that his presence comforts him enough.

It seems to be so, as San looks at him before lowering his gaze to their hands.

It's clear that neither of them can believe they're there, that they don't know what's going on, and that they don't know what to expect, but they both rest their attention on the secretary when she appears.

Wooyoung is aware that they may hear that she’s not present, that they should withdraw and leave the establishment, or even wait for someone to come and get them out of the hospital.

“You can come in.” The secretary points to the second door on the right.

He doesn't know what makes him more nervous, thinking they might have been kicked out, or hearing that they haven't. He somehow manages to raise the corners of his mouth, enough for the secretary to understand his gratitude, and they approach the door.

“Just... open it before I change my mind and leave.”

San's voice is low but he hears it enough not to hesitate to pay attention to it. He looks at the door, lets out a breath, and opens it without wasting any more time.

He stops as he barely opens it though, and he believes that he would have laughed at the fact that San seems to stay behind him, hiding when their bodies show that it isn’t possible for that to happen; if it wasn't for the fact that they both remain equally rigid as the person they meet turns out to have the same facial features as the same person in the background of San's phone.

Less young, with more years of life, but the same anyway.

“You've grown so much.”

He isn't surprised when he feels San inhale a breath as those are the first words to be exchanged, but he feels all stiffness drain from his body the second he thinks San has reached his limit because he feels him move behind him. To leave, that’s obvious.

“Are you his mom?” he asks. This time without hesitation, without doubting.

His words get San to stop and their hands never let go. This person —whoever she is, San's mom or not— rests her eyes on him.

Wooyoung raises both eyebrows, indicating that he’s waiting for an answer. It doesn't seem fair to him that San is next to him, probably going through the most stressful moment of his life, while the person sitting on the other side of the desk doesn't seem nervous.

“No.”

He assumed that kind of response from the moment he recognized the person who is certainly in front of them. She could be lying, he knows it, she definitely already has, because for a reason all this time San has been looking at a photo of a person who is not who she turns out to be. He looks at San, because San is the person that matters, and he can't read his expression.

“You can sit down if you’d like,” they listen.

They both stop looking at each other. This time he doesn't move because they have already found an answer, and it's up to San if he considers himself satisfied or wants to find answers for what he doesn't doubt are the doubts that appear in his mind. 

San responds by being the first to move, and this time, he follows him to sit down.

Their hands are still together.

“You are not my mom,” San determines, probably more for himself.

His tone of voice sounds constrained but that doesn't stop him from expressing a word since they entered the hospital. He notices that this person, well, they already know her name and that she's not San's mom, Kyung, looks between them.

She must want something, it’s the only thing Wooyoung can think of. If she didn't want anything, she wouldn't even have expressed being present.

“No,” she replies again.

“Then who is it?”

Wooyoung narrows his eyes because the second he doesn't hear an I don't know assures him that Kyung knows who San's real mother is.

“The deal with your father was that you were never going to be here, in front of me.”

A mother who is not his mother, a father who lies. He straightens up and takes San's hand in both of his because San keeps finding reasons not to hold a smile on his face.

“He doesn't know I'm here.” San says.

“Then how did you—”

“Through my own means. Who is my mom?”

Kyung exhales a breath, probably realizing that they haven't appeared in front of her to settle for words that don't say anything.

“I can't tell you.”

“It's mean of you to do this.” Wooyoung stares at her.

It isn’t fair, it isn’t fair at all that the answer is so close but at the same time so far. He's used to lies, to confusion, to misunderstandings, but this? He keeps San's hand trapped between his, his fingers tightening more and more, it’s unfair.

Kyung takes a look at him before looking at San.

“Talk about it with your father.”

“He's been lying to me for twenty-three years, why would he talk to me? Why would I talk to him?”

“I can't disclose that information to you. He hasn't said a word so I won't. All I can say is that I wasn't asked to play your mother, I was surprised when you asked me.” 

Wooyoung narrows his eyes when Kyung looks at him. He doesn't know what to believe, and he doubts that San is clearer about the situation.

“You won't really tell him?” He feels San's gaze on him too. If at least San's mom is alive, dead? Are they looking for nothing, wasting their time? “You won't give him an answer?”

“I can only tell you that you don't want to find her.” Kyung looks at San.

San shakes his head, and Wooyoung thinks that while it wasn't a waste of time, it's a waste of time to stick around when it's clear they can't move forward, at least not that way. He gets up, and instead of tugging at San's hand, he looks at him.

“Come on, Sannie,” he says, but he lets San decide. He believes that many opportunities to make his own decisions are already being taken away from San, and the last thing he wants is to take away more freedom.

San seems to be aware of the same, as he doesn't let go of his hand when he gets up. San doesn't say another word before approaching the door, but they are stopped.

“San.”

They turn around, and he can’t decipher Kyung’s thoughts.

“You don't want to find her.” It's more than a suggestion now. “Even though she has already found you.”

Those last words cause a bad feeling in his stomach, as only one face appears in his mind.

He doesn't need to see San to know that they both look at her in the same way, and San apprehends the warning but doesn't say a word. San doesn’t say a word either when they walk down the hall, as well as when they go down the stairs. He says nothing when the hospital doors open, and the deep breath that leaves his lips, which says nothing but at the same time says everything, meets the cold weather of the night.

His hand finally stops meeting San's when San opts to sit on the sidewalk, and he promptly sits next to him although taking a few steps would be enough for both of them to get in his car and take shelter from the cold.

San deals with his own identity because of others' lies, and even if he always has something to say and it’s usually easy for him to start conversations, it has never been so difficult for him to put together a sentence.

“I'm... sorry,” He doesn't know what else to say.

San's pupils —purple that night— focus on him. Some of the seriousness seems to have left his features, but he’s unable to think of that detail as a nice touch because it has been replaced by frustration.

“My dad's been lying to me my whole life and for what?” San stops looking at him to flex his legs and wrap his arms around his knees, his eyes lost on the asphalt of the street. “I've been thinking of someone as a mom when she actually isn't,” he takes his phone from one of his pockets and unlocks it to then drop it between them. “Stupid lockscreen.”

“I can fix one thing,” he assures him.

Maybe it's a small detail, something insignificant, but if the same will help San to relieve some tension, then it's worth trying.

He takes San’s phone and does his best to smile at the camera. With San's eyes on him, he sets the photo as his lockscreen, and leaves the phone back in San's pocket. He looks at San to give him a small smile, and thankfully San allows a small but nonetheless laugh to leave his lips.

He leave his head on San's shoulder, and San leaves his head on his.

They should be celebrating, still present at Mingi's party because they are still young and they should spend that night dancing with each other, with smiles on their faces and a sore throat the next day from singing all the songs; not being side by side, sitting in front of the facade of a hospital, with more questions than answers.

“She knows your dad, she knows your mom,” he decides to say, trying to clear their thoughts. “Your mom must have come here. She said that it isn’t convenient for you to find her, and if someone wants it to be a secret and has money to pay for it to stay buried, it means someone powerful.”

“Someone who wanted me to be a secret,” San says.

They straighten up as they hear each other, and he forms a line with his lips as he hears San click his tongue. He believes that they are both aware that Kyung could have lied to them, but it wouldn’t have made sense since with a yes they would have had a final answer.

“I think there are two options. One, your mom comes to give birth alone, without the man, I guess, because her child is not that man’s child, and pays so that no one finds out, or the man accompanies the birth in secret and pays to keep quiet.”

“But what about my dad?” San asks. “Where was he? Why would he lie to me, saying that Kyung is my mom when she is not? You listened to her, my dad himself came up with the idea of telling me that Kyung is my mom, she was never aware of that. He could have just told me that she died, no pictures, no memories, nothing, and I would never have made it to Kyung.”

“Your dad and Kyung know each other, that's for sure. He was here.”

“Then there’s a third option. My mom and dad came here. They both needed it to be a secret, and then my mom disappeared.”

“And your dad...” he looks at San. “He stays with you.”

“I don't even know if my dad is my dad.” San seems to give up.

“You... well... yes... you look like him.”

He doesn't know if he expresses those words because he doesn't know what to think anymore to make the situation logical, or because he's trying to gather ideas while he's talking, but he turns to look at San when San looks at him, and they both blurt out the same kind of laugh. He’s grateful that his lack of logic made San laugh at his comment.

“I'm sorry, my head is burned...”

San gives him a little push with his shoulder, and a smile continues to be found on his face. “It's okay.”

“Have you ever seen your birth certificate?”

“There’s my dad's name and another name. I looked it up but nothing came up so I guess I was not only thinking about a person who isn't my mother, but also thinking about the same person with a name that isn't.” San allows his shoulders to slump, and another puff of air passes between his lips.

“What we do know is that your dad probably was with a powerful woman who probably lives in Seoul, because... she's alive... we know that, and she has connections to this hospital, probably...” he chooses to express. “A woman in a relationship or married, maybe, who must have stayed out of the public eye because she hasn't sought to stay with you. Kyung knows who she is because she said that you have grown up, she knows your dad too, and said that you don’t want to find your mom. Kyung must have been there when you were born.”

“Then I’m the mistake of a relationship that should have never happened.”

“Hey, you're not.” He doesn't hesitate to turn towards San with his body to stare at him as he utters those words.

He has no doubt that at that moment San needs a strong voice, a tone of voice that he manages to pick out among all the cloudiness presented by his thoughts. Fortunately, he's always been told that he talks too loud.

“It doesn't matter if we've only known each other recently, or whatever, but you're not. You don't deserve to think that way, you deserve an explanation, you really do. You being here is not a mistake, and that won't change no matter who your mom is, no matter who your dad has been with.”

San rests his chin on his own shoulder, and thankfully a small smile decorates his face. “That orgasm must have been not that pathetic if you are here with me expressing those words instead of partying.”

Wooyoung allows a small laugh to leave his lips and opts to give him a little caress on his cheek with his knuckles. “Silly,” he tells him, and barely pinches his cheek.

San looks at him, still smiling, until his smile begins to fade, and he knows very well why, since both of them have chosen to avoid talking about the last words they've heard so far.

“She... she said that my mom already found me,” San says, and he forms a tense line with his lips because he thinks that San is thinking the same thing about him, and as fortunately as unfortunately, San looks at him as he adds his next words. “Yeosang and Seonghwa's mom... they... she... I mean, you as well, you are all new here, and their mom knows my dad. What do you think it means?”

That it would make sense for Yeosang and Seonghwa's mother to be your mother, he thinks but doesn't say.

“I've seen photos of Yeosang's mom with Yeosang when he was just born, it doesn't make sense,” he understands why San thinks that Yeosang and Seonghwa's mother could be his, but all the other details lead him to think otherwise. “She was in Spain. San, I don't think she's your mom.”

“And if she traveled here and no one knows about it? Except for my dad?”

“But if she's your mom, then she can't be Yeosang's.”

“Do you think that's possible?”

“Well, she definitely knows how to lie but...” But Yeosang and Seonghwa have been half-brothers for as long as he can remember. He certainly has seen photos of Yeosang's mother pregnant with Yeosang. It really is impossible. “I don't know. I really don't know.”

“I don't know what to think anymore.” San frowns and again rests his eyes on the street.

He also turns his head, but to look around them. He believes that he finds it hard to see San as the son of Yeosang and Seonghwa's mother because everything indicates that what San expresses is impossible, although as San has said, he doesn't really know what to think either.

The hospital visit was supposed to provide answers, but now there are only more questions.

A shiver reminds him that it's still a cold night, and he looks at San.

“Let's go, I don't know if we'll celebrate, but at least we'll be out of here.”

San nods, and they soon get up. He holds a small smile when he notices San stretching his arm towards him, and he doesn't hesitate to wrap it with his hands, his fingers brushing against the texture of the sleeves full of fake tattoos.

“It would be so easy to ask my dad,” he hears San say.

“Do you think he would tell you the truth?”

“No,” San doesn't hesitate to answer. “You heard her, she said she wasn't asked to play my mom, this is my dad's fault. He's been lying to me all this time. If I hadn't shown you my lockscreen, she would never have told me the truth, or at least part of the truth.”

“We can start looking at the list of people associated with the hospital, if you'd like, see if Yeosang and Seonghwa's mom is somehow connected to this building,” he proposes, because if none of the people who are supposed to help them, help them, then they should continue trying to get closer to the truth on their own. “Just... let's not say anything to the two of them for now, okay?”

He thinks that from the way San looks at him, he understands that he’s talking about Yeosang and Seonghwa. San nods, and he feels lucky because he thinks the last thing Yeosang and Seonghwa need right now is more family drama.

San looks up at the sky and lets out a breath before looking straight ahead again.

“This is definitely not what I meant when I always thought I wish my mother was alive,” he shakes his head. “I have never felt so much the spirit of Halloween.”

It certainly looks like a night of mystery, or worse, of terror.

He opts to give him a gentle nudge with his arm before they stop next to his car.

“You will come to my house and we will eat a lot of candies until we balance this bitter sensation with sweetness.”

“I don't need candy, I already have the best treat right next to me,”

Wooyoung looks away when he can't help the giggle that leaves his lips. This time San gives him a gentle nudge on his shoulder, and they share a smile as well as a look before they pull apart to get in his car.

He doesn't regret leaving the party to be together with San.

Notes:

san's costume is the black cat nero mv's outfit 🐱

Chapter 32

“I don't— ah— I don't like you,” Jongho raises the corners of his mouth as he hears the way Yeosang contradicts his words with the impossibility of articulating a sentence.

He keeps stroking Yeosang's cock, being rewarded with Yeosang's fingers digging into the flesh of his shoulders as he continues with his head hidden in the crook of Yeosang's neck and shoulder, creating an encounter between his lips and Yeosang's skin.

“I don't like you at all.” Yeosang adds.

“No?” his amused murmur finds Yeosang's wet skin. “Are you sure about that?”

He pulls away to watch Yeosang, and knows the answer to his question when he finds Yeosang with the back of his head against the shower tiles, his eyes closed while his lips remain parted. He takes advantage of the fact that Yeosang keeps his eyes closed to lean into him and tickle his mouth with his words.

“Your body states otherwise.”

His lips are tickled back as a shudder running through Yeosang's body leads Yeosang to blow a short breath over his mouth. He provokes Yeosang and Yeosang provokes him, both voluntarily and involuntarily. Their bodies react to each other, and Jongho believes that there's nothing more satisfying than said reciprocity.

He keeps one of his hands on Yeosang's nape, waiting for his touch to contrast with the hardness of the wall, as well as his other hand around his cock. He rubs it with the knee he's placed between Yeosang's legs, and stares at Yeosang as he allows a sound of pleasure to leave his lips.

Yeosang straightens up, and their eyes connect. Jongho believes that the drops that slide over Yeosang's skin, over his body and over his face, because the shower continues to run next to them, should be the only water capable of tracing paths without a destination on his cheeks. No tears should even threaten to pool at the corners of Yeosang's eyes.

“I like what you do, but I don't like you,” he chooses to hum at Yeosang's words.

Yeosang's body trapped between his and the wall, his hard cock in his hand, his hands left on his shoulders for balance, his hooded eyes and his lips that refuse to form a line. Yeosang balances his words with what his body expresses.

He stops keeping his hand on the nape of Yeosang's neck to brush away some of the pink locks that have stuck to his forehead as a result of the water that drowns the sounds shared between the walls they are in between.

“Too bad.” Rather than frown at Yeosang's words or allow the pronunciation of them to make him feel upset, he slides his hand to Yeosang's waist and brings his lips closer to Yeosang's. Yeosang keeps them split, but he doesn't kiss him.

Instead of leaving his lips on his, he revels in the gasp that Yeosang expresses as he slides his thumb along the tip of his cock. He feels the way a new shiver runs through Yeosang's body.

“I like you.” he adds, being sure of the words he chooses to intone.

“Sh...” Yeosang stops keeping one of his hands on his shoulders to place his index finger on his lips, and barely drags his bottom lip with the tip of his finger as he stops keeping it over his mouth to signal him to keep quiet.

Well, if Yeosang doesn't want words, then he will let his actions speak for themselves. 

He's slowly beginning to know where to touch, where to press, and where to caress to get the desired results. He did say he wants Yeosang, and he still wants Yeosang, and he plans to repeat those words and demonstrate the same with his body until Yeosang understands that he hasn't proposed a deal between them only to have it scrapped in a matter of days.

Pleased, the corners of his mouth lift up as Yeosang allows a placid murmur to caress his throat once he presses his body against his, the closeness not preventing him from dragging his fingers along Yeosang's shaft.  Slowly, as there's no rush and he wants to savor all the reactions that his hand elicits.

Yeosang slides his hands to his nape, and he tilts his head when Yeosang is the one to provoke a meeting between his lips and his neck. Whether it's to stay focused or because Yeosang has also been taking notice of what he likes and doesn't like, he doesn't complain; much less when he denotes the subtle shaking that accompanies Yeosang's legs. Yeosang tells him to shut up, but he shuts himself up.

He allows an amused little chuckle to leave his lips, content with Yeosang seeking to balance himself with the help of his body. That's what he wants, exactly what he wants. For Yeosang to allow himself to rely on him, to take the firmness of his muscles to his favor for balance.

The warm water of the shower is as welcome as Yeosang's hands and mouth on his body. The sigh that Yeosang allows to leave his lips finds his skin as he continues to move his hand up and down his cock, and although he quickly misses the warmth that Yeosang's lips on his neck offer him, he delights in the tickle of his ragged breath.

He believes that Yeosang is reaching his limits because a lack of words doesn't equal a lack of reaction, and he lowers his eyes to their bodies. His own cock complains at the neglect but he doesn't care, and swipes his thumb over the precum beading at Yeosang's tip.

“You frustrate me,” Yeosang trembles under his touch as he says those words.

He continues with his knee between Yeosang's legs, and he decides to hum before keeping his fingers around the base of Yeosang's cock. He stops moving his hand, and Yeosang groans as he straightens up to stare at him.

“I'm sure you've said it before, that I make you feel good,” he reminds him.

“Don't stop,” Yeosang asks.

He revels in the inevitable moan that leaves Yeosang's lips as soon as he doesn't hesitate to comply, and once again begins to stroke his shaft, this time with a faster, more determined rhythm. Driven by the way Yeosang asks him to keep pleasing him, he doesn't want to disappoint.

Yeosang digs his nails into the back of his neck as he thrusts into his hand, seeking the contact as well. Whereas he previously found himself falling under Yeosang's touch, now Yeosang is the person who seals their lips together in a desperate kiss to drown out the sounds that leave his mouth.

Reciprocating the kiss just as hungry, because Yeosang always drives him to want more, more, and more, he stops keeping his hand on his waist to slide it to the back of his thigh and lift his leg to get Yeosang to surround his body with it.

He smiles in the middle of the kiss, happy, since there's no other word that can describe his joy, knowing that he's not the only one of the two who wants more. Yeosang pulls him impossibly close, allowing him to stifle the moan that their closeness forces from the bottom of Yeosang's throat, and to feel the way he trembles under his touch as he finally comes.

“Why don't you repeat that you don't like me? Come on, repeat it,” he breaks to kiss to say, just because, because a half-complaint half-laugh leaves his lips when he feels Yeosang dig his nails into his neck, this time not just to keep his balance.

Although he believes that he could spend minutes, and minutes, and even more minutes kissing Yeosang, he forces himself to pull apart and allows Yeosang to breathe. He stops keeping his hand on Yeosang's thigh to make it easier for him to balance himself, and brings his hand back to his waist to make that part of his body the home for his fingers.

Slower, he continues to move his hand over Yeosang's cock, the traces of pleasure promptly disappearing with the help of the water. Yeosang lets out a deep sigh before looking up. Jongho watches him, and Yeosang doesn't complain when he opts to steal a kiss.

“Do you want...” he leaves his eyes on Yeosang's lips as he licks them. Yeosang swallows, seeming to want to compose himself because he promptly clears his throat and parts his lips again to let a small breath of air leave them. “Do you want to fuck my thighs?”

Jongho allows a breathy laugh to leave his lips at the formulation of that question. He allows Yeosang to take advantage of the fact that he has left his hands on his neck to pull him towards him. He's aware of his still hard cock between their bodies and the way it throbs at the mere idea of what Yeosang just proposed.

“Shit, you can't just say that, strawberry.”

Yeosang's face is illuminated by the sudden smile that he forms with his lips. He looks amused, more than entertained by the words he just heard.

“There you are, cursing and all,” Yeosang giggles, and Jongho thinks it's unfair that Yeosang doesn't seem to realize how much he warms his heart just by laughing. “Why not?”

“Do you want me to curse? Do you find that hot?” he asks, curious about his sudden reaction. “Weren't you the one who confused a supposed fascination towards degradation with the fact that I simply find you attractive?”

Instead of frowning or pouting his lips because he has sought to turn his own words against him, Yeosang brings his face closer to his, and no, Jongho thinks it's definitely not fair, neither to Yeosang nor to him, that Yeosang even dared to suggest ending the closeness between them before.

“You're funny, I think the environment around you has gotten you used to speaking a certain way, so yes, I find it hot that your facade seems to fall off when you're with me.” Yeosang expresses, staring at him, explaining why hearing him recite certain words leads him to feel so amused. “You don’t mistake a supposed degradation kink for the simple fact that I find you attractive either.”

This time he curls his hands over Yeosang's figure, struggling because a part of him wants to join his lips to Yeosang's, he feels the urge to kiss Yeosang after hearing him say that he finds him attractive even though it isn’t the first time Yeosang expresses such words. While another part of him feels the need to continue taunting Yeosang with a new set of words.

Be that as it may, there’s one thing that is true.

“You want me to get obsessed with you.”

The image of Yeosang has been present in his head ever since they met in the way they did in the corridor of the university, and since both have expressed the word deal to establish a closeness between them.

It’s a new day, they have already seen each other the night before at Mingi's party. The moon has been replaced by the sun, no type of makeup decorates Yeosang's face while all the accessories and layers of clothing that he has worn to resemble a vampire have already been forgotten. And even so, once again, they find themselves face to face again, surrounded by the details that make up the hotel room where both agreed to approach each other.

“I'd like to mock you, to laugh, or even shake my head,” Yeosang says, “But the truth is, I think I'm starting to get obsessed over you too.”

He leans into Yeosang to eliminate what little space is left between them because he feels the way his own hands remain firm on Yeosang's waist as he listens, how, unlike last night, Yeosang’s sure he doesn't want to end their closeness.

But Yeosang pulls back even though he keeps his arms around his neck, and doesn't allow him to kiss him. Yeosang smiles, sincere and provocative.

“Fuck my thighs,” this time it's not a question, but a suggestion said in a soft tone of voice.

His hands still present on Yeosang's waist allow him to feel the way Yeosang spins around to turn his back on him, and though Jongho misses his smile, no complaints threaten to appear as he lowers his gaze to scan Yeosang's body with his eyes.

Yeosang leaves his forehead as well as the palms of his hands on the wall, and he seeks to balance that firm surface by tracing Yeosang's spine with his index finger, delighting in the small tremble that Yeosang offers him in return.

He settles behind Yeosang while Yeosang leaves his feet together, a few millimeters between them. A relieved breath leaves his lips as he takes his own cock to guide it between Yeosang's legs, and just as a simple touch gives him relief, it also gets him to curse himself after thinking of all the temptation he must endure once he lowers his gaze again.

He could ask Yeosang if he wouldn't prefer for him to fuck him instead of his thighs, and if Yeosang says yes, and after making sure to take his time preparing Yeosang so that no kind of discomfort exists, he would spread Yeosang's asscheeks to slide his cock into his hole. But no, he doesn't part his lips to ask that question because he himself has never fully accepted fucking being part of the deal, at least not at the moment.

Time spent thinking about something that he definitely wants to happen in the future is currently wasted time, and besides, he doesn't want to make Yeosang wait, at least not for that occasion, so he slides his cock between his thighs.

He leaves his forehead against the back of Yeosang's head, now he looking for balance after also resting his hands on his waist again. The water droplets smooth the slide, and Yeosang feels soft, so, so soft. It feels good, too, having refused to let the previous moments focus on him, and he's not surprised or embarrassed when a moan threatens to leave his lips.

Yeosang makes sure that said sound ends up being heard and ceases to be an emanation to become a reality once he brings his feet together, and therefore his thighs together to reduce the space around his cock. He straightens up and holds Yeosang's gaze when Yeosang glances over his shoulder, sure of himself.

This is how he wants Yeosang to feel, confident in his decisions and in himself. Yeosang doesn't complain when he steals a kiss, nor when he opts to wrap his arms around his waist.

“You did that on purpose.” he says, as if the smile Yeosang gives him wasn't enough.

He thrusts his hips forward slowly, enjoying the smooth slide and calm rhythm he establishes with his body, as Yeosang agrees to take him.

“Why won't you fuck me?” Yeosang stops supporting himself on the wall to lean back and rest the back of his head on his shoulder. Jongho watches him, feeling the way Yeosang presses his back to his chest as he rests his hands on his, and oh, those words are not a surprise, because if he has thought of it, Yeosang has too. “I know you want to.”

Yeosang expresses those words without a provocative smile on his face and without an amused tone of voice. Yeosang knows that he’s saying nothing but the truth. Yeosang stares at him, and he soon feels the precum that collects on the tip of his cock being dragged between Yeosang's thighs.

“You know I want you to.” Yeosang adds.

Indeed, he knows that Yeosang wants him to fuck him. For the same reason, Yeosang expresses not liking him, mentions being frustrated. Yeosang wants more, his body asks for more, and yes, he wants to fuck Yeosang.

It would be enough to ask Yeosang and align his cock to give Yeosang what, as Yeosang has said, they both want. Yet he ignores his pleads because he hasn’t prepared Yeosang properly, and because with Yeosang comfortable against him, flexible and docile under his touch, staring at him through half-lidded eyes and parted lips, he doesn't think he can be blamed for not wanting to change that image.

“Oh, pardon me, strawberry, does the activity not cater to your taste?”

Yeosang blinks to throw him a serious look before he chooses to straighten up, though instead of once again resting his forehead and his hands against the wall, he keeps his body pressed to his.

He stops keeping his head on his shoulder, and Jongho opts to stop keeping one of his hands on his waist to spread his palm over his stomach. In the absence of an answer, he places a kiss on the nape of his neck before bringing his lips to one of Yeosang's ears.

“I don't want you to leave me,” he decides to answer Yeosang's question even if Yeosang doesn't answer his, and suppresses any quick response Yeosang may have already formed in his head after giving him a hard thrust.

Yeosang half-whimpers half-moans as he lets his hand fall over his. Yeosang's thighs trap his throbbing cock between them, and he quickens the pace of his thrusts. He feels good, and Yeosang feels good too, and for that very reason they have made a deal between them.

“I've already seen your dick. Do you really think I'll leave?”

The heartfelt laugh that leaves his lips when he hears Yeosang turns into a shaky puff of air when he feels Yeosang's fingers brush the head of his cock as it peeks out between Yeosang's thighs.

He supposes he should revel in the knowledge that Yeosang is drawn to what he sees, and he certainly allows those words to guide his thoughts, since he gives Yeosang another hard thrust, and Yeosang hears the reaction his own actions cause in him as a groan caresses the back of his throat.

“You'll leave,” once again he rests his forehead against the back of Yeosang's head when he feels his body brush his own limits.

He doesn't know if Yeosang has noticed that he’s close to allowing his body to show how good it feels, how good he feels when they are together, but he feels the little squeeze Yeosang gives to his hand. Or if Yeosang even makes that gesture because he denotes the trace of uncertainty behind his insistence.

“You will leave if I give you what you want.”

He doesn't know if he makes sense of the words he expresses. However, he may choose to blame the nearness of the moment for his illogic. They decided to stay close to each other to give each other what the other wants. He really wants to give Yeosang what he wants, what he also wants because it's true that he wants to fuck Yeosang, and thinking about that situation only leads him to make his thrusts more erratic.

But while Yeosang expresses his chaos through sudden tears and uncontrolled emotions, he does so through a silence masqueraded as temperance. He needs Yeosang's chaos, just as he has told him, in order to curb his own rampage.

“Or you can do it, do me, so well, that I— ah—” Knowing that Yeosang is unable to compose sentences without interrupting himself with his own sounds of pleasure delights him. He clouds Yeosang’s senses and Yeosang clouds his. “That I will have no choice but to keep coming back to you. Isn’t that what you want, Jongho?”

He thinks that Yeosang definitely knows what to do and what to say when it suits him, since looking over his shoulder at the moment of uttering his words is enough to finally allow all Yeosang's taunts to break him.

Yeosang brings his legs together even more, and that's enough to lead him to surpass his limits and hide his face in Yeosang’s neck when he comes. He presses Yeosang's body as close to his as possible, and the hand that Yeosang slides up to his head to caress his strands feels as good as the hand he keeps around the tip of his cock.

What does he want? He wants Yeosang not to be able to articulate any words other than the letters of his name. He wants Yeosang to think of him as much as he thinks of Yeosang. He wants Yeosang to stop sounding unsure of himself and the deal between them every time they end up getting physically close.

“The longer I take,” his words find Yeosang's skin. He lets out a breath, and tightens his hold around Yeosang's waist. “The more you will want it,” he manages to articulate before straightening up.

He stops keeping his hand on Yeosang's stomach to place it on the wall, wanting to keep Yeosang close to him but not wanting to risk slipping while with his other hand he keeps Yeosang glued to him.

“The more you crave it and the more you think about it, think about me, the more you'll enjoy it once I finally give it to you.”

He watches his release getting dragged away by the water. He doesn't want to know how much water they've wasted. He's not able to spend many seconds thinking about that detail because he leaves his chin on Yeosang’s shoulder when he feels Yeosang's index finger trace meaningless lines over his hand.

“I thought we were friends.”

He lets out a short laugh between the rise and fall of his chest.

“We are friends now?”

He loosens his grip around Yeosang when he notices that Yeosang wants to turn around. Yeosang again gives him the chance to look at him, and once again he tightens his arm around his waist once Yeosang allows his hands to land on said arm.

“I don't know, friends don't make each other wait,” Yeosang replies.

“Then we're not friends.”

He doesn't know exactly what they are. Friends with benefits without being friends. He believes that he doesn’t care about the uncertainty that haunts the closeness between them, since although he doesn’t know how to define Yeosang, he does know that while others may know details about Yeosang that he does, he’s the only person who has the opportunity to learn more about Yeosang, details that not everyone has the chance to discover.

“That's my line,” Yeosang voices.

“You could go fuck anyone else, anyone would tell you yes.”

He thinks there must be some reason why Yeosang has chosen to stay close to him, gravitating closer instead of shaking his head when they first met, but he’s also aware that Yeosang has caught his attention not only for not hesitating to insult him, but also for his facial features.

He thinks that Yeosang is capable of making people fall to his feet, kneel with just a wave of his hand or by fluttering his eyelashes, and yet, at that moment, Yeosang stands in front of him, expressing discontent at the mere idea of getting close to someone else.

“But I want you to fuck me,” Yeosang expresses those words with a whimsical pout and a slight frown. “Is that not enough for you?” he asks him, and this time brings his face closer to his until their lips remain a few millimeters apart.

He believes that Yeosang expressing those words is enough to think about the possibility of a second orgasm even though his body is still sobering up from the first one.

How has he managed to get Yeosang to go from expressing that he doesn't want him around, to hearing him say that he only wants him to hold him? He blinks slowly, the warm water as well as Yeosang's caress on his hair causing him to relax.

He lowers his eyes to Yeosang's mouth, lips that don’t hesitate to express infatuated words as well as form a tender pout, but a mouth that he also seeks to provoke, and he knows how to do it.

“Just tell me what you want, and I will give it to you.” he says, maybe a little dizzy from the sensations he got seconds ago, but he doesn't care. He means it.

Yeosang shouldn't imply that he's not appreciated, shouldn't assume that he doesn't want him, and shouldn't doubt himself. Perhaps at that moment Yeosang's necklace glitters around his neck, but he keeps thinking about how he acted when its temporary absence shook Yeosang.

His attitude was hesitant. He doesn't know if he was right or wrong to leave Yeosang alone even if leaving the room ended up allowing him to return to the room with Yeosang's necklace in hand. He doesn't know if he was right or wrong to let Yeosang leave without having eaten breakfast and with obvious tears about to spill from his eyes.

He doesn't want to hesitate with Yeosang, and he doesn't want Yeosang to hesitate with him.

“Just don't say the word fuck.” he adds.

Maybe he shouldn't be so willing to give everything to Yeosang, but what's wrong with it? He can do it. He tries to think of his words before saying them because Yeosang took offense when he offered to buy him a shirt, and got angry, and rightly so, when he, like a buffoon, as Yeoang has called him, offered to buy him a necklace that Yeosang has made clear can't be replaced.

Then he decides to offer everything to Yeosang, and let Yeosang choose.

He believes that the third time is the charm and that one can certainly from their mistakes, because Yeosang smiles, honestly and falsely.

“You do it on purpose,” Yeosang expresses instead of frowning or pushing him away. “You don't give me the only thing I want. If you won't give me pleasure, I'll give it to myself. Out.”

He again laughs, pleased when Yeosang shows him that he's different from anyone he has ever met before. Yeosang kicks him out, just like that. And he smiles, because people seek to invade his personal space until he gets tired.

“Yeah? Will you think of me while you do it?” He lowers his eyes between them to notice that Yeosang's body is certainly starting to wake up again, probably as a consequence of the last actions taken.

“Maybe.” He looks up when Yeosang speaks. “I just want you out.” He agrees to stop keeping his arm around Yeosang's waist, and finally straightens up and brushes his hair back when Yeosang pulls apart to stand under the shower. “If I can't have your body, you can't have mine.”

“Oh, are we going to play that game now? No friends so no benefits?”

Will it be about resisting instead of giving in now?

“You will lose,” Yeosang sticks out his tongue at him.

Jongho allows another short laugh to leave his lips. He doesn’t contradict him.

“Okay, one kiss, then. Just one, one more, please,” he points to his lower lip. If they start to resist, then he wants to have one last chance to feel Yeosang's lips on his.

“I shouldn't give it to you since you won't give me what I want, but since you said please.”

Yeosang approaches him to peck his lips, and he doesn’t impose any resistance when soon after Yeosang rests his hands on his shoulders to guide him out of the shower. He laughs instead of protesting, and after who knows how long, he finally steps out of the shower.

His body misses the warmth of Yeosang's body as well as the steam around him, and he dries his figure with one of the towels to then tie it around his waist. He slides one of his hands over the mirror to look at himself and isn't surprised to see the beginning of a small smile on his face.

Having to ask for something when he has always been given everything is certainly intriguing. He denotes when people approach him with the idea of praising him because pure interest accompanies those intentions.

Yeosang is different.

He licks his lips and walks out of the bathroom. He thinks he has regained his energy after luckily convincing Yeosang to come back to the hotel with him after Mingi's party.

It no longer matters the interest he had to feign in the party he attended before opting to go to Illusion, nor the smiles that were sent his way or the conversations he had to be a part of. What matters is the genuine ease and lack of need to pretend when Yeosang is by his side.

Pleasing company and comfortable clothes. And even so, being in that room doesn’t imply that he’s totally isolated from the rest of the world, since placing his eyes on his phone when it vibrates leads him to sigh, tired. Locking himself in the bathroom with Yeosang again is not a possibility, so he remains serious when he sees that his mother is the person calling him.

He accepts the call because he has no choice, but he doesn't even need to speak for his greeting attempt to be interrupted.

“Where were you last night?” It's the first thing he hears.

“That tedious party,” he decides to answer.

“After that.”

“You know where I was.”

His moves are tracked, his decisions are tracked, everything he does is tracked down.

“I'd like to hear it from you.”

He knows there's no point in lying because maybe there's no one in the room except for Yeosang, but again, he'd be a real buffoon if he equated that with lack of supervision.

“Away, far, far away, resting from the people you make me talk to.” it's frustrating, anyway, not having to mention Mingi's party or the hotel because he knows that his mother knows that he has been —and is— there. “Shouldn't you be glad? Aren’t you happy?” she asked him to be close to Mingi in the first place, even though he hasn't finished the night with Mingi.

“Those people you mention, were convinced to finance the building that your father wanted to build.”

“But his success isn't our success, right?”

He’s tired of being a pawn.

“I just want you to be careful.”

“Kind of ironic of you to ask me that.”

“Jongho.”

Jongho lets out a tired breath, and though he still hears the sound of the shower running, he steps as far away from the bathroom as possible.

“Your mistake landed us here.”

“And as a family, we have to fix it.” his mother insists.

“As a family?” Jongho doesn't avoid asking. “Family? Pure irony leaves your lips.”

His decisions depend on the decisions of others, his mood depends on the mood of others. It's tiring, knowing that he has everything, but at the same time, he has nothing. Perhaps he made a mistake in expressing to Yeosang that he can offer him everything. Maybe he can't offer him anything.

“Be careful and don't trust easily because anyone can and will betray you.”

He narrows his gaze even though his mother can’t see him. Her choice of words and her determined tone of voice assure him that hearing that phrase is not a coincidence. While his mother seems to know everything —if nothing— about him, he doesn't know everything about his mother.

“What are you talking about?”

“Song and Jeong.”

“It was you!” He covers his mouth with his hand as he remembers that he’s not alone, and seeks to keep talking in a low tone of voice regardless of wanting to exclaim those words much louder. “How can you be so cruel?”

He's not surprised. He has only required his mother to pronounce both last names to now know who is the person that pulled Mingi and Yunho into a mess. He previously suggested to Yeosang not to give him back his clothes because he’s aware that all eyes are on him and he doesn't want Yeosang to get hurt by being around him, but he no longer knows where the threat can come from.

“I protect this family.”

“You protect yourself.”

“Us.”

He lets out an exasperated breath when his mother again tries to explain her decisions under the word family.

“How did you even find out about it?”

He doesn't know many details, but he does know that whatever is going on between Mingi and Yunho, definitely hasn't come out of its own accord. Again, his mother decides and the others must move according to her decisions.

“I have eyes and ears everywhere,” his mother says. “So be careful with Kang.”

He remains serious and feels his hold tighten around his phone when he hears the pronunciation of Yeosang’s last name.

Is he a bad person for wanting to keep Yeosang close to him, for asking him to come back to him even though he knows all that it implies?

“Don't bring him into this.”

“Don't act protective.”

He decides to end the call as his mother again seeks to scold him and determine how he’s supposed to feel. He forms a fist with his free hand but forces himself to relax because he knows he's capable of breaking his phone, and he's really trying to learn that he shouldn't replace everything just because he can buy it.

He can never enjoy anything. It's unfair.

Yeosang is the only person who represents an escape from the constant pressure, and the tasks that follow him because his name and last name are known. He’s supposed to feel at ease when he’s with Yeosang. Yeosang offers him the opportunity to relax, and the last thing he wants is for that tranquility to be broken.

He slides his eyes to the bathroom door when the noise of the shower dies down, and seeks to breathe deeply to try to relieve his body of the tension that has embraced him. He knows that his mother finds it easy to provoke him because he allows her to.

Should he worry because he’s aware that his mother has expressed being aware of his closeness with Yeosang, or feel grateful that they at least have that suite for the two of them?

He approaches the bathroom and opts to leave one side of his body against the door frame when he notices that Yeosang has already gotten out of the shower. He has boxers on and is ruffling his pink locks with a towel.

Resting his eyes on the marks that now decorate his neck makes him wonder if he is acting selfish, if he is selfish for convincing Yeosang to be with him, to stay with him. When he thought about offering him everything, he didn't take into account that everything also implies a lack of privacy, supervision, and irritable calls.

He blinks as he notices Yeosang watching him along with a small smile through the mirror. 

“What?” he assumes that somehow he must have managed to make the seriousness leave his expression and pass it off as neutral because Yeosang keeps smiling at him instead of looking at him with concern. “Want another kiss?”

Should he say no, then? And add that he shouldn't be around him?

Wouldn't he leave Yeosang unprotected by telling him to stay away?

“Since you so kindly offer,” he stretches out his hand towards Yeosang, and once again, instead of taking his hand, Yeosang slides his hand up his arm. Jongho wraps his arm around his waist and Yeosang's hand finds the back of his neck.

As Yeosang's lips meet his, he thinks that he might not have to worry about an association between the words last and kiss. Yeosang looks at him once they part ways, and Jongho holds his gaze.

Should he worry about the fact that when he looks at Yeosang, has the opportunity to connect his brownish gaze to his, Yeosang's accompanied by a birthmark, he doesn't just think of a deal?

“Beautiful,” he says.

“Flirtatious words are one of the benefits of this friendship?” “Yeosang holds a small smile.

“So we are friends after all,”

“Call it progress,” Yeosang offers.

To avoid thinking, to avoid plaguing their head with questions, to free their bodies from the constant tension. That is the reason why he and Yeosang have agreed to stay close.

To soothe each other, and find in each other a way to distract themselves, to get away from reality, but what is he supposed to do when reality, ironically, feels so real?

“I won't give you what you want, I'll give you what you need,” he says, with his mother's words unfortunately spinning around his head. “So if you ever need me, you call me, yes?”

He notes that even though Yeosang keeps the corners of his mouth turned up, he tilts his head slightly, seeming confused.

“Where is this coming from?” A small giggle follows his words. “Was it too much water?”

“I'm serious, for once.”

Act protective? No, with Yeosang he doesn't act.

If he has to fight reality with reality, then he will.

Yeosang stops smiling, and if there are any questions in his head, he chooses not to express them out loud —even if the wariness is noticeable in his eyes. He doesn't question his words, and in return, caresses his nape.

“Okay. Yes, I'll call you if I need you,” he accepts.

He doesn't mention Mingi and Yunho's names or his mother's. While he doesn't need Yeosang to part his lips to ask questions, Yeosang doesn't need him to speak to answer.

Yeosang approaches him to kiss him, and there is something different, there is just something different, a new sensation when Yeosang catches his lips with his. That feeling, which has led him to express for Yeosang to call him without hesitation, also feels good.

“Can we—” he wants to talk but also wants to keep kissing Yeosang. “Can we cuddle? Would you be okay with that?”

He doesn't know why he feels so nervous about the words he expresses, perhaps because Yeosang hasn't expressed wanting to cuddle as part of the deal between them, but Yeosang blinks instead of shaking his head.

“Okay,” Yeosang agrees, and although he misses the warmth of Yeosang's body, he follows him with his eyes when Yeosang is no longer with him.

He licks his lips when he sees that Yeosang chooses to cover his torso with his red sweater —if he left it handy so it's easy for Yeosang to take it, he doesn't say it out loud—, and his hand finds Yeosang’s bare thigh when he pulls him towards him as they both settle on the bed.

However, as soon as he tries to accommodate Yeosang to cuddle, he stops because Yeosang leans back.

“I want to hug you,” Yeosang says before he can ask him why he hasn't allowed him to pull him closer to his chest or if he has regretted accepting to be close to him.

“Don't you want me to hug you?”

“No, yes, I do, but...”

He puts one of his elbows on the mattress to rest his head against his palm to look at Yeosang when Yeosang leaves his elbows on the mattress as well. Yeosang looks down and he takes advantage of the fact that he has left his hand on his thigh to caress his skin with his thumb. Yeosang looks up at him.

“It's just, yesterday... when we were in the bathroom... I didn't... I didn't help you clean up or anything, I mean, I didn't offer you paper or anything and I feel bad about it.”

Somewhat confused, he watches Yeosang as he utters those words.

“Is that what you think of?” When Yeosang only needs to look at him to reassure him that yes, that he thinks about it, he pulls him even closer to him, and luckily Yeosang wraps one of his arms around his neck when they both allow their heads to fall onto the pillows.

He doesn't want Yeosang to spend their time together thinking about actions that he would change or that he might have chosen to take. Yeosang chose to stay by his side and they are still together, and that's what matters to him.

Whereas last night Yeosang suggested ending the proximity between them after trying to give him the keycard, now he finds himself in front of him again, agreeing to be together with him.

“I just want to take care of you,” Yeosang says, and his words tickle his lips.

And I want to take care of you too, Jongho thinks. “You do,” he says.

His heart certainly rejoices when he hears that Yeosang wants to take care of him. He feels cared for when Yeosang looks at him before finally accepting to be the one being hugged as he slides down to rest his head against his chest.

“I really like being with you,” he hears Yeosang whisper. “I mean it.”

Yeosang's pink locks tickle his face as he buries his face in his strands, and he hopes Yeosang will feel for himself the way his heart pounds against his chest.

“I know, I trust your word,” he says, hoping Yeosang trusts his.

He knows that he shouldn't have left his parents' gala the night before, that he shouldn't have gone to Illusion, and that he definitely shouldn't have woken up with Yeosang next to him.

But with his legs entangled with Yeosang's legs, with Yeosang next to him, staying close to him and tracing soft circles on the nape of his neck, he doesn't care. He wraps his arm around Yeosang's waist, being aware that Yeosang is again wearing his sweater, and that he should get rid of the images of Yeosang leaving the bag so he can take his things back himself.

“Thank you for doing that,” Yeosang says, and he sounds so genuinely grateful, that he’s only able to wonder if maybe Yeosang showed up in the bathroom last night after being tired of people not believing his word.

Yeosang doesn't lie to him, and he doesn't act or lie when he's with Yeosang. He doesn't want those little moments to come to an end. His closeness with Yeosang is threatened, Yeosang is threatened, and he doesn't like that, much less when his mother is the person behind said threats.

He tightens his grip around Yeosang’s waist, and when Yeosang seems to enjoy being held instead of complaining, he wonders if this is what friends with benefits usually do, as he's sure the answer is no.

---

Seonghwa glances at Wooyoung before looking straight ahead again. Sometimes he wishes he could copy some of Wooyoung's characteristics, since while he has made sure to remove all his makeup and is aware that no trace of his previous partying haunts his figure, the smeared eyeliner around Wooyoung's eyes is remarkable.

He doesn't know if it's good or not, since making sure to remove all his makeup is good for his skin, but he does know that he also does it because he can't close his eyes and sleep, thinking about the products on his face —makeup that could ruin his pillow, his sheets.

He could learn from Wooyoung, and Wooyoung could learn from him.

“Ugh, esta cosa— stupid thing.”

He rests his eyes on Wooyoung again when he hears him complain, and finds him frowning at his phone while his other hand is busy holding a coffee. Keeping his hands full doesn't prevent Wooyoung from keeping him by his side though, since their arms are linked.

“What is it?” he asks when he sees him tap his phone slightly aggressively.

“I can't find that damn picture.”

“Which picture?”

“The one we took at Utopia last night, I really liked our outfits,” Wooyoung says.

“Maybe Yunho didn't post it?” He offers.

“No, but I'm sure it was— ugh, whatever,” Wooyoung doesn't seem convinced, as he makes sure to take a serious look at his phone before putting it away.

He believes that the night has turned out longer than it seemed, since while he has started the night in Utopia, he has ended it in another place.

“You left the party early yesterday,” he decides to tell Wooyoung once he remembers that when he left Illusion, he didn't greet Wooyoung.

“You were busy with Hongjoong,” he looks at Wooyoung as he gives him a gentle nudge on his shoulder, but he quickly turns his gaze away when he glimpses the amused smile on Wooyoung’s face.

He brushes his fingers across his lips, not being able to help the small smile that appears on his face.

“I just left with San,” Wooyoung adds. “What happened to your hand?”

He stops smiling as soon as his eyes fall on the black wrist brace that’s been covering one of his hands since the night before. He has chosen to wear a light blue coat that covers most of his hand and a black color for the wrist brace so that it stands out as little as possible, but he doesn’t feel completely cornered when he hears that question.

“I stumbled yesterday and tried to prevent the fall with my hand, that's all,” he lies. “I went to the hospital with Hongjoong.”

That's what he and Hongjoong have agreed to say in case other people ask why he's wearing a wrist brace. Thankfully Hongjoong didn't ask any more questions on the matter, though he did insist on accompanying him to the hospital once the party was over to certainly check his hand.

He doesn't know whether to be grateful that Hongjoong cared, or worry because it took Hongjoong seconds to realize that the bruises near his knuckles are real and not makeup.

“Hospital?”

“The one near Illusion,” he says, and stops walking as well as looks at Wooyoung when Wooyoung seems to choke on the sip of coffee he chose to take. “Are you okay?” he stops keeping their arms together to gently pat Wooyoung on the back.

Wooyoung clears his throat and seems to pull himself together.

“You went there before?”

“No, it was just the closest to Illusion. Why?”

“Nothing, just... you know, party and hospital, it sounds weird.” Wooyoung interlocks their arms again and they resume their pace. “It's good that you didn't hurt your feet and you can walk, that's good,”

He nods at Wooyoung's words. Even if it's a lie, he's glad that Wooyoung cares about him.

“Yeosang also left. Do you know if he was with...”

“Jongho?” The seriousness on Wooyoung's face is again replaced by an amused smile. “Yes, he deigned to answer one of my texts so he told me he was with him. Are you and him okay?”

“As good as we can be,”

He doesn't quite know how to feel. Calm because at least he knows that Yeosang spent the night with someone, or worried because that person is Jongho and Yeosang expressed needing air after the conversation they had.

Does Jongho know? That Yeosang takes drugs. It would hurt, and quite a bit, in fact, if Yeosang had trusted Jongho and not him. He slides his eyes to Wooyoung. Does he know? He has to know, it's Wooyoung.

He parts his lips to express a question that will probably make Wooyoung serious, but no words leave his mouth when his eyes finally find the reason why they've been walking down that street. He looks up, and he thinks he's not the only one impressed with the structure that stands before him as even Wooyoung remains silent.

A black building with blue windows stands out among the rest of the buildings on the street. It reflects the sun of that day and certainly catches one’s attention.

“Are these... the offices? Wow,” he hears Wooyoung ask. “I didn't know that your mom changed the name of her company,”

Seonghwa nods, barely managing to make a sound that indicates an affirmative answer. Lately, he's been so focused on his mother's new job as head of the university that he thinks he's forgotten that his mother was, and still is, an important and respected CEO. The previous offices were striking as well, but this building just left him speechless.

He hums instead of adding that he also didn't know that his mother chose to change the name of the company and therefore remove her last name from it. He supposes it's just like his mother has always said, a new beginning.

“I wanted... w—” he shakes his head to get the impression provided by the offices to stop clouding his thoughts. “I want to go back to work, even if I don't like it.”

He doesn't feel enthusiastic about working at his mother's company —even though the environment is definitely nice. He’s not interested in numbers or accounts, but he considers himself lucky because at least it’s a job and it allows him to focus on something.

Wooyoung allows some of his body weight to fall on him after keeping their arms locked. “I envy you, my parents still won't let me,” he expresses with a slight pout, still with his eyes on the building.

“Their loss,” he doesn't hesitate to assure him.

Wooyoung looks at him to smile.

He doesn't understand why Wooyoung's parents don't allow him to cook for some of their many, many locations. He has had several opportunities to try Wooyoung's food, and he believes that his parents would only benefit from letting him participate.

But he also understands not wanting to involve family and business. His mother is the complete opposite. There has never been a fight between them over said offices, but he thinks it’s because he’s grateful for the opportunity and he doesn’t want to bother his mother with insignificant details, details that he doesn’t consider important either although he never hesitates to do his best.

“Look!” Wooyoung gasps in surprise before pointing across the street. “A coffee shop! Do you want to go?”

Go to a coffee shop? It's not in his plans.

“You have... a coffee in your hand... don't you mind processed food?”

“It's okay, I could drink a milkshake, or more coffee, and no, trust me, sometimes you just want something with as many artificial additions as possible after so much homemade food.”

His stomach says yes, but his head says no.

“You go there,” he offers him along with a smile, “I'll see the offices, I'm sure I'll spend hours and hours going through all the nooks and crannies.”

Though Wooyoung holds his lips in a pout, he agrees to stop keeping his arm entwined with his. “Okay, I'll buy some muffins and I can bring you one later,” Wooyoung leaves a kiss on his cheek and Seonghwa prefers to smile at the gesture instead of remaining serious at the words he hears.

He watches Wooyoung cross the street and greet him from the other block.

“Park Seonghwa you rock and you will pay for the muffins because I don't work!”

He covers his mouth as he chuckles when Wooyoung greets him, not doubting that Wooyoung is able to afford more than one muffin, to pay the full rent for the coffee shop, the rent of all the buildings on the entire block, even, with how well-known Wooyoung's parents are, and turns to cast his eyes back on the building. He has been thinking of spending time working after moving to another city. He knows that his mother has given him and Yeosang free time after their father passed away, but he thinks that he already feels ready to busy his mind with other tasks.

Really, he really needs to occupy his thoughts with numbers and folders and whatever he used to do before they moved to Seoul.

Between Yeosang's drugs, his kiss with Hongjoong, choosing to certainly stay away from food, his mother's lies, and the black brace around his wrist, he wants to send all his worries to the back of his head —Yeosang clearly also seeks to distance himself from reality in his own way.

He’s unaware of how he has gone from looking at Hongjoong with disdain to being more than close to him, close enough to share a kiss, a really nice kiss, he thinks, and he is aware that he just refused to accompany Wooyoung to the coffee shop simply to avoid adding more sugars to his system; and he doesn't understand why his mother is lying.

He exhales a breath, and the corners of his mouth turn up at the thought of how nice the interior of the building must be, but he’s stopped as soon as he takes a step.

“Excuse me.” He turns his head to find a man. “Hello, are you... Park Seonghwa?”

Seonghwa frowns slightly. Perhaps he heard Wooyoung yelling his name from across the street or is a reporter who knows about him because just like Wooyoung's parents, his mother is known too.

“Yes, that's me.”

He can't help but take a step back and widen his eyes, surprised when the man in front of him lets out an exasperated breath, as if he's just told him the best news ever instead of just his name.

He’s aware that many people approach him because of the definition of his facial features, but this time he frowns when he thinks that the face in front of him confuses him. It’s strange, he feels familiar but he has never seen him. It’s conf—

He inhales a breath that doesn’t reach his lungs and takes another step back.

A man he knows very well, or rather, very little.

“I’ve been— I've been looking for you,” no, no, no, please, no, Seonghwa repeats in his head. “I'm... I'm Park Dohyun,” Seonghwa feels his heart rumble against his chest. “I'm... I'm your father.”

Notes:

haha... ay

Chapter 33

His father?

His father? How is it possible—

Seonghwa swallows heavily. What— what is he supposed to do? How is he supposed to react when this turns out to be the first time he's heard his father, that he's seen his father?

He can feel the anxiety taking over every inch of his frame, his body shuddering because he feels restless, because he is restless. His father —no, no, no. Dohyun hasn't moved closer to him, hasn’t even taken a step towards him, but he’s struggling.

“Seonghwa?”

He brings one of his hands to his chest when he hears his name, and as he turns his head after recognizing Wooyoung's voice, a soothing calmness presses his shoulders. He knows Wooyoung, someone close and familiar.

“Are you okay? Who is this?”

The hand that Wooyoung places on his arm leads him to be able to center and ground himself, and he doesn't miss the way Wooyoung seeks to stand between them.

“He's...” Words don't leave his mouth because he doesn't think he's capable of expressing the identity of the person in front of them.

How? Why? How is it even possible? He really doesn't know how he should react. Should he be acting differently? Angry, sad, both, neither? He’s confused.

Wooyoung wraps his hand around his arm and that grounding gesture gets him to articulate an answer.

“He's my father.”

“Qué?” he looks at Wooyoung and Wooyoung looks at him. Wooyoung is just as impressed as he’s, since Spanish always leaves his lips when the surprise exceeds his expectations. He looks at Dohyun as Wooyoung does. “What? You? His father? Why are you even here?” Wooyoung asks, sounding defensive, and rightfully so.

Why? Why? How?

“He’s...” Although Wooyoung has asked Dohyun a question, he speaks. Should he say Wooyoung's name? Was he wrong to stay there instead of entering the building? Is he making mistake after mistake? “Wooyoung, a really... a really good friend of mine.”

“A really close friend, family, even.” Wooyoung expresses himself with the confidence that he believes he has just lost. “As such, I stay and protect. Can you say the same about you? I think we both know the answer to that.”

“I understand the sentiment, and I'm here because I want to clarify that situation,” Dohyun replies, facing Wooyoung's stance calmly.

Clarify? That situation? Isn’t everything more than clear?

“You abandoned him and his mom, a new mother with a barely-born child. What is there to clarify?”

Seonghwa believes that he has never felt so grateful for Wooyoung's presence, for him and his sure attitude when it comes to defending the people he cares about. Wooyoung's hand on his arm is what keeps him from falling and succumbing to his jumbled emotions.

“That.” Dohyun establishes. “I want to clarify that, that I didn't abandon them, I didn't abandon you.” Dohyun watches him. “She abandoned me. I've been looking for you for the past twenty-four years, and I've finally found you.”

Seonghwa frowns. Just like Wooyoung said, qué?

“Why would we believe you?” Wooyoung asks.

“Can we grab a coffee and talk about it? I insist.”

Seonghwa looks at Wooyoung when Wooyoung looks at him.

It’s clear that Wooyoung is against the idea because he’s serious and the question he just asked only assures that he doesn’t trust the person who has appeared in front of them. But Wooyoung watches him instead of answering because it's his decision, they both know that. He chooses how to proceed.

Does he want to talk? The nervousness that has taken over his body assures him that no, that he should shake his head and allow Wooyoung to drag him away from that place, from that person. And yet, he knows that he won’t be able to focus on anything with the words he’s heard.

Has his mother abandoned someone instead of being abandoned by someone?

Still not quite sure, he nods, and his fa— Dohyun, Dohyun looks relieved before he decides to be the first to cross the street.

Wooyoung's hand on his arm reminds him that he can move and walk. Otherwise, he would have remained more than still, rigid and stuck in his place.

“I saw you from the shopwindow and left when I saw that you were with someone,” Wooyoung says softly, making sure to stay by his side. “Are you okay?” he whispers.

“No,” this time, Seonghwa doesn't hesitate to answer.

“Do you want me to leave?”

He shakes his head quickly.

He understands that perhaps Wooyoung is asking that question in case he prefers it to be a private moment, but he doesn't think he can hold a conversation unless Wooyoung is next to him. He guesses that Wooyoung understands the reason behind his refusal, since he strokes his arm before securing his arm around his and thus approaching the coffee shop.

"I'll grab whatever you want,” Dohyun tells them.

“A coffee is fine.” Wooyoung replies.

“Nothing, I'm n—”

“He likes strawberries.” Wooyoung interrupts him.

“Got it.”

He looks at Wooyoung as soon as Dohyun is no longer in front of them, because really, the least he has is appetite. Wooyoung only shrugs as their gazes meet, and he leads them to one of the booths.

He exhales deeply as they sit side by side, grateful for the way Wooyoung makes sure to establish physical contact between them. He definitely doesn't feel hungry, and he thinks he would have responded with a negative answer even if his stomach had complained. He wraps one of his arms around his stomach, unsuccessfully trying to lessen the mess in it, and rests one elbow on the table to leave the palm of his hand against his forehead.

What are they supposed to talk about? How will he talk if so far Wooyoung has communicated with Dohyun more than him? He forms a line with his lips, realizing that Wooyoung has exchanged more words with Dohyun in less than five minutes than he has in his entire life.

“How did you recognize him?” He hears Wooyoung ask him.

“He sounded familiar. I have a picture of him, but I stopped looking at it a long time ago,” why would he look at it when Dohyun didn’t raise him, when Dohyun chose to leave? When he has gotten used to saying the word dad to refer to another person? “And the name is the same,” He doesn't even remember how he found out what his name is. He was small and saw a paper or a document, he doesn’t remember well. His mother never mentioned him and she took the paper before telling him to go play.

“I accept that you two do look alike...”

He imitates Wooyoung by directing his eyes at Dohyun, and grimaces as he thinks that Wooyoung's words are true. Dohyun is tall and his hair is black, styled back. His facial features are defined, and although he’s used to a younger version, it's easy to notice that the person in the photo and the person currently not that far away from them are the same person. Even the style of clothing they wear is similar.

“Stop looking,” he tells Wooyoung even though he's been looking too.

“Just checking he's not putting anything in our drinks,” Wooyoung replies. He inhales a breath and looks away as Dohyun turns to them with the order on a tray. “Okay, no matter what he says, I got you,” Wooyoung looks at him. “We don't know if he knows Spanish or not, so just in case, let's not speak in Spanish. If you want to leave, you tap my thigh twice and we are out of here.”

He nods, a part of him reassured when Wooyoung assures him that he has an escape in case he wants to leave because he's already thinking about that possibility. He straightens up when Dohyun sits in front of them, and his eyes don’t fall on the strawberry smoothie or the pink cake, but on the fact that there are two smoothies.

“I like strawberries too,” he looks up and finds Dohyun giving him a short smile.

He notices that Dohyun slides his gaze to Wooyoung when Wooyoung opts to drink his coffee. Wooyoung doesn't hesitate to assure him that he’s wary of his presence as he narrows his eyes, takes a small sip, and tastes it carefully before agreeing to take another sip.

Dohyun looks at him again.

“Do you want me to talk or do you want to ask me questions? I'm willing to answer any doubt you may have.” Dohyun says.

What even is he— Seonghwa tries to focus on the way Wooyoung is by his side, on Wooyoung’s arm linked with his. He supposes that it's a good sign that Dohyun expresses being willing to answer all the questions that have popped into his head, but he doesn't know where to start.

That moment shouldn’t even be happening because this is the person who has abandoned him, who hasn’t hesitated to leave him behind, the reason behind many of his insecurities. He knows it, but Dohyun has assured him that he hasn't.

He has doubts, many doubts. He has always had them and still has them. He simply pushed them into a far corner of his head a long time ago. They have collected dust over the years, and he has learned to live with them.

“How old was—”

He has to compose himself before he can even attempt to ask a question. Wooyoung straightens his grip around his arm, probably having noticed the doubt in his figure and his words.

He exhales a breath, and swallows.

“How old was I when you... when...” how is he supposed to ask questions about a fact that has haunted him his entire life?

No matter how many years have passed, he calls—he called Yeosang's father as his, someone who always treated him as another son and never made him feel out despite the different last names.

“The last time you saw me, how old was I the last time you saw me?”

“You were so small... four months.”

He follows Dohyun with his eyes when he seems to take something out of his pocket, and although hesitant at first, he agrees to take what appears to be a folded piece of paper in his hand. 

He opens it, and his eyes find a photo of Dohyun —the version he knows, someone young— with whom he assumes is his own self but much smaller, just a baby in his arms. He has a similar photo, but it’s rare to find a different one.

He has spent so many days looking at the same photo, wondering why he is looking at a photo instead of the man in said photo. He has spent so many nights letting his eyes water, until one day the man he does consider to be his father assured him that he’s family. He repeated it, repeated it, and repeated it, until he put that photo aside.

“What... what happened?” He looks up.

He knows one version by heart. He didn't even know there are two versions.

“I... went to work, just like any other day,” Dohyun begins, looking nostalgic. Don’t fall for it, Seonghwa repeats to himself. He knows very well how and how much people tend to pretend. “And when I came home, you weren't there. Nor your mother,” Seonghwa feels his fingers crinkle the corners of the picture. He has always heard the opposite. “I thought that something happened to the two of you, but your mother's stuff wasn't there.”

“Maybe you're toxic, maybe you’re a bad person.” Wooyoung's voice interrupts the clash between the versions that he now knows. “Maybe his mom didn't feel safe near you, much less with a baby. That's why she left with him.”

“It's been years and I can't not prove what you are saying,” Dohyun looks back at him after looking at Wooyoung. “But I've never hurt your mother. A police investigation was launched and they found nothing against me. Here is the file.”

Police investigation? File?

Dohyun opens his coat and takes out a folder. He allows Wooyoung to take it because he doesn't think he can go through the details, and he continues to look at Dohyun. “But they did find other stuff.”

“Such as?” he asks, though he doesn't know if he really wants to know.

“She was cheating on me.”

He isn't surprised when he meets Wooyoung's eyes once he turns his head. No, no, and no. No, one of his fathers is already followed by a ruined image, the same can't happen with the person he really considers his father.

Everything he has ever believed in is being torn down. Truths are turning into lies and he doesn't know what to classify as the truth. It’s a reality that is being distorted and all of his past is blurred.

He unlocks his phone, noting the unsteadiness of his hand, but still finds a picture of his and Yeosang's father. He swallows to ignore the sadness that seeing a picture of his father makes him feel, and shows the screen to Dohyun.

“With this man?” He really doesn't want to know the answer.

“I don't really know.” A part of him calms down while the other remains alert. “I've never seen him.”

He looks over at Wooyoung to find him looking at him before looking back at the papers in the folder. He really doesn't know what to think.

Police investigation?

A father who abandons his family, and flees because he doesn’t want to be part of it, he’s used to that story.

“How... if...”

He knows that he shouldn't think that everything Dohyun expresses is true simply because he has appeared and has a folder that seems to support his words, but why now? He's seen the relief on his face when he's confirmed his identity and agreed to let the talk happen, but why now?

“Why did it take you so long to... to be here? To find me?” He can't help but ask. “My mom, she's well known.”

A simple search expresses his mother's workplace, the city where she’s located. He doesn’t need a folder supposedly endorsed by a police investigation to get that information.

“She changed her name, her identity,” Seonghwa frowns when he hears those words. “That's why it took me so long to find you. I found you because I came across an Instagram picture. Yesterday. I started searching and I found everything, that your mother is here, that she’s the director of a university now, the location of those offices. I found you, I came here as soon as I could. I couldn't find any kind of information about you.”

Instagram picture... Inst— This time Wooyoung is already looking at him when he turns his head towards him. Utopia. Utopia's Instagram page. The photo that Wooyoung said he couldn't find even though he's sure he did see it before.

He curls up one of the corners of his mouth as he thinks that the photo being available before and nowhere to be found now can’t just be a simple coincidence.

He looks back at Dohyun, since the photo isn't the only detail he's mentioned.

“Her... her name? She changed her name?”

Dohyun gently points to the folder with his hand. He does look at the folder, but only when Wooyoung slides it toward him. Two different names and the same face, the information is right in front of him.

His past is not only a lie, but his present as well?

“Why... why would she do that?”

“For me not to find you.”

Seonghwa watches Dohyun, and doesn't know what to believe.

If he decides not to trust him, then that moment will be a lie, but if he decides to trust, then the lies around him turn out to be much bigger than he thought. If he trusts his mother, he doesn't trust Dohyun. If he trusts Dohyun, he doesn't trust his mother. Who is he supposed to believe?

“Why would she leave you?”

“To be with this other man, I would like to know as well.”

“I've seen that man as my dad all my life and I still do.” he doesn't hesitate to express, his determination finally making itself present, since while he doesn't hesitate to doubt his mother, he refuses to distrust the actions of his father.

He has always thought that Yeosang has inherited his soft-heartedness and his gentleness from him, and he refuses to stop thinking that way.

“That man has passed away recently.”

He lowers his eyes to the bracelet that his father gave him. He refuses to think that the same person who has told him that he was born to shine and to guide, turns out to be a person who hasn’t shined by himself.

“I’m really sorry,” he hears Dohyun mention, and he sounds sincere, “That’s a beautiful bracelet,”

“My—” he wonders if he should express his father's name or not, considering that his biological father is in front of him, but only one of the two has been at his best as well as his worst moments. “My dad gave it to me.”

“It’s okay, I know I haven't been there for you,” Dohyun expresses.

“Not because you didn't want to, apparently.”

What is he supposed to believe? What's worse? A father who abandons or a mother who lies about being abandoned?

“Your... your hand,” he hears Dohyun say.

“I'm okay,” he seeks to say when he knows that Dohyun is looking at his wristbrace.

He’s definitely far from okay, but he appreciates the concern.

“I know I have no right to say this,” Dohyun expresses, recalling his attention. “But your mother, she's not who she says she is, she lies.”

He again isn't surprised when his gaze meets Wooyoung's. It isn’t the first time that he has heard similar words. Yeosang told him that, Wooyoung too. He believes that he has agreed to have that talk in the first place because it isn’t the first time that his mother has shown to be insincere, and that doubt has led him to agree to listen to Dohyun.

While Dohyun presents evidence, his mother presents lies, lies, and lies.

“I know she lies,” he accepts before looking at him. “But you could be lying too,” he decides to express. He won't have hope only to crash into his own reality. A distorted, blurry reality, but a reality nonetheless. “Not about being my... father. You are, but why did she leave you? To be with another man? Why would she change her name to do that?”

And why do I feel like my words don't make any sense? he adds inside his head. Why would she lie, saying that she has been abandoned? To avoid being found, his own head responds.

“I'd like to be able to give you an answer, but the truth is I don't know either,” Dohyun says. “I know it must be hard to have two versions of the same story. I just want you to know that I want you back. If you let me. I live here, I work at a hospital now, I'm Head of the Psychology Department. I'm planning to stay around.”

Seonghwa's eyes fall on the business card that Dohyun offers him at that moment. “I've finally found you after looking for you for so long, Seonghwa. I won't go away unless you explicitly ask me to.” Dohyun adds.

Seonghwa takes the card, reading his own last name and a phone number.

“How did you know that she told me you abandoned us?” he asks.

He's grown up on that premise his entire life, but how does Dohyun know?

“I guessed it when you reacted the way you did. She didn’t tell you that I'm dead because I think your reaction would have been much worse,” Seonghwa swallows and the bracelet feels heavy around his wrist. “And he said I abandoned you.” Dohyun looks at Wooyoung before looking back at him. “Your mother must have covered herself under that lie. It also explains why you have never looked for me.”

Certainly, he has never done it because he has never seen the point in doing it. The only thing he has ever had from his supposed father is a lie attached to his name and an old photo.

Why would he look for someone who he has been told has abandoned him? The person he does consider a father has always been there for him, so he hasn’t seen the logic in looking for someone who has never wanted to be there.

“Can I ask you a question?” he hears Wooyoung ask.

“Anything.”

“You said you found out he's here because of a picture. You did research, you said, that means you know the position his mom occupies, again, you said so yourself. Her offices are right in front of us. You know the money they have. Are you doing all of this for money?”

Well, that would be a disappointment but not a surprise, Seonghwa thinks.

“I don't need money, I have my own. I didn't use to have much before, but I'm doing fairly well now,” Dohyun answers before resting his eyes on him again. “I know it must be a lot to take in, and it isn't my intention to overwhelm you, so I'll give you some space. It's up to you, but I will only ask you to please don't tell your mother. I don't want you to disappear again.”

Or because you don't want her to throw down your words?

Seonghwa lets out a breath. Certainly, it is too much.

“I'm older now, she won't take me away so easily.”

Dohyun smiles, and Seonghwa doesn't doubt that it's because expressing those words implies that a part of him agrees with the talk they've had. A part of him is wary, while the other part is ready to believe everything Dohyun's uttered since he appeared next to him.

“You’ve grown up so much... and it's good to know you have made good friends,” he looks at Wooyoung when Dohyun expresses those words, and finally a small smile appears on his face because although Wooyoung raises his chin as well as both eyebrows, indicating that he’s certainly a good friend, he seems to be more than pleased with the comment made. “Please don't hesitate to contact me.”

Seonghwa nods, following Dohyun with his gaze as he offers a small smile before leaving the booth.

His eyes quickly fall on the card, thinking that Dohyun has left the entire decision in his hands, since while he's given his number, he hasn't asked for his. The possibility of another meeting really falls on him and no one else.

“Well!” Wooyoung clears his throat. “That... sure was a lot.”

He holds a small smile when Wooyoung scoots closer to him and rests an elbow on the table as well as his cheek against his knuckles to untangle their arms, but compensates for that lack with the hand he threads through his locks.

He may not know what is true and what is not about what Dohyun has expressed, but something is true, Wooyoung is a great friend. He probably wouldn't have been able to articulate a single sentence without him at his side.

His figure doesn't threaten to start shaking and no discomfort in his throat prevents him from speaking, but his head is still a mess. He has come up with the idea of trying to send such thoughts away, only to feel that they are colliding with each other, overlapping each other.

“Just give me a moment.”

He needs a moment to collect his thoughts, at least some of them. He inhales a breath of air, and rests his gaze on the table without really looking at the color of it.

Dohyun has said that he managed to find him from the photo of Utopia. Photo that has been taken down from the page. If his mother doesn’t want to be found, nor for him to be found, therefore, it means having to eliminate all traces of where he is.

He rests his hands on his cheeks when he thinks his mother hasn't put her last name as the company name, and swallows when he remembers that Hongjoong mentioned not finding any photos of him the night of the gala.

Being told that he shouldn't speak Spanish, and having lived his entire life in Spain, are details that lead him to exhale a shaky breath.

“You're worrying me,” he hears Wooyoung.

“He said he saw me when I was four months old.” he expresses. “Yeosang is one year and almost three months younger than me. The timeline does fit with what he said.”

If his mother didn't want Dohyun to find them... it all makes sense. He grew up in Spain, certainly far from South Korea. Once they returned they stayed out of the public eye. He thought it was because his father was sick, but now he doesn't know what to think anymore.

The lack of articles, the lack of photos, not seeking to stand out, and staying away from the public eye, it all makes sense. And what will he trust, his own last name, or a different one?

“Hwa, I don't think your and Yeosang's dad was a cheater.”

He looks at Wooyoung after hearing him and they both straighten up.

“What if he didn't know my mom was with Dohyun?” He proposes.

“It's a possibility. Yeosang’s kindness comes from your dad and not your mom, that’s for sure,” he’s not surprised to hear that Wooyoung thinks the same way.

“Let's not tell Yeosang about this. Please.” he decides right then and there, looking at Wooyoung after hearing him say Yeosang's name. “It's a delicate topic, and I've learned to see Yeosang's dad as my own dad.”

He knows that he promised Yeosang that they would be honest with each other, but the bracelet around his wrist assures him that not being completely honest is a good decision. He has understood that Yeosang is facing the death of their father with the help of drugs, and what Yeosang least needs is for him to tell him that his biological father has appeared.

“I don't think it's a good idea to keep it a secret,” Wooyoung says. “But I think it's okay not to say anything to Yeosang or your mom this time. Despite everything... he sounded sincere, and besides, you should really read all of that. I haven't read absolutely everything, but what he said is supported by that.” He glances at the folder.

Even Wooyoung is willing to give Dohyun the benefit of the doubt.

“I lose one dad but I get another,” he expresses, thinking that his and Yeosang's father has always been present. He has always wondered why, why his mother and he were abandoned, but that question has always been in the back of his head instead of in the center of it thanks to his and Yeosang's father. “Then I lose the one I got, and I get back the one I lost first.”

He sets the card aside and exhales a breath as he hides his face in his hands. It's frustrating, it's annoying, and uncertainty sits on his shoulders.

“Just how many parents are going to come back?”

“Mh?” He stops hiding his face in his hands when despite expressing that question in a low voice, he manages to hear Wooyoung. He looks confused too.

“Nothing,” he shakes his head.

“I don't know if I want him to be honest or not,” he decides to accept. “If he's lying then he's never been part of my life anyway. But if he isn't lying... I've been living with a liar and under a lie all my life. Yet... I agree and I don’t see my and Yeosang's dad cheating,” he refuses to believe it.

“Maybe your mom lied to the two of them,” Wooyoung expresses. “Your two dads. She might have told your and Yeosang's dad that Dohyun abandoned her even before it happened, and she never told Dohyun about your dad. What we know is that your mom is definitely a... cheater.”

Seonghwa lets out a sigh, but widens his eyes.

“Do you think that she is... now... she... is with... San's dad?”

Is she lying for that reason?

Wooyoung widens his eyes as well. “I— shit. Shit.” he tilts his head when he notices that Wooyoung looks around, seeming more worried and alarmed than before, but Wooyoung clears his throat before looking back at him. “I don’t know. I— I really hope not,” Wooyoung replies.

He decides to rub his eyes with his hands, even if one hurts, feeling the beginning of a headache. He should be admiring the luxurious interior of the offices, not looking down.

He blinks and looks at the card as well as the photo.

He assumes that he’s also a liar because he will hide both.

His eyes slid to his bracelet, and he clicks his tongue when he feels the beginning of a lump in his throat.

“What are you thinking about?” Wooyoung asks him, and he’s grateful for the hand that Wooyoung leaves on his arm.

“Nothing, it's just... we supposedly came here, to South Korea, because dad was sick, he needed treatment, and he could get it here. And now I don't even know if that's true.” the heaviness of his heart and blinking several times in a row to prevent his eyes from watering assure that he’s indeed dealing with an absence, but he no longer knows what to think. “I always think that Yeosang never talks about Dad. And it turns out that I don't either. And now, just... I miss him. I can't find peace, and I can't remember him in peace either.”

Wooyoung hugs him, and he keeps his eyes on the table, allowing Wooyoung to hug him sideways and rest his cheek against his arm, but not allowing himself to fall into Wooyoung's arms completely because he knows he'll end up crying if he does.

He does appreciate the hug, and he does lean into Wooyoung, and even so, he forces himself to swallow over the lump in his throat.

“Do you think...” he clears his throat, “Do you think it's weird that he showed up at Mom's offices if he doesn't want Mom to know that he's around us?” he asks, knowing that Wooyoung is able to see the situation with a clearer head and is objective when he needs to be.

“I know it would have been a worse idea to show up at our university or at your doorstep. Maybe he was planning to ask someone if the company really belongs to your mom. Can I see the card?”

He slides the card over to Wooyoung, and he doesn't know what Wooyoung is scanning with his eyes as the other side of the card has more information, but Wooyoung promptly speaks again. “This hospital is not close to here, so the distance makes sense. Seoul is big after all. If your mom doesn't want him to find her, he doesn’t want your mom to find him.”

Great, more lies, he thinks.

“Seonghwa...” he swallows, worried because Wooyoung straightens up and accompanied the pronunciation of his name with an uncertain tone of voice. “If all of this is true... I... I don't— your mom...  she... you could... sue her, and Dohyun could sue her too.”

Police investigation. Change of identity. Possibility to sue.

“I'm so tired of the lies,” is the only thing he’s able to articulate.

He rests his hands on his cheeks, and his stomach churns even more when his eyes fall to the table. He hasn't touched the cake or the smoothie. He feels like throwing up.

“Do you want to come to my house and rest? At least for a while,” Wooyoung says.

“No,” he can’t afford that. He takes the card and decides to keep it. Trying to rest will be a waste of time, his head will have a feast with all his thoughts. He has to keep his mind busy. “I want— I need my laptop, my highlighters, and the location of the nearest bookstore that has the best law books.”

Notes:

i finished editing the chapter and i was there like... i... i wanted to write about people making out, what is all this

Chapter 34

Mingi squeezes his eyes shut and is aware of the tight line his lips form once he wakes up. His muscles tense up and relax, and tense up and relax, until he seeks the comfort of the bed.

The pillow trapped between his head and his arms feels good, so he rubs his face against its softness and sighs. He frowns at the impossibility of feeling totally comfortable despite the sheets that cover his body.

“Hello, princess.”

He balls his hands into fists and tenses up at the sudden pronunciation of those words. But soon enough he relaxes his hands as he recognizes the tone of voice that uttered them. Only one person addresses him with that word.

Yunho.

“My head hurts,” he clears his throat when he hears the rasp in his voice.

He frowns, finding himself awake enough to note that Yunho's voice hasn't sounded close, so he isn't next to him; and besides, his head certainly aches. He again buries his face into the pillow, hoping the softness will balance the heaviness he feels pulsing in his head.

“That's what happens when you get drunk, get high, and hurt your head.”

He stills when he hears those words. Drunk? High? One second is what takes him to peel his face off the pillow as well as part of his torso from the mattress once the events of the night before plague his head.

A little hiss leaves his lips when one side of his head aches, and tilts his head when his fingertips find a texture that's definitely not his skin.

He taps his forehead. A band-aid?

Shit.

He sits down, and as soon as he opens his eyes, he closes them after feeling that all the details around him spin. He rubs his eyes with both hands, keeping his face hidden between his palms before sighing. He blinks several times before looking around him, and turns his head to find Yunho with one side of his body against a door frame.

Shit, he looks angry. He keeps his arms folded and there’s no trace of happiness on his face. His first instinct is to run to him but he’s aware that his body will probably complain about it, so he slowly pushes the covers aside, making sure to get out of bed as slowly as possible.

Acknowledging that he won't fall and that he’s able to stay upright, he approaches Yunho, whose comfortable clothes lead him to slide his eyes toward his own body. While his torso remains bare, he’s wearing pants that are not his —Yunho's, he assumes, he remembers. That means that—

Taking a look around him is enough.

“This is your room.”

How come he ended up in Yunho's room? For the second time now. He swallows at the thought that Utopia was the cause behind the first time he ended up at Yunho's house.

“Good to know you realize your environment now.”

Yunho throws him a look before walking past him —still with his arms crossed and making sure not to touch his body with his, Mingi notes. Speaking has only worked against him so far, so he settles for following Yunho with his eyes before entering the bathroom.

A grimace quickly settles on his face when taking a look at his reflection is enough to notice his disastrous state.

His blue locks point everywhere and his face shows that he just got up. Leaning into the mirror allows him to denote that indeed, there’s a band-aid on the side of his head, and he frowns, wondering about its presence, and leans back to stop investigating the details that make him up.

