Archive of Our Own ^beta

When Donghyuck dumps someone, he can generally expect one of three reactions:

1. Acceptance. Ninety percent of the time, all Donghyuck has to do is look at them a certain way come Sunday, and there’s a tacit understanding. They just get it, maybe because they expected it from the start. Sometimes he doesn’t even have to say the words—sorry, let’s break up. They just go their separate ways, no harm done.
2. Anger. Yelling, screaming—Donghyuck has seen and heard it all. You led me on. You’re heartless. You’re a slut. Once, a girl slapped him so hard he had Mark drive him to urgent care to check if he was concussed. No concussion, the nurse told him, pressing a cold compress to the red welts in his cheek. But the next time you dump someone, maybe check to see that they’re not wearing a ring on each finger first. Donghyuck wondered if he should have been asking her to check his X-rays instead, to see if there really was an empty hollow in his chest where his heart should be.
3. Crying. This one is the worst. Even worse than the slapping. Donghyuck never knows what to do in the face of someone else’s tears. At least anger has a target. One of them gets to walk away feeling vindicated in some way. When it comes to crying, both of them walk away feeling like shit. No winners here.

The thing is, Donghyuck never meant to build a reputation, but he’s not sure if anyone would believe him if he said so. He’s always been an equal opportunity sort of guy. Growing up, he’d been taught that love could come from the most unexpected places. So of course when the boy who lived down the hall from him freshman year asked him out, Donghyuck said yes. It was just a coincidence that he happened to dump him on a Sunday, the same way it was a coincidence that the girl from his bio lab asked him out the very next Monday.

It was also a coincidence that both of them lasted exactly a week before Donghyuck concluded that they probably had no future together. Donghyuck’s heard before that something has to happen at least three times before it can be called a pattern, but maybe the rules are warped in college. Here, two times is all it takes to establish a pattern, apparently, and the pattern is this: Donghyuck will say yes to whoever asks him out first at the beginning of the week. They’ll date for seven days. On Sunday, inevitably, Donghyuck will dump them.

He says the same thing every time.

Sorry, let’s break up.

So it becomes a game. First among freshmen, then underclassmen at large, and before he knows it he’s walking into his 9 AM lecture hall sophomore year and his TA is eyeing his name tag distrustfully and saying, Oh, you’re that Donghyuck.

That Donghyuck. He says it with something like awe, or disdain, or some secret third thing Donghyuck can’t quite discern.

“So just stop saying yes,” Mark tells him, like this is an obvious solution. “You’re allowed to turn people down, you know that, right? Dude. It’s important to me that you know that.”

“I know that,” Donghyuck says. “I say yes to them because I want to say yes, not because I think I have to.” That’s the thing that never makes any sense to Mark no matter how many times he tries to explain it: he genuinely wants to give everybody a chance.

It’s not like it’s such a bad deal for them. Donghyuck is a good boyfriend, if he does say so himself. A great boyfriend, even. A generous one. Anyways, it ends up being kind of fun for him. He’s met some of his best friends this way. People he would have never crossed paths with otherwise. The school newspaper even puts him on the list of 100 Things To Do Before You Graduate. Donghyuck has a copy framed and hung above his desk, because he thinks it’s funny.

Donghyuck‘s dirty secret is that a little part of him has always wanted to be famous. Maybe in another life, he’s like, properly famous, with fans and spotlights and everything. In this life, he’s just that Donghyuck, campus manslut extraordinaire, and he’s made his peace with that.

Some Mondays, people stand outside his first class of the day and wait for him to arrive, just so they can be the first one to ask him out. Some people who are even bolder wait at his bus stop. The boldest of them all wait outside his apartment, which bothers Donghyuck a little. Sometimes he dumps those people before Sunday, but he thinks no one could possibly blame him for that.

On the first Monday in February, he wakes up in the Sig Nu annex with drool crusting one cheek and the imprint of Mark’s couch cushion on the other. His mouth is dry, and his head is pounding, and he thinks he hasn’t been this hungover since freshman year. It’s well past noon, which means he’s missed both of his morning classes. Getting to his 1 PM seminar doesn’t even seem possible. Whatever. He’ll just beg Jaemin for the notes later.

There’s a post-it note slapped on Mark’s shoddy excuse of a coffee table. I rly tried to wake u up bro, i promise, it says, in the worst handwriting Donghyuck has ever had the displeasure of reading. But u were deadddd asleep. Maybe don’t go so hard on a Sunday next time L-O-L.

Funny, considering Mark’s brothers were the ones funneling tequila down Donghyuck’s throat last night, but whatever. He crumples the note in his fist and chucks it at Mark’s unmade bed.

Usually when Donghyuck crashes at Mark’s (it happens more often than he’d like to admit), there are at least a few guys hanging around downstairs. If he’s up early enough, he can usually wheedle Kun into cooking some breakfast for him. Today, he finds the first floor mysteriously empty, except for some stray beer cans strewn around on the ground (gross), and the remnants of someone’s half-eaten pizza on the couch (also gross).

He’s scrounging around in the fridge for something actually edible to eat when he hears footsteps coming from behind him. “Hey,” he calls out, without looking back. “Do you guys have anything in here that isn’t two-month-old takeout?”

“Um,” A soft voice says. “I don’t know. I don’t live here.”

Something in Donghyuck’s brain entirely shuts down, because he knows that voice. He turns slowly, and croaks, “Oh. Sorry. I thought you were…” Someone else. Someone who actually lives here, and not the guy I accidentally bumped into in the library sophomore year and started harboring a stupid unrealistic crush on.

Renjun Huang blinks back at him with big, surprised eyes. He looks a little bit like a deer in headlights. In a cute way. “I’m Renjun, and you’re… Donghyuck, right?”

Donghyuck is a little floored that Renjun knows his name. “Yeah,” he says. “I think we had a class together last year. What’re you doing here?”

Renjun smiles politely. “I was actually looking for Yangyang,” he says. “We’re supposed to work on a project, and he told me to meet him here.”

Donghyuck really wishes he’d been better prepared for this. As in, he wishes he didn’t look like he just walked backwards through hell for his first proper conversation with Renjun. He smoothly runs a hand through his hair to work out the worst of the tangles in it and tries to appear nonchalant about it. “I don’t think Yangyang is home,” he says. He knows Yangyang isn’t home, actually. If he were, he’d be blasting the worst beats known to mankind from his room, because that’s just what Yangyang does. “But if you want, I can show you where his room is, and you can wait for him there?”

“I probably shouldn’t just invite myself into his room when he’s not here,” Renjun says, which embarrasses Donghyuck for some reason. He wonders if Renjun thinks he’s rude or inconsiderate for suggesting it in the first place. “But thanks. I’ll just tell him to meet me at the library or something.”

“Cool,” Donghyuck says, and immediately wants to slap himself for it. “I mean, yeah, that sounds like a good idea.” Christ. Has he always been so terrible at talking to other men?

Probably not. Other men aren’t five foot four and wearing adorably oversized sweaters and looking up at Donghyuck through long, silken lashes.

“Yeah,” Renjun replies. Donghyuck expects him to turn and leave, just like that, but instead he shifts his weight from foot to foot. Lingers, staring somewhere just off to the side of Donghyuck’s head. “So, today’s a Monday, right?”

Donghyuck blinks, then nods. “Um, yeah.”

“Has anyone asked you out yet?” Renjun asks. His tone is very neutral. Maybe just a little curious.

“Not yet,” Donghyuck says, struggling to keep his voice even. “I kind of just woke up. You’re the first person I’ve even seen today, so…”

“Oh, good,” Renjun says. “Will you go out with me, then?”

“Yes,” Donghyuck says on instinct. Then, “Wait, what?” His brain is still processing the question.

Renjun smiles at him. “We should probably exchange numbers.” He’s acting so casual about the whole thing that Donghyuck feels like an idiot for floundering in response.

“Oh. Um. Yeah, probably.” Donghyuck barely manages the strength to pull his phone out of his pocket in a daze. He passes it to Renjun, and then watches as he inputs his own number and presses the call button. “Should I… Do you want me to walk you to the library?” Usually the people he goes out with like that sort of thing.

“I think I can manage by myself,” Renjun laughs. Donghyuck’s mild disappointment is offset by the fact that Renjun’s laugh is at least nice to listen to. “But I’ll text you?”

“Sure,” Donghyuck manages. Renjun smiles again before he’s turning to leave, and then Donghyuck’s mouth is suddenly opening again and betraying him against his will. “I didn’t even know you knew who I was,” he says to Renjun’s retreating back.

Renjun looks back for just long enough to stare at Donghyuck in a way that makes him feel very silly. “Of course I know who you are,” he says. “I wouldn’t ask you out otherwise, would I?”

🗓

There are a handful of reasons Donghyuck has always considered his crush on Renjun Huang stupid and unrealistic, and they are as follows:

1. As far as he can tell, Renjun has never dated or shown interest in dating anyone. This is, of course, according to Mark, who knows Renjun through a friend of a friend of a friend, so maybe it’s not a particularly reliable source, but it’s as good as Donghyuck can get, because—
2. It’s a known fact that Renjun keeps to himself. It’s not that he’s unpopular—Donghyuck is decently sure there are a good amount of people, himself included, that would jump at the chance to get to know him better. It’s more that he keeps his circle small. Donghyuck has only ever seen him around campus hanging around with the same two or three people, and he always looks a little like he’s off in his own world. It’s intimidating, in a way. Renjun is nice, but not what Donghyuck would call approachable, which leads into the last and arguably most important reason—
3. Renjun has never acknowledged Donghyuck. Not once, not ever. Not even when they were in the same class, not even when Donghyuck was accidentally barreling into him with an armful of textbooks and sending his papers flying all over the library floor. This one is somewhat embarrassing for Donghyuck to admit. He’s never struggled just to get someone to look his way. He’s never felt starved for someone’s attention before.

He’s a little scared of what it might do to him. To have been starving for so long, and to finally get a taste of what he’s been yearning for. Maybe getting to know Renjun will curb his appetite. Maybe it’ll only heighten his hunger.

There’s no way to know and nothing he can do except sit back and let it happen. It’s too bad Donghyuck has always been great with passivity.

🗓

Donghyuck almost thinks it’s a dream, except he wakes up on Tuesday—in his own bed, thank God—with a text from an unknown number in his phone and a lingering tightness in his chest that hasn’t subsided since he set eyes on Renjun in that shitty, run-down apartment.

