Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Five Days Later:

“It’s over,” Chan says to Nayeon on the phone. He’s walking home from buying groceries, his tote lighter than it had been this time last week. It’s raining, wind whipping at Chan’s face as he crosses the street. “Me and Jisung.”

“Oh,” Nayeon says. “I’m really sorry, Chan.”

“Really?” Chan asks. He sniffs. It’s almost summer, but this rain is freezing his nose and the tips of his ears. “I would have thought you’d be pleased.”

Chan crosses the street quickly, dodging the deep puddles by the curb, then cuts down the side street that leads to his apartment.

“C’mon,” Nayeon says. “Don’t pretend I’m that cruel. I know how much he means to you.”

The side street gets narrower, and Chan has to move aside to let a scooter pass. He walks by his favorite restaurant in the neighborhood just as someone is leaving. She leaves the door open for a moment, and a gust of warm air reaches Chan. Inside smells heavenly, but Chan only casts it a glance. He can’t stop. He’s got to go home and finish cleaning up the vocals on the recording one of his artists has sent him. And then grade assignments. He’s two steps ahead, not looking back.

“What happened?” Nayeon asks. Chan doesn’t know what to say at first. There’s a silence that goes on for a beat too long. “You don’t have to talk about it. I know I was really harsh before, but if you wanna talk, I’ll listen.”

“No, it’s okay,” Chan says. “I’m fine. I’m more worried about him, to be honest. He’s been fine at school, I think. A little bit quiet, but he’s coming to class, so that’s something.”

“Give him time,” Nayeon says. “He seems tough.”

“He is,” Chan says. The rain is soaking through the canvas of his sneakers. He can already feel his socks getting wet.

“What about you, though?” Nayeon asks. “Are you eating?”

Chan looks down into his shopping bag. Microwavable rice containers, package of sausages, and half a dozen eggs.

“More or less,” Chan says. “I’ve got the basics.”

“Okay. Well,” Nayeon coughs. “Let me know if you need anything?”

“I will,” Chan says. He wipes rain out of his eyes. “Thank you, noona.”

✵

Five Weeks Later:

It’s July, and Chan’s stopping by Nayeon’s company to pick her up for dinner. Nayeon insisted on it. She’s been all over him recently, which is how he can tell that she’s really worried about him.

He brought dinner for the girls, just chicken from the takeout place down the street, and it’s worth coming up here when the girls all burst out of their practice room and spot him waiting in the hall with food for them.

“I knew I smelled something deep-fried,” Ryujin says, drumming her hands on Chaeryeong, who’s beaming at Chan. Yuna lights up. “Is that for us?”

And when Chan says yes, they erupt into shrill screams and profuse thanks. They chat with Chan as they lead him down the hallway to the break-room, excitedly telling him about the new choreography they’ve been learning. Chan smiles as he lets their chattering voices wash over him.

“You look sick,” Yeji says nonchalantly as they all dig into the takeout boxes Chan opens on the table for them. “Are you sick?”

Nayeon comes in, surveys the scene, and shakes her head, collapsing into a plastic chair, her legs spread. “Don’t be rude, Yeji.”

“I wasn’t!” Yeji complains. “I was just wondering, god!”

“S’okay,” Chan says, and then to Yeji, “And no, I’m not. I’ve just been working a lot lately.”

“I hear that,” Ryujin says, tapping her chicken leg with Chan’s in a sort-of toast. “Me too.”

Chan laughs, and Nayeon smiles, shaking her head.

“Thank you,” she mouths to Chan. He just shrugs, brushing it off with a smile and a wave of his hand.

Chaeryeong drops herself onto the couch next to Chan, and Jisoo climbs onto her lap, ignoring Chan in favor of tearing into a chicken wing.

“Thank you for the food, Chan-oppa,” Chaeryeong says politely. Jisoo nods ferociously, covering her mouth with her hand as she chews. The other three girls are arguing about some mistake one of them made during dance practice. Nayeon clears her throat and looks at them pointedly.

“Oh!” Ryujin says, turning to face Chan again, “Thank you.”

“Yeah!” Yeji pipes up, putting her chin on Yuna’s shoulder, “Thank you, oppa. The chicken is delicious.”

“Get off me!” Yuna whines, shoving Yeji away. “Why is your chin SO pointy? What is wrong with you?!”

Yeji just cackles and snatches up another drumstick.

✵

They leave a half an hour later, after Nayeon’s had a chance to fret over the girls, make sure they had everything they needed for her night off, and that they knew what time the car was picking them up to take them to the dorms and what time they had to wake up for their schedules in the morning.

“Seriously, thank you,” Nayeon says when they’re leaving the building. Chan holds the door for her. “It’s always nice to see them just get to be kids, you know?”

“Oh, shit,” Nayeon says, and then she does something Chan never sees her do; she blushes. Chan looks around for the cause and sees a woman approaching the building, her steps quick. She’s wearing casual workout clothes and a floppy, dark red beanie on her head. Her arms are out and she’s small, but she looks strong. Like she could probably take Chan down in a fist fight.

“Who’s that?” Chan asks, holding a hand up to shade his eyes in the sun. Nayeon elbows him sharply in the ribs. “Ow! What the—”

“Hi unnie!” The girl says as she catches up to them. She’s beaming at Nayeon. “Just gonna go get some practice in before I rehearse with the girls. I hope that’s alright!”

“Sure, no problem,” Nayeon says, her voice musical and soft. Chan looks between the two of them, his eyebrows raised. “Go right ahead.”

“Who’s your friend?” The girl asks, turning her charming smile on Chan, who can’t help but return it. Nayeon looks surprised for a moment, like she’d forgotten Chan was there.

“Ohh, this is Chan. He’s…he’s my cousin.” Chan desperately tries to keep control of his face. “Channie, this is our new choreographer, Kim Yerim.”

“Nice to meet you,” Chan says, politely. He’s still smiling and he keeps himself from looking at Nayeon so he doesn’t start giggling, because he’s finally understood what’s happening here.

“You too!” Yerim says, and she smiles like she means it. She turns back to Nayeon, “See you tomorrow?”

“Of course! Have a good night?” Nayeon says.

Yerim smiles one last time and disappears inside the building.

“Your cousin?” Chan says incredulously. Nayeon shoots him a deadly look.