Part of his concern disappears when he notices that Yunho has left a toothbrush for him —he wonders if Yunho bought the same one because he thought about inviting him over to his house more often. He brushes his teeth, leaning back, even more, to glimpse Yunho sitting on his bed.

Again a grimace takes over his face when he notices that Yunho’s still serious as well with his arms crossed. Thinking that Yunho at least hasn't kicked him out isn't enough to get rid of his grimace. He has a band-aid and he’s ended up in Yunho's room —his bed.

Drunk, high, Yunho said, and with a band-aid. It's not a nice list.

He splashes his face with cold water to try to clear his mind, and wonders why Yunho looks so angry. He knows it's never a good sign when Yunho decides to replace his typical smile with a serious expression. The reality is that he won't get answers using the bathroom as a refuge, so he clears his throat and gets out of it.

He doesn't let Yunho's seriousness lead him to choose to stand still, but he does make sure not to touch any part of Yunho's body when he sits next to him on the bed. He definitely wants to rest his hand on his knee or brush his shoulder with his, but he refrains from doing so because Yunho is staring at him.

He wants to go back to sleep and his head still hurts, but he can't close his eyes when Yunho is next to him, looking at him seriously. And he can only widen his eyes when he realizes that he’s with Yunho. Yunho. He’s with Yunho.

“Another semester, another time I save your ass.” Yunho expresses.

Yunho looks angry, and certainly sounds angry as well, but claims to have saved him. As Yunho himself has suggested, it's not the first time he's saved him. Only a set of words comes to his mind at the pronunciation of that sentence, and if Yunho chooses to frown at it, he'll blame what he's sure is a heavy hangover.

“Because you love me.”

“Yes I do, asshole!”

Fatigue leaves his body and his eyes wide open when Yunho exclaims those words without hesitation, staring at him because his exclamation has been loud and clear.

He definitely hasn't expected that response when trying to provoke him. Yunho lets out a breath, looking as exasperated as surrendered, with himself and with him, with them, and he parts his lips, wanting to say something but not quite knowing what to say.

Yunho— Yunho just said that he loves him?

Yunho loves him?

An intense tingling accentuates his chest.

“So don’t throw it into my face.” Yunho keeps staring at him until he doesn't and frowns before fixing his eyes on the mattress. Mingi thinks that he prefers for Yunho to look at him, even if it's to stare at him, than for him to avoid his gaze. “I've been thinking about it, and there’s no other explanation for why I do what I do other than that I love you.”

Mingi doesn't take his eyes off him, and listens carefully to what Yunho expresses. Yunho has been thinking about it? About him, about them? He swallows, his throat resembling a desert from how dry it is, and his body feels heavy but he doesn't think he's able to relate those details to the fact that he just got up, but to the words Yunho just said.

He always tends to feel hot when he gets high, and even so, he's entirely sure that the sensation of heat spreading throughout his body isn't due to drugs. He takes one of his hands towards Yunho but pulls it back when Yunho looks at him and straightens up.

“You showed up! Drunk and high!” Yunho exclaims. He's definitely angry. “After driving! You could have gotten hurt! You could have crashed! And just because I'm here to save your ass doesn't mean you have to be so reckless!”

Yunho takes the pillow beside him to smack his body with it. Both his words and the pillow against his figure show his irritation. He's still angry, he sounds angry, and now he understands why.

Utopia. He must have left his own party to show up at Utopia.

Drunk, high, and after driving, apparently.

He thinks he understands Yunho’s annoyance, since he would also be angry if the situation had been the other way around. He wouldn’t hesitate to let Yunho know that he’s angry with him for not thinking well about his decisions, but once again, he’s the one who has forgotten to accompany his actions with logic.

“I'm sorry for worrying you,” he offers, believing that he’s unable to articulate any more words because Yunho's phrases and their implications keep spinning around in his head.

Yunho loves him, Yunho said that he loves him.

“You can't abuse what I feel for you.”

Yunho truly loves him.

“But—”

“I'm scared of what I feel for you, my parents felt like this too, and look how that has ended up for the two of them, for me.”

Mingi frowns. He needs time, probably a coffee, and for Yunho to speak slower to allow him to understand all the words he’s saying. Yunho is afraid of love?

“You can’t do whatever you want to do simply because I’ll be here, because I am here, ready to take care of you. Don't put yourself in danger simply because I’m here to help you. It isn’t funny, you stupid,” again a pillow finds his body. “Selfish,” this time his torso is the target. “Prick,” and again his arm. “You could have gotten hurt last night! And what would I have done then!”

He takes the pillow from Yunho’s hands before he gets to smack him with it again, and throws it away as Yunho complains not only because he takes the pillow out of his grasp, but also because he forces Yunho to interrupt his own words with a surprised expression when he sends the words don’t touch Yunho, he’s mad to the back of his head, and traps him between the mattress and his body, leaving his palms at the sides of his head.

He watches the way Yunho's chest quickly rises and falls, probably as a result of the exasperation behind his own words and the abruptness of his actions. He watches Yunho, being aware of the way his body also responds to Yunho's words. He parts his lips and frowns once he remembers what has led him to end up with Yunho under him, in Yunho's bed, in Yunho's room, and in Yunho's house.

“You can call me stupid, you can say I’m a prick, but you don't even get to imply that I’m selfish when we're here, and we were where we were last night, because of your actions.”

It's blurry, it isn't distinctly visible, and he can't remember everything, but he does remember that he left his own party to go to Utopia, a party that he organized to compete with Yunho because Yunho made him angry in the first place.

“Tell me why you did what you did, and tell me now.” he determines.

“No.” Yunho articulates, just as determined as he is.

He feels the way his palms press down on the mattress when Yunho gives him a negative answer.

“Who the fuck is blackmailing you and with what? Tell me now.” he insists.

“I won't tell you because I'm not selfish either.”

“You either tell me,” he touches Yunho’s chest with the tip of his index finger, “Or I'll find it out through my own means, and you know I will, Jeong.” This time he doesn't say Yunho's last name to put a distance between them in the eyes of the others, but rather to reassure Yunho that he really is angry and that his words are true. And he knows that Yunho denotes said insistence because he forms a line with his lips. “So save us both time.”

He keeps looking at Yunho when Yunho softens his facial features, and looks down when Yunho does. He doesn't take his hand away when Yunho takes in his favor the fact that he has touched his chest with his finger to take his hand, and allows Yunho to extend the palm of his hand over his own chest.

He swallows, realizing how easily he falls for Yunho's touch, for Yunho, really, since a simple touch is more than enough for his muscles to tense and his figure to relax. The contact confuses him and his senses, and in a certain way, he doesn't think there's another way to describe his closeness with Yunho.

“Why did you come to me?” Yunho asks instead of answering.

He looks at Yunho when Yunho stops holding his hand to leave his hand on his waist, and he understands Yunho’s intentions. He presses his body against his and rests one of his elbows on the mattress, leaving his knuckles against one side of his head. They both welcome that closeness, relieving themselves after having been away for the last few days. But still, he keeps looking at Yunho.

“You didn't want to see me.” Yunho adds.

He wouldn't allow the physical contact if he was still angry, if he still didn't want to see him. Just as he accepts the caress that Yunho draws on his waist, Yunho accepts the hand that he slides from his chest up to his nape.

“I understood that there had, that there has to be a reason why you've done what you've done,” he decides to answer.

While he didn’t hesitate to allow anger and pain to cloud the rest of his senses after hearing that Yunho was the cause behind all the pictures, he has calmed down enough to think that it doesn't make sense, not when they've spent so much time making sure to turn the reality where they can't stand each other into a parallel world.

Yunho has expressed being scared of losing him before, and he has thought that Yunho wouldn't do what he's done unless it's something forced, something he hasn't wanted to do but had no choice to do.

“Tell me or this will be a very tedious morning for both of us.” he insists, staring at Yunho, cupping his nape to keep their eyes connected. Yunho holds his gaze while he notices the uncertainty in his pupils. “Tell me.”

He assumes that Yunho remembers that he can be just as stubborn and determined as he is, and that he won't give up, since he quickly confirms what he has thought, that Yunho isn’t the real culprit.

“Jongho's mom,” Yunho finally admits.

He stays serious as soon as he gets the answer his head has been demanding. He believes that his hand only doesn't turn into a firm fist because he prefers to keep it on Yunho's skin.

He glances away from him so Yunho's eyes won't distract him from the pieces his head promptly tries to start place together.

He's sure that he didn't see Jongho the night before, not because he was drunk, but because Jongho wasn't at his party. He forms a tense line with his lips, wondering if Jongho knows what his mother has done, though he really hopes to find a negative answer.

Or maybe he did see him? He doesn't remember very well. Whether he saw him or not, whether Jongho went to his party or not, he won't hesitate to ask Yeosang to stay away from Jongho if Jongho has known his mother's intentions and has chosen to remain silent.

“Should we tell Yeosang? I think they are hooking up,” Yunho's words denote that he thinks the same as him. He knows that there's definitely something going on between Yeosang and Jongho, as Yeosang himself told him so. “We don't know if Jongho knew, or knows.”

He shrugs, not knowing how to answer.

Why would even Jongho's mother do what she has done? What does she gain, how did she even know about it? Has it been their fault for not pretending enough, for perhaps glancing for too long, for not frowning enough, for not accompanying their words with a more ironic, more contemptible tone of voice?

The overlap of doubts inside his head comes to a halt when he feels Yunho's hands on his face, and he allows Yunho to turn his head and watch each other.

“Don't go after them, Mingi,” Yunho says.

He allows himself to lean into the contact, noting how much he's missed staying close to Yunho, realizing how much he has gotten used to having Yunho close to him despite all the times they have pretended.

Maybe it's a little easier to stay away when he knows that true hatred isn’t what distances them, but staying away for believing that Yunho has betrayed him has been the worst.

“She made you cry,” he stops keeping his hand on Yunho’s nape to brush one of his cheeks with his knuckles, feeling the irritation increase on his shoulders when he remembers the way in which said skin has been traveled by tears —tears of guilt. Desperate, now he knows. Yunho must have felt cornered, with no escape. “And that makes me mad.”

“She knows that you cheated on the exam. It was our relationship or that.”

Our relationship.

Yunho said he loves him.

“Even so.”

How? Just how is it possible for one person to know so much?

“You really are a collateral effect of my mistakes, aren't you?” He’s aware of the surrendered tone of voice that accompanies his question.

Maybe all this time he's been abusing Yunho's feelings without even being aware of it. Yunho blames himself and ends up with a supposed scholarship. Yunho stays close to him and ends up paying the same price because they are both in the pictures that were glued to the lockers.

“But I'm still here,” Yunho doesn’t sound angry.

Yunho stops keeping his hands on his face to slide them down to his chest. With Yunho's hands over his heart, he’s only able to think that Yunho has ensured that his heart beats for him.

“Did I ruin your party?”

“You asked me to marry you.”

He again remains completely still and chooses to form a soft fist with the hand that he leaves on Yunho's chest. He definitely doesn't remember that.

He licks his lips, wondering if perhaps his unconsciousness has expressed something that he consciously wants. Although it’s been a surprise, he delights when he thinks that Yunho has said that he loves him.

And, does he love Yunho?

How is he supposed to offer a negative answer to that question, how is he supposed to think of shaking his head at the existence of that question, when his head only takes him back to the conversation he had with Hongjoong when he caught him looking at Seonghwa. Sometimes love can come from the person we least expect and in unexpected ways, he said. He knew, and he knows that Yunho is the cause behind those words.

What answer should he provide to his own question when Yunho has confessed to being afraid of his own thoughts? Giving an affirmative answer would scare off Yunho?

“My mom called and said she doesn't mind you,” Yunho adds.

He doesn't know if Yunho chooses to add those words because he has remained silent or because in any case, he’s meant to express that apparently, his mother is not against the closeness between them. He raises both eyebrows, surprised.

“Really?” he prefers to focus on the fact that Yunho's mother doesn’t hate him instead of thinking that even Yunho's mother, a person who is not in town, has heard about the closeness between them. “I don't know if I can say the same thing about my parents.”

Yunho's parents accept their closeness but he doubts his parents think the same way. They haven’t sought to pretend only out of fear of being rejected by their families, but because he knows, and Yunho too, that his parents don’t approve of his closeness with Yunho. He’s aware that his parents haven't told him anything yet, and he doesn't know how to react to that uncertainty.

“You can stay here,” Yunho offers.

Yunho slides his hands onto his shoulders and traces circles with his fingers, and he’s only able to wonder how Yunho could have chosen him even though he continues to make mistake after mistake.

“Sorry for opening Illusion, for going to Utopia and asking you to marry me,” he expresses to compensate for his ability to make mistakes and not being able to apologize when he knows he must.

“You pissed me off.” Yunho expresses, staring at him, but fortunately, the seriousness in his gaze is only momentary. Yunho stops looking at him to direct his gaze toward his head, and he feels the way he gently removes the band-aid. “Wooyoung solved my night and then you crashed it,” Yunho says before wrapping his arms around his neck.

“Wooyoung?”

He winces at the thought of Hongjoong and San, as he remembers them present at his party. It takes him a few more seconds to remember that Wooyoung, Yeosang, and Seonghwa showed up afterward. He blinks, thinking that if Yunho mentions Wooyoung, it's because he along with Yeosang and Seonghwa went to Utopia before. 

In some corner of his head, words of thanks are formulated towards Yeosang for having listened to him and therefore for having gone to Utopia as he asked him to.

“My chef resigned because of you. Wooyoung took charge for a bit.”

He grimaces when he hears that again, problems haunt Yunho due to their closeness. He believes that it’s details like those, words like the ones that were mentioned, that remind him that while he and Yunho have gotten used to seeing each other in different ways, other people continue to think of their rivalry as something real instead of fake.

It's real economically speaking, but not emotionally.

“Hire him.”

Yunho lets out a short breath.

“I can't change much with my dad in the middle.”

He narrows his eyes, thinking that definitely, although Yunho's mother has left Utopia in Yunho's hands, somehow his father has managed to get in the way. Yunho's father offers him to buy Utopia when he's not supposed to have the right to even say those words, and now Yunho assures him that he can't just do what he wants.

“Leave Utopia and come work with me?” With him and not for him, but they both know the answer.

“Silly,” Yunho shakes his head but raises the corners of his mouth. “It's my baby,” he understands. He wouldn't leave Illusion either.

“Ain't I that?”

“You are my princess.”

Yunho strokes his neck and he smiles, happy with the caress offered as well as the petname expressed. He traces Yunho’s jaw with his thumb.

“Maybe accept Wooyoung's help, then? From time to time?”

“It's a good idea, but my dad...” Frustrated, Yunho shakes his head.

Mingi stares at him. Yunho's hands are really tied when it comes to Utopia. It doesn't seem fair, not when without hesitation, Yunho has always expressed and still shows how much Utopia means to him.

“You really are struggling with him, mh?”

“It would be better if I had Utopia for myself...”

The frustration is evident in Yunho’s tone of voice as well as in his expression. Torn between being relieved that this time he's not the cause behind that frustration, or worried because Utopia should lead Yunho to smile instead of looking frustrated, he doesn't know how to feel.

“He helped us, you know, Wooyoung, something about a small fire,” Yunho adds.

He hums, remembering the alarm that from one moment to another began to sound. He was looking at the photos at that moment, not being able to take his eyes off. People have talked, and people are still talking.

He looks at Yunho, and he doesn't like the words that leave his own mouth, nor does he like the uncertain tone of voice with which he accompanies them.

“Are we going to break up?”

Yunho doesn't tense up, nod or shake his head. Yunho looks at him, as intently as he does, and he doesn't blame him for the restlessness that accompanies his gaze because he doesn't doubt that it’s also present in his eyes.

“Is there even something to break, Mingi?”

“Yes, our hearts.” he doesn't hesitate to answer. He's aware that he can do more than just apologize for the mistakes he makes, than just notice the frustration in Yunho's expression. “Because I know mine would break if we ended this, and I know it would break yours too.”

He's nervous because Yunho could tell him that they should end what's between them, could tell him that he can't deal with the fact that their closeness has been exposed, and could tell him that he needs time. But Yunho slides his hands to his cheeks.

“I don't know if I can do this alone, I didn't like being without you.”

“I didn't like it either,” calm and reassured, he leaves the weight of his body both on Yunho and the bed. Yunho turns his head to look at him and he opts to keep his arm around Yunho's torso. “I don't want to be far away from you.”

He swallows, thinking about how devastated Yunho must have felt when he didn't hesitate to walk away from him after not understanding why Yunho got the pictures scattered throughout the halls of the university. How devastated he felt too.

“Then don't,” Yunho leans towards him to tickle his lips with his words.

Mingi believes that he can’t erase the mistakes he has made, he can’t get rid of the consequences that his actions bring, but he can seek to remedy the past with the future, with the present, even. So he takes Yunho’s chin between his fingers, and ends up eliminating the distance between them by catching his lips with his.

If Yunho doesn't want him to leave him, then he won't. He thinks it's no wonder that his unconsciousness has driven him —both literally and figuratively— to Yunho when his conscience insists on staying close to Yunho, gravitating towards him and momentarily leaving his forehead on his once they pull apart.

“What are we going to do now?” Yunho asks him.

“Well, there's no way I'll stay away from you,” it's not logical, there's no point in pretending when now everyone knows about the closeness between them. “I don't want to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing each of us on our own instead of side by side. No, I don't want to leave you. Much less for something we didn't even do. It would be stupid and I really don't want to.”

What would they gain by seeking to deny what the eyes of others have captured?

The opportunity to tell themselves that they are close was taken away from them, without their permission and without asking them. He won't leave others wondering why they aren't side by side when the photos have shown otherwise.

Now he has the opportunity to show that Yunho is his, and that he’s Yunho's, doesn’t he?

“I can't leave you.” he adds.

He doesn't want to leave Yunho, he can't leave Yunho.

He delights in the smile that Yunho forms with his lips, and of course, they both eliminate the distance between them again. Now that he knows that Yunho doesn't want to end what's between them, whatever it is, and that he prefers to stay by his side, he allows himself to calm down.

He leaves his hand on Yunho's waist and leads him to hook one of his legs over his. He just wants Yunho to stay close to him, that's all he wants and what matters to him at the moment.

Yunho can't let go of him and he can't let go of Yunho when kissing has become a habit and walking away from each other is a fear. Yunho pecks his lips when they pull apart, and then he pecks Yunho's lips, and he really doesn't blame his unconscious senses for asking Yunho to spend the rest of his life with him.

“San isn't mad about this.”

“Hongjoong neither.”

He smiles, as he should have known their friends wouldn't get mad, but he promptly tilts his head, and frowns, confused when he notices that Yunho seems worried.

“I think San is going through something with his dad,” Yunho explains.

“We need to talk.” He sighs. They are not the only ones with problems, they never have been. He leaves his forehead against Yunho's. “I have to talk to a lot of people.”

Yunho slides his hands to his shoulders and leans him back.

“Promise me you will be careful.”

“I won't promise what I won't do.”

“Mingi.”

“Mh, a part of me will miss you saying my last name, though I could completely get used to this,” hearing Yunho pronounce the letters of his name, staying close to him without having to restrain himself. 

“Mingi, I'm serious,” Now they are totally free, but not really.

“Nice,” he says. He wants Yunho to repeat his name over and over again.

“Mingi.” Yunho insists.

He grins when Yunho glares at him as he repeats his name.

He hasn't been able to prevent Yunho from getting hurt, but he can prevent it from happening again. If Yunho turns out to be a side effect of his wrongs, then he will also make him a consequence of his right decisions.

“She hurt you. She hurt us. And I'll make her pay for that.”

Yunho said he loves him.

---

San slips off his headphones and lets out a deep breath as he slows the rhythm of his body. His breath encounters the cold air around him, weather that contrasts with his high body temperature after having gone for a run near his house.

He feels tired instead of refreshed like he hoped to feel. Thoughts keep overlapping in his head and not even the music of his headphones allowed him to clear his mind.

He's not surprised, he assumes that not being able to distract himself is normal when his identity is getting destroyed with every passing second. Or maybe it's his own fault for being stubborn, for being determined.

No one is forcing him to do anything, he has the chance to cast all doubts aside and not worry about who his mother is. He could choose to stop wasting his time and sacrifice his peace of mind. His mother has been gone for a reason after all, and he now knows that said cause has been a choice rather than life being life.

But it‘s unfair to act as if nothing had happened, as if the past and present weren’t mixing. His father lies to him, Wooyoung is his lockscreen, and the doubts only threaten to double.

He doesn't want a perfect family, nor does he expect one. He just wants the truth.

And apparently, wanting the truth is too much to ask.

With his chest rising and falling even if he has slowed down his pace, he looks at the front of his house once he reaches it. He inhales a breath before walking through the main doors, and wrinkles his nose once he finds his father in the kitchen.

He forgot to leave the headphones around his head so he can’t use music as an excuse to avoid exchanging words.

“How did it go?” His father asks him.

He would like to be able to act, know how to act, actually. He would like to keep a smile on his face and express that exercising always makes him feel better. But he doesn't know how he's supposed to do that when he's aware that his father is lying to him.

While a part of him feels the urge to express that everything sucks and not necessarily because running hasn't cleared his head, another part of him continues to be frustrated, counting all the times his father lies to him.

He’s aware that they don’t exchange as many words as before, and it really hurts him because his father has always been there for him. He turns to open the fridge so that at least he has an excuse to turn his back on him.

“Fine,” he replies. But I feel bad, he adds inside his head.

Everything is wrong, actually. He has gone to the hospital with Wooyoung to find answers and has left said place with more questions than answers. One obstacle appears, and then another, and another, and his frustration continues to grow.

“Did you go with any of the boys?” His father asks him. “Mingi, yes, if I remember correctly, he likes to work out as well.”

He knows that finding a bottle of water doesn't take that long, and the bottle is right in front of him, so he takes it, and he finds another momentary excuse after thinking that he needs a glass.

“No, he's... dealing with... you know...” he says as he opens one of the cupboards to grab one of the glasses.

He doesn't even need to specify what Mingi —and Yunho— is dealing with because everyone in the city of Seoul —his father included— knows what's going on with them.

His fingers tighten around the glass in his possession when he remembers that through tears, Yunho confessed to him that he did it not because he wanted to, while Mingi walked away with a determined scowl. But they are together now, and that’s what matters —even if Mingi almost gave him a heart attack, and he still wants to smack Mingi’s head for leaving his own party.

“Oh, is he better? And Yunho?”

They will be, San believes.

He didn't even think of getting angry when he found out that the two of them are together. He didn't get disappointed and doesn’t resent them for keeping their closeness a secret. If he has gotten angry, it’s because both felt the need to balance that sincere affection with pretended hatred. He would have liked to know that the insults have been a facade because both have decided to be honest, and not because the truth has been forced.

“Yeah, I just... I don't get why people get into someone else's business.”

“People are weird, that's true. It’s important for you to be there for them.”

“I am.”

While Yunho and Mingi have talked with him, he has kept to himself the problems that haunt his mind.

The mouth of the bottle remains an inch from the glass as he wonders if perhaps he’s imitating his father by postponing telling the truth, until he decides to pour himself some water because while he avoids placing himself in the center for Yunho and Mingi to prioritize each other, his father has had plenty of time to choose to express the truth, and even so, he hasn’t.

“I'm glad they're still with you even though I'm no longer there.”

“Do you miss the job?” he chooses to ask him.

At first he didn't even hesitate to make both Yeosang and Seonghwa the targets of his irritation on his father's behalf, while now it's a relief that his father is no longer the head of the university, as he doesn't know if he would be able to pretend that he’s not completely fine when walking through the halls of the building.

While his house is beginning to stop feeling like his house, every other space is beginning to be considered as such.

“Yes, but I'm not bad where I am,” true, he thinks of Yeosang saying that he can’t even complain because his father has already gotten another job. A better one, even. “I hope you're not still mad on my behalf.”

“No.” He turns around. He’s not mad on his behalf, but at him.

He thinks it's so frustrating, to find his father smiling at him. The doubts get stuck in his throat and he drinks water to drown out the urge to express them out loud.

“I'm actually getting along better with them, Yeosang and Seonghwa,” he adds.

He may not be able to ask questions, but he can express comments.

“Really? Well, I've seen Wooyoung around here...”

He doesn't feel cornered upon hearing those words, since certainly, he has always been aware that his father knows that Wooyoung has gone to their house.

“He’s nice.”

“He seems nice,” his father agrees, “It's good to surround yourself with good people.”

San avoids closing his eyes when thinking about the irony that reaches his ears. He listens to his father accept that it’s better for him to stay away from Yeosang and Seonghwa, and therefore Wooyoung, while at that very moment, his father expresses that it’s good to keep Wooyoung close, and hasn’t made any negative comments about Yeosang and Seonghwa.

Maybe he does look after his father. He isn't completely honest either. Well, whoever his mother might be, he knows that he has inherited his father's dishonesty.

“It’s okay, no one pays attention to me now that Choi Jongho studies with us,” he shrugs before turning to put away the water bottle.

The truth is that he doesn't really want to talk. He’s only able to wonder how Yunho and Mingi managed to fake it for so long, as he barely does it and he's already tired.

He plans to leave the kitchen but his father's voice stops him.

“I heard that. Is Yunho alright?” he asks, getting him to turn around. “I remember that his parents don't like the Prime Minister, and neither does he as far as I remember. He didn’t go to the gala, didn’t he? I don’t remember seeing him there,”

“You know, we don't really talk about politics,” And if we ever talk about Jongho’s family, it will probably be to curse his mother, he thinks. He really can't believe that Jongho's mother decided to meddle in Yunho and Mingi's lives.

“Mh, he must be focused on Wooyoung, his parents own a restaurant chain, right?”

“Yeah...”

“Well, let's hope that Jongho's parents don't follow Mingi's, even if Mingi's parents do follow Jongho's. Their track record only indicates that they follow the trends of the moment, jumping from industry to industry, that’s what I heard,”

He thinks of nodding before leaving because he doesn't really care about Jongho's family, but another part of him thinks that they are the cause behind the arguments between Yunho and Mingi. He decides to stay, thinking that if he hasn't been able to protect Mingi and Yunho, he will at least try to prevent Jongho's family from attacking them again.

“Really?”

“Yes, now they have these companies, related to technology. But they used to do business with pharmacies and hospitals. I think they had some problem with the drugs market, but you know how this is, the stories were covered up.” his father says. “They used to sponsor that hospital, you know, the one with the red logo near the center, and the one near Mingi’s nightclub, actually.”

He nods before bringing the glass to his mouth, until he's thankful to himself for still not having drunk because otherwise, he would have spit it all out.

That hospital.

The hospital he went to with Wooyoung.

He parts his lips but doesn't say anything, until he notices the confused look his father gives him.

“Eh— I— no, I really don't know, I only go there when I go to Illusion,”

“Of course, of course. Well, let's hope they decide to stick with technology and don't go after Mingi, and therefore Yunho and Wooyoung. They are a powerful family.”

Powerful.

Powerful enough to definitely be able to hide a secret.

He gives his father a smile and soon enough stops being in front of him. He sets down his glass of water on the first flat surface he sees and heads to his room, his phone promptly finding itself in his hands.

Maybe it's a dead end, but he has nothing to lose by trying.

He sits on his bed and reminds himself to stretch later because now the important thing is to think about what to look for. He grimaces, frustrated with himself as he doesn't usually pay any attention when it comes to politics. Still, it's possible that someone associated with Jongho's family took advantage of the hospital's affiliation to hide his birth.

Jongho’s family didn't hold the position they now hold when he was born, but they aren’t where they are after one day, so he searches for Jongho’s last name anyway —the same letters of his last name, an irony.

What is he supposed to do? Search everyone?

Perhaps the year of his birth.

He gets frustrated because only news about Jongho's mother's pregnancy appears even though Jongho was born a year after him. He forms a line with his lips, thinking that it doesn't make sense to always see the same news, until a series of words start to catch his attention.

First public appearance.

First images.

Rest.

He frowns, other articles leading him to learn that Jongho's mother hasn't shown herself in public the months before her pregnancy, since a year before, and more, in fact. Only vague explanations are given about it. Not a single photo.

How is he supposed to know who worked for her if she wasn't even in the public sphere? He notes that her absence coincides with the fingers of his hand that he raises but—

He widens his eyes.

No. No, no, no.

No?

But if the answer is no, then why does it make so much sense?

He falls back onto his bed and rests his eyes on the ceiling.

What if—

Even though she has already found you.

Yeosang, Seonghwa, and Wooyoung aren't the only new students at his university. Jongho too. They're not the only three whose families now gravitate around him. Jongho's family too.

Powerful person to expose secrets, such as the closeness between Yunho and Mingi, and perhaps also, then, powerful to hide others.

He quickly slides his eyes to his phone and dials the number of the only person that will understand the uncertainty in his tone of voice.

“Hola?” Wooyoung's voice caresses his ear as he brings the phone to it, but even though he parts his lips, he's not able to get a word out. “San?”

He must be so desperate for an answer that he's starting to make one up, but then, why does it make sense?

“I have to tell you something.” his words are followed by a shaky breath.

“Ah, mh... actually, mh... me too.”

He frowns, confused. Why does Wooyoung sound so worried like him?

He decides to speak, figuring it's better to listen to what Wooyoung has to say after saying what he wants to say so he can get his mind off his own words.

“I think I know who my mom is.”

“I think I know who your mom is.” Wooyoung says.

“What?”

“What?”

Chapter 35

Mingi doesn't think he's doing the walk of shame at that moment, but rather the walk of pride. Proud of the feelings he has for Yunho, or proud of himself, both kinds of pride are valid.

With the plastic crown left among his locks, the first buttons of his white shirt undone to expose his chest, pink trousers on, and the matching blazer in hand, thrown over his shoulder, he opens the door to his house with a lopsided smile plastered on his face.

The wary looks he gets from the people who work in his house when he walks through the door don't embarrass him. He’s aware that the night before he was seen leaving through the same door wearing the same clothes. The fake blood stains are barely noticeable and he has noticed that the fake crown has lost one of its gems.

“Mingi.”

Under other circumstances, he probably would have felt cornered by the way his father mentions his name. He doesn't sound happy, that's obvious. But he doesn't feel trapped, and he leaves the blazer on the nearest rack before keeping his hands in his pockets.

He rests one side of his body against the frame of the door of the main dining room, where he notices that both his father and his mother are.

“Love or business?” His mother looks at him before lowering her eyes to the phone in her hands. Mingi raises both eyebrows. He no longer knows how many times he has heard both words as part of the same sentence. “Owners of the night in Seoul, will the pure love between them take over our hearts or is this love story nothing more than a business strategy?”

He leaves his eyes on his father when he clears his throat.

“Should Song Mingi and Jeong Yunho move their pieces to take over the acting industry?” his father says, lowering his eyes to his respective phone. “Should they get a standing ovation for the excellent acting chops they seem to have, or should we worry and wonder what else they're lying to us about?”

“You are all over the news,” his mother expresses, staring at him.

His answer is a sincere yawn —that damn hangover that refuses to go.

“Where were you last night?” His father asks him.

“Hosting a party, clearly,” he stops keeping one of his hands in his pockets to point to himself.

Instead of focusing on the articles with his and Yunho's names in the center, he allows himself to grin after hearing that both Yunho and he are still called the owners of the night in Seoul, even if Wooyoung and his family are in said city. Oh, his parents must hate that people still consider Yunho as his equal.

“Yes, the same night that the Prime Minister decided to host a party. After that. Where were you after your own party?”

“I'm pretty sure Jongho left his parents' party to come to my party, so...”

“After that.” his mother repeats.

“Where do you think I was?”

“Where were you?” His father insists.

He stops keeping his body against the door frame to approach them and leaves his hands on the edge of one of the many chairs that remain empty. He's been waiting for this, for his parents to finally give him the spotlight because someone else has done it first, and with Yunho included.

But unlike what he has thought, he doesn't feel nervous. He feels calm, even. He wouldn’t hesitate to blame previously consumed drugs and alcohol if it weren't for the fact that Yunho's previous company by his side is the cause behind his lack of restlessness.

“You haven't read about it yet?” he looks back and forth between them. “That's why you shouldn't trust those portals. Worry not, I'll give you the scoop.” He takes a deep breath, seeking to add exaggeration to his person with that gesture. “An imagined place where everything is perfect.” Utopia, he thinks along with a smile.

“Jeon—”

“The Choi family is behind this. And no, we all know I’m not talking about San and his dad.” he gets rid of his smiling gesture as soon as he hears his mother trying to pronounce Yunho's last name. He is allowed to express Yunho's last name with disdain —pretended disgust but serious nonetheless. He doesn't like it when other people do it. He no longer has to pretend to share said annoyance. “We wouldn't be discussing this had they kept their mouth shut. Want to direct your anger at someone? She is the answer, not Yunho.”

He arches an eyebrow when he notices that his father does so once he hears Yunho's name instead of his last name.

“Jeong said—”

“Choi forced him to.”

“And you want to be with someone who gives in so easily?” His mother asks him.

“You want me to date someone who loves me?” he asks instead of answering.

He’s used to his parents doing all kinds of things and expressing all kinds of phrases under the premise that it’s the best for him. He has learned to read their plays, to understand their ways of acting when it comes to him.

His mother hinting that he shouldn't settle for being with a weak person who gives in to pressure is not a smart move.

“I want you to date someone who understands who you are.”

“I found someone who loves me and who understands who I am.” he determines, and feels the way his chest swells with pride at the same time that his heart pounds as he’s able to express those words without hesitation because certainly, Yunho loves him, and understands who he is.

Yunho better than anyone knows who he is. He had to study his way of thinking, of moving to function in the same way, to face him as the other person described as strong and important when it comes to the night of Seoul.

Everyone thinks they know him because his family is known, and his last name and therefore his facial features are easily recognizable, but Yunho is the person who knows how to provoke him, both for good and for bad.

“What are you talking about?” His father asks him.

Mingi tightens his hands around the edge of the chair.

He could simply choose to express that Yunho loves him, but his parents won't hesitate to interrupt him with all kinds of excuses, identical excuses to the ones they’ve probably read in all the articles that have wasted their time. That Yunho is using him, that everything is fake, and that Yunho only cares about his business and money to get close to his direct competition.

How can he face such words? With facts.

Yunho has defended him, time after time, and now, he has to take charge of his own actions. Yunho had to deal with the consequences after blaming himself twice, and the third time is the charm, he believes.

It will be the last time that someone has the power to pressure Yunho to do things he doesn't want to do under the premise of revealing things Yunho hasn't done.

“Jongho's mom told Yunho to do as she said, and Yunho did what he did because if he didn't prove that we are together, Jongho's mom would have said that I cheated on one of my exams last semester.”

It somehow feels freeing to express those words.

“Why would she say that?” His father asks him.

Mingi thinks he's not surprised when he doesn't seem to believe him. After all, his own parents have created this perfect image of him in their heads, someone incapable of making mistakes because that is how they both want him to be, a son who doesn’t live, but exists only to be perfect.

He has never been so glad to be imperfect.

“Because it's the truth.”

He notices the way his parents look at each other, wondering if they should believe him or not. He assumes that they are both aware that he wouldn’t play with them as he knows the consequences that await him, but he doesn’t feel small or exposed once he decides to keep talking.

“I was cheating on the exam with my phone and Yunho blamed himself. He took the phone right out of my hand and said he was cheating.”

He remembers how stunned he felt at the time, how perplexed he continued to feel after hearing that Yunho agreed to keep a scholarship instead of admitting that he wasn't the one who cheated.

“He is now under a scholarship. I cheated because I didn't have time to study. You made me go to event after event to promote yourselves and for me to be there. I wasn't sleeping, I was tired,” he still is. “So if you want me to date someone who will protect me, that person is Yunho.”

He's not happy with what he's done and what made him behave that way in the first place.

“He is our competition—”

“The Jungs are our competition.” he doesn't hesitate to interrupt along with an exhausted breath.

For that very reason, he has felt so compelled to cheat. Because his parents don't listen to him, they refuse to listen to the words that leave his mouth. He doesn't hear a sorry, and the sad truth is that he hasn't expected an apology either.

Sorry for making you feel like you didn't have time to study, sorry for making you stay up late when you have classes in the morning.

It's not hard to guess from whom he inherited not taking responsibility for his own mistakes; but he plans to change from then on.

“They have come here with their famous franchise of restaurants and they are known across multiple cities. Abroad. That family is the real threat, the real problem, not Yunho.” he adds.

He has gotten used to the constant clash with Yunho, but they are both just as aware that Wooyoung is important. For the same reason, he suggested to Yunho that he incorporate Wooyoung into Utopia. It would be a great addition, and he should take advantage of the fact that Wooyoung’s parents don't seem to want him as part of the family business to bring him into his, to make Utopia shine even brighter.

“We will remove you from that university.” his mother determines.

At another time he would have shaken his head, widened his eyes, and begun to repeat a series of no, no, no, don't do this to me, but an inevitable laugh leaves his lips at that moment. Despair doesn’t take over him, and he only covers his mouth with his hand because he really hasn’t been able to stop the laughter that bubbled up in his throat.

“What do you find so funny?”

He thinks it's both sad and funny to realize how little his parents know him despite constantly expressing that they're a close family when there's a microphone on or a camera pointed at them.

If they wanted the threat to really hurt, they would have voiced the destruction of Illusion.

“I got drunk last night. I got high, too. I drove.” He turns his head to show them the bruise on his forehead. They didn’t even question its existence. “Yunho knows all of that,” if his father widens his eyes because he hears what he has done or because Yunho is aware of said chain of actions, he doesn't know. “If you don't want that story to ruin us, you won't tell me shit.”

“Mingi!” His mother exclaims, horrified.

“Let me see, what else. Drugs in Illusion, nightclub that you let me open. Yunho knows that too, it would be terrible for Utopia to win over Illusion just because there are drugs involved, right? Oh, and how to forget, if people find out that I cheated on an exam and that no one said anything about it, there will not only be questions about whether you two have bribed my way through college, school, even, but there will also be questions about the two of you and your respective paths. And besides, if I could pretend with Yunho, how much can you two pretend, right? Politicians. So many interesting questions to ask, don't you think?”

The press would have a feast, and the three of them know it. He has never opened his mouth about things he knows about his parents because he has never sought the ruin of the family. Now he no longer has to keep his own mouth shut.

“You can't threaten me.” he determines. “You wanted us to be a family, right? You still want that. For us to be the perfect and flawless family. So, what I do influences you. Over and over again you have repeated that I am your heir, and I am. But that means that you are my parents, or have you forgotten that part of the equation? Show me as the perfect son you always want me to be, or it's my ruin, but yours too.”

He believes that it’s time to start taking advantage of the image that his parents want to give. If the decision is to show a perfect child, then perfect parents are also necessary. Alcohol, drugs, and a possible car accident? The last name Song will be a tune that will pique the interest of others for all the wrong reasons.

Unless, of course, the last name Song is still shown as a carefully played symphony.

“No car for you for two weeks.” his father expresses.

“Eh, that's fine. I understand that I was irresponsible,” in any case, he believes that Yunho wouldn’t have let him drive. “Oh, and, Jung Wooyoung was the person who got some portals to talk about something else instead of Yunho and me, so I think the least we can do for him is not have to deal with any kind of consequences for starting an alleged fire.”

He could talk, he could express that Wooyoung has pulled the alarm and made all the students leave the university building, but he won’t. Wooyoung got him and Yunho, and now they got him.

“Ah, and my car is parked at Utopia by the way,” he remembers. His father lets out a breath of air while his mother rests her hand on her forehead. “Good luck going there, let's all start the week off right!”

He chooses to give them a smile before turning around, considering that the conversation has ended. It’s liberating, having parted ways with his secrets.

And the best of all? He has spoken with a plastic crown on his head.

As soon as he goes upstairs, though, he runs into Boram.

“Here you are again, and what is this?” And of course, Boram does notice the bruise on his forehead, and he can't do anything but tilt his head so Boram can inspect his forehead and scold him with her eyes because Boram has always cared about him. “You better not be getting into fights, unless the other party deserves it and has ended up worse off.”

He chuckles. While his parents were busy working, Boram was busy raising him.

“Look at that smile. Are you and that lovely boy better?”

Yes, he and Yunho are better, he thinks, but they could be even better, and he knows that if there's someone who won't hesitate to help Yunho, it's Boram.

“I need your help.”

He has one more thing left to do.

His parents are not the only parents putting pressure on his and Yunho's shoulders after all.

And just as he thought she would, Boram smiles, accomplice as always.

“Tell me what you need.”

---

Yeosang bites his lower lip as Jongho tightens his grip around his waist. He's sure of the warm feeling he gets when Jongho chooses to wrap his arms around him, and he thinks that Jongho has developed a taste for keeping him trapped in his arms.

“I like the feeling I get when you have your arms around me,” He doesn't see why he should keep those words as a thought instead of saying them out loud.

Torn between keeping his hands covered since he’s once again wearing the sweater Jongho gave him —and he threw, and Jongho gave him again—, and rolling up the sleeves to wrap Jongho's arms with his hands, he finally allows the sleeves to slide back to leave his fingers on Jongho's arms.

“That's very good to know, actually, because I like holding you,” Jongho assures him.

He straightens up when Jongho takes the exchange of those words in his favor to pull him closer, and he lifts up the corners of his mouth even if he keeps biting his bottom lip.

Perched on Jongho's firm thighs, his chest about to brush Jongho's, his hands on Jongho's arms, and Jongho's arms around his waist. This is how he likes to be.

He notices that Jongho lowers his gaze to his mouth, and doesn't object when Jongho leaves his hands on his waist to lean him into him and trap his lips with his. He slides his hands to Jongho's neck to wrap his arms around him, as he too wants the distance between them to decrease as much as possible.

He thinks it doesn't matter if they're in a hotel room or in a car like they are at that moment —or even in one of Illusion's bathroom stalls, he thinks. What matters is staying close, and getting the other to forget the details that surround them in order to lose themselves in the sensations that they mutually arouse in each other.

“How did you get the privacy?” he chooses to ask him once they part.

He has always been aware that even though Jongho has rented a hotel room for them, it doesn't equate to being completely alone. He doesn't think he's upset at being aware of that detail because he wouldn't have even approached Jongho if he hadn't accepted the company —distant but always present anyway— of his bodyguards; but they are completely alone in the car.

“I’m pretty sure there must be a car near us,” Jongho responds as he doesn't overlook the last name that makes up his identity either. But instead of looking around them, Jongho keeps his eyes fixed on him.

“Yet the windows are tinted.”

“That means we are free,” Jongho brings his mouth to his neck.

A small giggle leaves his mouth, as a consequence of the tickling that Jongho's lips cause on his skin, and the words Jongho has expressed, he believes. 

Free?

Taking advantage of the fact that Jongho keeps his head between his neck and his shoulder, he brings a hand to his nape and gently combs the beginning of Jongho's black strands. He turns his head slightly for his whispered words to reach Jongho's ear.

“We are not free.” He doubts that a little moment of privacy between the two of them in a car equals freedom.

“Unfortunately, I don't actually get many opportunities to bump into you in the hallway. I've hardly seen you so your uniform remains safe from my clumsiness. I just wanted to be alone with you,” Jongho expresses as he straightens up. Yeosang is only able to hold his gaze, wondering if Jongho counts the time it takes them to see each other again, to be face to face again. “And we are. And I feel free.”

“I guess I understand what you say,” he offers, since the closeness between the two certainly started because both expressed the need to be distracted from their respective surroundings.

He supposes it's only logical for Jongho to feel free when he's with him. It must be annoying to be constantly surrounded by people watching his every move. He doesn’t feel completely alien to such constant vigilance.

Furthermore, he’s aware that while he hasn't hesitated to invade Jongho's personal space —well, he didn't really know who he was—, most people don't plot the same actions as him. They move away from Jongho.

“This is nice,” he adds, and thinks that he certainly likes knowing that Jongho feels free when he's with him, it feels nice to be aware of that detail. They're locked in a car, and yet Jongho feels free because he is there.

“Spending your time with me,” Jongho brings his mouth closer to his.

He knows he could nod, and say yes, since it certainly is nice to share his time with him, but he seeks to imitate him by tilting his head and teasing him back.

“We are friends with benefits, that's what we do,” he says.

“We are friends,” Jongho raises both eyebrows, feigning surprise.

He scrunches his nose, and again doesn't seek to move away when Jongho seals their lips together. Yes, it's nice to spend his time with Jongho, very nice.

Once again Jongho wraps his arm around his waist and gets their chests to touch. He smiles in between the kiss as he grinds his hips down, delighting in the way in which Jongho only seeks to press their bodies together, seeking that closeness.

Friends with benefits. Friends, friends, friends, that’s what friends do.

“Friends,” Jongho murmurs, barely pulling apart, and he hums as he strokes the strands that grow at the nape of his neck before Jongho leans back, trapping his hand between the back of his head and the seat. “Friends have each other's backs, right?”

He stares at Jongho when he denotes the seriousness of that phrase expressed in a low voice, even if there’s no need to lower the volume of their voices. He frowns slightly, sensing the way Jongho makes sure not to let go. Now it looks like a gesture, it feels like a gesture guided by uncertainty instead of simple comfort.

“What is it?” he decides to ask him, believing that the pronunciation of that question wasn’t a provocation.

Jongho doesn't stop looking at him, and although he doesn't answer his question, both his gaze and the way he makes sure to keep him close to him assure him that there is something to say.

He stops keeping his hand on his strands to caress his cheek. And when Jongho leans into the soft touch in search of that comfort that he seems to represent, he can't help but think that Jongho is just like him.

Jongho may carry an important last name, walk with his shoulders squared, speak in a way that certainly entertains him, and sound determined, but all of those quirks don't make Jongho any less of a human than he is.

Perhaps when it comes to them, the word benefits does outweigh the word friends, but even so, feeling good doesn’t only imply pleasure or a string of moans.

“You've been acting weird,” he decides to add.

The words that Jongho said to him after they showered together and he got out of the shower kept and keep going around his head.

Jongho parts his lips but doesn't say a word, and promptly forms a line with his mouth. He wonders what to do, since while it's clear that Jongho is definitely acting weird for a reason, he doesn't seem sure he wants to tell him.

He doesn't want to pressure him to talk if he doesn't want to, but the root of their closeness lies in making the other feel better, and he does feel better when Jongho kisses him, so he leans into him and leaves a short, soft kiss on his lips.

He seems to have made the right decision, as Jongho finally speaks.

“I'll feel worse and look worse if I don't tell you once and for all, so... my mom... she's... she's the one who disclosed the relationship between Mingi and Yunho.”

He doesn't know what he has been waiting to hear after seeing Jongho remain serious and hesitating whether to speak or not, but he definitely hasn't expected him to mention those words.

“Wh—” His confusion is put aside for a moment as a single doubt appears at the center of his thoughts and he widens his eyes. “Did you—”

“No, no, I didn't know,” Jongho quickly seeks to assure him, not needing him to finish his question to decide whether to stay or leave right there, as he wouldn't have hesitated to do so if Jongho had offered a positive answer.

Mingi and Yunho are his friends, they were the first people who made him feel welcome, comfortable, and managed to make him smile. If Jongho had said yes, that he did know that his mother would go against Mingi and Yunho, he would have gotten out of the car no matter how good he feels with Jongho and how much it would have hurt him to walk away.

“I don't know why.” Jongho adds.

Why did your mother do it, Yeosang thinks.

However, Jongho is the person who takes his hands off of him. While he hasn't hesitated to stay close to Jongho after hearing that Jongho isn't aware of all the decisions his mother makes, Jongho stops keeping his arms around his waist.

“Why did you let go of me?” he asks as soon as he looks up after seeing how Jongho moved his hands away from his body.

While seconds ago he held him as if he was afraid that he would move away from him and stop being in front of him, now he keeps his hands gently curled over his own stomach, as if he was afraid to touch him.

He told him that he likes it when he holds him and Jongho told him that he likes to hold him so why the hell is he keeping his hands away from his body?

“I'm not who you think I am, okay?” Jongho expresses. He stares at him, not looking happy to have to say those words but seeming to be forcing himself to say them. “I always feel this—” he lowers his eyes to Jongho's hands when he notices that this time his fists are firm, until Jongho relaxes his hands again. He looks up at Jongho. “This irritation taking over me and I can't control myself and— I don't want to hurt you. What I least want is for you to end up hurt because of me.”

Jongho looks away, avoiding his gaze, and he looks at him, believing that the arms he has left around Jongho's neck are doing nothing to stop Jongho from looking away, so he withdraws his hands, but he's sure of what he thinks when he notices the tense line that Jongho forms with his lips as well as the stiffness that settles on his shoulders. Jongho really doesn't want him to pull away.

“I've been feeling irritated since... my mom called me, okay? When I was with you. Maybe I avoided you today because I didn't want you to see this irritation, and you didn't notice because we have different classes, but I missed being with you, and I don't like ignoring you, so I wanted to spend some time with you now. Yet...” Jongho shakes his head, seeming surrendered. “I am very afraid of hurting you.” Jongho insists, lowering his gaze.

“You wouldn't hurt me,” Jongho has made sure to treat him delicately from the first moment they met. He’s been nothing but honest and patient with him, so he doesn't understand the insecurity behind his words.

“It's not because I want to hurt you or not,” Jongho looks at him, but he's just as serious, sounding just as sure of what he's saying. “It's because it always ends up happening, and if someone has to get hurt, I'd rather be me than you.”

“You won't hurt me.” he sounds just as confident. “So can you please hold me again?” He asks, holding his gaze, but again Jongho looks away.

“You don't see it because I'm always calm with you, and your company calms me down, but I feel those emotions that take over me, and they're not good emotions. And you said it, before, I am part of a particular environment. A political environment from which I will never be able to get away and that is the true chaos.”

He no longer knows what’s worse, that Jongho doesn’t deign to look at him, or that he accepts to look at him again, with frustration guiding his gaze.

“The chaos, your chaos, that you talk so much about is nothing compared to the chaos that always surrounds me. I don't want to drag you into my chaos. Why do you think nobody approaches me and I don't approach anyone? Because I can’t.”

He's starting to think that when Jongho said he has a monotonous life, he didn't mean it was simple and easy too.

“Just look at me, with Yunho and Mingi. I haven’t done anything to them and yet, what will they think of me, what will they say of me when they find out that my mom did this to them? They will hate me, they will resent me, and I haven't even done anything. What will you do, if I tell you that my mom is aware of this? Of our proximity?”

Jongho points between them with one of his hands, and when he notices Jongho making fists with his hands again, it assures him that Jongho really wants to hold him, but his insecurities are assuring him otherwise.

He looks at Jongho, knowing how it feels to be overwhelmed by his own thoughts. Jongho was always there not to let him get too far away, not to let his thoughts reassure him that it's better if he's alone.

“Jongho.” he says while he stares at him. “I’m more than sure that both Mingi and Yunho are the first to not judge anyone for their parents' actions. They never would have gotten close to each other if it wasn't like that.”

Jongho licks his lips and he misses the feeling that the arms around his waist cause him. He misses keeping his hands on Jongho’s body too, so he gently rests his hands on Jongho's hands. Jongho tenses under the touch but doesn't remove his hands. Jongho doesn't allow him to move them when he wraps his hands around his either, though.

“Let me, please,” he asks, still looking at him although Jongho continues without corresponding to his gaze.

He doesn't understand the sudden change in Jongho's attitude and he believes that he will continue to be confused if Jongho continues to act that way. Jongho won't hurt him, he knows that, and Jongho has to understand that too.

Jongho was always determined when it came to getting them to continue together. He convinced him not to abandon the gala, not to try to give him the keycard to the hotel room to end their closeness. In the same way, he won't let Jongho get away.

“Jongho, let me.” he says, and this time he doesn't say please. This time he tugs a little more on his hands, and he allows a relieved breath of air to leave his lips as Jongho finally relents, and returns his gaze as he allows him to take his hands.

He places Jongho's hands on his waist, and when Jongho simply keeps his hands on that part of his body instead of securing his grip on his figure, he presses his hands onto his.

“I'm your strawberry, you won't hurt me.”

He feels Jongho's fingertips dig into his waist, and if he doesn't smile it's because he believes that Jongho may yet become overwhelmed by his thoughts again.

He opts to slide his hands to his chest since Jongho changed his demeanor after denying knowing about his mother's apparent actions. He knows, he really knows that being family doesn't mean sharing secrets, so he believes him. He spreads his hands over Jongho's chest, and thankfully Jongho's breathing eases under his touch.

Jongho doesn't take his hands off his waist, and he tilts his head, waiting for Jongho to speak because he doesn't understand the correlation between the other words that he mentioned and how those are related to Mingi and Yunho's relationship.

He assumes that his confusion must be evident, because Jongho parts his lips, and he does talk this time.

“I want you to be with me.” He feels his cheeks burn and doesn't care if his blush is noticeable. Jongho has to realize it, has to see with his own eyes what he does to him, the effect he has on him. His body speaks for itself, and for him too. “But this—” Jongho points between them and puts his hand back on his waist before he can even complain. “Could be a disadvantage more than a benefit. Yet the closest you are to me the more I feel I can protect you.”

He now understands the reason for his previous change of attitude.

“I'm not scared of you or your mom.” He has never doubted that Jongho's mother is aware of what they do, what Jongho does. After all, Jongho has assured him that his mother is the one who leads the bodyguards who are constantly around Jongho. “I'm scared of mine.”

He swallows as he realizes the implications exposed in the formulation of those sentences. He doesn't think that Jongho should worry about him just because his mother has proven to be not the best person, not when he’s already aware that the word mother doesn’t equate to pure concern and lack of bad intentions.

He thinks it's sad, to say that he’s afraid of his own mother out loud.

This time he keeps his hands on Jongho's chest to steady himself. Jongho has accepted the deal with him because he also needs to be distracted, he knows that. To forget about the apparent irritation that constantly follows him too, apparently.

Jongho said that he needs his chaos. He also needs Jongho's chaos.

They need each other.

And for the same reason, Jongho's next words are a bittersweet irony.

“You call me, yes? If you ever need me, I'm serious.” Jongho says.

He gets Jongho to hold him. Jongho gets him to accept to call him.

Are friends with benefits allowed to say those things to each other?

“The benefit is your presence?” he teases, trying to soften the atmosphere.

The deal has been between them and no one else, so he assumes that they determine which rules to follow and which rules to break. He likes the way Jongho holds him and Jongho likes to hold him. Maybe neither of them was lying when they said they were starting to obsess over each other.

He forces himself to stop that spiral of thoughts, and fortunately, Jongho speaks.

“Yes, even if I just said it isn't very convenient for you.”

What is convenient and what is not? If only Jongho knew that he always appears at the exact moment to prevent him from removing his phone case to cloud his senses in another way.

He surrounds Jongho's neck with his arms, preferring to focus on Jongho instead of thinking that Seonghwa knows that getting high is not something that only happens when he attends a party. That he has noticed that his body is sporadically traveled by slight chills and he’s not able to determine if that happens because he’s really cold or because a part of his head doesn't allow him to forget that now Seonghwa has his box of drugs. He only has a constant feeling of anxiety and alertness and the films he has never taken from his phone case.

“You said I can ask for anything except for you to fuck me,” he still doesn't understand why Jongho expresses that he'll leave as soon as they have sex, but he's also aware that he hasn't chosen to walk away just because Jongho has assured him that for now, that intimacy is out of the question. “So kiss me, and hold me, and don't even think about letting me go again.”

He keeps his lips parted as Jongho traces his bottom lip with his thumb. Well, he thinks they can do a lot more than fuck at the moment.

“Yes, my strawberry,”

Soon enough Jongho's lips are again on his, and he doesn't know why, but it feels different. More desperate, more demanding, seeking to balance the previously established distance, perhaps. A sorry said in actions —no, a forgive me, because Jongho usually utters those words. Jongho slides his hand to his neck, and the way he wraps his fingers around it doesn't amount to discomfort.

Friends, friends, friends. Really?

Tentatively, he moves his hips. Despite the slowness of the movement, Jongho reacts by gently pressing his fingertips against his neck in response to his pressure. He smiles, delighted in the way their bodies reciprocate each other. He straightens up as Jongho's other hand finds his lower back, present only to accompany the slow rhythm of his body.

He digs his nails into the back of Jongho's neck when a sudden buzz startles him after having indulged in the sensations that Jongho arouses in him. Jongho chuckles as he pulls away from him, and he throws him a look before taking his phone from his pocket.

He has planned to drop it next to him, but remains confused when Hongjoong's name lights up his screen. He thinks about not answering but Hongjoong never calls, and that detail is what leads him to accept the call as well as bring the phone to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Hi, hello. Hey, not to interrupt your night or anything, but I was curious. You got an uncle or something in town?”

The sheer bewilderment that that question provokes in him gets him to take a few seconds to answer.

“Mh, eh— Wooyoung’s dad?” It's all that comes to his mind. Technically he's not his uncle, but just as he calls Seonghwa brother instead of half-brother, Wooyoung's dad is his uncle instead of his best friend's father.

Jongho seems confused.

“What does he look like?” Hongjoong asks him.

Jongho understands that he's not sure about the phone conversation he's having either as he shrugs, assuring Jongho that he's just as confused.

“Mh, he has dark brown hair and he wears it parted in the middle, he has specs, and he’s around Wooyoung’s height,” he offers, still not knowing very well —or rather not at all— why he finds himself describing Wooyoung's father to Hongjoong.

“He doesn't look like him.”

“What?”

He hears Hongjoong let out a breath.

“I came to a restaurant to grab food and your brother is with a man that definitely isn't Wooyoung's dad.”

Although finally getting an answer is supposed to curb his confusion, Hongjoong's words only increase his confusion.

“What?”

“He's literally having dinner with a man right now.”

“Send me your location.” is all he says before ending the call.

He frowns, still disoriented. Seonghwa? Having dinner with a man?

He shakes his head as doubts start to build up inside his head, and looks at Jongho.

“I'm so sorry, but—”

“I'll take you,” Jongho determines, probably having concluded that he has to go because he heard the word location.

He wants to apologize again because he thinks they've both been enjoying the moment alone so far, and it’s true that they never get that close to that freeing sensation, but he doesn't say a word as Jongho seems to understand his guilt after shaking his head, assuring him that he doesn’t have to worry.

He really wants to keep feeling Jongho's arms around his body, but he forces himself to leave the comfort of his lap, and lets out a breath as Jongho gets into the driver's seat through the space between the front seats.

Jongho offers a hand to help him through, and he holds it before promptly finding himself sitting next to him, now with a gear stick between them. He lowers his eyes to his phone when Hongjoong sends him his location, and leaves his phone between them.

Jongho's hand stops meeting his when he starts the car, and the cold weather that fogs up the windows doesn't prevent him from watching the night in Seoul through the glass.

“Is everything okay?” He hears Jongho ask him.

Is it ever?

Perhaps he’s exaggerating the situation and is wasting his time as well as Jongho's after deciding to see with his own eyes what perhaps turns out to be nothing more than a simple dinner, something that people usually do normally.

But a man? A man?

He turns his head away, and nods even though he isn't convinced.

He doesn't know if Jongho doesn't say another word because he isn't convinced by his answer either, or because he supposes they should both seek to slow down their bodies after suddenly stopping their closeness, but he appreciates the silence that accompanies them as Jongho brings them closer to Hongjoong's location.

This is the bad side of somehow taking refuge in Jongho. He must get back to the reality that surrounds him at some point, to the details that he just seeks to get away from.

Still, it's certainly relaxing to be next to Jongho. With the lights of Seoul illuminating their facial features as they drive through the streets, he feels the way one corner of his mouth turns up at the thought that Jongho has chosen to stay by his side even though it's clear that the approach between them has ended, at least the physical one for that night.

He straightens up in his seat when the name of the restaurant Hongjoong has sent them appears within his line of sight, and promptly his eyes land on Hongjoong. He’s standing outside, a bit far from the door of the restaurant. He texts him that they are the oncoming car, and within seconds Jongho pulls the car up in front of Hongjoong.

Hongjoong gets in and both he and Jongho turn their heads toward him. He wonders why Hongjoong seems so confused, until he remembers that he has never mentioned being with Jongho at any time. He knows that said detail is what catches Hongjoong's attention, as Hongjoong looks back and forth between them, and after raising both eyebrows and settling by looking at him, Yeosang forms a line with his lips.

“Where...” He clears his throat, “Where did you say you saw him?” Out of genuine curiosity and to avoid thinking about the small smile of amusement that begins to decorate Hongjoong's face, he decides to ask that question.

Hongjoong stops looking at him to turn his head, and loses his smile.

“A table in the row after the window. A bit more to the left,” he says.

He turns his head like him, and is grateful for the tinted windows of the car since otherwise it wouldn't have looked very good for three people to be looking at the same place. He follows the directions given by Hongjoong and tilts his head when soon enough, just like Hongjoong said, he finds his brother at one of the tables, a man sitting across from him.

Even if a pleasant smile doesn't cover the entirety of Seonghwa’s face, he doesn't look uncomfortable. Both he and the man in front of him are talking, and Seonghwa's body language expresses neither disgust nor rigidity.

“You recognize him?” He hears Hongjoong ask him.

Black hair pushed back. Correct posture.

“No.”

“Maybe he comes here often, I mean, you too? Maybe he's the manager of the restaurant or something like that.”

“I wouldn't know, you eat with him more than me.”

“What?”

He stops keeping his eyes on Seonghwa and turns his head to the other side. Hongjoong slides toward the middle of the backseat again and stares at him. He looks at Hongjoong, and he tilts his head when Hongjoong does.

“He doesn't have dinner with me much, he usually says that he has had dinner with you.” he chooses to express, since those are the words that he has heard Seonghwa mention more than once.

No, I already ate before. No, I already had dinner with Hongjoong. No, don't leave me leftovers.

“He's never stayed at my house for dinner. Nor for lunch either, nothing,” Hongjoong articulates.

The words they exchange don’t match, and he assumes that Hongjoong realizes the same thing at the same time as him because they look at each other in the same way.

Seonghwa has been lying to them.

And he's not eating. Seonghwa is not eating. He looks down as all the times that he has sat at the same table as Seonghwa, appear in his mind. But he's barely paid attention, barely looked up from his plate.

He bites the inside of his cheek, feeling worry rise in his chest. Is this how Seonghwa felt when he found his box of drugs? Concerned, alarmed. But he does eat, while Seonghwa doesn't.

A frown marks his face at the same time that he forms a line with his lips. It was their mom. He recalls Seonghwa's reaction when their mother said that he shouldn't drink that stupid smoothie. He should have said something, he really should have.

“Hey...” a hand is gently rested on his hand and he looks up to find Hongjong looking at him. “You couldn't have known, I didn't notice either.”

Yes, but you're not his brother, he wants to say, but he doesn't. He turns to look at Seonghwa again instead. Seonghwa previously approached him, voicing the words I thought we would be honest with each other, but hypocrisy follows his person now.

“Should I go in?”

“He didn't see me,” Hongjoong clarifies.

“He doesn’t look cornered,” he wouldn’t have hesitated to enter otherwise.

He may be upset, he may feel irritated at the lack of honesty, but he’s worried too. Seonghwa isn't eating, and besides, they still don't know who the person is with him at that moment.

“Is he... is he dating someone?”

He doesn't know what catches his attention the most, the fact that at no time has he thought of the scene that his eyes see as a possible date, or that Hongjoong expresses those words along with a cautious tone of voice.

Hongjoong asking for Seonghwa when Seonghwa didn't attend class comes to his mind, as well as Seonghwa with Hongjoong's coat draped over his shoulders. Maybe it doesn't mean anything, but he seeks to answer nonetheless.

“I'm pretty sure he doesn't like older people.”

He doesn’t hesitate to take out his phone after saying those words, since if he expresses them, it’s because he definitely doesn’t believe that that scene is a date —and not only because he believes that Hongjoong's hidden interest is probably reciprocated by Seonghwa.

He dials Seonghwa's number, and brings the phone to his ear before looking at him.

He watches him take his phone out, and inhales a short breath when instead of leaving his phone aside, Seonghwa seems to apologize to accept the call, and soon enough, he hears Seonghwa's voice.

“Hello?”

It takes him a second to think about why he called and therefore what to say, and he reacts fast enough not to get Seonghwa to pronounce his name with a doubtful tone of voice.

“If I go to our house to have dinner, do I wait for you or do I leave you food?”

“Where are you if you are not there?”

I would like to know the same about you, he thinks.

He definitely can't express that he's looking at him from across the street, and saying Wooyoung's name would probably be a mistake because while Wooyoung wouldn't hesitate to lie for him, he thinks it's already a messy situation to keep adding people —and he told Wooyoung that he wouldn’t keep dragging him into his problems.

“With... Jongho.” He curls up one corner of his mouth, and turns his head to find Jongho staring at him. “Aren’t you there either?” He quickly adds instead of giving Seonghwa the opportunity to question why he’s with Jongho, even though Seonghwa knows they already know each other.

“No, I'm out.”

“Out?” please, please, please tell me where you are even though I already know the answer and that you're having dinner.

“Studying.”

He keeps staring at him through the windows of the car and the restaurant.

“With Hongjoong?”

“No, I can't study with people,” he assumes that Seonghwa is just as fast and smart, because he wouldn't express that he’s studying with Hongjoong when he would only have to ask Hongjoong how his night of studying with Seonghwa went to discover the lack of logic. “You can eat the leftovers, I'll grab something.”

“Okay,”

Liar is the only word that appears in his mind when he ends the call.

“Why did you mention me?” Jongho's voice mixes with Hongjoong's.

He turns his head towards them and licks his lips.

“He asked me where I was,” he answers, looking at Jongho, and then leaves his eyes on Hongjoong. “He told me that he was studying and I asked if he was with you. He told me no.”

“Not to be that person, but that doesn't look like studying.”

He doesn't care if his neck will hurt later from turning his head from side to side, but as Jongho looks behind him, he turns his head. Indeed, Seonghwa resumes the conversation when their call is no longer part of the moment.

Who is this man? Maybe someone from their mom's new office? He knows that Seonghwa recently expressed wanting to return to work at their mother's company. Did their mother make the contact? He forms a line with his lips. No, Seonghwa would have told him the truth if that was the case. So who is he? Why wouldn't Seonghwa tell him the truth?

He swallows hard and feels the stiffness take hold of his shoulders as he thinks that perhaps Seonghwa has lied to him because he doesn't want him to find out where he is and who turns out to be the other protagonist of the situation.

He wouldn’t tell a stranger that he gets high every now and then, right?

He feels a hand on his arm as he rests his hand on the door.

“I don't think that's a good idea,” he turns his head to find Jongho shifting his gaze between him and where he left his hand.

He probably would have gotten out of the car if Jongho's hand hadn't found his arm. The hold doesn't hurt, but it's firm enough to know that breaking free would definitely cost him.

“You just told him that you are with me, and I'm pretty sure that he doesn't equate you being with me to us being right in front of where he is.” Jongho adds.

“I agree,” both he and Jongho rest their attention on Hongjoong when he speaks. “As much as I want to know, it would look bad. Maybe he's planning a dinner and that man is part of the staff of the restaurant, or... someone else. Woooyung's parents have restaurants, right? Maybe it has to do with that. We don't know, but he doesn't look uncomfortable. Maybe he’s studying, practicing his oratory or something, but going there and finding out right now is not a good idea.”

What is he supposed to do, then? Wait for Seonghwa to tell him the truth?

“Did you two have dinner?” Perhaps Hongjoong doesn’t need him to express his thoughts out loud to know that he’s capable of trying to free himself from Jongho's grip to get out of the car, and find out the answer to his doubts right there and then, regardless of the consequences. “Because I bought a lot,” Hongjoong slightly wiggles the takeout in one of his hands. “And I would like to make sure that at least someone is eating.”

He stops keeping his hand on the lock so Jongho doesn't think he'll stop being next to him. He feels Jongho's grip soften, but he doesn't take his hand off of him. A part of him calms down when he at least spots a plate of food in front of Seonghwa.

“Yes, it's fine by me,” he hears Jongho say.

He suddenly becomes aware of the way he feels his stomach growling. He guesses that talking about food and seeing Seonghwa having dinner has reminded him that he has to eat too.

He hums. “I'm really hungry, actually.”

He looks at Jongho when he stops keeping his hand on his arm, and watches him open one of the car compartments to then offer him a lollipop. He slightly lifts one corner of his mouth at the detail, and promptly unwraps the candy to allow the apple flavor to decorate his mouth.

“Dessert before food?” puzzled, Hongjoong asks.

“Do you prefer for me to give him a k— eh— ah, kisses! You know, those— that, that candy called Kisses,” Jongho stumbles over his words, and he can't help but widen his eyes when he realizes that Jongho almost denotes the closeness between the two with the pronunciation of those words.

He doesn't know why Jongho panicked even though he must look the same way. The closeness between them is not a secret. They've argued for that very reason recently, but he assumes it's not his plan, and neither is Jongho's, to be telling everyone about how close they stay to each other.

Instead of saying a word, Hongjoong switches his blank gaze between them. Not at all impressed, he watches them until Yeosang decides to turn his head because he thinks he's more than sure that Hongjoong doesn't need them to formulate any sentence to know that it wasn't a coincidence that they showed up side by side.

“What happened to his hand?” he asks when he notices that one of Seonghwa's hands is covered by a black brace.

He believes that he again is only stopped from leaving the car at that very moment because Hongjoong prevents him from thinking that the person in front of Seonghwa has hurt him.

“Ah, he tripped the other night, at Illusion. I went to the hospital with him after the party.”

Great, another situation that Seonghwa hasn't let him know about.

He rests his head against the back of his seat, and tugs at the sleeves of the sweater to hide his hands with them.

How much is Seonghwa hiding from him? How much does he not tell him?

He finally takes his gaze to the front as Jongho starts the car. He moves the lollipop to the other side of his mouth, thinking that while he tends to balance the sweet taste of that candy with drugs, Seonghwa demanded him to be honest about it while he doesn't respect his own words.

He feels Jongho gently caress his arm.

It feels good, comforting, even.

To be held.

Notes:

curious question (you don't have to answer if you don't want to): would you rather i add a line or something in the summary of each chapter to give an indication of what the chapter will be about, or do as i have done so far, post the chapter and surprise ✨

Chapter 36

“Mh, sorry for the bodyguard at your door...”

Hongjoong raises both eyebrows when instead of going back to the dining room with the drinks in hand, Jongho stands before him to voice those words.

“Don't worry,” he seeks to assure him.

He doesn't doubt that Jongho is used to expressing those kinds of comments when he’s with someone. Uttering those words must be a habit, as well as noticing people taking a look behind him. He admires Jongho for his temperance, he would get tired of being constantly accompanied.

“Shouldn't he be... I don't know, inside, though?” He adds, “In case we try something against you,” he doesn't plan to do it and thinks it would be awkward if Jongho's bodyguard was present while they eat, but he looks at Jongho nonetheless.

“Don't say that out loud,” Jongho wrinkles his nose.

Hongjoong lets out a small chuckle.

If Jongho doesn't feel unprotected just because his bodyguard isn't anywhere near him, then he plans to offer him a comfortable space. He wasn't surprised to spot Jongho once he got in the car. He guesses that Jongho seeks his private moments with Yeosang. Jongho is probably tired of the constant surveillance.

“Maybe because my Ma works with yours,” he says, and expressing those words leads him to remember that the person he mentioned is the same person who exposed Yunho and Mingi. “Did you know?” he decides to ask him. “That your mom is the person behind Yunho and Mingi's exposure.”

He’s still mad. He's glad that Yunho and Mingi are okay again, but they should have had the chance to tell them themselves that they're close.

“I just— I just told Yeosang, but, I didn't know. She did tell me that she did it, but... to... mh, threaten me? She assured me that she knows that Yeosang and I... we often see each other,” Jongho answers, looking away and forming a soft line with his lips. “I'm finding out that my mom works with yours right now.”

Hongjoong stares at him, and the words Jongho utters reassure him that he doesn't want to kick Jongho out of his apartment, but rather invite him to come even more often because Jongho doesn't deserve to be haunted by his last name or feel like he doesn't have the slightest chance of privacy.

“Yeosang does eat, right?” he decides to ask.

First, because he doesn't need Jongho to add more words to believe that there definitely is something more going on between him and Yeosang. And second, he wants to know if Seonghwa is the only one refusing to eat or if he should make sure that Yeosang eats at that moment.

Jongho looks at him and nods. “He usually eats a lot of lollipops, but he eats. He doesn't like to be at his house, but he eats when he's there,” he says.

As he hears Jongho, he leans slightly to the side to catch a glimpse of Yeosang sitting at the table, certainly separating the takeout into three plates. He holds a small smile as he watches him eat a small piece of fried chicken before continuing to distribute the food.

“Why?” Jongho asks.

“You heard what we said,” he looks back at Jongho. “I think... his brother is not really... eating,” while Seonghwa tells him that he will eat at his house, he tells Yeosang that he has already done so. “We might be wrong, I don't really know, but I just wanted to check.”

“I'll keep an eye on him just in case,” Jongho turns his head to look at Yeosang to then look back at him. It surely won't be a bother for you to stay focused on Yeosang, he thinks. “I... I think they are... better... don’t you think so? Despite just now, I asked Yeosang if everything was okay before and he nodded. He lied but nodded. He usually doesn't answer me when I ask him. And... you said you went to the hospital with Seonghwa, that's good, isn't it? He let you accompany him.”

Maybe it's progress, but considering he still doesn't know why he had to accompany Seonghwa to the hospital since Seonghwa refused to tell him how or why he hurt his hand, he doesn't know how big that step is.

“Do you know if they've fought recently?” Seonghwa and Yeosang don't sit side by side to talk about their lives, that's for sure. It has been evident from the beginning.

“Mh... well, Yeosang didn't seem to be doing too well at Mingi's party, and he hasn't told me why.”

He blinks as he realizes that Jongho has also been to Mingi's party, and quickly forms a line with his lips because just as he doesn't know why Seonghwa hurt his hand, he also doesn't know what Seonghwa did after the kiss they shared.

A breath of air leaves his lips at the thought of that kiss.

“So... you are... close to his brother, then? I must admit, I thought you two were a couple,” Jongho clears his throat after talking.

“We are not —we just—” he doesn't quite know how to end his sentence. They are not a couple. They are... close? The words no, I'm aromantic don't leave his mouth. A frown doesn't guide his expression, and he feels his heart beating in confusion. Expressing the term friends feels wrong since he doesn't consider Seonghwa a friend. “We talk... sometimes... yeah,” the kiss they shared once again pops up in his head, and the term talk doesn't feel right either. “You and Yeosang?”

“We talk too,” Jongho replies.

Hongjoong doesn't blame him for his response.

“You go and eat too, okay? I'll join you in a bit,” he says with a small smile.

Jongho turns around after hearing him, and he follows him with his gaze to see him sit next to Yeosang. He sees Yeosang point to the box full of fried chicken with a big smile on his face and guesses that Yeosang must really like chicken.

He allows said smiling gesture to guide his face at the thought that he has gone from giving Yeosang one of his sunglasses after noticing the trail of tears on his face, to seeing him hold a wide smile. Yet even if he's glad that both Yeosang and Jongho seem to feel comfortable under the roof of his apartment, he remains serious after thinking that Jongho has said that Yeosang doesn't like being in his house.

Besides, he still doesn't know the real reason behind Seonghwa's injured hand, and he now knows that Yeosang doesn't know either.

“Oh,” he’s pulled away from his thoughts once he stops being alone, and sees his mother passing the threshold of the kitchen. She peeks his head to glimpse the dining room, and looks back at him. “I thought you were talking alone but we have guests,” she says with a smile.

He pouts when he hears her. “Don't go there, please,” he asks her, knowing that she’s capable of doing it.

His mother wrinkles her nose and his words don't stop her from taking a look at the dining room again, though fortunately, she doesn't stop being next to him.

“Oh, is that— oh, that's Yeosang, and that's Jongho. Oh, are they together? What a lovely couple. Bet your Ma would love to do a photoshoot of them together.”

He grimaces and just in case rests his hands on his mother's shoulders to gently pull her further away from the kitchen door.

“They are not— actually, I have no idea, but stay away just in case.”

Fortunately, his mother offers him a small smile before moving her hand, assuring him that she won’t interfere.

“And why are you here? Are you looking for something to eat? I thought you bought food,” she asks.

“I did, I ran into them so I invited them,” he replies instead of expressing that he didn’t run into them, that he actually called Yeosang after seeing Seonghwa, and that Yeosang showed up with Jongho.

He doesn't like lying to his mother but it's unnecessary for her mother to know said details, much more when he knows that she’s a curious person.

“You want me to buy dessert?”

He shakes his head, knowing that if he gives an affirmative answer, she won't hesitate to approach Jongho and Yeosang and ask them what they want for dessert, or worse, stay with them while they eat it.

“Mom...” he stays silent for a moment, wondering if pronouncing the words that appear in his head is a bad idea because his mother does tend to go overboard, but he supposes that at that moment his concern trumps caution. “I know it's not really your, mh, your usual knowledge, well, I don't know, more like Ma's area...”

“I see, she's still your favorite,” his blank look is enough to get her to laugh. “What is it?”

“How do you...” how is he supposed to ask?

He doesn't even know if he’s doing the right thing, but always and without hesitation, he turns to his mothers when there's any kind of uncertainty haunting him. He supposes that he would rather exaggerate and then seek to remedy, than not pay attention and then regret it.

“How do you recognize an eating disorder?”

All traces of amusement disappear from his mother's face, and he notices her looking behind him.

“Not them,” he clarifies, but that leads his mother to look back at him. “Not me.”

Instead of narrowing her eyes or demanding an explanation, his mother chooses to let out a short breath.

“Well, it's the details, I think. They don't really eat, you have to pay attention to their plate. Maybe they will try to distract you? So you don't realize what happens with their plate. Weight loss or eating in secret. They don't really accept plans if it involves food. You are right, your mom might be able to tell you more about it.”

Hongjoong nods. He hasn't seen Seonghwa eat, and he has seen him a bit skinnier, but he just saw him having dinner with someone.

“But...” his mother caresses his cheek, seeming worried. “You are aware that you shouldn't be asking me this, right?” Not because his Ma knows more about the subject or because the question bothers her, but because it’s true, her mother is not the right person to talk to about it.

Is it Seonghwa?

“I'm just worried, that's all,” he offers.

“Can I know who it is?”

He shakes his head. He doesn't want unnecessary —or necessary?— attention to fall on Seonghwa.

“Okay, but you tell me or your mom if you need help, yes?” He nods, and his mother hugs him. He wrinkles his nose when his mother leaves a loud kiss on his cheek and she laughs when he rubs his cheek with his hand. “I won't bother your guests, promise,” she raises his hands innocently and holds an amused smile on her face before leaving through the door where she appeared.

He again shakes his head, but this time because his mother amuses him.

“You said you were hungry before, right?” he turns around when he hears Jongho and finally exits the kitchen.

From the scene his eyes meet, Yeosang sitting with his arms folded while looking at the plate with a slight pout, and Jongho looking at him worriedly, he guesses he's not the only one still thinking about Seonghwa.

Just as he knows that Yeosang and Seonghwa don't have the best of relationships, he also knows that they care for each other, so he leaves his hands on Yeosang's shoulders and isn't surprised when Yeosang looks at him.

“Maybe he does eat, right?” Yeosang asks him. “Maybe he... he just doesn't like to eat with other people. He was just eating, right?”

He recognizes the obvious concern in his tone of voice, and his gaze transmits the urgency of thinking that perhaps everything is not bad.

“We can't start making theories now,” he tells him, even if he really wants Yeosang to be right.

“I'm not that hungry anymore,” Yeosang murmurs before lowering his gaze again.

“Come on, you like chicken, don't you? You don't gain anything if you don't eat either,” he understands the frustration that drives Yeosang as well as the confusion in his thoughts, and for the same reason he calms down when Yeosang seems to listen to him as he agrees to eat what he has certainly served in his bowl.

He stops being behind Yeosang to sit across from him and Jongho, and he calms down when he sees them both eating. He smiles when he sees them, until he realizes that no one else besides his mother knows that Yeosang and Jongho are with him.

“We won't tell Park about this, right?”

“Park,” Yeosang lets out a small giggle that breaks with all his previous seriousness. “No, he only knows I'm with Jongho.”

“I mean, everything was a coincidence, wasn’t it?” Jongho says. “You went to the same place by chance, so it isn't something bad.”

“Should I tell him?”

“Well, since we are here, you could invite him over and get information,” Yeosang answers, and he allows the corners of his mouth to slightly rise because while on more than one occasion he has seen or heard Seonghwa and Yeosang fight, at that moment Yeosang proposes to add Seonghwa to that moment.

Hongjoong hums. Inviting him would certainly help try to figure out who the person they saw with Seonghwa is and if Seonghwa eats.

“But how would I explain the two of you being here?”