The message was sent three hours ago, at 8:00 AM sharp. So Renjun is a morning person. That’s not totally unsurprising. Donghyuck is assuming it’s Renjun, at least. He makes it a point to never save their numbers, just on principle. He yawns, resists the urge to go back to sleep for just five more minutes, and hits call.

Renjun picks up after the second ring. “I would say good morning, but I feel like 11 is really pushing it.” The hushed murmur of ambient noise feeds through the phone. Renjun is probably already on campus then.

“I would’ve woken up earlier, but I was having a nice dream,” Donghyuck says. “Do they hurt, by the way?”

Renjun makes a puzzled noise. “Do what hurt?”

“Your legs. From running through my dreams all night.” Silence. “Hey, come on, say something. I’m your boyfriend, you should at least pretend to react.”

“You’re my boyfriend, you shouldn’t have to use pickup lines,” Renjun laughs. “You’ve already got me.”

The words make Donghyuck so giddy that he does the mental equivalent of kicking his feet in the air and giggling, like a heroine in one of those early 2000s romcoms. He’s sort of pleasantly surprised by how not-awkward this is, and how well Renjun seems to keep up with him. “Aw, baby,” he says, coming back to himself. “But I have to keep the magic alive between us somehow, right?”

Renjun sounds like he’s smiling when he says, “My classes end at 3 today.”

Donghyuck perks up. “Mine end at 4. Is that an invitation?”

“It’s a suggestion,” Renjun says. “You pick the place?”

“Sure, I’ll pick you up at six.” Feeling brave, Donghyuck adds, “Text me a picture when you pick out your outfit.”

“What, are you afraid I can’t dress myself?”

“No, I just wanted an excuse to ask you to send me a selfie.”

“Focus on your classes today,” Renjun says, like he knows Donghyuck will probably spend the next six to eight hours thinking about their upcoming date instead of his actual studies. “Maybe I’ll send you a picture afterwards. Be good, okay?”

“For you I’ll be anything,” Donghyuck says, laying it on purposefully thick, and is rewarded with another giggle before Renjun hangs up.

Renjun is a man of his word, and texts Donghyuck a selfie at exactly 4:01 PM, right as Donghyuck is walking out of class. His hair is falling into his bright eyes and his lower lip is pushed out and he’s wearing a chunky-knit cream cardigan that should look like something out of Donghyuck’s grandfather’s closet, but just manages to make him look cuter. Donghyuck briefly contemplates breaking his own self-imposed rule to save Renjun’s number just so he can add the photo under his contact.

In the end he saves the photo without doing anything else. Just to look at. Just to have.

He’ll delete it after Sunday, he’s sure.

🗓

In total contrast to his warmth and playfulness over the phone, Renjun in person is a lot more subdued. He doesn’t seem impressed when Donghyuck opens the door for him at the restaurant, or pushes his chair in, or when he slides his card across the table to the waitress to indicate he’ll be the one paying later. His eyes are even brighter up close in the warm lighting of the restaurant—even though his body language otherwise reads as closed off despite Donghyuck’s best attempts to get him to relax.

Donghyuck is absolutely entranced by him. Donghyuck is also terribly confused. Once they’ve gone through the obligatory first date questions and conversation begins to fade, he begins to panic a little bit. Is Renjun somehow already regretting his decision to ask Donghyuck out for the week? Is he really such a terrible boyfriend? Nobody else has ever had any complaints.

“Do you even like me?” he blurts out without thinking, and winces at the delivery. Great. Really great. He’s been on hundreds of dates, and this is the one he decides to ruin by forgetting how to speak.

Renjun seems to get this wrinkle between his eyebrows when he’s confused. It’s very cute, even if Donghyuck feels like vomiting a little bit right now. “Of course I like you,” he says, in that same matter-of-fact tone. Of course I know who you are, I wouldn’t ask you out otherwise, would I?

“You just seem kind of…” Donghyuck trails off. “I don’t know. Disconnected right now. We don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.”

“Do you like this place?” Renjun asks, staring intently.

Donghyuck is used to being stared at, but the way Renjun does it almost makes him want to turn and hide. Which is ridiculous, because generally he thrives under this sort of attention. Craves it, even. Except most people stare at Donghyuck just to look at him, and Renjun stares at him like he’s trying to see him. In theory it sounds like the same thing. In practice they’re worlds apart.

“I mean, I think it’s a nice restaurant,” is the answer he settles on. The food is fine. Mostly he likes that the waitstaff don’t judge him for coming here every week with a different person and ordering the same thing each time.

Renjun shakes his head. “That isn’t what I asked,” he says, soft but insistent. “I want to go somewhere you like. Take me somewhere that means something to you.”

Somewhere that means something to him. It’s a tall order, but only one place comes to mind. “Okay. Grab your coat. I’ll go pay at the front.”

“No need,” Renjun says. He smooths out the nonexistent wrinkles in his peacoat primly and reaches out for Donghyuck’s hand. “I swapped our cards while you were in the bathroom. This one’s on me. You can get the next date.”

🗓

It feels a little bit lame to take Renjun to the park behind their freshman dorms for a first date, but that’s what Donghyuck settles on. They’d walked the ten minutes from the restaurant hand-in-hand, and Renjun’s hand slips away as they come upon the winding path that leads them to their destination. Donghyuck misses his warmth almost immediately. He almost reaches back out for Renjun’s hand, but then Renjun’s motioning him to come over as he takes a seat on one of the swings.

“I know it’s stupid,” Donghyuck says, settling into the swing next to him. He digs his heels into the mulch beneath his feet and tips his head up to the sky. It’s a clear night. The moon and stars are as visible as they can be in a city like theirs. “But I used to come out here when I just wanted to think, or be by myself for a bit. Freshman year was rough for me.”

Renjun’s feet just barely reach the ground. His legs dangle in the air a little bit, swaying back and forth. “I don’t think it’s stupid. It’s nice out here.”

It’s mild out, for a February evening. Donghyuck exhales and watches his breath dissolve into cloudy puffs of air.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Renjun asks, muffled by his scarf. His cheeks are red, and his coat is at least two sizes too big for him. Donghyuck is kind of charmed by how much he’s drowning in it. “Why freshman year was rough.”

“The rumors kind of bothered me at first, I guess,” Donghyuck says. He’s never talked to anyone about this except Mark, but then again. Nobody except Mark has ever asked. “I didn’t know a lot of people. And all of a sudden everyone was making assumptions about me. It was weird, suddenly having a reputation, especially when it wasn’t one I felt like I particularly deserved.”

Renjun nods. “I remember that,” he says. Donghyuck resists the urge to say something stupid like, you do? It’s hard enough to come to terms with the fact that Renjun even knew his name before asking him out yesterday. "People are terrible sometimes. I’m sorry.”

Donghyuck shrugs. “Yeah, I guess it kind of sucked.” It’s an understatement, for sure, but the past is the past. No use dwelling on it.

“The rumors don’t bother you anymore?”

“Hm?”

“You said they bothered you at first. How about now?”

Donghyuck thinks about it for a moment. “Not really,” he says. “I like my life the way it is right now. People can believe whatever they want to believe about me. I can only do so much if they’re determined to misunderstand me, you know? I try not to worry about the things outside of my control.”

Renjun has a nice listening face. Big, sympathetic eyes. A solemn set to his mouth. He hums in all the right places to show he’s being attentive as you talk. It’s the kind of thing Donghyuck thinks he could get hooked on too easily. “That’s very admirable of you,” he says. “I worry about everything. Especially the things outside of my control.”

“I’ve heard something before about opposites attracting,” Donghyuck jokes. The words lose some of their humor as they leave the tip of his tongue and gather in the frosted air instead. He and Renjun are about as different as different gets. Donghyuck is still drawn to him, either in spite of their differences or because of them.

“That would explain a lot,” Renjun says. “But I’m pretty sure we’re more similar than you might think.”

What makes you say that? is what Donghyuck wants to ask. “Maybe,” is what he settles on instead.

It’s quiet for a moment. Not awkward, exactly. Just quiet. Donghyuck can’t tell if this is the best first date he’s ever been on, or maybe the worst. Usually when people date Donghyuck they expect him to take care of everything. Because he’s so experienced, or whatever. Today, though, he feels like he’s the one getting strung around on a leash, getting pulled this way and that by Renjun, in his oversized cardigan and even-more-oversized winter coat.

There’s something about him that feels ephemeral. Like a dream. Like if Donghyuck closes his eyes, Renjun might grow wings out of his back and disappear to some faraway realm Donghyuck won’t be able to follow him to.

Renjun clears his throat to break the silence. “Bet I can swing higher than you,” he says, winding two small hands around the chain supports.

“Oh, you’re on,” Donghyuck replies.

He pushes himself up onto his tiptoes, and lets himself soar.

🗓

Donghyuck has developed a talent over the past two years, and it’s a very useless one. Within one date, he can generally tell, with reasonable accuracy, why his partner has asked him out.

Sometimes, people date him because they think it will make a good story for their friends. All, Oh, yeah, I dated Donghyuck once, you’ll never believe how it went. Like he’s some human interest piece in the New Yorker and not a real, actual person. Then there are the people who date him just to see if he’ll really just say yes to anyone. And the people who date him because they think they can fix him. The people who date him to make their exes jealous. The people who date him because they think he’ll put out. The list is endless, and of those endless possibilities, the people who date him out of genuine interest seem few and far between.

He’s walking Renjun back to his apartment when he realizes they’ve been together for over six hours, six times as long as his other first dates have been, and he still can’t parse the reason why Renjun has asked him out.

“This is me,” Renjun says, unwinding his hand from around Donghyuck’s thumb. He latches onto thumbs when holding hands, and it’s the smallest detail about him, but Donghyuck is still captivated by it. Endeared in equal measure. “Thanks for taking me out. I had a lot of fun today.”

“Me too,” Donghyuck says honestly. Then, because it will nag at him all night if he doesn’t, he says— “Can I ask you something? Why did you ask me out?”

Renjun’s face—he looks shy, suddenly, hesitant for the first time today. “Do you ask everybody that?”

No. Other people are so transparent I don’t even have to ask. “Yes,” Donghyuck says.

Renjun pauses, and Donghyuck wonders if he’ll regret asking.

“I want to get my heart broken,” Renjun says, finally. “Wait, hear me out. Maybe it doesn’t make sense to anyone except me, because God knows my friends think I’m crazy when I try to explain it to them. But I want to live my life to the fullest. I want to live without regrets, and travel the world, and experience every emotion.” His voice sounds dreamy, soft and almost faraway. The flickering light on his doorstep casts his face in alternating shadow and light, and just looking at him makes something warm bloom in Donghyuck’s stomach. “I’m an artist, and heartbreak is the stuff of all great art, you know? Songs, paintings, poems… It’s the only thing more inspirational than love, I’d wager.”