“I didn’t want her to think we were together. Don’t say a word,” Nayeon says, storming off, a blush high on her cheeks. Chan hurries to catch up with her, casting a single glance back at the company building where Yerim is pushing through the second set of double doors. He opens his mouth.

“I said don’t!”

“I’m not saying anything,” Chan says, biting his lip to contain his smile. “She’s pretty.”

✵

Five Months Later:

It’s December again, and Chan only knows time is moving forward because it has to be. It’s the only way time is allowed to move.

But it feels like the clock is moving backwards because he’s in the same place he was in three years ago: working two half-jobs he likes but doesn’t love, and dating a girl he’s attracted to, but doesn’t love. Not really.

There are a few differences this time, of course. The girl is Rosie, and the reason he doesn’t love her has nothing to do with her.

In fact, he cares about her a lot, just not in the way that she seems to care about him. He cares about her the way he cares about Nayeon, the way he cares about Byulyi, about Yerim, who has become a more permanent fixture in Chan’s life since she and Nayeon started dating.

Chan’s mom loves Rosie, which is a benefit. She’s the first girl he’s introduced to his family in over a decade, and she’d charmed them all because of course she did, because that’s what she does.

Chan brought her as his plus one to Hannah and Daniel’s wedding in August, back in Sydney. Chan’s mom cried tears of joy all day, and Chan remembers the sinking feeling in his stomach when he’d looked up from slow-dancing with Rosie, her cheek against his chest, and seen his mom watching them, a watery smile on her face.

He and Rosie were an accident. Chan needed a date for the wedding, and Nayeon was working, so Chan called Rosie. It was supposed to just be as friends, but after all the dinner and cake and dancing, they’d gone for a walk on the beach and kissed under a sky full of stars. And Chan had let himself forget about Jisung, just for a night.

It’s casual, between them. They live in different cities, and they both have busy work schedules. No need to commit to anything big right now. It’s fun, and it’s easy. And Rosie’s so beautiful that Chan can’t believe she even wants to be with him. He’s lucky, he knows.

But there’s still Jisung.

Jisung, who Chan swears, gets more beautiful every single day. Jisung, who Chan sees all the time, but who still makes Chan’s heart skip literal, multiple beats when he sees him.

Sometimes, before they remember their respective places, Chan will catch Jisung looking at him and they’ll have a moment like they used to, secret and only theirs, until Chan shakes his head and Jisung turns away.

Jisung’s technically done with his senior year as of today, and in a few months he’ll graduate, and Chan won’t have to see him anymore.

Chan overheard him and Changbin a few weeks back talking about how they were planning on doing their military service right after graduation. And even though it’s strange to realize that a year ago, Jisung would have told Chan that too, it’s a good thing. Chan thinks it’s a good thing. Forces himself to think, even as he worries.

No, it’s good. It’s good because Jisung will be far away and Chan can stop feeling like he’s being gutted every time he sees him and go back to his normal life. Only.

Only what’s waiting for him there?

Chan’s been taking medication for his insomnia, and he doesn’t have The Nightmare anymore. Which is good, of course. He’s sleeping eight hours a night every night now. Which is good, too. Of course it’s good. Only.

Only Chan doesn’t dream at all anymore. And that flat black terror that used to creep up on him out of nowhere has become a flat black nothing that he sinks into every night.

That’s what’s waiting for him tonight. Rosie’s not staying with him right now, so he’ll be alone. He just has to get through the dinner party he and the other music department professors are hosting for the graduating seniors.

Chan tries not to look at Jisung, tries not to remember a year ago, this day exactly, Chan was letting Jisung up to his apartment so that he could take his virginity. He wonders if Jisung remembers that it’s today, wonders if Jisung notices all the anniversaries that pass, all the dates that Chan remembers for no reason other than to torture himself with, he guesses.

September 5th, the day he met Jisung for the first time, the first day of classes Jisung’s sophomore year. Nineteen and baby-faced, hair in a choppy mullet tucked behind his ears, eyes eager and always tracking Chan at the front of the classroom.

October 15th, the day Jisung kissed him for the first time, his lips waxy from vanilla-flavored chapstick.

And today. December 13th. Again. Chan tries not to look at Jisung so he doesn’t remember what it felt like to be inside him, what it felt like to be the first one to have him. So he doesn’t remember the soft exhale, the back-of-his-throat whine Jisung had let out when Chan pushed his fingers in (just one finger, and only up to the knuckle, squeezing him so tight, was all Jisung could manage at first). Tries not to remember the look in Jisung’s eyes.

Chan can feel Jisung looking at him now, so he takes a big gulp of cold water and turns to Jihoon, talking to him about his plans for break instead. He can feel his ears burning and wonders if Jisung can see.

Chan makes it through dinner and out onto the sidewalk. He even sticks around and says goodbye and congratulations to everyone, including Jisung. He feels Jisung trying to hold eye contact with him for longer, but Chan breaks away first.

Chan waits for the traffic light to change. In his coat pocket, he turns his keys over and over in his hand. He loops his thumb through his keyring. He bites down on the side of his tongue.

One block north and then a turn right to where he parked his car, and then he'll be on his way home. Alone, since Rosie is staying at her own apartment until next week.

The traffic lights change and the last few cars breeze through the intersection. The last car drives too close to the curb and startles him. He takes a step back and almost backs into the person behind him.

"Bang-gyosunim?"

Relief is the first thing Chan feels at the sound of Jisung's voice. Followed quickly by dread. Chan turns around.

"I thought you were going home with Changbin?" Chan says, too fast. Chan had seen the two of them leave together, heading in the direction of the nearest bus stop.

Jisung shakes his head. "He's going home for winter break. His dad's picking him up."

Chan doesn't know what to say so he doesn't say anything. Jisung looks exhausted.

"Minho and Hyunjin are gone too. Please. I don't…" Jisung bites at dead skin on his bottom lip. He cocks his chin up, like he’s trying to seem confident. Like it took something from him to have to ask for this. "I don't want to be alone."

Chan looks back across the street. The traffic lights turn green again. He’d almost made it. He sighs. He knows the truth now, doesn’t he? That he’s only been able to resist for this long because Jisung hadn’t asked.

Chan jerks his head in the direction of his car, casts a quick glance behind Jisung to make sure Hwaitaek is not still standing outside the restaurant. He’s gone.