“Strw— Yeosang told him he's with me,” Jongho says before looking at Yeosang. “Would he find it weird that we...” Chose to accept my invitation to keep hanging out together, Hongjoong ends up in his head for Jongho.

“My brother knows we know each other, it wouldn't be weird,” Yeosang replies.

Know.

Really?

He switches his gaze between the two of them, noting the way Yeosang seems too focused on the piece of fried chicken in his bowl so as not to notice the way Jongho stares at him. Looking relieved that Seonghwa apparently knows they hang out, or intrigued by the use of the word know, he doesn’t know.

“Wouldn't it be weird if I called him after you did?” he asks Yeosang.

“You could send him a text,”

A text, yes, he can definitely do that.

He pulls out his phone to open his chat with Seonghwa but his fingertips remain a millimeter from the screen. Should he say something else before inviting him over? Should he change the way he communicates with Seonghwa because they've shared a kiss now?

He swallows.

He has noticed Seonghwa a bit distant in class. Maybe a little out of focus? Maybe Seonghwa has been waiting for him to say something while he has been waiting for Seonghwa to say something. About what? About their kiss?

Really, a text shouldn't cost him that much.

He lets out a breath and forces himself to type.

Hey

I ran into your brother and Jongho

I invited them over for dinner

Do you want to come?

He puts his phone down on the table, and finds Yeosang and Jongho looking at him in confusion when he looks up. He parts his lips to explain even if he doesn’t know what kind of explanation he should give.

He shouldn't worry, right? At least not because he has kissed Seonghwa. Seonghwa did peck his lips, didn't he? That means Seonghwa liked the kiss, right?

Is his nervousness evident? Is he nervous?

He knows the answer to his own questions when he doesn't hesitate to grab the phone as soon as it buzzes, and he leans back on his chair when he reads the answer to his previous texts.

Thank you for the invitation but I'm tired, maybe another time

“And?” He hears Yeosang ask him.

“Said no, that he's tired,” he replies before putting his phone aside again.

Tired?

Because he's with someone else?

“Tired of lying.” he winces as Yeosang pokes a piece of chicken with his chopsticks instead of just taking it, but the hand Jongho leaves on his arm luckily seems to lessen his tension.

He doesn't know what puzzles him the most. Knowing that he’s worried about Seonghwa, or because he’s aware of the bitter feeling that appears in his chest at the thought of Seonghwa on a date with someone.

---

Yunho fixes his jacket on his shoulders and runs his hand through his black locks before approaching the door of his house.

“Where are you going?”

His hand remains inches from the door when his father's voice stops him. He frowns, both puzzled and confused since he always leaves the house at the same time, so he turns to look at his father.

“Utopia?”

“Hasn't he told you?”

Again, a grimace of confusion takes over his face upon hearing his father's words.

Tell? Him?

He straightens up because he's not really understanding what he's hearing, and assumes that his disorientation must be more than obvious because his father continues to speak.

“Oh, I see.”

A bad feeling settles on his figure because he doesn't like the way his father hasn't hesitated to approach him with a slight smile of vanity on his face. He knows he shouldn't ask, but as much as his father has never been satisfied with Utopia’s existence, he has never made him late for work on purpose.

“What are you talking about?”

He follows his father's gaze when he stops being in front of him to disappear towards the dining room, but his eyes fall on the folder he has in his hands once he comes back.

“You might want to take a look at that,” his father extends it to him.

“What is this?” he asks even though he accepts the folder.

“A deal I made with Song Mingi.”

He feels the way the tension grips his body and he crumples the corners of the folder in his possession as soon as he hears Mingi's name. Since when do his father and Mingi make deals with each other? Hasn't he just introduced them to each other?

“Hasn't he told you?” his father presses.

“What deal?” he asks before deciding to quickly open the folder.

He inhales a breath of air that never reaches his lungs the second his eyes scan the word Utopia on the papers. He reads the following paragraphs, feeling the way his body stiffens and his heart breaks.

“Utopia is his.”

“No!” He exclaims when his father pronounces the words that his eyes read. He looks up and frowns even though his panic is stronger than his anger. “No, no, no!”

“He bought Utopia.”

“He can’t!”

He doesn't hesitate to throw the folder to the ground because he won't read incoherent sentences that assure that it doesn't make sense for him to leave his house to head to Utopia because now Mingi's name is in the header.

“I am the owner!” He brings a hand to his chest, feeling the way his heart rumbles against it.

“Co-owner.” his father corrects him. “Although we both are, or were,” he huffs when his father corrects himself. “My share exceeded yours and you know that. That little plus means that I can make deals with whoever I want, and therefore, that I can sell Utopia if I want to.”

He has been aware of that extra power that his father has always had since that phone call with his mother, but he thought that his father would never act on it despite the threats said and comments made after knowing how much Utopia means to him.

His chest rises and falls helplessly when his father doesn't change his expression. He once again finds himself being a side effect of the broken relationship and failed marriage between his parents. His father would never have gotten involved if Utopia hadn't belonged to his mother in the first place.

“You get along so well with him, I don't understand what the problem is with having sold it to the Songs.”

“You are so cruel!” He can’t help but yell. He’s helpless, he’s angry, he’s disappointed. 

With every passing second, he realizes that he has actually read a contract that states that Utopia is no longer in his hands, that he can no longer be described as Utopia‘s owner, and with that realization comes frustration, comes anger, comes sadness.

“You know how much I care about Utopia! You know how much it means to me!”

“Your mother hasn't taught you well.” his father says. “You do not mix feelings with business. What do you think those pictures meant to me?”

He remains speechless, not knowing if his gaze blurs because his father has never really supported his closeness with Mingi or because said closeness is working against him instead of in his favor at that moment.

“They were taken at the door of this house, my house. That means that I knew about you two and never said a thing, or that I was deceived like it clearly happened. So I sold Utopia to Mingi to avoid looking like a complete fool and to save your image.”

He has learned to pretend but hasn't noticed other people's fakeness?

His father's lies?

Has he been a fool, does he end up being a complete fool? For not realizing that his father has never been happy with his relationship with Mingi? Has he always been after Utopia even though he has always expressed not being interested? Has he kept himself so busy feigning hatred towards Mingi that he hasn't realized his father's true hatred?

“You are a hypocrite for saying that feelings don't mix with business.” his voice breaks but he keeps talking even though every word hurts. “You're doing this just because you are petty, because you don't get along with Mom and I do. And I now understand why she left you.”

He has always sought to try to remain neutral, not show a certain favoritism towards his mother though he has always felt closer to her as they both share a taste for lights, people, and the atmosphere of the night.

He has always tried not to let the comments of one affect the image of the other. He has always hoped that staying with his father shows that although he feels more connected to his mother, he wants them both to be a part of his life.

He has always thought of himself as proof of the love that once kept his parents together, but he believes that now he’s nothing more than a memory, perhaps, of that affection that has turned into mutual disdain.

“Take it as a warning,” his father expresses instead of reacting to his words. “You can't trust that family, you can't trust his last name, you can't trust him.” he determines. “I've simply opened your eyes.”

“You have opened my eyes because I now know I can't trust you.”

If he has to start taking sides then he will.

It isn't about furniture or land or material things. It's Utopia. He won't let Utopia fall into the wrong hands or continue to be just another feud between his parents.

He approaches the door but again the voice of his father stops him.

“You can’t go. He strictly asked that you stay away from Utopia.”

“I don’t care!”

“Read the contract instead of throwing it away. You can't legally get close so don't make a mess.”

He doesn't open the door and the tension leads him to make a fist with his hand because he means Mingi, and Mingi knows just where to hit.

He turns to head towards his bedroom and the tears he feels slipping down his cheeks don't surprise him. He wipes them with the back of his hand and shuts the door behind him, slamming it to show he's angry in case his words and serious expression haven't made it clear.

He flops down on his bed and muffles a frustrated shout into his pillow. He squeezes its softness between his fingers and his body continues more than tense.

How is it possible? He should be on his way to Utopia by now.

He raises his head both so that he can inhale air and blinks, not getting rid of the blurriness in his gaze. Utopia is his, his, and his, no matter what the words he read say. Utopia is his. He again drops his head onto the pillow and swallows, feeling the lump in his throat. 

How could he have been betrayed like this? By his father.

By Mingi.

He's aware of his shaky breathing when he thinks that while in that same bed he has assured Mingi that he loves him, now he’s crying because Mingi doesn’t care about his heart —doesn’t care about him.

He doesn't waste time wiping away the tears that slide down his cheeks because more keep pooling at the corners of his eyes. Can it be? That he has gotten so used to alternating between pretending not to love Mingi and really loving him that he hasn't realized that Mingi has been doing the same thing, but in the opposite way? Really hating him and falsely loving him?

Mingi knows more than anyone how much Utopia means to him. Mingi knows better than anyone what it means to think of his own business as an extension of himself.

Has he made a mistake in deciding to trust Mingi with his heart instead of his head?

Was he nothing more than Mingi's ploy? Getting closer to him through lies and empty words to get closer to Utopia.

Mingi approaches him through lies and empty words to find himself ever closer to Utopia. After all, Mingi has always been described as the head of the night while he has always been defined with the word heart. Mingi thinks, he feels.

He sits on his bed and hides his face in his hands. He has failed himself, and keeps stressing at the thought that he has failed his mother too. His mother has trusted him by leaving Utopia in his hands, and now his hands are empty.

His mother asked him to take care of Mingi and for Mingi to take care of him, but he doesn't feel cared for. He feels sad, angry, and disappointed. He feels betrayed, and again he doesn’t know the boundaries between honesty and dishonesty.

He sucks in a breath, remembering that his mother suggested he visit her but he refused because he has Utopia and Mingi. But now he has nothing but tears, a broken heart, and a stolen business. He stops keeping his face hidden in his hands and swallows hard.

Should he leave? He told Mingi that he loves him but Mingi never told him that he loves him. Perhaps Mingi has been waiting for those words to leave his lips to make sure that he got him to fall for him, to make him believe that his affection has always been reciprocated. He has been waiting for the supposed closeness between them to be exposed so he can then betray him and thus show that he’s the winner while he’s the loser.

Mingi did ask him about Utopia after all, and he foolishly told him that he can't change anything with his father in the middle. He never thought that Mingi would use that information to his advantage.

Getting on the first plane to get away soothes and hurts his heart. He can't leave like this, with his heart betrayed and his head a mess, knowing that he has done nothing to take Utopia back.

He doesn't know if the tears will stop or not, but he opts to wipe the corners of his eyes anyway. He won't change countries without first putting up a fight. He doesn't fight with his head, he fights with his heart.

His eyes fall on the photo that he has chosen to add to one of the shelves in his room. Mingi, Mingi, Mingi, now Mingi is everywhere. He gets up and doesn't hesitate to throw the photo to the floor, just like he did with the folder. The glass breaks into pieces and his sadness mixes with anger.

Mingi doesn't know him that well if he thought he would give up just like that.

Perhaps they have never truly known each other.

But he does know one thing. They have always been rivals, and that has always been true. And if Mingi only wants a rivalry between them, then he will only get a rivalry.

Notes:

🏃💨

Chapter 37

Seonghwa hugs his stomach with one of his arms and doesn't allow a smile to appear on his face when he's sure he's lost some weight. His mind reminds him that he did eat with Dohyun, and torn between feeling proud and guilty, he doesn't quite know what to think.

He does know, though, that he doesn’t want to disappoint Dohyun. He doubts Dohyun has spent so many years, just as he says he has, looking for him only to be disappointed. Perfect, praiseworthy, promising. He forms a line with his lips, wondering if he's still capable of using those adjectives to describe himself.

As a smile still doesn't appear to guide his expression, he knows the answer to that question.

“Seonghwa.”

He blinks when he hears the pronunciation of his name.

“Mh?”

He feels nauseous.

“You've been distracted,” his mother expresses, staring at him.

“Sorry,” offering an apology is automatic.

He isn’t perfect, praiseworthy, or promising if he’s not even able to stay focused. He straightens up in his chair and stops keeping his arm around his stomach. Won't he get compliments because there's no strawberry smoothie near him? Won't he be told that he looks good, that he looks better?

“Anything I should know about?”

Would he believe his mother if she had made the comments he expected to hear? How is he supposed to take her word for it when she seems to lie to him?

He should be asking that question instead of his mother.

He believes that seeing Dohyun after calling him was both a mistake and a good decision. A mistake because he continues to be confused and the doubts increase instead of decrease, and a good decision because as ironic as it sounds, the world around him has never been clearer.

Something she should know?

He swallows. His mother doesn't know that he knows Dohyun, right?

“What happened to your hand?” His mother asks him. No, there's no way his mother knows that Dohyun approached him, that Dohyun is even in Seoul, when she doesn't even know why he keeps one of his hands covered by a brace. “You should be more careful. You really are distracted.”

He lowers his eyes to the hand that has suffered the consequences of his impulsiveness. Now only pink marks decorate his knuckles and his wrist doesn't hurt. He replaced the mirror in his bathroom, and he can only wonder if he's been a fool for letting his impulses guide him.

How is he supposed to try to be perfect, praiseworthy, and promising if he can't even handle his own emotions? No, it's fine, he's fine. As long as Yeosang can’t access the drugs, he's fine.

That's what he has to do, right? Be the big brother.

He looks up when his mother slides a set of papers toward him across the desk, and his eyes fall on the official logo of the university.

“What is this?”

“Your first debate against Kim.” He looks at his mother as soon as Hongjoong's last name reaches his ears, and he takes the papers to look at them. “You haven't forgotten that you are running for Class President, have you?”

He goes through the details written on the papers, pretending to be reading what his eyes are scanning because yes, he has forgotten. It sounds silly now. At that time he only chose to raise his hand and say what he said to represent a nuisance to Hongjoong.

“To compete for the position, the topic will be honesty and dishonesty. Those are the rules.” his mother adds.

Could it be? That, actually, his mother does know about Dohyun, and that debate is a test to see how much he’s capable of lying, of mixing the concepts of honesty and dishonesty? But wouldn't his mother be proud, then? Because he has inherited her ability to lie.

He also lies, so he doesn't know how great his right to complain is.

Weren't they supposed to be a united family?

“Talking about Kim, I heard you didn't finish the photoshoot. Why?”

He looks down as the reason they didn’t even start the photoshoot flashes through his head. He thinks that that moment seems like such a distant situation now, and yet again he finds himself in the same way, him lying to Yeosang while Yeosang lies to him.

How is he supposed to say your second son started crying because he feels that he’s not being cared for, so your first son had to help him even though he feels just as unprotected?

He parts his lips, hoping that his brain will offer a credible excuse, but his mother speaks again.

“Kim's not distracting you, is he?”

“What?” He looks up.

“I've seen that you spend a lot of time with him,” Does his mother still think about the Hongjoong who sat in front of the university's front doors while he has learned other details about Hongjoong? “Make sure it isn’t on purpose. It would be a shame if you are about to win and you lose simply because you fell.”

On purpose?

Hongjoong wouldn't kiss him or show concern for his hand on purpose, would he? Only because all that time while he has forgotten about the Class President title, at no time has Hongjoong stopped thinking about it.

“But that would be illogical,” he chooses to articulate.

“Anything goes, Seonghwa, anything goes,” his mother assures him.

Hongjoong wouldn't, right?

He forms a tight line with his lips at the thought that Hongjoong has indeed approached him with certain intentions before, and that therefore, nothing would stop him from doing it again. Is Hongjoong capable of doing more, much more than just picking him up at his house and buying him a strawberry smoothie, just to benefit himself?

But he wouldn't be clueless enough to fall for his lies, would he? Maybe yes, since he has fallen for his mother's lies, Yeosang's lies. Why do people lie to him so much?

“You should focus on what matters. Relationships don't go on your resume, do they? But you know what does look good? Class President, here, at this university.”

Seonghwa tilts his head as he listens to his mother.

He doesn't feel able to go against her words, not when while Dohyun has told him more about himself and what he has achieved throughout his life, he has also listed some of the things that certainly represent items on his resume.

He nods, thinking that disappointing isn't his idea.

“Did you visit the offices?” his mother asks him.

“Mh, no, I ended up hanging out with Wooyoung,” he replies, without adding any further details.

His mother nods. “You can go back to class.”

He makes sure to grab the papers before getting up —he can't be distracted enough to forget them—, but a doubt stops him before he chooses to leave the office. He doesn't think he's a fool for agreeing to meet Dohyun a second time.

“Mom...” The word psychologist has been going around in his head since Dohyun expressed that he practices as such, and other words have been present in his head even before he finally opened up to Yeosang. “Have you thought about... getting a therapist for Yeosang?”

He has previously not sought to intrude after believing that his mother has been behind Yeosang, offering him options to be accompanied, but Yeosang has assured him that their mother hasn’t provided any help.

He holds his mother's gaze even though his mother stares seriously at him.

“Why?”

Why? Isn’t it obvious?

“To... you know, deal with everything,” he replies.

“I'll think about it,” his mother replies, turning her attention to the laptop in front of her, and he avoids rolling his eyes and letting out a sigh as soon as he hears those words because he knows that his mother just discarded his words.

Disappointed, he finally closes the office door and heads over to his locker since there are still a few minutes left until the next class starts, and this time he does allow a frustrated sigh to leave his mouth.

He could go to his classroom but that means being closer to Hongjoong, and he’s aware of the looks Hongjoong is giving him. Hongjoong surprised him by inviting him over, but what he least has is the energy to think about the kiss they shared.

He could tell him that he'll talk to him soon, that he has to fix certain things first, but he's always fixing something, and he definitely can't explain what certain things he's talking about. And now he's not even entirely sure it was just a kiss.

He leaves his forehead against the cold metal of the locker, and wonders if he's settling for the bare minimum again. A kiss or words, no matter who is the person parting their lips, he doubts all intentions.

While Dohyun asks about his hand and maybe can help him find someone who can help Yeosang, his mother doesn't care about such details, even if such situations involve her own children.

“Hey,” he gets startled though he hears a soft tone of voice, and turns his head to find Wooyoung at his side. “Everything's fine?”

Everything should be fine, but it's not.

“Just... distracted.” he straightens up, aware that he doesn't offer an affirmative answer.

“How are you?”

How is he? Where does he even start?

“I...” he thinks that while his mother doesn't even know what apparently keeps him distracted, Wooyoung does know why he couldn't even start the photoshoot with Yeosang as well as why he's more than sure that his mother is a liar. “Saw Dohyun again.”

Wooyoung doesn't judge him with his eyes and makes no expression that indicates that he thinks he's made a mistake.

He knows that he shouldn't believe everything Dohyun expresses, that he has to proceed with caution. They may have the same last name and the same blood, but he still has to be careful. And even so, he's been reading the folder that Dohyun gave him and has been searching as well. Everything seems to indicate that his mother is a liar.

“You can tell me to go with you next time, no matter what time or where, it scares me a little that you go alone,” Wooyoung offers.

“It's okay, it was a restaurant, there were many people. I think... he's nice.”

He doesn't think he's ready to call him dad and incorporate him into his life just because he seems well-intentioned and the two encounters haven't ended up with negative consequences —although mentally exhausting him; but Dohyun has shown that he wants to be honest, and for now, he appreciates that honesty.

“Do you believe him?” Wooyoung asks him. “What convinced you to call him? Have you been reading what he gave you? Did he say anything else?”

He parts his lips to express that for now, yes, he believes Dohyun because he doesn't think that Dohyun has approached him for money, since he’s been talking to him about his own work and how well he’s doing financially; but no words leave his mouth.

Can he trust Dohyun when he now he's not sure if he can trust Hongjoong?

Who is he supposed to trust when he doesn't even trust his own mother anymore?

He understands both Wooyoung's questions as well as his concern, and yet he’s unable to formulate any kind of response.

“I just want you to be careful,” Wooyoung adds, probably equating his silence to uncertainty.

He hums, thinking that his mother has expressed similar words.

He believes that it’s somewhat tiring, constantly having to be careful. In a certain way, he’s used to it. People have always sought to get close to his mother, but he doesn't think he's ready to act as cautious with the people he considers close to him. He feels exhausted when it comes to feeling that he must think more than once about whom to rest his trust.

“I'll be very, very honest with you, right now, and you can hate me for the rest of the day if you want. Considering that I'm the only person who knows about this, I have the right to be a little crude because no one else will tell you what I will.”

He looks at Wooyoung intently, realizing that the lack of an immediate reaction doesn't mean he won't listen to what Wooyoung thinks of his decisions.

“This isn't one of the books you bought, it's not a case you read about, it's not a ten-line paragraph, you turn the page and it's over," Wooyoung expresses. “This is your life, your past, and your present.”

He frowns, confused by the words he's hearing because he knows it's not a page, that it's not a book. It's his life, and yes, he knows it's his life because like Wooyoung has said, he can't just turn the page and it's all over.

“I know that the first time everything went well and his file shows that everything he says is true. But I want you to take care of yourself. This is not something you study, this is not something you take notes on,” Wooyoung continues. “I don't want you to go with him, fast, because you still feel that emptiness that your real dad left you. You have to process everything that happens to you.”

Process. Process? Is he really hearing those words now?

He didn't agree to get together with Dohyun because he feels the need to hide a void, but because said void only continues to expand. That emptiness is getting bigger and bigger and bigger and he really doesn't know what to do anymore.

Process? Process his father’s absence?

He allows a laugh that isn't really a laugh to scratch at his throat. Buying books, trying to find out about the subject, and looking for answers to questions is a much better reaction than another.

“Did you know that Yeosang processes what happens to us by taking drugs?”

Wooyoung frowns as soon as he hears him and his lips form a line.

“What?”

Seonghwa inhales a short breath. He doesn't know whether to feel better or worse once he understands that he just found a negative answer to the question that has been going around in his head, that no, that Wooyoung didn't know either.

Better because then, Yeosang and Wooyoung haven’t plotted to hide the truth from him, or worse, because Yeosang choosing to hide something from the two of them is not a good sign.

“You can't just say that and stay quiet.” Wooyoung states.

“I found drugs in his closet. I took them from him,” he manages to mouth. “He's been taking them ever since we moved in here, and I don't know if before, even.”

“You took them.” Wooyoung repeats.

“He knows I did.”

Every day, without fail, he opens the box to make sure that it hasn’t left its spot in his bathroom, to check that Yeosang hasn’t found it. He tenses up at the possibility of Yeosang having more elsewhere, but he doesn't think that messing up Yeosang's entire room is the right thing to do.

“How— he— he might be suffering from abstinence.” Wooyoung sounds and looks troubled. He runs his fingers through his lilac locks, and lets out a breath.

Seonghwa frowns slightly, confused. Abstinence? So searching Yeosang's room isn't the solution, but taking away the drugs isn't the solution either?

“No— I— I'll take care of this, okay?” Wooyoung rubs his face with both hands and again lets out a breath. “You already have a lot on your shoulders. Tell me if you need me with Dohyun. And think about what I told you instead of getting mad at me, because if I say what I say it's because I care about you.”

He lowers his eyes to the hand Wooyoung places on his shoulder and remains still when Wooyoung hugs him before walking away from him, obvious concern guiding his facial features.

Did he make a mistake by taking the drugs from Yeosang?

No, drugs are bad for Yeosang.

He leaves his forehead against the locker again, the papers in his hand already forgotten. He closes his eyes when he feels a dizziness threaten to cloud his senses, and exhales a breath.

He’s tired.

---

As restless as he feels, Wooyoung stays still in his place. He doesn't know what to do, he doesn't know which way to go.

He has to talk to both San and Yeosang and both are important topics. He wants to get closer to Yeosang because Seonghwa's words keep spinning around his head and he hasn't been able to focus for the rest of the morning since he's talked to Seonghwa, but he knows he has a pending conversation with San.

If he goes with Yeosang, he will think that he’s again prioritizing Yeosang over San, and if he approaches San, he doesn't know if he will be able to give him all the attention that San deserves.

He stays still in his place until making a decision is no longer necessary because San ends up approaching him.

Although San looks at him confused, he doesn't hesitate to place his hands on his arms to turn San around so he can turn his own back on Yeosang. A part of him wants to tell San that this is not the time to talk even though San hasn't even started to talk, but he stays put because he doesn't plan to move and leave San alone.

“Everything's... fine?” San asks him.

Oh yes, of course it is. You told me over the phone that you think your mother turns out to be Jongho's mother while I told you that I think she is Yeosang and Seonghwa's mother. Seonghwa saw his biological father again and he didn't tell me, and oh yeah, how to forget, I just found out that my best friend might have a drug addiction. Everything is fantastic.

“Are you?” he asks instead of answering.

“Yeah, just... do you know if something happened with Yunho and Mingi? You have seen that both have skipped classes,” San says.

“If you don't know, I don't know. Maybe, I don't know, now that they're together, they want to delay having to deal with all the looks they're going to get. Have you sent them a text?” he asks him.

“Neither of them is answering, but you're right,” San says, not sounding so convinced, but he promptly shakes his head. “Can we talk? I mean, now? I wanted to talk to you about something,” San expresses, and he doesn't hesitate to nod although a part of him exclaims that he has to get closer to Yeosang, that he can postpone his conversation with San. He looks at San when San gets closer to him. “I was thinking that it doesn't make sense for Yeosang and Seonghwa's mom to my mom, it's not physically possible.”

Despite the low tone of voice he uses, it's easy for him to understand his words, as well as the meaning behind them. He knows that it would physically make no sense for San to turn out to be Yeosang and Seonghwa's brother, and he hasn't told him over the phone that he thinks Yeosang and Seonghwa's mother happens to be his mother just because.

“I know,” he says. “But, then, why your dad and their mom don’t want the three of you to talk? Why do they know each other but deny it? All our doubts would be answered if you somehow turned out to be connected to Yeosang and Seonghwa.”

“I know, and— no, I actually don't know, but I really believe that Jongho's mom is my mom,” San says, lowering his gaze. “Being Jongho's brother makes more sense than me being Seonghwa's brother instead of Yeosang.”

He hasn't been surprised when from the other side of the line, he heard San express that he believes that Jongho's mother turns out to be his mother. The possibilities are many, and the doubts too, but San has the right to arrive at his own conclusions.

He doesn't hesitate to take San's hands in his own when he notices his downcast expression, and luckily San looks at him. He really wants to help him but the doubts only keep doubling.

“Do you want to talk to Jongho?” he asks San.

“I can't,” San shakes his head. “I was kind of... skeptical the only time we had any words, and I think it would be a bit extra to approach him with all these doubts all of a sudden, don't you think so?” San asks him, and he tilts his head because it would certainly be somewhat shocking to Jongho. “So... I was wondering... if you don't mind... if you could ask Yeosang if he can talk to him?”

It’s evident that Yeosang is close to Jongho in a way that neither he nor San is, so the surprise that the words represent could be balanced by the familiarity that Yeosang presents to Jongho.

“Would you be okay with Yeosang knowing all this?”

San nods. “Yes. But, I only want you to talk to him about it if you want and if it doesn't bother you.”

“Of course not, San, I'll help you however I can,” he assures him, and he feels himself relax as San seems to. “The truth is, I was planning to talk to Yeosang about something else right now, but I'll do it, okay? I’ll do it.”

“I assumed that, I noticed you looking between the two of us, so I decided to get closer to be faster and so that you can go with him after talking to me,” San gives him a short smile and he chooses to let out a short breath.

“You know I'm here to listen to you.”

“I know, I really do, but go with him, we'll talk later,” San insists. “Just... take a... breath, okay? You seem troubled.”

He supposes his anxiety must be noticeable if San even chooses to mention those words and tug at his hands to reassure him that it's really okay if they talk better later. He gives San a short smile even if he feels troubled, and considers the kiss that San chooses to leave on his cheek as the breath of air that he doesn't exhale but that San gives him.

All traces of his smile disappear from his face, though, as soon as he turns around. He approaches Yeosang, and doesn't hesitate to take his arm.

“You.” he says. “My car. Now.”

Thankfully Yeosang doesn't look at him strangely or resist the touch because he's used to him driving him to his house once classes are over, but he still remains tense.

“I know, I was waiting for you,” Yeosang says.

He's aware that it might not be the best idea to keep his arm intertwined with Yeosang's so there's no choice but to make him head for his car, but the look he gives Yeosang once they part ways so they can get in the car is enough to remind himself that he's doing this because he's worried about Yeosang.

He tries to ground himself once he notices the slight shake that guides his hand as he turns the key to start the car. He has to try to calm down, even if he feels like he can't, because Yeosang is his best friend, and he lets out a breath. Best friends under all circumstances.

He promptly leaves the campus territory, and this time not with the address of Yeosang's house in mind.

“Can we go to your house?” Yeosang asks him. “I don't want to go to mine.”

He watches Yeosang before forcing himself to rest his eyes on the front. That kind of comment is what worries him, is what leads him to bite his lower lip because maybe Yeosang's behavior has always been more than obvious, and even so, he never noticed it.

“Can you answer me something first?”

Yeosang hums, settling in the seat and looking out the window.

He feels the way his fingers tighten on the steering wheel, but forces himself to relax because he thinks the last thing they need is a car accident right now. He makes sure to slow down the speed because it’s dangerous for both of them for him to drive with the anxiety he feels growing on his shoulders.

What if Seonghwa had never found the drugs? He knows Seonghwa too, he knows how he usually reacts. He must feel horrible. And Yeosang too, if he has felt the need to hide drugs.

“Were you ever going to tell me that you do drugs?”

Yeosang turns his head towards him the second that question leaves his mouth, and taking a fleeting glance at him is enough to glimpse the panic on his face.

“Stop the car.” Yeosang says.

He looks at him again as those words are the only answer he needs, and neither shakes nor nods before looking straight ahead again.

“So it's true.” A part of him has been waiting for Yeosang to say no and follow that denial with an explanation, assuring him that Seonghwa has been wrong to assume things that aren’t true. “When was the last time you took them?”

“Stop the car.” Yeosang asks him again.

“You are not answering my questions.”

“Stop the car!”

“We are going to the hospital or just somewhere right now!” He can't help but yell.

“No!”

He gets startled and looks at Yeosang with both eyes wide open when his desperate shout reaches his ears. Yeosang looks terrified and cornered. He hasn’t expected the terror in his expression. He believes that in all their years of friendship, in all the moments they have spent side by side, it's the first time that Yeosang raises his voice in his presence.

“Mom doesn't know!”

“But I do and this isn't something to take lightly!”

He looks ahead for both of their sakes but again turns his attention to Yeosang.

“Stop the car right now or I'll leave on my own!” he widens his eyes the second he sees Yeosang turning to rest his hands on the handle, and he doesn't hesitate to follow his words with actions to promptly steer the car to one side and stop it.

The abruptness of the movement causes the belt to press against his chest, and he lets out a deep breath as soon as his back touches the seat again. He brings a hand to his chest, realizing that Yeosang's words didn't make any sense because he couldn't have opened the door since he's locked it, but the desperation of the moment made him forget such detail.

He looks at Yeosang, and sticks to the door next to him when Yeosang turns to him.

“You can't just corner me like that!” He exclaims.

“And you can't—” This time Yeosang is the one to back away and stick to the door next to him as he realizes that yes, maybe he didn't have to corner Yeosang like that, but what was he supposed to do? “You can't hide these kinds of things from me!”

“You get high too!”

“Every now and then to have some fun! Ten times per year maybe, not then times per week!”

“I don't do it ten times per week!”

“I—” he forces himself to form a line with his lips and therefore represses everything he wants to say when he realizes that yelling at each other is not working and will not work either.

He again seeks to exhale a great breath of air to try to calm the rhythm of his chest as well, and prefers to tighten his hands around the steering wheel instead of yelling at Yeosang and for Yeosang to yell at him.

Yeosang looks both angry and scared and the last thing he wants is for Yeosang to get away from him.

“I don't— are you okay?” He decides to ask him, having completely lowered his tone of voice. That’s why he cornered him. He wants Yeosang to be okay and he cares about Yeosang. “Are you suffering any type of abstinence?”

He only knows that he heard the words Yeosang and drugs leave Seonghwa's mouth. Seonghwa found Yeosang's drugs and hasn't returned them ever since. He doesn't know how much Yeosang has been consuming, but he does know that cutting off the consumption can harm him. He doesn't blame Seonghwa, but he’s worried.

“Answer me.” he demands when Yeosang remains silent.

“I don't know!” Yeosang exclaims, exasperated, and he swallows when he notices the blurriness that just embraced Yeosang's gaze. “I don't fucking know! I don’t know because I'm cold and hungry and I can't sleep!” Yeosang makes fists with his hands, frustrated. “My tremors are back but all of that could be because Dad isn’t here anymore!”

His first reaction is to want to comfort him, but he stops his hands when Yeosang gets as far away from him as the space of the car allows him to. It hurts, Yeosang doesn't let him comfort him. It hurts, confirming that Yeosang has been lying to him.

Even before moving? That's what Seonghwa said. The funeral was more than a month ago, they moved to South Korea over a year ago, once Yeosang’s dad's health worsened. He refuses to think that in all that time, he didn't realize that Yeosang was taking drugs.

“One moment I can't stop shaking and then nothing happens to me. I'm cold and I'm not cold. My hand tremors are back and I really don't know if it's because drugs used to tone them down or just because.” Yeosang continues, sounding and looking frustrated with himself. “But of course it's easier to accuse me of consuming something every day instead of thinking that if I feel like shit it's because I'm trying to feel better even if I don't feel better!”

Yeosang stares at him, and he doesn't know why, since he's really been thinking about that conversation ever since he's talked to Seonghwa. He has prepared himself, even a little, for that moment, for Yeosang's reaction. And even so, he feels a lump form in his throat and his gaze also turns cloudy.

He doesn't usually cry, no matter how troubled he feels or how sad he is, he doesn't know why. He has always been like that. But with Yeosang assuring him that he's not okay, that he's not better, he's not surprised when he feels a tear travel down his cheek.

“Bad day?” he still asks, as softly as he can.

“Bad life.” Yeosang determines before looking ahead.

Yeosang crosses his arms and forms a line with his lips, and he watches him because he’s aware that Yeosang’s voice cracked as he pronounced the last letter. Yeosang’s lower lip quivers and the blur of his gaze is more noticeable.

He allows the back of his head to touch the glass of the window next to him, and silence becomes the guest of that moment. He thinks it's the first time they've both raised their voices at each other. And when Yeosang promptly starts crying, he thinks that it's also probably the first time they've both found themselves crying side by side.

When one has cried, the other has always been present to balance those tears with a hug. It's not the first time Yeosang has seen him cry and it's definitely not the first time he's seen Yeosang cry, and it isn’t the first time they have argued either, but it is the first time they both have allowed their voices to go up, up, and up.

He doesn't want Yeosang to get mad at him and he doesn't want to get mad at Yeosang, but patting Yeosang on the shoulder and saying hey, I know you take drugs. Do you want to talk about it? doesn’t sound smart.

He doesn't waste time wiping his cheeks to hide any trace of tears because he thinks it makes no sense, and it's okay to cry, but he does let out a shaky breath.

“I know it wasn't okay to corner you,” he starts, seeking to be as sincere but gentle as possible. Even if his voice isn't as loud as usual, even if he isn't able to be as assertive as usual. “But you can't expect me to sit here and pretend I'm not worried about you. You would have done the same had it been the other way around. I can't help you if you don't tell me how you feel.”

“I haven’t even...” Yeosang seems to glare at the front of the car before turning his head to his own window. “I haven't even consumed that much.”

“Yeosang—”

“I mean it.” Yeosang turns to stare at him. His gaze is still covered by a blurry layer but that doesn't stop him from staring at him. He wants so badly to lean forward to hold Yeosang’s hand in his, to reassure him that no matter what, they're side by side, face to face, but it's also important to listen to each other. “I haven't gone through Seonghwa's stuff to take them back. You asked about abstinence so you know he took them from me. Has he told you this?”

“He thought I knew,” he straightens up as soon as he notices that giving an affirmative answer leads Yeosang to tense up. “Sangie, why are you so worried? It's me.” he brings a hand to his chest.

It's me, your best friend, yet you haven't told me.

“What if he tells someone else?”

“Your mom?”

“Yes, or someone else.”

“He won't, okay?” he understands Yeosang’s tension at the thought of Seonghwa talking, but no matter how much misunderstandings there may have been between Seonghwa and Yeosang, he doesn't think Seonghwa is capable of betraying Yeosang like that. “But you have to let me help you.”

“How?”

“By letting me be your best friend.”

He doesn't consider himself an expert, but he does know that he cares about Yeosang, and a lot. Maybe too much sometimes, in the same way that Yeosang cares too much for him.

He tentatively approaches one of his hands towards Yeosang, and when Yeosang doesn't flinch and doesn’t threaten to get away from his touch, he leaves his hand on one of his arms. Yeosang feels tense, stiff under his touch, but at least he doesn't pull away.

“Have you been feeling worse ever since Seonghwa took them?”

“No, I told you, just cold and hungry.”

He believes that while his hand tremors and sleepless nights are rooted in his father's absence —Yeosang's hands have always trembled in certain situations, even since they were little—, the symptoms he’s mentioned definitely have to do with the fact that he's apparently —and perhaps, fortunately— not consuming lately.

“Can you please let me take you to a hospital?”

“No.”

“I promise no one will find out. I—” he releases a breath of air. Well, he didn't plan for the conversation to go on like this, but he's desperate and wants Yeosang to let him help him. “There is this place... if you pay, they keep their mouths shut. I promise you no one will know.”

Yeosang looks at him confused.

“What?”

“Trust me.”

“No. Explain. What the fuck?”

He supposes that it’s only fair for him to provide explanations for the words he says when he has demanded the same from Yeosang.

“Just give me a moment, I have to compose myself,” although he doesn't want to, he stops keeping his hand on Yeosang's arm and this time he rubs his eyes with his fingers, trying to calm down because he certainly has to. “This is where I regret always having cigarettes with me instead of a bottle of water.”

“I think that with our tears we have enough water, don't you think so?” Yeosang asks him, and his voice is still unsteady, and both of their gazes are still just as blurry, and even so, they both allow themselves to laugh at those words. “You smoke almost every day, what do you reproach me for?”

“I'm disliking you so much right now,” he knows he’s lying.

“No, you love me,” Yeosang says without even thinking, without even hesitating, without even taking the words he just heard seriously, and ironically, although his heart remains calm knowing that Yeosang knows that he loves him, he feels new tears gather in the corners of his eyes.

“Yes, I fucking love you. And I swear I'll throw away all the packs and lighters I've bought if you never touch a drug again.”

Yeosang looks at him and he looks at Yeosang, and just as it’s very necessary to exchange some words, other times it isn’t so necessary to express others. Yeosang turns at the same time that he unlocks the doors and they both leave their respective places to get out of the car and promptly get back in, but this time in the back seat so as not to hesitate to hug each other.

He wraps his arms around Yeosang and Yeosang wraps his arms around him, and he doesn't know if he closes his eyes because he wants to let himself feel Yeosang in his hold or because he wants to avoid crying so he can keep talking.

He traces vertical lines with his hand on Yeosang's back, and he feels himself relax when Yeosang seems to do so once they continue to hold each other. He opens his eyes, and releases a breath to ground himself.

He slides his hands into Yeosang's when they put a few inches of distance between them, and he wants to smile, he really wants to, but he knows that Yeosang is waiting for an explanation, and that they are side by side because he needed to talk to Yeosang urgently.

“I was going to say this sooner or later,” he expresses after clearing his throat, considering that he has composed himself enough, since certainly, he promised San that he would talk to Yeosang about it. “I know you know that San told you that his mom passed away when he was a baby. But that isn't true, and he thinks that Jongho's mom could be his mom.”

At Yeosang's shocked expression, he begins to elaborate.

He tries to explain the situation in the most delicate way possible because the mention of an absent parent is the core of the conversation. For that same reason he agreed with Seonghwa to keep the presence of his biological father a secret.

It’s clear that Yeosang isn’t coping well with the absence of his father, and explaining that two have appeared won’t do him any good, not when his father won’t appear too. So he carefully tells him about San’s situation, still holding his hands and keeping Yeosang close. From the moment he saw San’s lockscreen to the last conversation they had. From how he has ended up getting entangled in the chaos that San's identity represents to why perhaps he has noticed San a little more crestfallen lately.

Fortunately, he stops seeing Yeosang blurry, and notices that Yeosang's gaze clears as he listens to him, and he seems to forget the tension that has characterized him so far because he feels the way Yeosang relaxes under his touch.

“Yes... I...” Yeosang looks around him before looking back at him once he ends up explaining the whole situation. “I should talk to Jongho about this... it would be shitty of me not to say it.”

He nods in agreement because certainly, as he's agreed before, he thinks it's better for Yeosang to be the person that approaches Jongho.

“He's not happy, though, you know,” he says, “He told me that Jongho’s mom was the reason behind Yunho and Mingi’s situation.” he felt so angry when San told him over the phone.

Yeosang hums. “Jongho told me.”

He believes that if he were in San's situation, he wouldn't be happy to find out that his possible mother turns out to be the person who harmed two of his closest friends. He wouldn't look for her because she abandoned him in the first place, but he and San are different.

“You've been spending time with San,” Yeosang expresses.

“And you with Jongho,” he says, and does smile this time.

Luckily he watches the way the corners of Yeosang's mouth lift up. He doesn't quite know what kind of closeness Yeosang has with Jongho, but he allows himself to hold a small smile because if Yeosang expresses having the possibility to talk about that matter with Jongho, they must be close enough for Yeosang to set out to do it.

“Who would have thought that you would end up with the Prime Minister's son?”

“I'm not with him,” Yeosang shakes his head. “We are... friends with... benefits.”

He arches an eyebrow, somewhat surprised by the words he hears. 

“What? You fuck and that's it? It doesn't look like it,” though he doesn't know how close Yeosang and Jongho are, he doubts that term is the right one. Yeosang didn't sound entirely sure of the words he uttered either.

“We don't fuck,” Yeosang says, getting him to look at him in confusion, but Yeosang continues before he can ask any more questions. “So... it's possible that they are half-brothers?”

“Just like you and Seonghwa,” he offers, and notices the way Yeosang stops smiling when he hears him. “He loves you so much, Sangie, and I know you love him too,” he doesn't hesitate to say, tugging on Yeosang's hands. "He cares about you."

“Yes, sure.”

“What makes you think he doesn't care? You are thinking the same as before.” they are not required to tell each other everything, but they shouldn’t throw away all the words they have agreed to say to each other.

“He lies to me.” Yeosang shakes his head, looking disappointed.

“And you don't lie to him?” he asks him, knowing the answer. “You two have to talk.”

“I don't want to talk to him now.”

“Well, not right now, but you have to talk.” he again tugs at Yeosang's hands because he believes that again both he and Seonghwa are wasting time by not choosing to be direct.

It's not his place to tell Yeosang what Seonghwa is going through, and he doesn't expect Yeosang to let all of his emotions out with Seonghwa as he has done with him. But he has spoken and speaks with both, and it’s clear that they need each other.

Even more so because of the words Yeosang decides to say.

“What do you think now? Do you still think that my mom is his mom?”

“It makes more sense if San and Jongho are brothers, but if they are, then I don't understand why your mom denies knowing San's dad.” he offers him. "What do you think?”

“I think Jongho's mom is shitty and my mom is shitty too so I don't know. San loses no matter who his mom is.” Yeosang shakes his head. “Moms... always so...”

Yeosang leaves one side of his body against the seat, and he caresses Yeosang’s arm when Yeosang lowers his gaze. That image is the reason why he always feels so foolish when he feels a complaint rise in the back of his throat every time his mother assures him that they will never work together. Both Yeosang and San deal with mothers who show their absence differently. Jongho too, Seonghwa as well.

“Ever since dad passed away... she's been...” he knows what Yeosang means even though he doesn't finish his sentence. He has also seen how Yeosang's relationship with his mother has changed, as Yeosang's and Seonghwa's mother has also changed since they set foot in South Korea. “I've changed too but... I don't know.”

Yeosang withdraws one of his hands to bring it towards his neck to catch the flower charm between his fingers. He doesn't need Yeosang to finish his sentences because it's enough to look at him to know what he's talking about.

Yeosang is not okay, Seonghwa is not okay either, and their mother doesn't seem to care. It seems like she's done nothing but lie since they've changed cities, and they don’t know how much longer can they continue to relate that behavior to the fact that her husband has died.

He knows that he doesn't have the right to judge anyone for the way they deal with a death, but it's not fair for Yeosang and Seonghwa to feel like they've been left without both parents.

Still, Yeosang and Seonghwa have each other, and they have him too. Or so he hopes, because now that he thinks about it, he himself offered Yeosang a pill at Mingi's party.

“I'm really, really sorry, Sangie.”

Yeosang doesn't need him to complete his sentences or extend them to figure out what he’s thinking about either.

“Don't blame yourself,” Yeosang looks at him. “I knew very well what I was doing when I accepted what you gave me.”

“I love you, please don't ever forget that.” He can't change the actions he's done in the past, but he can make sure he's there for Yeosang —and Seonghwa— in the present, and the future too. “Can we go? To the hospital, please? You said you want to get better, and I believe you, and you could get help there.”

“You shouldn't waste your money, there shouldn't be another secret. I'm so tired of secrets.” Perhaps Yeosang continues to give a negative answer, but he considers that they have made some progress. Yeosang doesn't move away from him, panic doesn't guide his expression, and getting out of the car isn't his first reaction.

“I wouldn’t waste my money, we are talking about your health.”

“Can't we just wait a few more days?”

“What if you get worse?”

He would never forgive himself if something that he could have prevented happened to Yeosang.

“I'll tell you.”

“Sangie.”

“I promise,” Yeosang insists. “I haven't been taking much, not at all. No... it's not an addiction, okay? I haven't consumed anything since Mingi's first party, even if I have felt the urge to. I haven't, okay?”

Even if I have felt the urge to. It pains him to hear those words and it pains him to know that he doesn't know how much he can trust Yeosang at that time. He hasn't told him and he probably wouldn't have if he hadn't cornered him. Although at that moment his eyes aren't red and his senses seem to be in order, he doesn't want to be wondering when Yeosang is high and when he is not.

“Swear it. Swear it you will tell me. Swear it on your dad.”

“Low fucking blow.” Yeosang frowns.

He knows, he knows it's a low blow.

“I want you to be okay and he would be on my side. We both know that.”

He wouldn't have expressed those words if he really didn't believe them. He believes that a part of Yeosang has left with his father, and he doesn't blame him for it, but he won't let Yeosang destroy himself, not in front of his eyes. Not again.

“I swear it,” Yeosang says with his hand still around the flower charm.

He hugs Yeosang again, no longer with tears threatening to cloud his gaze, but with uncertainty taking over him. He doesn't mind not feeling that Yeosang doesn't reciprocate his hug right away, he doesn't mind feeling that Yeosang even tenses up a bit, because even if Yeosang doesn't reciprocate the gesture with his arms, he feels him rest his chin over his shoulder. He doesn’t push him or seek to pull him apart.

He never wants to hear Yeosang raise his voice at him ever again.

“Let's go to my house, then,” he proposes as he leans back.

Yeosang nods, not rejecting the idea, and they both look at each other before getting out of the car again, this time to return to their respective places. Yeosang settles back into his seat, and he lets out a silent breath to ground himself before starting the car.

He's not satisfied with the change of address, but at least he's gotten Yeosang to open up to him.

Cold and hungry.

It can get worse. Headaches, stomachaches, nausea. It can get so much worse. He feels anxiety settle in his stomach at the possibility but tries to calm down because Yeosang promised to come to him in case he feels that it’s starting to get worse.

Cold and hungry, so a fluffy blanket and a warm plate of food will have to do for now.

He forms a line with his lips at the thought that while he previously told Seonghwa that he wouldn't be able to tell if Yeosang was on drugs or not even if he had Yeosang in front of his very eyes, he has ended up being the victim of his very own words.

“Wooyoungie,” he glances at Yeosang when he hears him, noticing that he's looking at him, and hums before looking straight ahead again. He smiles, since a quick glance has been enough to know what are the next words Yeosang will pronounce. He rests one of his hands on Yeosang's arm before leaving both hands on the steering wheel. He stops wondering what would become of him without Yeosang and of Yeosang without him, because luckily he will never know the answer. “I love you too.”

Notes:

happy times soon I PROMISE...

Chapter 38

“You are here, at home, for once.”

Jongho inhales a breath of air for it to travel to his lungs and to prepare himself the second his mother's voice reaches his ears. He believes that the words he hears are an exaggeration, but he doesn't express that thought out loud.

“Got tired of the room service?”

He turns his head to look at his mother.

Over the years, he has often chosen to remain silent and not put into words the thoughts that cross his mind. And even so, many other times he manifests the words that appear in his head along with a calm tone of voice despite the irritation pressing into his shoulders. 

“Hello to you too,” he says. “I wouldn't say that I'm tired of it since within these walls there are people who do everything for me.” And for you, especially for you, Mom, he thinks.

Instead of adding that he never ordered room service when he was with Yeosang at the hotel, he seeks to move, but his mother's voice stops him.

“Not so fast.”

He lets out a deep breath, and leaves one side of his body against the door frame of his mother's office. His mother says that he barely spends time at home yet when he is there, she’s busy with paperwork or talking about who knows what with whom. He never complains.

“What?”

His mother rests her elbows on her desk, and Jongho is sure he won't consider himself a fan of the probable words that have already begun to form in his mother's mind. It's never good news for him when his mother seeks to speak to him.

“Are you and Kang still a thing?”

He knew it.

“It's none of your business.”

He’s aware of the defensive posture that he chooses to adopt. Perhaps he still is with one side of his body against the door frame and he hasn’t opted to leave, but the way his mother expresses Yeosang’s last name isn’t to his liking.

“It is, actually,” he forms a tense line with his lips as his mother implies that Yeosang is a business, her business. “Because if you answer yes, I plan on making it public.”

He doesn't hesitate to straighten up as soon as he hears her.

“What? You can’t.”

“I can.” his mother assures him. “Who do you think the hotel staff will answer to? You? Or me?”

He’s aware of the fists he forms with his hands, as well as the rigidity that grips his figure at the assumption that his closeness to Yeosang will be made known in the public eye simply because his mother wants it that way.

His own pace should be respected. His closeness with Yeosang is not a publicity stunt.

“Why are you so obsessed with exposing two people who are together?” First, Mingi and Yunho. Now, he and Yeosang. “Are you so afraid of your relationships being exposed that you expose others? How strange, I thought you more than anyone would understand what it's like to want to keep a relationship on the low.”

“Jongho.” his mother warns him.

He doesn't regret what he says.

He’s still angry about what happened with Mingi and Yunho. Their privacy wasn’t respected, they were forced to show a closeness they wanted to keep private, and he received suspicious looks after his mother was the cause behind that exposure.

He just implied that he and Yeosang are together, he knows it, but he doesn't spend time overthinking his words, as he keeps staring at his mother to remind her that just as she seems to know a lot, he knows a lot too.

It’s increasingly tiring to understand and to realize that perhaps, he’s not a son to his own mother, but a simple chess piece that she moves as she pleases.

“I'm only protecting us.” And he's tired of his mother trying to justify all her actions with those words as well. “I'll do it. I'm giving you time to let him know. See if he's still by your side if he's under the public eye.”

“It's my decision, not yours.” he determines.

How is he supposed to protect Yeosang?

“The final decision is mine.”

It's unfair. It's unfair to be treated like a piece of a game, not being able to make his own decisions and having to conform to the wishes of others —his mother’s.

“And then you wonder why I'm not here?” is what he asks before turning around.

The relationships he maintains with others shouldn’t be a network of strategies, but simply human relationships. He can never get close to people or allow people to get close to him because it's a matter of pretending, and when he's genuinely interested, that interest ends up working against him.

Just like he told Yeosang, it's not convenient to be around him because someone always gets hurt.

He stops in the hallway when he almost runs into his father after allowing his frustration to guide him.

“Dad,” he says, slightly taken aback. If it's rare for him to be there, for his father even more. “You are here.”

“About to leave, actually,” his father says, fixing the watch present around his wrist. Jongho parts his lips but remains silent because he doesn't doubt that his father is in a hurry. He always is. He doesn't blame him, he’s the Prime Minister after all. “Don't let your mother stress you out.”

He supposes that not spending a lot of time side by side doesn't prevent his father from still knowing him. Either because his mother's office is a few steps away or because his father knows how to recognize the expression he holds as a result of the words exchanged with his mother; he doesn't know, but he sighs.

“Easier said than done.”

“I know,” his father assures him.

Just as he feels misunderstood by his mother, he believes he feels understood by his father. He supposes that the situation should be reversed since his mother is the one who is usually present when he walks through the doors of the house.

“Dad... are you okay?” He decides to ask him.

It isn’t the first time that he ends up holding a serious expression as a result of his mother's words and actions, and his father has been dealing with his mother's attitude much longer than he has.

“Shouldn't I ask you that question?”

“A son can worry about his dad too, you know...”

“No need to,” his father ruffles his hair and he doesn’t doubt to comb his hair with his fingers, even if he hears his father laugh. “You do your homework, study, and be kind,” he says. “Someone has to be a good person here,” his father offers him a short yet supportive smile before walking away from him, and Jongho follows him with his eyes.

He isn't surprised when he sees his father walk past his mother's office without greeting her.

A good person?

He doesn't know what's the worst part of that phrase, his father believing that he himself isn’t a good person or assuring that his mother certainly isn’t a good person.

How is he supposed to describe himself out as a good person when he's only allowed to follow the actions and words of people who aren't considered such?

He heads to his room to soon plop down on his bed, and his ceiling is the target of his scowl. Well, at least being in his house means feeling, ironically, a little freer. There are still bodyguards everywhere but at least he's not followed.

The word freedom plagues his head and he considers himself a hypocrite. He told Yeosang that he wants to protect him and that he will be able to do it if they are close instead of far away, but now his words prove to be wrong.

He swallows at the thought of the possibility of ending his closeness with Yeosang.

It shouldn't bother him, right? He could approach anyone else, anyone who's willing to receive instructions and follow orders. But thinking of those images, of someone without a face and a personality next to him, gets him to grimace. He doesn't want that. He definitely doesn't want that.

He pulls out his phone and promptly dials the number that luckily he’s been able to save before bringing it up to his ear.

“Hello,” Yeosang replies.

“Hey,” he greets him, and wonders when he went from looking at his phone with disdain when seeing his schedule to actively making calls. “I was...” Not everyone deserves to know about his closeness to Yeosang, but Yeosang deserves to know what it implies. “I was wondering if we could talk?” He asks him. “I want to tell you something.”

“Me too,” Yeosang offers.

He straightens up and sits on the edge of his bed.

Does Yeosang also want to tell him something?

“Oh, okay, it's just—” What would Yeosang want to talk to him about? He scratches the back of his neck as he feels a slight tingle take over his figure. “Can it be face-to-face? Not the hotel. My mom is getting into my business and I think it's not a good idea anymore.”

“Do you want to come to my house? I'll have the house to myself tomorrow night,”

He raises both eyebrows, feeling puzzlement and astonishment mixed in his expression. Many times Yeosang has expressed not feeling comfortable in his own house —he thinks he understands—, and he has expressed that he will be alone. 

Frustrated with himself, he stares at nothing when he feels ashamed of himself. As he has said once and thought more than once, Yeosang deserves much more. If Yeosang was just a distraction and the other part of a deal, he wouldn't care the way he does.

He shakes his head, realizing that he’s taking too long to answer and the last thing he wants is for Yeosang to take his silence as a negative answer.

“Oh— I— ah— are you sure?”

He forms a fist with his free hand as he wonders how much it has helped him to take speech lessons to be able to express himself without difficulties and know how to communicate his ideas, when he can't even avoid stumbling over a phone call.

“Yes, I'll leave a chair for your bodyguard at the entrance.”

He allows a short laugh to leave his lips, and smiles when Yeosang's laughter reaches his ears from the other end of the line.

“Okay, I'll go,” he accepts. “Are you all right?” he asks, realizing that he hasn't uttered those words as soon as Yeosang accepted his call.

“Are you?”

“I know your tricks, strawberry, you didn't answer me.”

“Interesting that you say that because neither did you.”

Hearing Yeosang express those words makes him wonder if Yeosang mentioning that he wants to talk to him and not giving an affirmative answer are connected to each other.

He doesn't know what Yeosang might want to talk to him about, but he does know that he has been around enough to notice the way Yeosang seems to have been down ever since they spotted Seonghwa with another man at the restaurant.

“Have you talked to your brother about what we saw yet?”

“No, I don't want to have to explain myself yet,” Yeosang says. “I've been thinking... though... maybe I’ll dye my hair. My brother said that he wanted to have pink hair before I did. As a... I don't know, a peace offering between us.”

He hums, aware that Yeosang and Seonghwa don't seem to be completely honest with each other. Yeosang expressing that Seonghwa knows they know each other, that they hang out, appears in his head.

“Will you stop being my strawberry?” he asks, and perhaps that question should only be about hair color, but he forms a line with his lips because uncertainty embraces his thoughts at the expression of that formulation.

“Never,” he hears, and he blows out a breath, waiting for Yeosang to mean it.

“You owe me an answer,” Just like he told Hongjoong, Yeosang never answers him when he asks him if he's alright, if he's okay. “You answer me when you see me.”

“You too.”

Well, he certainly owes an answer too.

“You know, I realized something the other day. I was talking to Hongjoong, and I said sorry instead of forgive me,” he tells him just because, because he remembers Yeosang defining his way of speaking as entertaining.

“You're spending a lot of time with me,” Yeosang giggles, and he allows himself to smile at those words as well as that sweet sound before holding a neutral expression.

He really doesn't want to stop spending his time with Yeosang.

“We talk more when we're together, okay?”

He hears Yeosang accept his words, and looks at the screen of his phone once the call is ended. He promptly scrunches up his nose as he again wonders what Yeosang wants to talk about with him. He believes that while all this time he has been wondering whether or not it’s better to end the closeness with Yeosang or not, perhaps Yeosang has been wondering the same question.

He licks his lips, wondering what he will say if Yeosang expresses that the closeness between them should be ended. But Yeosang said that he would never stop being his strawberry, right?

Yet how will Yeosang react when he tells him what his mother is planning with the two of them? He grimaces, and then frowns because he doesn't think he would be worried if he hadn't had a talk with his mother.

First Yunho and Mingi, now him and Yeosang.

It’s evident where his mother wants to rest the attention.

On everyone but her.

He falls back on the bed, and sighs.

---

Mingi knows he's getting impatient.

Utopia’s manager told him that everything is ready for the night, but he doesn't think he'll be able to spend another night pacing around the counter —rather hiding, hoping nothing gets out of hand because first, the last thing he wants is for his face to be the first people see as they walk in, and second, he doesn't want his presence in Utopia to blow up the rumor that he has indeed bought Utopia.

Fortunately, Yunho's employees have been cooperating and no strange glances have been sent his way, but although the employees’ loyalty towards Yunho is evident, he’s certainly getting impatient because Yunho should be in charge of the place.

He looks at the file left next to him, and curls up one of the corners of his mouth, thinking that approaching Yunho's house isn't the best idea but he can't wait any longer either.

Besides, losing his patience means that his anxiety is starting to win because Yunho isn't getting close to him.

Though out of the two, Yunho has always shown to be a little more anxious, to always find himself a little more alert, he doesn't think he's capable of continuing to find himself surrounded by the details of his house, not when he could be appeasing what he doesn't doubt is Yunho’s obvious anguish. He looks at the papers and thinks fuck it, but as he moves, he hears voices from the hallway.

“Young Yunho! Please, you can't—”

He widens his eyes when he hears Boram express those words, that name, yet he forces himself to remain serious when in a matter of seconds, Yunho pushes open the doors in front of him and stands before him. In his house, in territory he has never touched before.

“You!”

Though his first instinct is to keep his eyes wide open when he notices that Yunho shows up agitated, with his chest rising and falling rapidly, and his face denotes anything but calm and happiness, he forces himself to rest his eyes on Boram.

“Could you leave us alone, Boram? And please, don't let anyone interrupt us,” he asks.

He thinks that Boram is the only person who hasn't been surprised by his articles with Yunho —she actually made him his favorite dish when he crossed the doors of the house after the news and has certainly helped him. Boram nods, a small smile present on her face, and promptly closes the door behind Yunho.

He’s been alone with Yunho thousands of times, but the excitement has never gone away.

“Why!” he leaves his eyes on Yunho when Yunho exclaims that word. “Why don't you want anyone to interrupt us? There is nothing to interrupt!”

He watches Yunho take one of the cushions from the couch closest to him and he partially turns his body so that it collides with his arm when Yunho throws it at him. It isn't the first time that Yunho shows his irritation in that way. But now it's about anger instead of annoyance.

Shit, he thinks. He expected a mixture of anguish and fury, not pure anger.

“How could you!” Yunho's anger is noticeable in both his tone of voice and his face, as well as the force behind the second cushion he throws at him. “You know how much Utopia means to me!”

The reality is that he has asked not to be interrupted because even though he has been waiting for Yunho, he doesn't know how and under what conditions Yunho would appear in front of him. He has never doubted that Yunho would appear in front of him, this is about Utopia after all, so he looks at him.

Angry, irritated, sad, ready to slap him —or throw pillows at him, it seems, he's been waiting for Yunho to react. He has been the target of Yunho's anger many times. If they continue to be considered rivals, it’s because they have been from the beginning.

Many times Yunho has been annoyed and irritated with him, in the same way that he has allowed Yunho to provoke him. But everything has changed now, because it’s the first time that Yunho has shown himself so angry with him since they both stopped thinking of each other as just a rival.

He takes a step towards him, and suppressing all the urge he has to wrap his arms around Yunho or completely close the distance after noticing the way Yunho keeps his brow furrowed while frustration guides his expression, he decides to stretch his arm between them with the palm of his hand facing up.

“Give me one won.”

He’s aware that Yunho may push him, but luckily he watches him let out an exhaustive breath before taking out his wallet.

“Here you have your stupid money!” He has stretched out his arm for nothing because Yunho doesn't hesitate to throw the coin against his chest.

Yunho stays away but doesn't leave.

“You greedy selfish prick!” he grabs several cushions and throws one at him. “Not to tell you that you are selfish, you said! You are! You are so selfish!” Yunho tosses him the other cushion in his possession. “I've been nothing but a pawn to you!”

There's really nothing he wants to do more than try to comfort Yunho when Yunho forms fists with his hand when he longer has more cushions to throw and his gaze turns teary. And there, it finally appears, the sadness that he has never doubted Yunho would feel.

“I pour my heart to you and you break mine!” He's not surprised when Yunho keeps talking even if his voice breaks. Yunho’s always been strong, always been determined. “Am I a joke to you? You mess with me because of our families? Say something, you asshole!”

He doesn't take a step back when Yunho finally approaches him at a determined pace, and just as Yunho reacts to him, he reacts to Yunho, because he loses all resolve as soon as Yunho's palms find his chest.

He wraps his hands around Yunho's wrists because he believes that one thing is imagining Yunho approaching him and another thing is having Yunho right in front of him, angry, frustrated, irritated, and evidently sad.

He holds onto Yunho’s hands as Yunho tries to break free of his grasp.

“Have you read the contr—”

“You think I wasted my time reading that stupid shit!”

Yunho keeps trying to get out of his grip but he refuses to let go of Yunho because he has done what he has done, precisely because what he longs for most is his closeness with Yunho.

“I'll destroy you.” Yunho determines, seeming to give up trying to break away from him. With his eyes locked on him. Even if they're blurry, Yunho doesn't hesitate to stare at him. “I'll fucking do it. I'll take Illusion away from you and I won't even waste my time on you. I'll let Wooyoung's parents destroy you and then I'll go with my mom. I won't even stay to watch everything around you fall apart because you don't even deserve that. I will leave, but I will leave knowing that I was your ruin just as you were mine.”

He feels his jaw clench as soon as he hears that Yunho plans to leave.

He's already allowed Yunho to get away long enough.

“Thank you.” he says, trying to stay as calm as possible even though he has never cared about the coin that now remains on the floor. “Now Utopia is one hundred percent yours.”

He feels the way Yunho no longer struggles against his grip as soon as he speaks. He remains completely still and his brownish pupils wide open. Only Yunho's agitated breathing interrupts the silence that both have created, him after expressing those words —a phrase that has been stuck and present in his throat ever since he signed papers and had Yunho’s father in front of him, and Yunho after —he hopes— allowing himself to understand their meaning.

“W— what?”

He stops looking at Yunho, and he's relieved when Yunho doesn't take the opportunity to get out of his grip once he stops holding both of his hands to take the folder left on the desk behind him.

Yunho lowers his eyes to it before looking back at him.

He doesn't complain once Yunho's hands leave his chest because it's more important for Yunho to take the folder and open it to see what the papers in it determine.

He knows that what is written will only confirm his words.

Utopia now belongs completely to Yunho and no one else.

“And fucking read this stupid shit, just like you called it, instead of throwing it or burning it or whatever you have done with the other. This one is different and more important so read it.”

Yunho glares at him but soon enough lowers his eyes to read the written sentences. 

He allows Yunho to take his time, noticing the way Yunho keeps frowning and his lips form a tight line. Until little by little, with every paragraph read and page turned, his breathing seems to start to ease as his eyes keep scanning the contract present in his hands.

Once he notices that Yunho has calmed down enough and is beginning to allow his irritation to be replaced with confusion, he brings his hand closer to his face.

Certainly afraid because he will get sad if Yunho pulls away, he too breathes when Yunho doesn't jerk away to break the contact and watches him once his hand finds his cheek. He has no doubt that Yunho has cried before, so he seeks to balance that sadness with the softness behind that gesture.

He wants to curse himself because he knows that Yunho has cried because of him, but if he has acted, even knowing that Yunho would cry, it’s because he knew that said momentary sadness would be rewarded with permanent joy.

“I didn't like the way your dad threatened to take away something I know is so important to you.” he says. “The way you always sounded so worried.”

He has never bought Utopia for the place to be under his name. Not only because he has no interest in managing it and he doesn't think he’s capable of doing so either; but because he knows that Utopia should only belong to Yunho.

“I know how much you care about Utopia and how much Utopia means to you.” he adds.

He would have reacted in the same way if Yunho had done the same maneuver with him, but he has never needed to do it because Illusion is his, it always has been; while Yunho’s hands have been tied after sharing Utopia’s shares with his father —or at least until he decided to intervene.

“But— all the money— this is— you lose—”

“I'm not losing,” yes, it's true that he had to invest money to buy Utopia, but if Yunho's father had paid attention to what was written instead of the last name behind it, he would have noticed that the money doesn't belong to him, but to Yunho. “I invest in you.” he gently takes the folder from Yunho's hands to put it aside, and rests his other hand on his face. “All the money is yours, and I just sold you Utopia for one won.”

“What?” Yunho doesn't lean back. “What are you? My sugar daddy now? I’m older than you.”

“Sugar boyfriend if you want.”

Yunho rolls his eyes but luckily much of the blurriness disappears from his gaze.

“I love you.” Mingi can't help but express.

Yunho stares at him again, with his brownish pupils wide open. Surprise guides his expression, and Mingi swallows, wondering why it took him so long to finally get those words out when he's always been aware that his heart has beaten a little more, strongly, and with excitement, when it comes to Yunho.

“I'm in fucking love with you, Jeong Yunho.” he determines.

Just as Yunho has expressed that he wouldn't have constantly defended him if he didn't love him, he believes that the time has come to reciprocate those words and actions.

“I'll admit I might have taken an overstep when I showed up at Utopia, but I do know that I am in love with you.” he continues, and now Yunho is the one who wraps his hands around his wrists. “And fuck, yes, call me selfish, but selfish because I want to be with you and I want you to be with me.”

He’s selfish because he doesn't want anyone else to have the chance to hear Yunho say the words I love you, because he wants to be the receiver of said statement and the emotions behind it. And in return, he wants Yunho to hear the safety behind his voice.

He doesn't mind being described as selfish if it implies that only he’s capable of making Yunho's heart beat fast as well as slowing down its rhythm to calm him.

“Couldn't you have said that... before?” Yunho asks, bewildered. “Through text?”

He holds a lopsided smile when Yunho asks him that question.

“And what about you? You could have sent a text as well,” he keeps smiling.

“Oh, I can assure you that no emoji would have been enough to show how I felt.”

“I had to convince your dad.” he explains. “All those insults were interesting and original, though,” he allows a small chuckle to leave his lips when Yunho wrinkles his nose. “My last name was useful, for once, he didn't doubt to believe my supposed evil intentions,” he expresses. “I'm the head, remember? I made those contracts, I wrote them. I read them from top to bottom, from left to right, down to the smallest letter, while I waited for you, knowing that you would come to me because you are the heart. I think, and you feel. I knew you would come back to me.”

Buying Utopia has been easier than he thought, and he doesn't know if it's better or worse.

Worse because if he hadn't acted intelligently, Yunho's father wouldn't have minded selling the place to anyone else, or better because the lack of doubt that has always haunted his last name has been enough to make Yunho's father believe that he has betrayed Yunho, and that at all times he has only sought to obtain a contract and therefore property.

Just as he didn't hesitate to think that Yunho betrayed him when his eyes saw the photos glued to the lockers, he didn’t doubt that Yunho would react in the same way once he found out that he talked to his father to buy Utopia.

Being trained to learn to distrust each other without question from a young age has been helpful.

“Shut up.”

“I’m sorry for your dad,” While his betrayal has been an act, as he has really learned to act, Yunho's father's attitude has been true.

“He didn't doubt to do it, did he?” Yunho asks him, and he shakes his head, because indeed, Yunho's father hasn't hesitated to sell him Utopia. He was suspicious from the moment he accepted his presence next to Yunho. “Whatever. I’ll move out, I have the money to do it, I always have. I have always stayed to try to show myself neutral but now it's no longer worth it.”

“Your mom called me,” he tells him. Though it’s true that Yunho can move and therefore doesn't need to stay at his father's house, it must hurt him. Fortunately, the words he mentions get Yunho to look at him curiously.

“What?”

“Well, I called her. We called each other, I guess. A determined woman.”

“What did she say?” Yunho looks intrigued.

“She threatened me up and down until I told her why I did what I did.” he widens his eyes, all the words he's heard over the phone still ringing loud and clear in his head.

“Didn't she sound angry?”

He caresses Yunho's cheeks with his thumbs when he doesn't doubt that Yunho utters that question because he fears that his mother was angry with him for the momentary loss of Utopia.

“With me, and your dad, definitely, but not with you. I cleared everything up, though. I see where you got your passionate personality from,” he again widens his eyes, and smiles when Yunho laughs.

And with Yunho laughing, because he finally understands that it has never been his goal to take Utopia from him, he allows his love for Yunho to guide his words.

“Be my boyfriend, please be my boyfriend,” he asks Yunho. “No, wait, you said you don't like that word, not to call you that. Marry me, then.”

“Are you high again?”

“I'm sober as fuck.” Yunho rolls up one of the corners of his mouth and he knows it's to avoid laughing. “Marry me.” he asks, more than sure this time.

”Mingi, are you crazy?” Yunho asks him when he notices that he's not joking anymore, that the words that are leaving his mouth aren't really a consequence of drugs and alcohol. Both his consciousness and his unconsciousness want the same person: Yunho. “You said you love me just now. We are twenty-three.”

“So?” He shrugs. “I'm not interested in anyone else and I want to believe you are not interested in anyone else.”

One way or another he has always kept his focus on Yunho, his eyes on him, his ears attentive to Yunho's voice, and his sentences focused on Yunho.

Whether it was initially to hold a rivalry between them or later to exchange whispered words, Yunho has always been present in his head. Only with Yunho does his body respond and his heart pounds with excitement.

“We can't just get angry at each other if we get married. I mean, we can, but, that's— it's real, we can't—” Yunho bites his lower lip before letting out a breath. “I wouldn't want to... divorce you. What am I even saying?”

“I don’t want to divorce you.” he expresses determinedly.

He stares at Yunho when Yunho holds his gaze because he knows that for Yunho the words marry me are not words that can simply be expressed like that, and this time, he’s completely sure of what he’s expressing.

“I know how much the relationship between your parents has affected you, but I'm serious. I love you,” he doesn't want to stop saying it. “You said not to call you boyfriend. Then fuck it, I'll take it, I'll be your fiancé.”

He doesn't want Yunho to think that he doesn't mean the words he expresses, that he doesn't believe in the closeness between them. He’s completely sure of what he feels for Yunho and Yunho has constantly shown him that his feelings are reciprocated.

He speaks truthfully when establishing that he doesn't want them to stop being side by side. He wants Yunho to understand that the words marry me can also have a good meaning with good consequences.

“I'll—” he stares at Yunho when Yunho finally allows his feelings and thoughts to be guided by the trust he has in him and the closeness they've managed to establish between them. “Yes, I'll marry you, I'll be your fiancé. Fiancés, okay? For an indefinite time for now.”

He doesn't hesitate to hold a more than wide smile, and he nods.

“Yes, of course, that's fine by me.”

“You are fucking crazy.” Yunho says.

“You are too if you accepted,” he reminds him, and Yunho knows that he’s right because he shakes his head, but doesn’t lean back when he seals their lips together.

He stays with his hips against the desk behind him for balance once Yunho frees his wrists to wrap his arms around his neck, and he stops keeping his hands on Yunho’s cheeks to slide one to his waist as well as the other to the nape of his neck, looking for the distance between them to decrease as much as possible.

He has been waiting for that moment, he has been waiting patiently ever since he chose to talk to Yunho's father to make him believe he’s interested in taking Utopia away from Yunho.

It seemed strange to him when he accepted the closeness between them so easily while his parents continue to deny it —although they have finally listened to him because they haven’t ever dared to bring up Yunho again.

Yunho licks his lips once they part and he opts to place a kiss on the corner of his mouth. They leave their foreheads together, and he thinks that he definitely doesn't want to hold anyone else like that, he doesn't want to kiss anyone else.

“You got mad at me, so quickly, after thinking I hurt you, and I didn't doubt getting mad at you with the same speed after thinking you hurt me,” Yunho expresses. The caress he performs on the nape of his neck balances the seriousness behind his words. “Our last names haunt us even if we don't want to see it. I don't like doubting you and you don't like me doubting you. I'm scared.”

Mingi is afraid too, he knows it. Yunho is right. For the same reason he has sought to talk to his father without telling him. He knew that Yunho wouldn’t hesitate to get angry with him, to get disappointed, and his reaction had to be sincere for his economic interest in Utopia to seem real.

But he believes that they are capable of overcoming that fear with the love they feel for each other.

He places a kiss on Yunho's arm, and feels his gaze on him as he opts to break the contact to circle around the desk and open the top drawer. He takes the fake engagement ring that has been part of his Halloween costume, and holds the ring between them once he stands in front of Yunho again.

The silver color of the ring isn't really silver and the pink diamond in its center isn't real, but he stares at Yunho nonetheless.

“Plastic or not. I mean it. We will grow together and we will learn to trust each other even more. You know my determination and I know yours,” they have consistently shown it and continue to show it to each other. “This won't end. Let's just twist the reputation behind our last names, yes?”

“You want me to become a Song?”

“Or I become a Jeong.”

They both give each other the same kind of smile.

“Let's align our respective last names,” Yunho proposes.

He doesn't hesitate to nod his head as both have learned to stare at each other because of their last names, so he doesn't express any complaints.

Yunho extends his hand between them, and he gently grabs his wrist to slide the plastic finger on his finger. Fake or not, made of plastic or not, he smiles when once he intertwines his hand with Yunho's, he feels the ring present on Yunho's finger.

Gold for his mom, silver for him. Yunho no longer has to think of the two as polar opposites.

He leaves his other hand on Yunho’s cheek and all uncertainty disappears when Yunho leans into the contact.

“You're not leaving, are you?” anyway he needs to ask. “Tell me no, because I'll follow you if you say yes.”

“No, I won't leave, but you gave me very good reasons to do it,” Yunho taps his chest and doesn’t hesitate to frown before relaxing his facial features again.

“Let me give you very good reasons to stay, then,” he says, and smiles again as Yunho himself leans forward to peck his lips. “Now you have the right and money to hire Wooyoung,” he will no longer depend on the decisions of his father. “The Jungs will go softer on you if you have their son.”

“What about you?”

“I can take it,” he assures him.

A well-known family with an even better-known restaurant chain?

He still considers Yunho his most worthy rival.

“I don’t need soft,” Yunho expresses on his lips when he straightens up. “But I do need Wooyoung, he's good.”

“So scared,” he fake-shivers. “My fiancé siding with our rival.”

“But my heart is yours, fiancé.” Yunho says, and oh, how nice it feels to hear those words.

“I really like the sound of that.”

Yunho offers him a smile, a smiling gesture that indicates that he agrees, and lets go of his hand to wrap his arms around his neck again. Mingi wraps his arms around his waist, and notices that Yunho seems to be looking behind him, probably at the ring now present on his finger.

“Where are the keys?” Yunho looks at him.

“Oh, I never had them. I mean, I did, but I never used them,” Yunho tilts his head when he hears him. “Your staff loves you very much,” he avoids saying that it's been hell trying to manage Utopia, even if it was for a minimal amount of time. Yunho's manager never allowed him to open or close Utopia, and kept her eyes on him at all times even though he walked through the front doors with both hands up and an imaginary white flag.

Maybe Yunho is his fiancé now, but he's still his rival. He’s definitely okay with Illusion.

“You better not have made a mess of Utopia, Song Mingi,” Yunho approaches him to leave a millimeter between their mouths. “Or I'll make a mess out of you.”

“I don't know why you say that as if I were going to complain, Jeong Yunho,” He definitely doesn't want to be with anyone else. “Besides, we have all of our lives ahead of us so I can make a mess out of you too, right?”

Yunho nods, and both lean forward to kiss the respective smile of each other.

If there's another box with a far more expensive and shinier ring, Yunho doesn't have to know that, at least not for now.

Notes:

min says he can't marry yun because of the law and yun says he leaves everything to our imagination, well this is my fic and therefore my imagination so that makes me the law!!

Chapter 39

Wooyoung looks at the passenger seat of his car and again brings the cigarette to his mouth. He takes a long drag, and smoke doesn't leave his mouth when he lets out a deep breath as his eyes are still fixed on that seat.

He thinks the taste of nicotine is nothing compared to the bitter feeling left by the last conversation he had with Yeosang in his car.

This time smoke does pass between his lips though he doesn't turn his head to release it through the line that he has left after lowering his window.

He knows that he said that he wouldn't pressure Yeosang to do something he doesn't want, and Yeosang promised that he will tell him if he feels worse; but he can only wonder what it means to feel worse when Yeosang already feels bad.

A sudden noise startles him and he finally stops keeping his eyes on that seat. He looks up and sees Hongjoong tapping on his car window with his knuckles.

Hongjoong can't see him because the windows are tinted so he takes the opportunity to wave his hand around him, trying to dispel the smell, and opens his window completely before reaching over to open the door for Hongjoong.

“Not every day a Lamborghini parks here,” is what Hongjoong says by way of greeting once he gets into the car to sit next to him.

He thinks it's not fair the way Hongjoong looks good even if it's evident that he comes from the comfort of his apartment and the clothes he's wearing are cozy. But instead of commenting on it, he takes advantage of the fact that he has rolled down the window next to him to take a look at the building in which parking lot he has chosen to park.

“Have you seen where you live?” He asks after turning to him.

He keeps his elbow on the window to keep his hand with the cigarette out of the car, and while he raises both eyebrows because he thinks Hongjoong has no way to blame him for his car when the facade of his building only ensures that not everyone is capable of pay those expenses, Hongjoong gives him a serious look.

“Let me see the fabric,” Hongjoong says, stretching his hand towards him, clearly to avoid commenting on the words he's heard.

He stretches his arm towards him, since he's wearing San's blazer, and Hongjoong slides his eyes to the sleeve that’s been certainly cut, the reason why they are actually side by side at that very moment.

Yeosang gave him the blazer that San apparently left in Mingi's car the night of the gala. Yeosang told him that he ended up tearing its sleeve from fiddling with it so much, and as soon as he mentioned Hongjoong and that he might be able to fix it himself since he works with garments, he told him that he would take care of it.

The fabric feels comfortable, and he’s actually wearing it because a cold breeze has entered the car since he opened the window a little to dissipate the smell of cigarette smoke. And now that he has fully opened the window, he doesn't plan to take it off unless Hongjoong asks him to.

But Hongjoong only inspects the fabric before opening the pouch that he has left on his lap instead of asking him to take off said garment so he can work better.

“It doesn’t bother you?” he asks Hongjoong. He doesn't doubt that he has better and far more interesting things to do than fixing a ripped blazer that San probably won't even ask for.

He now understands why when he remembers the night of the gala, in the proximity that he established with San, he doesn’t remember thinking of said blazer as an obstacle. It was never present after San left it in Mingi's car, and thus he hasn't had to slip it off San's shoulders.

“Nah, I needed a break from studying and I've been doing this since I was little, with my mom,” Wooyoung swallows as Hongjoong gently takes his wrist to rest it on his knee and adjusts his glasses before threading the needle.