“But you have the rest of your life to get your heart broken,” Donghyuck points out, breath caught in his chest. What he really wants to say is that he doesn’t want to break Renjun’s heart. “Why the rush? Why now?”

“Well,” Renjun says thoughtfully. “I figure you’re the type of man who would be hard to get over. At least this way, I have the rest of my life to do that.”

Donghyuck returns to his apartment that night feeling very out of sorts. He wonders if this is how some of those other people felt, returning from their first dates with him.

It keeps him awake that night: the uncomfortable swell of his heart in his chest. The knowledge that he’ll end up wanting too much from a man who’s already dumped him in his head, barely a day into their relationship.

🗓

On Wednesday, Donghyuck skips his 9 AM lecture to bring coffee to Renjun’s studio instead, works his shift at the library, meets a friend for dinner, then comes home to find his friends sitting on his couch and halfway through what looks like three bowls of instant ramen from Donghyuck’s secret stash.

Well, Mark and Jeno are his friends. Jaemin is not his friend and not his enemy, but a secret third thing instead. The instant ramen stash is only supposed to be a secret because Donghyuck is tired of his friends coming into his apartment without permission and eating all his food. Like they are right now.

“Don’t be mad, Hyuck. I brought beer,” Jeno says, with big, round, beseeching eyes.

“…Whatever,” Donghyuck says. “Scoot over.” He digs his socked foot into Mark’s thigh until he makes room on the floor for him too. They always catch up like this at least once a week. Donghyuck isn’t sure why they can’t just give him some advance notice before showing up in his apartment, but at least Mark usually stays back to help clean up afterwards.

Donghyuck is barely tipsy when Mark pops the question. “So,” he says. “Who’s the lucky guy this week?”

Donghyuck stares into the bottom of his glass and prepares for the worst. “Renjun Huang.”

“What?” Jeno asks. “Can you repeat that?”

“I’m dating Renjun Huang,” Donghyuck says. “He asked me out.”

“And then you woke up,” says Jaemin, cutting each of his ramen noodles into tiny little pieces using a fork and knife. Freak.

“I’m not being crazy.” Donghyuck scowls, pulls out his phone. If Renjun’s photo is already open when he unlocks the screen, that’s nobody’s business but his. “See? Look.”

All three of them gather around his phone in awe like prehistoric cavemen discovering fire for the first time. “Whoaaaa,” Mark says, blinking quickly. “So it’s, like, for real. I didn’t even know he knew who you were.”

Unfortunately, Donghyuck’s stupid, unrealistic crush on Renjun has also been well-documented by his friends. “Right? That’s what I said.”

Jeno sits back against the couch. “What’s he like?”

“Strange,” Donghyuck says, without hesitation. “Kind of a weirdo. But in, like, a good way. He’s fun. Interesting. I don’t know. I just like being around him.”

Jaemin, who’s been mostly (suspiciously) quiet until now, stares at the picture appraisingly. “He’s cuter than I expected,” he says. “Good work, Donghyuck.”

“Don’t look at my boyfriend,” Donghyuck snaps at him. In an instant he’s turning his phone off and sliding it back into his pocket.

“Okay.” Jaemin’s smile is razor sharp. “I’ll just wait until Monday to look at him, then.”

That comment leaves a sour taste in Donghyuck’s mouth, even if he knows Jaemin is only messing with him. Probably. Maybe.

Jeno is quick to smooth things over as always, thankfully, and says, “If you’re happy with him, we’re happy. You should bring him around sometime. It’d be nice to finally meet one of your boyfriends for once.”

“Yeah,” Donghyuck says, knowing full well this is impossible when Renjun is only dating him with every intention of being broken up with at the end of the week. “Maybe.”

“Sooo,” Mark says, in that particularly clunky way he does when he’d like to change the topic but can’t figure out how. “Anybody catch the game last night?”

While the rest of the group drones on about the latest basketball game, or whatever, Donghyuck first thinks about how Renjun would fit in among his friends. He could bond over music with Mark. He’s similar enough to Jeno that it would either make them instant friends or instant enemies. And Jaemin… Donghyuck would keep him away from Jaemin with a ten-foot pole.

Then he thinks about what it means to be in a relationship. On paper, he’s the perfect boyfriend. Checks off all the boxes. But the actual thought of settling down for longer than the seven days he commits himself to his boyfriend or girlfriend of the week is terrifying, for any multitude of reasons he’s not quite ready to unpack yet. It’s not like Donghyuck has commitment issues or anything. He just hasn’t found the right person. That’s what he keeps telling himself, at least.

His phone buzzes in his pocket. Donghyuck is a little ashamed of the way his heart jumps in his chest when he recognizes the number. He glances up long enough to confirm his friends are still preoccupied before lowering the brightness on his screen to reply.

“Whoa,” Mark says when Donghyuck gets to his feet. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Donghyuck could tell them the truth, but it’s more fun this way. “I’m just going to go run a quick errand. You guys can stay, I’ll be back in a bit.”

“It’s 9:00 PM and you’re putting on your leather jacket,” Jeno says accusingly. “You’re not running an errand, you’re trying to get laid.”

Jaemin smiles at him as Donghyuck shoves his heels into the first pair of shoes he finds at the door. “Tell Renjun I say hi,” he jeers.

Donghyuck flips each of them off in turn, and slams the door shut.

🗓

It strikes Donghyuck, five minutes into standing by the convenience store, that he doesn’t actually know where Renjun is, and that he might die of hypothermia waiting for him to get here. He’d asked to meet up here because it was halfway between both their apartments, but maybe he’d been wrong to assume Renjun was just sitting at home like he was. He blows into his hands and mourns the pair of gloves he’d left in his actual winter jacket back home, because—sue him—The leather jacket is more for fashion than function. But Donghyuck isn’t trying to get laid, necessarily. Jeno is so full of it. He’s just dressing to impress. There’s nothing wrong with that. Nothing—

The cold press of metal against his cheek has Donghyuck snapping out of his daze with a squeal. “Ah—”

“Sorry,” Renjun laughs, not sounding very sorry at all. Donghyuck whirls around to face him with a pout. “I’m sorry! I couldn’t resist.”

“Cold brew?” Donghyuck asks, staring at the can in Renjun’s outstretched (gloved) hand.

“Did I guess right?”

“Yeah, but—”

“I thought it would be nice to get you a drink, but I guess I didn’t think it all the way through.” Renjun says. He’s bundled up in a huge scarf and earmuffs, so, yeah, but Donghyuck is oddly touched by the gesture anyways. “It’s probably too cold for that, isn’t it?”

Donghyuck holds the can protectively to his chest and shakes his head. “No,” he says. “I’ll drink it.” He has to. It’s the first gift Renjun has ever given him, and maybe the last.

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

Renjun flushes, but that might just be the cold. “Thanks for agreeing to meet me out here. I know it’s late. And cold.”

“It’s not that cold,” Donghyuck blusters, shivering through his jacket. “What, you just couldn’t wait until tomorrow to see me?”

He means it as a fun, lighthearted kind of joke, except Renjun actually blushes even harder and says, “Actually. Yeah. That’s exactly it. I was just at home, and I… really wanted to see you.”

“Oh,” Donghyuck says. He thinks he might be blushing now, too.

“Oh,” Renjun agrees, not quite looking him in the eyes.

“Well, come on.” Donghyuck bumps their shoulders together. “Let’s walk. I want to hear about your day.”

Renjun has a way of talking that draws you in, and makes you forget the world, and how cold it is, and how far you’ve walked, and how much your feet hurt, and how jittery the cold brew you definitely shouldn’t have drank is making you feel. He makes all these motions with his hands and giggles in the middle of his own jokes, and Donghyuck would probably listen to him read the back of a shampoo bottle as long as he did it in his soft, sweet voice. He tells Donghyuck about the pretentious freshman in his Art History class, and about the cute dog he saw near the quad on his way to lunch, and gets halfway through a story about something one of his coworkers did at the library before he says, “Okay, enough of that.”

“Enough of what?” Donghyuck asks. They’ve made one big loop in the neighborhood, and if they keep walking this way they’ll be back at his apartment in no time at all. But he’s not ready to say goodbye yet, so he nudges Renjun into taking a right instead of a left. It’ll buy him, like, five minutes maximum.

“You’re clearly freezing,” Renjun says as they cross the street, and before Donghyuck can deny it, he’s grabbing Donghyuck’s hand and shoving it into his own coat pocket. “Just—here. That should be a little better, at least.”

Donghyuck is shocked into silence for a moment. Then he recovers (which only takes a whole thirty seconds, thank you very much) in time to twist his mouth into something that resembles a smirk, instead of a gaping fish out of water. “If you wanted to hold hands, you could’ve just said so.”

“Get your hand out of my pocket if you’re going to be like that,” Renjun huffs. He’s so cute when he’s self-righteous. Donghyuck could die.

“It’s our pocket now.”

“Die of hypothermia, see if I care.”

“You’re cute when you sulk,” Donghyuck says, because it’s true.

Renjun keeps his eyes on the ground. “I’m not sulking.”

“Sure you’re not.”

“Mm-hm.”

Fondness coils itself around Donghyuck’s throat and sinks deep into his chest. He curls their fingers together inside the warm pocket of Renjun’s coat and says, “Is this okay?”

“Yeah,” Renjun says, barely a whisper. He squeezes Donghyuck’s hand gently, like he’s testing the feel of it in his palm. “It’s okay.”

They make exactly four loops around the same few blocks before Renjun realizes Donghyuck has been leading him in circles. “I can’t believe you just ditched your friends to go on a walk with me,” he says when they come to a stop in front of his building. “You can say no next time, you know.”

“I wanted to say yes,” Donghyuck insists. “You’re more important than they are anyway.”

“I’m sure they’d love to hear you say that.” Renjun rolls his eyes, but he still looks secretly pleased, if you ask Donghyuck.

The moon is nearly full tonight, hanging bright in the sky. It kind of makes Renjun look like he’s glowing, which is 1. impossible, and 2. makes Donghyuck think he might be going a little bit insane, actually. His skin looks smooth and soft to the touch.

“So,” Renjun says, at the same time that Donghyuck blurts out, “Can I kiss you?” He doesn’t mean to let it slip out so easily. But it does, and it’s out there now, and there’s no clawing it back.