"Come on, then."

✵

Chan lets Jisung into his apartment. He doesn’t know what to do now. He doesn’t know how to be alone with Jisung anymore.

Jisung turns around slowly, surveying the space. He’s wearing a jacket that’s bottom cropped right at the curve of his hip. His legs look extra long tonight in his high-waisted jeans, and now that he’s taken off his Docs, Chan can see his mismatched pink and purple socks. Chan’s chest aches at the sight of them.

“It looks the same,” Jisung says, turning back to Chan. He looks tired, the skin under his eyes dark like bruises.

The last time Jisung was here, Chan assumed it would be the last time, but here Jisung is again, and Chan can’t stop staring at him like an idiot.

“Can I—”

“I’m just gonna—”

They both start speaking at the same time, then stop. Chan’s cheeks flush.

“Go ahead,” Chan says with a smile. Jisung tentatively smiles back.

“I was just gonna ask if I could use the bathroom.”

“Oh, yeah,” Chan says. “Y-yeah. Of course. Please.”

Please was probably a bit much, and Jisung raises an eyebrow in amusement.

“Just go,” Chan says, his cheeks flaring. "You know where it is."

Jisung shuts the bathroom door and Chan turns on the light in the living room and sits down heavily on his couch. He leans his head back until it bumps against the wall.

Jisung is in his apartment. Jisung is in his apartment. Right now.

Why the fuck is Jisung in his apartment? Why did Chan let this happen?

What’s his plan? Does he really think they can spend time together platonically? And if not, what’s his move? Is he really about to cheat on Rosie? Chan’s never been unfaithful before. It’s a low bar, he knows, but it’s one he’s always easily stepped over all the same.

And what if all Jisung really wants is a friend? What if Jisung doesn’t want Chan at all anymore? What if he only sees Chan as his professor now and he’d genuinely just needed company?

And isn’t that what Chan wanted, after all? Shouldn’t that make him feel something other than empty, something other than achingly sad?

“Hyung,” Jisung says. Chan jumps, startled from his thoughts. Jisung’s standing in the doorway, his hand up in front of his chest. “Why do you have this?”

Chan notices the hyung before he notices what Jisung is holding. Jisung has only called him gyosunim since the breakup. Unfailingly polite and professional.

Then Jisung lifts his hand and opens it and Chan sees the rectangular glass bottle with it’s round silver top and his heart fucking sinks.

It’s Jisung’s cologne. Not his exact bottle. But the exact same brand, the same scent: clementine and honey. About a month ago, Chan had a particularly rough bout of missing Jisung too much, and he’d ordered it online in a moment of weakness.

Rosie definitely thinks it’s his, and Chan hadn’t thought about the fact that it was sitting on a tray in his bathroom, tucked behind the cologne he usually wears.

He’d been so distracted by Jisung being in his apartment (Jisung is in his apartment, oh god, oh god) that he’d forgotten that he’d left evidence of his own weakness just laying around. Tangible evidence that’s now nestled in Jisung’s curved palm.

“Did I leave this here?” Jisung asks, turning the bottle over in his hand and eyeing it curiously. It’s at least halfway empty.

“No,” Chan says. He leans his head back against the wall again. Too tired, too exhausted to pretend to be anything other than what he is: lovesick. “You didn’t.”

Jisung’s eyes stay fixed on Chan’s, his expression unreadable. He comes closer until he’s standing over Chan. Chan’s heart thuds his chest so hard he swears he can hear it.

Jisung sets the bottle down on Chan’s coffee table without looking at it, the glass clinking against metal.

Jisung takes another step forward. He puts one knee up on the couch, next to Chan’s thigh. He hesitates for only half a second, then climbs into Chan’s lap.

Chan’s arms go right around Jisung’s waist. Muscle memory.

“Jisung,” Chan groans, his fingers spreading out over Jisung’s ribs. It feels so right to have him here again. Chan touches the side of Jisung’s neck. At the brush of skin, Jisung twitches. He cups Chan’s face in his hands, rests his full weight on Chan’s thighs. (Right where he belongs, right where he should stay, should always be.) And Jisung opens his mouth, just parts his lips to sigh and in his mind Chan’s already tasting him, but. But, “I’m with someone.”

“Is she here?” Jisung asks, and Chan half wants to strangle him for that, half wants to fuck him for it. Jisung sits up and looks around the room performatively, using the motion to slip further into Chan’s lap, to settle back down snugly on Chan’s crotch.

“No,” Chan says. His mouth is millimeters from Jisung’s jaw. His hands are pushing up Jisung’s shirt, nudging the fabric up so slowly with his palms and spread-out fingers that he could almost pretend it’s unintentional. But it’s not, and neither is the way Jisung is stroking the sides of Chan’s neck with his thumbs. “She doesn’t live here.”

Chan doesn’t know why he tells Jisung that, why he doesn’t say what he really means, which is, “I’m so sorry,” which is, “she’s not you,” which is, “I miss you so much I don’t know what to do.”

Jisung nudges the tip of his nose against Chan's cheek, rolling his body into him.

"Tell me to stop," Jisung says. "If you don't want this. Tell me to stop and I'll go, right now."

“No,” Chan says. Chan reaches his hands up and sinks his fingers into Jisung's soft hair, holding his head between his hands. His breathing feels ragged in his chest. “Don’t. Don’t you dare.”

Chan kisses him, brushes his lips against Jisung’s until they catch together and he presses forward. Jisung moans into the kiss and goes boneless in Chan's grip, sagging against his chest.

Chan lets go of his hair and wraps his arms around him instead. He flicks his tongue into Jisung's mouth, the taste of him so mouthwatering that Chan moans.

Chan grabs the back of Jisung's shirt for real, pulling it up to expose his soft tummy that Chan has to touch, to feel the way his muscles jump under Chan’s palm. Jisung breaks away from Chan's kisses only for long enough to take his shirt the rest of the way off and drop it onto the floor. Then he's back on Chan, kissing him again, bumping their noses together.

Chan reaches between them to undo the buttons on his own shirt, suddenly sweating, his thumbs slipping. Jisung takes advantage of the moment and kisses Chan's jaw and sucks on his neck, right below his ear.

He scrapes his teeth against the side of Chan's neck, and Chan's breath catches in his chest.