Once again is thrown in his face how everyone around him has the chance to work with their parents while he doesn't. He feels the tense line he forms with his lips, and stops himself from tensing further as he brings the cigarette closer to his mouth.

“Now it's like a kind of therapy,” Indeed, Hongjoong seems to know what he’s doing as he sews the fabric. “Whereas you have that from what I see,” Hongjoong looks up to nod at his cigarette.

“Sorry,” he says, putting his hand out the window again.

“It doesn't bother me,” Hongjoong assures him with a small smile.

At his words, he tentatively brings the cigarette closer to Hongjoong instead of keeping it away, and Hongjoong pauses his hands to wrap his lips around the cigarette. He takes a drag, and drops his eyes back down to his wrist.

“You gave me an indirect kiss,” he says, allowing a smile to finally break the seriousness of his face, though he promptly allows a hiss to leave his lips, accompanied by smoke, when he knows Hongjoong has purposely brushed his skin with the needle.

Indeed, Hongjoong gives him a serious look before blowing smoke and returning his attention to the fabric of the blazer that he keeps fixing at that moment.

“I'll tell San that you said that,” Hongjoong says with a little chuckle. “I'm kidding, though as one of the people closest to him, I guess I should give you the talk where I tell you not to hurt him.”

Wooyoung looks at him and keeps his hand out of the car to allow the ashes to fall onto the pavement on the ground. Yes, he again thinks that everything is more bitter than the taste on his palate that he has already grown accustomed to.

Isn't that talk supposed to be given before anything happens?

Don't hurt San?

He doesn't think about when he pushed San without even knowing him, only knowing his name, his looks, and all the mean words exchanged between them. No, he's thinking that if it wasn't for him and his ability to remember faces, he wouldn't have had to accompany San to a hospital, and San wouldn’t have left said building more serious than before.

It would be easier for San to fall asleep, he wouldn't be doubting his own identity, and he wouldn't allow doubts to attack him if he had chosen to keep his mouth shut.

“I think it's a little late for that,” he says, not feeling proud.

Though he looks down, he feels Hongjoong's eyes on him. No needle threatens to touch his skin again, and he’s only able to form a line with his lips. He supposes his expression must be downcast enough that Hongjoong just chooses to look at him instead of subtly trying to prod his skin with the needle, as he just suggested he’s already hurt San.

“Something I should know?” Hongjoong's tone of voice only assures him that he’s given the possibility to choose if he wants to tell him why he has chosen to express his previous words.

He doesn't take a defensive stance and doesn't accuse him of anything either. He doesn't even sound angry. He wonders if sometimes Hongjoong has hurt someone without meaning to, without meaning to hurt, so he chooses to listen rather than assume.

It feels nice not hearing assumptions about his person.

Yes, Hongjoong should definitely know that San is not having a good time because it turns out that the identity of his mother is a mystery, at least so far since nothing is confirmed. But it isn’t his place to tell. As he has told Yunho before, San should be the person to tell what he wants to who he wants.

He talks, talks, and talks, but he has never said anything that he thinks isn’t his place to say.

“I don't know...” is the only thing he can offer before turning his face the other way.

His gaze falls on the cigarette, and he allows his head to touch his seat.

Just like Yeosang told him, with what audacity has he been able to confront Yeosang about consuming drugs when all the time he ruins himself like that, holding a cigarette in his hands and allowing it to touch his lips and therefore his body?

Yes, he talks, talks, and talks, and sometimes maybe he shouldn't.

He doesn't regret talking to Yeosang, even if it meant that Yeosang got desperate and raised his voice. He doesn't regret talking to San, even if it led San to find himself in an emotional spiral.

But it’s true that he opens his mouth and creates problems instead of ending them.

What if he had never asked his parents to leave Spain?

What if he had never asked them to move to Seoul?

He licks his lips, his mouth feeling dry, and he turns his head when he feels two taps on his wrist. He looks at Hongjoong, and then looks down to notice that he's been distracted enough not to notice that Hongjoong has already finished sewing the fabric.

It looks good, one can't even tell that it's been ripped at some point, and he allows a silent breath to leave his lips because it would be so easy to fix things the same way.

“Look, I don't have sunglasses to offer you,” Hongjoong says, and he looks at him because Hongjoong only needs to say those words to reassure him that he looks sad. Hongjoong gave Yeosang sunglasses when Yeosang certainly was and looked sad, so he must look the same, and how he dares to look like that. “But we can talk if you want,”

He doesn't reject the proposal as soon as he hears it, not when he thinks that perhaps, of all the people around him, strangely, Hongjoong is the person who could understand him the most.

If Hongjoong knew which sunglasses to give Yeosang to hide the trail of tears on his face, it’s because Hongjoong must have also sought to hide his with that accessory.

“You have... two moms... right?” he agrees to ask.

“Yes,” Hongoong answers and is not surprised by the wary look he gives him. “Why?”

“And you get along with them,” he half-asks half-knows, and when Hongjoong nods, he feels like he definitely won't be able to establish the words that have been going around his head with anyone but him.

He knows that Yeosang and Seonghwa don't have a good relationship with his mother, not even Seonghwa now. San's situation is chaotic, Jongho's mother is unreliable, Mingi's parents are unreliable as well, and very rarely has Yunho mentioned his father.

“With San... has it ever happened to you that you get angry with your moms... but then you see San who doesn't have a mom and...” he knows he's lying, but it really isn't his place to say that detail. “Don’t you feel guilty?”

“Mh...” Hongjoong's wariness is replaced by confusion. “No, not really,”

“No?” He must look just as confused.

“That happens to you?” Hongjoong asks him. “Do you fight with your parents and feel guilty for San? Or because of Park and Yeosang?” He lifts one corner of his mouth when he hears Hongjoong say Seonghwa's last name. “It's not a competition, you know? You are allowed to feel sad or angry, or whatever, for whatever reason. Because it saddens you and no one else.”

He remembers that Yeosang told him that he shouldn't give up his life for him and that he should be happy, but he doesn't know how he is supposed to be able to keep a smile on his face when he’s aware that his best friend is in a limbo with drugs and that San doesn’t know his full identity.

“Other people's pain doesn't take away yours, and your pain doesn't take away other people's,” Hongjoong says.

“I guess...” he says, but he wonders if it's even okay for that talk to be happening.

“And it's not feeling ungrateful.” He allows Hongjoong to meet his gaze with his after searching for it. “It’s life being life. You have the right to complain and feel bad like anyone else, to feel like anyone else does.”

Well, he supposes he can't go against those words. Certainly, it’s life being life. He can't control everything around him and he doesn't want to either. He doesn’t want to control people and their respective emotions.

“Thank you,” he says, feeling sincerely grateful.

“Never repress yourself from feeling.”

He has never done it. At least not when it comes to others. If he cares, he shows it with hugs and kisses, and smiles. If he’s angry, he shows it by pushing and being decisive with his words. But when he's sad, it's a different situation.

The word feeling makes him look at Hongjoong, because if he hasn't been surprised when Hongjoong has expressed the word studying, it's because he knows that tomorrow he will face Seonghwa in a debate.

Seonghwa will go to his house to study that night, and he doesn't doubt that it’s because it’s impossible for him to focus with Yeosang and their mother nearby.

He's worried about Seonghwa, that's the truth.

“And speaking of repressing feelings, what are your intentions with Seonghwa?”

Hongjoong raises both eyebrows, clearly not having expected that question, much less the mention of Seonghwa's name. He thinks Hongjoong probably wouldn't have hesitated to poke him with the needle if he was still fixing the sleeve, but thankfully Hongjoong only raises an eyebrow.

“Shouldn't Yeosang give me this talk?”

“He's too soft for that, I'm not. Seonghwa's like a brother to me.”

He supposes that it should happen because if Hongjoong uses the words this talk it's because he knows what it denotes, but apparently, despite that confirmation, Hongjoong chooses to stop facing him with his body to look straight ahead.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” he says.

“I think we both know what I'm talking about,” Hongjoong wanting to avoid that talk instead of simply choosing to accept it is worse.

“I think he doesn't know what we're talking about.”

Hongjoong pronounces those words with a more serious tone of voice, accompanying himself with a more serious expression as well, and he looks at him, knowing that he just referred to Seonghwa.

“Mh?”

“Nothing.”

It's evident that something and not nothing is going on because Hongjoong keeps looking straight ahead with a stern expression. He knows that Seonghwa is dealing with the return of his biological father but no one else is aware of that detail, so he wonders if Seonghwa has perhaps said or done something that has upset or hurt Hongjoong without really seeking to harm him.

He doesn't know, but he does know that Hongjoong could have chosen to finish sewing the blazer and get out of the car. But he hasn’t, and he decides to talk, as he believes that his words will help Hongjoong.

“I think you're good for Seonghwa,” he thinks he's expressing nothing but the truth.

He doesn't hesitate to hold a small smile on his face when Hongjoong immediately turns to face him, looking surprised at his words.

“Really?”

“Yeah, it's like... you... you mess him up a bit, you know? And that's good.”

Seonghwa hasn't always been the way he is, he hasn't always acted the way he acts now. Stiffer, more ported, more calculated. His father's death has changed him and he doesn't blame him because Yeosang and their mother have changed as well. He also believes that he has changed too.

He thinks Hongjoong certainly does him well, he's thought so ever since he heard Seonghwa mention that Hongjoong invited him to a party even though it was obvious that Seonghwa was mad at him.

“I don't... we're not on the same page, you know, I don't want to hurt him or anything like that... or get his hopes up or anything else,” Hongjoong says as he notes that he carefully chooses the words he expresses.

He doesn't think he understands very well what Hongjoong implies, much less what's going through his head to express those words, but he does know that the last thing Seonghwa does is get his hopes up about people. However, it’s also true that Hongjoong's words aren't neutral.

“I'm not super romantic either, if that's what you're saying about yourself,” Seonghwa? Not get his hopes up? With what? With a perfect relationship? The first time he heard Hongjoong speak was because he expressed hurting Seonghwa. It clearly hasn't been perfect from the get-go. “It scares me a bit, even?”

“It does?” he thinks he has understood Hongjoong's uncertainty once Hongjoong looks at him curiously.

“Yeah, but... I don't know, I guess I just let it all flow,” he's never given it much thought because ironically, he's always allowed everything to flow.

He loves, and a lot, and sometimes he overthinks that love, but it’s also true that he has never told himself to do less when he felt like doing more, at least not when it comes to giving love.

“You said it, repressing doesn't work,” he adds.

Hongjoong allows a soft laugh to leave his throat.

“Wise words.”

“If we both follow them,” he decides to give him a slight shove with his hand on his arm, and thankfully Hongjoong allows himself to lean in his place exaggeratedly before smiling.

He really doesn't know what's going on between Seonghwa and Hongjoong, but Seonghwa is already holding back, too much, he thinks, and it will be worse if Hongjoong starts doing it too or continues doing it.

“Look, Hongjoong, now... he's not... he's not at his best, okay?” he offers, not really having the possibility to provide details. “If it's hard for me to talk to him and for him to agree to talk to me, and we've known each other our whole lives, imagine with you. He doesn't even deign to talk to Yeosang and they're brothers.”

He considers it a waste of time for Hongjoong to wonder if he's hurting Seonghwa when he thinks Hongjoong is the person who gives Seonghwa the least trouble.

“He doesn't want chocolates, or flowers, or all that shit. I think he needs someone who will take him off his mind a bit, and that person, in my opinion, is you.”

Hongjoong doesn't make any comments when he hears him, and he can't tell what's going on in his head because Hongjoong just keeps his eyes straight ahead. As a person who has known Seonghwa all his life, and as a person Seonghwa does allow to get close to him, he hopes Hongjoong has paid attention to his words.

“I have to go study,” is all Hongjoong says.

“Good luck with that.” He doesn't hesitate to grimace.

Hongjoong gets out of the car but gives him a look.

“With the blazer... dark jeans and white t-shirts,” he tells him before closing the door.

He follows him with his gaze as he passes his car, and a complaint threatens to leave his throat when he isn't quick enough and Hongjoong takes the cigarette from his fingers.

“I'm taking this in exchange for you keeping San's blazer and me telling him I lost it,” Hongjoong smirks, already walking backward to obviously stay out of reach.

“Ugh, fine by me, I’m trying to quit that shit!” he did tell Yeosang that he would quit if he agrees not to consume another drug, and if he expects Yeosang to get better, then he has to too.

“And by the way, you can talk to me when your parents are being shitty,” Hongjoong continues to grin, still walking backward, and finally turns to approach the entrance to his building, now with his cigarette in hand. He knows he could just choose to light another one, but he doesn't.

He fixes the blazer over his shoulders and relaxes his figure. The item belongs to San and has been used by Yeosang as well. His problems don’t disappear and a smile doesn’t cover his face, but the fabric that keeps him warm is enough to decide to move his car and finally stop being parked.

Never repress yourself from feeling. He will repeat it until he understands it.

He releases a breath of air, and closes his window. He certainly has needed to take a breath of air as San has told him, and he believes that the words he has exchanged with Hongjoong have served as such.

---

Hongjoong looks at the pages left on his desk as well as the notes scattered around them with different notations and lines of different colors. The words honesty and dishonesty caught his attention as soon as he saw that they would be the ones to guide the debate.

A part of him believes that he’s at a slight disadvantage as his competition turns out to be Seonghwa, the director’s son, but he’s confident in his abilities. As he didn’t hesitate to mention to Seonghwa when they met, he doesn’t need connections to stand out, only himself. Besides, he knows that Seonghwa is too stubborn to cheat and use in his favor his mom’s position within the university.

That thought leads him to hold a small smile. He feels excited. Whereas he has previously thought of Seonghwa's audacity as a nuisance, now he thinks of it, of him, as the motivation to give the best possible version of himself. He thinks it will be an interesting debate, but again his gaze falls on the words honesty and dishonesty.

He still doesn't know who the person he has seen together with Seonghwa at the restaurant is, and he hasn't found any kind of answer either because he hasn't chosen to ask Seonghwa directly. Seonghwa doesn't have to tell him about all the details that reveal his life, but Yeosang also seemed skeptical of what his eyes saw.

And the words that he has exchanged with Wooyoung keep reverberating around his head as well. Wooyoung told him that he’s good for Seonghwa, and he doesn't think he can go against his word when Wooyoung has known Seonghwa much longer than him. Wooyoung knows Seonghwa well, and as such, the certainty behind Wooyoung's words leads him to keep thinking about them.

He stops keeping his attention on the notes to slide it to his phone. Even if he hasn't known Seonghwa for as long as Wooyoung, he does know that Seonghwa has probably spent the entire day cooped up, preparing for tomorrow's debate.

It certainly did him good to get out of his apartment to talk to Wooyoung, so he opts to dial Seonghwa's number and bring the phone close to his ear.

It's late now, but that has never stopped him from texting Seonghwa.

He doesn't think about the fact that Seonghwa has been acting a bit distant. Maybe just like Wooyoung said, it's because he's not at his best, and not because Seonghwa has decided to ignore him just because.

When Seonghwa accepts the call, he greets him.

“Hey,”

“Hey,” Seonghwa replies.

He forms a soft line with his lips, thinking that while Seonghwa has always accepted his calls with a soft tone of voice —as if he could hear his smile, he thinks, as strange as that sounds—, at that moment he sounds tired.

“I was just calling to...” to? “Check up on you, we have a big day tomorrow,”

“I'm studying,” is offered.

“Still studying?” Hongjoong asks, a little bit stunned. He's also taken his time preparing for tomorrow, but it's late and he's tired. “But it’s so late,” he adds, and he thinks that even though he’s apparently studying, Seonghwa has nevertheless chosen to accept his call.

“I'm preparing for the debate, you said it,”

“Right,” he doesn't know whether to feel proud because he believes that those words imply that Seonghwa considers him a worthy opponent, or uncertain because Seonghwa is exposing the great priority that the debate represents for him. “How is it going?”

“I won't tell you my strategy,” Seonghwa articulates.

“Okay, I won't tell you mine either,” he expresses somewhat disoriented, since at no time has he intended to call Seonghwa to ask him questions about his preparation for the debate.

Why has he called him, then?

Because maybe, Seonghwa is on the other end of the phone line at the time, but they've been more than close before. Just as he knows how Seonghwa's voice sounds slightly distorted by the connection, he also knows how it sounds when they don't have to raise their voices because they are more than close to each other.

“Hey, this... won't change anything, right?” he asks.

“This?”

Change what, exactly?

“The result of the debate,” he clarifies.

“I really want to win, I take this seriously.”

“I'm not saying you don't, and I'm not saying I don't either.”

Although he has chosen to call him and has expressed the words that have left his mouth so far, that doesn’t mean that tomorrow he won’t fight for the title that has belonged to him since the previous year. Nor will he allow Seonghwa to appear to snatch the title from him, even if it’s only the first of all the confrontations that they will have to carry out to dispute the final result. But he believes that erasing the progress made so far by the result of the first task would be a mistake.

Progress to where? He doesn't think he knows the answer. But he’s good for Seonghwa, isn’t he? Wooyoung said it. He thinks Seonghwa is good for him, too.

To get him off his mind for a bit, too. He caresses the nape of his neck, thinking about the words that he has said to Wooyoung.

Never repress yourself from feeling.

“But, mh, maybe we could...” Just say it, he tells himself as he’s about to leave the sentence unfinished. “Grab... a coffee after? Or before, even, to air our heads,” he adds. Academically speaking they are rivals, but he believes that there’s no need to extend that relationship outside the walls of the university. “Strawberry smoothie if you prefer...”

It's just a coffee, many times he has joined San, Yunho, or Mingi to have a coffee. And yet, he adjusts his glasses, just to have something to do with his free hand when Seonghwa remains silent. He didn't just propose a date, did he?

He tilts his head, wondering if maybe he just proposed a date. But he shouldn't care much about it, right? They agreed with Wooyoung that they wouldn't hold back from feeling, and the thought of spending some time with Seonghwa feels nice. Does that mean that he’s been thinking about spending more time with Se—

“You want to distract me?”

“What?” he doesn't quite know what he's expecting to hear, but he straightens up because he certainly hasn't expected to hear the defensive tone that accompanies Seonghwa's words.

“Right before or after the debate? Really?”

“Is that a bad thing?” he asks. “Aren't breaks important too?”

“Or you want to break me.”

“What?” This time he does feel confused.

He thinks he wouldn't have been surprised if that conversation happened as soon as they met, as he wouldn't even have thought of inviting Seonghwa to spend some time together, but now? Does Seonghwa still think of him as the version he originally saw?

The distrustful tone he uses to hint that calling him is probably a tactic to somehow have the upper hand tomorrow is not to his liking, nor is the implication behind his words.

“I just find it peculiar that you also offered me a strawberry smoothie when you approached me because of Yunho,” he hears Seonghwa express.

“Didn't we clarify that?”

Why is Seonghwa bringing back solved issues?

Or at least issues that he thought had been fixed.

“You could be lying again, haven't you been reading your notes?”

“Me? Lying? Look who's talking.”

He forms a line with his lips as those words leave his mouth, without being able to control himself. How can Seonghwa accuse him of being a liar when he called out of sincere concern, while Seonghwa is the real liar?

“What was that?”

He knows that he could choose to exhale a breath and try to calm down, but he doesn't like being accused of lying, not when he still has questions that haven't been answered because they haven't been said out loud yet.

Seonghwa is the person who doesn't tell him how he hurt his hand. Seonghwa is the person who hangs out with a person in a restaurant, at the expense of Yeosang's knowledge as well.

“You better choose dishonesty, Park. You are pretty good at it.”

“Just for that, I'll choose honesty, Kim.”

He doesn't know who hangs up first, him or Seonghwa, but he does know that he’s completely stunned once he stops holding the phone to his ear.

“What the fuck?” He expresses out loud, showing his perplexity.

He called Seonghwa out of concern, not to end the conversation like that. He taps his forehead with the edge of his phone, wondering, really, what the fuck just happened. He exhales a breath, thinking that choosing not to suppress emotions also implies allowing himself to express his anger.

The sudden noise of the doorbell startles him. He once again lets out an exhausted breath of air and rubs his face with his hand before rolling his eyes as they fall on the papers that dictate the rules of the debate.

He rests his eyes on the door of his room when he hears a second ring, realizing that his mothers don’t plan to answer. He clicks his tongue, and stops being in his room to approach the front door.

He huffs when he hears the doorbell ring for the third time and this time it's a long beep, so he opens his front door, ready to stare at the person who's chosen to show up so late, only to remain stunned when he runs into three familiar faces.

“Hyung!” San exclaims, dimples on display.

“Were you with your headphones?” Mingi asks.

“Or maybe he can’t hear us anymore because he’s with his headphones all the time,” Yunho nods at his own words.

His surprise at finding the three at his doorstep is quickly put aside once their words lead him to hold an unimpressed expression.

“What are the three of you doing here?”

“Quality time.” This time, Mingi nods.

“We are friends?” for Yunho there seems to be no other possible answer.

“We miss you,” San holds up along with his best smile, his dimples still on display.

“You three realize that it’s late and that I have a debate to prepare for, right?”

“Exactly! We came here for moral support!”

“We brought yogurt,” Yunho shows him the bag present in one of his hands.

Hongjoong narrows his eyes.

Making the three of them part of his inner circle has taught him that the three are capable of getting into trouble on their own, so he doesn't hesitate to stare at them, even if he knows that he doesn’t plan to touch the debate notes again.

He lowers his eyes to Yunho's bag, and opens the door wider.

“Fine, come in.”

The three happily pass the threshold to take off their sneakers, and he promptly hears their voices again the second he closes the door behind them.

The three happily pass the threshold to take off their sneakers, and he promptly hears their voices again the second he closes the door behind them.

“And also because we have to tell you some stuff,” Mingi says.

“I knew there was something fishy.” he narrows his gaze, but opens his gaze again as soon as instead of pronouncing a word, Yunho raises the palm of his hand towards him, leaving it at the level of his face.

Hongjoong's eyes fall on the plastic ring that he notices present on his ring finger. He looks at Yunho when he holds an enthusiastic smile, but after not understanding the relationship between that accessory —isn't it the ring he gave Mingi for his Halloween costume?— and Yunho's smiling gesture, he slides his eyes towards Mingi and San.

He only finds them holding similar smiles, so he looks back at Yunho, and then at the ring. He adjusts his square glasses, wondering if he's really so tired that even the glasses aren't helping.

“We are fiancés!” On that occasion, Mingi's exclamation startles him.

He widens his eyes and brings a hand to his chest, looking more than confused between the two of them and the ring. He parts his lips, more than ten questions popping into his head at once though no words leave his mouth because he doesn’t know what to start questioning first.

“Wh— what?”

“I reacted the same way,” San says.

Yunho stops holding his palm towards him to lower it and look at it —rather, the ring— with a smaller smile, but more affectionate and still present on his face. He notices the way Mingi looks at him with that affection present in his eyes, and he regains his composure by realizing the genuineness that characterizes them.

He thinks it's weird, having gotten used to watching and hearing Mingi and Yunho address each other ironically while at that moment standing side by side, but that image isn't completely surprising, since after all, to make sure that the other hears their respective insults, they have had to stay close to each other.

He gets them both to look at him when he places a hand on each of their arms.

“What? Seriously, what?” He articulates. “Mingi, I gave you that ring.”

Mingi allows a surprised sound to leave his lips.

“That means you'll be our best man at the wedding!”

“You too San,” Yunho adds when they hear San grumble.

He looks at Mingi when he talks.

“I've always seen you as some kind of superior figure, I guess,” His gaze narrows as Mingi says those words. “So it makes sense that you gave it to me, and that I gave it to Yunho,” he looks at Yunho at the mention of his name, and chooses to continue with his eyes narrowed because Yunho offers him a genuine smile.

Fiancés? A plastic ring? He thinks it would have been nothing more than a joke if it had been about other people, but he knows, he really knows that both Mingi and Yunho are capable of describing themselves as engaged.

“Con... congratulations?”

As soon as he finishes pronouncing that word, still somewhat confused, and more than disoriented, he finds himself wrapped in a hug. Yunho and Mingi hug him, tightly as he thought they never would, and for a moment he allows himself to smile, because he's really happy for his friends, and he really prefers them to appear in front of him with a plastic ring than to see them fight constantly.

He's seen the two of them argue more than once, he's seen them remain serious when they've allowed the exposure of their closeness to tear them apart, even momentarily, so he's certainly happy that they have managed to overcome all those obstacles and also the rivalry between their families. If Mingi and Yunho are happy, so is he.

He slides his gaze to San, though, when he notices that he strangely hasn't joined the hug.

“Do you have something to tell me too?”

He notices that Mingi and Yunho stop looking at him and each other when they hear him speak, and from their looks, he understands that they also want to know the answer to his question. Still trapped between Yunho and Mingi, the three look at San.

San looks between them, for the first time looking a little uncomfortable being the center of attention. At least he doesn't see any ring —neither plastic nor real— on his hand.

“I'm... I'm not... getting married, but... I definitely know who we won't be inviting to your wedding...” San articulates, resting his attention on Yunho and Mingi. While Mingi and Yunho look at each other in confusion, he keeps looking at San. He looks nervous, so he rests one of his hands on his arm, and that seems to be enough for him to decide to continue talking. “My mom... mh, my mom is alive. And I think Jongho's mom might be my mom.”

“What!”

This time Yunho and Mingi’s voices don’t startle him as the volume of his tone accompanies their exclamation. He understands that San isn't kidding either because he winces once those words leave his lips.

“Why don't we all sit down?” He proposes to them.

It’s difficult to find people who are sincerely interested in others in the world of which they are a part, who care simply because and not about their respective last names.

For the same reason, although he allows seriousness to embrace him when San decides to exhale a deep breath before starting to tell them everything he apparently hasn't been telling them, he feels lucky to be able to hear him.

It means that San trusts him, as well as in Yunho and Mingi because maybe they've already feigned hatred for each other, at least recently, but the four of them have always found themselves gravitating towards each other.

They aren’t friends because he’s the DJ at Mingi's parties, because San's father is the former director of their university, because staying close to Mingi means power, or because Yunho offers the possibility of having a place with a table available and a nice view at all times.

They consider themselves friends because they trust each other, and with yogurt present in their hands, they listen to how San has concluded that the same person who has exposed the closeness between Yunho and Mingi turns out to be the person who apparently doesn't seek to expose herself.

And with every word San says, his earlier conversation with Wooyoung rings higher in his head. It’s evident that Wooyoung avoided telling him many details, that he has been by San's side to accompany him, and that now he understands why Wooyoung has expressed the words that he has expressed.

He believes that San has made a good decision to allow Wooyoung to be by his side. Even if not telling a secret is the least one person can do to gain another's trust, Wooyoung hasn't said a word about San's apparent mother. San can trust Wooyoung.

“What a mess.”

He doesn't blame Mingi for voicing those words once San balances his words with his silence. Indeed, what a mess, Hongjoong thinks as he pokes at the yogurt with his spoon.

Even their families can lie to them. They must be honest with each other.

“Jongho knows?” Yunho asks him.

“I don’t know. Wooyoung said that he would talk to Yeosang, and Yeosang to Jongho.”

He finally takes his eyes off his yogurt upon hearing those words.

Jongho previously assured him that he wasn’t aware of his mother's actions regarding Yunho and Mingi, and that clarification was enough to notice that there isn't good communication between them. He doubts that Jongho is aware of the existence of a possible half-brother.

“Wooyoung, huh?” He decides to ask along with a small smile.

He could have expressed any comment on everything he just heard. He certainly has some questions about it and is upset because he’s still irritated that Mingi and Yunho were forced to expose a closeness that was supposed to be revealed under their terms. And now his concern only increases because San has become part of the equation; but he mentioned Wooyoung because it gets San to lift the corners of his mouth.

“Hyung, you can't tease him, you're obsessed with Seonghwa.”

He throws Yunho a serious look when he hears him. San laughs and Mingi snickers.

While at that moment they just finished being honest with each other, Seonghwa just assured him that they are both equally dishonest. The taste of yogurt hasn't managed to dissolve the sour feeling in his stomach, and he can only wonder if it's normal to feel this way just because the idea of spending more time together has been completely discarded.

“He makes me question things I don’t want to question.” The sweet taste of the yogurt contrasts with the bitterness of his own words.

A trail of uncertainty has been haunting him ever since they kissed. Even from before, he believes. He’s aware that the last words that he has exchanged with Seonghwa wouldn’t irritate him so much, and his lies wouldn’t bother him so much, if he considered Seonghwa another person, a simple person who he has kissed and finds attractive.

“Hyung,” Yunho says, and he notices the sweet smile that decorates his smile, “Mingi and I wouldn't be together if we hadn't questioned ourselves, you know,” he says, and he understands the meaning of his words, but while they've always communicated, be it through true insults, intended sarcasm, or honest feelings, he can't express the same about Seonghwa.

“Whatever you think is between us, it's not mutual.” he adds.

“Of course it is,” Mingi says, sure of what he says. “I saw how you two look— why isn’t it mutual?”

“He's...” he doesn't quite know what to answer, what words to use to form an answer. What even is he supposed to say? He ended up getting mad at Seonghwa because Seonghwa got mad at him in the first place, and he doesn't even know why. Will competing to be the Class President end the closeness between them? Or has said closeness never really existed? “Away.”

“That’s ironic because you two face each other tomorrow,”

He raises both eyebrows to assure that he agrees with Yunho. It's an irony.

“Which side will you choose?” Mingi asks.

“It's about honesty and dishonesty.” He’s aware that Seonghwa told him that he will choose honesty and that he has the possibility to choose the same side. “Dishonesty.”

“Isn't it your lucky day? Well, night,” he looks at San. “You have three experts here.”

“Sorry to break it to you but we hate your possible mom, that's honesty.”

“No offense taken,” San assures Mingi. “I hate her too, and my dad isn't the best either.”

Yunho and Mingi's fake laughs assure that they can express the same words about their respective fathers. He lets out a silent breath, feeling down because it's sad that his friends feel like they can't trust their parents.

“I don't even have one, but my moms are your moms, you know that,” Fortunately, the three laugh when they hear him.

“Mine too, she’s far away, but she means well,” a bittersweet smile decorates Yunho's face.

For the first time he takes his focus off of them when he hears noises coming from the kitchen, and he doesn't let out a sigh when he watches his mother offer him an enthusiastic smile and a wave of her hand, partially hidden behind the door.

He takes in his favor that San asks Yunho where his mother currently is to leave the circle they have formed and head towards the kitchen.

“We have guests again,” his mother expresses with a smile still present on her face. “I'm glad you feel comfortable to invite your friends here,”

Hongjoong parts his lips but promptly remains silent. The talk he just had with Mingi, Yunho, and San has been necessary for the three of them, and for him as well, since he realizes that his mothers turn out to be the exception. Yes, they're not perfect, and neither is he, and they often argue, but they don't lie to him and they've always been there to support him.

Apparently, that's not something all parents do anymore.

His talk with Wooyoung only reinforces his thoughts.

“You can go say hi if you want to,” he offers.

“Really?”

He allows himself to smile when his mother sounds beyond excited.

“Is Ma still working?” he asks after nodding.

His mother nods. “Yes, but you know you can always call her.”

He only scrunches his nose instead of smacking his own face and allowing an annoyed sound to scratch his throat as his mother nuzzles his cheek, and his gaze follows her as she leaves the kitchen while he takes his phone out of his pocket.

“San-ah! Look at you, handsome as always! And— you two— engaged?!”

He chuckles upon hearing the shock in his mother's tone of voice as well as her happiness at just being able to get close to his friends, and soon finds himself bringing his phone to his ear.

“Ma,” he says when she gets the call. “I might need a favor.”

Instead of complaining about the lack of greeting, he hears his mother laugh.

“Anything for my favorite son.”

“I'm your only son,” Hongjoong frowns.

“And that's why you are my favorite,” he stays serious even though his mother can't see him, and doesn't doubt that his mother laughs at his silence. “Go ahead, tell me what I can do for you.”

Hongjoong shakes his head and bites his lower lip. Exchanging words with Yunho, Mingi, and San once again has assured them that it’s important to make friends, to stay close to people he knows won’t betray him, who will be there to support him —just like at that time; and that he’s just as willing to defend them in his own way.

He hasn't been able to do anything to prevent Yunho and Mingi from being forced to tell the truth, so he plans to play the same card. It's hard to get close to people, even more so to be able to call them friends, close and really good friends, so he's quick to part his lips.

“You work for Jongho’s mom, don’t you?” when he hears his mother hum, he continues. “Do you still keep in touch with Mingi's and Yunho's parents?”

Chapter 40

Notes:

since there are only ten chapters left (i can't believe it) i've decided that i'm not going to take responsibility for what happens from now on until the end 👍

“This is weird, isn't it?” Yeosang asks as he enters his room.

Whereas previously he didn't hesitate to get irritated with Jongho for splashing a smoothie over him, now Jongho discovers the details of his room as he walks behind him. It certainly is weird.

“You can see my beautiful garden,” he says as he approaches the window of his room to point to it. The winter weather has taken away what is probably pretty green soil, so his words denote nothing but sarcasm. “A nice view, don't you think?” 

Compared to the view offered by the large windows of the hotel, only a dim light outside the house allows them to see the garden's lack of color.

“Being here? Weird, yes,” he stops keeping his eyes on the garden of his house when he feels Jongho's arms around his waist, and he turns in his hold to wrap his arms around Jongho's neck. “Being with you? No. A nice view, indeed,” Jongho stares at him, at no time turning his head to check the sarcasm that accompanied his words.

Yeosang bites his lower lip, taking in the not-so-subtle hint of appreciation for his person as Jongho keeps his brown eyes fixed on him. It's not the first time it happens, as back at the hotel, Jongho ignored the city lights in favor of looking at him while expressing that it —he— certainly is a nice view.

He swallows, not objecting as Jongho tightens his grip on his waist, drawing his body even closer to his. He's aware that they don't have to speak in a low voice or be careful of the words they mention because there's no one else in the house but them.

The low light coming from the lamp of his nightstand is enough to illuminate the details of his room and once again have the opportunity to see Jongho's facial features, to notice the way Jongho doesn't shift his gaze either.

“You owe me an answer,” he reminds Jongho.

The fact that it was a conversation on the phone doesn't lead him to forget that Jongho still needs to answer a question. He assumes that Jongho narrows his gaze at him because he's aware that he owes him an answer too, and promptly lets him know.

“You owe me one as well.”

He can't help but tense up. He hasn’t said how he’s been, he never chooses to answer said question, and besides, Jongho planted a question in his head. He said he wants to talk to him.

He parts his lips but closes them again, and chooses to stop keeping his arms around his neck to slide his hands down Jongho's arms until he reaches his hands, still placed over his waist, and guides him until they both sit face to face near the edge of his bed.

Has he done something wrong? He licks his lips, thinking that his uncertainty about what Jongho wants to talk to him turns into restlessness.

Perhaps Jongho will say that he wants whatever is happening between them to come to an end, and it’s at that very moment, with Jongho in front of him, and their hands still linked, that he realizes that he doesn't want, whatever that is, to end.

“What...” He supposes that the sooner he knows, the longer he can take advantage of the lack of people in his house to lie on his bed and stare at the ceiling, without anyone interrupting him. “What did you want us to talk about?” he finally asks.

“The hotel. I don't think that will be an option anymore,” Jongho mentioned similar words before. Yes, Jongho definitely doesn't want to see him anymore. He curls up one of the corners of his mouth and looks at their intertwined fingers, not knowing why since said image will only hurt more later. “My mom wants us to go public.”

He tenses up as soon as he hears those words and can't help but look up and widen his eyes at the pronunciation of that phrase. That reality upsets him more than the idea of Jongho rejecting his company.

He guesses that Jongho quickly seeks to talk because his tension is more than obvious.

“I don't, I don't.” Jongho expresses, giving his hands a gentle squeeze. “I just— I don't want to lose this because of her.”

Torn between feeling nervous about Jongho's mother's obvious plans and calm because Jongho has just expressed the opposite of what his head has been assuring him since they talked over the phone, he doesn't know how to react.

“I don't want to go public.” he quickly shakes his head.

“Me neither.”

Although Jongho assures him that he doesn't want the spotlight on them either, he continues to shake his head. The mere thought of unnecessary attention, cameras, and portals illuminating his name is enough to make him feel cornered.

He only wants Jongho's attention, not the interest of the world he belongs to.

“She— she doesn't want to make this public, I assure you,” he lets go of Jongho's hands and swallows, thinking that maybe it's not possible to separate Jongho from the world he comes from.

Yes, they both have privileges that other people don't, but he’s aware of the distance between him and Jongho. His mother's job is nothing compared to the names of Jongho's parents.

He doesn't want Jongho to stop facing him but hides his hands with the sleeves of Jongho’s sweater when he notices Jongho reaching out to him, though he promptly drops his hands on the mattress.

The situation with Yunho and Mingi reassures him that it doesn't matter what Jongho wants. Just thinking about himself being exposed leads him to feel exposed at that moment, to expose himself because he’s not willing to share himself with everyone.

He remembers Seonghwa's disappointment, Wooyoung's tears, and shakes his head.

“I— I... I do drugs.” The words just leave his lips. “I'm sure your mom— your mom doesn't want that to be public. Your mom doesn't want me with you, or— or with your family.”

He glances away when Jongho's eyes widen.

There's nothing to mention about him other than a list of many errors and few successes. An extensive list of the mistakes he makes and the bad decisions he takes.

Their eyes meet because Jongho doesn't seem to mind the soft fabric that covers his hands, and takes them in his. 

“You— you do what?” Jongho asks before shaking his head. “It isn’t funny.”

“I'm not laughing.” He doesn’t doubt that Jongho's mother wants someone beautiful to be by Jongho’s side, free from all mistakes and imperfections. He's not the right person and he will never be. “I got... high the night before we met, and when we met, that day, I was dealing with that.”

He tilts his head at that thought, realizing that indeed, since the night before he met Jongho, and therefore at Mingi's party, he hasn't touched a single drug again. He’s aware, his body has been showing it to him.

“But— but that hurts you.” Jongho expresses as if he didn't know that yes, it's harmful.

He slides his eyes to his closet, knowing that his box of drugs is no longer hidden in one of his backpacks because Seonghwa found them and chose to keep them.

Perhaps he should focus on the fact that he hasn't felt like rummaging through Seonghwa's entire room, desperate to get them back, and that the ones hidden behind his phone and its case remain untouched. But he has felt the urge to remove the case from his phone, and he hasn’t mentioned the existence of said drugs to either Seonghwa or Wooyoung.

Neither to Jongho.

“It hurts me more what leads me to do that...”

The need to get away from his own self, to cloud his senses to get rid of the thoughts that constantly lurk in his head, to confuse his emotions so he will lose the ability to think about the implications behind their existence.

“What has pushed me to get close to you at first,” he adds as he lowers his gaze to their hands. “To get distracted.”

He looks up when Jongho slides the sleeves of his sweater up to then interlock their fingers once again, the fabric now not hiding his hands.

“Then be with me. Allow me to distract you from your pain. But don't do drugs.”

“I haven't... not recently...” so his body complains and his mind fatigues.

The need to disconnect and push everything for a few more hours is what his body has been demanding from him, probably since he was honest with Seonghwa and Seonghwa with him, and the photoshoot was canceled. It's been a restless weekend, and the emotional trails of all the words he's spoken and heard continue to follow him.

He no longer knows if he has lied or told the truth when he has said that he’s better. It’s obvious that he is not, that he has confused himself because his body wouldn’t have begun to shake and his hands to be accompanied by tremors if he were more than well.

While he has assured Seonghwa that he feels better because at that moment he certainly felt that way, he has subsequently assured Wooyoung that no, he’s definitely not well.

He gently releases his hands from Jongho's and forces himself to cross his arms. He leans back to allow his back to find the pillows on his bed and gets away from Jongho. 

Is it even fair for Jongho to hear those words? Is he thinking of Jongho as another addiction?

More than once he has wondered if staying close to Jongho is right or wrong, but this time he doesn't doubt it. He understands that he really cares about Jongho, that Jongho is more than a distraction, as even if thinking about it saddens him and he certainly forms a line with his lips, he'd rather Jongho walk away than drag Jongho down with him.

Jongho doesn’t deserve to be dragged into his chaos, to be tainted with his problems, and to have to deal with his emotional ups and downs. It's not the first time he thinks so.

He turns his head to the side and keeps his gaze on the floor. Jongho doesn't know what he said when he said that he wants his chaos.

“You can leave if...” just as he forces himself not to move, he forces himself to continue speaking though the words he expresses scratch both his throat and his chest. “This wasn't part of our deal, so... and if you don't want your mom or whoever might be to associate me with you... it's okay... I won't resent you if you just... leave... me.”

He’s only capable of resenting himself. He should have realized that sooner or later it would all end, that having allowed themselves to meet each other in a luxurious hotel room wouldn’t allow them to remain locked in that same room forever, to cut off the reality that surrounds them.

Perhaps he has needed external pressure to finally understand that keeping Jongho around is good for him, but bad for Jongho.

He can't help but rest his gaze on Jongho when instead of feeling the mattress slide because Jongho gets up to leave, he hears Jongho let out a stupefied breath and a puzzled laugh that doesn’t really sound like a laugh.

“Part of our deal?” Jongho looks at him as if he had just expressed the most illogical phrase that has ever reached his ears. “I think— no—” he stares at him with wide eyes when Jongho doesn't move away. He doesn’t stand up and he doesn’t leave. Jongho gently rests one of his hands on his knees and guides him to spread his legs to get comfortable between them. “I know I care about you more than I planned to.”

Still impressed with Jongho's actions, he continues to stare at him as Jongho settles between his legs, resting one of his elbows on his side to rest his other hand on his arm. Still astonished, he nonetheless rejoices in the closeness created by Jongho.

“You are so much more than the other part of the deal we made. Friend sounds so wrong, don’t you agree? I regret saying friends with benefits but I wanted you to come back to me somehow. And leave? What even— leave, really?”

He swallows when Jongho looks at him just as stunned as he feels. He believes that they are both just as perplexed by the words that the other has expressed without hesitation. What will hurt Jongho more, if he pushes him, or if he lets him get close?

He agrees to unfold his arms, and though he feels a bit hesitant, he plays with the collar of Jongho's shirt. Jongho's hand on his arm feels heavy, grounding. It’s an irony, because he has approached Jongho to feel anything but anchored.

“When I said I didn’t want to be your secret... I don’t want to be a doll either...”

Just as he has previously not hesitated to express his discontent at the idea of being forced to hide, to equate his presence to a secret, even if in the end Jongho assured him that he never sought to turn the closeness between them into confidential treatment, he makes sure to express that acting in the eyes of others is also not something he will agree to do.

He stops keeping his gaze on the collar of Jongho's black shirt, on the mole that interrupts Jongho's skin, when Jongho takes his hand in his and leaves a kiss on its back.

“I don't expect you to be a doll. I wouldn't be here if I thought you were a doll. Easy to manipulate and effortlessly controllable.” Jongho stares at him. “You don't want to be a doll, I don't want to be a puppet. I know how it feels. I'm tired of being and feeling like a puppet.”

Jongho expresses those words with a surrendered tone of voice, with an expression that denotes tiredness, and repudiation at the constant repetition of the same events. Yeosang wonders if he hasn't just acted selfishly, since while Jongho has shared his concern with him, he has sought to push him away.

After all, the closeness between them began because Jongho expressed the need to get distracted and clear his head too, right? Jongho even expressed wanting to protect him, while at that time he didn’t doubt to say that Jongho is free to leave him.

He gives Jongho the freedom to do whatever he wants but Jongho stays with him. Shouldn't he, then, respect his decision?

He stops holding Jongho's hand to take Jongho's face in his hands, and he knows the answer to his question when Jongho leans into the contact.

Maybe he doesn't protect Jongho by wanting to push him away, by assuring him that it’s better for him to leave, but by keeping him close.

“You said you feel free with me,” he says.

While everyone tells Jongho if he should stay or go, he gives Jongho the choice. He perhaps gives Jongho something he has never had: the ability to choose for himself, the option to decide instead of deciding for him.

He inhales a breath only to slowly exhale it through his parted lips as Jongho leans in to place his forehead on his.

“I do, I really do.” Jongho's words tickle his mouth. “No strings, no control, no— I don't want to lose that. I don't want to lose you.” Jongho declares over his lips. “Forgive me if it sounds wrong but I want to keep you for myself.” Protectively or not, he doesn't know, but he swallows when Jongho spreads his hand over his waist.

Those words don't make him think that Jongho thinks of him as a secret, but as someone he doesn't want to expose. He stops keeping his hands on his cheeks to wrap his arms around his neck, demonstrating with actions what Jongho expresses with words.

Has he been a fool for expecting Jongho to choose to walk away instead of staying close?

“You said you will give me what I want, remember?” He tries to remind him. “But what if we both want and need the same thing? Freedom, no control, just you and me. Me and you.”

They don't have to practice words or act from a memorized script. The sentences are not formulated in advance and their reactions don’t follow instructions. They are free to be who they are when the other is present, when the other is close enough to denote that the only rule between them is the lack of it.

He keeps his lips parted as Jongho gently cups his chin. He curses his own bed because he wishes Jongho's other hand was on his body as well, covering inches of skin with his fingers instead of next to his head for balance. Jongho leans into him but doesn't catch his lips with his.

“I like how that sounds.”

He believes that physical closeness is what has allowed them to mentally distance themselves from their problems and their thoughts, and that said distance has only pushed them to get closer to each other. He understands Jongho and Jongho understands him, and for that very reason, they are together.

Both established a deal, and although it isn’t the end, it’s what began the proximity between them. Jongho still has to mention one more done.

“Ask, like you did back then,” Jongho adds. “And I’ll answer.”

Just like he did back then, when he agreed to end up in a suite with Jongho, setting the terms of the deal that eventually led them to that moment.

“Kisses, I want kisses.” he says, and Jongho does peck his lips this time.

“Done.”

“I want you to touch me,” Jongho strokes his waist as those words leave his mouth. “And I want to touch you.” he clasps his hands behind Jongho's neck, not allowing Jongho to move away even though Jongho never has.

“Done.”

“I want you to fuck me.” he repeats previously spoken words, but perhaps, no longer only thinking of physical satisfaction. Since as Jongho himself has told him before, he could be with anyone. But he wants Jongho. “Please,” he whispers.

He can feel his body seeking that connection, the torment of his thoughts needing that kind of closeness. Beneath Jongho, with Jongho hovering over him, not keeping him trapped, but safe. With Jongho nestled between his legs and his face close to his, he definitely doesn’t want Jongho to leave.

“I definitely like the sound of that,” Jongho kisses the corner of his mouth.

“I know you want to and you know I want you to,” again he finds himself expressing those words. But this time Jongho doesn't repeat that he can ask for everything except the closeness he wants, and he gets even closer to him.

“Done,” Jongho finally agrees, and the small chuckle that follows his word tickles his mouth. “Look at me giving in to what you want.”

“Give yourself to me, then,” he asks, anticipating. “And I'll give myself to you.”

Jongho smiles, looking calm.

“The moment I saw you was the moment I gave myself to you.” Jongho says, and finally eliminates all the distance between them as soon as those words leave his mouth. 

Jongho understands the closeness he craves because he craves it too, and claims his lips, with his hand still present under his chin to tilt his head and deepen the kiss.

He slides his tongue past his lips and presses his body against his, keeping him apart from the rest of the world and completely focused on the sensations he offers him. He agrees to let Jongho stay, and Jongho agrees to deepen the closeness between them. He gives in to Jongho and Jongho gives in to him.

“I want you,” Jongho murmurs against his lips with the same security. Jongho's chest rises and falls rapidly but his words are firm. “You save me and I save you.” he says before sealing their lips together again.

As incoherent as it sounds, they save each other. He thinks he now understands when Jongho mentioned that it's easier to protect him if they stay close rather than far away. He doesn't want Jongho to walk away.

He brings his hands to Jongho's black locks and doesn't miss Jongho's hand on his chin since his lips don’t allow him to express any complaint, and furthermore, no complaint threatens to caress the back of his throat once Jongho balances that lack after resting his hands on his back thighs to pull him closer and make him lie flat on the bed.

He doesn't declare his bed his enemy when he feels Jongho rest one of his palms next to his head, on the mattress for balance. Not when his abdominal muscles contract once Jongho dips his hand beneath the fabric of his t-shirt to spread his palm over his stomach.

He inhales a breath when Jongho pulls apart, and swallows, this time missing Jongho's warmth as Jongho sits on his knees. But he again doesn't complain because Jongho unbuttons his shirt to take it off, and his eyes slide to the exposed skin.

Jongho's sweater is comfortable but it loses its importance when Jonho himself is in front of him, available to keep him warm, safe and comfortable, so he discards it along with his t-shirt, and a pleased sigh rakes his throat as Jongho leans forward to kiss him again.

He wraps his hand around Jongho's nape and arches his back to allow Jongho to wrap one of his arms around his torso as his hand is again left on the mattress. Skin with skin, body with body, hearts close to each other. Hooking one of his legs over Jongho's legs, this is exactly how he wants to be with Jongho.

“Leave, leave, leave,” Jongho repeats against his lips before inhaling a breath, too, trying to calm the rhythm of the rise and fall of his own chest. “I dare you to repeat that word, Yeosang,” he says, and Yeosang believes that although he hasn't thought of saying that word again, he still wouldn't be able to, as the only sound that escapes from his lips is the shaky moan that Jongho evokes by grinding his body against his.

He rests his hands on Jongho's biceps, strong and firm biceps that yes, he did stare at when Jongho stopped him in the hallway, and that contact allows him to feel the way Jongho guides one of his hands down his stomach until it stops on the waistband of his sweatpants.

Jongho brushing his lower stomach with his knuckles is enough to get him to smile. With his fingers still around Jongho's arm, a sense of calm embraces him. He wants to feel Jongho and for Jongho to feel him. The anticipation keeps him alert and yet he only thinks of their bodies together.

He catches Jongho's lips, not wanting Jongho to have the chance to say the word leave again, and wraps his legs around his waist. He reveals in the groan that grows in Jongho's throat and that he gets to stifle by keeping their lips together.

He can feel the outline of Jongho's cock pressing against him, and he doesn't consider himself better. Although his pants are loose, the space has been reduced. He has wanted this from the very beginning, ever since he first approached Jongho he's made it clear that he wants a closer proximity between them.

Perhaps Jongho keeps him excited by spreading one of his hands on his stomach, feeling the way his abdominal muscles contract under his touch, but he also knows that Jongho wants the same thing as him. He slides his hands down his arms, down, down, down towards his belt.

He feels Jongho's hand press against his stomach and the laughter Jongho lets out tickles his lips as they part.

“Do you have lube and condoms?”

Instead of answering, Yeosang follows Jongho with his eyes when Jongho is no longer hovering over him.

His body readily warms from his closeness, but he bites his lip, and the lack of closeness is balanced by the sight Jongho gives him as he leans back and discards his jeans, giving him the chance to notice the obvious bulge in his boxers.

He sees no point in keeping certain items of clothing on, so he promptly makes sure to remove all clothing. Jongho seems to think the same, as he promptly discards his clothes as well, and a deep, relieved breath leaves his lips as Jongho leans into him again.

This time without any garment acting as an obstacle, Jongho presses his body against his, and he no longer thinks about the promise of more, but about that reality.

Skin to skin, body to body, Jongho wraps one of his arms around his torso again and he runs his hands down Jongho's back, taking every possible inch of skin under his touch. Jongho looks at him, and a part of him thinks it's not just about breaking down physical walls.

“I already...” He keeps his lips parted as Jongho traces his bottom lip with his thumb, waiting for him to finish his sentence, and Yeosang touches his fingertip with the tip of his tongue before finally finishing his sentence. “I already... prepped.”

“Oh,” he feels his cheeks get decorated with a warm blush when Jongho raises an eyebrow at his words.

Jongho once again places his hand on his jaw to connect their gazes though he has never thought about looking away, no matter how exposed he feels under Jongho’s eyes. It’s okay, he wants Jongho's attention.

“So this was completely calculated.” Jongho adds.

Once again Jongho traps him between the softness of his mattress and the firmness of his muscles. He can only close his eyes and allow a contented sound to rake his throat when his hands fall on Jongho’s arms and Jongho rubs his cock with his, pressing their bodies impossibly close.

“You want me, you say,” he swallows as Jongho's low voice tickles his ear, and licks his lips when Jongho leaves a kiss under his earlobe. “Have you been thinking about what to say all day, strawberry?”

He shakes his head before opening his eyes, meeting Jongho's gaze. This time he wraps his hand around Jongho's wrist as Jongho leaves his thumb near the corner of his mouth.

“I have been thinking about you,” he corrects him, and delights in the way Jongho swallows when he arches his back and presses up his body against his. “You said you wouldn't fuck me, so what was I supposed to do?” He widens his eyes in innocence as he becomes the target of Jongho's serious gaze. “I have fun by and with myself.”

“You just said you've been thinking about me,” Jongho expresses. “Did you think of me while doing it?”

He doesn't hesitate to nod. Lying makes no sense, not when the reality of that moment was the fantasy that plagued his head as he explored his own body. He peeks out his tongue and again touches the tip of Jongho’s thumb with it.

“Do you think about me too?” he chooses to ask Jongho.

Jongho's body assures him that yes, that Jongho thinks of him as much as he thinks of Jongho. Jongho's cock feels hard and heavy against his stomach, and Jongho slides his gaze down to his lips before locking his eyes with his again.

“More than you could ever imagine,” is the response offered.

“Then don't make me imagine.” He wants the images in his head to become real, his creativity to spring into existence, and his thoughts to be memories rather than creations. “Show me.”

Jongho slides his hand to his neck to catch his lips with his as soon as he hears him, but he raises his head when Jongho pulls apart the next second.

“I'll still prep you, I won't risk hurting you.”

He vaguely points to the nightstand next to him with his index finger, and makes sure to pout when Jongho stops hovering over him to search for what he's previously mentioned. He bites his lower lip when Jongho again positions himself between his legs, sitting on his knees this time.

His eyes momentarily slide to the condom Jongho lays next to them, and he doesn't feel exposed nor the urge to close his legs when Jongho's eyes, and therefore his attention, land on him. He feels desired, and believes that in a certain way, Jongho has always looked at him that way.

He feels the anticipation in his stomach, the tingle tracing his skin as he watches Jongho coat his fingers with lube. He doesn't hesitate to welcome him back in his arms when Jongho leans over him, spreading his legs even more even though Jongho doesn't ask him to.

“Do you want to have fun with me?” Jongho asks him, and his excitement only rises when he detects a trace of nervousness in Jongho's voice.

He understands the uncertainty in Jongho's tone of voice after the ups and downs they've been through, but he knows what he wants, or at least who he wants, and that person is Jongho. He inhales a breath as he feels Jongho ghost his fingers over his figure, sliding his hand down his waist to gently trace his skin.

He doesn't hesitate to wrap his arms around Jongho's neck, and nods.

“Yes,” he offers, keeping his eyes fixed on Jongho so that there is no doubt. “I want to have fun wih you,” he says, and Jongho catches his lips as he pushes a finger past his rim.

Jongho's fingers are different than his and the sensation provided is even better.

The protagonist of the images in his head continues to have a leading role in his reality, and Jongho coaxes a moan out of him by soon adding another finger, certainly not finding any resistance. The pressure feels good, very good.

Their cocks remain trapped between their bodies, and he only feels able to continue stretching his legs to provide Jongho for better access. He’s been thinking about that closeness, he’s been craving that intimacy, and he’s finally getting it.

“Have fun by yourself, really?” He’s aware of the shortness of his own breathing when Jongho stops kissing him to express those words along with a mocking tone of voice.

“We could have had so much fun to—” A new moan breaks through his words when he doesn't doubt that Jongho moves his fingers in and out to get him to leave his sentence unfinished. He takes his hands to Jongho's dark locks as Jongho keeps fingering him. “Together since the very beginning.”

“But doesn't it make it better?” Jongho dares to ask, barely getting up to brush a few strands from his face before once again balancing himself by leaving his hand on the mattress, next to his head. He really wants that hand on his body, not next to him. “Having waited?” 

Jongho leans back when he tries to kiss him, and in return, he forces himself to form a line with his lips so that Jongho doesn't have the chance to hear the sound that scrapes his throat, as Jongho knows where to touch and how much to press to provoke him.

“So impatient.” Jongho says.

Jongho doesn't seem to like the way he stifled a moan on purpose, since he pecks his lips, and even if he knows that Jongho forms a meeting between their lips so that the sounds he creates are free to exist, he still agrees to stop forming a line with them to reciprocate the kiss.

This is why he accepted the closeness with Jongho, why he stayed the night of the gala. All logical thought leaves his head when Jongho is with him.

Now with three fingers stretching him, and their lips together, Jongho doesn't let him think and only lets him feel.

He opts to leave one hand on the nape of Jongho's neck to slide the other down to his chest, Jongho's ragged breath present under his touch as well as the contraction of his own muscles. So strong, so sure, Jongho doesn't complain when he digs his nails into the nape of his neck at the thought of the solidity of his muscles.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

His skin prickles as Jongho whispers that question, and he thinks he could ask the same question. He doesn't want anyone else to hear those words, he doesn't want anyone else to have the chance to get Jongho to utter that question.

A shudder runs through him as Jongho increases the rhythm of his fingers. And yet, he looks at Jongho while his senses are clouded. This time he doesn't need to leave something under his tongue to air his head, and he just seeks to focus on Jongho even more when bad thoughts about how he's allowed himself to become addicted to Jongho threaten to take over.

“I don't want—” ah, it's so weird to express what he doesn't want when Jongho has heard from the beginning what he does want. “I don't want anyone else to make you feel like this,” like this, provoked, sure, hard, even.

“Is it jealousy what I hear?” he doesn't know if he wants to kiss Jongho to get rid of his mocking tone of voice or to drown out the breathy moan that leaves his lips when of course Jongho graces the right spot with his fingers. “Useless and senseless jealousy, if I am where I want to be. Here, with you.”

He feels his hands curl up and his body misses Jongho's warmth as Jongho withdraws his fingers and sits on his knees. Jongho grants him a chance to breathe and curse him, at least in his head.

He’s thankful because between his earlier time alone and the current time with Jongho, he would only need just one more subtle touch to push him towards pleasure, yet he’s left at the limit because Jongho seems to enjoy watching him.

He doesn't care if Jongho calls him impatient, if he thinks he's greedy, so he sits on his elbows and proceeds to open the condom to roll it over Jongho's cock. The hiss Jongho allows to leave his lips in response to the touch gets him to look up at him, and he decides to wrap his hand around the base of his cock to promptly move his hand up and down, compensating for the lack of previous attention with the touch of that moment.

He lifts the corners of his mouth, satisfied when Jongho takes his hands to his pink locks after wiping his hand with the small towel he set aside, only to brush his fingers through his locks, just to balance himself, and is aware of the breath that Jongho releases. Busying his mouth with the cock in his hand sounds more than tempting, but thinking that he will soon finally get what he really wants is even better.

“Does that feel good?”

Jongho seems to realize the sincerity behind his question as well as the mocking tone that he has chosen to use on purpose, and he’s the one who wrinkles his nose when Jongho takes his hands to the back of his head and does tug at his hair this time. That action leads him to smile as well, though.

“I'm supposed to be making you feel good,” Jongho leans towards him.

“You make me feel good,” he doesn't hesitate to assure him, with genuine honesty in his response. He’s a second away from please asking Jongho to do something because his body feels empty and the distance is starting to bother him.

“And I will make you feel even better,” the ministration of his hand reaches its end when Jongho wraps his hand around his wrist. The gentle contact opposes the hand that still holds some of his pink strands.

Gentleness or not, he allows Jongho to withdraw his hand, and settles for watching Jongho cover his cock with lube. He bites his lower lip, sensing the anticipation, getting excited at the mere idea of having Jongho inside him. Jongho did say that he will make him feel even better, and he trusts his word.

“How do you want to do it?” He only stops watching Jongho's cock when he listens to him.

“I want to ride you,” he answers without hesitation, and doesn't regret his response when he notices the way Jongho swallows and his eyebrows rise for a moment.

“O— okay,”

He giggles, as just like previous images of Jongho touching him and staying close to him have been enough to stimulate himself, he plagues Jongho's head as well.

They change positions and he promptly confirms that he has made a good decision as well as uttered the right words when he happens to find himself straddling Jongho's lap, while Jongho stays with his back against the headboard.

He doesn't help the sigh of relief that leaves his lips as he feels the solidity of Jongho's thighs under him, keeping his legs slightly apart. Both of Jongho's hands find his waist, and he tilts his head, allowing himself to hold a delighted smile when he finally finds himself under Jongho's touch.

This is what he's been wanting, what he's been waiting for. He moves his hips tentatively and smiles when he feels Jongho's fingers press against his skin.

“When you're ready,” Jongho tells him, and he believes that when to be now.

He leaves one of his hands on Jongho's shoulder for balance and reaches behind him with the other to take Jongho's cock and align it with his entrance as he lifts himself up.

Jongho's hands on him, Jongho's eyes on him, Jongho's attention on him. Jongho has expressed that he represents what he considers to be the best view, and plans to make him not regret his words.

He inhales a breath of air when Jongho's tip presses against his rim, and he doesn't complain when one of Jongho's hands is no longer on his waist. Always willing to offer him a hand for support and to hold him, Jongho extends his palm.

He takes his hand, and with the same conviction, he begins to lower himself, taking more and more, and more, until he fully sits on Jongho's lap.

He's wanted to distract himself, and now he's finally gotten what he asked for. He forms a line with his lips and feels his abs clench because it feels good, he feels so good. He may have stretched with the help of his fingers before, and then allowed Jongho to explore his body with his fingers as well, but the current sensation is different.

His lips part as he feels Jongho inside him, pressing much harder and deeper than his fingers. A hum caresses his throat as he can't think of anything but Jongho, Jongho, and Jongho, and he feels how Jongho squeezes his hands as moving his hips tentatively leads him to let out a half-moan half-breath.

“Easy.” Jongho brings his face closer to his as he mentions that word, yet he denotes the breath of air that follows his voice. With both feeling equally pleased, they have to remember to ground each other. “Easy,” Jongho repeats.

He breathes and smiles when Jongho places a kiss on the corner of his mouth as well as when he doesn't let go of his hand. He allows his body to mold to Jongho's, and takes in his favor that their hands are together to guide Jongho's hand back to his waist.

His hands find Jongho’s shoulders and focusing on the way Jongho keeps his hand over his body, he lifts himself up again, a little bit more this time, and presses back down.

How long he will be able to last with all the sensations provided, he doesn’t know. With the way Jongho keeps his hands on his waist to help guide him up and down again, a new moan leaves his lips because he feels so good, so full, and he’s only capable of wondering why it has taken them so long to feel this good, to be this close.

He decides right then and there that he will only be able to enjoy that moment if he allows himself to fully enjoy it, so he wraps his arms around Jongho's neck to keep him close, and to make sure that Jongho will listen to him.

“You have been postponing this,” instead of lifting himself up again, he opts to rotate his hips, delighting in Jongho's sharp intake of air. “And for what? Do you want to know what waiting feels like?”

He feels Jongho's hands dig into his skin, either because of the closeness or because of what his words provoke in him. He allows a pleased hum to scrape the back of his throat because if he's been able to relax his own body with the mere thought of Jongho touching him, feeling Jongho is enough to get precum to pool at the tip of his cock.

He rises a few inches, but stays completely still instead of lowering himself.

His thighs suffer from the effort made and tomorrow he will definitely feel the work done by his muscles, but staying still is worth it when Jongho stares at him and he can feel him throb inside of him.

“Yeosang,” Jongho alerts him.

“Jongho,” He makes sure to keep his arms around Jongho for balance as he slides down just an inch. Jongho presses his hands to his waist, evidently holding back from guiding his body, but not forcing him to move any lower.

Jongho could easily lower him but he doesn’t, so he lowers himself another inch. Jongho is stronger than him and could easily do whatever he wanted with and to him, but he follows his words carefully. Jongho suffers under his slowness, yet also revels in every inch he goes down.

“This is your fault,” he murmurs against Jongho’s lips before finally lowering himself completely. Fuck waiting, he thinks as a moan leaves his lips as he once again finds himself going all the way down.

Jongho growls and slides one of his hands down to his lower back to pull him towards him, leading their chests to touch and their lips to meet. It’s an erratic kiss, desperate to stay close, and sporadic moans start to interrupt the kiss as he gets rid of his own patience —impatient, Jongho called him more than once— and settles for a faster pace.

He goes up and down, feeling the way the warm feeling in his stomach spreads throughout his body. Close, he's so, so close. To Jongho, to his own limits, to completely surrender. He can feel Jongho inside him, Jongho's cock brushing against that sweet spot that leads him to shudder, and moan, and feel nothing but pleasure.

His rhythm falters and he doesn't know if he's making a good decision or not by spreading his hands over Jongho's back because he can feel his muscles beneath his touch. He's aware of the way Jongho keeps one hand over his lower back while the other has never left his waist.

His firm thighs offer him balance, and when Jonho finally stops keeping his hand on his waist to wrap his hand around his cock, he breaks the kiss they've somehow managed to hold to give Jongho a chance to hear the moan that leaves his lips once he finally comes.

Pleasure spreads from his head to his toes and he's sure he's dizzy for a second. He closes his eyes and Jongho leaving his forehead against his temple grounds him.

“Yeah, this is my fault,” Jongho says, and his words are enough to get him to laugh. It's a sweet, spontaneous laugh that leads him to open his eyes and be aware of the way his chest bubbles with laughter, even as he continues to breathe heavily.

Said laughter turns into a half-breath half-whine as Jongho stroking his cock causes him to tremble, and Jongho withdraws his hand away as he wraps his hand around Jongho's wrist.

Jongho still moves his other hand though, tracing short lines over his back with his fingers, probably not to let him go completely after grounding him with the help of his constant touch. Jongho slides his mouth to his neck, and the lips on his skin tingle, as do the words Jongho expresses.

“Waiting, you said?”

He widens his eyes when that question finds his skin, but he doesn't think he's surprised when Jongho wraps his arms around his waist to switch their positions and he soon finds himself just like he used to be before, trapped between his bed and Jongho's body.

Another shudder accompanies his body when Jongho doesn’t pull out. Jongho looms over him, and he stares at him, still trying to control his breathing while Jongho traces a line from his chest down to his stomach. Jongho doesn't seem to mind the way his fingertips are smeared with traces of his pleasure, and slides his hand up his thigh to make him wrap his leg around his waist.

“Don't you dare,” he warns Jongho even though he allows Jongho to guide his body.

“You are lucky I'm desperate,” is the only thing Jongho says before threatening to stop being inside him and then thrusting right back in, and still dealing with the consequences of his own orgasm, he tilts his head back when Jongho matches his words with a fast rhythm.

He wraps his arms around Jongho’s neck and Jongho hides his head between his neck and shoulder, his strangled breathing tickles his skin and he thinks Jongho groaning sounds just as nice as when he's speaking formally.

He thinks he's capable of coming a second time, since he feels himself getting hard again, but he wants Jongho to allow himself to be distracted as well, so he makes sure to keep his legs as wide apart as possible so Jongho gets what he wants.

His thrusts become erratic and he arches his back to keep Jongho as close as possible to him. One of Jongho's hands finds his stomach and he wonders if it's because Jongho likes to feel his muscles as much as he likes having the chance to feel Jongho's.

“Feels good?” Jongho asks him, and he wants to laugh because he should ask Jongho that question. Jongho sounds close, definitely sounds close, and he decides to answer truthfully because just as Jongho knows how to push him to his own limits, the same is true the other way around.

From the beginning, Jongho has sought to make him feel good, has asked him to come back for more. He takes advantage of the fact that he has wrapped his arms around Jongho's neck to gently tug on his hair and bring his ear close to his lips.

“It always feels good with you.”

Jongho comes the moment he allows his head to register his words, and a breath of air leaves his own lips when he feels Jongho throb inside of him, threatening to push him to full hardness again.

He bares his neck to allow Jongho's deep, ragged breath to find his skin without suffocating in the process, since Jongho decides to stay completely close to him, refusing to move even an inch away. Jongho wraps his arm around his waist and he doesn’t complain about the lack of space.

He looks down at Jongho and finds him with his eyes fixed on the floral pendant that has never left his neck and is therefore now left between his collarbones —necklace that glistens over the layer of sweat that adorns his skin.

“You good?” he asks Jongho.

Jongho’s answer is the way he tightens his grip around his waist. He chuckles since he hasn't thought to move, and draws meaningless lines over the expansion of Jongho’s back with his fingertips.

“You might be right... why did we wait,” because you wanted to, Yeosang thinks when he hears him, but maybe you were right too and waiting was worth it, he adds in his head. He notices the way Jongho slows down his breathing and hides his head between his neck and shoulder again. “So fucking good,” Jongho’s answer finds his skin, followed by a kiss.

Jongho leaves a trail of kisses from his neck to his jaw, and again their gazes meet as Jongho leans back enough to take a good look at him. He notices the way Jongho's locks are a mess but he doesn't say a word because he doubts he looks more presentable, and he doesn't really care either.

Jongho leans into him and he allows their lips to meet again. But it's not desperate, not an energetic kiss, exciting him with the promise of more. It relaxes his breathing and slows down his thoughts.

A shaky breath leaves his lips when he feels Jongho pulling out and when one of Jongho's hands finds his cock, because of course Jongho noticed that the closeness between them woke up his body again.

But this time Jongho takes his time, tracing the length of his cock with his fingers, and kissing him, slowly, reveling in the chance to drown the little whimpers that leave his mouth because he's still sensitive from before.

He also allows himself to lose himself in Jongho, his hands on his body and his mouth with his. Jongho brushes the tip of his cock with his thumb, again causing a shudder to travel through his figure.

Jongho is also able to anchor him, he thinks, as he anchors himself in the proximity of their bodies, in his body's quick response to Jongho's.

“My strawberry,” Jongho whispers, his words tickling his lips, and with that formulation that may seem so silly to others but that is so characteristic of them, his body once again surrenders and he finally comes a second time, only requiring Jongho to stay close to him.

He breathes, his stomach contracting and his chest rising and falling, and Jongho watches him for a few seconds when they pull apart. Yeosang believes that waiting wasn’t a mistake, as he’s aware of the way he swallows at the thought that if they had established that closeness before, the moment probably wouldn’t have included Jongho looking at him with what he doesn’t doubt is more in his eyes. 

More of what, exactly?

More, just more.

“You have a cloth or something I can clean us up with?” Jongho asks him.

“Bathroom,” he indicates vaguely with his head.

He allows Jongho to steal a kiss from him before Jongho leans back and leaves the bed to approach the bathroom.

He stops looking at him to rest his eyes on the ceiling, and again lets out a breath. He doesn't need a sparkling ceiling or a luxurious suite to feel good about Jongho. It doesn't matter where they are as long as they both stay close to each other.

His chest rises and falls to a steady rhythm, and he bites his lower lip as he reveals in the sensations Jongho has left on his body, in the kind of good tiredness that accompanies his figure, and in all the recesses of his head that Jongho has silenced.

Yet every trace of a smile leaves his face as soon as that thought doesn’t turn out to be completely unknown. He’s used to the change that both his body and mind make as soon as all the words he has sought to leave behind begin to plague his mind, as all distraction is replaced with wariness, and he only thinks of all the words he has spoken and on those that have remained unsaid.

He swallows, realizing that at no time has he mentioned a word about what he's talked about with Wooyoung. He had to talk to Jongho because they are close. Close? Fucking means they're close? While Jongho’s mother expresses wanting to expose their supposed closeness, he knows that perhaps there are other details that she doesn’t mean to make known, not even to his own son.

He feels exposed, before his thoughts and his feelings. He turns towards the opposite side of the bathroom and covers his body with the sheets, knowing that said action won’t stop all the words that begin to overlap inside his head. He snuggles in, and his breathing hitches.

While he has expressed that it always feels good when he's with him, with Jongho, he doesn't know if Jongho gets the chance to utter those words about him.

He feels his eyes go glassy, and no, no, no, why now? He was doing relatively well and now he feels so, so guilty. He's experiencing another sudden mood swing, isn't he? He squeezes his eyes shut but his look is still blurry when he opens them again. His lower lip quivers and he tries to swallow. One day without crying, one moment without being threatened by his emotions, is he really asking that much?

He doesn't move forward no matter what he does or says.

“Ye— Yeosang.”

He gets startled when he hears Jongho say his name, and turns around when Jongho sits on the edge of the bed. He sits up and quickly rubs his eyes even though no tears have left his gaze. Yet the panic present in Jongho's gaze assures him that he doesn't need to see a tear slipping down his cheek to care.

“Did I hurt you? Yeosang, did I hurt you?”

“No, no, you didn't,” he quickly expresses. The last thing he needs is to ruin the moment even more by making Jongho worry about nothing. “It's nothing.”

He notices that Jongho parts his lips but doesn't utter a word. Jongho reaches his hand towards him but pulls it back, not sure what to do, and Yeosang is only able to feel even more guilty because he definitely just ruined the moment. Really, why now of all times?

“You didn't hurt me, I swear,” he assures him even though he feels his voice crack.

“Please, please talk to me,” Jongho asks him, and Yeosang knows he says those words because he doesn’t understand his sudden change, but hearing those words only reminds him that he certainly hasn't talked to him, and he can’t avoid the lump in his throat and the tears that do pool at the corners of his eyes at that moment.

And Jongho still doesn't touch him because he thinks it's his fault while he knows it's his own fault. What he doesn’t know is if he wants Jongho to touch him or not because he thinks he's capable of crying even more if Jongho holds him not only physically but also emotionally, and that indecision leads him to find himself even more restless. His emotions attack him and he can’t do anything but resent himself.

“Overwhelmed?” he hears Jongho ask him though he looks down, and he nods. Yes, definitely overwhelmed. He again finds himself about to cry in front of Jongho and more doubts plague his head.

His eyes fall on the hand that Jongho offers him, and he hasn't noticed how much his body is shaking until he decides to take Jongho’s hand. Tremors? No, he thinks it's the emotions of the moment this time. No tremors, no cold, he's okay, he could be worse.

He keeps his gaze on the mattress when without letting go of his hand, Jongho gently slides a damp cloth over his body after making sure that said action doesn’t lead him to pull apart.

He knows it's to clean him up but the warmth of the cloth feels good, and he doesn't complain about the loss of the sheets' softness because the fingers that brush his figure also feel good. Jongho helps him put on a pair of boxers after putting on a pair himself, but shouldn't it be the other way around?

He’s not even capable of taking care of Jongho?

He focuses his gaze on their hands when Jongho gives his hand a little squeeze, and he looks up when Jongho tilts his head to get him to look at him after leaving his hand under his chin. Jongho doesn't look upset, he doesn't look angry.

“I'll just ask you one more time to be sure,” Jongho says. “Haven't I hurt you, then?” he asks him, and he shakes his head.

Jongho nods at his response, and soon wraps his arms around his waist to pull him close to him. “I'm here to listen,” he hears Jongho add as they once again find themselves body to body, skin to skin, and Jongho's warmth is more than welcome. 

He somehow thinks that Jongho has figured out that keeping him close would make him feel better.

To listen? He forms a soft line with his lips when he hears those words. If Jongho is there to listen, then he has a chance to stop feeling guilty for not speaking up sooner, right? He inhales a deep breath at the thought of that exchange, and swallows no matter how hard it feels.

“I have to— I have to talk with you but I was— I— I am selfish,” he’s been thinking about Jongho all day yet he completely forgot to prioritize Jongho the second they were side by side. “Because I just— enjoyed the moment and I like how I felt— how I feel when I'm with you.”

“I never asked you what you wanted to talk to me about.” Jongho looks at him with wide eyes. “I never asked you how you are, I'm so sorry,” he denotes in his words the same guilt that has accompanied the thoughts still present in his head, but he shakes his head because Jongho shouldn't feel guilty. The corners of his mouth threaten to turn up when he hears Jongho say sorry instead of forgive me. “I also let myself be carried away by you, by me, by us.” Jongho keeps him close to him and the lack of distance between them does him good. “Tell me everything you have to tell me.”

“But this isn't what we're together for, is it?” He wants to talk, he really does, yet the words they have crossed so far mix up inside his head. “To forget about our problems, not to bring more.”

Maybe he should have told Wooyoung no when he suggested talking to Jongho. They never agreed for serious issues —real issues— to be part of the deal between them. Perhaps he should have shaken his head, but why does he feel guilty then? Who else but him could talk to Jongho?

He bites the inside of his cheek wondering what he should do, until Jongho rests his hand on his cheek while his other arm is still present around his waist.

“And if that's not what I want?” Jongho asks him. “Do you really only think that about me? About us, after this?” Jongho switches his gaze between them, alluding to the lack of clothing but also to the absence of barriers between them. “This was more than just sex and I know it, you know it.”

Yes, it was more than just sex and he knows Jongho is right. He noticed the way Jongho looked at him so he’s not completely surprised by the words he hears. But what does that even mean?

He chooses to shake his head because no, he doesn't just think that about Jongho and them. After all, Jongho is right and he could have approached anyone else to have sex, but he hasn't. And why? Because not everyone offers him a hand as a support, not everyone passes his fingers under his eyes, as Jongho does at that moment.

He’s only able to wonder if he always finds himself crying or about to cry in Jongho's presence because a part of him has always allowed himself to be vulnerable when Jongho is the person present.

“Please talk to me,” Jongho asks again, softening his tone of voice.

He frowns slightly, thinking that perhaps the same could be said the other way around. Perhaps he won't hurt Jongho by uttering words that will lead him to remain serious. He will help him by being the one who pronounces them.

He wants to help Jongho. He wants to protect Jongho, he wants to take care of Jongho. He guesses that Jongho is right again, and he manages to swallow more easily.

This time, he leaves his hand between them, and Jongho accepts it.

Pull yourself together, Yeosang thinks, for Jongho. He can't think of wanting to comfort Jongho if he's a mess himself, so he sucks in a breath and blinks several times to try and get rid of the glassiness of his gaze.

“Listen to me carefully.” he says, his voice not so broken anymore. “Do you know San?”

The confusion is more than evident when a name is added to the moment that until now has only been theirs. Maybe it's not the best time, but he has to talk to Jongho. And Jongho has to listen to him.

“Wh— how—”

“Do you?” He insists, and even though Jongho does know San, he decides to continue when despite looking beyond disoriented, Jongho nods. “He lost his mom when he was born. Or that's what he thought until he had some conversations with Wooyoung and things didn't add up.”

He gives Jongho’s hand a light squeeze when Jongho parts his lips to probably interrupt him, asking him why the hell he's formulating those sentences at that moment. “Things started adding up when they did some research.”

He makes sure to keep Jongho's hand linked with his. He has said that he wants to be the only person that makes Jongho feel like this, and like this includes making him feel supported, held. Jongho has also shown himself vulnerable to him after all.

“And they think your mom might be his mom, and that you two might be half-brothers.” he finally says.

He has expected to feel Jongho tense under his touch, frown, or look at him more than confused, he has even expected Jongho to ask if he has hit his head or something for expressing those words, but Jongho remains serious and looks away, letting his eyes fall on the mattress. His hand doesn't tense but his grip loosens. He blinks, and Yeosang doesn't think he can figure out what kind of thought is going through his head.

He doesn't seek to express any words to interrupt the silence between the two. He doesn't think that Jongho needs to listen more than what he has already heard to understand his words, and therefore the implication behind them.

“When was he born?” Jongho asks without looking at him.

“July tenth, nineteen ninety-nine.”

He allows Jongho to do the math inside his head to check that the dates match San's birth and his own, and Yeosang stares at him as Jongho lifts his head to connect his gaze with his. Jongho just looks at him. He doesn't scowl, his lips don't form a taut line, and his facial features don't betray disorientation.

“Why aren't you looking at me like I'm crazy?” he can’t help but ask Jongho.

He's expected every kind of reaction, but the lack of one.

“I've told you before, that I deal with my parents' mistakes, remember?” Indeed, he nods because Jongho has previously expressed being used to having to deal with the consequences of the decisions made by his parents. “I wouldn't be surprised if he actually turns out to be my half-brother but I— we— need proof.”

He blinks, not really knowing how to react since he has expected Jongho to ask him all kinds of questions, for him to express that San has probably gotten confused, or that talking about it is a waste of time because what he says doesn’t make any sense, doesn’t make sense at all.

He wonders how much faith Jongho has lost in his own mother if he doesn't hesitate to trust his words, but the reality is that he understands Jongho. He also knows how it feels to not expect anything, as he was also not that surprised when Wooyoung told him that he considered his and Seonghwa's mother to be San's mother as well.

“What about a maternity test?” It's all he can think of to say.

“She won't do it voluntarily,” Jongho shakes his head. “Not if I'm finding out that I have a family like this. But I guess I could take a lock of hair or something. Is that how it works?”

“How about I talk to them again, to San and Wooyoung, or you too, the two of us and we see how we go from there?” He proposes to him, since although he doesn't think that Wooyoung has a problem with him being the bridge between Jongho and San, he believes that a conversation is necessary between Jongho and San.