Renjun doesn’t jump at the possibility, but he also doesn’t recoil. He pauses, face neutral, like he’s really considering it. “That depends,” he says. “Are you asking to kiss me because it’s what boyfriends are supposed to do, or because you want to kiss me?”

“I want to kiss you,” Donghyuck says, voice hoarse, still shivering. The cold feels like it’s crept underneath his skin now. Only his right hand is warm. He should be worrying about getting inside, but now that his desire has been vocalized, he doesn’t know how to focus on anything else. “Do you want me to beg? I’ll beg.”

“You don’t have to beg,” Renjun laughs.

Donghyuck is hardly a giant—when Renjun wears his heeled boots, they’re nearly the same height. But something about Renjun just feels smaller. Maybe it’s his tendency to wear oversized clothing or the narrow width of his shoulders. Or maybe it’s the way he rocks up onto his tiptoes to kiss Donghyuck, or the way his hands look fisting into the stiff leather collar of Donghyuck’s weather-inappropriate jacket. He tilts his head down to look at Renjun, which ends up working out nicely, because when Renjun tilts his head up to kiss him, Donghyuck is already there.

Believe him or not, Donghyuck doesn’t make a habit of kissing the people who date him. He can count them on one hand, actually. Renjun is the third and the only one who matters, and when Donghyuck kisses him, it’s a quiet, gentle thing that still manages to feel explosive. Renjun’s lips are warm and soft despite the cold, and so Donghyuck sighs against him, thaws a little, thinks about how he could do this for a very long time. He rests a hand on Renjun’s waist and wonders what it would feel like to really hold him underneath all these layers of fabric.

He rests a hand on Renjun’s waist and wonders what it would feel like to hold him to keep him.

The kiss doesn’t last very long, but Donghyuck is still breathless when he pulls back. Renjun looks at him with bright eyes, equally out of breath.

“Do you wanna come upstairs?” Donghyuck asks, against his better judgment. “I think my friends would really love to meet you.”

🗓

Renjun gets along way too well with his friends. It’s better, or maybe worse than Donghyuck anticipated. Having confirmation that Renjun fits into his life so seamlessly feels like a disaster waiting to happen. Within half an hour of walking into Donghyuck’s apartment for the first time, he’s being coddled by Mark, quietly bickering with Jaemin, and making plans to watch a film with Jeno that’s coming out next Friday.

(The irony doesn’t escape him: Jeno is allowed to make plans with Renjun for next week. Donghyuck isn’t.)

Somewhere between his first and second beer, Renjun falls asleep on Donghyuck’s shoulder. Maybe he should’ve gotten himself a coffee instead of worrying about Donghyuck. He looks even softer in sleep somehow. It’s obvious like this how long his lashes are, how delicate his features are. Donghyuck doesn’t think. He snaps a picture. The angle is a little awkward, but he manages. He just wants to preserve the moment.

“Creep,” Jaemin says, from across the coffee table.

Donghyuck puts the phone down and scowls. “I don’t want to hear that from you.” He’d forgotten Jaemin was even there. Mark and Jeno are off in the kitchen ‘washing Donghyuck’s dishes,’ which is code for making out on top of Donghyuck’s very nice countertops.

Jaemin just smiles. “You gonna do anything with that picture?”

“What?” Donghyuck asks, keeping his voice low. “No. Of course not. God, you’re so gross.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Jaemin says, which Donghyuck doubts. “Come on, Donghyuckie, don’t you think you’re giving me far too little credit?”

Donghyuck’s frown deepens as Jaemin’s smile grows. “I think you’re being given the perfect amount of credit.”

“Do you take pictures of all your girlfriends? Or boyfriends.”

“…No, but—”

“That’s right,” Jaemin says. “You don’t. You don’t take pictures of them, and you don’t upload pictures of them, or of places you’ve been with them. Your Instagram is basically blank. And you don’t save their numbers.”

From Donghyuck’s shoulder, Renjun stirs. Donghyuck freezes, waits for Renjun’s breaths to even out again before he finds his voice. “Jaemin, get to the point.”

“I just think it’s interesting,” Jaemin continues, in his venomously sweet voice. “That you treat everyone you date like they’re not good enough to deserve any permanence in your life, or your memory. Maybe that’s why all your relationships only last a week.”

“I’m the one who chooses that,” Donghyuck says. “That’s my choice.”

“Is it?” Jaemin asks.

Donghyuck has no answer for that, so he doesn’t respond.

Later, after Mark and Jeno have returned from ‘washing the dishes’ with flushed faces and rumpled clothes, and Jaemin has excused himself for the night, Renjun wakes up and reaches for Donghyuck’s phone to check the time.

“Hey,” he says, swatting at Donghyuck’s arm. “I look terrible in this picture.”

“You look cute.”

“It’s not wallpaper cute,” Renjun says, curling back into his shoulder with a sigh. “Donghyuck, at least change it.”

Donghyuck’s phone screen lights up with the photo he took of Renjun, asleep on his shoulder. 11:11 PM, the time reads, right above picture-Renjun’s head. 11:11, make a wish.

Donghyuck hasn’t wished for anything since he was ten years old blowing out the candles on his birthday cake. “No,” he says quietly, and leans his head on top of Renjun’s. “I like this picture.”

He’ll change his wallpaper on Monday.

🗓

Thursday, according to Renjun and his friends, is Single’s Night.

(“It’s not what it sounds like. It’s stupider,” Renjun had said, looking nervous when he extended the invitation to Donghyuck after a dinner that ran too long. He only realized he was late to his plans with friends in the middle of dessert. “We just watch Single’s Inferno and drink wine. I’m not just inviting you because I met your friends yesterday. I want you to meet them. But I don’t have to—”

“I want you to,” Donghyuck said, his heart in his throat. There was a lingering sweetness on the tip of his tongue that he couldn’t just chalk up to the chocolate mousse they’d split. “I want to meet them. I would love to meet them.”)

It sounded like a good idea, except now Donghyuck is standing in front of an apartment that looks too nice to belong to a college student holding a $3 bottle of wine, wondering if maybe he’s made a mistake. Donghyuck wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans and rings the doorbell.

Thankfully it’s Renjun who answers the door, and not one of his friends. “Hi,” he says, pressing a kiss to Donghyuck’s cheek in greeting. He’s wearing a turtleneck and a pair of glasses that make him look very sexy-librarian, and Donghyuck has absolutely no idea why he finds it as attractive as he does. Maybe because it reminds him of where this all started: with his stupid, unrealistic crush. “You look nice.”

It’s not like Donghyuck doesn’t know he looks nice. People tell him so all the time, and he has working eyes, and a healthy sense of self-confidence. Plus, he tried a little harder on purpose today, all in the name of winning over Renjun’s friends. It still flusters him to hear it from Renjun, a flush crawling up the back of his neck as he steps inside. “Thanks. You look nice. I feel ready to throw up.”

“What happened to not worrying about the things you can’t control?” Renjun asks, ushering Donghyuck into the hallway. “Here, shoes off. They’re going to love you, just be yourself.”

Donghyuck frowns. “I can be lovable or I can be myself, you have to pick one.”

“Ha-ha. Seriously, they’re harmless. Cute, even.”

“As cute as you?”

“Maybe just a little less cute,” Renjun says after a moment of contemplation, to Donghyuck’s great delight. “Come on. They’re waiting in the living room.”

It turns out Renjun’s friends are every bit as cute as him. Jisung is the type of cute that makes Donghyuck want to fold him up and keep him in his pocket. This would be impossible for anyone, but especially impossible for Jisung, who stands an imposing 180 centimeters tall. Chenle kind of reminds Donghyuck of a cat that would deliberately make eye contact and then push an expensive vase right off the table. But Donghyuck has always been a cat person. And he and Chenle make fast friends, too, mostly because they have similar senses of humor, and because Chenle is more than happy to send Donghyuck all of his most embarrassing videos and photos of Renjun. Of which there are many.

Donghyuck’s favorite is a video where Renjun, clearly drunk, shoves nine whole marshmallows into his mouth. Jisung explains that they’d been competing to see whose mouth was largest. Chenle proudly proclaims that he won that contest.

“I see,” Donghyuck says, entranced. It’s a terrible video. Awful, really. He’s watched it fourteen times.

Chenle just cackles. “Yeah,” he says. “Renjun likes to act like he’s smarter than all of us. But really, he’s just as dumb as anyone else.”

Donghyuck keeps waiting for the shovel talk to come. Like, Don’t you dare hurt him, treat him well, be good to him or I’ll break your kneecaps. But Chenle just laughs, and shows him another stupid video, this time of Renjun at karaoke. And Jisung is too busy stuffing his face with takeout to care about much else.

When Renjun gets back from the bathroom he whines at Chenle for embarrassing him in front of Donghyuck and only stops once Donghyuck has sufficiently reassured him that he was charmed, not put off by the videos. Then he shuffles back over to Donghyuck, but instead of taking his original seat next to him on the couch, he gingerly sits and plops himself right in Donghyuck’s lap. He looks at Donghyuck through his eyelashes—he does this a lot, and it never gets any less lethal—and carefully, uncertainly, he asks, “Is this okay with you?”

“Yeah,” Donghyuck croaks, his throat tight. His brain short-circuits for half a second before he remembers that cuddling is kind of a two way street. It feels natural as anything to lace his arms over Renjun’s waist and pull him in, to rest his chin on his shoulder. His only worry is whether Renjun can feel the frenetic, uneven fluttering in his chest like this, with his back plastered to Donghyuck’s front.

Renjun relaxes back into him with a quiet sigh, his head pillowed on Donghyuck’s shoulder. Donghyuck’s heart rate ratchets up into the thousands.

Logically, he knows that they’ve already held hands, and kissed, and fallen asleep on each other’s shoulders. This feels like crossing a line somehow. It’s more intimate than anything he’s done in a long time, which he thinks should scare him more, but the more time passes the more it seems that Renjun fits just right in his arms. It’s a stupid thought, and a corny one if they’re being honest, but Donghyuck can’t swallow it down any more than he can swallow down the intrusive thought that keeps telling him to press his lips to the patch of skin on Renjun’s shoulder where his collar has slipped.

It would be so easy. He wouldn’t even have to turn his face to the side more than a centimeter. But this is a line they haven’t—will never—cross. So instead he sits back and pretends not to see Chenle giving him a thumbs up in the corner of his peripheral vision, and enjoys it while he can: the act of sharing warmth, the feeling of holding something precious.

Just as Donghyuck starts to wonder what it would be like to get used to this, Renjun says, voice hushed, “When you dump me, I want it to be in the rain.” Donghyuck stiffens. “All good breakups are in the rain.”