Jisung's hands wander over Chan's chest, down the planes of his abdomen. Like he’s remembering, like he’s admiring what he’s missed. Chan knows he’s doing the same.

"Fuck," is all Chan manages to say when Jisung's warm fingers wriggle under the waistband of his jeans and brush the base of his cock. He’s already hard, already so hard, since Jisung set his ass down on Chan’s lap.

Chan tries not to think about the fact that this is the most turned on he’s been in months, that Rosie never gets him feeling like this.

Nothing compares to Han Jisung, pretty and powerful and half-naked, just for Chan again.

Chan slides his hands down Jisung’s body and grabs his ass, yanking him closer. Jisung makes such a delicious sound that Chan has to do it again, harder this time, smacking him over his black jeans. It has the desired effect; Jisung moans and puts his lips on Chan’s again.

“Please,” Jisung whines, “Oh, please, hyung.”

“What do you want, baby?” Chan drawls, the pet name accidental, but it’s out there now, out there and Jisung is sucking on Chan’s earlobe. Jisung is grinding down against Chan’s erection, still straining in his jeans. The pleasure is sticky and hot, rolling down his spine like drops of sweat, sinking into his skin like the rays of a midsummer sun.

Jisung’s sharp little teeth sink into the skin below Chan’s ear and Chan sucks in air. He tightens his fingers in Jisung’s hair, hard enough that Jisung winces.

Chan pulls harder, gritting his teeth. Jisung whimpers, screwing his eyes shut, “Ah, ah, hyung.”

Good. Chan's brain thinks. His head feels fever-hot. Good. I hope this hurts, because you're killing me.

“I asked you a question, Jisung,” Chan admonishes. He grabs Jisung’s hip with his other hand not tangled in Jisung’s hair, pins him in place. Chan forgot how good it felt, to actually have Jisung in his control. Nothing matters except for this. How could it?

Chan hauls him to his feet by his hair, pulling harder than necessary, lifting him higher than he can stand so his heels lift up off the ground and he gasps in pain.

Chan's being rougher than he was before, but Jisung was always begging him to go harder, to hurt him more, so Chan tries. Chan feels like he's losing his mind, losing his grip on reality, and Jisung is gone but he's here right now, and this is a mistake that Chan is furious with himself for making and still, he does not stop.

Reality's edges feel slippery, hard to grasp, so instead Chan sinks his nails into Jisung's skin and he holds on.

He picks Jisung up easily, and Jisung wraps his long legs around Chan's waist. Jisung kisses him again as they walk. He tosses Jisung, roughly, onto the bed and tears his own shirt off, his hands trembling.

Jisung removes his own clothes hastily, but gets stuck taking off his jeans. Chan finishes getting undressed first and yanks Jisung's pants off, almost tearing them, threads popping.

And then he's on Jisung, exposed skin pressing together.

"Want you," Jisung says between kisses. "I need you. I need you so bad. Need you to fuck me, please fuck me please, please please."

Chan kisses him deeper, drawing their hips together, grinding his cock alongside Jisung's.

Chan leans back and bites Jisung beneath the collarbone, making him howl and squirm, his cock throbbing between them. He sinks his teeth in deeper, not hard enough to break the skin, just bring it up between his teeth so that Jisung will have a big, bite-mark shaped bruise on his chest for days.

Chan didn't ask if Jisung was seeing anyone who would care if he came home covered in Chan's marks. Right now Chan doesn’t care about that, and it doesn’t seem like Jisung does either, not with the way he’s scratching at Chan’s head, pinning him in place against his chest, his hips kicking up.

"Turn over," Chan gasps. He feels like he’ll die if he’s not inside Jisung, needs him in some terrifyingly primal way.

Jisung gets onto all fours, his wrists trembling to hold him steady.

("I think you just like making me get on my hands and knees for you," Jisung said to him, once, teasing and light. He’d laughed after, eyes full of teasing joy.)

“Can I spank you?” Chan hears himself ask. Jisung nods.

"Please. I need it. N-nobody takes care of me like you," Jisung agrees, his cheek on the bed, his ass in the air, presented for Chan. "Nobody does it right."

The implication that Jisung has been with other people, that other people have fucked him now, makes Chan see red.

And it hurts, aches behind his teeth, claws up the back of his throat.

I thought you were mine? Chan wants to say but that will just hurt more, and Chan can't talk, he's been with Rosie for half a year now. And it's not right but it's fine. And Chan's not happy but he's okay.

He won't be okay after this, he knows. This isn't pushing on a bruise, this is peeling off a scab, tearing into flesh and leaving it bleeding behind. But what else is he supposed to do? It's Jisung. And it's too late but Chan can see it all, now. A backwards trail map. Chan loves him. Chan loves him and it doesn’t make a goddamn bit of difference.

Chan hits him hard. The sound echoing, sharp, around the room. Jisung jolts forward and moans.

"That what you want?"

"Y-yes, thank you," Jisung says hurriedly. Chan almost smirks. He’s still so polite. It makes Chan just as crazy as it always did. “Again, please.”

"Good boy," Chan says. Jisung squeaks. Chan slaps him again, harder, the fat on his asscheeks jiggle. Chan slaps him lower down, on his upper thigh, just to see that jiggle too. "Good fucking boy."

Chan walks forward on his knees until he’s right up against Jisung’s ass and he wants–, he fucking wants to say, “I missed this. I missed you,” but some things you don’t say, even if they are true so instead Chan opens his mouth and what comes out is,

“Tell me who, huh?” He spreads Jisung open. Rubs his thumb over Jisung’s hole. "Who did you let fuck you?"

"A boy. Boys," Jisung says, shaking his head. "They were nobodies. Just…just boys."

"Just boys?" Chan says. He spits onto Jisung's hole, then rubs his saliva around with his fingers. "Is that why you're back here? Because you were tired of boys?"

It’s easier, isn’t it? To spin this narrative. To make this about sex and not about them, not really.

Chan sucks on his first two fingers. He smacks Jisung again, holding him open with his other hand. He sinks his middle finger into the second knuckle. Jisung yelps. His hole tightens around him, tries to push him out but Chan pushes back, stroking the silk-soft walls inside.

