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The screwdriver slipped from Donghyuck’s fingers for the third time, clattering against the tile floor with a sound that made him wince. He crouched to grab it, knees protesting against the hard surface, and sighed at the frayed charging cable still stubbornly plugged into his phone. “Piece of shit,” he muttered, flicking the broken connector with his thumb.
Next door, music thumped faintly through the wall—something bass-heavy and erratic, drowning out the rhythmic chopping of vegetables. Donghyuck hesitated, the screwdriver hovering near his eyesight like a coward. He could walk fifteen minutes to the convenience store, buy a new charger, and avoid the whole awkward interaction. But his phone was at 2%, and desperation won out.
The door swung open before he could knock. Jaemin stood there, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a smear of something red—sauce? Paint?—across his forearm. He blinked at Donghyuck, then at the screwdriver. “Here to fix our sink?”
“Uh.” Donghyuck held up the broken charger like a white flag. “More like… dismantle my life. Got a spare?”
Jaemin’s grin was immediate, crooked and too bright for a Tuesday afternoon. “Come in,” he said, stepping aside. “Jeno’s got, like, twelve.” The apartment smelled like garlic and burnt toast, and Donghyuck’s stomach growled before he could stop it.
Inside, Jeno was at the stove, stirring a pot with one hand and holding his phone with the other. He glanced over, eyes flickering from Donghyuck’s grip on the screwdriver to Jaemin’s amused expression. “Are we building something,” he deadpanned, “or is this a robbery?”
“Charity case,” Jaemin corrected, already rummaging through a drawer packed with tangled cords. “Don’t worry, he’s harmless.”
Donghyuck bristled. “I could be dangerous.”
Jeno snorted. “Sure. With that?” He nodded at the screwdriver. “You’d have better luck threatening me with a spoon.”
Jaemin tossed a charger at Donghyuck, who fumbled it spectacularly. It landed at Jeno’s feet. “See?” Jeno said, scooping it up. “Harmless.”
Donghyuck opened his mouth to retort, but the scent of whatever was bubbling on the stove hit him again—rich and savory—and his traitorous stomach rumbled louder. Jaemin’s grin widened. “Stay for dinner,” he said, like it wasn’t a question at all.
“I—” The protest died halfway up his throat. Jeno was already reaching for an extra plate, nudging it onto the counter without breaking rhythm as he stirred the pot. The domesticity of it—like they’d done this a hundred times, like Donghyuck was already part of the routine—left him unbalanced.
He perched on the edge of a stool, watching Jeno’s hands move with practiced ease, the way his knuckles flexed when he adjusted the heat. Jaemin bumped his shoulder against Donghyuck’s as he passed, warm and solid, leaving behind the ghost of his laughter tangled in the air between them.
The food was too spicy, the couch too soft, and when Jeno’s fingers brushed Donghyuck’s wrist as he handed him a glass of water, neither of them pulled away.
Donghyuck pretended not to notice the way Jeno’s thumb lingered—just for a second—against his pulse point. Instead, he focused on the steam curling from his plate, the way Jaemin’s knee kept nudging his under the table like a silent dare.
“So,” Jaemin said around a mouthful of noodles, “you gonna tell us why you’ve been breaking into our apartment every other day, or should we start charging rent?”
Donghyuck choked on his water. Jeno kicked Jaemin under the table—hard—but the bastard just grinned, wide and unrepentant.
“Maybe I just like your taste in decor,” Donghyuck shot back, gesturing vaguely at the cluttered shelves, the half-finished paintings leaning against the wall. “Or—” He hesitated, fork hovering over his plate. “Maybe your couch feels better than mine.”
Jeno’s eyes flicked up, dark and knowing. “Bullshit.”
The air between them crackled—not with tension, but with something warmer, something that settled low in Donghyuck’s stomach and refused to leave.
Jaemin leaned forward, elbows on the table, chin propped on his hands. “Admit it,” he said, voice dropping to a whisper. “You have a crush on us.”
Donghyuck’s ears burned. He opened his mouth to argue, but Jeno beat him to it, leaning in until their shoulders touched. “It’s okay,” he murmured, so close Donghyuck could count his lashes. “We’re obsessed too.”
The confession hung between them, fragile and terrifying. Donghyuck’s breath caught.
Then Jaemin’s phone buzzed loudly on the table, shattering the moment. Jeno pulled back, but not before Donghyuck saw the way his fingers twitched—like he wanted to reach out again, like he might’ve if the world hadn’t interrupted.
Jaemin groaned, scrolling through the notification. “Ugh, landlord again.” He glanced up, eyes flickering between them. “Are you two good to be left alone?”
Jeno nodded, too quickly. Donghyuck forced a laugh. “Peachy.”
But later, when Jaemin disappeared into the bathroom and the apartment fell quiet except for the hum of the fridge, Jeno’s hand found his under the table—sure and steady, like he’d done it a hundred times before.
Donghyuck didn’t let go. Hoping Jaemin returns faster so he could hold his hands too.