Jongho nods, and Yeosang calms down by noticing that at no time has his hand been released. However, Jongho stays quiet, looking around them.

Hoping that staying close to each other will make Jongho feel good since he certainly feels better when distance is lacking between them, he lets go of Jongho's hand to wrap his arms around his neck. Jongho looks back at him as he caresses his dark locks.

“Please talk to me,” this time he utters those words.

Doesn't Jongho have any more questions? More doubts, more to say, more to question?

“A possible half-brother, mh.”

Well, something is better than nothing.

“Like me,” he offers along with a small smile, even if thinking about Seonghwa hurts.

Jongho smiles at his words, and he smiles when Jongho leads them to settle on the bed. Jongho makes sure to keep his arm around his waist as he ends up settling down with half of his body on top of him and the other half on the mattress.

He understands that perhaps Jongho's lack of a surprised reaction is due to the fact that he's stopped being surprised by the steps his mother takes —his mother is the same person who exposed Yunho and Mingi after all, and the same person who means to expose their closeness as well.

“I wonder if my mom wants us to go public so that there’s something to talk about and the attention continues without being on her. I don't know why she does it anymore.” Jongho says, and he swallows because that means Jongho knows why his mother sought to expose Yunho and Mingi, or at least why she seeks to draw attention away from her.

First Yunho and Mingi, now them. He doesn't fully trust his mother either. He doesn't trust her at all, actually.

“That's what you wanted to tell me?” Jongho asks him, and he hums an affirmative answer. “Most bizarre post-orgasm talk ever,” Jongho adds, lifting his head up to watch him.

He overexaggerated while Jongho didn't even react. Shouldn't it have happened the other way around? He’s not one to judge Jongho's reactions, or lack thereof. Perhaps for that same reason, Jongho doesn't judge him either.

“What about you and Seonghwa?” Jongho asks him.

He knows that Seonghwa went to Wooyoung’s house to focus because he has a debate against Hongjoong tomorrow. He doesn't know if it was a suggestive comment to assure that it's hard for him to focus when they are in the same place or not, but he hasn't tried to stop him, as every time Seonghwa speaks to him, the man who has been in front of him in the restaurant appears in his head.

“Still nothing,” he replies, since certainly, he still doesn't know who said man is.

“Want to form an alliance of complicated half-brothers?”

He can’t help the giggle that abandons his mouth, but follows Jongho with his eyes when he rests one elbow on the mattress for balance and looks at him.

“Thank fuck that was what you needed to tell me instead of something else.” Jongho says.

Yeosang can't help but widen his eyes because even if every now and then Jongho has allowed a curse to interrupt his phrases, he has never sounded so sincere.

Jongho lets out what he thinks is a relieved breath, and he remains confused because he doesn't think what else could have affected him more than the revelation of a possible extension in his family.

“I thought you wanted to talk to end this when we talked over the phone,” Jongho promptly gives him an answer to the question he hasn't asked out loud. “That you were going to end this because of what my mom wants to do, that you were sad because you didn't know how to tell me that you wanted this to be over, that you were regretting this, or that you were with San.”

As soon as a disoriented grimace covers his face and he doesn’t hesitate to part his lips to express that no, at no time has he thought of ending the closeness between them —although he has previously given Jongho the chance to leave—, he understands that he really doesn’t want to. He really doesn't want that closeness to end.

He leaves his hands on Jongho’s chest and shakes his head.

“I want to be with you,” want, want, want, again he finds himself expressing to Jongho what he wants, and again, Jongho hears what he wants and certainly accepts what he wants because he takes his chin to lean towards him and trap his lips with his.

Jongho's uncertainty disintegrates and his own doubts disappear when that kiss is enough to know that neither of them regrets the intimacy established.

“Every time your head assures you otherwise, tell me, and I will assure you that you are who I want to be with too,” he bites his lower lip when Jongho expresses those words. “That I need you.” Jongho did tell him to call him if he needs him.

Jongho told him that he needed his chaos, but his lack of reaction reassures him that perhaps he has been mistaken into thinking that Jongho needs his chaos to make up for his lack of simplicity, and that perhaps, then, he needs his chaos to forget about his own.

“I may have a way of preventing this from going public,” Jongho determines, staring at him, and he lets out a breath because that moment, a moment that should only belong to the two of them, is being threatened with being exposed. “Leave it to me.”

“I want to protect you too,” he brings his hands to Jongho’s cheeks.

Jongho places a kiss on the corner of his mouth. “You protect me by assuring me that I am more than a pawn, that I matter, that I am more than my last name.”

“You are,” he doesn't hesitate to once again assure him.

“You already protect me, strawberry,” Jongho leaves his forehead on his and Yeosang closes his eyes for a second to then open them again. It isn't fair for Jongho to express those words. He shouldn't have to protect him, but he does, and apparently, Jongho thinks the same should be true and vice versa. “Now let me protect you.” he leaves a few millimeters between them to look at him. “Let me protect this. Us.”

This.

Us.

It's not a deal anymore.

It’s a statement.

They don't mess with one without messing with the other.

He slides his hands to Jongho's neck and the kiss they share assures him that they won’t let anything happen to the other, to them.

Notes:

(≧◡≦)

Chapter 41

Notes:

opening the last doc of the fic feels so weird 🤧

“Welcome to the first Class President debate of this year.”

Seonghwa forms a line with his lips, feeling like he's suffocating and not exactly because of the tie that remains around his neck.

He couldn't see how Wooyoung's mother made the coffee that morning, but it's all good, right? He recalls Wooyoung saying that sometimes he prefers artificial foods because in his house all the meals are always made by his parents. Even so, the coffee must have been bought somewhere.

“We'll start soon so please have a seat.”

However, coffee is better than a smoothie. He continues to form a line with his lips, thinking that he managed to shake off Wooyoung's confused look when he only opted for black coffee for breakfast. He’s nervous, he said, and he can’t eat when he’s nervous. Whether it's true or not, he doesn't know either.

He still thinks he would have just had a coffee whether he was nervous or not. He did eat the night before, and Wooyoung also looked at him strangely when his portion turned out to be small again. He’s nervous, he also said that at that time.

“Good luck, Park.”

He exhales a deep breath of air and blinks before turning his head to his side. He finds Hongjoong watching him, though he promptly looks back at the front.

Hongjoong hasn’t accompanied those words with a smile but with a serious tone of voice, and he’s only able to wonder why Hongjoong would choose to wish him good luck when the words they exchanged the night before weren't said with a cheerful tone of voice either.

He curls up one of the corners of his mouth, not knowing if the words he mentioned on the phone the night before were a mistake or not. He wouldn't be surprised if his sentences turn out to be a mistake, since when he thinks of himself, he no longer manages to connect his person to the words perfect, praiseworthy, and promising.

“Good luck...” he manages to articulate.

He sounds weak because he’s saving energy for the debate, right?

“The topic will be dishonesty and honesty.” he hears his mother's voice.

Both he and Hongjoong are still away from the attention of others, waiting for the moment to go on to the stage and present their respective points of view.

Honesty. He plans to stand up for honesty.

He’s aware of the bitter feeling that word causes him.

Honesty? He should demonstrate the point of view that he will defend, not just talk about it, but how is he supposed to do it when he's not being honest with his own body? His eyes fall on the brace still present around his hand. Now nothing more than a pinkish trace characterizes his knuckles, and a slight discomfort only accompanies the movements of his wrist. But he can't use that brace to hide all the wounds, to treat all the problems he causes to himself.

Besides, he's aware that that morning he needed to tighten his belt more, just a little more, and once again he forms a line with his lips because he should be happy, right? Perfect. He doesn't even know what it means to be perfect, not when he thinks he's ruining himself, when he mistrusts his own person because he thinks he's sabotaging himself.

“Just so you know, I didn't want to argue with you yesterday.”

He again turns his head towards Hongjoong upon hearing this, but this time he looks at Hongjoong instead of promptly turning back to the front.

He has been reading, reading, and reading about honesty and dishonesty for the last few hours, for the last few days, but the definitions of said words get lost when he doesn't take his eyes off Hongjoong. Though he denotes sincerity in his words, his head assures him that said honesty is fake.

Is it a tactic? A strategy to distract him just before the debate? The last chance.

“With Yeosang, we saw you, with a man in a restaurant, and since then the matter has been going around in my head.” his eyes widen as soon as those words leave Hongjoong's mouth. “I guess hiding is not the same as lying, you should know that.”

With a man in a restaurant. Dohyun.

How?

Nervousness takes over his body and Hongjoong shakes his head, seeming to be frustrated with the fact that instead of denying his words, his reaction alone has reassured him that the words he's expressed are true.

He doesn't seek to express anything, and looks ahead, folding his arms in a failed attempt to control himself. How come Hongjoong saw him? He inhales a breath that doesn't quite reach his lungs as it dawns on him that Hongjoong mentioned not being alone. Yeos—

“Go ahead, contestants.” His mother's voice startles him.

His eyes fall to Hongjoong's back as Hongjoong walks before him, and he promptly looks away because he doesn't know if he can reduce the words he's heard to one last strategy. The details are very specific.

Yeosang saw him with Dohyun.

He unfolds his arms and moves even though he doesn't want to. The panels of the backstage stop protecting him, and he finds himself under the spotlights as he circles the stage and stands behind the lectern on his side of the stage.

He has always liked when people express that they can denote sparks in his pupils and that his smile is charming. But now, taking a quick glance at the students present in front of him is enough to know that liking attention is not the same as wanting his every move, even the slightest action, to be monitored with extreme care.

He feels exposed.

“Who will start?”

Start what?

“He can start,” Hongjoong expresses.

“Go ahead, Seonghwa.”

He looks at his mother when he hears her mention his name, and swallows when he realizes that he has to start the debate. He lowers his eyes to his lectern, where he has left his hands. He hasn’t chosen to bring any cards with him as he believes that everything is in his head.

He trusts in his abilities, doesn't he? For this he prepares, he’s used to dealing with those kinds of situations. He must speak, present his point of view, and expect others to listen. But do others really listen to him? Does he feel heard? Maybe it's his fault, for not talking enough, for not knowing how to function. He frowns slightly, thinking that he shouldn't plague his head with such phrases when he's about to start a debate.

Right, the debate. This is what is expected of him.

He parts his lips. After all, he's used to having to exist no matter how he feels, isn't he? His eyes glimpse the bracelet around his wrist, noticing the way the light makes the accessory shinier than usual, and finally looks up.

“We have been tasked with...” His gaze drifts, to nothing in particular, as images of the many times he's appeared in front of his father to rehearse a short presentation flash through his head. Even when he was a little because he wanted his posters to be the most beautiful and shiny of all. He remembers the time Yeosang almost ended up eating the glitter he planned to use for his poster.

Now his father can no longer see his presentations, while he gets the chance to introduce himself to Dohyun because apparently, Dohyun never meant to miss any of his presentations.

He shakes his head.

“We have been tasked with debating about honesty and dishonesty.” The words leave his mouth no matter the lump he feels in his throat. He swallows, wanting to get rid of it because he's already done it —and managed to do it— more than once. “And I have chosen to advocate for the word honesty.”

As he expresses those words, he doesn't think he stands for what honesty stands for. But isn't that another of his aptitudes? To agree with something that he really doesn't agree with.

“Although many times we demand and expect honesty, we tend to forget its meaning, so, what is honesty? Honesty is,” not you, his head offers, “Being transparent with yourself and with others.”

He doesn't relate himself to those words.

The articles he's read overlap in his head, he remembers underlined words and highlighted ideas, but what's the point of memorizing paragraphs that make him aware of the transparency he lacks.

He knows what honesty is, and for that very reason, it hurts.

“To be honest is to be sincere and frank, not having ulterior motives in dealing with other people.” he doesn't avoid the way he turns his head towards Hongjoong when expressing those words.

He easily remembers all the phrases he has planned to say, not because he has learned various methods to study or because he makes an effort to study, but because he has been able to relate everything he has learned —everything he already knows— to the people around him.

He notices Hongjoong watching him, but he doesn't seem angry.

Seonghwa wonders how the two of them dare to find themselves side by side, facing the other, ready to talk about honesty and dishonesty. Hongjoong approached him under a lie, intending to get something in return. He doesn't think he can blame him now, not when he thinks they're both aware of the way the world around them works.

He doesn't think he can get mad at Hongjoong, not when he's mad at himself.

He forms a tense line with his lips before swallowing and resting his eyes on the audience. He doesn't know if he's looking for him on purpose or if his particular hair color attracts his attention, but his eyes meet Wooyoung's.

Wooyoung looks at him, and perhaps he doesn't know —or maybe he's an expert— what it means to be honest, yet sincere concern is what he thinks Wooyoung's look denotes.

“Honesty is a value that once learned and assimilated, is an attitude that shows confidence in oneself and in those who are in contact with this person.” he determines.

How does he expect to receive honesty when he leads other people who have always been characterized as honest, to be dishonest? Wooyoung, with his loose personality and free attitude, can also be described as a liar because only he knows that Dohyun has returned, and he has asked him not to reveal any details, to be dishonest even with his best friend.

Seonghwa slides his eyes to Yeosang and feels the lump in his throat get bigger. His chest heaves and it hurts him not to be able to remember when Yeosang has started to distance himself from him and when he has started to distance himself from Yeosang. The brace covering his hand doesn't hurt, but the bracelet around his wrist does. Would their dad be proud of him? He lowers his eyes to said bracelet.

“Being honest is striving to do something useful for the benefit of others, without expecting anything in return.” he forces himself to articulate.

He has always meant to protect Yeosang, ever since they were little and he remembers leaving flowers in Yeosang's pockets or even behind his ear. Yeosang always smiled when he found them, he came running towards him to show them to him.

Yeosang has grown up now, and he would probably frown if he chose to leave a flower in his pockets, even get away, just like he did, or would shake his head if he left a flower behind his ear. Now he can only wonder if back then, when he meant to leave the locker key in Yeosang's pocket, Yeosang jerked away from him because he was hiding something.

He too has grown up, and perhaps Yeosang no longer needs his protection because he’s no longer capable of providing it. He lies to Yeosang, he hides from Yeosang, and Yeosang isn't honest with him either. While he doesn’t tell Yeosang that he has met Dohyun for the second time, not even the first one, Yeosang didn’t tell him that he saw him with Dohyun.

Perfect, praiseworthy, and promising.

How? How is he supposed to represent those words?

He’s aware of the short breath that leaves his lips as he looks up, and is not surprised when his eyes meet his mother's. His mother is always looking at him, but is she really paying attention? Is she, really? he remembers that Yeosang uttered.

How can she expect him to speak honestly, to stand for honesty and winning said debate by doing so, when an honest relationship no longer exists between them?

“It's not lying, and always telling the truth, no matter how hard it is.”

His mother has always been a constant in his life, but he doesn't think he recognizes the person he's looking at that moment. He doesn't think he recognizes himself anymore.

“I have chosen to talk about honesty.” his gaze falls on his hands and he thinks it's all a sweet irony.

Time and time again, without fail and without hesitation, he has sought to suppress his emotions because breaking down is not an option. He blinks and a blur takes over his gaze. There's no shouting, there's no exclamation, there's no tension, he just gives up, and he doesn't know why he's expected his limits to finally be reached in any other way.

He has always been accumulating, sooner or later that moment would happen.

“And if I must be honest,” isn't that what he’s been asked to do? Does that expose what honesty is? The truth is, his reality is, that he finally gives up. “I can't do this anymore.” he accepts.

Perfect, praiseworthy, and promising. It’s no longer a possibility.

He stops facing the lectern and promptly leaves the stage to return to the backstage panels. A part of him screams at him to come back, exclaims that he can't give up because he has to keep pushing, but this time, the tired part, the part that's been hanging, and hanging, and hanging on, wins and loses.

Air doesn’t reach his lungs and he pushes the first door that allows him to leave the building. He notices that it’s raining and chooses to sit on one of the benches. Honesty is sought but it can hurt too. Thinking that sometimes the truth hurts more than a lie, he looks down at his hands.

His gaze is blurry and he can feel the birth of a sob in his throat, but he doesn't cry. His chest presses down, hard, and yet no tears leave his eyes. He frowns, frustrated and confused, wondering why he's not able to shake the melancholy that hugs his chest. All the details around him are blurred because Yeosang isn't by his side, their father can't be by his side, and he doesn't want their mother to be by his side.

He widens his eyes and slides his gaze to the doors when they open. Wooyoung appears in his field of vision, jogging up to him to sit by his side.

“Hey, hey, what happened?” Wooyoung rests one of his hands on his arm and that contact leads to tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. “Are you okay? San is inside so no one will come here.”

No, he is not. He's not okay.

“I can’t cry.”

That's honesty, that's being honest.

“Yes, you can.”

“No, I...” Perhaps he has always known that he can cry, but on so many occasions he has blinked rapidly, on so many times he has sought to focus on something else to not allow his gaze to cloud. “I can’t cry.”

Wooyoung looks at him, seeming to understand that even though he has the chance to cry, a part of him has gotten so used to not letting tears spill down his cheeks that he can't. Even if he thinks he's sad, even if he feels sad, because he is sad, he can't cry.

“Don't... can I just...” Wooyoung withdraws his hand from his arm but doesn't move away from him. “It's just me, okay?”

He looks at Wooyoung as Wooyoung finishes approaching him, and stays still as Wooyoung surrounds him with his arms. Is it wrong to need to be held, is it wrong to want a hug, is it wrong to accept such a gesture? Wooyoung himself has told him no, that it's okay to not be okay.

Wooyoung holds him tightly and makes sure to keep him close, and the moment he curiously decides to reciprocate the hug and allow Wooyoung to hold him, is the moment that he finally allows all his emotions to take over him. The sob stuck in his throat leaves his lips and closing his eyes doesn't prevent tears from finally slipping down his cheeks.

For the first time he doesn't mind being weak, showing that he needs support. Wooyoung makes sure to hold him instead of saying that he shouldn't be there, crying, and if he cries it's because he's finally accepting to be honest with himself.

He doesn't remember the last time he allowed himself to cry, to let tears leave his eyes to slide down his cheeks as he doesn't know when he started being dishonest with him, reassuring himself, constantly repeating to himself that he can, that he can, and that he can with everything and anything as long he stays in control.

Honesty? If he's to be honest, he's not okay.

It feels liberating and it feels awful. He can't even remember if he cried at his father's funeral or not, and tears continue to form in the corners of his eyes because this time he won't blink until they're gone, he won't force himself to suppress the emotions behind his tears.

He tries so hard, and for what?

"Cry, okay? Cry,” he listens to Wooyoung, “It's good for the heart, you know, you have to let it all out,”

“I'm tired,” he talks, even if Wooyoung doesn't ask him any questions and his voice is a whisper, muffled against Wooyoung’s figure  —perhaps because he has gotten used to having to offer an excuse every time he hasn't been at his best. “I'm so tired. Tired of the constant lying and creating more secrets and how can I—”

He cuts himself off after having to inhale a deep breath, and opens his eyes when Wooyoung continues to hug him although he leaves as little distance as possible between them to be able to look at him. He feels the way his breathing quickens until he watches Wooyoung inhale and exhale slowly, and he believes that both consciously and unconsciously he seeks to match Wooyoung’s rhythm.

Every lie piles up, every word spins out of control, his whole being crumbles, and maybe it's not as bad as he thought it would be, because his chest aches and it's hard to breathe, but he can't remember the last time he felt so relieved, even if only for a moment.

“How am I supposed to stand there and advocate for honesty when I don't get honesty and I don't give it either?” He knows that Wooyoung doesn't have the answer to his question but he asks it out loud nonetheless.

He looks down when Wooyoung stops keeping his arms around him to slide his hands down his arms, and he keeps on getting frustrated as his eyes land on the black brace around his hand.

“I'm not even honest with you,” he asks Wooyoung to keep a secret for him but he isn't honest with Wooyoung? He doesn't know if he's more disappointed by his behavior or by all the lies he's covered up. “I hurt my hand because I broke the mirror of my bathroom after finding out about Yeosang's drugs.”

He decides to take off the brace. Even Hongjoong doesn't know why he had to use it in the first place and hasn't hesitated to take him to a hospital anyway. He forms a line with his lips, thinking that it would be too much effort for Hongjoong to worry about him if he only thought of him as another stone to step on, right?

He agrees to look at Wooyoung when Wooyoung searches for his gaze. It doesn't hurt when Wooyoung holds his hand. Wooyoung can be reckless and impulsive, but he always makes sure to be the gentlest person when his gentleness is called for.

“I'm so tired of feeling that I have to have everything under control.”

No tears, no hesitation, no stumble, no mistake.

“You can't blame yourself for feeling,” Wooyoung stares at him. “You are human.”

“Being human is tiring,” he doesn't hesitate to express, and it's a relief. He breathes, and Wooyoung never lets go of his hands. His breathing is ragged and his stomach churns. “Yeosang and Hongjoong saw me with Dohyun.” he adds. “They don't know who he is but they saw me.”

He thinks Hongjoong's words were the ones to finally make him feel pushed to his own limits. He felt trapped, he felt cornered. If he was perfect, he wouldn't have been caught. Doing what exactly? Discovering other lies by himself, he thinks.

Discovering truths, too, truths about himself. He believes that he has forgotten how to be human after constantly seeking to satisfy his mother. He has always sought to convince his mother that he’s perfect because he has always been afraid that if he doesn’t meet her expectations, if he fails or disappoints her in the slightest, then his mother will abandon him just as Dohyun did.

But now Dohyun is here, and it turns out that he has never left him.

So what is he supposed to do? Who is he supposed to believe?

“I don't even know who I am anymore,” he admits.

Wooyoung lets out a short laugh that sounds sad, actually, and he looks at him.

“Yeosang mentioned very similar words to me,” Wooyoung says.

Seeking to be perfect or accept being imperfect, both he and Yeosang do what they can, now he knows that. Perfect, praiseworthy, and promising. He allowed those words to plague his head ever since he thought that if it was easy for his mother to replace Dohyun after meeting Yeosang’s dad, then he too could be replaced just like that. Unless he was perfect, praiseworthy, and promising.

He leans one side of his head against the wall behind him, and swallows.

With his eyes lingering on the way Wooyoung continues to hold their hands together, tears continue to stream down his cheeks and he doesn't even bother to wipe them away with his fingers. Breathing is hard for him but Wooyoung is right, it does his heart good. He feels a little, if only a little, better.

“Maybe... maybe it won't make sense to you, at least not at first, but you can trust me.” he looks back at Wooyoung. “Remember when I vaguely mentioned that... parents are... coming back?” he frowns slightly, confused when Wooyoung expresses those words.

He tries to remember, and though he's still confused, he nods, certainly remembering Wooyoung mentioning similar words when they were side by side after talking with Dohyun. He keeps feeling disoriented when instead of explaining the reason for those words, Wooyoung offers him a gentle smile and squeezes his hands before standing up to head toward the doors of the building.

He follows him with his gaze until he can no longer see Wooyoung, and he wonders why Wooyoung has said those words, until he straightens up, though still confused when San is the one that approaches him.

San sits on the bench and doesn’t seem confused. He doesn’t mention his tears or speak immediately. San puts the back of his head against the wall and looks at him, and he opts to put the side of his head against it again.

“Wooyoung... he said that we understand each other,” San says. “Shitty parents, mh?”

He's only able to wonder why Wooyoung would send San to talk to him when they've had a rather hostile relationship from the start, even if they did talk after the gala. But he remembers that Wooyoung said the word parents, and San repeats it too, along with the adjective shitty.

Surprisingly, San is also present at his most vulnerable moments.

“I fought with you about my mom and now I don't know how to defend her,” he says.

It’s certainly curious, and perhaps that is what makes him human, the way he didn’t hesitate to fight with San before, the way he didn’t doubt to defend his mother with the same determination, while now he’s sure that his mother is the reason behind his teary eyes, and he doesn’t reject San’s company.

“If it makes you feel any better, I can say the same about my dad. He’s a liar and doesn’t deserve all the words I have said about him.”

Lies, lies, and more lies.

“My mom too. I don't know who she is anymore.”

“Neither do I.”

He frowns when he hears that San agrees with his words. Though he has never directly mentioned it to San, nor has San mentioned it to him either, just as he doesn’t doubt that San knows his family history —or at least has an idea—, he knows that San's mother is not present, so he watches him.

“But—” The words get caught in his throat as his eyes widen once Wooyoung's words finally make sense. Parents that come back. His biological father comes back and San's mother—

“With Wooyoung I found out that my mom’s alive,” he swallows, understanding that he’s not the only one with a complicated family. “And I think I know who she is. Jongho's mom?” He doesn't doubt that San nods his head when the question really? is shown through his facial features. “But I don’t know.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, mine has always told me that my dad abandoned us, but it turns out that the opposite may have happened.” She left him, and therefore made him leave his father.

Just like San, he’s haunted by a certain uncertainty. He doesn’t regret meeting with Dohyun for a second time, but he can’t let himself fully trust him. 

“Wow, who would have thought we would get close like this?”

San watches him along with a small smile instead of a scowl like he's done before, and in the same way, he allows the corners of his mouth to rise instead of opting to form a tense line with his lips.

“Love at first sight? More like parental problems at first sight.”

Perhaps his cheeks are still wet, his eyes feel puffy and his voice sounds unstable, but he laughs when San laughs at his words. The bubble in his chest feels good, the pressure on his chest feels lighter, and he lets out a breath, this time because the tears shed mean relief for his body.

This time he does wipe away the tear trails with his fingers, and clears his throat. San moves a little closer to him, and he looks down at San's shoulder when San does. He exhales in a breath, and agrees to rest his head on San's shoulder.

It's cold and a sweater and a blazer are not enough to protect him from it. It's raining and it's a horrible day, both because of the gray sky and because of the debate he had to participate in. He swallows when he thinks a debate involves more than one person, and exhales.

“Listen... there are many things that I don't know about you and that you don’t know about me, but I do know other people,” he hears San say. “Hongjoong-hyung, he... you've really caught his attention.”

He shakes his head slightly at the pronunciation of Hongjoong's name.

The debate. The distrust. His mother. He doesn't want to think, not right now.

“Because I bother him, that's why,” he chooses to say.

He licks his lips as the kiss he's shared with Hongjoong appears in his head. He enjoyed the closeness and is grateful that Hongjoong hasn't pushed, hasn't asked more questions about his hand, and that he's insisted on accompanying him to a hospital. But even so, he believes he's lost the ability to communicate fluently and clearly with Hongjoong.

“Don't worry, we bother him all the time and he still loves us.”

He doesn’t love me, he thinks, and it’s okay. He doesn’t love Hongjoong either. But he frowns slightly as he thinks that he's not San, that he doesn't have the same kind of relationship that San, Yunho, or Mingi have with Hongjoong. He considers himself the exception to Hongjoong, and he doesn't quite know what to think about that certainty.

“I didn't expect him to walk through those doors, and I'd rather he didn't.” for himself, not for Hongjoong. He probably hurt Hongjoong, he doesn't doubt it. His paranoia haunts him and Hongjoong has been another victim of his insecurities.

“He likes you.”

He straightens up and looks at San when San sounds sure of what he says.

“But he is...” No, he has read enough and talked to Hongjoong enough to know that it isn’t fair to express the words he meant to say just because Hongjoong has assured him that he’s aromantic. “He doesn't.” Aromantic or not, Hongjoong doesn't like him.

He has mistrusted Hongjoong, he has distanced himself from Hongjoong. Hongjoong doesn't like him.

“Maybe I shouldn't say this, but well. He said that you make him question things he doesn't want to question."

Question things that he doesn’t want to question? Well, Hongjoong did tell him that he didn't want to fight with him over the phone, and now that he thinks about it, a bit calmer and free from the pressure of the debate, Hongjoong told him to meet up before or after the debate, right?

Does that mean Hongjoong likes him?

He shakes his head because he doesn't want to get confused, and he doesn't know what to answer himself when he wonders if he likes Hongjoong. Again the kiss appears in his mind when he looks down at his hands, thinking that Hongjoong noticed his injury without him saying anything.

His eyes slide to the bracelet that now doesn't shine so much but is still just as important to him, and he frowns because his father has somehow led him to abandon the debate his mother has organized.

“How will you know if Jongho's mom is your mom?” he decides to ask San.

“I really don’t know. I depend on Jongho.”

“Yeosang is close to him,” he really doubts that last night Yeosang didn’t opt to invite Jongho over. If Jongho is good for Yeosang, then he won't voice any complaints.

“I know, I asked Wooyoung if he could talk to Yeosang for Yeosang to talk to Jongho,” San nods.

San, Wooyoung, Yeosang, Jongho. He assumes the line of communication makes sense. He thinks he understands the frustration that San's words denote because he’s disappointed but his mother is still the same person he’s frustrated with, while San doesn't even know where to point his emotions.

“What about a maternity test?”

“It would be the best, but I wouldn't know where to do it. Trust me, I've learned that hospitals aren't the most trustworthy places.”

Seonghwa hums, until the word hospital catches his attention. Just as San needs to confirm his questions, so does he, and perhaps he has found a way to help both of them.

Dohyun hasn’t hesitated to show himself with enough evidence to prove the veracity of his words, and although he has appeared, staying is different. Perhaps he can justify his absence in the past, but he can't appear and then leave and decide not to be part of his present or his future.

“I do,” San looks at him confused. “I do.” he repeats. “I’ll search what you have to get for the test and I'll do it for you. Consider it a favor for us and it will also help me,” Dohyun has mentioned working in a hospital, so he will ask him to do the test for him.

He doesn't feel nervous at the idea of asking him for that favor, since just as he must understand that he’s not perfect, if his biological father wants to stay, then he must understand that he won’t find a perfect son either. He needs more than words.

“But, if you're so sure that Jongho's mom is yours, then why don't our parents want us to talk?” he asks, remembering that despite his bad start with San, they ended up getting closer because San along with Wooyoung told him that they heard their parents talking.

“I don't know, but your mom being my mom doesn't make sense, does it?”

“Have you thought about it?”

“I thought about it, Wooyoung too, but Yeosang and I are the same age.”

“Mh...” The truth is that maybe it's not the best moment because he's clearly not at his best, but he parts his lips and San looks at him, quickly grimacing because he realizes that maybe he thought of something that he and Wooyoung haven’t taken into account.

“Just say it,” San winces.

“Fraternal twins,” he offers. “Mh, maybe... Yeosang was premature?”

“Shit,” San says. “But if Yeosang and I are twins, then your mom would have had to come to Seoul.”

“Or your dad traveled to Spain.”

“But even so, your mom would have had to come here to give birth because I’m sure that I was born here,” he doesn’t question San's words because he assumes that he has already discovered enough with Wooyoung to be sure of some things and not so sure of others.

“Yes, but... that would imply that my mom would have left Yeosang with me and our dad if she came here, and yes, I was just one year old, but I never heard of a trip,” he says, really not being able to remember any conversation including those details. “Are you sure of your birth date?”

“Why you ask?” San grimaces.

“Because my mom has abandoned my dad, I'm more and more sure of that. And if you and Yeosang shared a birthday, then you were both born here on the same day, my mom left you with your dad, and came back to Spain with Yeosang, came back to me and Yeosang's dad,” he offers, and doesn't hesitate to continue speaking as soon as San widens his eyes. “But still, it sounds so complicated, the pictures that... I don't know, that I've always seen, she doesn't look like she's pregnant with twins, you know, and you're sure that your mom is Jongho's mom, aren't you?”

“It makes sense. I mean, I still don't understand why our parents don't want us to talk, but I also know that Jongho's mom is associated with the hospital where I was born.”

He nods, agreeing. He now doesn't doubt that Wooyoung probably thought that his and Yeosang's mom is San's mom when he heard everything Dohyun has said. Cheater, liar, dishonest.

He swallows to think that while he's set impossible standards for himself, he's forgotten the standards he expects others to meet when it comes to him.

“You know, I'd love for us to be like this because... I don't know, we've done badly on a test or we don't like a professor, and we’ll say that we're going out to forget about everything for a while. Obviously we need to forget all this shit and actually enjoy something for once,” San says.

“And I would tell you that yes, we should go out, but I don't know if I'm in the mood to celebrate,” He feels anything but festive.

His stomach bothers him and he's pretty sure it's not because he's not used to drinking black coffee. Wrapping one of his arms around his stomach doesn't make him feel any better either, and he again opts to rest the side of his head against the wall.

“I'll... I'll throw a party tonight.” San seems to make the decision right then and there. “Come if you want to, I just want to feel like I'm a young adult with normal issues, at least for one night.”

He nods though he's sure he probably won't go, and they both look at the doors when they hear them open. Wooyoung approaches them, with a smile guiding his face, and he doesn't doubt that it's because he finds them talking and now dry tears remain on his cheeks.

He allows himself to smile when he notices the way Wooyoung and San smile at each other, though he quickly curls up one corner of his mouth because the obvious closeness between them leads him to think of his previous closeness with Hongjoong.

Wooyoung decides to sit between them, and neither he nor San moves away when Wooyoung puts his arms around their shoulders.

He looks at San, and he thinks San is nodding because they are both thinking the same thing.

“Thank you,” he says, and Wooyoung looks at him.

It’s the least he can express, a simple thank you. It’s evident that just as Wooyoung is aware of Dohyun's return, he has also been and continues to be there for San, and he doesn’t even need words to know that he’s ready to comfort Yeosang as well.

“Why?” Wooyoung sounds confused.

“For taking care of us,” San replies, getting Wooyoung to look at him.

He remembers that Wooyoung has even talked to him the day he arrived. He's sure he wouldn't have been able to talk to Dohyun if Wooyoung hadn't been by his side, and if he's finally allowed his emotions to stop pressing down on his chest, it's because Wooyoung has hugged him.

“Ay, pero—” Wooyoung looks between them, and he smiles because he knows that Wooyoung switches languages when what he hears catches him off guard. “But what are you two saying? Thank you for letting me take care of you,” Wooyoung pulls them both towards him and he doesn't object to the contact.

He understands Wooyoung's gratitude for letting him take care of them because he has also been grateful when Yeosang has allowed himself to get close to him. Maybe they are not side by side at that moment, but he wants to keep taking care of Yeosang.

Yeosang seemed to be so skeptical when he looked at him, though. He lets out a breath, and allows Wooyoung to keep holding him close. He looks at Wooyoung, noticing that he’s still smiling, and that San is looking at him smiling.

“You take good care of him too,” he tells San, because just as Wooyoung takes care of him, he wants to take care of Wooyoung.

“Of course!” San nods firmly and he chuckles.

“I gave the same talk to Hongjoong about you,” Wooyoung smiles at him, and he’s left puzzled as Wooyoung looks at San. “And Hongjoong to me about you.”

“To... Hongjoong?”

Both Wooyoung and San look at him.

“Yeah, duh,” is all Wooyoung offers.

He has mentioned for San to take care of Wooyoung because it's evident that the two have been through a lot side by side and that the attraction between them is mutual. He doesn't understand why Wooyoung would mention similar words to Hongjoong unless he sees something he doesn't.

When he notices that San grins, he also thinks about the words that San said to him.

Hongjoong likes him.

“You know what, I think we should go under the rain,” Wooyoung says.

He straightens up and widens his eyes at the same time that San doesn't hesitate to listen to Wooyoung, and promptly stops being covered by the roof above them to allow the rain to fall on him. Wooyoung laughs and promptly stands up as well to allow the raindrops to fall on him. And he gets up, but unlike San and Wooyoung, he walks over to where the ceiling ends.

Both San and Wooyoung laugh, and he looks at them until Wooyoung approaches him.

“Come on,” Wooyoung stretches out his hand to him.

“We'll probably get sick,” It's not a humid day, but a cold one.

“Excuse to skip class,” Wooyoung grins.

“Our uniforms,” he grimaces.

San's sweater has stuck to his body while Wooyoung's blazer is completely soaked. Wooyoung continues to smile and tosses his lilac locks back.

“This horrendous color will go away.” Well, that's true. At least with the water the bright orange of the blazer turns a darker shade.

“My makeup.”

“I'm sure it's waterproof,” at no time does Wooyoung stop smiling or keeping his hand outstretched towards him, and he starts to look between Wooyoung and San when San also approaches him to extend his hand towards him.

Everything assures him that no, it's not a good idea because his uniform will be ruined, his hair will be a mess, and he doesn't even want to think about his shoes. He'll probably end up getting a cold and he doubts there are any towels around.

However, he’s tired of thinking so much about everything, of worrying so much. Still somewhat skeptical, he agrees to take Wooyoung and San's hands, and an exclamation of surprise leaves his lips as they both gently tug on him to finally make him stop staying under the roof.

He gasps as his locks stick to his forehead and he feels the way his uniform begins to weigh down from all the water. But both Wooyoung and San laugh at the sight, and he promptly allows the melancholy still present in his chest to be pushed aside as laughter bubbles up from his chest and leaves his mouth.

San jumps into a puddle on purpose and Wooyoung doesn’t hesitate to shake his head to splash water around him. He brushes back his dark blond locks, thinking that he would never have accepted standing in the rain before, letting the drops dance on his skin.

Before, it wouldn't even have occurred to him to leave a debate.

Before, it wouldn't even have occurred to him to allow himself to cry.

Yes, he'll probably get sick and his uniform will be ruined, but it can all be fixed with a hot cup of tea, a pile of blankets, and a wash and dry of clothes. He allows the drops of water to trace his figure, and smiles when the water that slides down his cheeks isn’t tears.

He looks at Wooyoung when Wooyoung looks at him.

“By the way, Hongjoong decided not to say his part,” Wooyoung tells him. “He left the debate.”

He stops looking at Wooyoung to look up at the still gray sky, and he thinks, that he really, really doesn't know what to think anymore.

---

San looks around him and thinks that he would like to find himself holding a glass in one of his hands —or a glass in each hand, who knows; but his reality states otherwise. Both of his hands are empty, and he crosses his arms because he feels restless but refuses to start pacing around.

He should probably find himself enjoying the music that resonates in the background, the now half-empty bottles present, and the people around him, but he’s not capable of enjoying his own party and he doesn’t doubt that it’s evident, since he’s not smiling and hasn’t clouded his senses with any concoction.

He only stops looking around when he feels two hands sliding down one of his arms, and he wonders who would choose to approach him when he's clearly not in the mood for a party, until he rests his eyes on the only possible answer.

“You look nervous and this is your party,” the sweetness that accompanies Wooyoung's voice contrasts with the fierceness of the environment they are part of, as well as with the dark eyeshadow with which Wooyoung has chosen to decorate his eyes.

He makes a slight grimace because he's aware that he doesn't just look nervous, he feels nervous as well, and he should probably smile instead of fidgeting since indeed, as Wooyoung just mentioned, it's his party.

He doesn't know whether to feel guilty because Wooyoung has chosen to approach him instead of enjoying the presence of the other people in his house, or feel grateful because the hands that Wooyoung leaves on his arm lessen his trace of uncertainty.

“Well, I would like for Hongjoong and Seonghwa to talk but Seonghwa isn't here,” he says, “I technically didn't invite Jongho but I do hope that Yeosang did, yet I'm going to be like oh hey! We might be half-brothers. How does that sound?” he holds up a fake smile at the utterance of his own words as an anxious tingle spreads through his body when he puts his thoughts into words. “Ah, and Mingi and Yunho are working.”

He lets out an exhausted breath. He has opted to throw that party because he’s finally able to mention that he has a good relationship with Seonghwa, but Seonghwa isn’t present and he doesn’t resent Seonghwa since Seonghwa said that he didn’t feel like celebrating. Neither does he, if he’s to be honest, not when his thoughts collide inside his mind.

But he really, really wanted an excuse to get closer to Jongho. Or, well, for Jongho to approach him. 

“That leaves the two of us,” Wooyoung stops being next to him to stand in front of him, and San slides his eyes to one of his hands when Wooyoung slides them up his arms. “You deserve to have fun too. You organized this for you too, right?”

Wooyoung leaves his hands on his shoulders before sliding his hands down his arms again. Wooyoung wants to comfort him, it's obvious that Wooyoung wants to make him feel good because he thinks it's working, as he chooses to unfold his arms and rest one of his hands on Wooyoung's waist, but he doesn't lean in to kiss him like he probably would have on another occasion.

“Yes, of course,” he doesn’t hesitate to express. He knows he deserves a good night too. “I just—” he forms a line with his lips, not quite knowing what to say.

Shouldn't he take advantage of the fact that he's thrown a party at his own house and therefore has a chance to get drunk, to rid himself of his problems with every drop that slips down his throat?

“It’s okay, we can talk later,” Wooyoung assures him with a small smile, but San looks at him confused when Wooyoung expresses those words because he doesn't understand why not now.

He notices Wooyoung looking behind him, and he soon gets the intention behind the idea of a later instead of a now as his eyes find Jongho. He again turns to Wooyoung, for even though he has been waiting to see Jongho all night, now that the images in his mind have become a reality, his emotions intensify as well. But Wooyoung offers him a slight smile, and he watches him extend one of his hands —not to him though.

He isn't surprised when Yeosang appears near him, and he feels the way Wooyoung gives his arm a light squeeze with his other hand before walking away with Yeosang holding onto his hand, also offering him a slight smile before walking away, allowing himself to be dragged by Wooyoung.

San follows them with his gaze, seeking to reassure himself by thinking that while he hasn't been able to tolerate either of them before, he now keeps a small smile on his face, until his attention is drawn to the reason why he's been feeling nervous and for which Wooyoung has stopped being with him.

“Hello,” Jongho greets him.

San feels his stomach flip around.

“Hi,” he offers.

“Sorry for coming, I know you didn't in—”

“No! No,” he can't help but exclaim when he notices that Jongho has been about to apologize for being in front of him at that moment. “I mean, I definitely wanted you to come, I just didn't know how to...” he moves his hands, realizing that there’s so much he wants to tell him, and yet at that moment he’s not able to express himself through words.

“Invite me without dropping a dramatic speech and family problems?” Jongho completes for him.

“Yeah,” he agrees, exhausted, and fortunately Jongho chuckles.

Hello, would you like to come to my party? Oh, by the way, I think you know we might be half-siblings. I'm not too sure, but I hope Yeosang has talked to you about it, it's definitely not a good way to approach someone.

He supposes that there’s no need to ask if Yeosang has spoken to him, since he doubts that Jongho is in front of him only to express that it’s an interesting party or that he likes his house.

“It's okay, I understand,” Jongho assures him. “Mh,” Yes, San definitely believes that Yeosang has talked to Jongho because despite his neutral expression, he’s also able to spot a trace of nervousness in him. He stops looking at him when he notices that Jongho leaves a small envelope between them. “Seonghwa has spoken to me. He said that I didn't need to ask my mom for anything, although, well, I wouldn't have done it anyway. It's a DNA sample of mine, and of Yeosang as well. Is this okay?”

San raises both eyebrows upon hearing this and looks at him.

He doesn't know why he suddenly feels so... grateful? He doesn't quite know what word to use, with the people around him. Aware, perhaps, of the help that others are giving him, since just as that conversation is possible thanks to Wooyoung and Yeosang, Jongho is not completely in denial about the idea of a deeper relationship between them, and he doesn’t remain completely confused by the pronunciation of those words because Seonghwa told him to leave the DNA exam in his hands.

They are new people, people that he still doesn't know completely, and yet, at that moment, he takes the envelope that Jongho offers him, because he understands that even if he doesn’t have his own identity fully deciphered, he assumes that he has done something right to surround himself with good people.

“Thank you, I'll keep it,” he still doesn't know how Seonghwa will take charge of the test but the truth is that he has avoided asking questions on purpose. “Hey, mh.” He has really thought about what to say but he feels nervous nonetheless. “If we turn out to be half-brothers, I don't really want this to be awkward between us, and if we are not, well, I'll probably be Yeosang's half-brother. And even if none of that ends up being true, we know a pair of best friends who will make us gravitate toward each other.”

It seems strange to him to think of the existence of another person close to him when it has always been him and his father, but he only continues to discover that perhaps, it has never just been him and his father.

In case they are family, he doesn't want Jongho to feel obligated to be completely close to him since he doesn't doubt that it's also a strange situation for Jongho, but he doesn't want awkward silences and strange looks to be the only things shared between them either.

“Are you sure you want to be my brother?” Jongho asks, looking at him, somewhat uncertain. “It's just— I don't want you to think that our possible same mom is perfect, or that she will welcome you with open arms if I appear with you by my side.”

San allows the beginning of a short laugh to caress the back of his throat despite what he hears. He believes that he hasn't even thought about how he will react once he gets the results because he hasn't even thought about approaching his mother, no matter who ends up being, in case he gets a positive result.

“I know,” he has never thought of getting close because he’s the one who has been abandoned first. “I'm not doing this for her, I'm doing this for me,” to put aside his uncertainty. “And you as well, if we turn out to be family I don't want to be near a mom who doesn't want me, but I'd like to have the opportunity of having a brother. If you let me.”

He hasn't been deluded with the idea of a perfect family because his father is still his father, a liar regardless of the result, and if the result is positive, he has certainly been abandoned, while if it's negative, he will only continue looking for someone who anyway has chosen to walk away.

But Jongho is more than the shadow of his parents, just like him, so he doesn't want to resent him, much less when Jongho seems to be more than aware that perfection doesn’t characterize his family name.

“Yes, I think... I think I'd like that,” fortunately Jongho accepts.

San smiles, feeling the way his nervousness leaves his body. He believes that all this time he has been more concerned with Jongho's reaction, not because he didn't want to listen to him per se, but because that would imply not being willing to stay close to him.

“You are free to stay and enjoy the party, and talk to me whenever you feel like it,” he offers.

Jongho smiles, and both he and Jongho turn their heads when they hear a small clap over the music. He isn't surprised to find Wooyoung and Yeosang looking at them, not even pretending not to have been listening when their gazes land on him, but Yeosang stops keeping their hands together and stretches out his hand towards Jongho.

As Jongho moves to take Yeosang’s hand, he keeps on smiling when Wooyoung approaches him.

“So?” Wooyoung asks him, “That didn't look bad,”

“Wouldn't you know?” Wooyoung only giggles, assuring him that he didn't need to participate in the conversation to know what it was about. “I'll give this to Seonghwa,” he holds the envelope between them. “He said he will take care of the test. Know anything about that?”

He notices the way Wooyoung looks at him in confusion and parts his lips to probably say no, but promptly closes his mouth, and tilts his head to the side. He assumes that Wooyoung must count on details that he doesn't because he doesn't look so clueless anymore, though he does hold a wary look.

“Maybe,” is all he offers by way of response, but he replaces his puzzled expression with a lopsided smile. “If it says yes, you will be a big brother just like me, I could give you advice. Well, if your brother turns out to be Jongho. If you happen to be Yeosang’s and Seonghwa’s brother, you would be the one in the middle but I could still advise you.” Wooyoung grins.

“Advice,” an inevitable laugh leaves his lips when Wooyoung leaves the tips of his fingers under his own chin to blink innocently. He allows that laugh to remain on his face through a smile, and once again places his hand on Wooyoung's waist, this time no longer feeling nervous. “Thank you for making me talk to Seonghwa,” he decides to express. “It felt weird, but it was nice.”

“Well, you two are part of different situations but both are struggling with something similar. Situations that even if I want to help, I can't understand, so you two having a talk made sense,” Wooyoung surrounds his neck with his arms.

“Thank you, honestly, I'm sure you didn't imagine this when you moved here.”

“I certainly did not expect to hold a soft spot for the guy I pushed on my first day here,” Wooyoung comments with an amused smile on his face, and this time, San does smile before leaning towards him to catch his lips with his.

He thinks it's interesting and strange, the way relationships constantly change. While he didn’t hesitate to show himself against the idea of Wooyoung being around, he’s now pleased with the sudden interruption he has made in his life.

He slides his hand down Wooyoung’s lower back to press his body even closer to his, and decides to pull apart only because he can't rest his other hand on his figure.

“I'm going upstairs to drop this off.” he wiggles the envelope in his hand. “You want to come with me?”

“You're so lucky I let you buy me with that excuse,” Wooyoung replies, and instead of expressing that he truly wants to leave the envelope in his room, San allows Wooyoung to delight in his own smile.

Wooyoung stops keeping his arms around his neck and agrees to be led by him after keeping his hand linked to his. Perhaps now he should take the opportunity to enjoy his party since being rejected by Jongho is no longer a possibility, but Wooyoung has sought to approach him before, and now he wants to continue with that possibility.

He believes that he will enjoy the night even more if he stays close to Wooyoung, so he doesn't say a word when the volume of the music drops as they go up the stairs, nor when he notices Wooyoung closing the door behind him once they enter his room.

He puts the envelope in one of the drawers, making sure it’s safely tucked away and out of sight, and smiles when he sees Wooyoung walking towards him.

“It's your party, I think you should have a good time,” Wooyoung expresses as he surrounds his neck with both arms, and San thinks that he could get used to that closeness, that he probably has already gotten used to it.

“Do you think you can offer me that?” He asks, wrapping his arms around Wooyoung’s waist, and they both smile before once again allowing their mouths to meet.

He only mentioned those words to provoke Wooyoung because he knows that he will have a good time. Up until now Wooyoung has been by his side when he has needed someone to hold him, but now he wants to hold Wooyoung too.

He makes sure to keep one of his arms around Wooyoung's waist as he leaves one of his palms on the wall, preventing Wooyoung's back from colliding with it after trapping Wooyoung between it and his figure. He keeps Wooyoung close to him as well as his lips on his until Wooyoung leaves a few inches between them.

Wooyoung slides one of his hands to his chest and he’s aware of his own shaky breathing under his secure touch. All worry has disappeared from his mind and he can only think about Wooyoung. Just as he has been aware of Wooyoung's firm stance from the first moment, now he also feels his secure touch.

“I don't think I can offer you that,” Wooyoung says, and the way he opens his eyes, feigning innocence, contrasts with the entertaining smile he draws with his lips. “I'm sure I am a good time,” Wooyoung leans slightly towards him to get those words to tickle his lips.

San licks his lips, thinking about what to say to provoke him, only to realize that he doesn't know if he really wants to because he can't express otherwise. Wooyoung's constant presence by his side prevented his head from being an even bigger chaos, and even that night Wooyoung seeks to relax him, certainly getting them to fall for his charms.

“I can't go against you,” he agrees, and his pride doesn't hurt.

“I'm not having a good time though,” he tilts his head when Wooyoung pouts his lips. He’s not able to tell if it’s a fake gesture or not. Wooyoung stops looking at him to trace his torso with the palm of his hand, and he looks up at the same time that Wooyoung raises his hand to wrap his nape with both hands again.

“You didn't even notice what I'm wearing.” Wooyoung keeps pouting.

San slides his attention back to Wooyoung’s body when he hears him, and is only able to wonder how he's been so foolish, how he's allowed the doubts in his mind to distract him from his reality, from the fact that Wooyoung has apparently opted to wear the red suit that he has given him before.

He has matched it with a black shirt, and San thinks that he looks so good, that he has made a really good decision in deciding to buy those clothes as a way of apology for getting mad. He licks his lips, thinking about the emotions that have led him to make said purchase in the first place, because although at the time he felt angry after feeling left out, at that moment he feels something different. Some more intense, stronger embracing his body.

“Does it matter, though?” He revels in the half-gasp half-complaint that Wooyoung lets out over his ear as he opts to slip his leg between his and leans into him. He tightens his grip around his waist, not because he wants to feel the fabric of the suit he's bought, but because he wants to feel Wooyoung under it. “If what matters to me is you,” his words find Wooyoung's neck.

Anyone can see Wooyoung wearing that color, anyone can compliment the way the fabric hugs Wooyoung’s silhouette, but he wants to be the one to make Wooyoung feel both comfortable and uncomfortable wearing it.

Comfortable because he wants Wooyoung to exude confidence, for him to place an imaginary crown on his head and smirk, just as he tends to do without his help, and uncomfortable because he wants to lead Wooyoung to think that discarding said red garments is better than showing off said fabric.

He kisses Wooyoung's body, covering several inches of golden skin that aren't hidden, and allows Wooyoung to use him for balance by leaving one hand on his shoulder and the other on his waist instead of resting his back against the wall completely. 

“You look fantastic though,” he decides to say. Wooyoung tilts his head to the side, giving him more room to explore his neck with his mouth, and is rewarded by Wooyoung's ragged breathing, the way he feels him shifting under his touch.

He feels his hand on his shoulder slide to the nape of his neck, and doesn't object when Wooyoung takes advantage of the new home for his hand to guide his head to his and bring their lips together again. He drowns the groan that Wooyoung lets out as he brushes his bulge with his knee, but that doesn’t stop Wooyoung from talking.

“Sannie,” It isn't the first time those letters leave Wooyoung’s lips, but this time Wooyoung does mention his name with a barely articulated tone of voice, breathless, and San feels his body light up at the thought of Wooyoung expressing nothing more than his name, only repeating the letters of his name because he plagues his head. “Let me, yes? Give you a good time.”

Again Wooyoung's hand slides down his torso, but this time he does it slowly, taking the time to trace his figure, and carefully because he feels Wooyoung's hand caressing his chest and then his abs —he doesn't even care about his own clothes and would like them to disappear on their own to be able to feel Wooyoung's fingers on his skin. He wants to give him access to caress his skin with his fingertips.

He isn't surprised when Wooyoung's fingers land on the waistband of his jeans, but he inhales a breath nonetheless. He swallows hard at the thought of Wooyoung's warm touch all over him.

“I just want a moment, like today, another moment, where nothing else matters but having a good time and focusing on the people around me,” he provides by way of response.

He felt bad about soaking Wooyoung's car seat but the hot cup of tea afterward felt better, and Wooyoung's company next to him even better. Wooyoung smiled, Seonghwa laughed, and so did he. And that's all he wants, to pretend that he hasn't left any kind of envelope in the drawer.

“Do you let me, then?” Wooyoung asks him, and he wants to tell him that the situation should be the other way around, that he should give Wooyoung a good time because Wooyoung has helped him through his bad times. But he doesn't dare to shake his head, not when Wooyoung looks at him, eagerly waiting for him to offer a new answer.

“Yeah,” he sounds just as breathless as Wooyoung.

He misses the warmth provided by Wooyoung as Wooyoung pulls away from him. They swap places, as now his back finds the wall, though his attention never leaves Wooyoung, much less when Wooyoung leans towards him to steal a kiss at the same time that he starts unbuttoning his jeans.

San takes the opportunity to rest his hands on Wooyoung's cheeks so as not to allow Wooyoung to get away from him, but he believes that such a gesture only plays against him —or in his favor, since Wooyoung stifles the gasp that leaves his lips when Wooyoung slips his hand inside his boxers and takes his hardening cock in his hand.

Although he has thought about Wooyoung feeling uncomfortable in his clothes, he hasn't thought about how uncomfortable he would feel when thinking about the consequences of his actions on Wooyoung. He’s hard, he knows that, and he feels relieved when Wooyoung gives him a tentative caress, long from the base of his cock to the tip.

He shudders under Wooyoung's touch, and he thinks that a good time is definitely a reality rather than a promise when Wooyoung breaks away from him to let out a small giggle that assures him that he's just getting started. He slides his hands to the nape of Wooyoung's neck and his fingertips dig into his skin as Wooyoung brushes the tip of his cock with his thumb, taking with it the first traces of stimulation his body offers.

“Don’t you want lube?” he asks him, forcing himself to clear his throat.

“Nope,” Wooyoung smiles, sure of his answer.

He misses kissing Wooyoung, but he doesn't complain when Wooyoung places a kiss on the corner of his mouth, as well as another on his cheek, and another on his jaw. A breath of air instead of a complaint leaves his lips as Wooyoung slides his lips to his neck, and he’s only able to wonder how Wooyoung still holds such an amusing smile, and still looks so good in his red suit while he feels like he’s getting closer to falling.

He falls over emotionally when Wooyoung physically drops to his knees in front of him. The back of his head touches the wall when he thinks he needs a moment to collect himself because the last thing he wants, the last thing he needs is to stop. After all, Wooyoung doesn’t even seem to be aware of the effect he has on him, but he forces himself to straighten up because he doesn't want to stop looking at Wooyoung.

“Don’t you feel hot in that?” he asks him, feeling that his body has been set on fire although Wooyoung pulls down his jeans as well as his boxers, exposing the lower half of his body. He swallows because at no time has Wooyoung's hand left his cock.

“I always feel hot no matter what,” of course Wooyoung pronounces those words, “You said I look fantastic, so,” Wooyoung adds with a slight shrug of his shoulders, as if there had never been another possible answer. “I just hope you don't mind me ruining my knees.”

Since Wooyoung has leaned back —although he’s so close— no obstacle prevents the moan that leaves his mouth when Wooyoung speeds up the rhythm of his hand along his shaft. Wooyoung leaves his other hand on his thigh, and Wooyoung only doesn’t get the chance to smile at the sounds that leave his mouth because he wraps his lips around his cock.

“Shi—”

One of his hands finds Wooyoung's lilac locks when Wooyoung makes sure to run his tongue over his length as his other hand stays around the base of his cock. Always so determined and sure Wooyoung, matches his personality's confidence with his body's actions.

A shiver runs through his figure when Wooyoung caresses his thigh with his thumb and licks the tip of his cock. He feels his abs flex, and gives himself an imaginary grateful pat on the back after having turned up the volume of the music all the way up before going upstairs. A moan escapes his lips as Wooyoung starts bobbing his head, his confidence never once faltering.

He can't think, he can only feel. He feels Wooyoung's hand leaving its imprint on his thigh, he feels Wooyoung's other hand, present at the base of his cock, stimulating him along with the help of his mouth. He tries to keep his grip on Wooyoung's light lilac locks, Wooyoung not seeming to need him to guide his head because he flicks his tongue skillfully, knowing what to do so that closing his mouth is impossible and maintaining a calm breath is nothing more than a discarded idea.

“Good time, good time, got it,” he manages to articulate.

He believes that expressing those words only works against him —again, in his favor— because he inhales a breath of air that doesn't really fill his lungs with air as Wooyoung looks up at him and allows his eyes decorated with dark eyeshadow to connect with his.

Wooyoung tilts his head back slightly, and San keeps his eyes on him —never once has he taken them away— as he watches Wooyoung guide the tip of his cock to his mouth to trace his lower lip and the beautiful mole he has there with it.

“Told you,” Wooyoung says, his whisper tickling the tip of his cock and sending a shiver throughout his body, and doesn’t add another word before he wraps his mouth around his cock again.

San feels a warm sensation appear in his stomach and Wooyoung is right, well, rather, he is right for saying that Wooyoung looks fantastic, but he still slips his hand under Wooyoung’s blazer and leaves his hand on his shoulder as soon as he understands what his body is telling him.

His stomach clenches and his muscles tense, but this time not because he's nervous at his own party or because he's uncomfortable, but because all traces of uneasiness have left him since Wooyoung stood by his side, and if Wooyoung wants to offer him a good time, then he will let him.

“I am—” he’s more than, “Close,” he warns Wooyoung, and Wooyoung moves his hand along his cock as he leans back and wets his lips with his tongue.

“We can't let you ruin the suit you gave me, can we?” It’s the only thing that Wooyoung offers him before once again enveloping his cock with the heat of his mouth.

He doesn't even need to guide Wooyoung's head because Wooyoung knows what to do, he knows what pressure to apply and what inches of heated skin to trace with his tongue.

Wooyoung takes it, takes him, long enough for him to know what the back of Wooyoung's throat feels like, and his fingers dig into Wooyoung's locks as well as into the flesh of his shoulder, and he lets out a breath with the last air that his lungs offer him.

His muscles stiffen before he closes his eyes, and he comes. And Wooyoung keeps on taking him, because again, Wooyoung takes, takes, and takes. His attention, his interest, his body. He can't ruin the suit so he ruins his throat while Wooyoung ruins him.

His grip on Wooyoung's locks grows weak at the same time that Wooyoung swallows and leans back. Wooyoung strokes his sensitive cock softly and wipes one of the corners of his mouth with his thumb, and although he feels he has no strength, he still stops keeping his hand between Wooyoung's locks to offer him the same.

Wooyoung takes his hand and he helps him to get up. Before he allows Wooyoung to look down to see if the fabric of the suit has been ruined or not, he takes advantage of the fact that he has left his hand on Wooyoung’s shoulder to slide it up to his jaw, and slightly tilts Wooyoung's head back to kiss his skin.

He thinks the least he can do is shower Wooyoung in kisses when Wooyoung's been on his knees for him. It's worth it when he hears and feels the hum of satisfaction that scratches Wooyoung's throat. He looks down once he pulls away to notice that the fabric doesn't seem to be ruined, but he does notice the bulge in Wooyoung's trousers.

“You—”

“Don't worry, the night is long,” Wooyoung stops him.

He parts his lips to complain but he innocently raises his hands when he notices that Wooyoung has said those words with an amused smile. Each one with their own ways of seeking pleasure, he thinks.

He takes in his favor that he’s in his room to clean himself and change, and his breathing calms down with each passing second. He watches Wooyoung wash up his hands and he doesn't know why, but Wooyoung smiles. He spots the disastrous state of Wooyoung's locks but laughs because he thinks that if Wooyoung looks more than screwed up, he must be worse off.

Wooyoung looks at him as he approaches him to try to comb his lilac strands, and lowers his gaze to allow their eyes to meet.

“You really are a party, aren't you?”

His eyes slide to the smile that once again appears on Wooyoung's face.

“And you get a VIP bracelet,” Wooyoung assures him, and he doesn't hesitate to peck his lips. “You want to go back?” Wooyoung asks him after clearing his throat, and he nods because he thinks that if they stay locked up, he's capable of doing more with Wooyoung, but he doesn't want to rely too much on the volume of the music, so he opens the door to his room with one of his arms around Wooyoung's shoulders.

Their laughs mix as he opts to place a kiss on Wooyoung's neck, but they both slow down when they find the stairs partially blocked.

Yeosang turns his head towards them when he hears them, and as Wooyoung opts to sit next to Yeosang on the stairs, he sits on a higher step, behind them, his legs thankful for the break because Wooyoung really, really doesn't know what he does to him.

“Jongho?”

“I think Mingi called him so they're talking on the phone,” Yeosang answers simply, “Look, Hongjoong gave me a kitty,”

San raises both eyebrows when he envisions none other than Byeol, more than comfortable in Yeosang's arms. “That's Byeol,” he says before stroking her head and resting his hand on Wooyoung's body again. He tilts his head, confused as he recalls Yeosang's words. “Hongjoong was taking care of her.”

“He left because he said he had an emergency,”

He frowns, first alarmed and then confused because he thinks Hongjoong would have warned him in case something serious had happened to him —although that would have been more than awkward considering he hasn't been busy showing Wooyoung the details of his room, but soon a possibility appears in his head.

An emergency, but not serious.

“By any chance, you haven't seen your brother around here, have you?”

“I have to find out through Jongho that my brother needs a DNA sample from me. He could be here and I wouldn't even know it because everything he does is secret.” As Yeosang looks down at Byeol to stroke her fur, evidently frustrated, he shares a look with Wooyoung. From the way Wooyoung looks at him, he thinks there are details that he now knows while Yeosang doesn't. “If we turn out to be brothers, get ready for all of this.”

He means to say something but gets startled when he feels a buzz, and raises both eyebrows as he realizes that somehow his phone hasn't left his pocket. He takes it out and notices that it’s a text from an unknown number.

Thank you for inviting me, someday we will celebrate together and we will pretend that we have no problems, but tonight I don't want to pretend and I will solve one of my problems, or at least I hope so

One corner of his mouth lifts up.

Seonghwa.

Well, now he knows what Hongjoong's emergency has been.

Just like Wooyoung said, the night is long.

His eyes drift to Wooyoung as Wooyoung looks at him.

“By the way... since we were talking about blazers before... I have yours, the one you wore to the gala,” Wooyoung tells him. “Mingi gave it to him,” He nods at Yeosang before looking back at him. “And he gave it to me,”

San nods. He hasn't given a second thought to the blazer but he likes knowing that Wooyoung has it. He tries to stand up to go get a bottle of water for Wooyoung but Wooyoung stops him by resting his head against his chest.

“You know, whatever the outcome, everything will be fine, okay?” he manages to hear him say despite the beat of the music, and by the way Yeosang looks at Wooyoung, he’s sure he heard him too.

Just like Wooyoung did with him and Seonghwa, he wraps one of his arms around Wooyoung's and Yeosang's shoulders before sitting between them. He knows Wooyoung is talking about the envelope Jongho gave him.

“It’s okay, I prefer a truth that hurts me to a lie that makes me smile,” he says.

The step is definitely not spacious enough for three people, and both Wooyoung and Yeosang groan in unison when he sneezes. But even if the space is tight and he'll probably get sick from running and jumping in the rain that day, he smiles.

He promptly thinks that he has mentioned words that Wooyoung also needed to hear, as Wooyoung surrounds his torso with his arms. Yeosang doesn't move away from him, and sitting between the two, he allows himself to continue smiling. Just for one night, his problems don't exist. He’s happy.

Chapter 42

“Moms, moms!” Hongjoong quickly opens the door to close it with the same speed, in between taking off his sneakers —nearly tripping in the process— and leaving the keys. “I’m here! What happened, wh—”

All the quickness behind his movements leaves when instead of encountering a chaotic scene, one of his mothers assisting the other or one of them running around, either one with rolls of fabric in her hands while the other with her laptop, trying to prevent it from falling to the floor; he finds the two sitting at the kitchen table, and not just them.

He blinks once, twice, three times, even four times, but his eyes still denote Seonghwa, sitting in front of his mothers. Seonghwa watches him, looking both expectant and shy, shifting his eyes between him and the table.

Hongjoong tilts his head and clears his throat. “I'm sure I haven't drunk that much.”

Maybe a beer, but no more than that because he watched over Byeol, and he actually spent more time with his eyes fixed on the door of San’s house, expecting to see the person that he finally has a chance to observe. He's sure that one beer isn't enough to make him imagine a presence.

“It's okay, we just wanted you to come quickly.”

He feels both disoriented and relieved when one of his mothers expresses those words, and he doesn’t doubt that his mothers laugh because the mixture of emotions must be more than evident on his face.

Although he calms down because there’s an emergency come home quickly turns out to have been a simple text, he runs a hand through his red locks as he approaches the kitchen. After all, he's rushed to get there, so he's still slackening his breath and he's sure his hair is a mess.

“He... llo?” His tone of voice expresses the uncertainty he feels when he sees Seonghwa.

He’s aware that even if he has been waiting to see Seonghwa all night, he’s been feeling somewhat uneasy at the possibility of establishing a conversation with him. Seonghwa is currently in front of him, but he didn’t hesitate to walk away before, and he believes Seonghwa to be aware of his change of attitude because he waves his hand.

“Hello...”

“Joong, we were talking and we definitely need him to model,” he doesn't know if he feels grateful or not for the way his mother decides to become part of the conversation, since he stops exchanging glances with Seonghwa.

“Yes! And you said you find runways interesting, right?” His other mother rests her eyes on Seonghwa.

He notices that Seonghwa shifts in his place, not exactly looking uncomfortable, but Hongjoong doesn't want to know how many questions he's been asked so far. Though his mothers always mean well, they can be a bit intense at times.

“I'm sure the two of you have asked him a lot of questions so how about I chat with him,” he decides to express while he watches Seonghwa part his lips, and Seonghwa looks at him. “I'm pretty sure he's here for me.”

He wouldn't consider it a surprise to find San, Yunho, or Mingi at his home, chatting with his mothers, since such conversations are normal between them, but Seonghwa's presence is still a surprising detail, and he doesn't want to spend the night sitting next to him, both being aware that they would rather exchange words with each other —or so Hongjoong hopes—, instead of listening to his mothers' voices.

When Seonghwa holds up a small smile —he doesn't know if he can truly call that gesture a smile since he only curls up the corners of his mouth—, he knows that Seonghwa is definitely there for him, so he relaxes his shoulders.

He points to the hallway for Seonghwa to head towards it, and he intends to follow him but his mother stops him. “Take this with you,” she offers him a plate of fruit.

Hongjoong opens his mouth to express that it isn’t necessary, but just as his mother often seeks to talk too much, other times words are not needed for him to understand what she’s thinking, since a look is enough to denote that his mother has finally figured out who he was talking about when he previously mentioned eating disorders.

He accepts the plate, and thankfully Seonghwa isn’t present to notice the way he grimaces when his other mother winks at him and holds a smile. He doesn't hesitate to leave the kitchen, and motions for Seonghwa to follow him after pointing his head at the stairs.

“Come on, follow me,”

He lets out a silent and grounding breath of air, trying to get both his mind and body used to the fact that he has gone from being surrounded by people, with loud music in the background and a mixture of scents of perfumes, cigarettes, and alcohol; to being in his apartment, Seonghwa now behind him.

“I—” The lack of several people leads him to have the opportunity to listen to Seonghwa when he speaks, and stops on the stairs when he notices that Seonghwa has stopped three steps behind him. “I can leave if you don’t want me to be here...” Seonghwa caresses one of his own arms. “I'll say something came up so your moms won't ask any questions...”

Hongjoong watches him, wondering how Seonghwa, who never once hesitated to confront him with both determined words and firm actions, is the same person who at that moment expresses himself with a soft tone of voice, seeming unsure of his own actions and choices. However, he does believe that Seonghwa doesn't always seek to raise his voice and throw his shoulders back —what's more, he thinks that Seonghwa has gotten tired of always being so correct.

Seonghwa has always shown himself to him in a way that he isn’t with others. That's been apparent from the start, so while he's still somewhat surprised, he's not entirely impressed with Seonghwa's change in demeanor.

“No, it's fine,” and besides, he doesn't want to end the night without talking to Seonghwa. He doesn't lie to himself and knows that he has gone to San's party not only to be there for San, but also hoping to see Seonghwa in case Seonghwa decides to go too.

He turns to reach the end of the stairs, and luckily he hears Seonghwa's footsteps behind him. He opens the door to his bedroom to then close it once Seonghwa enters, and he sets the plate on his nightstand before turning to find Seonghwa looking around him.

He’s suddenly aware of the mess his desk represents and the pile of clothes on his chair —having a mother who works as a fashion designer, and himself with his interest in the world of fashion should lead him to take better care of his clothes, but no, that pile shows that no. And besides, his sneakers and boots turn the floor into an improvised obstacle course.

“Your room is so...” messy, misaligned, scandalous? “You.”

This time Seonghwa does hold a small smile, and Hongjoong thinks that maybe Seonghwa hasn't focused on those details, but on the orange lights present above the head of his bed, on the photos left on the wall, and the stacks of papers on his desk that represent possible designs and discarded ideas.

“I'll take that as a compliment,” he accepts, and sits on the edge of his bed.

He looks to his side to let Seonghwa know that he can sit down, and even as he does, Seonghwa remains with his back straight and his hands in his lap. He looks tense and his body shows said firmness.

He definitely doesn't want Seonghwa to feel rigid when they are together, not when Seonghwa has always allowed his true personality to bloom when they're side by side, so he seeks to talk. They are alone, Seonghwa has approached him, and he doesn't intend to waste that decision.

“I'm... surprised you're here,” he says.

He feels confused. Intrigued because he’s aware that he’s happy to have Seonghwa by his side and because Seonghwa has approached his house with the obvious intention of talking to him. But even so, the last time he saw Seonghwa, Seonghwa left the stage they both shared with a sad and irritated expression.

“Not mad. Surprised.” he clarifies just in case.

“You should be mad with the way I treated you,” Seonghwa lowers his head, and he doesn't need Seonghwa to add any more words to know that he's talking about the phone call that involved a lack of identical smiles before the debate.

He wonders if Seonghwa has noticed that he's certainly gotten defensive when he's given him no reason to —at least not recently—, but he doesn't scowl at him or get angry, as his confusion overrides every other emotion possible.

“I'm confused,” even if he seeks to expose his disorientation, all the questions that revolve around his head disappear when his eyes fall on Seonghwa's hands as Seonghwa keeps looking at them. “And your wristbrace?” the absence of the black brace is noticeable and his knuckles still look a little sore.

“I took it off.” Seonghwa turns his hand over to look at his palm. “I'm fine now.”

Hongjoong looks at him, thinking that Seonghwa has never told him why he needed a wrist brace in the first place.

There's so much that Seonghwa chooses not to mention, so much that Seonghwa chooses to keep to himself, and perhaps demanding honesty from him is not his right, but he does believe that he can formulate questions and claim answers when said lack of sincerity includes him.

“Why did you leave?” He finally decides to ask what has been going around in his head ever since he was left alone on the stage. Seonghwa looks at him. “The debate.”

He has been looking forward to facing Seonghwa and having the opportunity to oppose their respective opinions, and not only because they had some differences before the debate. Seonghwa has proven to be academically adept, so he has expected to have a good time despite the pressure and tension that a debate represents; but said chance got out of hand once Seonghwa left.

“I wasn't— I'm not... at my best,” Seonghwa finally loses his correct posture, and Hongjoong wonders if that's better because now Seonghwa's figure only represents decay. It isn't the first time that he has heard those words, since Wooyoung previously assured him that Seonghwa is not at his best. “I just couldn't handle it anymore.”

The word anymore assures that Seonghwa has forced himself to continue despite the difficulties that have stood in his way. They didn't yell at each other and no exclamation left their mouths. As he has always thought, there's more to Seonghwa than meets the eye.

“You looked at me,” Seonghwa turned his head towards him as he expressed his point of view. “Are you still mad about the way I first approached you? Because it also sounded like that during the call.”

He would have understood Seonghwa reacting the way he did if he hadn't chosen to show him that he genuinely wants to continue getting closer to him, but Seonghwa hinted not trusting him. Even if he said sorry, even if he proved that he considers what he did a mistake, even if they kissed.

He swallows at the thought of that closeness, and he’s only capable of wondering how they have gone from that proximity to the distance that he still feels describes them at that moment. That change doesn't bring him happiness, and he knows it.

“I don't know who I can trust.”

Seonghwa seems so lost, so surrendered, and when he looks at him again, he doesn't feel the target of his gaze or the sole reason behind those words. Seonghwa looks at him with uncertainty in his eyes, and he can only wonder if perhaps the words he's heard and the looks he's received have been a self-defense mechanism.

“Fool me once and it's shame on you, fool me twice and it's shame on me, fool me thrice and—”

“Third time's the charm,” Hongjoong ends for him.

First, he talked to Seonghwa to help Yunho, thinking that staying close to Seonghwa would give him the answers. He then believed that Seonghwa accepted said closeness to stay next to his mother instead of him. Seonghwa thought that he kept on gravitating around him to have the upper hand in the debate.

He now understands the uncertainty on Seonghwa's part, since he hasn’t hesitated to distrust Seonghwa's intentions when he saw him talking to his mother. Trusting takes time, while a second is enough to distrust.

Seonghwa nods, and he keeps looking at Seonghwa when Seonghwa lets out a deep breath and seems to try to distract himself by playing with the comforter of his bed before looking back at him. He looks unsure and uncertain, but he talks nonetheless.

“The man you've seen me with... that man is my dad, my biological dad,” he says.

Hongjoong frowns, confused because he doesn't understand what he's talking about, until he remembers that another of the doubts that have never left his head is the question that Seonghwa has just answered. He doesn't know what kind of explanation he has expected, but he definitely hasn't expected the words biological dad to leave Seonghwa's lips.

“But...” he knows that his father passed away, Seonghwa himself told him so, but Seonghwa also expressed not expecting to see his father around, be it his and Yeosang’s father, or his biological father. “You told me I would never see him here,” he reminds him.

“I never thought he'd come back. I was just a baby the last time I saw him.”

Hongjoong's eyes widen. While at all times he has wondered who the man he has seen Seonghwa with is, never assuming that he could be his biological father, the doubts must have been more and worse for Seonghwa.

“You can't tell Yeosang because he would be extremely sad if my dad came back while his— ours won't ever will.” Seonghwa expresses, staring at him, his tone of voice certainly showing that it’s important for him to keep his mouth shut and that he’s trusting him by saying what he says. “My mom doesn't know either. Only Wooyoung and San know.”

He assumes that Seonghwa must have cut his biological father out of his life because Yeosang didn't even recognize him. He grimaces as soon as he remembers the words that he himself mentioned just before the start of the debate.

“Before the debate, I—”

“I think that was the last straw.”

He opens his mouth when Seonghwa looks down again, but he doesn't know what words to express. He has thought so much about hearing the truth, that now he realizes what said reality must mean for Seonghwa. He does feel pathetic and guilty for allowing himself to frown at the thought of Seonghwa simply enjoying having dinner with someone else, while that situation couldn’t be further from reality.

“I'm so sorry,” he articulates.

He understands that perhaps his comment was unfortunate, but if his words have pushed Seonghwa to his own limits, it means that there have also been other situations or people that have been weighing him down, enough for his words to be the last to break him.

“It's not your fault,” Seonghwa assures him. “I'm just tired of the secrets, that's what ended up leading me to leave the debate. I couldn't stand there and profess about being honest.”

Hongjoong rolls up one of the corners of his mouth. He now understands why Seonghwa left and hasn't felt able to stay, not when the word honesty he has sought to defend has clashed —and continues to clash— with the people around him.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I don't know.” Seonghwa looks genuinely indecisive.

He thinks that asking a single question will be enough for Seonghwa to start talking, but he doesn't want to force Seonghwa to speak if he doesn't want to. He knows that sometimes silence is a better option, so he gets Seonghwa to look at him by pointing to his bed. He lies down, and thankfully Seonghwa lies down next to him.

He allows Seonghwa to use his pillow while he uses one of his hands once they end up lying face to face.

From the very beginning, his relationship with Seonghwa has been a bit —well, very— rocky. They despise each other, they trust each other, they resent each other, and now they are face to face again.

Consequences of not trusting, he supposes. Not just Seonghwa, but him too.

Seonghwa slides his gaze towards the dark blue color that characterizes the comforter of his bed while he keeps on watching him. It isn’t the first time that they are this close, since they have been even closer to each other before, and he believes that that very closeness is what offended him once Seonghwa contrasted that proximity with his sudden reluctant reaction.

Seonghwa looks up at him, and he doesn't look away.

“I wanted to stop you, I took a step, actually,” he confesses. “I really thought about taking your hand and stopping you, but it didn't seem like you wanted to stay, quite the opposite.” even if he wasn't completely satisfied with the words previously exchanged, his first instinct was to worry and want to reach out to Seonghwa. “And when I saw Wooyoung and San get up, I knew you'd be fine.”

Fortunately, the smallest smile guides Seonghwa's face.

“Don't scold them if they get sick,” Seonghwa says, and he smiles.

He thinks that for the moment he prefers not to know why Wooyoung and San would get sick, and he promptly goes back to holding a neutral expression when Seonghwa does.

He doesn't know if Seonghwa has expected him to go after him or not, but he doesn't seem to resent him for not doing so. And he’s not sorry for what he hasn’t done, since at that moment they are face to face because this time Seonghwa has decided to take the first step towards him.

“You weren't surprised by the mention of my dad,” he says.

“After finding out that San's mom is alive, nothing surprises me anymore,” he answers, knowing that Seonghwa knows about San's current situation, and believing that indeed, nothing surprises him anymore. Noting that Seonghwa and San have apparently learned to talk to each other does surprise him though.

“I told San that I'll take care of the test in case my mom is involved too,” Seonghwa says, and this time he does look at him confused. “My... biological dad, he works at a hospital so I decided that I will trust him if he shows me that I can do it. He has to know that I'm not the perfect son. I talked to him, and he told me that he can do the test because he's always kept in touch with the people who work in the laboratory, in case I didn't believe that he really is my dad and I wanted us to do a DNA test.”

Hongjoong is unaware if Seonghwa is making a good decision by placing his trust in his father with a test. He understands not being satisfied with words alone and needing more than empty sentences to rebuild a relationship that has never existed, but he doesn't know if that chain of action is the right one. However, he believes that at the moment he doesn’t have the right to intervene in what he no doubts is still a chaotic mess for Seonghwa.

“Your moms are so nice,” Seonghwa adds.

“A little nosy but yeah,” He allows himself to hold a small smile when Seonghwa allows a short laugh to scratch the back of his throat.

His mothers are somewhat intense and sometimes he has a hard time shushing them away to leave him alone, but the events around him have only reassured him that he’s grateful for their steadfastness in his life and the constant support they give him.

“Oh, they gave me this,” he adds. He rests his elbow on his bed after remembering that he left the plate of fruits on his nightstand, next to where Seonghwa is.

He’s aware of Seonghwa's brownish eyes on him when he has to get close to him to pass his arm over him to reach the plate, and if he feels that he must control himself so as not to lower his gaze, he doesn’t comment on it before putting the plate down.

“I'm not hungry,” Seonghwa says.

Hongjoong chooses to rest both elbows on his bed to lie with his stomach down. He notices that Seonghwa doesn't even look at the plate now left between them, and if his mothers have given it to him, it's because Seonghwa has also rejected it before.

He believes that in any other situation, he wouldn’t have paid attention to that detail, but the uncertainty that has decorated him along with Yeosang regarding the man who now turns out to be Seonghwa's biological father, is not the only issue that has left him thinking about certain words.