"Needed someone to put you in your place," Chan says. Chan looks him over, miles of unblemished, soft skin, only a few moles scattered across his body. So many places for Chan to mark up. Satisfy his sick need to make damn sure every inch of Jisung is his again.

"Needed you," Jisung pants. Chan pushes his finger further inside. "Only you."

Chan pushes in farther, stuffing another finger in, too. He aims right for Jisung's prostate, and is pleased to find it easily, his body remembering Jisung's like they'd never ended.

And he shouldn't but he wants to ask, he wants to know. How many?

Chan leaves only to get a condom, but Jisung’s already trembling like a leaf when he gets back, still waiting obediently on hands and knees. Chan hurries to get back on the bed and smooth a hand down his side.

“Hey, hey,” Chan says, dropping his voice low and gentle, “You okay?”

“Yeah, Christopher,” Jisung says in English. Chan’s stomach flips. “Wanna feel you.”

And there goes any hope Chan had about letting this just be sex. And how could it be? He’s stupid for even trying. This is Jisung. (My baby, Chan thinks, my baby, my baby.) He lines up and pushes his cock inside.

After, Jisung lays on his back, panting, his stomach rising and falling, and Chan feels the walls closing in on him as the high from his orgasm retreats, because it’s over, it’s over and Jisung is going to leave again and. And.

And Jisung is crying. His heaving breaths melting into sobs, tears welling up in his eyeline and falling down his cheeks.

Chan moves towards him across the sheets. Takes his arm and slips it underneath Jisung and pulls him into his arms, letting his head nod against his chest. Jisung grabs at him, burying his face in Chan's neck and crying, his tears wetting Chan's skin.

"Its not fucking fair," Jisung says between jagged breaths. "I just, I just want-–"

"I know," Chan murmurs, touching Jisung's cheek, brushing his hair back. "I know."

"You're here?" Jisung asks, wet, tear-streaked cheeks. "You're really here?"

"I'm right here," Chan says, tightening his arms around Jisung. Chan kisses him on his sweaty forehead. All of Chan’s resolve is gone. He lets them have this moment. Then another. And another. "M'right here, I promise. I'm so sorry."

"Hurts so fucking much," Jisung says. He grips Chan so hard his fingernails pinch Chan's skin.

"I know," Chan murmurs. His heart is breaking. "Me too."

Should have turned him away at the door. Should never have let him in. Shouldn't, shouldn't, shouldn't.

Chan tilts Jisung’s chin up and swipes his thumbs under Jisung's eyes and holds his face between his hands.

Shouldn't kiss him, should tell him to go, should, should call him a cab, should tell him this can't —

Chan touches his lips to Jisung's, his top lip wet with tears and snot and Chan doesn't care. Jisung's lips tremble and he lets out another sob. Chan swallows it, slipping his tongue into Jisung's mouth, brushing over Jisung's tongue with his own.

Jisung bites down, teeth scraping Chan's bottom lip, and wraps his arms around Chan's neck, squeezing. They're tangled together, facing each other. Jisung kisses him and kisses him. Chan slips his knee between Jisung's legs, pressing his thigh against Jisung's cock. Jisung shivers.

"Again," Jisung whimpers against Chan's mouth. "Wan' you again. One more time, just one, please, I—"

“Shh,” Chan slides his hands down Jisung's sweaty back, to soothe, but also to bring him closer, crush his body against Chan's. His cock twitches to life as Chan grinds up with his thigh.

He slips his hands back up Jisung's back, over his shoulders, tangling in his hair. He pulls, disconnecting their mouths, arching Jisung's neck back. Chan's eyes search Jisung's face.

Shouldn't shouldn't shouldn't

He kisses Jisung again.

"Okay, honey, okay," Chan says, "I’ve got you."

✵

Chan ends things with Rosie the next day, sitting cross-legged in an empty bed that smells like Jisung and sex.

He doesn’t tell her, and he tries to convince himself that it’s to protect Jisung, but he knows, deep down, that it’s just his own shame.

She doesn’t cry, but her voice gets quiet and shaky and Chan knows her well enough to know that she’ll cry later, when she’s by herself.

“I’m sorry,” Chan tells her, “Rosie, I’m so sorry. I have a lot of work to do on myself before I can be with anyone else, I think. It’s not your fault.”

✵

In February, Chan watches Jisung graduate. Sees him stand with his brother while his brother's wife takes photos of them. Sees Jisung's nephew, walking now, take unsteady steps towards Jisung’s outstretched arms.

Jisung's parents don't show.

Chan runs into him in the hallway afterwards, still in his navy-blue robes, diploma under one arm, texting someone and smiling down at his phone.

"Jisung," Chan says before he can think better of it. Jisung looks up and when they make eye contact, Chan’s stomach drops into a freefall. He clears his throat. "I just wanted to say congratulations. I'm really proud of you. You worked really hard and you, ah. You did well. You deserve it."

And Jisung smiles. It's a little mournful, but sweet nonetheless.

"Thank you," he says, dipping his head. “Chan.”

Down the hall, the bathroom door opens, and Jisung’s brother comes out. Barely casting Chan a glance, he waves Jisung towards him, nodding his head towards the exit. Jisung stands up and Chan swears he looks taller than he did a few months ago. Is he taller than Chan now?

His shoulders still look small, and it’s all Chan can do to stop himself from taking Jisung in his arms, giving him a proper goodbye. But he can’t risk touching Jisung while his brother is watching them. Chan’s sure he would give himself away, somehow. That he’d hold him too tenderly, too naturally, too long.

So Chan nods instead, indicating that Jisung should go. They both know, anyway. It doesn’t have to be said. Doesn’t have to be expressed. They know.

Jisung gives him a small smile and a half-wave. He leaves and Chan doesn't see him again for a long, long time.

✵

✵

Five Years Later:

It takes Chan years, a rescue dog named Prince, a change in friends and scenery, a career shift and a lot of hard conversations with himself to get here.

Well, not here, to Nayeon’s kitchen. That only took a five minute walk, since they live so close now. But here:

"I'm gay," Chan says, his fist planted on Nayeon's new marble countertop. She turns, braid swinging, holding onto her fridge door handle. She stares at him, sizing him up with her mouth slightly open. She narrows her eyes.

"Okay?" She says. She lets the fridge door close, snapping open a plastic container of green grapes. She waves one in his general direction. "Didn't we already know this?"