It’s a little pathetic, how easily he’s lulled into a false sense of security these days. “Are they?”

Renjun traces tiny circles into Donghyuck’s thigh with his thumb, and even through the fabric of his jeans, Donghyuck feels his touch like it’s searing hot. “Yes,” he says very seriously. “That’s in all the movies.”

Donghyuck has never dumped anyone in the rain before, and he’s dumped a lot of people. “It’s more likely to snow than rain in February,” he points out.

“Oh,” Renjun says. “I guess that’s true.”

“I guess we’ll just have to date until spring,” Donghyuck says.

Renjun laughs. “You’re funny.”

Donghyuck wasn’t really trying to be funny, but he laughs, too.

🗓

The shovel talk Donghyuck is waiting for never comes, but Jisung does come up to him while Chenle and Renjun are busy bickering in the living room over—well, they’re bickering over something. Donghyuck’s Mandarin is rusty (as in, nonexistent), but he thinks the tone of voice someone uses when they’re calling the other person an idiot is somewhat universal.

Jisung hums and haws and hesitates over his words before he finally says what’s on his mind, “You’re different from what I expected.”

There’s no judgment in his tone. Donghyuck can’t really explain the way his defenses rise up. “What did you expect me to be like?” He asks, expecting the worst.

“I don’t know,” Jisung answers honestly. “I guess I always pictured Renjun dating someone that was more similar to him.” He waves his hands hurriedly. “I don’t mean that in a bad way! I mean, you guys really suit each other even though you’re so different. He seems really happy.”

It’s true that he and Renjun are different in a lot of ways. The overlap in their interests is almost nonexistent. It took them almost half an hour to settle on a movie to watch last night. Renjun runs cold and worries too much, Donghyuck runs hot and probably doesn’t worry enough.

But he thinks he understands what Renjun meant that first night they went out together now. There must be a reason Renjun is the only person to have met his friends in three years of dating. There has to be a reason Donghyuck feels closer to him in three days than people he’s known for months. “I get it,” he tells Jisung. “But I’m pretty sure we’re more similar than you might think.”

🗓

It’s Friday, which means Donghyuck has no classes, and he’s been neglecting his painfully empty fridge for what feels like too long, so he stops by the grocery store on his way back from lunch with Renjun.

(It’s Friday, which also means they only have one more full day together after this, but Donghyuck does his best not to think about this as he knocks his ankles together with Renjun’s underneath the table and steals fries off his plate.)

He never goes grocery shopping with a plan, even when it would probably benefit him. Mostly he just grabs whatever catches his eye, or whatever’s on sale. This ends up backfiring on him a lot. Once he found himself at home with five whole pounds of cucumbers, which was weird, because he didn’t even like cucumbers, and because the cashier kind of looked at him like he was a pervert when he was buying them. Another time, he impulse bought all the Halloween candy on clearance and subsisted off gummy worms and Twizzlers for a solid month.

Today, he stares down at the conveyor belt and wonders how the teddy bear holding a heart-shaped box of chocolates got there.

What the fuck, he thinks. Nausea builds in his throat. What the fuck.

“Cash or credit?” the cashier asks in maybe the most bored voice he’s ever heard.

Donghyuck fumbles for his wallet as she shoves the teddy bear into a plastic bag. “Um, cash. Sorry. Thanks.” He pushes probably too many bills into her hand and almost forgets to grab his receipt on the way out.

Normally, he’d just leave it. But he’ll need the receipt if he wants to return the bear later. And he’ll have to return it, because he and Renjun won’t be together on Valentine’s Day. And there’s no one else Donghyuck wants to give this stupid teddy bear to, and there’s no other occasion for it.

There aren’t any benches outside the store. Donghyuck sits on a patch of the curb that is a little less gross and wet than the rest of the sidewalk and puts the groceries on the ground—whatever, they’re double-bagged, they’ll be fine—and pulls out his phone with shaking hands.

In all the time he’s been friends with Mark—and that’s a long time—he’s never taken longer than two rings to pick up a call. The phone rings once, twice—and sure enough, Mark’s worried voice comes through the other end. “Donghyuck?” he asks. “Is everything good?”

Donghyuck only calls when things are really in the shitter, and Mark knows that. “I don’t know,” he says. “I’m like. Kind of freaking out here.”

“Where are you? Do you need me to come pick you up?”

“I’m fine. I’m sitting on the sidewalk outside the grocery store.”

“Oh. That bad, huh?”

Donghyuck almost chokes on his laugh. “Yeah. That bad, I guess.” He doesn’t offer any more details, and Mark doesn’t push him on it.

Mark hums. “Hey, listen. I know it might not mean much coming from me, but like, whatever this is. Don’t overthink it. I feel like you’re at your best when you’re following your heart instead of your brain, you know?”

Donghyuck told Renjun, not too long ago, that he tries not to worry about the things outside of his control. He really wasn’t lying. But maybe he only thought that way because he rarely ever had anything that felt bigger than himself to worry about. “I can’t not listen to my brain, Mark, it’s there for a reason. Not all of us are frat boy comms majors.”

“Okay, first of all—low blow. Second of all, I’m not telling you not to listen to it,” Mark says, then pauses. “Double negative. Sorry. All I mean is that it’s okay to want things sometimes, man. Some things are worth the risk.” It’s very sage advice. Very sage, vague advice, which is very typical of Mark, and comforting, in a way. “Some people are worth the risk.”

Another laugh bubbles up out of Donghyuck’s throat. “I didn’t say this was about a person.”

“Neither did I,” Mark says, and gentles his tone. “I’ve given up on trying to understand this whole dating around thing that you do. I can’t tell if you really like it, or you really hate it, or you really think that dating everybody on campus will make your soulmate magically appear in front of you. You’re always so busy thinking about how to be the perfect boyfriend that I feel like you’ve forgotten along the way that dating is a two-way street. So stop freaking out. Let yourself have something for once.”

Sometimes, Donghyuck questions why he’s friends with Mark. Besides their proximity and their overall ambition, they have very little in common. Sometimes Mark will lean over to Donghyuck and ask him a truly stupid question, like, Dude, what kind of animal was the pink panther, or Donghyuck will sit by Mark’s side and watch him throw up half a kegstand’s worth of beer into the toilet, and that’s when he really questions why he’s friends with Mark.

Then there are times like these, where Donghyuck remembers—oh, yeah. This is why you’re friends with Mark. Because he’s nice to a fault, and possibly the only person who doesn’t automatically assume the worst of others. Because Donghyuck has spent so long listening to other people call him selfish and greedy that it still catches him off guard when Mark looks at him and says things like, Be nicer to yourself. Let yourself have something for once.

“Thanks, Mark,” Donghyuck sighs. He’s surprised by how much lighter his chest feels. “You’re a really good friend when you’re not ruining the sanctity of my countertops with Jeno.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Mark says seriously. “You should sanitize the kitchen island though. Probably soon.”

“Ugh,” Donghyuck says, and hangs up. His fingers are numb from the cold by now. His ass is definitely too damp for comfort. Before he stands, he opens his texts with Renjun and sends off a quick message.

🗓

“I don’t think he’s coming,” Donghyuck says at approximately 7:59 PM. “Maybe I shouldn’t have asked him to come anyways, he’s probably tired after his shift, the weather is shit, and I knew he’d be cutting it cl—”

Jeno glances down at his watch and smiles. “Have a little faith,” he says.

It’s 8:01 PM when Donghyuck forces himself onto the makeshift stage, and 8:02 PM when the door bursts open in a flurry and Donghyuck’s boyfriend-of-the-week stumbles into the coffee shop. His hair is mussed from the wind and his nose is bright pink and his eyes are shining, and Donghyuck has never wanted to kiss anybody more in his entire life.

He adjusts the microphone in front of him and wonders if Renjun is right, and heartbreak really is the stuff of all great art. He supposes he’ll find out in just a few days.

Let yourself have something for once.

“Thanks for coming out,” he says into the mic. He’s been performing here for years. There are some regulars he recognizes in the crowd, but his eyes don’t leave Renjun’s for even a second. “I have a very special guest here tonight. This next song is for him.”

🗓

Renjun takes him to dinner after. It’s one of those 24-hour diners where the menu is 60 pages long and the waiters don’t give a shit about you, but the coffee is free, and the food somehow tastes better than anything you’ve ever had. At some point Renjun has to reject a video call from his cousin, which results in her leaving several increasingly angry voicemails until he finally calls her back and patiently explains that he’s on a date, at which point she starts demanding he turn the camera around. Donghyuck takes the phone and introduces himself as Renjun’s boyfriend. He’s surprised by how natural it feels to call himself that. Once her curiosity is finally sated and she hangs up, Renjun explains to Donghyuck that he grew up with seven (seven!) cousins who were more like sisters. He shows Donghyuck pictures of trips they’ve taken together, pictures of all eight of them in matching sweaters. It’s cute.

“Your family seems close,” Donghyuck laughs, swiping past a group selfie with too many filters on it. It’s cute, but Renjun is cuter without them.

“We are,” Renjun says. “They’re a little overbearing sometimes, which could get annoying when I was growing up, but I wouldn’t have had it any other way. I think I want that for my kids, too.”

“Hm,” Donghyuck says, and nothing more.

He drops Renjun off and kisses him at the door and promises to text Renjun when he gets home safe. And then he goes back to his apartment and lays in bed, staring at the ceiling for a long time, before he picks up his phone and calls Mark.

“Today I thought about raising a family with him,” he says. There’s no one else around, but he’s speaking very quietly, like he’s embarrassed that for even a few brief seconds he thought about what it’d be like to adopt kids with a man he’s only known for six days. The months or years he spent crushing on Renjun from afar don’t really count. They’re nothing compared to the hours they’ve spent together now.

Donghyuck really had no idea what he was getting into. He still doesn’t know if he fully understands the implications of these feelings.

“Dang,” Mark says contemplatively. “You’ve got it real bad.”

That’s nothing Donghyuck didn’t know already. “Shut up, Mark,” he says, and hangs up on him.

🗓

Saturday, among other things, is his last full day with Renjun. Donghyuck is trying as much as he possibly can to not think about the doomsday countdown clock that is their relationship. He’s also trying as much as he possibly can to not be presumptuous when he reads the text on his phone, but he’s only human. There’s only so many ways to interpret a message.

That’s not a no, so Donghyuck still packs a toothbrush, just in case.

Renjun greets him at the door with a kiss and calls him on it immediately. “You packed a toothbrush, didn’t you?” he asks.