“Seonghwa?”

Seonghwa looks at him with his brown pupils wide, and Hongjoong wonders if Seonghwa has sensed what the words he plans to say are and for the same reason looks amazed, until he too is surprised when he realizes that he has expressed Seonghwa's name in instead of his last name as he always does.

And even so, he doesn't let the surprise wash over him completely and he doesn't feel his shoulders tense.

If Seonghwa needs actions to trust, then he will act.

“When we saw you with your dad, Yeosang... he, wait, first, I admit that I called Yeosang and Jongho, and that they drove to the restaurant when I mentioned you. Well, actually, I called Yeosang, but Jongho was with— I’ll go to the point.” he breathes. “When I was with them, Yeosang said that...” He could choose not to say a word, to stay quiet and think it's none of his business, but he doesn't want Seonghwa to hurt himself, not when apparently the people around him already do. “You eat with me, but you have always told me that you eat with him, and you have never agreed to stay here to eat.”

A part of him regrets saying those words the second Seonghwa stops looking at him and seems to curl up into himself, clearly feeling more than uncomfortable with the words he hears, but Hongjoong forces himself to keep looking at him because he doesn't want Seonghwa to keep on hurting himself.

“I'm worried.”

“You don't have to worry,” Seonghwa's voice is low.

“Maybe it's your body and your decisions and I shouldn't meddle or care, but I do care about you, so yes, I do care and I worry.”

He has so far chosen to ignore the signs, hasn't he? Feeling hurt when Seonghwa hinted not trusting him when he has shown that Seonghwa can trust him, the distance that followed their kiss, and the worry when Seonghwa chose to spend time with someone else on a date that has never really been a date. He worries because he has learned to care about Seonghwa.

He doesn't know if it's the best decision or not, but he's not willing to balance the closeness of that moment with distance. He knows that he has to be careful, that he’s exposing Seonghwa's lies, and that if Seonghwa has lied about it it’s because he didn’t want to be cornered, so he slowly slides one of his hands up to Seonghwa, and touches his arm with his fingertip.

“I'm okay.” Seonghwa assures him as soon as he creates that contact, but the blurriness that covers his eyes don't match his words. “I'm okay. I'm ok—”

“You are not okay—”

“But I—” Seonghwa's voice breaks. “I have to be, I have to be okay, I—”

He has never thought very well when it comes to Seonghwa, so he doesn't think twice and eliminates the distance between them the moment Seonghwa's teary eyes turn into real tears, and he feels the tremor that accompanies Seonghwa's body when Seonghwa doesn’t push him away after he decides to push the plate aside to hug him.

He pushes Seonghwa and Seonghwa pushes him, sometimes for the better. Accepting not being okay is difficult. It’s hard to question one's own feelings and decisions, let alone accept the presence of such changes, he knows that. Seonghwa has made himself question his emotions, so it's only fair that he gets Seonghwa to question his feelings as well.

He doesn’t regret his words even if Seonghwa cries and shakes in his arms, because he believes that Seonghwa needs to cry, to free himself from the emotions and thoughts that make him believe that he must be perfect. Seonghwa will never be perfect in his eyes, and that's okay.

He caresses Seonghwa's neck with his fingers and tries to keep his breathing calm when Seonghwa leaves one of his hands over his chest. He wants Seonghwa to copy the slow rhythm of his breathing, so he seeks to control his breathing.

Seonghwa has to understand that he has only cornered him because he cares about him and not because he deserves to get scolded.

He leaves a few centimeters between them and is not surprised when he doesn’t meet Seonghwa's gaze with his, though that doesn’t prevent him from keeping his hand on Seonghwa's cheek to brush one of the corners of his eyes with his thumb, washing away the beginning of another tear.

He thinks there's something so raw and beautiful about seeing people cry, about finally being able to allow oneself to express how one truly feels. Seonghwa is beautiful, even when he cries, even more so when he cries, because he’s being honest.

“I do eat.” Seonghwa determines, even if his voice is unstable.

Hongjoong licks his lips, wondering what is the right thing to do. He doesn't want Seonghwa to lie to him. But in a way, despite some ups and downs, Seonghwa has always been honest with him. He doesn't know if he's the right person to listen to Seonghwa, but he does know that Seonghwa regards him as such.

“What do you eat?” he asks him.

Seonghwa shrugs. “Healthy.” is the only word he offers.

He doubts that they both think of the same definition of healthy.

“If I asked you to tell me what you ate today, would you tell me?”

He leaves his hand on Seonghwa's face because he doesn't want Seonghwa to get away. Seonghwa doesn't look up but luckily more tears don't leave his eyes. He parts his lips but doesn't say a word, and promptly shakes his head.

He doesn't want Seonghwa to feel uncomfortable or for any word he says to end up making Seonghwa feel worse. He really wants to go downstairs to ask one of his mothers to talk to Seonghwa because they surely know better how to handle the situation, but he is the person Seonghwa trusts.

“It bothers me not knowing where the products come from, but I do eat.”

He swallows when without needing him to ask another question, Seonghwa speaks. He understands that he may not need to ask, but just keep Seonghwa comfortable in order to be honest.

“So... that's why you didn't accept my moms' plate?”

Seonghwa nods. “I don't do it because I want to.”

He curls up one of the corners of his lips, thinking that it's already a big step for Seonghwa to be voicing those words. Seonghwa has probably never agreed to stay and eat at his house because he doesn't know the origin of the food and because he probably didn't want to eat with company. His intention is not to push until Seonghwa feels cornered again, so he doesn't ask why, then, he saw him eating with his father in a restaurant.

“Did you know that I... I... don't laugh, but, when I saw you with your dad, I thought... I thought you were on a date,” he opts to say, wanting a smile to break Seonghwa's downcast expression.

“A date?” And though it's not a smile, he smiles when Seonghwa looks up at him, seeming more than confused.

“Listen, in my defense, the last thing I thought was that that man could be your dad,” he defends himself.

Seonghwa does smile this time, laughs even, and even if he looks down again, he remains calm because Seonghwa continues to smile, obviously amused by what he's heard.

“I don't like older people,” Seonghwa says, and the way Seonghwa scratches his sweater with his index finger tingles him slightly. “I like people my age,” we're the same age, Hongjoong thinks.

“Ah... so whenever I see you with someone our age, I'm supposed to assume you're on a date?” Hongjoong asks, just to keep making him laugh, and Seonghwa looks at him again, looking both done and amused with his illogical words.

“Don't talk nonsense...”

Thankfully Seonghwa's breathing has calmed down, and his hand is still on Seonghwa's cheek while Seonghwa hasn't taken his hand off his chest. And maybe, yes, he's talking nonsense because he knows that he only expresses said words to make Seonghwa feel better. But there's also a trace of uncertainty that haunts him, which is still present even if Seonghwa evidently hasn't been on a date.

“Did you know that you are beautiful?” He decides to express.

Seonghwa looks at him again, his eyes widening this time, and he still hasn't withdrawn his hand from his cheek.

“What are you talking about?”

“You are quite special,” he follows.

Seonghwa is not perfect in his eyes, but special. 

While he feels special because Seonghwa allows himself to be himself when he's with him, he believes that Seonghwa makes him trip over his own limits without even meaning to.

“I don't see that...” Seonghwa manages to articulate.

His voice is still broken but he still expresses those words. Seonghwa lowers his eyes to the hand he has placed on his chest, so he makes sure to keep his breathing as calm as possible, hoping that its slow rhythm will help Seonghwa.

“That's because you are harder on yourself than the rest,” he’s only able to think of one of the first words he has crossed with Seonghwa. Sorry for being a burden. 

Sometimes your own worst enemy turns out to be your own reflection. He believes that Seonghwa's shadow is what has been stalking and haunting him the most from the beginning. And from the way that Seonghwa has never told him why he hurt his hand, he's starting to believe that Seonghwa has also gotten tired of his own reflection's judging eyes.

He assumes that Seonghwa understands what he’s saying, since he remains silent, probably sensing the way his thoughts collide at that moment. Thankfully more tears stop threatening to leave his gaze, but he caresses his cheek nonetheless.

Seonghwa shouldn't be afraid to be the way he is when they're together, and while he gifts Seonghwa the chance to just be, Seonghwa gifts him being the only person to be able to fully look at him.

“You know I'm not lying to you. I worry about you.” he decides to continue. “And you care about the people around you, don't you? About Yeosang, about Wooyoung, about San. About me too, I want to believe. So we can worry about you, right?”

“I don't want Yeosang to worry about me.” he isn't surprised when Seonghwa seems to focus on the mention of Yeosang. “I do want him to... be okay with me, but I don't want him to worry about me.”

“You have to talk to Yeosang.” this time he expresses his words with determination. “And you have to tell him about your dad.”

“I don't want to make him sad.”

“You make him sad by not telling him.”

He watched the way Yeosang looked down and seemed sad because he no doubt felt sad when they both realized that Seonghwa isn't maintaining good eating habits. And he understands why Seonghwa doesn't want Yeosang to know that the man turns out to be his biological father, but Yeosang is clearly not happy with the distance between them.

“I have to talk to him even though it will hurt us both?”

“Just like you already did, remember?” he tries to remind him. He wasn't around to hear what kind of words were exchanged when the photoshoot was canceled, but he does know that the talk improved the relationship between Yeosang and Seonghwa.

Seonghwa remains silent and doesn't look at him, and he doesn't force him to speak because he certainly hopes that Seonghwa is thinking about the words he's already exchanged with Yeosang. They have to talk. Clearly staying apart from each other hurts both of them.

“I'm confused but... I do know that our dad would like us to be okay.” Seonghwa says, and allows a breath to leave his lips. “The presidency is yours, Pres, I don't want it.” Seonghwa adds, looking at him.

Even with a broken voice and a cloudy gaze, Seonghwa looks at him, and Hongjoong believes that Seonghwa will never realize how strong he is.

“Not really,” Seonghwa continues as he shakes his head softly, and though Seonghwa withdraws his hand from his chest, he doesn’t lean away from the hand still present on his cheek. “I only did it to try to impress people I'm not sure I want to impress anymore.”

He stares at him, not believing his words to be a surprise. Seonghwa has broken himself to try to meet other people's standards, and the reality is that he’s only able to think of one person who may have led Seonghwa to think and behave that way. 

Seonghwa’s mother.

Instead of frowning, he chooses to focus on Seonghwa’s last words.

“Then if you don’t want to impress someone else, how about you impress yourself by taking care of yourself,” he proposes. Seonghwa has to take care of himself, not hold back for someone else's sake.

He doesn't want to push Seonghwa either, but he assumes that Seonghwa realizes his intentions because he slightly nods instead of shaking his head, as he has done so many times before.

At no time does he withdraws his hand from Seonghwa’s cheek, and he thinks that a part of him got offended at the idea of Seonghwa approaching him to actually stay close to his mother because he too, since the beginning, has never pretended with Seonghwa. Even if he approached him with certain intentions at first, he never pretended.

He doesn't look away from him when Seonghwa looks at him.

“Wooyoung told me you quit the debate,” Seonghwa says.

“I didn't see the point in staying,” it’s the truth. He believes that the debate interested him because doing so included facing Seonghwa. It wouldn't have made sense for him to do the debate without Seonghwa next to him. “You have to do things that you like,” he adds after remembering that Seonghwa has expressed not wanting to fight for the title that apparently will continue to belong to him.

“I liked modeling,” Seonghwa agrees, “Or at least almost modeling...”

“Yes?” Although the photoshoot never got done, he noticed the way in which Seonghwa looked around him, interested. Besides, his mothers have expressed that Seonghwa has certainly said it again, and he knows that his mother doesn’t express that anyone can model. “I could talk to Ma,”

“I don't want to use you.”

“I think we've already made it pretty clear that this isn't the case, don't you think? That we don’t use each other, that we trust each other, actually,” the closeness of that moment can only be described as real, as honest. “You can come here whenever you want to, you know, and Yeosang too,” he adds, because Seonghwa cares about Yeosang, and he too, and Jongho has expressed that Yeosang doesn't feel comfortable in his own house either.

Seonghwa rolls up the corners of his mouth upon hearing Yeosang's name.

“There is so much he hides from me and so much I hide from him. I never expected that there would be so many secrets in my family.”

“Do you regret moving? Coming to this city?”

“I don't think so,” Seonghwa answers faster than he expected. “Despite everything, I discovered many truths and met good people,” Seonghwa looks at him, and Hongjoong smiles.

“I'm glad I met you too,” he says, understanding his words.

He doesn't object when Seonghwa snuggles up to him. He leaves his chin on Seonghwa’s blond locks and he pets said strands with his hand. Seonghwa deserves to be protected instead of just protect, and he wants to be the person Seonghwa goes to feel that way, comfortable and safe.

“You don't want my presidency,” he chooses to say, and his hand again slides to Seonghwa's nape when Seonghwa leans back to watch him after hearing him. “But maybe you want the president?”

The tranquility that until now has characterized his breathing is interrupted when he pronounces those words, since he’s aware of what he’s proposing with that question. 

He wants to take care of Seonghwa and for Seonghwa to take care of him.

Seonghwa stares at him, this time not looking away, and he doesn't doubt that Seonghwa can feel the rapid beating of his heart when he once again leaves his hand over his chest. But it’s fine, he thinks, because he wants Seonghwa to know that he alters his heartbeat.

“I've forgotten what it's like to get what I want and who I want,” Seonghwa says, his voice low but not broken anymore.

“May I remind you?” he asks, keeping his hand on his nape.

In truth, Hongjoong wonders, is there a more special gift than having the chance to see someone being vulnerable?

“Yes.”

His lips meet Seonghwa's as Seonghwa parts his lips to offer him an affirmative answer.

Money, clothes, accessories, properties, luxuries of any kind, they have plenty of that. But moments where they can allow themselves to be vulnerable, to be who they really are? Those moments are rare, scarce even, and for that very reason, it’s so rewarding when they have the opportunity to dabble in what they want —who they want.

It's a soft kiss, this time without cigarette smoke and a lingering taste of strawberry in between. Reassuring too, because he wants to show Seonghwa that he cares about him, and that his actions match his words. He keeps his hand on his nape as well as his lips on his, and he’s gratified when Seonghwa lets out a contented hum, a sound that implies he's comfortable.

“How does it feel?” he asks even though he kisses him again.

Seonghwa doesn't complain about not being able to provide an immediate answer, and doesn’t allow himself to reply as he gently tugs at his sweater and hooks one of his legs over his, the distance between them narrowing even more.

“Good,” Seonghwa finally says before connecting their lips again. Hongjoong wants him to feel that way. Good, good when he's with him, good when they're close, good when they are together.

He can hold Seonghwa now, and Seonghwa can hold him as well.

Altering his heart and affirming his thoughts, Seonghwa keeps making him question things he's never questioned before, and maybe that's okay, because in the same way that he requires Seonghwa to be honest, Seonghwa also requires him to be sincere.

“Do you think we could go for that coffee someday?” Seonghwa asks, and he swallows because just as he hasn't stopped thinking about the way Seonghwa has refused to spend time with him, apparently Seonghwa hasn't either. “I don't care what it means, Hongjoong, I just know that I want to be with you.”

He doesn't hesitate to nod, because maybe it's true, it doesn't matter what it means, whether they both think it's a date or not. The important thing is that both want to stay side by side.

“There's a lot I want to tell you and I don't know when is the right time to do it,” he chooses to mention, without needing to raise his voice because his words tickle Seonghwa's lips. “But I don't know how to say everything I want to tell you either, and I think I'm also afraid to say it.”

“Then don't say it in words, just...” Seonghwa shrugs slightly. “Show me.”

Feeling nervous, it wouldn't be fair to him or Seonghwa to decide to hold back. After all, he has said that it does him no good to suppress his own feelings. So he again catches Seonghwa's lips with his own, not needing words to show him that he is the person he wants, that he is the person who upsets him, who drives him crazy, who alters him, and who forces him to reflect on his emotions.

He’s Seonghwa’s exception and Seonghwa is his exception.

It's okay if he feels as vulnerable as Seonghwa even though Seonghwa is the one who has cried while he hasn't. Seonghwa allows his emotions to be true, and now he does too. It really is okay, if even when Seonghwa wraps his arm around his neck and he slides his hand down his lower back to press Seonghwa against him, he still feels nervous. Being vulnerable will never be easy.

After all, when he met Seonghwa, he certainly thought that if Seonghwa even tries to pull him down, Seonghwa is going down with him. It's okay, it's okay, it's okay, it really is, because they've got each other to get back up.

“You've asked me what it feels like to get who I want,” Seonghwa leaves a few inches between them, and this time, if they both need to take a deep breath, it's because they don't want to let the other go, not because they've distanced themselves. “And it feels good, I've told you so, but it also feels...” Seonghwa caresses the back of his neck, and whatever it means, he revels in the touch. “Healing,” Seonghwa adds in a whisper.

For both of them, Hongjoong believes.

Chapter 43

Notes:

cw mentions of cheating/implied cheating

“I'm Mingi. Song Mingi?”

Mingi knows that he could roll his eyes at the fact that he has to say his name when the bodyguard in front of him does know his first and last name, but he doesn't allow irritation to guide his words, and actually finds the situation amusing. Ridiculous, rather.

“You know who I am and security let me be here already,” he adds when the bodyguard only continues to stare at him. Just as he often thinks of his last name as the root of several of his insecurities, other times the letters that make it up allow him to raise an eyebrow and not need to provide explanations.

“Wait here.” he’s finally told, and he doesn't complain when the bodyguard stops standing in front of him to open and close the door of the office in front of him.

He doesn't let out a sigh when he's told, again, that he has to wait to see Jongho's mother, not when the envelope present in his hands allows him to revel in the situation rather than fill his patience. He holds a small grin, allowing himself to be content with knowing that he's surrounded by good people, but holds a neutral expression as the door ahead of him is opened.

“You can come in.”

He draws an honest yet fake smile when the bodyguard finally lets him in, and his smile turns into a completely honest grin when he finds Jongho's mother sitting behind her desk. He thinks he might even heave a sigh of relief, he's been waiting for this, but he refrains from holding a smile.

“Mingi,” he's welcomed, he doesn't know if well. “My son is here if you are looking for him.”

“No, I was looking for you,” he chooses to say.

“The honor.” Mingi continues to smile, detecting the subtle fakeness in her tone of voice. “And why would that be?”

He stops smiling.

“I know that you were the one who told my fiancé to go against us against his own will.” he expresses, not feeling happy at the image that appears in his head.

Yunho crying with San next to him, because he felt cornered and had to do things that he wishes he hadn't done, while he didn’t hesitate to get angry. He doesn't like the image of Yunho crying or feeling trapped, not knowing what to do.

“Well, it seems to me that I did you a favor if you are calling him fiancé.”

“Yes, you did,” Mingi supposes that he’s not capable of going against her words completely, since certainly, that situation has been another obstacle that he, fortunately, has managed to overcome together with Yunho instead of allowing it to break them. “Now thanks to your actions I can do things that I had to do secretly before, and my parents can't say anything about it.”

“It was my pleasure helping you,” Jongho's mother smiles.

“So let me do the same for you, you can thank me later,” he makes a gesture with his hand to indicate that a thank you from her is not urgent.

“Why exactly?”

“For coming with these to you instead of directly going to the press,” he gets close enough to rest the envelope on the desk that keeps them apart. “Since you are such a fan of pictures,” he adds before stepping back, and remains in his place.

With his gaze, he follows all the movements that Jongho's mother makes, entertained by the way in which she opens the envelope, but not before taking a look at him, as well as when holding the photos in her hands is enough for all traces of false cordiality to disappear and leave her face, because soon enough their eyes meet.

“Where did you find this.”

“It's interesting what happens when you pull off a few strings then and there,” he answers. “You have a lot of people who don't like you, myself included by the way,” he’s sincere.

He didn’t do it alone, he knows it, but that detail only makes him feel even more proud, as none other than Hongjoong was the person who actually allowed him access to the information displayed in the photos. He has chosen his friends well, he’s aware of that.

“Don't come for me and my fiancé again, unless you want that secret out.”

“You can't threaten me.” Jongho's mother stands up. “My family has more power than yours.”

“Exactly.” Mingi doesn't seek to deny her words. “But power comes with a price. You have more power to lose than me. I can threaten you, and I just did.”

Mingi guesses that despite all the sleepiness, boredom, and times he's thought he wanted to leave, he should thank his parents for constantly forcing him to stay around people like them from a young age. He has learned that it’s a game, and that even the main player can tremble.

Jongho's mother, possibly San’s mother too, he doesn't care. Mingi knows how important it is to maintain one's image, his parents have never forgotten to repeat it. He’s not nervous about facing the Prime Minister’s wife, a known figure by herself, but rather satisfied that he doesn't hesitate to stand up to her.

“The issue about your exam could get leaked out,” he listens.

Mingi allows himself to chuckle instead of feeling cornered when he hears those words.

“Good luck trying to win against two parents who are obsessed with their family. At least my parents worry about the family itself. You only worry about yourself. As you can see, that's you in the pictures, not your family,” family, friends, that’s power. “Try to get it posted, anyway, but I wonder which deception will weigh more, an exam or a person.”

He believes that his parents are capable of suing the university if the Board even decides to accept that he has tried to cheat on one of his tests, much more so when his parents have also helped those images to be left on the desk. They have always lived in Seoul, his parents have always remained in contact with the University Board. His parents contribute financially to the university, and before Jongho, his last name was the most imposing set of letters.

Perhaps his parents are still not completely in favor of his closeness with Yunho, but they have always sought to protect the family, and they have understood that Yunho only wants to protect him, while the woman in front of him wants the opposite.

“You won't have codes, but I do, and no one messes with the love of my life,” and just as Yunho protects him, he protects Yunho. “Have a good day.”

He decides to turn around, being sure of what he feels for Yunho, and again offers the bodyguard a smile, this time completely sincere when he leaves, and he still doesn't feel cornered when just a few meters from the door, he finds Jongho, with his arms crossed and one side of his body against the wall.

He chooses to stop next to him, and looks at him.

“Wanna get out of here and go for a walk?” He offers him, “I would offer a ride but I don’t have my car,” yet, he thinks, since he accepted not being able to drive after having done so without a clear head.

Jongho doesn't offer him words, but he does offer an answer as he stops holding himself against the wall and walks next to him.

He has never blamed Jongho for his mother's actions. He knows what it's like to be put under the microscope for the last name he carries, for being part of a certain family. If someone understands Jongho, that person is him, and he believes that the same can be said viceversa.

“What did you tell her?” Jongho asks him.

He doesn't sound irritated or curious, his words seem to imply that he wants to check the answer that he has already begun to plot inside his head —an answer that he already has, because Jongho has also helped those photos to be delivered.

“Nothing you don't know,” he replies as he leaves his sunglasses on the bridge of his nose once they leave the front of the manor behind them.

Just as Jongho doesn't need him to express certain words, he doesn't need Jongho to provide phrases to believe he knows what allowed him to enter his mother's office.

“It's the reason why we are here,” Jongho confirms his thought.

He chooses to give him a push with his waist, for support, he thinks, because he doesn't doubt that it must be hard to know that your mother is cheating on your father, and probably more than once considering that San could be his half-brother; so he smiles when Jongho clicks his tongue at him.

His pace slows suddenly, though, when he's more than sure he recognizes the car parked in front of Jongho's manor.

“Wait here for me a minute,” he asks Jongho, and promptly approaches the car, confused when he certainly recognizes his mother once she rolls down the window. “Mom? What are you doing here?”

They all agreed that he would deliver the photos —well, rather he insisted. Although Hongjoong and his mothers helped get the photos, he hasn't wanted to involve them further, and he really wanted to feel the satisfaction of exposing Jongho's mother when she exposed him. He doesn’t understand his mother’s presence.

“Did you really think I would let my son go in there with no backup?” His mother watches him, and although like him, she’s also wearing sunglasses, he can see the way she raises an eyebrow.

Mingi doesn't avoid the lopsided smile that his mouth forms. As he has mentioned to Jongho's mother, his family protects him, and he protects his family. They protect each other. Even if he resents his parents for not approving of his closeness with Yunho, for not giving him complete freedom, and for being the reason for many of his problems. But it's okay, he believes, since he's also the reason behind many of his parents' problems.

“Everything went well, Mom, I'll go for a walk with Jongho,” he says, and thinks it's a sweet irony the way his mother initially asked him to stay close to Jongho and approach him at the gala, whereas now they will willingly spend time side by side.

“Good. You can't still use your car.”

“I know,” he agrees, still smiling.

“You know, I love your father, and your father loves me, and neither of us would be where we are if we didn't have each other.” Mingi tilts his head, somewhat confused when his mother chooses to express those words.

He wonders if she's speaking that truth out of fear that he'll think the closeness between them is fake, but his mother promptly sighs.

“Yu... Yunho.” He widens his eyes when he hears his mother say Yunho's name instead of his last name as she has constantly done for as long as he can remember. “Does he make you truly happy?”

He doesn’t know what exactly leads his mother to ask that question. Maybe she wants to make sure he isn't looking for trouble himself when it's obvious that there are enough problems to make a list, or maybe she's still skeptical because she doesn't want Yunho to hurt him.

“I asked him to marry me, Mom,” even if he did it with a plastic ring, he wants Yunho to be by his side for the rest of his life. That's how happy Yunho makes him. “And he said yes,” because he makes Yunho happy too.

His mother inhales a breath to then exhale it, realizing that she doesn't need to hear an affirmative answer to her question because the words he expresses are enough to ensure that yes, Yunho truly makes him happy, and that he has crossed the doors of the manor he has already left, with an envelope in his hands and a warning in his mouth, because he will always have something to do or say in case Yunho gets hurt.

“And did he really do everything you claim he did?”

“Yes, Mom,” he assures her. Yunho is the only reason why his failed exam is still a secret after all.

“We could... we could have tea with him sometime,” his mother says, and he raises both eyebrows until he feels the way his lips form a wide, wide, wide smile, since he thinks his mother has no idea how long he's waited to hear those words. “Now go. I must go as well.” and of course his mother is still his mother, so he doesn't complain when she quickly adds those words after probably noticing his obvious emotion. “What we did will have its consequences so I better chat people up.”

He agrees to walk away from the car when his mother starts the engine, and continues to smile as his eyes follow the back of the car, until he approaches Jongho again.

“You are in trouble?” Jongho asks, looking concerned.

“Nah, surprisingly,” he assures him along with a smile, but remains serious when he notices that even though they start walking side by side, Jongho continues to look troubled.

“I... I'm really sorry, Mingi, for everything my mom has done to you and Yunho.”

Mingi shakes his head, believing that those words are not necessary, and luckily Jongho doesn't move away from him when he opts to put one of his arms around his shoulders. Children of Ministers, they understand each other, he supposes.

“We're not our parents,” he assures him. “We really are not.”

He’s more than the rivalry his parents have taught him to associate with Yunho, and Jongho is more than his mother's behavior. They learn from their parents, and their parents, actually, could learn from them as well.

“You know, I know the right person to talk to if you're dealing with a failed marriage between your parents,” he offers, knowing that Yunho doesn't blame Jongho for decisions made by someone else either.

Jongho raises one of the corners of his mouth, and he smiles, because he may not have been able to prevent his relationship with Yunho from being exposed and his relationship with his parents is not perfect, but he has learned how to fight.

---

“I don't understand why you want to be here.”

Yunho looks up from the menu after practically knowing it by heart, and rests his eyes on his father when he hears him.

“A farewell dinner, that's all,” he offers before glancing around.

It’s a weekday so Utopia is not completely full as it usually happens on weekends, although most of the tables are still occupied. He has to admit that it's strange to find himself sitting at one of the tables instead of behind the front counter, where he usually is when he works, but he thinks it's entertaining.

“Are you sure you can be here?”

“Yes, I agreed to give in in exchange for one last dinner,” he replies, and of course his father believes what he says. While his father trusts what he says, his mother would look at him beyond confused and bewildered if he expressed giving up on Utopia in exchange for the few hours a dinner entails.

“Are we waiting for someone else?”

His eyes fall to the empty chair next to him when his father expresses that question, since instead of sitting at a table for two, he has asked one for three.

“Hello,” his answer says.

He looks up after recognizing Mingi's tone of voice, and he allows the corners of his mouth to turn up as Mingi finally arrives.

“Hello,” he greets him when he feels Mingi's hand rest on his neck.

“Can I sit here?” Mingi asks, knowing the answer.

“Of course.” He pushes the chair back and Mingi sits next to him.

He believes that it’s strange to find himself sitting at one of the tables in Utopia, even more so with his father sitting in front of him and Mingi next to him.

If months ago someone had told him that he would be part of that scene, he would have raised an eyebrow or let out a deluded chuckle, but at that moment he decides to straighten up after exchanging a look with Mingi.

“I hope you don't mind my presence.”

He rests his eyes on his father when Mingi does, reveling in the confused look his father sends their way. He’s not surprised. The last time his father mentioned Mingi's name in front of him, he ended up sad, angry, irritated, and with tears slipping down his cheeks. But he smiles now, and allows said smiling gesture to widen when Mingi's hand lands on his thigh.

“If he doesn't...” his father looks at him.

“No, actually, we should order champagne since the three of us are here talking.”

A sign is enough for his staff to understand that he’s asking for a bucket of champagne, and he turns his head to the other side to delight in the image in front of him.

Of all the tables in Utopia, he thinks the one he's at is the prettiest.

They are outside even if it’s cold, the space provides a perfect image of the city of Seoul at night. It’s located a bit away from the other tables so chatting is easy, and it gives him a view of the indoor space of the bar since they are near the large windows that connect both parts of the place.

He smiles at the silence because the murmur of the people present in Utopia reaches his ears. Mingi's hand has never left his thigh, and he’s sure that his father hasn’t said a word because he must still be more than disoriented by the image that him and Mingi sitting side by side represent.

The bottle of champagne is soon left on their table, and though he misses Mingi's hand on his body as Mingi opens the bottle, he allows a smile to come to his face as Mingi hands him a glass.

“A toast,” he proposes.

“To the new owner of Utopia,” Mingi expresses, staring at him.

While he doesn’t doubt that his father clinks his glass with his after thinking that Mingi is talking about himself, he holds a smile because meeting Mingi's gaze is enough to counteract the bitter taste of champagne with a nice feeling.

“What does it feel like being the owner of this place?” His father looks at Mingi.

“So fucking good,” Yunho answers, looking at him fixedly, and he doesn't hesitate to hold a big smile when his father's gaze quickly slides to him when he’s the person to reply instead of Mingi. “Oh, hasn't he told you?” He voices words previously spoken by his father, and only feels better when Mingi slides one of his arms around his shoulders. “Utopia is mine.” he declares, and ah, he thinks it's never felt so good to say those words.

Utopia is his. His and no one else’s.

“What?”

Once again, raising one of his arms is enough for another person from his staff to approach him, this time with an envelope in hand, and he takes it to then slide it towards his father.

“Just for you,” he says as he settles in close to Mingi, his arm around his shoulders feeling cozy.

He watches his father read the new contract which states that Utopia is now under his name instead of the last name they share. He smiles when his father quickly reads the written words, and only widens his smiling gesture when he looks up at him.

“Yes, Mingi sold it to me,” he expresses what his father’s eyes have read. “I guess it should make you happy to know that my partner takes such good care of me, and gives me everything I want,” it feels good, to have the opportunity to refer to Mingi in that way, to have Mingi by his side and his arm over his shoulders, without worrying about what other people might say.

“I should have known.” His father shakes his head. “You are born a Song, you are a Song, and you will die a Song.”

“Be careful with what you say, dad, you never know if I'll be a Song. If I were you, I would be careful with your words. Did I say partner? Maybe I should have said fiancé.” He raises the palm of his hand and looks at the ring that Mingi gave him after tears were shed and eternal love was declared.

“A really nice ring,” he feels the kiss that Mingi leaves on his temple.

“You have definitely inherited your mother's madness.”

He remains serious as he watches his father, believing that he continues to feel more at ease with his mother miles away than with his father in front of him at that very moment.

“And your stubbornness.” he says. “Worst possible combination.” He grins before turning serious again. “I'm the only thing you and Mom haven't fought over, or I have been, because Mom will take my side, and she actually is happy for us,” he points out between him and Mingi.

“Yunho, that's plastic.” His father points to the ring.

“And yet it is more resistant, and is worth more than you.”

“You are making a mistake.”

“No, Dad,” he shakes his head. “You told me once, that you wanted me to be greedy. Your mistake was underestimating how willing I am to go.”

In a certain way he believes that he has underestimated Mingi and that Mingi has underestimated him, since while he hasn’t hesitated to express that he has been the person who cheated on the exam to prevent Mingi from being blamed, and to expose himself In order to keep that secret hidden, Mingi has made what he thinks is a tremendous and intriguing move by buying Utopia and offering it to him.

“Unbelievable.”

“This is my place, so I kindly ask you to leave.” he determines.

He doesn’t want to be around someone who has never sought to understand his love for the place where they are, who hasn’t hesitated to try to get rid of it at the first opportunity. He assumes that he has also underestimated his father by believing that he would behave differently towards him, that he wouldn’t allow his enmity with his mother to lead him to make the decisions he has made.

He doesn’t want to be around someone who has never sought to understand his love for the person next to him, so he doesn’t regret it when his father understands his words, and stops being in front of them. He looks at the empty space in front of him instead of following him, and doesn't object when Mingi pulls him closer.

“Are you okay?”

“I am,” he answers without hesitation before turning his body towards Mingi, and looks at him with the beginning of a small smile.

He’s sure of his words because perhaps at that moment it still hurts that his father has never been on his side, but Mingi is, and his mother too no matter how far away she is.

Mingi smiles at him, and Yunho knows that he definitely is okay.

“You never know if you'll be a Song, mh?” He rolls his eyes but continues to smile when Mingi says those words along with an amused smile on his face. “I'll toast to that,” he watches as he touches his glass to give it another sip.

Yunho looks at him, and suddenly believes that that table is no longer the prettiest because of the image it gives him of the city, or the lights that contrast with what is the beginning of the night, but because with Mingi sitting next to him, he doesn’t feel the need to turn his head to rest his attention on the night that he and Mingi dominate.

He rests one of his hands on Mingi's cheek and smiles, reassured as Mingi leans into his touch. Between the ring present on the hand that Mingi allows himself to lean into, and Mingi's eyes connecting with his, he's already feeling better.

“Mingi,”

“Mh?”

He thinks it's pretty the way Utopia's low beams fall on Mingi's facial features. He has previously thought about it, and at that moment he only confirms it.

Mingi looks handsome, he thinks, Mingi is handsome, with glasses and his bluish highlights thrown back, in a cream-colored suit that contrasts with the dark color of the clothes he always chooses to use when he runs Utopia.

“This is the first time we've gone out to dinner.”

Although they have gained so much by staying away from the eyes of others, they have also missed out on the most common experiences, but it's okay, Yunho believes, because at that time the satisfaction is only greater after realizing all the new moments that can come and that he can create together with Mingi.

“Our first date,” Mingi smiles. “At Utopia,” Mingi contrasts his previous smiling gesture after pretending to gag and brings a hand to his chest. Yunho laughs instead of taking offense at the feigned gesture because that's how they are, as close as they are rivals, and pats his chest lightly. “The second will be at Illusion,” again Mingi smiles at him.

“Another date?” Yunho raises both eyebrows, amused, and brings his face closer to his.

“You are my fiancé, I want everyone to know how happy you make me and how happy I make you,” Mingi looks at him, and he slightly tilts his head when Mingi gently catches his chin between his index finger and his thumb.

“Fiancé,” he repeats on his lips, believing that he has gotten used to that word faster than he thought. He can't be blamed for that when Mingi has done everything to reassure him that he's the only right person for him, and he hopes he's done the same so Mingi will think of him the same way.

“Fiancé,” Mingi repeats before trapping his lips with his.

It feels good, not to feel cornered when Mingi kisses him, not to feel afraid because they are outside instead of hiding from the rest. It feels good, to show his closeness to Mingi, and not only in the eyes of others, but also to themselves.

A chuckle leaves his lips as he suddenly hears a round of applause, and he covers the smile his mouth forms as he leans back and they both look at some of his staff celebrating.

Mingi laughs too, and despite the embarrassment that leads him to rest his head on Mingi's shoulder before straightening up, he feels happy after realizing that just as there are people who will never accept Mingi by his side, other people only support such closeness.

“Was this the main entrance?” Mingi asks him, turning to him. “I can't wait for the main course, let alone dessert.”

“Special menu just for you,” he offers him before smiling and kissing Mingi.

Now he has the power. To run Utopia completely, to call Wooyoung as he has decided to do to offer him to be part of his staff, to have the opportunity to be happy every time he doesn’t doubt that Mingi will choose to visit, and to continue the business that his mother has left in his hands, making her and himself proud.

He leans back when his phone vibrates while Mingi's sounds. Mingi again leaves one of his arms on his shoulders, and he watches Mingi just as Mingi watches him, but this time seriously, because San has just notified them that he finally has the DNA results.

“Your bet?” Mingi asks.

“I prefer not to bet, honestly,” he replies.

“You know, maybe your mom no longer hates me and my mom doesn't hate you, and they will probably fight when we get married, and a lot,” Mingi says, and he can't help chuckling despite what he listens. He still can’t believe that Mingi's mother has agreed to spend some time with him. “But at least we know that they are our moms. Particular, peculiar, and with... original personalities, I guess, but our moms after all.”

“And we toast to that,” this time he clinks his glass with Mingi's, and gives a long champagne sip in San's honor.

With Utopia in his hands —two fingers with different rings, one for his mother, and one for Mingi, and Mingi with his dear Illusion, both can stay side by side to be present for San.

Mingi makes sure to keep him close, and he's never felt so powerful.

Notes:

yungi everywhere!!

sad to inform this was yunho's last pov, i hope i have done justice to him, i loved writing him 🙏

Chapter 44

Notes:

cw mentions of cheating

Jongho again looks at the envelope in his hands, aware that his face shows the opposite of amusement. Soon enough, though, his eyes drift to the hand that is placed on his shoulder.

“Do you want us to go with you?” Yunho asks him.

Although Mingi promptly appears next to him as well, and Yunho and Mingi being next to him certainly leads him to feel protected, he shakes his head. He has to do this alone, even if the melancholic feeling that that word carries doesn't embrace him.

“Thank you, but I can do this.” He knows he can.

His fingers crinkle the corners of the envelope, and he lets out a breath.

“Well, then, our night here is over,” Mingi says, smiling. “You can come to Illusion later, if you want.”

“Illusion? We're going to Illusion? I thought we were going to Utopia,” Yunho says, baffled, and he laughs at their exchange of words.

Both Mingi and Yunho could have chosen to be angry with him, to despise him, even, after what his mother has done to them, and yet they don't, and even find themselves present by his side, and gravitating close to each other as well, showing that they have chosen to continue together despite the obstacles that other people have sought to put in their paths.

They don't have to pretend, and his wish is said freedom.

“If I get to the car first, we'll go to Illusion!” from one moment to the next Mingi is no longer with them.

“I think he forgot it's my car and that I'm the one driving,” Yunho shakes his head, a warm smile on his face, and promptly puts his hand back on his shoulder. “Well, you know where you can find us if you need us,” Yunho smiles at him.

Jongho swallows when no one is around him anymore.

Once again he's in one of the many social gatherings in which he must be present, but he doesn't force himself to keep a polite smile on his face, not anymore, not when the words written on the pages inside the envelope don't lead him to hold a smiling gesture.

He looks to his side, thinking that Yeosang should be next to him since his mother expressed wanting to make the relationship between them public, and that she wouldn't take into account their own opinions. But Yeosang is not present, and he knows that Yeosang's waiting for him outside that establishment.

He finally takes a step forward when he feels a hand on his back giving him the gentlest push.

“I really believe that our parents have to take responsibility for their mistakes, don't you think so?” again he meets Yunho's animated smile, and this time he follows him with his eyes when Yunho walks away from him.

Yunho is right, and Mingi too. Just as he expresses the word sorry —sorry now, no longer forgive me— when he should, and perhaps when he shouldn't as well, and he seeks to take responsibility for his mistakes, he’s not willing to continue dealing with people who don’t, much less with those who owe him more than one apology.

After finally having taken a step, and knowing that Yeosang is waiting for him, he moves and approaches his mother. He won't offer a polite smile, he won't keep quiet, and he won't follow instructions. Not anymore.

He leaves one of his hands on her back, the laughter of the people around her caressing his ears, but he watches his mother as she turns her head towards him.

“Mom.”

“Are you still alone?” his mother asks, seeming to glance around them.

Jongho forms a line with his lips, no longer impressed with the way his mother doesn't ask him if he's okay, if he's enjoying the party, or if he needs anything. The words that Yeosang has once said to him about how perhaps he’s used to taking care of himself, echo in his head.

“Where is Yeosang, did you talk with him?”

Even though there’s no one next to him at the moment, he’s not alone.

“I did, actually,” his mother turns her body towards him when she hears him. “We have decided to go at our own pace and not let your decision speak for us since it isn’t your decision to make but ours.” he determines, staring at her.

The last thing he wants is for Yeosang to feel uncomfortable and walk away from him because he imposes restrictions instead of giving him freedom. He’s tired of the constant instructions too.

“You do understand that I was nice when I let you know this,” he, too, is not surprised when his mother expresses those words. He believes that nothing can surprise him anymore, at least not when it comes to his mother. “Because I can still do what I want and call the press.”

He’s tired of pure threats constantly reaching his ears when he has always sought to abide by instructions and play this game as he has been told.

Stay low, show yourself high, he thinks he probably would have continued to be a pawn if it hadn't been for Yeosang. He can act as he’s asked as well as be demanded to express certain words or hold certain gestures, but he’s not willing to continue being a puppet when his relationships with the other people around him are put into the game too.

He remains serious, wondering how much secrets change people.

He will play, but by his own rules now.

“I wonder. What will the press choose, the beginning of a harmless relationship between the son of the Prime Minister and the second son of a... well, I'd honestly rather not say it out loud,” staying close to Yeosang and respectively from Seonghwa is enough to be sure that he doesn’t like their mother. “Or the wife of the Prime Minister and her secrets?”

“I have it covered,” his mother assures him.

Jongho wonders how much his mother is lying to herself too, since with his own eyes he has seen Mingi leave her office, and he doubts that it was for a friendly chat after his mother forced him to expose his closeness with Yunho. Besides, Mingi has assured him that he hasn’t paid a visit to her simply because.

“All of them? Are you sure about that? Because I know at least seven people who have this same copy by now,” he finally offers her the envelope present in his hand, noting the way his mother frowns before taking it.

Seonghwa approached him, and something in his gaze assured him that Seonghwa decided for him to be the first to receive the envelope and read the information only because both are close to Yeosang.

He hasn't questioned him, he hasn't asked questions, and now with his own eyes, he observes the way that unlike him, since he hasn't been surprised, his mother widens her eyes not when she reads that San is her son, but when she understands that he’s aware of said information.

“It's too late for a baby shower, don't you think so?”

It could have been a mistake, it could have been a false result, or even a rigged result, but the way his mother looks at him —Jongho doesn't think he remembers the last time he's seen his mother drop her facade— assures him that this is not the case, that the exposed result is true.

“Nice way of finding out I have a half-brother, right?”

“Jongho. How did y—”

“Secrets don't say in the past, Mom.” Jongho determines.

Secrets haunt them, and forge who they are.

“If you release this, it will be hell.”

Jongho thinks he wants to sigh but doesn't. His mother's first concern is to think about what the others will say instead of offering explanations, but perhaps it’s fair, because just as he doesn’t offer explanations about how he found out, his mother only seeks to save herself, again.

“For you, not me,” he reminds her. “You are the one that cheats. Multiple times, apparently,” he says, since they first moved to Seoul after his mother's disrespect for his father threatened to become known, and now it turns out that it isn’t the first time. “Does Dad even know?” His father does know about the recent events, since with his own eyes he has gotten used to seeing his parents act. “I understand that Dad is not perfect, but this? How do you even think about sending me to his same college?”

“We needed a place to stay low and his father said no. The mother of your momentary distraction agreed.”

“Don't call him that.” he glares at her, knowing that she’s talking about Yeosang.

“Doesn't it bother you? He's older than you. He could inherit everything.”

Jongho feels the inevitable attempt of laughter deep in his throat as his mother immediately tries to turn San against him. She doesn't ask how San is, she doesn't ask how he is, she only cares to know how she is herself.

“Inherit what? Betrayal? Lies? Secrets? He deserved to know the truth and so am I. He shouldn't have paid for your mistakes and neither do I.”

If his mother hasn't had a problem abandoning a child, he believes that nothing will stop her from doing the same with him, so he’s the first to withdraw.

“I will not make my relationship with my permanent company,” not a momentary distraction, “Yeosang, public. Force me, and I'll make yours public. You don't touch any of my people, and I'm not saying more because I'm sure Mingi has already told you enough. It's not nice to be on the other side, is it, Mom?”

He thinks he’s been putting up with more than he's realized, but meeting people who are genuinely interested in him instead of his last name has been enough to understand that he doesn't want to feel cornered all the time.

He will never be completely free, he knows that, not with the last name he carries, but he can choose to surround himself with something —with people— that represents a breath of air in the midst of so much chaos.

His mother meets his gaze with hers.

“I raised you well,” is the only thing she expresses. She doesn’t accept her actions, she doesn’t take responsibility for the decisions she has made.

“You told me once, that a son should be there for his mother as well as his mother for her son. San deserved an honest childhood too.”

He thinks he was so naive at that moment, thinking of being unconditionally for his mother when his mother has never been for him.

“You told me once, to be careful. Told me not to trust easily, not to let people approach me, and not to believe. That I should be cautious, you said, that I should be wary of the intentions of the people around me. I never thought that you were talking about yourself. You broke my trust. I don't and I won't respect your words if you don't respect them yourself. Please don't give me a little brother, okay?”

“How did you even do the test?”

“I learned from you. I stayed low, but unlike you, I know how to do it.”

He talked to San and opened his palm for Seonghwa to give him the envelope; all without his mother looking at him twice. Perhaps he should be grateful that he cares only for herself.

“You don’t want us to play against each other.” his mother alerts him.

“That's where you're wrong. This is not me versus you. It's not a game for two. The thing is, Mom, I'm not alone,” he can only be happy to be able to pronounce those words, sure and convinced. “And you don't wanna play with us.”

It's a constant game, and one always needs allies.

“Now keep your head up, Mom, we are in public and we want to be a happy family, right? Cheer up, yes? This is a party after all.”

His mother remains serious and he walks away from her, not surprised when his mother doesn't ask him to keep a nice smile on his face because she no longer has the power to dictate and tell him what to do, with whom, when, and where.

He unbuttons his suit and loosens his tie, and exhales because he knows he won't have to stay up all night pretending, at least not anymore.

His eyes meet his father's as he heads for the exit.

Like his mother, he too is surrounded by people, both genuinely and falsely interested in him. But despite having to pay attention, he smiles when his father winks at him and mouths at him to leave. His father is not perfect, he has accepted it out loud, but he believes that he endures more than people think.

He doesn’t doubt that his father has always been aware of San's existence, that he has always known that he has been cheated on more than once. That implies that his father has also chosen not to mention certain details. But it’s also true that his father doesn’t have to take charge of other people's actions.

He doesn't have to greet Mingi before leaving because Mingi is not present either, and the cold air that slightly ruffles his dark strands once he leaves the building turns his breath into smoke. He walks over to his car, and gets into the driver's seat, he closes the door, and soon looks to the side.

“Hey...” One of Yeosang's hands lands on his arm.

“Hey,” One of his hands finds Yeosang's thigh.

“How did it go?”

“As well as it could have gone,” he opts to reply.

Yeosang slides his hand down his arm until it rests on the hand that he has rested on his thigh, and he lets out a silent breath for air because he really isn't alone.

He has been thinking all day about what to say, how to approach his mother, until he has decided that he’s not the person to be nervous, but his mother.

They were supposed to come to Seoul to get away from any scandal, only to end up getting into another one, even if said situation perhaps can't be described as such because instead of news portals, cameras, and people looking to listen, talking to the right people is the important thing.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“It's just that I... I don't think about my parents' marriage anymore. I know that we all have a role to play, and although I feel bad for my dad, he's not perfect either. But... I can't stop thinking that... it could have been me.”

Even if his mother did decide to stay with his father and until now they remain side by side, at least in front of the cameras and when someone is watching, his mother could have acted the same way towards him.

“San deserves better, but so do you.” Yeosang says, and he leans into the contact as Yeosang rests his free hand on his cheek.

While San ended up growing up, thinking that he has never had a mother, he has grown up with a mother who has used him. Perhaps neither should feel lucky despite the differences.

He does feel lucky, though, because as he continues to think, he’s not alone.

The behavior and decisions of other people have shaped him, but his way of thinking has changed. Now he can allow people to come close to him in the same way that he can allow himself to close that distance.

The situation would probably have turned out as badly as it could have if Yeosang hadn't approached the matter cautiously from the start, if Yeosang hadn't convinced him to show up at San’s party to talk. If he hadn't known that Yeosang would be waiting for him in his car, he wouldn't have walked through the doors of the building that night.

Yeosang protects him, and he also wants to protect Yeosang, just as both of them have expressed to each other before. He remembers how close they have been, and he caresses his thigh.

If Yeosang helps him, he wants to help Yeosang.

“This wouldn't have been possible without your brother,” he decides to tell him.

“I don't understand how he managed to do the test.”

“Have you thought about asking him?”

“What if he lies to me,” Yeosang drops one side of his body against the seat.

Jongho watches him because the frustration on his face is evident, because he has been present to stop Yeosang from looking for answers himself after getting him not to get out of the car to question Seonghwa at the doors of the restaurant.

“I know what it's like being lied to constantly,” he chooses to express, since he has understood that he has been the target of bigger and older lies than he has thought. “You two need to talk.” Yeosang and Seonghwa should talk, as it's more than obvious that they care about each other.

“Now you have a brother so you play the brother?” Fortunately, a small smile accompanies the formulation of that question.

“Advice from little brother to little brother.”

Yeosang giggles upon hearing this, and he smiles upon seeing him. It's weird, hearing that he now has a brother, that he has an older brother.

All those years he could have created a whole list of moments together with San but that opportunity has been taken away from him; while now he has the chance to establish that closeness that hasn’t been given before.

He looks at Yeosang as he caresses one of his cheeks with his knuckles, yet he stops smiling, since even if now it’s his and San's decision to choose how close they want to be, not being able to smile fully when he found out that he has a half-brother leads him to feel frustrated.

“Are you okay?” Yeosang asks him.

He’s aware that his parents won’t divorce no matter how far his mother distances herself from his father, and that he won’t speak to the press unless his mother again insists on taking over his life, since he also doesn’t want to expose San to a whole new world that is unknown; but he thinks he's fine.

His family is broken, but he's not.

“As long as you're with me,” he replies.

As he has expressed before, he wants Yeosang as his permanent company. Not to attend private galas or public banquets, for his name to accompany his, and for the news portals to have something to talk about, but to feel protected and free.

Yeosang gives him a small smile, and he curses the gear stick because it doesn't allow him to be completely close to Yeosang, but his hand is still on Yeosang’s thigh, and Yeosang has chosen to rest his hand near his jaw to stroke his chin.

It’s weird, he's never been a big fan of physical contact, but now he doesn't want to let go of Yeosang, and he doesn't want Yeosang to let go of him either.

“I can stay with you tonight,” Yeosang offers him.

“Stay with me, but talk to Seonghwa tomorrow.” he keeps on talking when Yeosang parts his lips. “I'll personally take you to your house to do it.”

As much as he wants to spend more time with Yeosang, he also wants Yeosang to talk to Seonghwa. He feels tired but wants Yeosang to stay by his side. Being with Yeosang soothes him as much as shakes him up, and he wants to think that the same is true for Yeosang.

He thinks of Yeosang as his refuge, and he wants Yeosang to think the same about him.

“I worry a lot about you but I can't help you if you don't worry about yourself too,” he takes advantage of the hand that Yeosang has left near his jaw to stop keeping his hand on his thigh, and holds Yeosang’s hand to then bring it to his mouth and rest a kiss on its back.

He knows he’s saying that a conversation with Seonghwa will do him good, but from the way Yeosang is looking at him, he knows that they are both aware that he’s also talking about the fact that Yeosang has previously told him he consumes drugs. He doesn't want Yeosang to hurt himself anymore.

“I'm... as good as I can be,” Yeosang assures him.

He makes sure to intertwine his fingers with Yeosang's because he wants Yeosang to listen to him the way he has listened to Yeosang so many times.

“I'll let you take care of me, but only if you let me take care of you.” Yeosang looks at him, not looking to break free of his firm grip but with a hint of alertness in his gaze. “I don't want you to consume drugs, I don't want you to feel the need to rely on them to feel better. I don't want you to think you're alone and have no help. Allow me to take care of you just like I allow you to take care of me. Please?”

He can't sit back and let Yeosang hurt himself, not when he's sure Yeosang is surrounded by people who care about him, him being one of them.

Yeosang doesn't tense under his touch and a serious expression doesn't appear to guide his face. He assumes that Yeosang has been thinking about certainly feeling better, about wanting to be better, because he swallows, and adds his other hand to the union of their hands instead of pulling away from him.

“Let me talk to my brother, and then I'll agree to do whatever I have to do to feel better, okay?” Yeosang agrees. He nods. Yeosang will talk to Seonghwa tomorrow so it's okay.

And even so, Yeosang lowers his eyes and he notices the way Yeosang's breathing changes.

“You just said so, he’s your brother,” he seeks to reassure him, not understanding why Yeosang is so nervous at the thought of talking to Seonghwa.

“I... I'm avoiding him, I... I thought he was going to talk about my drugs in the debate.” Yeosang keeps his gaze downcast and he widens his eyes, wondering how restless Yeosang must have felt while Seonghwa found himself on stage. “I have this tendency to make him angry when we talk and I don't want to make him angry. Nor for him to decide to speak or expose me, so it's better if I just... avoid him.”

“He cares about you.” he stops keeping his hand between Yeosang's to get Yeosang to raise his head and look at him after taking his face between his hands.

The uncertainty driving Yeosang's expression is more than evident, but he’s sure of what he says. Maybe he hasn't been around since the beginning, but it's obvious the way Seonghwa cares for Yeosang, the way Seonghwa wants to protect him instead of exposing him.

“And besides, my mom... she mentioned knowing yours.” he adds, and swallows, because if both his and Yeosang's mothers aren't the best examples of a person, he doesn't want to think about what kind of words they exchange.

“Well, yes, my mom is the director of the university...”

“It sounded skeptical,” he comments, and keeps talking because even though he wanted to make Yeosang aware of said information, he doesn't want Yeosang to focus on those words instead of the fact that he wants him to talk to Seonghwa. “Seonghwa is not your enemy. You have to talk.”

Yeosang avoids his gaze but doesn't seek to move away from him, and promptly nods. When he feels Yeosang's hands gently take one of the corners of his suit, showing his insecurity, he doesn't hesitate to rest his forehead on his, and he basks in Yeosang's closeness just like Yeosang basks in his presence.

It's more than a deal, he said it, and Yeosang agreed with him.

“I feel okay with you,” Yeosang says in a low tone, looking at him now, and he smiles.

“And I feel okay with you,” he assures Yeosang.

---

Wooyoung slides his hand down San's back and then lifts it up again, not believing but being sure that the touch is comforting San because San stays with his head on his chest while his arms continue around his body.

He keeps one of his hands buried in San's dark locks while the other continues to trace imaginary lines over the expansion on San's back. He knows San isn't asleep since his breathing hasn't slowed down, and his eyes remain fixed on one of the corners of his room.

“You know, you have to eat something at some point,”

He wouldn’t have hesitated to remain silent since his presence seems to be enough to make San feel comfortable, but he doesn't remember how long they have been like this, and although he feels happy to think that San feels comfortable, he’s aware that San lacks energy.

“Just a little longer,” San asks.

He doesn’t express any comment after feeling San's arms cling around his body, and he allows San to make himself even more comfortable even though he just suggested ending with the calm moment.

Fortunately, San doesn't remain tense, but he interrupts the silence again anyway.

“Are you better?”

“Calm,” San responds after letting out a breath, “I already have the answer I was looking for.”

San has finally gotten an answer to the question that's been going around in his head. There are no more doubts than answers and there are no mysteries to solve. And yet, there are many thoughts that keep spinning. Not only in San's head, but in his as well.

He still doesn't fully trust Seonghwa's father, even if he has certainly shown to be willing to do whatever it takes to gain Seonghwa’s trust after agreeing to do the test that finally stated that Jongho's mother also happens to be San's mother. But he thinks it's progress. While Seonghwa's father may be looking to get closer, San's mother just stays away.

“You plan to do something?”

“No, I don't want to have a relationship with someone who didn't hesitate to leave me aside and who also hurt my friends. I just wanted an answer.”

“That's okay,”

San doesn't have to try to pursue a relationship or create one just because he now has a name and face for the person who happens to be his mother, much less with a person who certainly has not only hurt San, but also the people around him —them.

“I just want Jongho to be okay with me,” San says.

He smiles upon hearing those words, and stops keeping his hand on San's back to gently ruffle his hair, that action getting San to form a pout with his lips before lifting up his head to look at him.

“Look at you, already acting like an older brother,” he expresses, opting to divert the conversation towards the relationship that he can decide to create with Jongho. “I can still offer you advice.”

One of the corners of San's mouth turns up, but he promptly curls up the same as they keep looking at each other.

“Maybe I'll take your advice, I don't want to fail.”

“Not wanting to fail already says a lot about you, I'm sure you'll do everything right,” he seeks to assure San while leaving his hands on the nape of his neck. “And if not, you're human, San.”

He has had the chance to see in great detail how a half-sibling relationship can play out after staying close to Yeosang and Seonghwa. They won’t want to see or hear from each other, they will stay side by side, they will argue and they will fight, but they will talk and sort out all the problems together. Yet no matter what, they will always appreciate being family and having each other.

This is new for San, and for Jongho as well, and he believes that both will make mistakes as well as successes. They have to allow each other to grow, to understand, and seek to learn.

“I still have to talk to my dad,” San expresses. While he doesn’t plan to have a relationship with his mother, it’s evident that with his father there still is a pending talk, but San looks down when pronouncing those words.

“Do you want to talk with him?”

San looks at him again, and though he nods, he looks tired.

“Yes, I don't want any more lies. I don't like feeling tense in my house.”

“I understand.” He doesn't like it when lies are told either. “You know you can come here whenever you want.”

“Thank you,” This time San does hold a smile, and Wooyoung looks down at that gesture before leaning forward for a short kiss. San wrinkles his nose, and this time San leans in to place a kiss on his lips.

Wooyoung smiles and San smiles too before burying his head in his neck, where Wooyoung feels him kiss him. It makes him happy to think that San has chosen to be with him to somehow recharge his energies.

He turns his head when he hears his phone ring, and raises both eyebrows when the screen reads Yunho's name.

“It's Yunho,” he says when he notices that San has stopped keeping his head on his neck to watch him, noticing him somewhat confused. He brings the phone to his ear after accepting the call. “¿Hola?”

“Hello, are you still with San?”

“Yes, he’s very comfortable,” he holds a smile when San tilts his head at him.

“Why don't you two come to Utopia? I'm with Mingi,” Wooyoung keeps on smiling when he hears Yunho mention Mingi's name, as well as when he hears that he’s in Utopia. “But you come here to work.”

His smiling gesture leaves his face as soon as he hears those words.

“Mh. What?”

San switches his gaze between him and his phone, looking just as confused, much more considering that he only has his reactions as an indication of the conversation he’s having.

“I want you to work with me. I’m offering you to be the chef of Utopia, do you accept?”

Wooyoung frowns, more disoriented than before, and moves the phone away from his ear to check that he's talking to Yunho, and then brings it back to his ear.

“You are kidding me.”

“No, you helped me that time, and really, if your parents don't accept you, then I do. It’s their loss, but it won’t be mine,” Yunho says.

He bites his lower lip, realizing that Yunho is serious about the opportunity he's just been offered. Exaltation guides his facial features, until he realizes that he hasn't rejected the proposal as soon as he's heard it as he has done with the other places that have sought to recruit him, and he rolls up one of the corners of his mouth at the thought of what Yunho just said.

If his parents won't accept him as a chef, then Yunho will.

He knows that he has rejected other offers, thinking that sooner or later his parents would say yes to his addition, but perhaps that call is a sign for him to finally understand that no, and that sometimes it’s okay to give up.

Besides, he believes that he will deeply regret it if he says no.

“Really?” he asks him, feeling happy because Yunho has thought of him.

“Yes, tonight we can try if you like it, and if yes, the job is yours,” Yunho offers.

He feels the excitement take over his body at the thought of himself finally cooking outside the walls of his house, preparing dishes and thus allowing people to have a good night with the food he prepares.

It's a familiar environment, his boss would be Yunho, and his —their— friends would visit often. He doesn't doubt it. And he would still be Mingi's direct competition.

“Okay,” he agrees, aware of his big smile.

“You will be with me and Mingi can be with San,”

“Yes, okay, we'll go. See you!”

“See you. Don't be late,” he hears the chuckle that follows Yunho's words before ending the call, and San sits up when he does as he finally stops lying down.

“Where are we going?” San asks him.

“Utopia,” he replies, “Yunho just told me that I'm his new chef.”

“Really?” San smiles and Wooyoung delights in the dimples that appear to accompany said gesture. “I'm not surprised,” San assures him before pecking his lips.

Wooyoung smiles, both at Yunho's words and at San's reaction, but he puts his phone aside and rests his hands on San's cheeks.

“I know I said we're going, but, do you want to go?” he asks San. So far they have chosen to remain without exchanging many words, allowing each other's presence to be enough to remain comfortable, but he believes that San will continue to feel okay by being with the rest of his —their— friends.

“Of course, you can't miss work,” San smiles.

Wooyoung opts to kiss him on the cheek.

“I'll cook something tasty for you and Mingi will be with you,” he assures him.

San nods, and Wooyoung looks at him smiling because he's glad San feels better to go with him to Utopia. He looks at his phone to see if he’s late or not already, and the picture of him and Yeosang when they were younger that acts as his lockscreen, leads him to look at San again.

“Hey, give me your phone,” he asks.

Although he looks confused, San places his phone in his palm. Wooyoung laughs as he comes across the image of himself that he snapped on Halloween night after they went to the hospital.

“What are you doing?” San asks when he wraps his free arm around his shoulders and holds the phone up to their faces.

“You have to have another lockscreen,” he says, looking at the phone.

“I like the one I have,” He notices that San is looking at him.

He looks at San and smiles. “You'll like this one better,”

San finally allows a smile to come back to his face when he opts to kiss his temple, capturing the moment in the photo. He stays with his arm around San's shoulders as he chooses the same as his new lockscreen, and feels contented.

“Now yes, come on, come on, then,”

He laughs when San's face finds his bed as he rushes out of it, and still complaining, San agrees to get up. He puts on the first hoodie he finds as well as a jacket, and San follows him once he goes downstairs.

He's near the door, until he stops because the kitchen lights remind him that his parents are present instead of outside the house as they usually are. He forms a line with his lips, undecided, but just as he motivates San, San motivates him.

“I'll wait for you at the door,” San says before walking away from him.

The situations around him have been making him aware of the details that constantly surround him, and for that very reason, he decides to head towards the kitchen, where he certainly finds his parents, once again appearing to be reviewing details for the opening of the restaurant.

A restaurant that he decides he will not be a part of.

He lets out a breath, and stays against the door frame.

“Ma? Pa? I'm going to Utopia with San.”

“Okay, have a good time,” his mother offers.

Wooyoung puffs out his cheeks, knowing that he hasn't come over just to express that he's leaving.

Between Yeosang's and Seonghwa's father's absence, Seonghwa's biological father's return, and San's situation with his mother, he has realized that he must feel lucky that his parents are still together as he believes it’s a good marriage, and that he maintains a good relationship with them. 

He feels that his emotions are not worth analyzing when the people around him are going through worse situations, until he remembers that he doesn’t have to hold himself back or feel guilty when a certain situation irritates him. And he’s grateful to Hongjoong for the words that resonate in his head.

“I... work there now,” he says, and his parents quickly turn their heads to look at him.

Instead of feeling cornered, he straightens up.

“¿Qué?” ah, he got that from them.

“I'm the new chef,” he declares, for even though a night hasn't passed yet, he will accept the job.

He has already been in Utopia before and Yunho turns out to be the owner instead of an unknown person. It no longer makes sense to ask them, right? He finally gives up, once and for all, and he replaces his old dream with his new reality.

For the same reason, he frowns when his mother looks confused.

“But—”

“No.” he interrupts her. “I know that Utopia will be your biggest competition, but I’ve asked you thousands of times if I could work with you,” maybe Mingi is also part of the night scene, but Yunho is and will be their most direct competition. “You got tired of listening to me, so I got tired of asking. I'm not mad, I love you both, but it really is your loss.”

Time and time again he has asked his parents to be incorporated into the family business, and if they have refused, expressing not wanting to mix business with family, then his parents should respect his decision and not take it as a betrayal. If his own parents won't support him, then he should look elsewhere for the opportunity.

He doesn't want to be mad at his parents and he doesn't want his parents to get mad at him either, but they need to understand that he won't reduce what he likes to do to the walls of the house they are in.

He tilts his head when he notices his mother stretch out one of her arms towards him, and he agrees to move closer to her, only to form a line with his lips when his mother leaves her hands on his face.

“We love you. Very much. And we're proud of you.” Wooyoung feels the way this time he forces himself to keep a line formed by his lips because his lower lip quivers. That's all he's wanted to hear all this time. “We don’t want to associate you with us because in case we fall, we don’t want you to fall with us because of your last name and because you are our son.”

He frowns, switching his gaze between his mother and his father because his mother expresses those words and his father nods, agreeing with her.

“But... did something happen?”

“No, no, don't worry, nothing happened. But something can always happen,” well, that's true. “And we prefer to protect you like this. We would rather hurt you than have someone else hurt you.”

He swallows, wondering if just as he's always had to deal with people who have prejudged him for being his parents' child, his parents make the decisions they make because people can do more than just judge him for being his parents' child.

“Good luck,” he looks at his father when he leaves his hand on his arm, and he intones those words along with a sincere smile. “We'll need luck too if you're the new chef at Utopia,” he adds.

Again he rests his attention on his mother when his mother combs some of his locks. “Remember the sleeves.” she says, reminding him to roll up the sleeves of his uniform so as not to get dirty and avoid burning the fabric. “And watch out for the fire,” she reminds him too. “And don't forget to wash your hands.”

A smile guides his face as he realizes that this is his mother's way of showing that she isn't angry, that she doesn’t resent him in the same way that he doesn’t resent her, and he nods.

He takes in his favor that his father has come closer and hugs them both, and for Yeosang, for Seonghwa, for San, for Mingi, for Yunho, and for Jongho as well, he makes sure to hug them tightly, because not everyone has the opportunity to feel the love of their parents.

“Now, now, go, being on time is also important,” he hears his mother.

He leans back, and with his parents smiling at him, he turns around to leave the kitchen. It feels a bit melancholic, but he smiles when he spots San by the door. Just as he’s there for San, San is there for him.

He accepts the arm that San leaves around his shoulders when they leave his house to head to his car. He assumes that San has understood that he doesn’t need to be comforted because his parents have understood that the time to ask has finally ended.

“If you're the new chef, Yunho will have to get used to having me there all the time,” San expresses before leaving a kiss on his temple.

“Lucky for you, Mingi will be there to distract him,” he assures him, smiling.

Once they're sitting side by side, he adjusts San's scarf because being out in the rain has been a fun, if perhaps not so smart, decision. He turns on the heater in the car and smiles.

He believes in the irony of the place being called Utopia.

An imagined place or state of affairs where everything is perfect.

Nothing and no one is perfect, he knows that, but at that moment he allows himself to continue smiling after glancing at San and starting the car.

Notes:

🥺

Chapter 45

Notes:

hello! two things before today's chapter:

1. as you probably know, ateez's comeback is this week and it happens to be the same day i post so it's very likely that i won't post the chapter that same day but don't worry, i'll post another chapter before monday, either on friday or during the weekend, and 2. i don't usually give angst warnings firstly because i feel that all the chapters speak for themselves and secondly because i realized that i don't really know how to define what i consider light/heavy angst. that being said, i'm Aware that today's chapter has a lot of angst. it isn't necessary to list warnings beyond the ones that i'm going to put below but do... brace yourself and know that Strong Words will be said

cw implied cheating/mentions of cheating

Yeosang allows a contented sound to caress the back of his throat as he feels Jongho's lips on his, and his fingers on his chin, keeping him close even though he has never thought to increase the distance between them.

He knows that it would be enough to try to pull away to be able to do it, but he thinks that Jongho would chase his mouth with his, or that he would only manage to hold back for a moment before again allowing his mouth to meet Jongho's.

He doesn't want to get away from Jongho, he wants to stay close, so he stops keeping his palms on the seat he's on, and moves one of his hands to rest it on Jongho's thigh, but as soon as he tries to slide it, Jongho catches his hand with his to stop him and pulls away.

With his fingers still on his chin, Jongho stares at him.

“No, you'll try to distract me.”

He doesn't try to move his hand on Jongho’s thigh but he does lean towards him even though Jongho has just said those words, and Jongho leans back slightly, seeming to forget that he's holding his chin between his fingers because he drags him along with him instead of holding him back.

“And what were you doing until just now?” he asks Jongho.

“Not distracting you, motivating you to do what you know you have to do.”

He pouts his lips and sits up in his place, withdrawing his hand from Jongho's thigh because he knows that he has both consciously and unconsciously tried to approach him. Jongho's touch on his chin disappears as he turns his head to see the image of his house before him, and he exhales.

While the night before he has been distracted by the closeness he has established with Jongho —pink marks on his body, especially on his collarbones as evidence of it—, at that moment he knows that it no longer makes sense to postpone a talk with Seonghwa. So much to his regret, he knows that Jongho is right.

He turns around when he feels Jongho give him a little caress on his jaw.

“Call me if you need me, okay?”

He nods, this time not being the first —and surely not the last— time he's heard those words, and allows himself to indulge in the little kiss he shares with Jongho before finally agreeing to get out of his car.

He waves his hand to Jongho even though the car windows are tinted and he approaches the main entrance of the house.

The truth is that he hasn’t thought very well about what to say. He still doesn't know who the man he's seen Seonghwa with is, he's aware that he's seen Seonghwa leave the debate not looking okay and he hasn't gone after him, and that he can't help but wonder how Seonghwa managed to do a DNA test that finally revealed that Jongho and San are half-siblings.

He doesn't quite know how to act because he doesn't know what Seonghwa expects of him. And what does he expect from Seonghwa? Honesty, maybe.

Small puffs of air leave his mouth, the warmth of his breath mingling with the winter weather around him. Even if he fiddles with his coat sleeves because his fingertips are starting to freeze, he'd rather be aware of the cold than open the door in front of him. Yes, he did tell Jongho that he would talk to Seonghwa and he does plan to, and even so, he prefers to give himself a few minutes in which he doesn't know if he's shaking because he's nervous or because he's cold.

Thinking that he's tired of the insecurity that haunts him when it comes to Seonghwa, he nods to encourage himself, and finally opens the door of his house. He takes off his sneakers and coat, and no, he definitely isn't shivering from the cold. And he really wants to have all the words that Jongho has said present in his head, assuring him that Seonghwa is not his enemy and that he cares about him, but he has never been known for letting the voices of others completely silence the insecurities that his mind creates.

He heads towards the stairs and rolls up one of the corners of his mouth when he hears a noise, appearing as if someone was tidying up. Well, he thinks that if Seonghwa finds himself tidying up his room like he usually does since he's always liked to clean, at least he'll be in a good mood.

“There has to be a reason why you left the debate and it turns out to be drugs!”

Yeosang comes to a halt in the middle of the stairs as that shout reaches his ears and it resonates through all the nooks and crannies of the house. He recognizes his mother's tone as well as the obvious anger that accompanies her raised voice.

Drugs?

He widens his eyes after remembering that Seonghwa told him that he hid his drugs instead of throwing them away.

“Seonghwa, answer!”

He gets startled when their mother shouts again, and he doesn't know why, why it has been automatic to think so, yet even if his hands start to be accompanied by a slight tremor, he manages to take his phone out of his pocket to then bring it closer to his ear, and dials the number that has crossed his mind.

One, two rings. He doesn't move from his place.

“Missing me al—”

“I need you.” Yeosang is aware of his strained tone of voice. He inhales a breath as Seonghwa's name is called again. “I need you.” he repeats before ending the call. 

He needs Jongho, but Seonghwa needs him.

Maybe there are times when he doesn't seek to help Seonghwa because he thinks Seonghwa can handle himself, while there are other times when he reacts because he always reacts when it comes to Seonghwa. He finishes going upstairs and finds Seonghwa outside of his room.

“The reason is you!”

“But in my hands there are drugs, Seonghwa!”

Their mother appears, with the box that he hid in his backpack when they moved to the new house, now in her hands. But she’s close to Seonghwa’s door, not his. Seeing her leads him to understand that she has found them and believes that they belong to Seonghwa.

“They are...” he notices the second Seonghwa becomes aware of his presence, as he widens his eyes when he sees him. “Those are mine,” he whispers.

“Ye— Yeosang, no.” Seonghwa quickly approaches him. “Stay quiet.”

“What did you say?” His mother asks him.

“He didn't say anything.” Seonghwa replies before turning around, finding himself in front of him as if he wanted to hide him behind his figure, and Yeosang feels like he's experienced that scene before, maybe not recently but certainly before.

Seonghwa not hesitating to get between himself and their parents because he broke something or lost a toy, because he has always been a bit silly and distracted, and yes, he has grown up, and Seonghwa too, but Seonghwa continues to defend him without hesitation.

But he's grown up now, and this time he doesn't keep one of his hands clinging to Seonghwa's back. He’s old enough to make his own decisions and face the repercussions.

“They are mine.” he repeats, louder now. Seonghwa defends him, but he also defends Seonghwa no matter what, regardless of whether he has crossed the doors of the house hoping to have a conversation with Seonghwa because that's how brothers are, some talks remain pending but the important thing is to have each other no matter what, right? “The drugs are mine!”

“You stay out of this, Yeosang.” his mother gives him a look.

Yeosang frowns when his mother doesn’t believe his words, and therefore determines that only Seonghwa would be able to use drugs when he has always believed that the opposite image has been true for his mother. Seonghwa is the perfect son while he represents imperfection. But no, Seonghwa doesn't deserve to be treated like this.

He tightens his hold on his phone, and he lowers his eyes to it as he remembers that maybe Seonghwa has found his drugs, but not all of them.

“What are you doing?” He hears Seonghwa ask him as he starts to take off his phonecase.

It doesn't matter if he exposes himself, it doesn't matter if he contradicts some of his former words with his current actions; not when Seonghwa is being unnecessarily exposed. And even if he’s shaking and he’s scared, he seeks to move in front of Seonghwa to show their mother the drugs that he leaves in his palm.

“I told you.” It's not that he doesn't need Seonghwa, but Seonghwa also needs him. “Those are mine.”

“And why did I find them in his room?”

“Because he took them from me so that I wouldn’t take them anymore.”

“Yeosang. Why do you have drugs? And why didn't you tell me?” He notices that his mother turns her gaze away from him to look at Seonghwa when asking the second question.

Feeling nervous doesn’t lead him to stop finding himself in front of Seonghwa. This is not Seonghwa's fault.

Is it his?

“Because— because... I felt the need for them,” is that situation his fault? Should he have been more careful? Should he have sought to have the box back the second Seonghwa said he took it? But wouldn't that have exposed him more? Is he not being exposed at that precise moment?

“What are you even talking about? Need them for what?”

Puzzled, he lets the nervousness evaporate from his thoughts as another kind of feeling takes over him. Disappointment? Confusion? He frowns and tilts his head, and he looks at their mother, wondering what those questions mean until his gaze falls to the ground as Seonghwa happens to stand in front of him.

What for? Isn’t it obvious?

“I didn't tell you because this isn't the way to talk about it.” he registers Seonghwa's voice.

“There's nothing to talk about! Using drugs is wrong! Just because—”

“Because I miss Dad!” Yeosang allows those words to hurt his throat after understanding the feeling that has embraced him as outrage.

He knows that he misses his father, he knows that he has the flower necklace around his neck, and he has always known why he has sought to get away from his own self. 

“How can you even ask me that while staying there, looking angry instead of coming to hug me and asking me why I'm like this?” he stops staying behind Seonghwa but doesn't seek to get closer to their mother because she should seek to get closer. “Because I miss Dad and I am in pain all the time, and that box you have there is the only thing that has managed to keep me away from that pain—”

He balls his hands into fists, frustrated with himself as well as the words he says when he isn't able to finish his sentence as his voice breaks.

“You shouldn't hav—”

“And what should I have done?” he asks as he swallows over the lump in his throat. “Turn to you? How? How when you don't even seem to miss him?” Seonghwa is not the only person with whom he has felt that words are missing. “How? How am I supposed to turn to you?”

Sadness hugs him as it dawns on him, that even if his father has left and his mother is still around, he didn’t lie to Seonghwa when he asked him if their mother really is with them. Who is to blame, him for taking drugs or their mother for not holding him, both, neither, is there even someone to blame?

“You've changed since Dad's death and I don't know what to do.” How is he supposed to have thought of any other solution than drugs when he's felt lonely, devastated, and misunderstood? “I've changed too and I don't know what to do.”

He’s aware of the way his lower lip quivers and the blurriness that covers his gaze as he finally voices out loud the thoughts that have been crashing together inside his head for who knows how long, but he’s more aware of the way Seonghwa hugs him without hesitation, leaving his arms around his neck to draw him towards himself.

Why shouldn't he feel this way? Is he exaggerating?

“You will not answer?” No, he thinks he's not exaggerating when he hears Seonghwa ask their mother that question. “Don't you have anything to say?” Could it be, that Seonghwa has been feeling just as misunderstood, that all this time that he has thought that Seonghwa is their mother's puppet, Seonghwa has sought to get rid of that title?

“Who are you, Yeosang, to tell me how to act?”

He turns his head to the other way upon hearing his mother's question, and inhales a short breath. He's been waiting for this talk, but he doesn't want to see her. Has he been wrong to ask his mother why her behavior has changed? He doesn't want to be judged but judges and has made a mistake?

“Don't you dare try to manipulate him.”

“Manipulate him? Me? Manipulate him? Couldn't you be the one trying to manipulate him by promising not to say anything to me?”

“No!” He gets startled when determination follows Seonghwa’s exclaim, and he finds a frown on Seonghwa's face when he looks at him. “You won't turn me against him and you won’t turn him against me. I left the debate because I'm tired of the lies!”

“Which lies?”

He knows, he feels that something is wrong the moment Seonghwa tenses up as soon as their mother asks that question. Instead of starting to expose all the lies that both he and Seonghwa are aware of, Seonghwa's breathing pattern changes.

Seonghwa still keeps his arms around his body but remains completely stiff and his eyes don't leave their mother's figure.

“What's going on here?”

He turns his head away as soon as a new voice joins the conversation, and he doesn't know why he's shocked when he meets Jongho. After all, Jongho has always assured him that he would show up if he ever told him that he needs him. Perhaps because it’s okay if people save him, as long as he saves people too.

“Take Yeosang with you, this is between Mom and me.”

He shakes his head as Seonghwa tries to separate him from him and listens to what he plans. He leaves one of his hands on Jongho's arm but Jongho doesn't try to follow Seonghwa's words because he understands that he doesn't want to.

“No, I want to know too.” he looks at their mother. “You've been lying.” he may not fully understand what lies Seonghwa is talking about, but he does know that their mother has been lying to them. He feels nervous, and still exposed, but if their mother demands honesty, then he can do the same. “You know San's dad, why do you say that you don’t? You didn’t want us to be near San, why not?”

He lets out a silent breath as he feels Jongho's hand rest on his, the gentleness of his touch balancing the harshness of the situation. Jongho is there, Jongho is really there. Seonghwa too. Yes, he still doesn’t describe their relationship as stable, but Seonghwa has been and is there for him. He knows he can't express the same about his mother.

“Answer, Mom.” Seonghwa presses.

He thinks that Seonghwa thinks the same as him. If they can be cornered, so can their mother.

“We share the same job.” is all their mother offers, and he understands Seonghwa when he hears him sigh.

“My mother talked to you because he didn't listen to her, isn’t that right?” He turns his head towards Jongho when he joins the conversation again, but although he looks at Jongho, Jongho looks at her. “She told me that San's father didn't want me here, but she talked to you and you accepted my presence. That was before, wasn't it? Before you moved to Seoul.”

He looks at their mother. He has never doubted that the presence of the Prime Minister's son at the university she now runs would be convenient for her, but perhaps he has underestimated how important.

“I take advantage of opportunities. She has simply asked me some questions and I have accepted.”