"Yes, but I mean I'm gay. I'm not interested in dating women. I can't see myself ever being in love with a woman," Chan says. "Because I like men. Do you get what I mean?"

Nayeon nods. She pops another grape in her mouth and chews thoughtfully. “This is a big moment for you.”

“Yes, it is,” Chan says. He crosses his arms.

Nayeon bites down on the grape she has in her mouth and picks another one. “Would you like me to say something?”

“I mean, you don’t ha-ave to,” Chan says. He hears his voice reaching the pitch it only gets when he talks to his best friend. Or Hannah, sometimes, if they’ve spent the whole week together and start acting like kids again. In other words, he’s whining. “It’s just something I’ve been working towards for many, many years. Not a big deal or anything.”

Nayeon seems to consider this, bobbing her head and pursing her lips thoughtfully. “I’m very proud of you.”

“Thank you,” Chan says, cracking a smile.

“I saw this coming,” Nayeon says, eating another grape.

“Thank you?” Chan says, laughing. Nayeon raises one corner of her mouth.

In the background, the shower shuts off. Chan leans across the counter and steals a grape from the tupperware container Nayeon’s holding and pops it in his mouth triumphantly. Nayeon bats his hands away and complains.

Yerim emerges from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, wrapped in a bathrobe, her hair up in a towel.

“Oh, lovely!” Yerim says, kissing Nayeon on the cheek. She has to get up onto her tip-toes to do it. “Our boyfriend is here. Hello Chan.”

She winks and Chan grins at her. It’s impossible not to love Yerim.

Nayeon looks disgusted, but Chan’s learned by now that’s just how she expresses affection. Well, it’s how she expresses affection to Chan, who she sometimes calls “the brother she never wanted”.

(Chan wouldn’t want her any other way, wouldn’t love her this much if she wasn’t exactly who she was, and he knows she feels the same way about him. She’s his big sister in every way that matters.)

If it’s Yerim, Nayeon’s affection looks like feeding grapes to her by hand, or brushing her hair out while she sits on the floor between Nayeon’s legs, or spoiling her with expensive jewelry.

“Can I tell her?” Nayeon asks Chan.

“Yeah,” Chan says, laughing, “You’d tell her after I left anyway.”

“True,” Nayeon nods. “Honey, Channie just came out to me.”

“Yeah?” Yerim asks, getting her face serum out of the fridge and applying it with her ring finger rubbing in gentle circles. She looks at Chan expectantly.

“I just said I feel like I’m finally comfortable with describing myself as gay,” Chan says. He’s only blushing slightly as he says it. He’s forty now. He’s not embarrassed about who he is anymore. (And he’ll keep telling himself that until it feels true. Until it is true.)

“Oh!” Yerim says. She flaps her hand in Chan’s direction. “Oh! This is something to celebrate!”

“Thank you! I thought so too,” Chan says. Nayeon rolls her eyes.

“Babe, do you think…” Yerim looks at Nayeon, raising her eyebrows until they almost reach the towel on her head. Chan waits for her to finish, but she doesn’t, and somehow Nayeon seems to understand what she means.

“Yes!” Nayeon exclaims. Chan looks back and forth between the two of them, confused. They do this all the time, now that they live together. Speak without speaking. It drives Chan nuts. Chan’s caught them doing it in rooms full of other people, locking eyes for just a moment when everyone else is looking away, and breaking out into giggles.

“Do you think he’s ready?” Yerim asks seriously. Nayeon pretends to eye him up, rubbing her chin with her thumb and forefinger.

“I do,” she says, finally. She nods.

“Uh,” Chan says, frowning, “Ready for…what?”

Yerim looks pointedly at Nayeon, then turns to Chan and smiles. She looks far too devious for someone as cute as she is. “To come to a party with us.”

✵

The party turns out to be a release party for Nayeon’s girls. They just had a comeback, and it’s already doing well on the charts, and they took home an award on MNet last night. Chan’s proud of them, of course. But they have three comebacks a year, and this party is at Nayeon’s company building which means that it is, technically speaking, a work party.

He’s been here for an hour, and Chan can’t figure out why Nayeon invited him, and why she and Yeri made such a big deal about him coming. Chan’s been in the industry long enough now that he knows most of the people here. It means he’s not lonely, at least, but it’s almost ten and Chan’s feet hurt and all he wants to do is go home and see his dog.

He’s about to go and try to find Nayeon to say goodbye and probably, What the fuck did you bring me here for?, but he's interrupted by Ryujin, who steps into his path and grabs him by the upper arms.

She and the other girls are wearing black pleather tonight, covered in straps and harnesses.

"Oppa," Ryujin demands. She’s kind of bouncing on her feet. "Have you seen Nayeon-unnie? My feet are killing me and I'm five minutes from peeing my pants. Like tops."

“I’m looking for her too,” Chan says, then cocks his head. "Wait. You… need Nayeon to tell you you can go to the bathroom?"

"No!" Ryujin says, smacking him in the upper arm with her clutch. Every time he sees the girls, one of them ends up hitting him. Every goddamn time. "I'm sewn into my outfit and I couldn't fit scissors in my tiny purse, so she has them."

Chan's about to open his mouth when she gasps and turns around. "Never mind!! I see her!"

Chan laughs to himself as she pushes past him and jogs over to Nayeon, who's just walking back into the room with a group of friends.

Behind him, someone calls his name.

"Chan?"

Chan's heart stops. He turns around and it starts again, double time. His mind is completely blank, and Han Jisung is standing in front of him.

"I thought you might be here," Jisung says. He’s smiling? "I mean, I was hoping you’d be here. I'm glad."

Jisung is standing in front of him and Jisung is glad. Chan blinks.

"What…what are you doing here?" Chan asks.

Jisung's brow furrows, "Nayeon never told you?"

"Never told me what?"

"I work for her," Jisung says, "Or with her, I guess. I work at her company. I've been there almost six months?"

Chan looks over at Nayeon, where she's standing with Yerim, looking back at Chan. They both immediately look away, pretending to be engrossed in conversation. Suddenly, it all makes sense, and Chan has to laugh at their audacity.

“She didn’t tell you,” Jisung says. “Did she?”

“No, she did not,” he says. Chan shakes his head, still laughing.