“And floss,” Donghyuck says, his hand cupped around the back of Renjun’s head. The smell of something burning is acrid in the air. “Don’t tell me that’s our dinner.”

Renjun blinks up at him guiltily. “It’s our dinner. How do you feel about ordering pizza?”

“Pizza sounds great.” Donghyuck kisses the corner of Renjun’s mouth when it rises, and shuts the door behind him. “Do I get to choose the toppings?”

“Do you promise to choose good ones?” Renjun laughs, giving Donghyuck’s hip another squeeze before pulling back slightly.

“Pineapples and anchovies.”

“Get out of my house.”

Donghyuck buries his face into the side of Renjun’s neck and whines, “Nooo, I just got here, don’t make me leave.”

“Two strikes and you’re out,” Renjun says, probably only half-joking. “You’re really okay with just staying inside today, right? You don’t want to go out or anything?”

Donghyuck takes the opportunity to look around a little. Renjun’s place is nice. It looks actually lived in, every piece of decor thoughtfully chosen. Warm, and comforting, and a lot like him. “For someone who was very insistent on kicking me out a few seconds ago, you seem oddly set on keeping me all to yourself today.”

“Be quiet,” Renjun says. “Come on. Sit. Let’s watch something.”

It takes them approximately 20 minutes to agree on a movie. It takes half that time for Renjun to abandon all pretense of watching the screen in favor of crawling into Donghyuck’s lap and kissing down the column of his throat.

“What happened to just cuddling?” Donghyuck asks, just to tease. He takes the opportunity to slip his hands underneath the hem of Renjun’s shirt, where his skin is soft and almost feverishly hot.

“I changed my mind,” Renjun says. He rolls his hips down and makes a noise in the back of his throat that’s somewhere between a sigh and a whimper. Donghyuck wants to hear it again. He wants to hear every pleasured sound Renjun is capable of making, to figure out where he’s sensitive and which spots make him sing. He only has time to palm the curve of his ass and push him forward, guiding him with shaky hands.

Donghyuck wonders if Renjun feels it too. The timer, the looming expiration date. Their movements aren’t quite frantic, but they’re not quite unrushed either. If things were different, Donghyuck would take his time with him. He’d be pressing Renjun into a mattress instead of the couch cushions, stripping him down layer by layer instead of tugging his clothes off in a rush.

Renjun’s nails are sharp where they dig into Donghyuck’s shoulders, carving red half-crescents into his skin as Donghyuck reaches between his legs. He kisses him like it’s the last time he’ll ever get to do it. Donghyuck’s heart is racing in his chest. He slides down, kisses the jut of Renjun’s hip bone.

“I packed pajamas too, by the way,” he mumbles against Renjun’s thigh.

Renjun rolls his eyes, but the fondness in his gaze when he looks down at Donghyuck is unmistakable. Donghyuck wonders if it’s supposed to hurt when someone you care about looks at you that way.

“That’s a shame,” Renjun replies, fingers curling around Donghyuck’s jaw. Something ignites in Donghyuck’s stomach, warm and hungry. “You’d look good in my sleep shorts.”

“Oh, so this was all a ploy to dress me up in your clothes. I see.”

“You talk too much.”

“Give me a reason to be quiet,” Donghyuck says.

So Renjun does. He gives him several reasons, and then some, most of which end up with Donghyuck on his knees and Renjun’s hands in his hair. But later, with his palms pressed to Donghyuck’s chest and his legs wound tight around his hips, he asks for the opposite: I want to hear you, Renjun says. Say my name. I want to know how it feels.

For once, words escape him. Donghyuck buries his face into Renjun’s shoulder and whispers his name between staccato breaths. It feels like nothing he’s ever felt before. It feels perfect.

It feels a little bit like breaking his own heart.

🗓

When Donghyuck wakes on Sunday morning to an ache in his neck and the sun shining in his eyes, he almost wonders if it’s a dream. Not because of the ache, or the sun, but because the sight of Renjun, curled into his side, definitely feels like a dream. Extraordinary and impossible at the same time.

Wrapped up in each others’ arms like this, it feels almost like they have all the time in the world together. The thought of closing his eyes and going back to sleep is tempting, if only to prolong the illusion. Instead, he presses his lips to the crown of Renjun’s head.

“Baby. Wake up.”

Renjun makes a guttural, displeased noise Donghyuck thought only animals were capable of.

“Come on, I’m going to make you breakfast.”

There’s a few seconds of silence, like Renjun is trying to gauge whether he can fall back asleep if he ignores Donghyuck for long enough. “There’s nothing in my fridge,” he whines eventually, turning to bury his face into Donghyuck’s bare chest.

“What, did you burn it all?” Another guttural noise. “I know there’s nothing in your fridge, I saw it last night. We can go to the supermarket.”

“But that’s so much wooooork.”

Okay, so whatever Donghyuck thought before about Renjun being a morning person wasn’t true after all. He adds gets unbelievably whiny (cute) in the morning to his mental list of things he’s learned about Renjun. Even if there’s not much sense in trying to remember these things when they won’t matter soon.

“Surely you don’t intend on spending all day in bed, do you?” Donghyuck teases, even though the prospect is actually appealing to him. One of his hands slides upwards until it finds the nape of Renjun’s neck, fingers threading into his hair.

It’s the type of joke that would normally have Renjun blushing and glaring and huffing. Instead, Donghyuck blinks, and all of a sudden Renjun is straddling him, one hand braced on either side of his head, his face dangerously close. “What if I do?” he asks. “Legally, you’re still my boyfriend for 14 more hours. If I want to spend all day in bed with you, then that’s my prerogative.”

Donghyuck would stay in bed forever if Renjun asked him to, legal temporary boyfriend privileges or not, but it’s easier to pretend he’s staying out of obligation instead of the weakness of his own heart. “Is that so?” he asks. Renjun’s breath tickles his skin; Donghyuck can almost feel Renjun’s smile against his own mouth. He can almost taste it.

“Mm-hm,” Renjun says, and leans down to guide their lips together. Donghyuck wraps an arm around Renjun’s waist to keep him close even after they part. “Ugh. Your breath stinks.”

The weight of him is warm and barely-there in Donghyuck’s lap, and Donghyuck probably should have packed thicker pajama pants, but what’s the point when Renjun’s hand is already slipping beneath the waistband anyways?

He leans up to brush his lips along Renjun’s jaw. “You should be really glad…” A kiss to his throat. “…That I packed that toothbrush, then.”

Renjun laughs and pushes his face away. “Whatever. Brush your stupid teeth. Then get back in bed.”

🗓

In the end they only leave bed well past sundown, prompted by the rumbling in Renjun’s stomach and very little else. They spend a while washing each other’s hair and soaping each other up, and Donghyuck presses his mouth to Renjun’s wet skin until the water drops in temperature, and Renjun forces them both out of the shower to dry off instead. Donghyuck complains until Renjun tells him to lean over and dries his hair for him. He borrows a too-small sweater from Renjun’s closet and bickers with him over which brand of milk is the best at the supermarket. They go back home hand in hand.

Donghyuck makes them both eggs for dinner. Over easy.

Renjun’s kitchen table is too small for two people. They’re sitting across from each other, but close enough that their knees keep knocking together, close enough that Donghyuck can see the faint bruise underneath the collar of Renjun’s shirt when he leans forward enough. Renjun always eats like a bird, but today it’s particularly noticeable. He takes small bites, chews slowly, pushes the last few pieces around the plate. Donghyuck wonders if maybe they’re both trying to prolong the inevitable right now.

It’s quiet as Donghyuck packs the few things he brought. Renjun watches him stow away his pajamas with an unreadable expression. For five seconds Donghyuck considers accidentally leaving his toothbrush in the cup next to Renjun’s on purpose so Renjun will have to think about him tomorrow, but ends up packing that away too. The sky outside is dark when they finally move to the door, but clear as anything.

“I’m sorry it’s not raining,” Donghyuck says. For someone who’s so experienced at breaking up with people, you’d think he’d be a lot better at this. He’s not. It’s an awkward, fumbling thing every time, which is why he always uses the same line. This time he somehow can’t bring himself to say it.

For a second, confusion flashes across Renjun’s face. Then something in his expression breaks a little, and he’s laughing, soft but sure. “It’s okay,” he says. “Not even the perfect boyfriend can control the weather.”

“I don’t actually know how to break someone’s heart,” Donghyuck says. “I’ve never done it on purpose.”

Renjun smiles. “I somehow doubt that softens the blow for anyone who’s had the fortune of falling for you.”

“You mean misfortune, right?” Donghyuck jokes weakly.

“No,” Renjun says, barely whispering. “I don’t.”

It’s unfair, Donghyuck thinks. How easily simple words can completely throw him off balance, when they’re coming from Renjun. “Oh.”

They haven’t been this awkward since the first date, when Donghyuck took him to that stupid restaurant that he didn’t even like and Renjun saw right through him like he was made of glass. He might as well have been. Donghyuck could just say it—sorry, let’s break up—and walk away like he’s walked away a million times before. But Renjun is looking at him and gnawing on his lower lip like he wants to say something, and Donghyuck is desperate for a reason to stick around a few seconds longer.

So he waits.

“Why do you do it?” Renjun asks, suddenly. When Donghyuck only blinks at him in confusion, he clarifies: “When I first heard the rumors I thought, okay, so he’s an asshole. Or he’s frivolous, and careless with other people’s feelings. But I’ve been watching you for a long time, and the more I saw of you the more I felt like none of it added up. I don’t think you’re any of those things at all.”

“Well, you have to say that, you’re my boyfriend,” Donghyuck says, aiming for playful and missing by a mile. Maybe this is what Mark means when he says Donghyuck needs to stop using humor to deflect all the time.

“I’m serious, Donghyuck,” Renjun says, arms crossed over his chest. “You asked me why I wanted to date you six days ago. I answered you. So it’s only fair for you to answer my question too, right?”

Standing on Renjun’s doorstep bundled up in a padded coat and too many layers, Donghyuck feels the most exposed he’s ever been. His mouth opens and closes. “Renjun, I….”

He’s justified it to himself maybe hundreds of ways over the years. Maybe even convinced himself he just liked the attention. I just don’t want to turn anyone down without giving them a fair chance first, is the explanation he usually lands on, but it feels insufficient in the face of Renjun’s earnest questioning. Maybe it was true at some point, when he first started, but the real truth is that Donghyuck doesn’t really know why he continues to do this. He hasn’t known for a very long time. Is he allowed to say that? Would it make sense?