Yeosang doesn’t understand how he has been cornered for taking drugs when at that very moment his mother shows him why he has felt the need to find relief through drugs. His mother remains firm and serious.

“I don't care.” he looks at Seonghwa because Seonghwa sounds disappointed. “I don't care about a stupid position, a stupid job. I know that not everything is achieved with merit, I know that. I'm not interested. Just tell us the truth. Is Jongho the reason we moved here, then?”

Always correct, always perfect Seonghwa. He hurts for Seonghwa because he now understands that Seonghwa has never been the definition of those adjectives, and it hurts not because Seonghwa isn't perfect, but because Seonghwa has been suffering just as much as he has.

“It was a better opportunity for the family.”

“Family?” This time he feels the indignation that Seonghwa expresses when pronouncing that word, and he watches their mother despite the blurriness in his gaze. “How? We are grieving and you took Yeosang away from his best friend, you took us away from home and everything we knew.”

“Wooyoung is here.” His mother looks at him. “And you seemed happy,” she looks at Seonghwa.

“Because I thought that the change of air would do us good but the place is not the problem, the problem is you!”

“Seonghwa! What are you talking about? Yeosang, is this yours, yes or no?”

“It's not a joke!” Yeosang doesn’t hesitate to exclaim as soon as his mother suggests that he’s the liar while Seonghwa is the person who takes drugs simply because what Seonghwa expresses doesn’t make sense.

And suddenly, he understands everything.

Seonghwa's concern, Wooyoung's tears, and Jongho's reaction. Their insistence.

It's not a joke, it isn’t.

He has felt the need to get away from himself, to stay away from his own head for wanting to stop thinking. He has felt compelled to resort to drugs after not knowing what else to do, or how to deal with the situation that still surrounds him.

He allows the small films to fall to the floor, wanting them to stop being found in the palm of his hand. It's not a joke. One time or at a lot of times, ten times per week or one time. What matters is not the number of times he’s left a film under his tongue, but all the times he’s felt compelled to feel that he had no other way out.

And Seonghwa's words aren’t a joke either.

While he has crossed the doors with the intention of talking to Seonghwa, it’s evident that they both have words to share with their mother, and for the same reason, he turns to look at Jongho and places his hand on his. And of course Jongho understands that he can’t leave, that has to be there for Seonghwa. Because perhaps there are things that remain unsaid, while others don’t need to be said to be understood.

“What's happening?” he asks as he approaches Seonghwa. Seonghwa allows their gazes to meet and therefore gives him the opportunity to recognize the word defeat in his eyes. “Tell me,” he asks along with a pleading tone of voice, almost begging because Seonghwa has gone from being the person who has expressed believing that their mother is not capable of lying, to not hesitating to express that their mother is the root of the problem.

“I should have believed you faster,” Seonghwa expresses in a low tone of voice, looking at him. Yeosang doesn't know if it's because he feels that his voice will fail him if he tries to speak louder or because he doesn't want their mother to hear him. “She is a liar.”

“Why?” he insists. “What do you know that I don't?”

He wouldn't be surprised if Seonghwa knew things that he doesn't because Seonghwa keeps him away at times, as he thinks he doesn't want to entangle him in his problems, and perhaps for that reason they are brothers, because sometimes they act in the same way without realizing it. But it's not fair, neither to him nor to Seonghwa.

Seonghwa stares at him, with a trace of guilt evident in his gaze, but he watches it disappear as Seonghwa turns to look at their mother, and his facial features sharpen.

“How?” He asks her. “How do you never get tired?”

“Seonghwa, what are you talking about?” he rests one of his hands on Seonghwa's arm when despite looking at their mother, Seonghwa remains silent when listening to her. Seonghwa wants to talk, it's clear that he wants to, but his uncertainty leads him to keep quiet. “Seonghwa.”

Seonghwa tenses under his touch, and his voice is so low as the words leave his mouth but so clear that Yeosang doesn't know how to react.

“My biological dad is here.”

“What?”

“My biological dad is here! So look me in the eye and tell me you are not a liar!”

His hand stops being on Seonghwa's arm as he gets startled, not being used to Seonghwa raising his voice and accompanying said determination with sternly serious facial features. He no longer knows why he feels his hands tremble.

“Seonghw—”

“And he,” Seonghwa doesn't let their mother finish. “He told me that he didn’t abandon me, us, but that you abandoned him, and you made me abandon him.” this time Seonghwa's hand finds his arm and his eyes fall on him. “It's the man you saw me with,” Seonghwa tells him before looking at their mother.

Yeosang turns to Jongho upon hearing the answer he's finally wanted to get, but the look he shares with Jongho assures him that Jongho knows he's not entirely happy with getting the truth.

He doesn't focus on Seonghwa knowing that he's seen him, he doesn't focus on how this probably involved a previous talk with Hongjoong, he focuses on the fact that Seonghwa just uttered the words biological dad.

That possibility has never existed because he has never thought it possible.

“Seonghwa.” Although his mother calls out Seonghwa's name, he also looks at their mother. “Don't believe that man. He wants to turn you against me. That's exactly what he wants.”

“Really?” Seonghwa sounds so tired, so exhausted, from probably hearing the repetition of the same lies over and over again. “Then you haven't changed your identity? You didn't cheat on him with our dad? Didn't you lie to both because our dad didn't know about my dad!”

Yeosang feels grateful for the hand that Seonghwa has left on his arm because he believes that otherwise, he would probably have fallen, trying to comprehend all the information that is currently allowing Seonghwa to state those words.

He feels his brain overlapping with itself, quickly trying to adjust to the sentences being spoken and the consequences they infer.

“Whatever he has told you, it's not true.” their mother doesn’t question how Seonghwa’s father is in the city, how he found Seonghwa. She simply seeks to defend herself, and it's in this way, that he knows that Seonghwa is not expressing anything but the truth, and that effectively, therefore, their mother is a liar. “He doesn't care about you, he only wants money.”

“You won't manipulate me anymore.” Seonghwa determines.

“Everything I've done—”

“We weren't even born when you started lying so tell me the truth!”

“I wanted more and your dad offered that!” Yeosang looks at their mother when she finally succumbs to Seonghwa's raised voice and switches her gaze between them. And he thinks about the irony of finally hearing their mother talk about their father. “Do you want me to say that I regret cheating? Fine! I do! Because I did it for nothing and you two have everything!”

Having grown accustomed to seeing their mother more than serious, always upright and her back straight, serious or with only a slight smile on her face depending on the occasion, he’s stunned when she finally gets rid of that facade.

“What... what do you mean?” he asks her.

He hasn't wanted to interfere because Seonghwa's biological father has been the focus of the conversation so far, but now their mother has brought herself into the equation. At no time does he fear that Seonghwa will stop thinking of their father as the person who raised them because Seonghwa’s still by his side, and because at that moment Seonghwa doesn’t hesitate to join him to observe their mother.

“What do you mean?” now Seonghwa asks.

Their mother again straightens up, and this time Yeosang thinks it's the first time he's really seen her.

“Your father's will has arrived and he has left everything to you two. Everything. And nothing to me.” their mother determines. Hearing the word will leads him to become aware of the necklace present around his neck, of the evident absence he's been dealing with, of Seonghwa's presence right next to him. “You are not the only one who found out the truth.” he looks at Seonghwa. “And no, he's not the only reason we're here.”

He puts his arm in front of Jongho's body when he notices his mother glancing at him, and opts to stay partially close to him even though Jongho's hand on his body reassures him not to worry about him.

“What?” he asks, not knowing what else to say. What, what, and what? ¿Qué? Always so attentive but puzzled Wooyoung would say.

“Chaotic Seoul.” He turns his head towards Jongho when Jongho speaks. Jongho glances at him but notices that he quickly looks at her. “You came here to delay the will,” Jongho looks at him again. “All the money is yours. At least your dad's part.”

He swallows, and quickly understands why Jongho looks just as disappointed as he is.

“And my mother helped you with that, didn't she?” Jongho looks at her. “My mother helped you do whatever it takes to delay the fulfillment of the will, and you let me be here. What else?”

Yeosang looks at his mother, and Jongho's words prove to be true.

“She proved very useful in hiding all traces of you.” their mother looks at Seonghwa.

“So you knew that my dad has been looking for me all this time,” Seonghwa says, realizing all the work his mother has certainly gone to to make Seonghwa think his biological father never wanted him.

He looks at Seonghwa, and he suffers for him because it isn't fair that Seonghwa was taken away from that opportunity, the chance to form memories and create moments with a person who has really, at all times, wanted to be part of his life.

However, there are other moments that both he and Seonghwa are aware of.

“Why didn't you want us to talk to San?” he repeats the previously unanswered question, and looks back at their mother. If his mother has turned a lie into a reality for so many years, he no longer knows what she's capable of.

“His mother,” their mother looks at Jongho before looking at him again. “The intention was to make him and San believe that I am San's mother. That was part of our deal too. It would look skeptical if I didn't want you two to get close to San or San to get close to you.”

“Then you've always known that San is my brother, too,” he hears Jongho say. “You have always known everything. That my mother cheated on my dad again, and since everything threatened to become public, we came here. Cheaters support each other, don't they?”

He looks at Jongho, finally understanding why Jongho has said that he's where he is because of his parents', his mother's mistake, now he knows. Why he has always felt the need to stay low, and why he hasn't taken his words as a joke the moment he mentioned the possibility that San is his brother.

The truths have always been in plain sight, and his mother has always been aware of those. Secret by secret, secrets can also be the basis of relationships.

He frowns, angry that the situation is unfair to Seonghwa, Jongho, and him. Sad, because while he has plagued his head with memories of his father, while Seonghwa hasn't had the opportunity to create others with his own father, their mother has never shed real tears.

“You... have done... all of this... for... money?” he turns to ask their mother, although, from the lump that appears in his throat again, he thinks he already knows the answer. “Is money that important to you?”

“Look around you, Yeosang, you like this life.”

He feels both the anger and the sadness that those words cause him.

“Dad died and all you think about is money?!” He feels his gaze blur again, thinking of all the irony that has accompanied his mother's words. If he has felt her absence, it’s because she has never sought to be present.

Seonghwa seeks to remain calm, composed even if he notices the glossy lawyer over his gaze. Both are hurting because the difference in last names doesn’t matter, but the fact that they never pay attention to said difference.

“And the lawyers?” Seonghwa asks.

“Busy thinking you are mourning.”

“We are!” He feels the way Seonghwa holds his arm to prevent him from closing the distance with their mother after hearing her.

He’s grieving, he still is. The absence of his father hurts him, and now much more because apparently, not all the people inside that house have been hurting as much as he, but only regretting what the absence of his father has left instead of the absence itself.

“I'm saying all of this because this doesn't leave these walls.” their mother says.

“Are you crazy?” Seonghwa asks her.

“You don't want a scandal, Seonghwa, much less you, Yeosang.” Yeosang allows a sound of indignation to leave his lips when his mother refers to the box that is still present in her hands, but he suddenly finds himself looking at Jongho’s back when Jongho happens to stand in front of him.

“This scandal is yours. They have nothing to do with it.” he interferes.

“This is family, you don't interfere.”

“This is no family!” He walks past Jongho as soon as he can't stand his mother giving herself the right to express those words when up to now she has only shown that they have stopped being a family a long time ago. “You lied! All you do is lie! You didn't let Seonghwa be with his dad and you made us move because of money!” so many lies, so many excuses invented under the pretext that they are a family. “You accused his dad of being here because of money while you just implied that you are doing that! You have never cared about Dad!” The concern has never been sincere, and he feels so alone, so betrayed, so broken. “You should have died instead of Dad!”

“Yeosang!” His mother scolds him.

He cries because he feels helplessness taking over his body and this time he hugs Seonghwa when Seonghwa hugs him. He thinks it's a hug that he's been holding off on for so long, that he's been needing for so long, that he doesn't seek to contain himself because he's being held.

He feels Jongho's hand on his back and it only feels better and worse. Better because he knows that he's not alone despite feeling that way, and worse because Jongho, who has only just begun to be a part of his life, cares more for him than the person who's always been a part of it. Better, because there's definitely much more than just a deal between him and Jongho. Worse, because everything hurts.

“You want a scandal? You will get a scandal.” he hears Seonghwa express. His voice is broken and a slight uncertainty follows his words, but again, Seonghwa finds himself facing their mother. “I'll take you to court and I'll win. And if you think I'll let Yeosang near you, you are wrong.” he feels Seonghwa's arms cling to his body. “It will be your ruin and I'll make sure it happens.”

“Court? Seonghwa, don't make me laugh.”

“Parental alienation, parental abduction, and I can go on, apparently, withholding of a will, bribery of lawyers. I have always taken my education seriously, Mom.”

Yeosang forms a line with his lips, thinking that he shouldn't be hearing those words, that there shouldn't be the threat of a case, much less a civil fight between them, but perhaps he needed to hear those words to realize that the lies have been surrounding them for much longer than he thought.

While he has shed sincere tears, his mother has worried more about papers.

“Didn't you hear me?” He listens to their mother say. “Do you really want to take me to court with the Prime Minister's wife on my side?”

Before he can even fear, he hears Jongho's small, puzzled laugh.

“Do you really think my mother will help you?” Jongho doesn't take his hand off his back. “If my mother knew about Seonghwa's biological father, I'd love to break the news that she has stopped helping you a long time ago. Because my bodyguards have probably seen him, and yet apparently my mother hasn't told you that Seonghwa and his father have already seen each other.”

Jongho is right. His bodyguards have always followed him, from the beginning Jongho has assured him that his bodyguards are everywhere and that they only answer to his mother. They must have been followed by Jongho's bodyguards when they approached the restaurant after Hongjoong called them, and yet there their mother is, realizing that certainly, Jongho's mother won't help her. Much less when Jongho's mother knows that she is being watched by them.

Still holding onto Seonghwa, he dares to look at their mother.

“You are no longer our mom.”

It hurts, it hurts because he has lost his father and now he feels that he has definitely lost his mother, but Seonghwa's arms and Jongho's hand hold him back. His vision is blurry and his voice is broken, it hurts to speak because of the lump still present in his throat, but he voices those words nonetheless.

“You can't take me out of your lives.”

“You've already done it with my dad, I'll do it with you but being aware of it.” Seonghwa dictates, and Yeosang sniffles because he thinks it's not fair for Seonghwa to have missed the opportunity to have a different life.

“Don't come to me when that man disappoints you.”

“If so, it will be my mistake, then, but I will not return to you.” Seonghwa says, sure of his words. “I'm a perfectionist, Mom, I'm aware of that. Being a perfectionist is my downfall but it is also my salvation.” he knows Seonghwa won't really allow himself to trust his father unless his father really shows that he can. And with that thought, he wonders if he has finally found out how Seonghwa managed to carry out the DNA test.

“You could have had everything,” he decides to express. They could have held each other up, dealt with their father's absence as a true family, been a united family, and not hesitated to conquer a new city with a steadfast presence, but their mother has decided to throw it all away for a check. “And now you have nothing. I won't even mourn you.”

“I'm not dead.”

“You are to me.”

He turns his head the other way because he refuses to continue acknowledging her presence when his mother hasn't been acknowledging his, and doesn't object when Seonghwa gives him a small caress on the nape of his neck before sliding his hand into his to finally guide him away.

Far from fakeness, from lies, from hypocrisy.

He glances at Jongho as he places one of his hands on his cheek once they happen to be outside the house he's never learned to consider home, and he barely tilts his head into the contact.

“I'll give you some time,” Jongho obviously wants to comfort him but he doesn't object when he moves away from him because his arms are around Seonghwa's body again.

He finally breaks down completely when he hears Seonghwa cry and feels him tremble under his touch.

His relationship with Seonghwa has been so rocky because they have refused to show each other the instability that has guided them both. Seonghwa holds him and he holds Seonghwa, because Seonghwa understands him, and he understands Seonghwa.

Everything has felt so unstable since their father stopped being with them, that only at that moment in Seonghwa's arms and Seonghwa in his, does he feel a trace of stability. He hides his head in Seonghwa's neck and feels both guilty and naive for allowing his and Seonghwa's relationship to be so broken.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he manages to ask, and just as there are many words they still have to exchange, they don't need to express all of them to be understood.

He doesn't object when Seonghwa traps his face between his hands and seeks to caress the area under his eyes even though they both know there's no point because he'll keep crying.

“I didn't want to hurt you. Dad is still dad,” he feels the way his cheeks are traced by tears because Seonghwa assures him that he doesn't consider their father less or him less only because his biological father has appeared. “I didn't want you to think that I'm going to replace Dad. I could never replace him. I didn't want you to hurt more than you already do.” Seonghwa presses his forehead against his. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“I don't know...” he knows he's asking about the drugs he kept hiding between his phone and its case. For fear of being tempted in case of giving it all, perhaps simply because. “I didn't consume it... I don't know... I didn't want to let you down, I didn't want to let you down any more than I already do.”

Seonghwa shakes his head, and he closes his eyes, dealing with all the words he's heard, all the lies he's been told, and all the lies he's stayed away from.

“Dumbass. If I ever looked disappointed it's because we refused to take care of each other.” Seonghwa hugs him again, and the tears that continue to pool in the corners of his eyes are welcome.

He’s tired, he feels tired. But Seonghwa has been putting up with even more, he thinks that both of them have been putting up with more than they thought, so it's okay to cry, it's okay to allow themselves to hold each other.

He opens his eyes, trying not to think about all the lies that make up their mother, all the lies that have led them to be there at that moment, and all the made-up excuses they've heard. Seonghwa again seeks to ease the tears on his face with his fingers, and he looks down at one of his hands as he notices his slightly pink knuckles.

“Your hand.”

“Nothing important,” he parts his lips to complain because again, despite everything, Seonghwa still wants to protect him, but Seonghwa shakes his head. “Not anymore, I promise.”

His eyes slide to the accessory present around Seonghwa's wrist, and he feels his lower lip quiver as he gazes at the bracelet their father has given to Seonghwa. While he’s still wearing his necklace, Seonghwa is wearing his bracelet.

His family is getting smaller and smaller after leaving one by one, but he doesn't think he'll be able to continue resisting if Seonghwa also stops being with him.

“Please don't leave me,” he begs.

“You are my little brother. I won't.” Seonghwa assures him.

He’s not afraid that Seonghwa will abandon him because his biological father has appeared, and shows that he wants to be part of his life since in the first place they have been separated because neither has wanted to; but because he knows that he’s wrong and has managed to distance Seonghwa more than once, he has created conflicts between them. He has hurt Seonghwa enough as well as Seonghwa hurt him enough, and yet he doesn't want them to be apart.

“I won't hold back if he hurts you.” He doesn't have to say that he's referring to his father for Seonghwa to understand who he's talking about. They've already been through too many disappointments.

“I want to believe he won't.”

He has seen him having dinner with him, seeming not to be uncomfortable, and Seonghwa is no fool, he knows that, so he must have his reasons to allow himself to trust his father.

He thinks about how Seonghwa has gotten the test for Jongho and San, and a look from Seonghwa assures him that he's correct in thinking that his father had a hand in the matter. Seonghwa needs actions to trust, and his father is showing him that he wants to gain his trust. He also wants Seonghwa's trust, because he knows Seonghwa wants his.

“I'll agree to get better if you do it too,” he decides to say.

Seonghwa doesn't ask questions about it because they both know that while he should completely give up drugs, Seonghwa shouldn't deprive himself of a good and warm plate of food. Both must take care of themselves to be okay, strong for the other and themselves.

“Okay,” Seonghwa nods, and hugs him again.

His gaze slides to the car parked in front of his house, the one he's been in before, and his eyes meet Jongho's. While he has been for Jongho after facing his mother, Jongho is now for him even though unlike him, he hasn't planned to face his mother.

Jongho blows him a kiss, and surrounded by Seonghwa's arms, he allows himself to smile.

He's still hurt, and he doesn't know when it will stop hurting, maybe never, he doesn't know, but he does know he has people who make the corners of his mouth turn up even though his gaze remains glassy and his cheeks wet.

He leaves a few inches between him and Seonghwa, and watches him.

“And now?” he asks.

The uncertainty has been so deep, and the lack of answers has been so evident, that now they must deal with the implications that finally having heard the truth supposes. There’s no more confusion or disorientation. The truth has been exposed and the traces of tears present on their faces are a consequence of that exposure. And now, what is left to do?

He brings one of his hands to the floral pendant present between his clavicles, and notices that Seonghwa observes said gesture before looking at him and speaking.

“We fight for what belongs to us.”

Notes:

🤧

Chapter 46

Notes:

editing with the new album in the background is an Experience 🌶️ if there's any mistake... it took me twice as long to edit... i blame ateez and their music

cw implied cheating

San swallows after seeing all the texts sent by Wooyoung, and locks his phone.

His lockscreen manages to reduce his seriousness since Wooyoung was right and he realizes that the photo of the two of them together leads him to smile, but at that moment he remains without holding a smiling gesture nonetheless.

He doesn't know if he remains serious in the realization that he no longer feels nervous at the thought of a talk with his father, as the lies have completely tired him out, or because the nerves would never leave his shoulders if he allowed restlessness to guide him every time he decides to put his thoughts into words.

He puts his phone in one of his pockets and finally goes into the kitchen of his house. Finding his father sitting on one of the stools by the table is no surprise, as he has been waiting to have a moment with him.

“Dad,” His father rests his attention on him. “We need to talk.”

Need, and not want, because he needs both of them to talk.

“About?”

He chooses to sit close to him because if he’s to be honest, he’s tired of staying away from his father. Lies or not, it's always been the two of them. Staying away hurts even if he knows that he himself has created that lack of closeness.

He clears his throat.

“About mom?” He wonders if perhaps he has inherited from his father the ability to remain calm in important talks, since his father doesn’t raise both eyebrows or open his eyes at the mention of those words. Perhaps because it isn’t the first time that he has asked him to talk about his mother, but it is the first time that the term mother doesn't describe the person that he has always thought of, or that his father has always made him believe. “I only want honesty. That's all I want.”

“Of course,” his father turns his body towards him.

As with his mother, he wants the truth. That’s all he wants.

“I know she's not dead.” he admits. “I know she's not the person you've told me she is, and I know who she really is,” perhaps he's also been lying after all, since it's only then that he's completely honest as well.

San remains silent, waiting for his father to stumble at his own words or raise both eyebrows or even lean back in surprise. But his father watches him, looking calm, even, and soon enough he understands why he doesn't seem surprised.

“I know that you know all that.”

San parts his lips but silence soon accompanies them. The roles seem to reverse, since he becomes the person who doesn't know what to say, doesn't know how to react, while his father watches him with a slight smile on his face.

“What?”

“You want honesty,” his father reminds him although he has never forgotten it. “I've been waiting for you to come to me and tell me all this.”

“What?” He can only repeat.

Has his father never suspected his distance from him because all that time he has known what has caused it? He doesn’t doubt that his disorientation is more than obvious, since his father chooses to continue talking while he keeps trying to understand that this talk didn’t come as a surprise to his father.

“I never planned to tell you the truth and I had my reasons for not doing so, but everything changed when I stopped being the director of the university.”

He tilts his head.

He has always thought that the way his father left his job at the university was strange. With little notice, suddenly after having been in the position for so many years, from one semester to the next. He has never trusted the Board's decision, and apparently, now he will know why he did well to distrust.

“It wasn't neutral, was it?”

“Since when have I been the director there?”

“For as long as I can remember,” his father's position as director of the university has always been a constant. Since he was little because his father has always told him to make an effort despite probably having a guaranteed place.

“And when did they take me out?”

“When Yeosang and Seonghwa's mom came here,” his own fights with the two people he mentions as well as Wooyoung's recent texts lead him to continue to think that he was right in thinking that his father's dismissal was unfair.

“Can I give you my version before you hate me?” His father asks him.

He allows his shoulders to slump as he finally gets the chance to hear what he's been wanting to hear, the facts according to his father.

“I just want you to be honest.”

After all the lies thrown down and the connections he has managed to put together, he’s ready to listen to sentences that will be said as long as sincerity accompanies said words. The reality of his family has changed.

His father nods, understanding that he will only be listened to if he chooses to be completely honest with him, and if he decides to balance all the lies told and words that haven't been spoken at that moment.

“Your mom and I, we met during a talk where she was professing about education and whatnot. Charming woman, captivating,” San chooses to reserve the comments that he thinks would really serve to describe the person who, although turns out to be his mother, he doesn’t consider as such. “I knew she was married. I'm not a saint. We... met a couple of times. She ends up pregnant. She says she will leave her husband. They weren't as well known as they are now.”

Jongho's family has only become fully known since Jongho's father became the country's Prime Minister, but they have always been part of the political scene. It’s strange, to think that he has always felt close to said sphere by attending classes at a well-known university and by being close to Mingi, but it seems that he has always been closer than he thought.

“So she hides, and we see each other again. But then, she says she's not ready.”

He has been waiting to hear the word but.

“She looks at you, small, with a few minutes in this world,” he has never wondered about the lack of photos of his birth. He has always assumed that his father has never kept them in case it were taken because although he was born, his mother passed away, but now it turns out that it’s because the birth has been a secret in itself. “And she says she can't have you, she can't have me. She didn’t want to ruin her future.”

He looks at his father, noting the sorrow on his face. He has always associated the sadness that has guided his facial features when he has spoken of his mother at what life has done. But now he knows that it hasn’t been life, but a person and her own decisions.

“I could leave you there and pretend that nothing ever happened, that I never was with her, and that I never got to be around who is now the Prime Minister's wife, but I couldn't. You were so small. You were— you are my son,” he forms a line with his lips when he hears that his father felt unable to abandon him as his mother did, and that for that very reason, they have the possibility to speak at that moment. “So we made a deal. She wouldn't be part of our lives but she was going to provide stability, and that's how I became the director of the most known university.”

He’s not surprised to hear that his mother changed her mind about starting a family with them, since he has known from the very beginning that he has been left out by his mother. It doesn't hurt him to know that this has happened, not after knowing the kind of person his mother turns out to be, but his father confuses him.

“So am I supposed to be grateful because you didn't abandon me too, and because you gave me this life instead of a life where I have a mom?” He will never know what would have happened if his father had chosen to leave the hospital with empty arms, but he doesn’t forget what lies have led to the realization of that talk. “You let me cry, you let me mourn, you let me get mad at life, and that isn't fair.”

“I know, and no, I'm not asking for your gratitude, but I preferred for you to grow up with an absent mother than save yourself the disappointment of knowing that your mother is there but she really isn't. She paid the hospital, she gave me financial stability so I could raise you, and she simply went away.”

San decides to rest his elbow on the table and his cheek against his palm, not quite knowing what to think. He understands that his father has made certain decisions thinking that they would be the best for him, but so many lies could have been avoided.

All the times he has seen photos, all the times he has accepted being jealous of other people for having the opportunity to hug their mothers, all the times he has looked at his father and thought that he would've liked to see him happy with his mother.

Lies, lies, and lies.

“Seo Kyung...” Neither of them is surprised when they both know who he's talking about. “She said she never agreed for you to tell me she's my mom,” he recalls.

“She was my backup and I was proven right. Backup just in case something happened.”

“In case you are not the director anymore,” he realizes.

“The deal was we all went our own ways, but then, twenty years later, your mother appears and says she wants to send his other son to my university, and that she can do it because she made me the director of said institution in the first place.”

With the words that Wooyoung has sent him in his head, he knows that his father isn’t lying. He knows that Yeosang and Seonghwa have crossed certain words with their mother, and that the same has led to lies being discovered.

“You didn't like that.”

“Didn't seem fair. But when I said no...”

“She replaced you.” San completes for him.

His father said no while Yeosang and Seonghwa's mother said yes.

“Who was willing to play by her rules and follow directions?” he doesn't have to answer to know that he's talking about Yeosang and Seonghwa's mother. “I didn't complain because I was given another job and no one was going to believe me if I ever told the truth, so I played my last option, you finding out the truth.”

“But you never told me.”

“Doesn't mean I didn't help," his father assures him. “Who told you I was with Yeosang and Seonghwa's mother and where were we?”

For a moment he remains confused, until he certainly remembers that his father didn’t seem surprised when he told him he now knows the truth.

His first response is Yeosang at Wooyoung's house, since at that moment he found out that their parents know each other, but then he remembers the way in which Yeosang expressed finding out about said detail.

“Utopia. Yunho's staff.”

“Utopia, Yunho's place. Yunho, your friend,” San blinks. Has the place been on purpose because Yunho would tell him that he has seen them, or because his staff would tell him? “Back at the gala, I went to talk to the room where you were because I saw you with Wooyoung before.”

For a moment he feels his cheeks flush at the thought of his father with his eyes on them, but then he focuses on the fact that indeed, both he and Wooyoung have heard their exchanged words.

“You wanted us to listen,” it wasn’t a coincidence.

“Mentioning the hospital wasn't an unconscious decision, and showing you a photo so you could put it on your wallpaper either. I didn’t expect Wooyoung to know her, but Kyung called me when you visited her nonetheless.”

Perhaps Wooyoung hasn’t been part of the plan from the beginning, but his presence hasn’t been an inconvenience, quite the contrary.

“Why Kyung?” he decides to ask. He understands that it has helped to hide the relationship between his parents, but it’s evident that she hasn’t expected to be more than that.

“So that you could link me and your mom in case your mom thought about doing what she did,” backup, as he said. His father has also sought to save himself. “But I had to stay low so I did things I'm not proud of to get your mom to trust me when she thought she couldn't.”

As soon as he denotes guilt on his father's face, he remains serious.

“What have you done.”

“Mingi and Yunho.”

The mention of those names is enough to finally understand how his mother was able to get the chance to threaten Yunho.

“It was you!”

“I had to gain her trust.”

San shakes his head and crosses his arms, feeling naive for suggesting to Yunho that his father might have been behind it all after him knowing out about Yunho's scholarship and why he got it, while Yunho only sought to deny his words. He’s so, so naive.

And all so that his mother wouldn't suspect that he has been investigating her?

He forms a line with his lips, still not knowing how he's supposed to react. Angry that his father's actions have hurt his friends or that said decisions allowed him to trace his own actions in search of an answer that he has finally gotten?

His father reaches out a hand towards him, but soon understands that at the moment he doesn’t want to be touched because he lowers his hand as soon as he squares his shoulder to prevent contact from being formed between them.

“Kyung called me and told me that she meant to mislead you by saying that your mother found you. She wanted to make you believe that Seonghwa and Yeosang's mother is your mother, right? I don't know, really. Kyung must not be happy either, following someone else's instructions.” his father says, and he frowns, because indeed, Kyung's words confused him back then.

He left the hospital with more doubts than questions, but at least Wooyoung was by his side. He doesn't even want to think about what would have happened if Wooyoung didn't have the ability to remember people's faces.

“I don't know if you knew or not, but your mother used Yunho and Mingi to her advantage to divert attention, they had just come to Seoul after all, she needed a big scandal. And when Kyung called her too, after you visited her, he messed with her own son. Not with you, that's for sure. She wanted to use Jongho and his closeness with Yeosang to once again have everyone talking about someone but her.”

That's why Jongho also helped their mother to be stopped. He doesn't doubt it.

“Why didn't you want me to talk to Yeosang and Seonghwa?” It's the last question he has.

“Their mom didn't want to, for me, there was no problem but I had to play,” he knows he's not lying only because thanks to Wooyoung he knows those details. “Even though I didn't agree to follow her rules and she ended up removing me from the position, I had to keep playing. You found out, though.” his father looks at him, and he knows they are talking about his mother. “Why hasn't the rest?”

“It's just like before, she wants to keep it a secret,” and going to the press doesn't make sense because one, they've used the information to keep her quiet about other things, and two, he doesn't want to put himself in the eye of the storm.

“Do you want to be close to her?” His father asks him.

“Hell no.” he doesn't hesitate to answer.

After all, his father has accustomed him to the idea of living without a mother, and he doesn’t plan to throw himself at her feet, much less when she hasn’t hesitated to abandon him —much less when she hasn’t doubted to continually hurt his friends. 

Maybe his father is right after all, and it's better to think that she isn't there than to know that she is but really isn't.

“Do you want to be close to me?” he looks at his father when his father formulates that question. He swallows because that question is a complicated situation. “I'm really sorry for all the lies I've said. I've always wanted the best for you.”

“I don't know if I can trust you, you have been lying to me for so long. I appreciate that you've always been there for me but it's been so long with the lies.”

“I know, I am aware.”

“You've always known that I have a brother and you've never told me.” he no longer laments the absence of a mother, but the loss of all the moments he hasn't been able to create with Jongho.

“I didn't want that life for you.”

“It should have been my decision.”

He now has the possibility of getting closer to Jongho, of trying to establish a close relationship between them because fortunately Jongho also wants to stay close to him. But they have lost so much.

“But the thing is, I don't know if I can lose you too, Dad,” he admits.

Unlike his mother, his father has always been there for him, and with him.

It has always been about the two of them, and even now, after all the lies told and the truths expressed, it’s still about the two of them. He’s angry and frustrated, he doesn’t like knowing that his growth has been based on a pile of lies, but it’s also true that these lies have protected him from another reality.

“I'm here for you,” his father assures him.

Even after speaking, he still feels confused. He doesn't want to be near his mother, that's obvious, but with his father, he thinks he no longer knows how to act.

“Honesty.” he looks at his father when his father says that word. “Just for you to know, I was offered the job again,” he doesn't know if he’s impressed or not with what those words imply. “And I'll take it. I don't want your and your friends' secrets to be used by someone else, and your mother can't threaten me again.”

He does feel calmer when his father says that he will be the director again. And he doesn't know if it's wrong or not, but he also doesn't know how to act in the face of everything he has said and heard, so he leaves his stool and chooses to hug his father, both frustrated and comforted.

He understands some of the decisions his father has made, while others don't, and yet the cause of all his father’s actions is the same: he wanted to protect him.

And it will be hard for him to trust his father, and he will never forget the lies he has told him, and even so, he truly refuses to lose him. Just as he refuses to move closer to his mother, he refuses to move away from his father again.

“You can take your time.” His father tells him, reciprocating his hug.

He'll take his time, that's for sure.

He doesn't resent his father once he leans back, and once his father opts to leave him alone so he can think and he follows him with his gaze, he only manages to wonder what would have happened if instead of letting the story of both to be based on lies, his father would have allowed both of them to lean on each other after being left by the same person.

He rubs his face with both hands. At no time has he wanted his father to stop being the director of the university, but his father shouldn't want to have said position again just so that certain facts don't come to light.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket, and while with one hand ruffles his locks in indignation, he dials the number of the person who is still part of his wallpaper before bringing the phone to his ear.

“Hey,” Wooyoung's voice is soft, as if he knows he's stopped replying to his texts because they've led to his own important conversation, and he promptly confirms his thoughts. “Did you talk?”

“Yeah, I... I don't know...” He doesn't want to get away from his father, but he doesn't want to pretend that nothing has happened either. “Is it wrong if I choose to forgive him?”

“I can't tell you what to do, San, you're the one who decides what you can bear and what you don't.”

He knows that Wooyoung doesn’t have the answer and that certainly, only he decides what weighs more, what the lies have hidden, or what the truths determine; but he doesn't know what to do.

“Do you think you can come here?” He decides to ask.

Perhaps he doesn't know how to continue, but he does know that Wooyoung has been at his side since the very first moment, and that he has also managed to have a clearer picture thanks to him, so although he’s still worried, he feels somewhat relieved when the listens to Wooyoung's answer on the other end of the line.

“Of course.”

With the promise of another moment with Wooyoung and Byeol showing up to climb on the table and then on his shoulder, he knows that just as he's been surrounded by lies, he's never stopped being surrounded by sincerity.

---

“Even if it sounds wrong, I'm glad she showed her real face so that you, and Yeosang as well, know the truth.”

Despite the implications evident behind those words, Seonghwa allows a small smile to guide his face once he listens to Dohyun. He understands his intention since that precise thought is what has been keeping him from falling completely.

He finally knows the truth, and although he feels that it has broken his heart, he prefers to walk with said brokenness than with uncertainty and surrounded by lies.

“I guess that's the only good thing,” he agrees.

Now that he's had to stop battling between wondering who's telling the truth and who's lying between his mother and Dohyun, he's at ease facing Dohyun. He has decided to see him again, even more so after his mother admitted what Dohyun has suggested, that she has been lying for longer than he had thought.

It still hurts him, and he thinks it will continue to hurt for a long, long time, to think that several of his mother's decisions have been based purely and exclusively on money. While he and Yeosang have been grieving the loss of their father, their mother has been lying for money —which is apparently all theirs, he now knows.

“I heard she left the job,” Dohyun says.

Seonghwa nods. He has heard the same thing.

He supposes that the Board has prioritized stability for the university because they have chosen to get rid of his mother to once again give the position to San's father, though the same shows indecision in the elections.

“I don't know if she left it or they took it away from her, but the truth is that I don't care much,” he thinks that his mother has probably chosen to withdraw on her own because after all, the words exchanged between them and Yeosang haven’t abandoned the walls of the house. “It hurts, but if she doesn't care about us, I don't have to care about her, right?”

He knows that he doesn't fully believe his own words because he immediately looks down after saying them, feeling the disappointment present in his chest.

It hurts him, and a lot, to understand that his mother has always been interested in money and that obsession of hers made her constantly lie, taking away the opportunity to grow up thinking that his father loved him instead of abandoning him; but just as it's hard for him to stay close to Dohyun now that he's around him, it's also hard for him to stay away from his mother now that both have already chosen to stop pretending.

But it’s a process, and he has to do it. If he has stopped trusting his mother, he can learn to trust Dohyun.

“I'm so sorry, Seonghwa.”

He looks to the table when he notices that Dohyun leaves his hand there, the invitation being evident.

Seonghwa forms a line with his lips, understanding the uncertainty that haunts that gesture because they've gone from not knowing anything about each other for years, and he doesn't know if it's because a part of him is desperate to know that he at least has one of his parents, or because so far Dohyun has shown to be sincere; he doesn't really know, but he ends up accepting his hand.

It's a simple gesture, but it's enough, warm, soft, and comforting, and he doesn't blame himself when he feels his gaze turn blurry because Dohyun really is there, he's really been looking for him and he hasn't given up on him. It's precisely what he's been needing, to accept love and help. Even if the situation is still messy and it doesn't look good, everything will improve.

He allows a breath of air to leave his lips.

“At least I know you were serious this time,” he decides to say.

His mother has ended up confirming Dohyun's version instead of contradicting it as she has done for as long as he can remember.

“I don't want you to turn to me just because now your mother is away while I'm not.” he looks at Dohyun when he says those words, thinking that he wouldn't have believed it if someone had previously told him that he would end up taking Dohyun’s side and not his mother's. “But I do want you to know that I am here for you, and that I will help you with whatever you need. I want to be here for you.”

He knows better than to throw himself into Dohyun's arms just because his mother has been proven to be a liar, since a part of him is still alert, thinking that Dohyun has barely shown up despite already knowing that his mother was the cause behind their first separation.

His mind is not ready to trust so quickly, much less his heart, but he's ready to provide an opportunity.

“I appreciate it,” he thinks he's sincere when he speaks. “Yeosang is my priority now. And myself too I guess,” the environment around them has been so unstable lately that he just wants to get stability for both Yeosang and himself. “You could help me with... the lawyers if you want.”

“Will you take her to court?”

“I want to be given dad's money, what corresponds to us. I don't want her to keep it. It isn’t up to her.” he wants his father's wishes to be carried out and for his mother not to have the opportunity to access said sum after having lied to unsuccessfully try to get it.

Yeosang has expressed not wanting their mother in his life and he agrees because their mother hasn’t even said sorry for all the lies, and he doubts he will ever hear those words come from her. Dohyun’s help would be appreciated because he doubts that his mother has tried so hard to lie for a simple and small sum of money, and if he has to start a legal battle to claim it, he will.

“Of course, I'll help you, don't hesitate,” Dohyun expresses. “Do you fear her?”

“No.” Fortunately, he’s able to express that negative response. “I think she has more to lose than us, otherwise we'd already be on the cover of all the portals,” he doesn’t doubt that everything would be in chaos if his mother chose to speak.

Yeosang and he would find themselves in the center of the storm and he believes that they are already tired enough to have to deny facts or speak the truth. But that way his mother would also put herself in the eye of the storm, and he doubts that she wants the attention to fall on them.

He feels nervous at the mere idea of his mother exposing Yeosang and the drugs he has used, but the hand that keeps holding his reminds him that just as many people lie, others tell the truth —or at least he wants to believe that.

“You know, I have a great circle of professionals around me.”

He’s not surprised to hear his father as he himself has previously asked Yeosang if he has gone to therapy, he himself has questioned whether Yeosang has been taking antidepressants or not. He hasn't even questioned himself about how he feels, because he knows that one question will be enough to realize that he hasn't been feeling well for a long time.

“I'm telling you in case it helps,” Dohyun adds.

As he said, Yeosang is his priority. He wants Yeosang to be well, and he turns out to be Yeosang's priority. Yeosang has told him that he wants to get rid of all drugs, and he's aware that although he has told Hongjoong that he eats healthy, his body doesn't agree so much with those words.

He lets out a silent breath, thinking that at that very moment, even if he's met his father at another restaurant, he hasn't chosen to order anything. For the moment he can blame the chaos around him, but he knows that he can’t support that way of thinking. He wants to be better, to feel better, he really does, but it will take him time to heal.

“Yes, I will also accept that help,” he says.

Words can be false so lately he trusts actions more, and Dohyun has been showing him that he can do it. He first helped him with the test without questioning why he asked him to help him, and how he got it, moreover, at that moment he's next to him, once again wanting to help him.

He knows that it's not wrong to accept help, and thinking about that leads him to look at the restaurant's windows, knowing that Hongjoong is in one of the parked cars. He has told him about meeting Dohyun, and Hongjoong himself chose to accompany him in case the moment doesn’t end well, although the other meetings haven’t ended badly.

He turns his head towards Dohyun after thinking that he’s already calmer after having talked about the situation that has put his mother at the center. It’s evident who has been lying and who hasn’t.

“I have to go, but, can we meet again?”

“Of course we can,” Dohyun says. “You just have to call.”

He allows a smile to come over his face as he opts to get up, believing that his expression misses being accompanied by said smiling gesture.

He knows that he shouldn't rest all his hopes on Dohyun because he’s right next to him since he has learned that a person, even a parent, is fully capable of lying, but he wants to believe that Dohyun is being sincere.

“Mh... you can call me as well,” he offers, since up to now Dohyun has allowed him to decide when to contact him and when not, and he doesn't regret it when Dohyun smiles. “Thank you for helping me.”

“That's what I'm here for.”

Seonghwa forms a line with his lips, believing that while Dohyun expresses those words without hesitation, his mother hasn’t complied with them, but he promptly chooses to give him a smile after believing that talking to him has helped him, and turns around to soon leave the restaurant.

For hugs, they will surely have plenty of time. For now, having held his hand is enough, more than enough.

The days only continue to turn cold and the winter weather reminds him that he will probably think of the festivities of that year in a very particular way, different from the others because neither Yeosang nor he wants to stay close to their mother, it will be the first festivities without their father present, and with Dohyun in the picture.

But just as many things change, there are others that remain the same, and he allows a smile to guide his face when he hears the restaurant door open and soon two people remain by his side.

“Well, he looks pretty charming if you ask me, and you definitely got your good looks from him,” Wooyoung's mother says.

“As long as you're feeling okay, so are we,” Wooyoung's father adds.

He looks between them, smiling because he knows he's always been welcome in Wooyoung's house, and because he considers them both his family even though they're not related by blood.

They gravitate close to each other because life has allowed them to, and for that, he feels lucky. They have both stepped forward to assure him, and Yeosang as well, that they are still there for them, and both have insisted on accompanying him after telling them that his biological father has come back.

“Thank you for being here,” he says, admittedly calm.

“Of course,” Wooyoung's mother hugs him while Wooyoung's father caresses his arm, and he thinks Wooyoung has definitely inherited his warm personality and taste for touch from them. “Now, we know we weren't the only ones to come,” Wooyoung's mother winks at him, and he laughs. “So call us if you need us, okay?”

He nods, and smiles when Wooyoung's parents promptly walk away from him, walking side by side and talking about the restaurant they just visited just to keep him company.

He lets out a breath that turns to smoke as it encounters the winter air, but soon enough he’s surrounded by a warmer atmosphere again as he opens the passenger seat door of Hongjoong's car and gets in it.

“How did it go?” Hongjoong asks him when they are side by side.

“Everything was fine,” he chooses to reply despite all the thoughts spinning around his head. He leaves his back against the seat and allows himself to be comforted by the presence of Hongjoong at his side. “It’s weird that everything is the other way around now.”

He has always been used to thinking of his mother as the only person he can lean on after his father never chose to stay close to him, but now he knows that that situation has been forced, a planned lie. It's weird to think of trusting his biological father instead of his mother.

“I'd just like to reset for a moment,” he can't help but say before leaving his head against the seat, and it's at that moment that he understands why he found drugs in Yeosang's backpack, why Yeosang has kept some of them even after he took the box.

The need to forget everything for a moment, to get rid of his problems and catch a break; the chance to clear his head even for just an instant. He sucks in a breath, frustrated, thinking that he wishes Yeosang didn't have to feel that way, desperate enough to get away from himself and his surroundings to turn to drugs.

He looks up when Hongjoong rests one of his hands on his thigh. He notices that he has opened his palm, and opts to take his hand in both of his as he watches him.

“Do you want to come to Milan with me?”

Seonghwa raises both eyebrows at that question after waiting for Hongjoong to express some supportive comment again, not one that leads him to remain confused, impressed, even.

“What?”

“My mom has a fashion show there this weekend,” Hongjoong expresses. “I planned to stay here to be with you but, do you want to come? To recharge energies.”

Seonghwa parts his lips to express that no, he can't accompany him, and that Hongjoong shouldn't stay in town and miss that show just because of him, but no words leave his mouth.

He has previously expressed his interest in what the world of fashion represents, and now he no longer has the pressure of being part of a company since he doesn't even know what will happen to it considering that his mother only lies and lies. He knows that a trip to another country would be a chance, an opportunity to achieve what he has been looking for: to distract himself.

In a different city, with Hongjoong by his side. Even if it's for a few days.

He thinks about Yeosang and not wanting to stop being by his side, about the problems that are still spinning around his head, about how uncomfortable it is to be in his own house, and about the talk he just finished having with Dohyun.

But he also thinks about the question that Hongjoong has asked him once, when was the last time he did something for himself?

If he wants Yeosang to heal, he has to heal too.

“Okay,” he accepts.

Notes:

saying goodbye to san's pov (and byeol) this time 🥺

have a nice weekend and enjoy the comeback!

Chapter 47

Notes:

everyone's last povs officially begin 😔🙏

content warning: i don't know if it's a warning or not but yeosang talks to a gravestone so if that's difficult for you to read, read carefully

“Are you sure everything is alright?”

Hongjoong stops in front of the assigned room door after hearing the trace of concern in Seonghwa's tone of voice. He watches him, his phone pressed to his ear and an uneasy expression on his face, but Hongjoong doesn't worry. If something had happened to Yeosang, Seonghwa wouldn’t be by his side.

“Yes? Are you sure? Okay. Okay, yes, I'll talk to you later,” he's not surprised when Seonghwa expresses those words.

He doesn't need to listen to the conversation to know that Yeosang is indeed fine despite the worried look on Seonghwa's face, but he decides to speak when Seonghwa hangs up nonetheless.

“Everything alright with Yeosang?”

“Yes, it's just... we're thousands of miles away and I can't help but worry and although I know that he's not alone, I just think that—”

“Hey, hey,” he lets go of the handles of their suitcases when he notices that Seonghwa doesn't interrupt his quick words with any pause, and leaves his hands between them as Seonghwa stops his own sentences after his interruption.

He takes a deep breath to signal Seonghwa to do the same, and luckily Seonghwa copies the slow rhythm that guides his chest. He understands Seonghwa’s uneasiness. He probably can't remember the last time he was this far away from Yeosang though previously both have chosen to distance themselves from each other, but he thinks they both deserve to take a deep breath.

Not being side by side doesn't mean they aren’t close to each other.

“He's fine,” he assures him. “I made sure of that,” he adds in case Seonghwa is still unsure about leaving Seoul for a few days.

He assumes that Seonghwa trusts his words because he nods rather than let the distance work against him, and opts to finally unlock the hotel room.

He knows that it's not exactly easy for Seonghwa to be apart from Yeosang, much less under the circumstances they find themselves in, but he's expressed the truth by mentioning that he's made sure Yeosang is okay too.

He made sure to talk to Jongho about staying close to Yeosang —though Jongho himself told him that he would take care of Yeosang, and that he would let him know if he needed help.

“I'm enjoying it, I'm— wow.” He turns to Seonghwa when he hears him interrupt himself this time. “I’m definitely enjoying it.”

He follows him with his gaze, allowing a smile to guide his face as Seonghwa seems to remain enthralled with the details that make up the hotel room.

He asked Seonghwa to travel with him for that very reason, for Seonghwa to allow his surroundings to distract him. He watches Seonghwa as Seonghwa lets himself flop down on the bed along with a smile.

“So comfortable,” he says, his smiling gesture certainly agreeing with his words, and Hongjoong laughs before opting to sit next to him, feeling for himself the softness of the comforter and the comfort of the mattress. “Are you sure your moms don't care?”

He shakes his head after hearing his question and lies down as well, though unlike Seonghwa, he rolls over to leave his elbows and stomach against the mattress.

“No, they are happy that you are here,” his mothers haven’t hesitated to express that they will try to make it the best possible trip for Seonghwa. They cheered as soon as he told them about Seonghwa coming along with them. “And me too, you know,” he adds, “I'm glad you agreed to come and be with me.”

Seonghwa could have said no, shaken his head once he suggested the idea because now more than ever he must seek to stay close to Yeosang; but his acceptance has led them to find themselves side by side at that time.

A slight smile decorates Seonghwa's face, and he smiles as well. Seonghwa needs to take his mind off for a few days and fortunately, he represents that opportunity.

Seonghwa gently tugs at the edge of his jacket, and instead of thinking that they should probably take off their jackets or have avoided getting on the bed, he agrees to get a little closer to Seonghwa.

“I like how I feel when I'm with you,” Seonghwa expresses, looking at him.

When he hears those words, Hongjoong believes that those days away from Seoul will also do him good.

“I like how that sounds.”

He doesn't worry about Yunho and Mingi, and he doesn't worry about San either. Both Yunho and Mingi are busy with their respective business as well as with each other, and both are present for San. And besides, he knows not to worry about San when Wooyoung finds himself gravitating to him.

And with Yeosang and Jongho looking out for each other, he thinks it's somewhat intriguing and funny how the eight of them have ended up connecting.

He leaves one of his hands on Seonghwa's cheek, and when Seonghwa leans into the contact, he finally gives in and catches his lips with his, hoping that Seonghwa doesn't think he has to keep the edge of his jacket caught in his fingers to prevent him from pulling away. He doesn't intend to, and he won’t.

The luxury of the room and the comfort of the bed don’t matter, said details lose importance when what matters is Seonghwa and the little moments they can create side by side during those days. He hopes that Seonghwa feels just as comfortable as him, and he thinks so because the small laugh that Seonghwa lets out caresses his lips.

“What is it?” he asks him, smiling as he slides his hand to his jaw.

“Don't you think we would have gone crazy if the day we met, someone had told us that we would come to Milan together?” Seonghwa asks him.

He promptly raises both eyebrows at his head being plagued with images of the first time he laid his eyes on Seonghwa after Seonghwa showed up at the classroom door.

“I would have thought it was impossible,” before, he would only have thought of that word, impossible. He remembers himself getting irritated with the words he heard and the way in which Seonghwa's personality collided with his, but he should have realized that something would change after thinking that although he felt annoyed, enthusiasm embraced him when Seonghwa caught his attention.

Both haven’t hesitated to clash from the very first moment, perhaps for not mentioning the most appropriate words and showing themselves as they are, for allowing that sudden opportunity to be who they truly are, without needing to pretend. He doesn't know precisely why, but he feels happy to think that he’s now together with a person he trusts.

“How was your life before I crashed it?”

He holds a smile only because Seonghwa does so when asking that question. It could be defined as having crashed it, since his presence has been sudden, as well as the way in which they have gone from not tolerating to being close to each other by deciding to be side by side at that moment.

“Not much has changed, actually,” despite all the changes that Seonghwa represents, he doesn't think his life has changed that much after Seonghwa moved to Seoul. “Play my music at Mingi's parties, help my moms with their jobs, get Yunho and Mingi to stop fighting, and laugh with San. Same as now, although now I will surely want to separate Yunho and Mingi not because they fight, but because they will make me gag with their closeness,” he laughs, and Seonghwa laughs too.

He believes that although it sounds silly, it isn’t life that has changed, but them. And not just Yunho and Mingi, or San, but him too, and he swallows when he thinks that he and Seonghwa have never agreed to call each other a friend.

“It sounds nice,” Seonghwa offers him a short smile, a smiling gesture that denotes sincerity but also something else, and Hongjoong reads that something more as a trace of bitterness. He’s only capable of thinking that while for him, his life hasn’t changed both because his relationship with his mothers is still defined as close, and Yunho, Mingi, and San are still his inner circle of friends, Seonghwa has gone through too many changes. Both before, during, and also after the move.

“It was... repetitive somehow,” he chooses to express so that Seonghwa doesn't equate his own life to complete chaos solely because he doesn't have the opportunity to describe the last moments as stable. “I've been feeling more creative lately,” he expresses, wrinkling his nose at his own words as he realizes that lately, he has certainly felt more satisfied with his designs.

Seonghwa tilts his head at this, denoting both curiosity and confusion, and Hongjoong gives him a smile before choosing to momentarily separate from him after searching his backpack for the tablet he always carries with him, and this time lies down next to Seonghwa to let him look at some of the designs he’s been working on.

He has always been just as interested in the industries that both of his mothers are part of, both the world of fashion and the world of music; two spheres that require creativity and imagination.

Whether creating different color combinations or various rhythms, he has always allowed his thoughts to be conveyed in melodies and papers.

“You did this?”

He smiles when Seonghwa sounds interested, his eyes on the tablet.

“With my mom saying something every now and then,” he accepts, laughing.

“I like this one the most.”

He follows the direction of the tip of Seonghwa's index finger when he pronounces those words, and his eyes fall on the design that he also liked the most after being inspired by butterflies to create it. He constantly returns to that animal as inspiration for his designs, and smiles when he hears that it turns out to be Seonghwa's favorite.

They are currently in Milan to attend his mother's fashion show, and Seonghwa has expressed interest in the world of fashion on more than one occasion, so he turns his head towards him.

“Would you wear it?” he asks him. Seonghwa nods, not hesitating after probably thinking his words are a simple question. “Then I'll design it for you,” he decides.

“What?”

Seonghwa sits up on his elbows, allowing surprise to accompany his expression as well as his tone of voice. But Hongjoong doesn't regret his words, nor the next ones he utters.

“Would you model my clothes?”

The height, the facial features, the desire to be. Seonghwa has it all.

Seonghwa only continues with his eyes wide open, surprised at the words he hears.

“But there are so many professional models that—”

“I want you,” Hongjoong finds himself expressing, and while he's just as surprised as Soenghwa when he hears his own words, he quickly wonders why he's so shocked at the mention of that statement. If his words were nothing more than a lie, he wouldn't have invited Seonghwa to the trip, he wouldn't worry about Seonghwa, and he wouldn't want Seonghwa by his side. “And not only for this, to model my designs. I want you.”

He wants Seonghwa.

Seonghwa doesn't stop keeping his gaze connected with his, and Hongjoong doesn't choose to look away from him either because he wants the sincerity of his words to be reflected in his pupils.

He sets his tablet aside, and though Seonghwa again takes one of the corners of his jacket to keep him close to him, Seonghwa leans into him.

“I want you too,” Seonghwa expresses.

This time neither of them doubts the other’s words, the shared honesty. They have had more than one occasion to mistrust each other, to allow their thoughts to play against them and their own heads to assure them that they are making a mistake by keeping said closeness; while at that moment they are sure, more than sure of the words they share.

Again his hand finds Seonghwa's face —facial features as delicate as they are defined, a face that has drawn his attention from the start, and again Seonghwa doesn't object when their lips meet.

He believes that they wouldn't change all the situations they've been in to get to that moment, finally allowing themselves to trust each other after staying close.

He feels Seonghwa moving closer to his despite the expansion of the bed —neither has made any mention of the fact that there is only one bed in the room— and he slides one of his hands to his back when Seonghwa releases his grip on his jacket to leave his hand on his chest.

He should probably take his jacket off, Seonghwa too —they shouldn't even have been lying on the bed in those clothes, but he doesn't care because what he does care about is knowing that he won't let the city be the only thing keeping Seonghwa distracted.

“You know,” he expresses on his lips, licking his own, taking advantage of the short millimeters to breathe. “I just remembered something.”

“What?”

“You said something,” his head still continues to gravitate around the way they have met. “Poor soul, the one that ends up being with you,” he recites word by word, and he knows that no mistake has accompanied his phrase because Seonghwa stares at him, knowing that the same words have left his mouth before —lips that now he knows how it feels to kiss. “Poor soul?”

“I knew you were obsessed with me from the very beginning,” Seonghwa expresses along with a wide smile instead of looking at him seriously because technically, according to his own words, he himself ends up being the poor soul that is with him. “You remember what I said. I remember you saying that we could've been so powerful.”

“Who is the obsessed one now?” he doesn't hesitate to replicate his smile.

Seonghwa loses his.

“I'm not a poor soul.”

“We can still be powerful,” he assures him.

Perhaps at the time he pronounced those words without hesitation because the President of the Class and the son of the director being side by side sounds like the best of alliances. But Seonghwa's mother is no longer the director, and for him, there are many more important things than a title.

“Just maybe not the way we thought.” he adds. His closeness with Seonghwa can still be described as powerful. “I design, you model,” he says against Seonghwa's lips, already picturing Seonghwa sporting what his own brain and heart have managed to agree to create. “We rule.”

“You really have high expectations,” Seonghwa doesn't want to lean back either.

“Told you, I'm a hard-working person.”

“Is this a competition, Kim?” Seonghwa watches him along with a small smile when pronouncing his last name, and Hongjoong only feels able to switch his eyes, and therefore his attention, between him and his lips.

“Is it, Park?" They are so close that he chooses to steal a kiss and then stare at him. “Or are we on the same team?”

“You tell me.”

Seonghwa leans into him as he leans forward, and he believes that the encounter between their mouths assures that both are more than aware that this time they are on the same side no matter how much they try to provoke each other.

He wants all the people to applaud Seonghwa, he wants Seonghwa's potential to be praised. He wants his own potential to be admired because perhaps more than once he has been told or has thought that he’s only where he is thanks to the careers of his mothers, but he trusts in his abilities and in how much he’s learned from both.

He only wants to stay close to Seonghwa because he wants his company to distract him, for his words to plague his mind and for his body to be free of any tension caused by family uncertainties.

With Seonghwa's hand on his chest, and holding Seonghwa close to him, he hopes that Seonghwa knows that his heart beats for him. He thinks that perhaps it is no longer worth finding a word to define himself, not when he has accepted from the very beginning, that Seonghwa is his exception.

“Guys, come on!”

He hears his mother from the other side of the door, and Seonghwa snickers when both pull apart. He doesn't know if he's frustrated or not because he wants to stay close to Seonghwa, but he also wants them to enjoy the city.

“We will come back to this later,” perhaps they could do both.

“You won't get a no from me,” Seonghwa smiles at him.

He traces Seonghwa's lower lip with his thumb, pulling away from him before his mother knocks on the door or he hears them both. He sits on the edge of the bed, but his eyes fall on Seonghwa when once he sits up too, Seonghwa catches his wrist in his hand even though he didn't seek to get up.

“Thank you for bringing me here,” Seonghwa says.

Hongjoong smiles, believing that those words are unnecessary to express but nice to hear.

“I just want you to be okay,” he really hopes that being away from Seoul will do him good.

“I will be,” he doesn't know if Seonghwa is expressing those words for him, for himself, or for both.

“I know you will,” Hongjoong doesn’t doubt that they are completely sincere.

Though he knows their mothers will probably tell them to hurry up, he manages to stop Seonghwa from keeping his hand around his wrist once he takes his hand in his to interlock their fingers.

He still has one of his fingernails painted while Seonghwa's hands are still delicate. It's the same image that his eyes captured when Seonghwa sat down next to him and they introduced themselves to each other. And yet, so much time has passed, and so much has changed. They have changed too.

“Now you're a part of my life too,” he tells him, figuring that just as he won't stop playing his music at Mingi's parties, and designing, he'll make time to hang out with Seonghwa. Having a coffee as they promised, or a strawberry smoothie. Seonghwa told him that it doesn't matter as long as they're both side by side, whether it's a date or not, and he agrees with those words. “And I want to be a part of your life.”

Seonghwa smiles at him, and presses his shoulder against his.

“I remember when we were both being stubborn, and I said that lack of dates doesn't equate to lack of visual appreciation.” Seonghwa says, smiling at words he himself has mentioned earlier, and he smiles back, because he certainly remembers Seonghwa uttering that sentence just to provoke him. “I'm sure this is more than visual appreciation.”

He hums, agreeing with his words. Seonghwa is more than just another pretty face, he knows that.

“I don't need you to tell me you love me, or to take me out to romantic dinners, or give me stuffed animals, or anything like that,” Seonghwa says, wrinkling his nose. “I do like legos, though,” he adds, and they both laugh. “You want me to be okay, and we both know that I will be in time, but I will only be if you are by my side.”

He doesn't hesitate to give Seonghwa's hand a light squeeze when he hears him.

“You've really got my attention, Park,” he assures him.

“And you mine, Kim,” Seonghwa smiles, and he kisses his cheek.

Seonghwa has changed. He too. Both. They're still changing, and that's okay, because they have each other.

When they hear a knock on the door, they snicker, and he finally gets up, helping Seonghwa by keeping their hands together. And with Seonghwa's hand still attached to his as he opens the door, he smiles, knowing that saying the words I love you, whenever that happens, won't be difficult.

---

“It was good to finally see you again.”

Yeosang swallows, being aware of the lump in his throat but also of the small smile that he luckily manages to draw with his lips. His gaze is still a little blurry but he sits up, and he knows he's not lying.

He would like his words to get a response, but he doesn't stop thinking of that moment as a conversation even though his ears hear no words back.

His eyes continue to fixate on his father's name written on the gravestone in front of him, and he keeps on smiling because he has spoken words that he has apparently had stuck in his throat for a long time, and part of his uneasiness has left his shoulders.

“Seonghwa is okay, he's on a trip right now. He sends his love to you and misses you.”

He doesn't doubt that Seonghwa wouldn't have hesitated to be by his side at that time if he wasn't in Milan, but the idea of visiting his father came up after Seonghwa chose to board the flight. Seonghwa would have insisted on staying and missing that trip if he had mentioned the idea earlier, but he doesn't blame his absence and believes that Seonghwa has made a good decision by leaving Seoul for a few days.

He too, since if he finds himself in front of his father's gravestone it’s because he has chosen to get away from the chaos of that city. Both to try to clear their minds. To begin to heal, perhaps. He thinks it's working, for despite the tightness in his chest and the droopy expression that no doubt accompanies his face, the corners of his face are still up, and he doesn't feel completely down.

“Wooyoung too. He's still Wooyoung, and he misses you as well,” he adds.

Wooyoung did ask him if he wanted company, but while he didn’t doubt that Wooyoung's energetic and enthusiastic presence would have been more than welcome at that time, he wants to share Wooyoung's energies with other people. He knows that San is not in his prime either, and that Wooyoung has been by his side from the beginning.

He’s alone, but he doesn't feel lonely.

“I miss you too,” he doesn't know how many times he has pronounced those words, he has already lost count. He looks down, and releases a silent breath. He will probably never stop pronouncing them, but he believes that he’s fine because that means that he will never forget the presence of his father. “I'll be okay, Dad.” He looks up again, and locks the ever-present necklace around his neck with his hand. “I promise.”

He knows that he will be, he just knows because now the picture is clearer than ever. He has definitely made a good decision in deciding to return to his city to visit his father. He now believes that certainly, just as he has said, no matter how much he’s hurting at that moment, he'll be fine.

He doesn’t add parting words not only because he has understood that his father is with him no matter where he is and because he plans to return more often, but also because while previously he mentioned that the necklace is the only thing he has left of his father, now he knows that he made a mistake in pronouncing those words.

He also has Seonghwa, and their father has taught them to see each other as brothers, that they shouldn't allow arguments to overtake the good times between them, and that if there are arguments, they should talk and ask each other for forgiveness.

He stops kneeling on the grass, and rubs his eyes with his free hand.

“Ow,” he says as something soft bumps against one of his legs, and when he lowers his eyes, he finds a small Maltese puppy running between his legs, but before he can bend down to pet it, it scurries away.

He takes one last look at his father's name and finally approaches the cemetery gates.

The opportunity to say goodbye to his father was taken away from him after moving to Seoul without previous notice, while now he has had the chance to express more words than he imagined. He leaves the place with his thoughts a little more ordered instead of gasping for air.

His breathing only continues to stabilize when he denotes that he’s being awaited with open arms, and he doesn’t hesitate to surround Jongho’s waist with his arms. Jongho hugs him and he feels his lips against his temple.

He's not asked how he is, he doesn't hear the words how he's doing. They both know the answers. Jongho's presence and the warmth attached to it lead him not to express any complaints about the winter weather around them.

“I think you've made a friend,” Jongho says along with a chuckle.

He frowns, confused when he hears those words, until he separates from Jongho and turns back, denoting the small dog that bumped into his leg approaching him again.

This time he does reach down, and pets it, smiling and intrigued when he finds a small yellow flower stuck in its white hair. It's winter so he doesn't know how it managed to get a flower tangled in its hair, but he keeps smiling because it reminds him of the floral pendant present between his clavicles.

The pup licks his hand when he strokes it, and promptly straightens up with it in his arms, the pup managing to make him laugh when it tickles his cheek after licking him.

“If you had light-blonde hair, you two would be brothers,” Jongho says.

“Another brother, Seonghwa will probably give you dirty looks when he finds out he has competition, but then he'll love you,” he holds the pup in both hands, continuing to laugh as it enthusiastically licks his nose. “Light-blonde, mh?” he has been thinking of changing his hair color after all.

After making sure that the puppy doesn’t seem to have an owner, he holds it between his arms and his chest to protect it from the cold.

“You can stay, but I'm still his favorite,” Jongho narrows his gaze at the puppy, and he laughs as Jongho puts one of his arms around his shoulders and they begin to walk, the puppy only responding by barking at Jongho.

Thinking that Hehetmon would be a nice name for the puppy, he looks at Jongho.

“Thank you for coming here with me,” he decides to say.

He could have left Seoul alone, but accepting Jongho to be with him was a good decision.

“You won't get rid of me that easily,” Jongho only strengthens his grip on his shoulders.

“I miss Seonghwa, but I won't tell him that because he will come back,” it has been so funny and affectionate the way both Seonghwa and Hongjoong assured him that he shouldn’t hesitate to call if he needs anything, and he knows that Hongjoong talked to Jongho as well.

For the same reason, he knows that Seonghwa is in good company, and he doesn't want him to come back just because he misses him.

It's only a couple of days, and he thinks the trip will do Seonghwa good.

“Aw, the little brother misses his older brother?”

He turns his head towards Jongho when he hears him, and wrinkles his nose as Jongho offers him a gummy smile —he really likes that smiling gesture.

“Don't you miss San?”

“He's really nice, I guess,” he chuckles when Jongho expresses those words. “But don't tell him I said that because he will jump out of emotion.”

He smiles, thinking that even though the situation is heavy on Jongho’s shoulders, the important thing is that now Jongho has San as San has Jongho.

“I'm glad you two are close,” he chooses to mention.

The lies they have heard throughout their lives have been different, but he himself knows how important it is that both Jongho and San know that they have each other. Despite all of his tense moments with Seonghwa, he believes that he wouldn't be able to stand without Seonghwa by his side. The difference in their last names has never mattered.

“Me too,” this time he presses his body against Jongho’s upon hearing him.

The way in which they have discovered the respective lies that have been hidden from them hasn’t been pretty, but now they can use that honesty to realize who are the people who truly care about them, as well as reaffirm that they remain close to each other for more than physical pleasure.

“Hey,” he looks at Jongho when Jongho does. “My dad bought me an apartment.”

He supposes that said sentence shouldn't impress him because Jongho is still the Prime Minister's son after all. And Seonghwa and Hongjoong are in Milan, but still, he raises both eyebrows in surprise.

“What?”

“He doesn’t want me to be near my mom and I share the sentiment,” if someone understands wanting to stay away from his mother, that person turns out to be Jongho. “I told San he could stop by whenever he feels like it. I would like to extend the invitation to you as well. And Seonghwa since I know it's not comfortable for you two either.”

He feels his shoulders drop slightly when he knows that those words express nothing but the truth.

“We don't really... see her anymore,” even if they continue to live in the same house.

Their mother has gone from wanting to dictate their lives to keep her distance from them after being busy trying to safeguard her reputation.

The words spoken and heard still hurt, and probably will continue to hurt, but as he has heard San say once, he prefers a truth that hurts him to a lie that makes him smile. Even if ironically, the lies haven't made him smile either.

“I know Seonghwa wants us to move out, but we don't even know if we own the house. We don't know what belongs to us and what doesn't. And we have lawyers and— I know Dohyun will offer us to go to his place.”

Just pronouncing those words leads him to feel the beginning of a headache, but he seeks to inhale a breath and then exhale it, not wanting the serenity that has rested on his shoulders to leave.

“Are you comfortable with that?”

He curls up one corner of his mouth, thinking that an uneasy feeling doesn't grip him at the thought of being offered a place in Dohyun's house. He's not angry that Seonghwa has previously kept the truth from him, as he understands why he hasn't sought to tell him, but it does seem cruel the way Seonghwa’s biological father comes back while he never will be able to hug his father again; but he doesn't resent Seonghwa.

“As long as he doesn't hurt Seonghwa,” he replies.

He just doesn't want Seonghwa to get hurt.

“And you.” He stares at Jongho when Jongho does. “I'm serious. Seonghwa would never forgive him if he ever hurts you. And neither would I.”

“I don't think he will,” he knows that Jongho is right and that Seonghwa wouldn’t hesitate to get away from Dohyun in case Dohyun hurts him. He’s aware of the way Seonghwa constantly seeks to protect him. “He's been helping us so much already. And I’m not scared of being left out,” simply because unlike Seonghwa, he isn’t Dohyun’s son, he thinks.

“Well, if at first you still want or need your time, you can come to my apartment.”

“This is going too quickly,” this time he’s the one who smiles while Jongho narrows his eyes because he detects the provocation that accompanies his words. “Too domestic.”

They both stop and he continues to smile, even more when Jongho leaves his hand on his cheek to pull him towards him so that he can rest his lips on his. Hehetmon barks, and he laughs when Jongho leans back and narrows his eyes at it before looking back at him.

“I mean it,” the hand that Jongho keeps on his cheek is welcome. “I know how bad moms can be, we both know that, so if you ever want to come by, you are more than welcome.”

He hums, thinking that despite the provocation, he wouldn't mind having his own space in case he needs a break. And besides, he believes that Seonghwa and Dohyun deserve to have the moment to rebuild their relationship without him being around.

“You do realize that between me and San, Wooyoung will be there too, right?”

“Goodness,” he laughs when Jongho snorts. “The things I do for you.”

“The things you do to me,” he chooses to correct him, and just as he licks his lips when Jongho slides his eyes towards them, he doesn't object when Jongho kisses him.

His heart isn't fully healed but it's not totally fractured either, at least not anymore. And it's okay if those fractures remain fractures. He has people by his side who will help him deal with them.

For the same reason, he smiles when Jongho leans back.

“Are you okay, strawberry?” Jongho finally asks him, like he always does.

He doesn't feel the need to remain silent or utter a word that will distract Jongho from the question he has asked. The urge to lie doesn't appear either, because when he inhales a breath, his chest still aches, but his smile is just as present.

“I will be,” he's finally able to answer, and really, he knows he'll be okay.

Notes:

i can't explain how much i enjoyed writing yeosang and hongjoong. i love to write yeosang, and i think hongjoong is the person i like to write the most, i'll definitely miss writing these versions of them 🤧

Chapter 48

Mingi leaves a hand over Yunho's mouth as Yunho parts his lips to laugh.

“Don't laugh, I'm trying to have sex with you.”

The words that Yunho tries to say anyway tickle his hand and Mingi feels a smile threaten to appear on his own face. Still, he stops covering Yunho's mouth with his hand and doesn't object when Yunho promptly catches his smile with his lips.

“Laughing and having sex, who would have thought we would make it this far?” he thinks that he has always had a weakness for Yunho's voice. For Yunho in general, for everything that makes up Yunho.

From the way he feels Yunho throbbing inside him, Mingi thinks that Yunho definitely likes to laugh and have sex with him, and he allows a satisfied sound to leave his lips.

Yunho's words tickle his mouth and he wants to laugh too, he feels the bubble in his chest that soon travels up his throat. A half-laugh half-moan ends up leaving his mouth when Yunho's hands never leave his waist.

Yunho bucks up his hips and doesn't complain when his nails dig into the nape of his neck. Maybe he should be in control since he's the person comfortably sitting on Yunho's lap, but even though his thighs are firm, he won't complain, not when he's on Yunho's lap, with Yunho's cock constantly threatening to push him over the edge.

He does feel a complaint settle on the tip of his tongue when Yunho stops keeping one of his hands on his waist. He doesn't want Yunho's hands to stop being on his body, and yet, said complaint disappears once Yunho leaves his hand near his lips, caressing the corner of his mouth.

“You know, now that I think about it,” he revels in knowing that no matter how they decide to keep their bodies close to each other, they both always end up just as desperate, needing each other and also air. Yunho can smile all he wants, but his voice, so deep and sultry, also sounds breathless. “This is the fuck I owed you.”

Yunho leaves his index finger on his lips, and he understands that this time Yunho is telling him to try to make as little noise as possible. They are at his house after all, but he doesn't understand how he's not supposed to part his lips when Yunho again lifts his hips to thrust even deeper inside him.

Now there’s precum pooling at the tip of his cock and he can feel his abdominal muscles flexing. With Yunho so close to him, and both of Yunho's hands once again present on his waist, he doesn't understand how he's supposed to stay silent.

His ragged breath ends up caressing Yunho's ear. He doesn't quite know what Yunho's talking about, and he doesn't know if it's because he always has a hard time thinking a little more when Yunho's hands are on his body.

“What?” he manages to ask.

“Illusion, remember? The first party,” Yunho says, and he's only able to wonder how he's supposed to remember another detail when the only thing he can focus on is Yunho, Yunho keeping him close and on edge, each second closer to the limit.

He tries to straighten up and looks at Yunho, assuming that his face speaks for itself because really, he has no idea what Yunho is talking about.

“You were high and drunk, and you asked me to fuck you and I said no,” Yunho seeks to help him, and he raises both eyebrows, finally allowing Yunho's words to make sense.

Somewhat blurred images, because just like Yunho said, he was drunk and high, appear in his head, and it's not a surprise to hear that he asked Yunho to fuck him. And the entertaining smile that he allows to decorate his face at that moment is not a surprise either.

“Then make it really count,” he whispers against Yunho's lips.

He knows that he's provoking Yunho. He doesn't care if he's in his house and for the same reason Yunho previously left his index finger on his lips. They're not hiding and they don't have to pretend they can't stand each other anymore —they've really come a long way. But he doesn't want everyone to listen to them either.

Yet he doesn't care. Because provoking Yunho is more important.

And it's so, so worth it when Yunho takes to his advantage the fact that he hasn't taken his hands off his waist again to lift him up a few centimeters, and he doesn't even have time to complain about the way Yunho stops being inside him because a few seconds are enough to feel him Yunho thrust into him, firm and deep.

A breathy moan is torn from his lips, a warm sensation appears in the lower part of his stomach, and his hands cling to the nape of Yunho's neck.

“Did that count?” Yunho seeks to provoke him, arrogant and vain. It has always been like that and will always be like that. He provokes Yunho, and Yunho provokes him.

“C— close,” he replies over his lips, aware of the way his body burns. He supposes that he should have known that he would end up with Yunho from the first time they slept together. As much as he's squinted at Yunho and a million questions have gone through his head, he's never been able to deny that Yunho makes him feel good. “One more,” he asks.

And Yunho, always so provocative but also so obedient if his docility implies that he will have the final smile, takes his words as the rule and thrusts into him again, finally making him come, clouding his mind with pleasure and nothing more than the letters of his name.

He sits on Yunho's lap and traps Yunho's lips with his. He’s tired, he can barely breathe, and his whole figure expresses sensitivity, and even so, he rolls his hips, this time smiling as well, because he feels Yunho's cock throb and Yunho trembles under him, coming, and once again proving that both are the weakness of the other.

Yunho's fingers dig into his waist and his breath finds his cheek when he decides they should definitely breathe. He leaves his hands on Yunho's shoulders for balance and they both hold onto each other, keeping each other close, both trying to compose themselves.

“You good, princess?”

How is he supposed to say no when Yunho indulges him like that?

“With you?” if Yunho mentions the nickname that he has come to use when it comes to him, there’s only one possible answer. “Always.”

Maybe they both know that his answer isn't completely sincere because there have definitely been times when they haven't been on good terms with each other and when they've wanted to shut each other up with more than their lips, but Yunho looks at him when he leans back. He thinks it's more important to know that despite all the stresses, they're currently looking at each other.

He wants to laugh at Yunho's messy locks but he smiles because he doubts he's better. He takes a deep breath and continues to smile when Yunho caresses his waist. He nuzzles Yunho's neck in return, both knowing whether it's soft caresses or determined thrusts, they hold each other.

“I'll go find something to clean us up with,” although he doesn't want to leave the comfort of Yunho's lap, the canvas that his stomach now represents is starting to bother him, and both he and Yunho complain when Yunho pulls out.

“Let me—”

“No, you won't find shit,” it's his house after all, and despite the closeness between them, it's the first time that Yunho is in his room.

He holds a bin close to Yunho for him to throw the condom in it once he rolls it off, and maybe he should have let Yunho help him since his legs shake slightly once he leaves the bed, but it's true that Yunho won't find anything, so he goes to the bathroom.

“Give me a tour of your bathroom later,” he hears Yunho say.

He glances over his shoulder, and holds up a smile identical to the one he notices decorating Yunho's face.

Said bathroom is close to the bed —quite convenient at that moment if he has to be honest, so he quickly cleans himself up and lets out a small laugh when he confirms that evidently, his reflection assures him that he's as messed up as Yunho.

“When you leave your toothbrush next to mine,” he offers.

It’s perhaps a bit silly, but a small smile appears on his face when sliding his eyes to the glass where his toothbrush is, he imagines Yunho's next to it.

The lack of a negative response from Yunho only leads him to continue smiling, and his smile doesn’t leave his face when he hands Yunho the warm cloth while he approaches his closet to grab two pairs of boxers.

He gives a pair to Yunho, and now both fairly clean, he settles back down next to him.

It’s new, but nice too, he thinks, having Yunho next to him in bed, Yunho wearing his boxers. Perhaps they are insignificant details, but after hiding so much, he believes that Yunho is just as delighted with those details, since Yunho himself seeks to make himself comfortable in his arms.

They have lost so many moments for having to pretend in front of others, but he doesn't look at such moments with a somber expression. Now everyone knows how much he loves Yunho and that said love is reciprocated.

High or not, drunk or not, he always wants Yunho to stay close to him.

Now he can think about the party, and although some moments are still blurred and he’s not able to remember some of the words exchanged, he’s able to remember others that have previously left his own mouth.

“You know, in the end, I was right,” he chooses to say as he draws meaningless lines on Yunho's arm.

“What?” Yunho asks, looking at him.

“I told you, we don't know who will be the director next semester, or this one, even,” he replies, though he hasn't expected his words to be completely true.

He doesn't know why those words have come back to his mind. Perhaps because while Yunho is currently in his arms and they are in his bed and in his room, he has thought about the instability that collides with that stability.

“I'm happy for San, but I wish it had happened under other circumstances.”

“Me too,” he supposes that like him, Yunho is also thinking about everything that has happened, as he seeks to leave his head on his chest.

They have heard that San's father is the director again, and that implies that Yeosang and Seonghwa's mother has left the position —or was forced to leave it, they don't know very well.

“I like your room,” he hears Yunho say.

He allows a smile to spread across his face, still more aware that this is the first time he's finally had the chance to wake up with Yunho in his arms in his own bed, and in his own room.

“Yes?”

“I like this photo,” Yunho makes no mention of the grandeur or the details, and takes the photo left on his bedside table to quickly settle back into his arms.

Although he has never been able to leave photos of him with Yunho in his room, that hasn’t taken away the fact that even so, they have taken photos when they have managed to be alone. Fortunately, now he can leave one on his nightstand, not afraid of letting others know that he spends his time with Yunho.