Jisung smiles at him, fondness in his eyes. And wow, wow, wow. Chan’s heart feels like flowers blooming. Feels like a fresh fall of snow in the middle of the night.

He owes Nayeon dinner for this, he knows. Owes her a lot more than that. Owes her a life. Owes her whatever one smile from Han Jisung is worth. Which is a lot. Which is everything.

“They didn’t want me to know you’d be here, I think,” Chan says, “They were probably worried that I wouldn’t come if I knew.”

“Well,” Jisung says, cocking his head. “Would you have?”

Chan hesitates. Jisung watches him, his face open and curious.

“Yeah, I would have,” Chan says. Jisung relaxes, almost imperceptibly. “I don’t think I would have been able to stay away.”

I thought about you every single day, did you think about me?

“Me too,” Jisung says. He leans forward, like he’s telling Chan a secret. “This is the eighth outfit I tried on. I thought Minho was gonna kill me.”

“You look great,” Chan says. He glances back over to Jisung’s group of friends and sees Minho regarding them with narrowed eyes. A few of Jisung’s other friends that Chan doesn’t recognize see him looking and look away, but Minho stares him down. He can still feel Nayeon and Yerim’s eyes on him. And probably Ryujin’s too, at this point. It doesn’t bother him the way it used to, people looking. Let them look. He wouldn’t sacrifice a single second of Jisung’s attention for any of them. “You picked the right one.”

“Thanks,” Jisung says. “You look nice, too.”

Chan’s not sure how true that is. He knows he’s showing his age now, more than he was five years ago. He’s got crow’s feet by the corners of his eyes, and a whole curl of his hair right at the front has gone gray. But Jisung’s not looking away from him. In fact, Jisung seems to be drinking him in, eyes tracing over the planes of his face. It makes Chan’s toes curl in his shoes, joy blooming in his chest like ink in water.

“Thank you,” Chan says.

“How are you?” Jisung asks. “Really, how are you?”

Chan’s stomach clenches. He’s not proud of the person he was when Jisung knew him. He’s trying to be kinder to himself now. Hides away less. Spends more time with Nayeon, Yerim, and their friends. Jihoon’s been a good friend to him, too, and he and his boyfriend, Mingyu, invite Chan over for dinner once or twice a month. His new apartment in Gangnam has two bedrooms, and one is always reserved for Hannah, Daniel, and the twins.

“I’m good,” Chan says, smiling. He straightens his shoulders. “I produce full time now. I left the university the year after you did.”

“I know,” Jisung says. He looks bashful. “I mean. I know about the producing. I still buy all your albums. The one you did with Kim Seungmin last year?” Jisung sucks air in through his teeth, and shakes his head approvingly. “Totally genius. I think I’ve listened to Lighthouse a thousand times.”

“Thank you,” Chan says, his ears flushing. “I kind of wondered. I mean. I wonder. Every time I write a song, I wonder what you’ll think.”

“Every time?” Jisung asks. The way he goes quiet and breathless, it feels like he’s asking Chan a different question entirely. “Still?”

“Still, yeah,” Chan answers. He shrugs one shoulder. “Maybe always.”

“Oh,” Jisung says. His lips part. Chan wants to touch him. Wants to cup his face in his hands and pepper kisses all over his cheeks. Wants to touch his thumb to the fullest part of Jisung’s bottom lip. Wants to pinch the edge of his sleeve, just to make sure he’s really here.

“What— um. What about you?” Chan asks to fill the silence. Asks so he doesn't say, Oh there you are. Look at you. Wonderful boy, blessed boy. “How are you?”

“M’okay,” Jisung says with a shrug. “I make enough to pay my own rent, now. Still live with Minho, though. If that wasn’t obvious. I did my military service after I graduated, and then I was working at a restaurant for a while before I got the job with Nayeon-noona. She’s terrifying, by the way. Like, don’t get me wrong, I like her a lot, and I look up to her so much. But, yeah. Terrifying.”

Chan giggles. “Yeah, I know. That’s my girl.”

Jisung looks at him with such tenderness that something in Chan’s chest caves in. What a miracle, he thinks. What a gift. He’s the luckiest person in the world, probably.

“I have a dog,” Chan blurts out, then blushes. Just to say something. Just to say something he knows will make Jisung happy. Jisung straightens up.

“You have a dog?!” Jisung half-shouts. Behind him, a few heads turn in his direction. He keeps his eyes on Chan. “Hyung, that's amazing! You always wanted a dog. What kind?”

“She’s a rescue so I’m not really sure,” Chan says. “Her name is Prince. Do you want to see a picture?”

“Obviously!” Jisung says, and Chan giggles. He takes out his phone and shows Jisung his lockscreen, which is Prince with her head cocked to the side, her slightly folded ears pointed straight up. She’s a warm, light brown color, with a pointy nose and big paws that she’s never quite grown into. Chan loves her. “She’s so beautiful, hyung.”

“Thanks,” Chan says. He smiles, his heart glowing like Jisung’s complimenting his real child.

“Maybe I could meet her sometime?” Jisung asks eagerly, then his face drops and he blushes. “Or. Sorry. That’s a lot. We haven’t seen each other in forever. I didn’t mean to–”

“No, it’s fine,” Chan says, “I don’t mind. I’d like that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, Jisung,” Chan says. Jisung beams.

“So. What are you up to?” Chan asks. Jisung looks at him incredulously.

“Right now?”

“Yeah, right now,” Chan grins.

“Uh, I’m at a work party,” Jisung says, a grin spreading across his face too. “With my boss. And her boss,” Jisung nods his chin towards where a well-dressed woman is talking to the CEO, “Aaand my roommate,” Jisung nods back at where Chan assumes Minho is. He doesn’t look. Jisung’s eyes flick down to Chan’s mouth. “And you.”

“Sounds boring,” Chan says.

“Incredibly,” Jisung says. His eyes are on Chan’s again, and full of that Jisung sparkle. Full of life. Chan wants to drown in it. Chan wants to kiss him.

“Thought so,” Chan says. He feels buoyant. Light as air. “Wanna leave?”

Jisung's eyebrows shoot up, and he slowly smiles. "Absolutely I do."

"Really?" Chan asks, slightly incredulous. He doesn't even mean to ask. Jisung giggles.