Nothing makes sense when Renjun is looking at him like that and Donghyuck still has a bruise on his shoulder in the shape of his mouth.

He settles for saying nothing instead, pressing his mouth into a thin line.

Renjun shakes his head, like he’s disappointed. Donghyuck has always been good at disappointing people, if nothing else. At least he’ll be able to give Renjun half the breakup he asked for. Heartbreak has to be at least 50% disappointment, right?

“Sorry,” Donghyuck says, and means it. “Let’s break up.”

Renjun looks away. Donghyuck wishes he wouldn’t. It’s harder to read him like this, and Donghyuck wants to be able to read him.

“You're sorry,” Renjun repeats in disbelief. His smile is a hollow thing. “Yeah, I am too.”

When Donghyuck dumps someone, he can generally expect one of three reactions: Acceptance, anger, crying. Renjun shutting the door in his face with a smile is none of the above.

It somehow worsens the sting, but Donghyuck can’t explain why.

🗓

On Monday, the skies open, and they don’t close. It rains for a week straight, which is almost unheard of in February, possibly because this is God’s idea of playing a cosmic joke on Donghyuck.

Also on Monday, a junior named Sungchan asks him out before his first class of the day. He’s friends with Shotaro, who’s friends with Yangyang, who’s friends with Jeno, so Donghyuck has actually hung out with him before. Sungchan is sweet, and very handsome, and a very nice man, and any other week Donghyuck probably would have been thrilled to say yes to him.

“Sorry,” Donghyuck says. The ends of his hair are damp and curling in from the rain outside, because he hadn’t thought to bring an umbrella outside in February. “I don’t… It’s not you, I just…”

The surprise on Sungchan’s face is visible. “It’s okay,” he says anyway, because he really is nice. “You don’t have to apologize, Donghyuck.”

Donghyuck shakes his head. “No, really. I’m just in a weird place right now. I’m sorry.”

“I understand,” Sungchan says. “Just… if you ever get out of that weird place, maybe let me know?”

“Of course,” Donghyuck promises. He’s sure he’ll get out of it eventually.

Like, seventy percent sure. But he’ll take those odds.

Ryujin asks him in passing later who his date of the week is, and conceals her surprise very well when Donghyuck tells her no one. Less than a day later, it’s still raining, and campus is buzzing with the news: Lee Donghyuck, campus manslut extraordinaire, has sworn off dating. It must be a slow news week or something.

Donghyuck hides out in Mark’s room and avoids leaving the frat house to do anything except go to class. Mark tries to cheer him up by making him breakfast, but the eggs on the paper plate offered to Donghyuck just make him nauseous for two reasons.

One—Mark is not a very good cook. Two—well, Donghyuck doesn’t think the second reason bears any need for explanation.

“You should at least change your background, man,” Mark says, gentle but firm in his suggestion.

“No,” Donghyuck says. He still hasn’t deleted his texts with Renjun, either. Maybe it’s pointless to avoid saving someone’s contact when you have all ten digits of their number memorized already.

“How are you supposed to get over him if he’s staring you in the eye every time you unlock your phone?”

“I’ll find a way.”

Mark sighs and offers him his vape in a sympathetic gesture. Donghyuck takes a hit only because he’s miserable and a little dash of nicotine never hurt anybody. Cotton candy burns the back of his throat. It’s gross, and sickly sweet. Donghyuck takes another hit just to feel the burning again.

“That bad, huh?”

Donghyuck doesn’t laugh this time. “Yeah. That bad.”

🗓

Donghyuck looks up movie times on Friday and, through process of elimination and a deep knowledge of Jeno’s schedule, determines that he and Renjun must be attending the 8:25 PM showtime. The movie runs for 90 minutes, so accounting for 20 minutes of previews, and the 15 minutes it takes Jeno to walk back from the theater, he should be home at approximately 10:30.

So Donghyuck texts him at 10:31 PM, on the dot, like a normal person would.

🗓

Donghyuck is a coward, which is why he doesn’t text Renjun. Donghyuck is also a hypocrite, which is why he deletes Renjun’s number, but doesn’t delete the picture Renjun sent him, and doesn’t change his phone background.

It’s funny if you think about it. He was supposed to break Renjun’s heart, and instead he thinks he might’ve broken his own in the process. He never thought seven days was enough to build any kind of real attachment. That’s why he always cut it off then. To end things before feelings could get involved. Maybe it was naïve of him to think that way. Or maybe Donghyuck is just stupid for falling for Renjun, and he really is getting a taste of his own medicine.

Karma catches up fast, it turns out, and it came for him with a vengeance.

Without his usual routine it’s a little more difficult to keep track of the days. When he wakes up one morning to a flurry of knocking at his door he’s initially irritated by the commotion, then confused, then back to irritated. His tone is less than polite when he finally makes his way to the door, opens it, and says, “What do you want?”

“Whoa,” Chenle says, his fist still frozen mid-air. “Not a morning person, huh?”

Donghyuck blinks. “No, not really,” he says, only vaguely apologetic. The words come slowly. He's processing the situation the best he can through the fog of exhaustion. “Sorry—What are you doing here exactly? How’d you get my address?”

“Am I the first this week?” Chenle asks, ignoring both of Donghyuck’s questions. Great. “Do you want to go out with me?”

Oh, Donghyuck realizes, counting the days backwards in his mind. Right, it’s Monday. It wouldn’t be the first time a friend of an ex asked him out, but this is an odd way to do it. “I don’t do that anymore,” Donghyuck tells him.

To his surprise, Chenle actually smiles at that. “Good,” he says. “Do you know what day it is today?”

“Monday.”

Chenle sighs. “Valentine’s Day,” he says. “So are you going to go cheer up my moping best friend, or do I have to do all the work around here myself?” A pause. “Don’t tell him I said he’s my best friend. He’s going to be unbearable about it once he recovers.”

“I’m not going to tell anyone anything.” Donghyuck’s traitorous heart leaps into his throat. “But he’s, um. He’s moping?”

“Wow. You’re both idiots. You two really deserve each other.” Chenle drags both of his hands down his face. “Yes, he’s moping. Because he likes you, and if I’m right, you like him, and you two broke up for no reason.”

“He doesn’t li—”

“I’ve known Renjun since we were both in diapers. I know what he’s like when he’s sulking over a boy, but I’ve never seen it this bad before.” Chenle’s tone leaves no room for argument, so Donghyuck decides not to push him on this. “He told me he asked you why you do this whole…Trial-dating-saying-yes-to-everyone-who-asks-you-out thing.”

Donghyuck grimaces at the memory. “Then he also told you that I couldn’t answer him.”

“Couldn’t, or wouldn’t? Because from where I’m standing, it seems like the latter.”

“...I just don’t want to turn anyone down without giving them a fair chance first.”

“Bullshit,” Chenle says evenly. “Give me the real reason.”

Real reason? There is no real reason. It’s too early for this. Donghyuck digs his nails into his palms. “I think,” he starts. Stops. Starts again. “I think at first, that was the real reason. I’ve never been good at saying no to people.”

“A serial people pleaser.” Chenle nods. “I get it. I’ve been there.”

Donghyuck somehow doubts that, but whatever. “Sure. You could say that. I think mostly I say yes to them because I’m…” He struggles for the word, not because he can’t find it but because it’s almost embarrassing to admit. “I’m lonely, I guess. I keep hoping someone will make me feel something. But they never do. I just keep getting lonelier. More jaded.”

“I convinced myself along the way that I liked it,” Donghyuck continues. The more he talks the clearer things seem to become. “I really believed it, too. That I enjoyed doing it. That the attention was nice. That being desired was nice. But I don’t want to be desired, or at least not just by anyone. I want—”

“You want?”

“I want to be loved. I want Renjun.”

Chenle nods in satisfaction. “Then go and tell him that,” he says. Then he gives Donghyuck a once-over and grimaces. “Maybe put on some real clothes first.”

“I was planning on it.”

“Maybe a shower.”

“Goodbye, Chenle,” Donghyuck says. “Thank you for coming over. I’m sorry I had to reject you. You’ll find someone better than me.”

Chenle pretends to wipe a tear from his eye. “It’s okay. I’m sure I’ll manage the heartbreak one way or another.”

🗓

One shower and one quick change of clothes later, Donghyuck is on the way to Renjun’s apartment. Thank God it’s only a ten minute walk. He’s not sure he could handle anything much longer than that. The plastic bag in his hand rustles as he ascends the stairs. He has to pause at the top, because he speedwalked the entire way here, and because he hasn’t done cardio in a while and those stairs are tough and he cannot be caught heavy breathing in front of Renjun right before his big, romantic gesture.

Maybe he should have asked Chenle to check if Renjun was home first though, because the first ring of Renjun’s doorbell produces nothing but silence. And more silence. And even more silence when Donghyuck rings it a second time. He debates a third or fourth ring, but on the off chance that Renjun is home, and ignoring him on purpose, Donghyuck doesn’t want to risk pushing too much or too far.

His phone vibrates in his pocket. Donghyuck rubs at his eyes when he sees the number. Has he lost it? He’s probably lost it. There’s no way Renjun is calling him. Except the ten digits at the top of his screen are definitely Renjun’s number. And when he accepts the call it’s definitely Renjun’s voice, hoarse and out of breath, that says, “Donghyuck?”

“Renjun,” Donghyuck breathes out, equal parts relieved and in disbelief.

“I’m really sorry for calling so suddenly. I was going to delete your number, I really was, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Listen, can we talk? I’m at your apartment, it’s a long story—”

A laugh bubbles up out of Donghyuck’s throat. What are the fucking odds? “I’m at your apartment.”

“You’re at—what?”

“I’m in front of your door. Chenle came over this morning and—”

“Oh my god, he what? Oh god. I don’t know what he said to you, but just—”

“He didn’t say anything, don’t worry. I mean, he did, but it was more about me and less about you. I didn’t think he’d be such a nag when we first met.”

“He’s really good at that, isn’t he?” Renjun says, sounding exhausted and amazed all at once. “Jaemin came by my apartment this morning. Said I should give you another chance, or at least try to talk to you about… Well, about us, I guess.”

“Jaemin? Really?” Donghyuck can’t keep the disbelief out of his voice. Of all the people who could have gone to Renjun, Jaemin would have been his last guess. And honestly, probably his last choice. “You must have seen wrong.”

“I thought so too at first, but no. It was real. He was pretty convincing. I don’t know how he got my address.” There’s a beat of silence before Renjun laughs too. “I can’t believe we’re at each others’ apartments. We just missed each other.”