“I like being able to have pictures of you now,” he no longer has to pretend that Yunho is not part of his life, or that he’s part of it but not only as a rival to destroy, competition to beat.

Yunho once again leaves the framed photo on the bedside table and Mingi takes advantage of the movement to lie face to face with Yunho. He opts to leave his arm around Yunho's neck while Yunho once again wraps his arm around his waist. Yunho pulls him towards him until their legs entangle and they both look at each other smiling.

“I'm sorry I can't offer you a family lunch,” he can't help but say.

His mother did hint that she wants to at least start a relationship with Yunho, or at least give him a chance, but he doesn't intend to go downstairs with Yunho by his arm or hand and expect his parents to smile at them. It will take time until he can do it, but that's okay. If he has learned to care for and love Yunho, his parents will too.

“You don't need to apologize,” Yunho assures him with a small smile, “I could have lunch with Boram, I know she likes me.”

“Well, she knows you make me happy,” he laughs when he hears the name of the person who has raised him since he was little and to whom they probably owe that moment, since Boram was the person who allowed Yunho to cross the doors of the house the first time.

He isn’t surprised. Boram has always been there for him, whether it was to cook a plate of food or find one of his toys when he was younger, as well as to provide support and reassure him that everything can always get better.

“You make me happy as well,” Yunho again gives him a smile. “And now that I no longer have the scholarship, we can spend more time together,” he allows Yunho to steal a kiss from him but watches him once they lean back.

San talked to Yunho to reassure him that he no longer needs to be on a scholarship after taking the exams that Yeosang and Seonghwa's mother put him through, and probably after his father never really believed that he was the one to cheat in a test.

Thinking about it only makes him realize the fact that he didn’t lie when expressing that he has found a person who loves him and that is willing to protect him, that understands who he is and what his last name means. Perhaps Yunho has never been close to him because of what his last name implies, but he has always been aware of him, the sphere he represents, and the pressure on his shoulders.

He presses his lips into a line. With Yunho next to him, his body next to his, close to him after saying that he makes him happy, he suddenly feels as nervous as safe because he knows the decision he just made.

“Shit.” is the word that leaves his mouth.

Yunho widens his eyes, probably not having expected that.

“What?”

“Shit,” he’s only able to repeat.

“What?”

Despite the obvious confusion on Yunho's face, he still opts to press his lips to his to steal a kiss before pulling away from the comfort of Yunho's presence, and opens the first drawer of his bedside table.

“Mingi, what is it?”

He pulls back a small blue box from the drawer and turns with it behind his back, his other elbow on the mattress for balance. Yunho does notice that he keeps one of his arms behind his back, but luckily his still confused gaze falls on him.

“You make me happy and I make you happy,” he chooses to say instead of answering.

“Yes,” Yunho says even though he still looks confused.

“And I love you and you love me.”

“Yes,” Yunho nods.

Mingi inhales a short breath to quickly exhale said air, figuring it's not worth trying to relax the way his heart suddenly races and he feels it drumming against his chest.

He doesn't think he'll be able to keep postponing the question that has been going around in his head for quite some time when Yunho just assured him that the love between them is mutual, and that they are happy when they are side by side.

He swallows, and stops keeping his arm behind his back to leave the box between them and open it.

“Can we do that for the rest of our lives?” he asks Yunho.

He notes the exact moment in which Yunho allows his evident confusion to turn into obvious surprise. His eyes fall on the engagement ring, now exposed to Yunho's gaze.

Yunho sits down and he sits down too. Mouth agape, Yunho switches his wide-open gaze between him and the box he's still holding between them.

He doesn't know exactly what reaction he has expected, even though he has thought about that moment more than once, but he decides to take Yunho's silence in his favor once he decides that despite feeling nervous, he has never been so sure of something.

“I was planning on... something better, I guess, but...” maybe a nice dinner with the city they dominate in the background, wearing a nice suit instead of just a pair of boxers. But he doesn't regret it. “I've been thinking about this for quite some time, well, you do have a ring already but, you know, a real ring, and, well, we are fiancés but not really and—”

“Mingi.”

Yunho interrupts him because they both know that when he starts talking and talking, it means he's nervous. Although he sees said plastic ring on Yunho's finger when Yunho leaves his hands on his arms, he looks up because he only needs a second to notice that Yunho is just as nervous as he is.

“Diamonds and plastic are not the same thing.” Yunho adds.

“Well, actually, both have—”

“Mingi.”

“I know. I know,” he agrees.

He knows that buying Utopia for Yunho has been the decision that has finally made him realize that he really is willing to do anything to be with Yunho.

“I... I can't imagine myself loving someone else the way I love you,” he says, taking his time to express those words because even though he believes that Yunho knows that he loves him, repeating those words is never a bad decision. “You have done so much for me, and you love me, and you understand who I am. I want to be with you forever.”

As he has expressed, he doesn’t imagine another person next to him. One way or another, Yunho has always managed to get his eyes to chase him and his attention to fall on him.

“I can take off and put on a plastic ring, but marriage... Mingi...” Yunho says, still with his hands on his arms. “I love you, and that's precisely why I don't want to ruin this.” When Yunho pronounces those words with a trace of uncertainty, he opts to put the box aside and take Yunho's hands with his own.

He’s simply able to see the fear in Yunho's brown eyes.

“We won't be like our parents,” he doesn't hesitate to express, and he knows that he has pronounced the right words because Yunho forms a line with his lips as soon as he hears him. “We have already shown that we are not the same as them, that you are not the same as your parents, and that I am not the same as mine. We have seen beyond them and we have allowed ourselves to know each other. I don't want you to feel pressured, but I also don't want you to hold yourself back out of fear.”

He doesn't expect Yunho to give an affirmative answer simply because he did agree to marry him before, but he doesn't plan to let Yunho continue to allow the reasons why they have seen each other as rivals to guide him for the rest of his life. Not when both have learned to look at each other with different eyes.

“Not everything will be perfect, surely not, but we have each other. I want you to allow me to show you that love is beautiful.” he adds.

Love can hurt, and love can equal tears, they both know it. It's true that loving can be dangerous because it implies giving one's heart, but Mingi believes that there’s nothing more beautiful than trusting someone enough to know that his heart will remain protected, in good hands.

He glances at Yunho as Yunho lets go of his hands, but doesn't remain uneasy as Yunho opts to leave one of his hands on his cheek, and he doesn't hesitate to lean into the contact when Yunho flashes him a smile.

“You already show me that love is beautiful,” Yunho assures him.

He follows with his eyes the way in which Yunho stops keeping his hands on his arms. Yunho watches the plastic ring that still decorates one of his fingers, until he doesn't because he takes it off to leave it on his right ring finger.

“I'll only accept if you ask me,” Yunho says along with what he notices is a sincere smile.

“Fuck, I forgot the question,” he has been thinking so much about that moment that he has forgotten to pronounce the exact words that usually accompany the presence of a box and the ring left in it. He laughs when he hears Yunho do it, and this time, excited and smiling, he sets the box aside to hold the ring between them. “Jeong Yunho, will you please, please, please, please marry me?”

Yunho covers his mouth with both hands though it’s evident that a wide smile guides his face, and he’s soon able to observe said smiling gesture when Yunho stops holding his hands over his face and nods.

“Yes, I will marry you, Song Mingi,” he accepts.

He gently holds Yunho's hand, and as he slides the ring onto his finger, he feels his cheeks start to ache from how much he's smiling. Torn between looking at the way the ring decorates Yunho's finger and the smile that guides Yunho's face, he remembers that he now has the chance to revel in both images for the rest of his life —because he really meant it when he said forever.

Soon enough he kisses said smiling gesture, since Yunho eliminates the distance between them after surrounding his neck with his arms, and they both fall on the bed, laughing and kissing, delighting in each other's smile.

“I will— ugh— I guess I was nervous for nothing,” Yunho taps his chest gently, and he tilts his head, confused when Yunho bites his lower lip. “I... you know I'm planning to stop living with my dad and find my own place.” He nods. “Well... I was thinking if perhaps... you wanted to leave your toothbrush next to mine.”

“You...” Yunho wants them to move in together? “Yes. Yes! Yes, yes, yes!”

“Mingi, you haven't even thought about it,” Yunho says, laughing but also sounding done with him, and he doesn't hesitate to lean into the touch when Yunho leaves his hand on one of his cheeks.

“A place between Utopia and Illusion, well, maybe a little closer to Illusi—”

Yunho cuts him off by catching his lips with his, and he continues to smile, as excited about the ring that now decorates Yunho's finger as he’s about knowing that Yunho has thought of him and asking him to move in with him.

“Shit, wait, you won't have a fiancé anymore if I don't send a quick text,” though he doesn't want to pull apart from Yunho, he stops keeping one of his arms around his body to turn and take his phone to certainly send a quick message, and he smiles, even if once he turns around again, the confusion is evident on Yunho's face.

He chooses to leave a kiss on the corner of his lips, and Yunho narrows his eyes as soon as they both hear his phone begin to vibrate. He only offers him a smile, and doesn't complain when this time Yunho momentarily leans back to take his phone before settling in his arms again.

Yunho throws him a suspicious look before accepting the call from the person Mingi doesn't doubt is the same person he just sent a text to.

“Hello?”

“Congratulations my baby! I’m so happy!”

Yunho doesn’t hesitate to move the phone away from his ear as soon as his mother's voice is loud enough for both to hear her words and her cheerful tone when expressing those congratulations, and he laughs when Yunho puts his mother on speaker.

“You were just told?”

“Oh, no, no, no, my love, he asked me beforehand if he could marry you.”

He doesn't hesitate to hold an enthusiastic smile when Yunho watches him with narrowed eyes.

“You knew?” Yunho asks although the answer is obvious.

“Of course! Not anyone gets to ask my son's hand in marriage, but Mingi and I talked and he can, and he did! Yeah! I'm so happy!”

He did talk to Yunho's mother when he bought Utopia, and he knows how much Yunho misses his mother. Yunho's mother was the first to genuinely accept the relationship between them, and luckily he had her approval when he told her that he wants Yunho by his side for the rest of his life.

“Thank you, Mom,” Yunho decorates his face with a calm smile, and Mingi chooses to caress his cheek because it means a lot to them the fact that at least one of their parents completely supports the closeness between them.

“I know it might not be easy for you, but don't let my bad experience influence the great boy you have by your side. Remember to take care of each other, okay?”

They both hold the same kind of smile as soon as they hear those words. Yunho seeks to get closer to him and he leaves a kiss on his forehead, demonstrating in gestures what Yunho soon says with words.

“Yes, we'll take care of ourselves.”

"Oh! And the honeymoon will be where I am, huh! I won't take no for an answer.”

“Okay, okay, I think we're rushing, we'll talk later, Mom.”

He chuckles at the bewilderment on Yunho's face.

“Bye-bye! Mingi, remind him to send me a picture of you two so that I can have one!”

Yunho ends the call and drops the phone somewhere on the bed before he has a chance to answer, but he doesn't complain because he soon feels Yunho's arms around his neck again.

“So, you talked to my mom, mh?”

“Well, we had to have someone's approval,” he doesn't hesitate to defend himself as he begins to draw imaginary lines on Yunho's back.

“You do know that she will go overboard with everything, don't you?”

“Yes,” he accepts, and they both laugh again because perhaps they haven't even thought about the honeymoon but it will probably be in the city where Yunho's mother is at that moment. He doesn't feel upset with that detail, since he knows that Yunho misses his mother, and he would like to have the chance to meet her as Yunho's husband.

He bites his lip when thinking about the word husband, and believes that he’s not the only one thinking about that word because Yunho stops having one of his arms around his neck to leave the hand that carries the ring in between them. He switches his gaze between Yunho and the way he looks at the ring, and smiles because Yunho does.

“I think... it would be nice if we asked Hongjoong to design our suits, don't you think?” Yunho proposes, looking up at him when he says that question.

“Definitely.” Mingi nods, and tries not to get distracted by the thought of wearing a pink outfit. Yunho will probably tell him no, but he might convince him to wear some pink detail. He also has to manage to convince him to have some pink decorations in their place too.

He feels excited at the mere thought of his own space with Yunho.

“You do know they're going to try to throw us a party, right?” Yunho asks him.

He’s only able to let out a chuckle, since thinking about telling their respective friends leads him to remember the way Hongjoong was left speechless when he heard the word engaged, and he thinks that they will be the target of that surprised look again after showing him a ring that this time isn’t made of plastic. San will probably hug them until they can’t breathe.

“And Illusion will be the place, obviously,” he doesn't hesitate to say. “Hongjoong is the DJ there after all.”

Yunho leaves his hand on his chest and narrows his eyes, although at no time does an amused smile stop being present on his face.

“Utopia.”

“Illusion.”

“Utopia.”

“Illusion.”

“Utopia first and then Illusion.”

Being engaged doesn't take away the fact that both of them are still the people in charge of Seoul once the sun stops decorating the sky.

“Long night, I like it,” he agrees.

Yunho smiles when he hears him and hugs him, as enthusiastic as he is. He smiles, thinking that one of the fingers that Yunho runs through his hair is now accompanied by an engagement ring.

They simply could have allowed their respective families and last names to continue to bring out the worst in them. Misunderstandings could have turned into eternal fights and they could have chosen to remain apart, not speaking to each other instead of communicating to understand each other.

He feels grateful that Yunho has decided to trust him in the same way that he has decided to trust Yunho.

“Wait for a ring back,” Yunho murmurs against his lips.

“Oh, okay,” he smiles, intrigued when the animated smile on Yunho's face assures him that he should expect a ring just as brilliant. “I love you,” he doesn’t avoid saying. Although he knows that he will have endless opportunities to express those words over and over again, he doesn’t plan to stop expressing them.

“I love you,” Yunho shares the thought, and they kiss again.

When he feels the ring caress his face once Yunho leaves his hand on his cheek, he leans back slightly, remembering another detail.

“Oh, you'll love this,” turning to once again open the top drawer of his nightstand, he takes another ring, but this time he leaves it on one of his fingers, and smiles, satisfied when Yunho's eyes drift to it and an offended expression covers his face.

“Shut up.” Yunho takes his wrist and he smiles, because the envy that he has felt for Yunho the first week of classes after he spotted Yunho wearing the ring that he has also wanted but hasn’t gotten, is now nowhere to be found since said ring now also decorates his finger. Unlike Yunho's, though, it’s made of silver and not gold. “It was a limited edition and you didn't steal mine, how did you get it?”

“Well, let's say that my mother-in-law likes me,” he smiles, pleased to know that just as he has gotten Yunho's mother's approval to marry Yunho, she has also sent him said ring. “Ah, I really liked saying that.”

“Shut up. She got it for you?”

“Yes, yes she did,” full of himself, he grins.

“I'm happy for you, and us, but I don't know if I want to kiss you or punch you,” Yunho says, letting go of his wrist to wrap his arm around his neck, and as always, he wraps his arm around Yunho’s body, and they both hold each other.

“Ah, the story of our lives, really,” he laughs, and this time, Yunho settles for kissing him.

---

Wooyoung looks around to make sure he won't be the center of attention by moving around, and he plops down on the seat next to Jongho.

“Hey,” he says in a somewhat low voice when Jongho turns his head to him. He stops looking at Jongho to look at the bodyguard who’s near the doors of the room. He waves at him, and though he doesn't get a wave back, he looks back at Jongho. “He's new."

“It's my dad's and not my mom's...” Jongho looks confused. “Is this going to become a thing because you are with San and San turns out to be my brother?” He asks him in the same low voice, since after all, San's father is giving a talk at that moment.

Jongho's words aren't a complete surprise, so he lets out a laugh.

“How are you?” He decides to ask him instead of answering.

“Me?” Jongho still looks confused.

“My—” he stops as soon as he realizes that he doesn't have a precise word to define his closeness with San. “Whatever I have with San... he's doing relatively fine, my best friend too, and you are my... whatever you are of my best friend, so I might as well check up on you,” he offers.

He knows that Yeosang traveled to the city where they were when they arrived in South Korea and before going to Seoul, to feel closer to his father, and that Jongho has accompanied him while he has stayed with San. Seonghwa and Hongjoong have spent a few days in Milan but now they are all wearing the same uniform, listening to San's father talk since he's the new director.

“I'm fine as well,” Jongho replies, but giving him an unimpressed look is enough for him to continue speaking. “Fine. Getting used to having my own place, I guess. Figuring out stuff? Hating Consumer Maths class?”

He knows that Jongho won't start telling him about all the worries that plague him simply because as he has said, they both happen to be close to San —and Yeosang as well, but he settles for the words that Jongho has chosen to share with him, so he holds a sideways smile.

“Okay,”

“Okay,” Jongho copies him before leaving looking ahead.

Wooyoung keeps looking at him because he notices the line that Jongho forms with his lips, and he only has to wait a few seconds in which Jongho pretends to be interested in the talk to this time be the first person to express a word after turning his head towards him.

“My mom won't hurt Yeosang nor San, I promise.”

“I just want to make sure she won't hurt you either,” he finally offers.

Just as it's difficult for San to have found out that his mother is alive and that she hasn't wanted anything to do with him from the beginning, he doesn't doubt that for Jongho it's a process having to get used to the fact that he has a half-brother and that he doesn't want to keep his mom around anymore.

He wants to put one of his hands on Jongho's shoulder to reassure him that he can count on him, but as impulsive as he can be sometimes, and as much as he likes to make physical contact, he keeps his arm on the armrest between their seats because although Jongho doesn't say it, he thinks Jongho appreciates that conversation.

“She won't," Jongho expresses, sure. “My dad has taken my side so I'm okay.”

“Okay,” he gives him a slight smile, and they both rest their eyes on the front.

He rests his eyes on San's father as the rest of the students do, but he gets distracted, thinking that he doesn't plan to stay mad at San's father if San has forgiven him, but he knows that San doesn't expect him to smile at his father either.

“You...” He looks at Jongho when Jongho speaks to him, but even though Jongho is speaking to him, he hasn't turned his head like him. “Well, you can come to my apartment whenever you want.”

“You're only saying that for San and Yeosang, right?” He holds a wide smile.

Jongho turns to him. “Yes.”

“I'll go anyway.”

“Ugh.”

He doesn't hesitate to hide his laughter with his hand as Jongho grimaces, and he smiles as he knows that if Jongho really didn't want him around, he wouldn't have invited him to his apartment, even though they both turn out to be people close to Yeosang and San.

In the same way that he has approached him at that moment to make sure that Jongho is also okay with all the repercussions around him, he knows that Jongho won’t close the door in his face in case he shows up at his apartment.

“You better take care of my best friend,” he doesn't hesitate to stick his tongue out at him.

He knows that Jongho is indeed taking care of Yeosang —and that Yeosang is taking care of Jongho too, so he only utters those words because he believes it’s his duty as Yeosang’s best friend to express the same.

“And you better take care of my brother.”

“The four of us should go out together,” he proposes.

“Too soon.”

He laughs again at the serious expression on Jongho's face, but soon turns his attention when he feels someone sit next to him.

“What are you two planning?” San asks.

“Not something good, I'm sure,” he turns his head to the other side after hearing Yeosang's voice, and finds him sitting next to Jongho.

“I'm a good person, everything I do is good,” he says with his chin up and a slight smile on his face, until he remains serious because he notices that both Yeosang and Jongho are looking at him in the same way.

“He's right,” he hears San say.

“See!”

“He says that because he likes you,” Jongho expresses.

“Of course,” he grins, and leans toward San as San wraps one of his arms around his shoulders.

“Ew.”

“Come on, let's not pay any more attention to them.”

Jongho turns to Yeosang when Yeosang says those words, and they both start talking to each other.

“Ew.” He pretends to gag even though neither Yeosang nor Jongho is paying attention to him, but he promptly allows an honest smile to take over his expression.

The fact that San's father is giving a talk at that time means that Yeosang's and Seonghwa's mother is no longer the person in charge of the university. Besides, he's genuinely glad that Yeosang found a person who seems to hold him the way he does, and he knows that Yeosang —and Seonghwa— will be fine with time.

He finally turns to San, welcoming the arm San still has around his shoulders.

“I'm afraid you two are up to something,” he laughs when he notices that San looks back and forth between him and Jongho.

“I've only asked him how he is,” he says, “He invited me to his apartment,” he adds along with a smile.

“You don't need an invitation for mine.” San looks at him, and he smiles when San tightens his grip around his shoulders. Since he can't hug him because of the armrest between them, he opts to take the end of San's tie to play with it.

“Are you comfortable now?” He decides to ask San.

While Jongho has been gifted an apartment so he doesn't feel obligated to stay close to his mother, he knows that Yeosang and Seonghwa don't feel comfortable living under the same roof as their mother —although he isn't that concerned about that detail because they know that the doors of his house are open, as well as those of others. For his part, San hasn’t thought about moving away from his father.

He believes that San wouldn’t even be present in that room with his father in charge if he really couldn’t see him. San doesn't want to be away from his father, and he respects his decision. As he previously told San, only San decides what he forgives and what not.

“Yes,” San assures him.

“I'm glad,” he expresses those words genuinely. “And yes, I would like to go, Byeol must miss me.”

“Don't try to be her favorite, I am,” he smiles when San narrows his eyes at him.

“Well, you can be my favorite, I share the sentiment with Byeol.”

His smile widens when San narrows his gaze upon hearing him, but he knows that San liked hearing the word favorite, since he leaves a kiss close to his mouth before moving away from him to continue looking at him.

“And if tonight I pick you up from work and you come home?”

“I'd like that,” He nods.

“Besides, I need your party soul to plan Mingi and Yunho's party.”

He feels enthusiasm embrace him after hearing those words, since he knows what San is talking about because working at Utopia has given him the opportunity to see for himself the engagement ring that Mingi has bought for Yunho and that Yunho has accepted to place on his finger.

He momentarily slides his eyes to them and smiles when he sees them sitting side by side. He has gone from having to keep his mouth shut because the closeness between the two is a secret, to have the opportunity to happily exclaim his joy for their relationship —and the most beautiful thing has been listening to the rest of the staff of Utopia celebrate because for them the happiness of their boss is important and not the rivalry with other businesses.

He suddenly frowns, and looks at San.

“Yeosang better not show up with a ring.”

“Eh? Oh no, no, no, no, no, no.” he quickly gets rid of his grimace when San immediately shakes his head and seems to look behind him to watch him again. “Of course not, they are too young. No, no, no.” although Jongho is only a year younger than them, and Yeosang is the same age as them, and therefore Yunho and Mingi, anyway they both shake their heads when they look at each other, and laugh. “Thank you for wanting to get along with Jongho,” San adds.

He stops fiddling with his tie to rest a hand on his chest, his fingers finding the fabric of the uniform vest San's wearing, and allows his smile to be the answer to his words.

“Do you know what I was thinking?” He looks at San intrigued when San leans a little more towards him to express those words. “I feel that everything has been a little... intense between us, and that you have been with me from the beginning.”

Wooyoung tilts his head, thinking that it's certainly been intense.

“You know, we've been... discovering identities... revealing secrets... getting into family drama... going to hospitals...” San lists, and he blinks, realizing that it's all definitely been pretty intense. But at least they've had each other. “I wanted... I wanted to know if... you would like to go on a date with me?” San asks him.

He raises both eyebrows after hearing that invitation, and although he bites his lower lip, he doesn't hesitate to keep a big smile on his face.

“To talk about more than switched identities and secrets hidden for years,” San continues, his arm around his shoulders still present. “Yunho and Mingi are getting married, Hongjoong and Seonghwa went to Milan and are going to partner up to design and model together, Jongho and Yeosang don't get away from each other, I also want to move forward with you. I would like to go on a date with you.”

“You know, we'd get a tattoo, and we'd beat them all,” he tells him, laughing, and San snickers.

“This is not a competition...” they hear Jongho say.

“Get a tattoo of Byeol,” Yeosang adds.

San looks behind him, and he turns his head.

“Callados.” he says, and pretends to shut his mouth with a zip.

“Mind your business,” San says, and he turns back again, both ignoring Yeosang and Jongho's tired sighs. “Maybe a few words, on my thigh, I would like that. I have to be able to hide it because I doubt my dad would be okay with it if it shows up in the white shirt of our uniform,” San says.

He laughs. He knows they've both said it as a joke, but since he already has two tattoos, he doesn't see why he shouldn't get a third, perhaps in the future.

“Ah, speaking of uniforms, enjoy watching me with this wonderful color,” he says, wryly pointing to his orange blazer, and continues when San looks at him in confusion. “I'll drop out. Cooking is my thing, so,” he'll definitely miss walking the same hallways as everyone else, and he definitely won't miss the predominant color of the blazer.

Mainly he has joined that university because of Yeosang, and now that he knows that with Yeosang they don't have to be side by side all the time to be best friends, he has decided that he will keep doing what he really likes. He wants to take cooking classes, and that university doesn't offer them.

San offers him a bittersweet smile.

"Well, since I won't be seeing you that often, then all the more reason I want to go on a date with you," he says. “I want to know your favorite color, if you prefer the beach or the mountains, or, I don't know, the flavor of ice cream that you like the most.”

He still owes San an answer, and he believes that the smile that decorates his face is worth more than all words. Even so, he parts his lips and spreads his hand over San's chest.

“I'd love to go out with you, guapo,” he doesn't hesitate to say, and San grins, dimples showing up and all. Both deserve to balance all the previous intensity with the calm that they are finally feeling around them. Not just them, but everyone. “And by the way, it's mintchoco.”

“You are kidding me, mine too!”

He covers his mouth with his hand even if he still laughs when San seems to forget that they are in the middle of a talk, and that up until now they have been keeping their voices low so as not to interrupt it.

San forms a line with his lips when several students turn their heads toward him. He even notices San's father giving San a look, but they both laugh and he stops covering his mouth with his hand.

“Then it's settled, the first date will be ice cream,” he agrees.

San offers him an enthusiastic smile, and this time he rests his head against San's arm when they straighten up.

“Mh, I just remembered that it's winter,” he hears San whisper.

He laughs, and even if it's cold, he'll go for ice cream with San, knowing he'll still have more chances to laugh and smile as long as San is with him.

Notes:

bottom min enthusiasts sorry for making you wait for 48 chapters 😭

i Genuinely believe i'll never write a better yungi, and i loved writing woo too 🥺

Chapter 49

“Out.”

“You invited me,” Wooyoung says.

“Out.” Jongho repeats, leading them toward the door.

“I'm your brother!” San stops in front of him to mention those words. “Older brother may I add!”

Jongho wrinkles his nose at this, and judges San's smile with his eyes.

“All the more reason, get out,” he insists.

He opens the apartment door and points to the hallway with one of his hands, and though they heed him with varying degrees of pouting on their faces, both Wooyoung and San follow the direction pointed by his hand. He raises both eyebrows to further the request, and San grumbles while Wooyoung complains.

As Hehetmon sits next to him, he reaches down to pick it up, and surprisingly, he believes that he now has an ally instead of an enemy with whom he will have to compete for Yeosang's attention, since when he leaves Hehetmon in Wooyoung’s arms, it starts fidgeting.

Even so, Wooyoung makes sure to keep Hehetmon in his arms, and gives him a serious look.

“Don't propose to Yeosang.” Wooyoung determines.

Jongho looks at him unimpressed, not trying to understand the request he hears because San nods, seeming to agree with Wooyoung's words. That gesture is the only detail he needs to know that he won't try to understand the reason behind the pronunciation of that phrase.

“Just to know, I would be your best man, right?” San asks.

"Out!" He points down the hallway.

“Next time I want to try your popcorn machine!” is the only thing Wooyoung manages to say before he stops being in front of him, since Hehetmon manages to escape from his arms and now Wooyoung finds himself running after it down the hall.

He expects San to follow Wooyoung, so he stands still as San approaches the door instead of walking away, and promptly wraps his arms around him.

It's not the first time he's done it and it probably won't be the last. He has noticed that San always hugs him before they part ways, and he doesn't find himself refusing said hugs.

He pats San on the back, and San smiles at him before promptly running after Wooyoung and Hehetmon, who appear to be facing each other. And as soon as he sees and hears Wooyoung barking at Hehetmon, he closes the door.

He walks away from the door before hearing any complaints, and doesn't take the time to tidy up the papers left on the dining room table. He plans to later tidy up the first plans they've been putting together for the party in honor of Yunho and Mingi's closeness, and besides, having kicked out Wooyoung and San doesn't mean he's been left alone.

“Successfully thrown out,” he says once he enters the bathroom and sees Yeosang.

“Do I even want to know what they have told you for you to have that face?” Yeosang laughs.

“Not really,” he definitely won't mention the word marriage, so he chooses to take advantage of the fact that they are finally alone to take off his shirt.

He’s not cold even though he’s only wearing swim trunks. The winter weather doesn't embrace him despite the bathroom window being slightly open, and he promptly surrounds his body with warm bubbly water after stepping into the jacuzzi. He wets his hands and then runs them through his hair.

He sits on the step of the jacuzzi, as the plan has been to kick Wooyoung and San out to stay alone with Yeosang and enjoy the jacuzzi after noticing that Yeosang was intrigued by it.

Once again Yeosang offers him the opportunity to run his eyes over his body after taking off his sweater and t-shirt, and he stops keeping both arms on the edge of the jacuzzi as he reaches out to offer one of his hands to Yeosang.

Yeosang's hand meets his as he enters the jacuzzi, but he tilts his head, and watches the way Yeosang stands in front of him, his head partially turned to the window.

He wants to tug on his hand so that Yeosang surrounds his body with warm water after noticing the way his skin turns goosebumps as he keeps his body exposed to the spatiality of the bathroom, but lightly caressing Yeosang's hand is enough to get his attention.

“You have a very nice view,” Yeosang says with his gaze still on the window.

Yeosang gives him the chance to spot the birthmark near his eye as well as the definition of his profile and the distinctive pink color of his locks, it’s a softer tonality now, faded. But Yeosang still is his strawberry.

He licks his lips at the thought that he has had and has the opportunity to trace Yeosang's figure with his fingers. With his mouth, even. Because Yeosang trusts him and he trusts Yeosang.

“I know.”

Yeosang looks at him, and neither of them needs the other to speak for both of them to know that he’s talking about him. Finally, he tugs on Yeosang's hand so he doesn't get cold, and turns his head towards Yeosang when Yeosang sits next to him, their hands are no longer together but he doesn't complain because he leaves one of his arms around Yeosang's shoulders.

Whereas previously he only thanked his father for the apartment, thinking that the luxury of it doesn't matter much to him, he’s now enjoying the bubbly hot water of the jacuzzi with Yeosang. He thinks that he doesn't care about the details of the apartment until Yeosang makes him aware of them.

“You won't kick me out?” Yeosang asks him along with a lopsided amused smile, as they both know the only possible answer to that question.

“Enjoy your privileges,” he chooses to express.

Privileges of what, exactly? Jongho wonders. Even if Yeosang has consistently shown him that he isn’t a materialistic person, he believes that he's probably not the only one that notices the constant attention Yeosang gets, and he thinks about how Yeosang could run into anyone else at any time, and find himself in another jacuzzi, in another apartment, with another person.

Both consciously and unconsciously he locks his arm around his shoulders. Whatever he is of Yeosang. There are many people who can be described with that lack of detail, with those words that don’t denote something else, something more.

He blinks as he feels Yeosang snuggling up to him.

“Everything's fine?” Yeosang asks him, a trace of concern present.

He parts his lips to reassure him that yes, everything is fine. Yeosang is with him at that very moment so he doesn't understand why he suddenly feels uneasy at the idea of him not being Yeosang's focus of attention, but he decides to speak the moment he forms a line with his lips at the thought of someone approaching Yeosang.

“There's something that's been bothering me, actually,” he offers.

“What is it?”

Yeosang straightens up when he hears him and Jongho wants to tell him no, that he doesn't need to worry because the concern isn’t rooted in a possible distance between them. Fortunately, his arm is still around Yeosang's shoulders.

“I was talking to Wooyoung and—”

“Please don't take his probable threats seriously.”

“Don't worry about it, he's just as threatened.” he allows one corner of his mouth to rise momentarily as Yeosang draws a smile. However, he promptly maintains a neutral expression as he thinks that other kinds of words on Wooyoung’s part are the ones that have remained engraved in his mind. “He said something that's been going around in my head.”

Yeosang tilts his head, looking both confused and intrigued.

“He called me whatever you are of my best friend,” he says. He doesn't think he blames Wooyoung for the pronunciation of those words, since he's right. What exactly is he of Yeosang? “I don’t like that. I don’t...” he wants to be everything. “I just...”

He stares at Yeosang as Yeosang rests one of his hands on his cheek, thankfully having once again eliminated the previously established centimeters of distance between them after straightening up. As Yeosang decorates his face with a slightly amused smile, he only wants Yeosang to stay even closer to him.

“Do you want me to be yours and you to be mine?” Yeosang voices for him.

“Yes.” he doesn't hesitate to answer. “Yes, yes,” he repeats, because that's exactly what he wants. For Yeosang to be his and for him to be Yeosang's, because the reciprocity implied behind those words leads him to bring his face closer to Yeosang's, who this time smiles wider and rests his other hand on his neck. “I’m not interested or worried about the term that could define us since I am sure of what I feel, and I know what and how you feel about me, but... you do interest me. I want people to understand that.”

Perhaps it’s ironic since he had a fight with his mother and is in that apartment precisely because he has specified that he doesn’t want to make his relationship with Yeosang public, but it’s also true that he has expressed that he would follow his own pace, a pace chosen by Yeosang as well. And besides, being public is not the same as keeping unnecessary hands off them.

“I want that as well,” Yeosang says.

He rests his hand on Yeosang's cheek, the closeness again allowing him to denote the ever-present birthmark near his eye as well as the definition of his facial features. The smile that he still has a chance to glimpse assures him that he doesn't have to doubt, that the intensity he feels taking over his body is reciprocated.

“You told me once, that if I fall in love with you, it will be reciprocated. Is that still true?” Yeosang asks him, and he only thinks about how is he supposed to say no and shake his head when from the first moment and the first time his eyes fell on Yeosang, he knew that he would seek to gravitate towards him.

Nodding his head and answering that yes, that it’s still true, and that he doesn’t regret his words is not enough. His heart beats, strongly against his chest as he listens, noting in Yeosang's brown eyes the feelings present behind those words. 

Yeosang loves him and he loves Yeosang.

“Would you be my boyfriend, please?” he asks Yeosang, and Yeosang smiles, looking genuinely happy. He leaves his forehead against Yeosang's for a second, and leans back again because Yeosang must pronounce into words the answer that both his smile and his gaze denote.

“Yes, boyfriend,” Yeosang replies on his lips.

Jongho doesn’t hesitate to seal their lips together immediately, taking advantage of the arm he’s left around Yeosang's shoulders to keep him completely close to him, even if at no time does Yeosang seek to separate from him, keeping his respective hands on his neck and face, responding in the same way to the kiss they share.

A kiss that demands closeness as impossible as possible because there’s no space left between their bodies, because it doesn't matter if the apartment is new, luxurious, and spacious, not when all he wants is to stay close to Yeosang and Yeosang to stay close to him.

He rests his forehead against Yeosang's for a moment as they part, and then leans back to watch him.

“You do know that they will only annoy us even more when we tell them, don't you think?” he asks, not doubting that his breathing brushes Yeosang's fingertips as Yeosang traces his lower lip with them. He doesn't need to mention names for Yeosang to know that he's talking about the two people he just kicked out of his apartment a few minutes ago.

“What do you say we crash their first date to show we're a united front?” Yeosang proposes to him, since they grimaced and then snickered between them upon hearing San ask Wooyoung out on a date.

“I like how you think.”

“And I like you.”

He follows Yeosang with his gaze as Yeosang stops being next to him to make his lap the home for his body. Yeosang surrounds his shoulders with his arms as his hands fall to Yeosang’s waist, and he really thanks himself for not paying attention while walking down the hall of the university and thus not running out of Yeosang's path.

Yeosang leans into him, and he helps him reduce the distance between them by pressing his hands on his waist and giving him stability so that Yeosang can press his lips to his. I like you, it sounds nice, it sounds good, and with Yeosang perched on his lap, it feels even better.

And I like you too, he means to say, but he prefers to feel Yeosang's mouth on his, so he chooses to prove the truth of that thought by keeping Yeosang close to him. The bubbling warm water keeps his figure relaxed yet Yeosang's closeness is the detail that soothes him.

He’s only able to think about how he has been so lucky for having gotten the person on whom he has rested his eyes and therefore his attention since the first moment their paths disastrously crossed, to end up in his lap at that moment, seeking to generate the same closeness that he expects, his lips now a few millimeters from his.

“You didn't miss that much when you said I was San's cousin,” he says.

He licks his lips, thinking how an unfortunate collision of paths and a strawberry smoothie, as well as a stained uniform, have brought him to that moment, to have the opportunity to hear the beginning of the laugh that wells up in the back of Yeosang's throat.

“My amazing intuition.”

“What did your amazing intuition say about me?”

“I thought you were handsome,” Yeosang replies on his lips after resting his hands on his cheeks.

“Yes?”

“But also a buffoon and self-centered.”

Yeosang's laughter tickles his lips and he doesn't hesitate to tilt his head to look at him with the beginning of a smile on his face. He has seen Yeosang cry, more than once, so he keeps smiling at the thought that he too gets the chance to hear his laugh.

“It was your fault,” he says.

“It was your fault.” Yeosang counteracts.

“Both,” he chooses neutrality. After all, he’s been distracted, looking at the details of the university and trying not to be aware of his bodyguards, while Yeosang has been lost in his own thoughts, and as a consequence neither has paid attention to the other.

He doesn't consider himself able to take his eyes off Yeosang now. He has never felt capable, actually. He doesn't have to worry about the constant presence of bodyguards since although his father does care about his safety, he doesn't force him to feel locked up, and though Yeosang keeps getting lost in his thoughts, he finds him and brings him back.

“I don't regret it.” he adds.

“Me neither.”

He wraps one of his arms around Yeosang's waist and brings his other hand to his neck. Even if he doesn’t apply pressure and simply rests his hand on his skin, Yeosang by himself leans down towards him to kiss him again.

He has said it from the very beginning. He wants Yeosang to come back for more. For more physical contact, for more emotional closeness, now he simply wants everything. He’s aware of the ever-present necklace around Yeosang's neck in the same way that he knows that Yeosang has been aware, and is aware, that he has chosen and agreed to accompany him to his hometown for a few days.

It's not just a deal anymore and probably never has been, as Yeosang has always refused to categorize themselves under the term friends while he has denied the implications behind the word benefits. He wants Yeosang to be okay and he believes that he can help him because Yeosang has helped him to face his own obstacles.

“You know what was the first thing I thought of when I found out about the apartment?” he opts to steal a kiss from Yeosang even though he himself has cut the previous one. He hasn't thought about the distance from his mother or the way in which his father has shown his position in the matter with the purchase of that apartment. “All the time we can spend together, all the moments we can create.”

“Tell me more.” He wants to say more because Yeosang asks him to say more, but he swallows hard when Yeosang moves his hips and grinds down on him.

The arm that he keeps around Yeosang’s waist assures him that the water that doesn’t allow him to observe Yeosang's body with his eyes is not enough of an obstacle to not feel what he does.

“Because we're all alone so—” This time Yeosang reacts when turning his hips over his body leads him to press his hand on Yeosang’s hip, and the gasp that Yeosang lets out in response to that pressure tickles his lips. “So we don't have to worry about anything.”

“Is that so?”

“Just focus on each other,” he proposes, following his words with actions because he tilts his head back slightly after Yeosang focuses on him and he focuses on Yeosang as Yeosang sets a slow but precise rhythm with his hips. The fabric of their swim trunks is becoming an annoying obstacle, and he’s not surprised because just as Yeosang relaxes him, Yeosang also keeps him awake, attentive to what he does and what he causes.

“I like the sound of that,” Yeosang says so, so close to his lips.

“So you have my full attention.” Undoubtedly, indisputably.

“I don't want anyone's attention but yours.”

This time he does take in his favor the hand he’s left on Yeosang's neck to pull him towards him and eliminate the few millimeters of distance by capturing his lips with his.

Yeosang doesn't want anyone's attention but his, he just expressed it, and the last thing he wants is for him to regret mentioning said words, so Yeosang moves his hips, but he’s the one who drowns out the sound of satisfaction that brushes the back of Yeosang's throat after bucking his hips up.

“I think we'll have to leave the comfort of the jacuzzi,” he proposes.

As much as he just wants Yeosang to stay extremely close to him while their bodies respond to each other, he wants Yeosang to be comfortable if they continue to provoke each other.

He guides Yeosang's hands to his neck for balance and he slides his hands to his thighs to keep him close once he opts to get up.

Drops of water mark paths without any destination on their bodies, and he wants to laugh, he wants to mock Yeosang after noticing how Yeosang keeps his eyes on his body, but he doesn't, because Yeosang kisses him, knowing that he will hold him.

Yeosang kisses him, enthusiastically and fervently, assuring him that they wake each other up, and he doesn’t doubt that Yeosang is aware of the mess he has made with his breathing as his chest rises and falls, fast, when Yeosang leaves a few millimeters among them.

“You have the whole apartment,” Yeosang mutters.

“We have,” he corrects him, and allows Yeosang to press his body against his, the friction both welcome and cursed as he slides his mouth down to Yeosang’s neck.

Even if he has expressed wanting to change places and has gotten up to certainly leave the jacuzzi, he can't help but get lost in the moment after hearing the way a breathy moan caresses his ear once Yeosang allows the kisses left on his neck, as well as the encounter between their bodies, to excite him.

He wants to please him, he wants to give him a good time. He never wants to hear the words I need you on the phone again, said in a scared tone of voice that triggered his instincts from one second to the next. He doesn't want Yeosang to ever utter those words again unless the shaky breathing that accompanies said utterance implies the need for closer proximity.

A corner of his head reminds him that he saw goosebumps decorating Yeosang's skin before surrounding himself with the warm water of the jacuzzi, and he leans back to denote that Yeosang isn't cold, although that action leads him to leave his eyes on the previous sight that Yeosang previously appreciated.

He meets his own reflection as well as Yeosang's back, and it’s at that moment that he realizes, once again, that despite having the night of the city before him, the details that make up Yeosang happen to be the ones to attract his attention.

“Why aren't you looking at me?”

Fuck.

Those words accompanied by a pouty yet demanding tone of voice are what lead him to look at Yeosang, and he swallows as Yeosang holds his gaze, letting him know that just as he wants all of his attention, Yeosang wants to be the center of all his senses.

“Could you... wait a minute?” He continues speaking as Yeosang forms the beginning of a pout with his lips. “A single minute, less than a minute, I promise.”

“But—”

“I won't even leave the bathroom, I’ll open that drawer you see over there, grab the lube, and come back.” He feels Yeosang's arms relax around his body when he hears the word lube, and he places a kiss on his lips as Yeosang nods.

He forces himself to stop holding Yeosang in his arms and leaves the warmth of the water as well as the warmth emanating from Yeosang's body to head towards the drawer he mentioned.

He would run, honestly, because he really doesn't want to get away from Yeosang, but the truth is that the last thing he wants is to trip over the drops of water that follow his body, and ruin the moment. He takes the lube as well as a condom and a small towel.

He’s aware of the desperation that he feels taking over his body and of the bulge in Yeosang's shorts as he quickly finds himself back together with Yeosang after leaving everything near the edge of the jacuzzi, so he drums his fingers against the waistband of Yeosang's shorts.

“Off, and turn around,” he says as Yeosang brings his hands to his chest, but he looks at Yeosang as Yeosang again pouts his lips instead of holding a wide smile at the implication behind his words. “What is it?” he asks, leaving his hands on his cheeks.

“I want to kiss you.”

What Yeosang wants, Yeosang gets, he thinks, as he doesn't hesitate to press his lips against Yeosang's as soon as those words leave his mouth. He wants to kiss Yeosang too, he wants to decorate every inch of his skin until Yeosang isn't able to articulate that he wants more.

He feels Yeosang's hands press against his chest as he runs his tongue between his lips and as he slides his knee between his legs, causing him to slightly arch his back. Their bodies meet and indeed, what Yeosang wants, Yeosang gets, because he savors the moan that leaves Yeosang’s lips as he brushes his bulge with his knee.

“I'll—” he licks his lips when Yeosang barely pulls apart to talk. He knows what Yeosang will say because he opens his eyes slowly until he allows him to catch a glimpse of his brown pupils, and because he slides his eyes to lips that show that they have enjoyed the encounter with his lips. “I'll turn around,” Yeosang says.

What he wants, he also gets, he thinks, because the deal between them, the relationship between them has always been about reciprocity. He stays close to him and ghosts his fingers over Yeosang's waist in case he slips. Yeosang takes off his swim shorts and presses his back to his front.

He breathes and this time his hands do find Yeosang's waist as Yeosang keeps their bodies together. He listens to the pleased murmur that Yeosang allows to caress his throat as he presses against him as well, and he stops keeping one of his hands on Yeosang's waist to allow his fingers to get lost in Yeosang's pink locks, and tugs hard enough for Yeosang to interrupt his sounds —he did notice that Yeosang likes it when he does that.

He tilts Yeosang's head towards him to catch his lips with his, because he does what Yeosang wants, Yeosang does what he wants, and they never escape that constant cycle.

As he lets Yeosang straighten up because he doesn't want his neck to hurt, he notices the way Yeosang follows his actions with his eyes as he leans to the side to grab the lube. He coats his fingers with it and leaves it aside before wrapping one of his arms around Yeosang's waist.

Yeosang's hands fall on his arm for balance, to hold onto, or simply to touch because the more contact the better, and he brings his mouth close to Yeosang's ear.

“Can I?” he asks him.

Yeosang responds by getting comfortable in his hold and spreading his legs further apart to make the access easier to gain, and nods as well.

“Yes,”

He places a kiss on Yeosang's neck and strokes his knuckles along his spine, wanting Yeosang to be as comfortable as possible in his arms even though he already is. He keeps sliding his fingers down and watches Yeosang's shoulder blades threaten to touch as he slips the first finger past his rim.

Yeosang inhales a short breath and he feels his hands press on his arm. He makes sure to keep him comfortable in his arm and places a kiss on the nape of his neck as he starts to pump his finger in and out, not knowing if the droplets adorning Yeosang's skin are helping or not.

He doesn't want Yeosang to tense up or get rid of the relaxation that has accompanied him so far, so he places another kiss on his neck and keeps his face close to his.

“You know what I want?” he asks, since just as Yeosang has the chance to express that he wants to be kissed, he also has the chance to express why he has chosen to stay in the bathroom, even if they could have taken advantage of any other space in the apartment. “I want you to look at yourself. I want you to see what I see.”

Yeosang mixes the confusion that appears on his face with pleasure as he adds another finger and turns his head to look at him. Yeosang's hands are still on his arm, and he glances ahead so Yeosang understands what he's talking about.

He straightens up as soon as his gaze meets Yeosang's through the tinted glass in front of them, which, just as it allows them to watch the city before their eyes, also allows them to delight in the closeness they establish between them.

His arm around Yeosang's waist and Yeosang's hands still present on his arm. Yeosang's figure covers much of his, but not completely because they both have defined bodies, but his body doesn’t remain completely covered. Yeosang's cock, hard against his stomach, and his legs apart so that he can continue to press with his fingers.

He feels the urge to take a deep breath to ground himself and not get lost in the closeness that image represents.

“I just want you to look at me,” Yeosang says, tilting his head, and his words are followed by a half-moan half-whimper when he presses deeper. 

He connects his gaze with Yeosang's through the glass and believes that Yeosang has every right to keep asking. After all, he has told Yeosang to keep coming back to him for more.

“I can do that,” he assures him, and he does so because he looks at Yeosang when he adds a third finger, delighting in the way Yeosang's face demonstrates by itself the pleasure that the encounter between their bodies causes him as he keeps his lips parted and his eyes slightly closed.

He groans as Yeosang begins to move his body and seek the contact as well. He wonders how close he’s to falling too, because watching Yeosang is enough to feel hard within the confines of the shorts he's still wearing. The sounds that leave Yeosang's lips make the fabric uncomfortable, and he believes that Yeosang is really unaware of the power he has over him.

“More,” Yeosang asks, looking at him through the window, swallowing, “More,”

He breaks his own words as he lowers his eyes and sees the precum pooling at the tip of Yeosang's cock. He would only be wasting time by putting off something that they both clearly want, and he listens to the complaint that Yeosang formulates when he pulls his fingers out.

He wants to give more but he doesn't want to give less, and yet he doesn't have to worry about continuing to hold Yeosang after taking the condom, because Yeosang stops keeping his hands on his arms to lean forward and spread his palms over the edge of the jacuzzi.

Yeosang arches his back and Jongho traces the inches of his skin with his eyes until he licks his lips at the way Yeosang now has the chance to see himself even closer.

Yeosang runs his eyes through the details that make up his own face, the way his lips remain parted while his chest rises and falls, his breath not fogging the glass because he's not close enough to the window. His locks are tousled and his gaze is both focused and lost.

At no time does he stop paying attention to Yeosang, but he forces himself to shake his head because he thinks he could spend an eternity watching Yeosang while Yeosang watches himself —just as Yeosang has asked, but he finally takes his swimshorts off and puts them aside to roll the condom on and coat his cock with lube.

He wipes his hand with the towel, and Yeosang looks at him once he leaves his hands on his waist.

“Ready?” He asks him, connecting his gaze with his through the glass.

“Always for you,” Yeosang replies.

And what is Jongho supposed to do if his ears hear that answer?

He keeps his hands on Yeosang’s hips, and only stops looking at him to lower his eyes to the way Yeosang takes him, inch by inch, until he keeps their bodies flushed together, and the shaky breath that leaves his lips mixes with Yeosang’s.

He notices that Yeosang has closed his eyes and slightly tilted his head, seeming to be delighted but also adjusting to the closeness provided. Jongho doesn't want to interrupt him, not really, he wants Yeosang to allow himself to be embraced by the sensations that their bodies together provoke him; but he stops keeping one of his hands on his waist and pulls back to promptly thrust back inside.

Yeosang opens his eyes and understands his intent once he wraps his arm around his waist, since he straightens up to lean back and allow his back to meet his chest.

He trusts that Yeosang won't forget his request, and he looks at Yeosang because he does remember the words that Yeosang has spoken, and watches him when he brings his mouth closer to his ear.

“The most beautiful view,” he says, that being the reason why he has chosen not to move from the jacuzzi even though they could certainly find themselves throwing off the sheets on his bed or enjoying the couch in the dining room.

Yeosang is the prettiest view, with one of his hands on his hip and his arm around his waist, and his abdominal muscles flexing as he thrusts forward again. He keeps Yeosang trapped, comfortable and safe, between his body and his own reflection.

“You always— ah— yes— ah— tell me,” yes, he always does.

Satisfied with the way Yeosang is barely able to articulate a sentence, he feels the change in his breathing when Yeosang does hear him and leaves his eyes on his own reflection. Yeosang places his hands on his arm, and he kisses the back of Yeosang's head because it has become a habit for Yeosang to let him hold him.

“Don't forget those words, strawberry,” he takes advantage of the new closeness so that those words find Yeosang's neck. Yeosang tilts his head and exposes his neck, and he doesn’t doubt to travel said skin with his mouth.

He kisses his neck as he fastens the rhythm of his thrusts, feeling good, feeling good for Yeosang because he wants Yeosang to truly not forget those words, for him not to doubt himself and see himself the same way he does.

Yeosang curls his fingers over his arm while he presses his fingertips to his skin, both looking to hold onto the other. Yeosang takes one of his hands towards his locks and they both straighten up to look at each other, this time without needing a window because Yeosang turns his head towards him.

“Repeat them until I can't forget them,” Yeosang asks of him.

A moan accompanies his words as he rocks his hips forward, hard and firm, and he feels the way Yeosang clings his hand to his arm while the grip on his hair grows in response to his actions.

“Nothing and no one compares,” he assures Yeosang, because really, no one has ever caught his attention as much and as fast as Yeosang.

“Jongho— Jongh—” Yeosang looks for the contact as he meets his thrusts in the middle, and he groans and feels grateful for the hand that Yeosang keeps between his dark locks since the grip grounds him.

His name is the one to leave Yeosang's mouth and his hands are the ones on Yeosang's body. This is their closeness and no one else's.

“Look at you and I'll look at you,” Yeosang stops looking at him to follow the words he hears and again meets his reflection. “I have been with my eyes on you all the time, from the beginning,” he assures him, turning his gaze to the window as well.

“From the beginning?”

“From the very beginning.” he grunts, his fingers digging into Yeosang's skin at the same time Yeosang stops keeping his fingers in his hair and allows it to fall onto his arm. Always, since the very beginning. “If you only saw yourself the way I see you.”

Damned struck by tragedies, strong despite having had to resort to getting away from his head because being strong doesn’t mean not being vulnerable, and being vulnerable doesn’t mean being weak.

“Don't look at anyone else,” Yeosang asks.

“I just can't,” Yeosang moans as his thrusts become erratic. Yeosang has always accepted him, Yeosang has always taken him. With flaws and virtues, and he has accepted Yeosang in the same way. He can't, he just can't look at someone else as he looks at Yeosang. “But neither can you,” no one else, just the two of them.

He’s close, he can feel it, he’s desperate, for Yeosang, for them, for the closeness they have created and built; and he knows that Yeosang is close too because he again rocks his hips and Yeosang’s legs slightly shake. Yeosang’s hand remains firm on his arm and him safe in his arms.

“No, no— ah— Jongho— I don't want to look at anyone else either.”

Yeosang turns his head towards him, and this time he stops keeping one of his arms around Yeosang's body to leave his hand on Yeosang's nape so that Yeosang doesn't get hurt once he catches the lips with his.

It's messy, uncoordinated, they barely manage to keep their mouths together with the sounds that the other drowns out but he doesn't care because Yeosang does care about him and he cares about Yeosang. And he wants to make Yeosang feel good, he wants Yeosang to be okay, and he thinks he can do that by keeping Yeosang in his arms, assuring him that just as he needs Yeosang, Yeosang needs him.

“I'm close, I'm close,” Yeosang chants over his lips. “I'm c—”

Yeosang leaves one of his hands on his thigh and the other follows the path he traces with his arm as he stops keeping it around his waist to lower his hand and wrap his fingers around Yeosang's cock.

He matches the rhythm of his hand with the pace of his thrusts, and soon enough Yeosang closes his eyes and his facial features tense up to then relax once he finally comes. He feels the way Yeosang presses his fingertips into his skin and wraps his hand around his wrist, and he makes sure to wrap his arm around Yeosang's waist to hold Yeosang.

He pulls apart to allow Yeosang to breathe and slows down both the rhythm of his body and his hand as Yeosang slowly opens his eyes. He gives a firm thrust, and delights in the half-moan half-whimper that Yeosang lets out, believing that it's not just the way Yeosang's body responds to his that turns him on, but also the way his body responds to Yeosang's.

With Yeosang's lips close to his, his breath tickling his mouth, and the closeness established between them, he only needs one more steady thrust to turn the heat that has taken over his body into pure pleasure and finally come.

He wants to kiss Yeosang but they both need to breathe, so he allows his forehead to fall on Yeosang's shoulder, not doubting that his deep breath tickles his skin. Yeosang straightens up, and the hands that trace his arm feel comforting. He's sure his breath caresses the back of Yeosang's neck as he straightens up too.

He softens his grip when he denotes that Yeosang wants to turn around, and he pulls out, takes the condom off, and wipes his hand with the towel. Yeosang beats him to it before he can help him and takes the towel to trace his own stomach with it.

Drops of water no longer trace their figures nor the way in which their chests rise and fall, recomposing their respective breaths. He pushes his hair back and Yeosang wraps his arms around his neck as their reflections are cast aside, since looking at each other is what matters. He leaves his hands on Yeosang's waist, believing that closeness is not enough.

“Everything okay?” he clears his throat after talking. He puts his forehead against Yeosang's and allows Yeosang to steal a kiss from him, just as Yeosang allows him to steal a kiss back.

“Yes,” Yeosang replies, comfortable in his arms and with his eyes on him, “And you?”

He nods, thinking that definitely, everything is okay. Yeosang's breathing seems to have calmed down, and his too. He traces Yeosang's skin with his thumb, and the way Yeosang strokes his scalp equals comfort.

He looks at Yeosang and Yeosang looks at him, and he thinks that both move at the same time. It's a much slower kiss the one they share, a kiss that allows him to ground himself and slowly allow himself to be aware of other details.

The bubbling water around their legs is still present, and when he slightly leans back, he notices that there’s water spilled on the edge of the jacuzzi.

Yeosang kisses his cheek, and he breathes, allowing a smile to guide his face because he remembers that his boyfriend is the one who just kissed him. He brings his hands to Yeosang's cheeks and pecks his lips, one, two, three times, until Yeosang is giggling.

He kisses Yeosang's birthmark, and doesn't object when he's sure Yeosang momentarily hides his head between his neck and shoulder to kiss the mole that decorates his neck. They appreciate each other's details as well as the closeness between them.

“Everything is okay, and it will be as long as you stay by my side,” he finally offers a verbal answer.

He places another kiss on Yeosang's birthmark and Yeosang bites his lower lip, still smiling. Being and feeling free is no longer such an impossible idea, such an alien sensation.

“You are my favorite view too,” Yeosang says, smiling at him, and he can do nothing but lean forward to kiss said smile, feeling the way his own lips form a similar smiling gesture.

Notes:

i’ll miss this jongho as well, i couldn't end this story without writing jongsang one more time 🥺

just one more chapter 🙏

Chapter 50

Notes:

i think the final note is longer than the chapter 🙏

here we go one last time 🙌

Seonghwa wrinkles his nose and only seeks to hold on to the comfort he feels under his head. A slight buzz reaches his ears, leading him to squeeze his eyes shut. He digs his fingers into the pillow yet suddenly jerks his head away from it after his instincts kick in, reminding him that it usually only takes a second for him to react to his alarm.

But he remains completely confused as soon as he opens his eyes, and the headache that he feels once he leaves the comfort of the pillow doesn’t help him think clearly about his surroundings. The buzzing stops and he understands that it has never been an alarm since it doesn't go off unless he takes his phone.

He glimpses his phone on a nightstand that is definitely not his nightstand, and his eyes meet the back of a bed that is definitely not the back of his bed. He’s lying on his stomach, and looking down is enough to notice that the pillow trapped in his arms is definitely not his pillow.

He closes one of his eyes as he forms a line with his lips when he feels the way his head throbs, but as soon as he seeks the comfort of the pillow again, all traces of sleep leave his gaze when turning his head allows him to realize that definitely, he’s not in his room, and he’s not alone.

He believes that he doesn’t freak out only because the faces he encounters are familiar —literally as well as figuratively. Both Yeosang and Wooyoung are next to him, sleeping and holding onto each other.

Yeosang is curled up in the corner of the bed, with his face towards them and part of the sheets covering his body, while Wooyoung is between them, with his limbs stretched out and now Seonghwa understands the heaviness he feels on his back, since it turns out to be Wooyoung's arm.

The night before and therefore why he woke up under those conditions, and in that room, fall upon him when he glimpses a small red heart painted over Yeosang's birthmark, and the headband with two hearts placed over Wooyoung’s head. 

He again drops his head on the pillow and releases a silent breath.

Yunho and Mingi's party. Their night, rather.

He understands his headache as a hangover and feels grateful that the room's curtains are closed, since the only line of sunshine that filters through it assures him that it must already be a little after noon.

He takes a look around him and remembers that he’s in one of the hotel rooms that Yunho and Mingi have rented to continue the party altogether and declare that weekend as their bachelor party.

Remembering that his phone rang, he turns his head and this time sits up when he notes that the ringing that previously reached his ears was a missed call from Dohyun. He thinks about turning off his phone after wanting to enjoy the weekend, but if he postpones the call, he knows that it will continue to revolve around his head.

He slowly leaves the bed so as not to wake Yeosang and Wooyoung up, noticing the way Wooyoung subconsciously frowns and promptly seeks warmth after no longer being between two bodies, and turns to Yeosang to soften his facial features again.

A few long seconds and blinking several times is what it takes him to finish getting up, and he circles the bed to tuck the sheets over Yeosang and Wooyoung. He gently removes the headband from Wooyoung's head and holds up a small smile once his eyes find an image that he’s had the opportunity to observe since he was little. Yeosang and Wooyoung sleeping side by side, facing each other and seeking to stay close no matter how wide the bed they are on is.

The smile on his face only threatens to get bigger when he doesn't notice dark circles under Yeosang's eyes and his expression remains neutral instead of tense. He thinks that both of them have spent way too many nights trying to get to sleep and failing, so he's happy to see tranquility guiding Yeosang's face.

Yeosang seems to search for the contact as he gives him a little caress on the cheek with his knuckles, and smiles at him once Yeosang settles back down, snuggling up to Wooyoung.

He finally walks away from them to approach the hallway that leads to the door and closes one of his eyes when the brightness of his phone screen again finds his face. He dials Dohyun's number and holds the phone to his ear.

“Hello,” he says as soon as he hears his call is accepted, and he clears his throat as he brings his free hand to his chest, impressed with how hoarse his voice sounds. “I saw your missed call.”

“Seonghwa, I'm sorry. Did I wake you up?”

“Yes, but it’s—” He tilts his head away, realizing he doesn't know what time it is, and momentarily raises both eyebrows, surprised before holding the phone close to his ear. “Two in the afternoon so it’s fine.”

“Would you rather I call you at another time?”

“No, no, tell me,” He leaves his back against the wall and yawns. “Something happened?”

“I have good news.” He straightens up as soon as he hears those words, and blinks several times to continue getting rid of the traces of sleep that still persist in taking over him.

He's gotten used to bad news lately, so he swallows at the prospect of hearing phrases that won't make him wince.

“The lawyers are building a good case against your mom, and since your mom wants to move quietly, they think she'll agree to whatever conditions we bring to the table,” Dohyun explains.

He breathes in a breath of relief after hearing that maybe the following days, months, even, won't be the tedious legal battle that he has imagined. He doesn't mind being called greedy. Their father has sought to leave everything to him and Yeosang, and they plan to fulfill his wish.

“That's good,” it really is good, “Thank you.”

“However, it will be a bit of a long process,” Dohyun reminds him. “I know that maybe we should discuss this in person, and with Yeosang as well, but I wanted to know if you two would consider moving in with me until all of this is settled? Or close to me. And after everything gets its solution, of course.”

Seonghwa parts his lips because he thinks a part of him has been waiting to hear that question. He’s aware that his relationship with his mother is completely broken, and that both he and Yeosang look for any excuse not to be at their house due to the discomfort that sharing space with her represents.

He knows that living with Dohyun would be convenient because they have been keeping in constant contact since he agreed to help them with the case against his mother.

“We wouldn't want to bother you,” he offers.

“You wouldn't. I want to help you, and I also want to get to know Yeosang as well. He’s a very important part of your life and I want to be too.”

He curls up one corner of his mouth because a part of him still can't believe that his mother, who has been with him all his life, has turned out to be a bad person while his biological father, has never been the real villain.

He knows that Dohyun isn't perfect, and that he shouldn't get his hopes up with an image free of mistakes because he makes mistakes too, but he feels more at ease at the thought of an imperfect father than a mother expecting him to be perfect.

“I'll talk to Yeosang, but I think we'll take you up on your offer,” he chooses to reply.

Yeosang has determined that their mother is dead to him, and he knows how much those words must have weighed on Yeosang, so the last thing he wants is for Yeosang to continue living together with a person he no longer considers part of his life.

After all, despite the instability and arguments between them, Yeosang is the other constant in his life.

“Okay. We can hang out as soon as you two are free if you want,” Dohyun says.

“Yes, I'd like to. Thank you.”

“It's no big deal. Now you can continue sleeping, and you can assure Yeosang that all is well with Hehetmon,” Dohyun laughs.

Seonghwa suppresses a smile when he hears him and promptly greets him before ending the call. He rests the back of his head against the wall once the call is over, and sucks in a breath as all the words exchanged start spinning around his head. 

Perhaps he has woken up in a hotel room with a slight hangover, but that doesn’t take away that his reality has undergone great changes in recent times.

He chooses to enter the bathroom since he has woken up and his eyes widen after bumping into his own reflection. He has previously seen Yeosang's tousled light-blonde locks, and at that time he finds pink hair.

He still has to get used to the color, but he smiles, thinking that it was worth it to let Wooyoung revel in the chance to dye both his and Yeosang's locks. The pink heart-shaped blush on his cheek —somewhat faded, but still there— matches the color of his hair.

He smiles to himself despite his disheveled hair and smudged makeup, thinking that while before it wouldn't even have occurred to him to go to sleep without first making sure that everything is completely fine, at that moment his eyes denote those details that he would never have allowed to characterize him before. He brushes his teeth, knowing that at least he fell asleep in the right room because he found his toothbrush.

He walks out of the bathroom, but stops when he hears a knock on the door. He considers that he’s partly well dressed —he has his pajamas on and he’s sure that he remembers seeing Wooyoung wearing the shirt he used the night before, so he opens the door and a smile hugs his face.

“Hello,” Hongjoong greets him.

Seonghwa covers his mouth but the inevitable giggle that leaves his lips is audible anyway. Hongjoong’s wearing casual clothes instead of pajamas but it’s evident that he has paid more attention to his clothes than himself, since his red locks are pointing everywhere and glitter of the same color is scattered around his eyes.

“It's good to know I wasn't the only one who woke up a mess.”

“Ouch,” Hongjoong sarcastically takes one of his hands to his chest, pretending that his words have hurt him though his face portrays amusement. “And here I was about to tell you that you look cute.”

Seonghwa leans the side of his head against the door frame, knowing that even though he's laughed, he doesn’t look much better, and holds a wide smile at the indirect compliment.

“You look good too,” he runs his gaze over Hongjoong and approaches his hand to his neck when he notices that there’s makeup scattered near his mole as well. “Oh, you have makeup here,” he lightly presses his thumb but leaves his hand still as Hongjoong gently grabs his wrist and pulls it away from his neck.

“Mh, well, it's not exactly makeup...”

He tilts his head, looking down at his thumb to realize that indeed there’s no transfer of color to his skin, and confused, he drops his eyes on the pink and red color present on Hongjoong's neck, until Hongjoong's words make sense and he understands why Hongjoong has seemed sensitive to the pressure exerted with his finger.

“I did that,” he realizes. With his mouth, he adds inside his head.

He widens his eyes, and images from the night before begin to plague his head.

“It doesn't bother me, you know, I'm just telling you,” Hongjoong assures him along with a sincere smile, and Seonghwa turns his eyes to their hands as Hogjoong traces a small caress to his wrist before releasing him. “I wanted to know how you were, it was all a bit chaotic last night.”

He looks up at him and raises both eyebrows to show that he certainly agrees with him.

It's been a long night, entertaining too, but long nonetheless. What began as a dinner at Utopia to celebrate the new formal closeness between Yunho and Mingi, has continued with hours of music at Illusion. And not necessarily everyone went to sleep once they crossed the hotel's front doors.

The hickey on Hongjoong's neck is proof enough to know that he has spent much of the night next to him, having the opportunity to not only listen to the DJ's songs, but also to kiss him.

“Good. A bit of a headache,” he smiles despite the small discomfort, “I don't know how Wooyoung ended up in my room and I don't even know if this is my room even if I found my toothbrush. Come, come, come in,”

There are moments he doesn't remember, so he doesn't complain when Hongjoong laughs at his words and agrees to step into the room once he moves to let him pass.

He only manages to take one step before again hearing a knock on the door, and this time he meets San as he opens it.

“Hi, good morning,” San says, his voice sleepy and rubbing his eyes, the smeared lipstick in one of the corners of his mouth being evident. “Good afternoon?” He corrects himself, confused. “Are there people here? I woke up and tried to wake up Jongho but he threw a maraca at me,” he pouts.

“You will get used to it, to the special treatment he expects to receive just because he's the younger brother,” he laughs. “Come on in,” he smiles.

He strokes San's locks as San momentarily rubs his face against his shoulder, and smiles after closing the door as he watches him do the same to Hongjoong.

“That looks more than comfortable,” San tilts his head upon encountering the image of Yeosang and Wooyoung, and doesn’t hesitate to continue his words with actions after slowly but surely managing to move between the two until he lies down between them, snuggling against both with a satisfied smile on his face.

Seonghwa can only smile, thinking that they have gone from representing a united front against San to accepting him as part of their lives while the same has happened vice-versa.

Although their situations are different, San also knows what it feels like to deal with the return of one of his parents. San hasn't stopped smiling, and neither has he, and if he's to be honest, he's happy for both of them.

He stops keeping his gaze on San and the way he seems completely delighted in the fact that he finds himself close to the realm of the unconscious, when he notices Hongjoong looking at him, switching his gaze between him, Yeosang, and Wooyoung.

“You are like a tub of ice cream.”

He looks at him unimpressed because he knows that he’s talking about his pink hair, Yeosang's light-blonde hair, and Wooyoung's dark brown locks. Wooyoung said he didn't want to be the only one not to change his hair color, so the three of them managed to make his bathroom a colorful mess.

“And you are the cherry,” he says, fixing his eyes on Hongjoong’s red hair.

“I am the spoon.” San raises his head, seeming to have forgotten that he has lied down with the intention of going back to sleep. “Spoon with me!”

The sudden loud volume of his voice seems to be enough for both Wooyoung and Yeosang to become aware of the new company, or at least partially because Yeosang only pulls the sheets closer to his figure to continue sleeping, while Wooyoung barely opens his eyes.

“Mh? No... that’s— middle... me...” he articulates as he stops being next to San.

He thinks it's ridiculous but also cute the way in which half of the bed remains empty because they choose to stay together after Wooyoung crawls over San and lies down between him and Yeosang, getting San to turn his body towards him while he takes advantage of being surrounded to leave one hand on Yeosang and the other on San.

“And why aren't you there?” he stops looking at them when he listens to Hongjoong.

“Dohyun called me, he offered me and Yeosang to go live with him until everything settles down,” he chooses to respond by getting a little closer to Hongjoong.

“And what do you plan to do?”

“I think I'll accept.”

“As long as it's good for you,” Hongjoong gives him a small smile.

He watches the gesture with a smile before turning his gaze to Yeosang.

As Dohyun said, Yeosang is an important part of his life and Dohyun has recently become a fundamental part. He doesn't fear Yeosang withdrawing into himself, not when tucking the sheets over him, he has glimpsed the ever-present necklace around his neck while he continues to wear the bracelet around one of his wrists. And just as he told Yeosang, their father won't stop being their father, and he won’t forget him and won’t stop missing him just because his biological father plans to be a part of his life.

He stops looking at Yeosang when he hears a knock on the door, and is not surprised when he again runs into familiar facial features, though he is when he finds three faces.

“Hello!” Yunho smiles widely, as if he had slept a whole day instead of just a few hours. If he considers that he has slept late, he doesn't even want to imagine how little Yunho has slept.

“Is the party still here?” Mingi looks just as awake.

“Unfortunately, I found them while coming here,” Jongho sighs.

Seonghwa laughs and steps aside to let them pass. He keeps laughing as soon as he notices the scowl that hugs Hongjoong's face, probably as a result of all the traces of glitter in Mingi's hair, and the tiara with a heart in its center that decorates his head, while Yunho has appeared sporting heart-shaped sunglasses —to hide his eyebags or just because, Seonghwa doesn't know.

“Hug from the engaged couple!” Mingi opens his arms as soon as he sees Hongjoong.

“Yes!” Yunho doesn't hesitate to join in and they both catch Hongjoong in a hug.

“No, no, get off me,” Hongjoong complains.

Seonghwa knows that Hongjoong can be determined enough to get them off his back, so he's allowing them both to hug him even though the scowl on his face shows otherwise. His eyes slide to the glittery detail on Yunho’s and Mingi's hands, and he knows it's not glitter, but the engagement rings that he's had the chance to take a closer look at more than once.

He considers it a nice gesture that both choose to wear a ring to show that they only have eyes for each other and that fortunately they no longer have to live or celebrate their love in secret, far from the eyes of others.

“I think you'll be left without company for the wedding if you don't help him,” he hears Jongho say.

He runs his fingers over one of Jongho's shoulders to wipe off the confetti that seems to have fallen on that part of his body, and instead of focusing on the fact that it's already assumed that he'll attend Yunho and Mingi's future wedding with Hongjoong by his side, he approaches them.

“Okay, okay, give him back to me please,” he leaves his hands on his own waist.

Although both Yunho and Mingi pout at hearing this, they agree to stop keeping Hongjoong trapped in their arms. Hongjoong doesn't hesitate to dramatize a big breath of air once he's free and Yunho and Mingi share matching smiles.

“I'll make you the ugliest outfits,” Hongjoong grumbles, dusting off his clothes.

“You know and we know that you won’t,” Yunho doesn't believe him and smiles at his words.

Hearing that exchange of words reminds him that Hongjoong has agreed to design both of their outfits, and that he has also previously said that he would make a design for him, but luckily Mingi's voice distracts him.

“Yun, there’s a pile in here.”

He smacks his forehead even before Yunho and Mingi act, since it's enough to glimpse the exchange of smiles they hold at the sight of Yeosang, Wooyoung, and San. And indeed, he grimaces when unlike San, who previously managed to subtly sneak between Wooyoung and Yeosang, for his place to be later taken by Wooyoung, Yunho and Mingi don't hesitate to throw themselves onto them, finally getting both Yeosang and Wooyoung to wake up.

Yeosang immediately lifts half of his body off the mattress at the sudden weight as well as at the mix of laughs he hears, and keeps a pout on his face as well as his eyes almost closed even if a frown is evident in his expression, until Jongho approaches him and his features soften.

Jongho sits near the headboard and that seems to be enough for Yeosang to keep a small smile on his face after settling his head on his lap. He wraps his arms around Jongho's stomach and Jongho allows his hands to fall on Yeosang.

“Comfy,” he hears Yeosang say.

“Losers,” Jongho holds a winning smile as the others throw serious looks at him.

While the others complain, Seonghwa smiles.

He’s still surprised how he has asked Yeosang to stay away from Jongho after hearing that he has thrown the smoothie over him, only to realize that the two of them have managed to connect with each other.

Jongho hasn’t hesitated to defend Yeosang, and he’s grateful to him not only because the image in front of him assures him that Yeosang has found someone who protects him and will protect him, but also because at the time Jongho didn’t hesitate to defend him as well.

He approaches the bed and sits in the space where he has previously been, although now the entire bed is occupied. He rests his back against the headboard, and flexes his legs when Hongjoong sits in front of him.

He plans to give him more space, but he guesses that he's not only surprised by the closeness between other people but also by his own, since Hongjoong leaves his back against his legs and rests his head on his knees. He moves his feet, amused when Hongjoong moves his back in return.

“Ugh, everything is spinning,” He turns his head when he hears Wooyoung speak.

He notices that he has lifted his head, this time finally awake. Wooyoung massages his temples, and he thinks his head must bother him after the hours he slept with the headband decorating his dark locks.

“It happens to you for drinking,” San says, settling even more on the bed.

“You also drank, and more than me,” He doesn't know if it's on purpose or by chance, but he chuckles when San complains after Wooyoung smacks him in the face with his hand as he settles back as well.

He has gone from hearing Wooyoung express that he has threatened San without hesitation, to watching them be side by side at that moment. Wooyoung himself is the person who ended up getting him to maintain a good relationship with San after making them talk and realize that they both have their respective parental issues. And for that, he’s grateful.

Just like Yeosang, Wooyoung has also always been present. Smiling at him and not hesitating to pull his hand to drag him along and make him play with him when they were little. Helping him and seeking to clear the picture every time the situation got out of hand between him and Yeosang.

“Everyone drank, so, sh,” Hongjoong rests his index finger on his lips to signal them to be quiet.

“You too, hyung,” San's hoarse voice reminds him.

“That's not the point.”

“I'm so hungry,” Wooyoung interrupts.

“Me too, can we use the room service?” Mingi asks.

“And you are the dessert.”

A string of complaints against the words that Yunho expresses only gets both Yunho and Mingi to laugh. Whereas the night before they haven’t hesitated to be present to watch them dancing and laughing together, celebrating the love between them and the future they will continue to share side by side, at that moment they don’t hesitate to complain about such demonstration.

“Don't do that just because you're engaged,” Jongho complains.

“I want fried chicken, please,” Yeosang reminds them about the previous topic discussed.

“Hongjoong and Seonghwa, go for food,”

“Sorry?” Seonghwa says upon hearing San's suggestion.

“And why us?” Hongjoong accompanies his complaint.

He momentarily stops paying attention to the others when he notices Hongjoong stretching one of his hands to him, and he smiles at the offer. He doesn't hesitate to take his hand in his, knowing that Hongjoong wants to make sure he's okay without needing to say a word.

He's fine. He doesn't feel a no appearing on the tip of his tongue when the idea of ordering food comes up. He doesn't hold his widest smile, but he doesn't hold his worst grimace either anymore.

“You are the eldest,” Wooyoung replies.

“You should bring the food to us precisely because we are the eldest,” Hongjoong says.

“We are the engaged ones, so, not us,” Yunho raises his hands innocently.

“Don't take Jongho away from me, I'm comfortable,” Yeosang moves even closer to Jongho, now managing to find himself comfortable between Jongho's legs, thus laying his back and head against Jongho's chest.

“My dear brother, you can go,” Jongho crosses his arms over Yeosang's chest. He rests his chin on Yeosang's head, and Yeosang rests his hands on top of Jongho's, both assuring that certainly, neither of them plans to move.

“Don't try to win me over with your younger brother status, I won't go, Wooyoung should go,” San shakes his head before poking Wooyoung's cheek, only managing to accidentally get his face smack again after Wooyoung settles between the sheets and bodies present.

“Room service it is,” Seonghwa says to prevent the rest from arguing about who should leave the comfort of the bed and the company.

His eyes fall back to his and Hongjoong's hands when he feels Hongjoong caress his hand with his thumb. He previously talked to Dohyun about the possibility of being able to talk to someone about his eating habits as well as Yeosang about drugs. He thinks that his head has been a bit calmer ever since he stopped allowing his mother to guide his thoughts, so he’s not surprised when he doesn’t panic at the idea of tagging along, with food in between.

“But, in a while, I want to enjoy this comfortable bed,” Mingi says.

“You're literally all over Yunho,” Jongho notes.

“Exactly.”

“I support the motion,” Wooyoung agrees, settling between both Yeosang and San.

“Yes, I'm comfortable,” San seems more than satisfied with the current position.

“I still want fried chicken, please,” Yeosang interrupts.

“We could eat meat too,” Yunho suggests.

“Well, we will all stay like this for a while,” he feels Hongjoong settle against his legs even more so as he says those words.

Seonghwa watches the rest do the same after listening to Hongjoong. The bed doesn't seem that big anymore with eight people in it, but he thinks that it doesn't matter. They leave the expansion of it aside anyway so they can stay together.

Between the eight of them, they can probably fill a bag with glitter and confetti, half are still in their pajamas and the other half are closer to falling asleep than staying awake, and they should definitely remove their makeup from their faces, but he smiles, feeling happy.

Accompanied, he no longer thinks of previous words that have followed him for longer than he thought. He now only thinks of the words patient, persistent, and proud.

The world isn't perfect, they aren't perfect either, and that's completely okay.

“Yes, a little while longer like this,” he agrees.

Notes:

and finally, bye bye hwa 🤧

WELL... i’m never writing something this long ever again, that’s for sure hahaha but i really liked writing this fic. it’s a fic that i dropped two times and thought i would never complete so i’m really proud

thank you SO much for all the love you have given to this fic. i know that sometimes the number of chapters can be scary, and it doesn't help that i don't know how to write short chapters (oops). thank you for all the views/kudos/comments, and if you took the time to leave a comment on each of the chapters, i can't express how much i appreciate it (you). i will never stop saying how much comments mean to me/authors in general, they truly are what get me to keep writing. thank you for joining me in another story. i don't know when i'll post another multiship fic again because i need a break but i hope to post something more this year (or at least that's the idea). thank you, thank you, thank you so much for reading this and giving my writing an opportunity 💞

fun facts that no one asked for: 1) utopia was supposed to be aurora but then i saw yunho enthusiastically lip singing utopia in the show and i changed it to utopia 2) only wooyoung ever knew why seonghwa hurt his hand 3) san never told anyone that his dad told his mom about yungi 4) at the beginning yunho was going to be under a real scholarship, and more or less when i had almost half of the fic written, i decided that no, that i wasn't very convinced and i changed all the yungi scenes i wrote until that moment to make them rivals economically speaking 5) hwa's dad said the truth and means well

finally, i'll say this one last time even though the fic has reached its end, if you feel that something needs a new tag or a new warning, tell me. i have written about serious issues and i have tried to write them in the best possible way, but sometimes i can fail and i can only learn if i’m told what i’ve missed

from the bottom of my heart, thank you for these six months. thank you so, so, so much!!! i will see you again (hopefully) ❤️👋