"Yeah, Chan-hyung," (The sound of his own name on Jisung's lips again is indescribable. Leaves Chan wondering if anyone else has ever pronounced his name correctly because surely nobody says it the way Jisung does.) "Let me grab my stuff and say goodbye to my friends. Don't–"

Jisung reaches a hand out towards him and then drops it again. "Don't go anywhere."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Chan says, smiling.

✵

Im Nayeon:

where did you go last night

Im Nayeon:

chan!!! you have to tell me

Im Nayeon:

you owe me and you know it

Im Nayeon:

i never lied

you never asked

Im Nayeon:

idk that really sounds like a you problem

tell me you’re not happy

Im Nayeon:

i saw your face, channie

tell me you’re not on cloud nine right now

Im Nayeon:

what did you talk about?

Im Nayeon:

i know, bud

everyone knows

by everyone i mean me and yerim we talk about it all the time

and what do you mean what do you do?

you tell him

Im Nayeon:

who cares what i think, this is about you and him and nobody else

Im Nayeon:

Yuck.

fine, if it matters, i give you my blessing you deserve to be happy, chan

and either way

jisung deserves to know

Im Nayeon:

luckily that's not up to you

it's up to him

you just make sure he has all the facts (i.e. that you love him) and he can decide for himself if you deserve a second chance or not

and I don't know him that well but ive seen the way he lights up when I mention your name

and I saw the way he looked at you

✵

Chan and Jisung meetup after work a few times over the next few weeks. Just as friends. Chan knows Jisung’s not dating anyone. And he thinks, (he hopes), that Jisung still loves him. Chan feels it, anyway, when he’s around him. He just hasn’t worked out how to tell him that he loves him back, that he’s always loved him back. Hasn’t worked out a way to ask if it’s okay if they start again. If they try one more time.

Tonight, after Chan pays for dinner just so Jisung will look at him and say, “Thanks, hyung, really.” Chan follows Jisung out of the restaurant and listens to him talk about his stressful job running errands for the real producers at the company.

“Give it time,” Chan says. “You’re a ‘real producer’, too, whatever that means. You’re one of the best musicians I know. They’ll see it, too. Just be patient.”

Jisung opens his mouth, then closes it again. A slow smile spreads across his face, his eyes cast down. He shakes his head like he’s laughing at himself.

“What?” Chan asks, watching his face. His breath fogs in the air.

Jisung blushes. “It’s nothing. Just. Forgot how good it felt when you compliment me.”

Chan smiles and Jisung nudges him with his shoulder, giggling nervously. Jisung’s solid, stronger than he used to be, and he pushes Chan out of step. Chan laughs.

Chan doesn’t want this night to end, he realizes. He doesn’t want to say goodbye to Jisung and see him again in a week, maybe two.

He wants Jisung in his bed and he wants to wake up next to Jisung in the morning. He wants Jisung’s time. His laughter, his comforting presence. He wants Jisung. All of him, the way he is.

He has a life, and he wants to share it with Jisung.

Chan brushes his knuckles against Jisung's. His heart leaps into his throat. Staccato beat under his ribcage. As naturally as he can manage, he gathers Jisung's hand in his, slipping his fingers between Jisung's.

Jisung stops dead. Chan walks a step ahead, holding on to Jisung's hand. Jisung stares at him, his lips parted, his eyebrows drawing together.

"Is that okay?" Chan asks. Jisung falters, and for a moment he's Jisung as Chan first met him: young and eager, unsure of himself.

"Are you kidding?"

Chan squeezes Jisung's hand and smiles. "Dead serious."

Jisung blinks rapidly, his cheeks coloring.

"Of course it's okay," Jisung says, his voice thick. He starts to walk again. He smiles, slow, his nose crinkling. He rubs his thumb over Chan's. "Been waiting."

✵

Chan battles with breakfast. It's something that he's been meaning to get to, in his new character arc. Learning how to cook. He's not quite there yet but he can make kimchi jjigae and have it taste almost as good as his mom's.

"Hi," Jisung says cutely as he sidles up to Chan at the stove, not quite touching him but hovering near, resting his palms on the counter, fingers turned backwards so he can grip the marble edge.

Jisung rubs at an eye, squinting at Chan. Behind them, Prince lets out a little yip from her dog bed in the living room.

"Try this," Chan says, holding his spoon up for Jisung. Jisung's eyes track the spoon, then detour to Chan's face, before he dips and eats the offered spoonful.

"That's good!" Jisung says. His eyebrows raise. "Wait, that's actually good!"

Chan laughs, "Was the 'actually' really necessary?"

Jisung laughs too. God, Chan loves making him laugh. He missed it. He doesn't plan on wasting an opportunity to do it ever again.

He doesn't want to waste any more opportunities, not with Jisung, anyway. He's far too important. Chan knows that now.

"Hey, Jisung?" Chan says, tapping the spoon on the pot and resting it on the counter. Jisung's halfway to the door, on his way to pet the dog, but he turns back around, stifling a yawn with his hand. Chan takes him in: his sleep-messy hair, his ratty old t-shirt, his bare feet on Chan's kitchen tile.

Jisung cocks his head. A small, curious smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. Out the window behind him, the sky is a clear, vibrant blue. "Hm?"

Chan shakes his head, grinning. And there's no way it can be this simple, there isn't, but. But Chan opens his mouth and he finds that it is.

"I love you."

Jisung blinks hard. "What did you just say?"

Chan laughs. He finds it even easier to say the second time. "I love you, Jisung."

"Oh," Jisung says, considering. "Yeah?"

"Yeah, I love you. I love you so much. I've always loved you. I never stopped. How could I? You are, by far, the best thing that's ever happened to me and I'm so sorr–", and then he's got an armful of Han Jisung, colliding solidly with his chest. "Oof."

Jisung squeezes him, arms around his back, face buried in his neck. Chan laughs, lowering his arms around Jisung, too.

Jisung mumbles something into Chan's throat.

"What was that?" Chan says, jostling Jisung from side to side. Jisung lifts his head with a dramatic suck of air.

"I love you, too."

Chan giggles again, cradling the back of Jisung's head and kissing him softly. "Good, I'm glad we established that."

"Me too," Jisung says, nodding sagely. His eyes fill with tears. "It's good to know these things."

Chan closes his eyes and holds Jisung to him, feeling the sun on his face.