Donghyuck wonders if it’s foolish to let himself hope. “Meet you halfway?” he asks, already beginning to run. His voice sounds giddy even to his own ears.

“Yeah,” Renjun breathes out. Donghyuck can hear the sound of his footsteps picking up speed. “I’ll meet you at that convenience store.”

He doesn’t hang up, so Donghyuck keeps talking. Heavy breathing and romantic gestures be damned. “I didn’t want to break up with you,” he says. Lungs burning, thighs burning. “I really—I didn’t want that week to end. I wanted to answer your question.”

“Donghyuck, it’s really—I shouldn’t have pushed, it doesn’t even matter.”

“It matters,” Donghyuck insists, because it does. “I told myself that I was just being fair, to go along with it. I convinced myself that saying yes to everyone was kinder than rejecting them, and that cutting things off before they could get too attached was kinder than the alternative. I even convinced myself that I enjoyed the attention.” His voice is shaking, but he has to lay everything on the table. Even if he trembles, even if his voice cracks. Even if Renjun rejects him in the end. “It’s so weird. I was constantly surrounded by people, but I don’t think I realized just how lonely I was until I met you.”

“Fuck,” Renjun says. “I know I’m the one who asked you to break my heart and all, but it really hurt. When things ended. It was worse than I expected it would be. I had to keep telling myself that most people probably felt like this when you ended things with them.”

Donghyuck laughs, cradling his phone to his cheek, shaking his head. “I don’t think that’s true. I’ve never—I showed you things I’ve never shown anyone else. With most of my dates, the furthest we get is holding hands. Maybe a kiss on the cheek. You’re the only boyfriend who’s ever met my friends.”

There’s a brief rustling noise from Renjun’s end as Donghyuck rounds the corner. “...I thought you just acted like this with everyone, and that I would have to be an idiot to think I was special. Dedicated to the craft of being the perfect one-week boyfriend.”

You are, though, Donghyuck wants to say. You are special. How could you not see yourself the way I see you?

“Baby,” he says. One more block. Just one more block, and he’ll be there. “No one is that good at acting. You aren’t most people, Renjun. You know that, don’t you?”

“Well, I know now that you’ve told me.”

“You’re so—I’m almost there.”

“Me too,” Renjun says, voice oddly soft. “I’m—oh.”

Whatever Donghyuck had been about to say dies in his throat. “Oh,” he says, too. “I’m gonna have to call you back.” He ends the call, and for a moment all he can do is look. Really take in the sight of him. If he thought Renjun looked like a dream in his arms, it’s nothing compared to now. His cheeks all flushed, hair windswept, the tips of his ears bright pink.

But it’s not a dream. Renjun is real, and solid, and standing just a few feet in front of him and looking at him with glossy eyes. “Hi,” he breathes out. He looks so small, so unsure. Donghyuck is startled to notice that Renjun’s eyelashes are wet. He’s startled to notice his own eyelashes are a little damp, too. “Happy Valentine’s Day, I think.”

Donghyuck rushes forward. Renjun meets him halfway. After spending the better part of a week wound up over his absence, it feels almost overwhelming to be in Renjun’s presence again. Just breathing the same air as him feels like a little miracle. They haven’t invented a word to describe how it feels to have Renjun in his arms again yet. Donghyuck hopes they will soon. “Hi,” he says into Renjun’s hair. He smells like wind and frost and hope. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“This is the most dramatic Valentine’s Day I’ve had in my entire life,” Renjun says, voice watery.

Donghyuck brushes a thumb against his cheek, just marveling at the warmth of him. “Don’t worry, I’ll up the ante next year.”

“Oh, really? Next year?”

“And the year after that.”

“And the year after that, too?”

“If you’ll have me.”

Renjun’s hand circles the nape of his neck. “Let’s take it one step at a time,” he murmurs against Donghyuck’s lips.

Fuck heartbreak, Donghyuck thinks, besotted and completely hopeless. This is the stuff of all great art. Renjun was wrong, but that’s okay, nobody is perfect.

“When did you have the time to buy a gift?” Renjun asks, immediately zeroing in on the plastic bag Donghyuck has been carrying across their neighborhood like an idiot. His arms are still tight around Donghyuck’s waist.

“Thursday,” Donghyuck says, bringing the gift out of the bag. “I bought this stupid bear on Thursday, because even when my brain knew we were breaking up, my heart was still set on you. I didn’t know why I couldn’t bring myself to return it, but I think it’s because I always intended for you to have it somehow.”

“Somehow,” Renjun chokes out. He holds the bear underneath one arm and raises his free hand to cup Donghyuck’s cheek. “It’s so cheesy. I love it. Don’t call it stupid.”

It is stupid though. Renjun deserves silks and jewels and riches, not supermarket-brand stuffed animals. Donghyuck opens his mouth to protest, but Renjun pulls him down for another kiss, short and brief, because they are still in public, and it is still achingly cold outside. When he pulls back, Donghyuck is struck by the open adoration in his face.

It feels so good to be loved he can’t imagine why he ever settled for anything less.

“I don’t plan on breaking your heart this time,” Donghyuck says, turning his face to kiss the center of Renjun’s open palm. “I hope that’s alright with you.”

“Good,” Renjun says. “I’m counting on it. I’m counting on you.”

🗓

Morning finds Donghyuck in Renjun’s kitchen, watching with a careful eye as Renjun cracks two eggs into an oiled pan. Renjun’s standing as far as he possibly can from the stove and poking at the unset whites with a spatula like he’s afraid they’ll hurt him if he stands too close. He’s only wearing one of Donghyuck’s extra-large t-shirts, and whenever he moves his arms up the hem rises enough to reveal the mess of bruises left on his thighs, all varying shades of faded red and purple.

Donghyuck’s mouth is dry, but when he licks his lips, he can’t quite tell which kind of thirst he’s hoping to quell.

The oil pops and hisses when Renjun sprinkles a pinch of salt over the eggs, and Renjun shrieks, stepping backwards right into Donghyuck’s waiting arms.

“Baby,” Donghyuck says, guiding him back into place. He keeps his arms wound around Renjun’s waist and leans forward to rest his chin on his shoulder. “They’re just eggs. They’re not going to hurt you.”

“I know that,” Renjun huffs. “How do I know when to flip them?”

“Wait until the whites are opaque.” Donghyuck draws a circle in the air with his finger. “They should only be a little unset around the yolks.”

Renjun leans forward. “Now?” A short strand of hair slips out from behind his ear, falling into his eyes, and Donghyuck tucks it back into place for him.

“Not yet, a little longer.” Donghyuck traces the shell of Renjun’s ear with his lips, kisses the nape of his neck, breathing warm against his skin. He doesn’t know what it is, but Renjun is always so much more irresistible in the mornings.

“Stop distracting me,” Renjun complains. He shivers under Donghyuck’s touch but nuzzles into his palm when Donghyuck brings one hand up to cup his cheek.

Donghyuck kisses his shoulder and says, with the kind of excessive shamelessness he knows Renjun likes, “Feel free to push me away at any point.”

Dust dances in the lazy, golden sunlight filtering in through the window. It’s a quiet morning. Donghyuck has been getting up earlier more willingly these days. But it makes him happy to share these simple moments with Renjun. The domesticity feels hard won.

What they don’t tell you about happiness is how terrifying it can be at first when you’re not used to it. Donghyuck spent the entire first month they were together constantly looking over his shoulder, afraid that the rug could be pulled out from under his feet at any moment. The deeper he fell, the more acutely he felt the awareness of how quickly this could all be lost. The awareness of how close he had been to never getting this. But over time the fear has dissolved to nothing. It’s easier for Donghyuck to feel brave these days. Renjun doesn’t leave him any room for doubt.

Predictably, Renjun grumbles, but makes no move to pull away from Donghyuck, or to stop his wandering hands. “I’m just saying, if you keep doing that, I’m gonna burn our breakfast.”

“You’re not going to burn it, I promise,” Donghyuck says, nudging his arm. “Here, they should be good now. Just slide your spatula under the egg, and flip.”

Renjun takes a deep breath, and flips. Then he does it again, with a little more confidence this time. “Oh my god, I did it.”

“You did it,” Donghyuck affirms, peering into the pan. Two passable-looking over easy eggs stare back at him. There’s a little bit of eggshell in one of them, but that’s fine. It’s a good source of calcium. “You can slide them onto the plate now, see? Not so difficult, is it?”

“Soon I’ll be a better cook than you.”

“Yeah, soon.”

“And Jaemin.”

“Let’s be realistic.”

Renjun rolls his eyes. “You’re mean. Come on, let’s eat.”

They bought a new kitchen table for Renjun’s apartment when he decided to move. It’s big enough for two people now, but they still sit across from each other like it’s not. Their knees knocking together, Donghyuck’s ankle hooked around Renjun’s.

Donghyuck never realized it before, but there’s something that feels very intimate about watching a loved one eat. Doubly so when the food is home-cooked. It’s part of the reason why he likes cooking for Renjun so much. I love you, I made this for you, eat, and be full.

“What?” Renjun asks around a mouthful of toast when he notices Donghyuck staring. There’s a smile hiding in the corner of his mouth and a crumb on his lower lip. Donghyuck is still getting used to being looked at with such open affection.

Donghyuck braces his chin on his palm and reaches out to wipe the crumb from his mouth. “It’s nothing,” he says. Then, for no reason in particular: “Did you know that I used to have a crush on you? Like, before you asked me out. Way before you asked me out.”

Renjun’s mouth falls open. It’s a testament to Donghyuck’s love that not even the sight of his half-eaten food quells the permanent desire to kiss him. “What?” he asks, then swallows. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“What was I supposed to say?” Donghyuck retorts. “Sure I’ll go out with you, and also I’ve been pining over you from afar for, oh, I don’t know, the better part of two years?”

“Yeah. That exactly.”

“You would have thought I was crazy.”

Renjun swallows again. “No I wouldn’t have,” he says quietly. “Because I kind of had a crush on you too.”

It’s Donghyuck’s turn to be surprised then. “What? You didn’t even know I existed.”

“I did!” Renjun insists. “Of course I did. If I was good at hiding it, that’s one thing, but to say I didn’t know you existed is just wrong.”

Over the table, Donghyuck’s hand finds Renjun’s. “So?” he asks. “I mean, we got together in the end. If you could do things differently a second time around, would you?” Renjun shakes his head. “Really? No regrets?”

“None,” Renjun says, and squeezes his hand. “For you, I’d do it all over again. As many times as it took.”

🗓

🗓