Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Counsel of esteemed peers,” Yuna announces as she swaggers out of her walk-in closet, “what do we think? Is this good enough for a date or what?”

She felt pretty confident about this ensemble. It consists of a cute cropped button-down in the prettiest shade of purple that matches the color of the streaks in her hair, a black tank top underneath, and a black mini skirt she does not remember ever buying. It’s edgy and stylish, dressy but not too dressy, and it highlights her sturdy thighs. The skirt is a little tight and shorter than she’d like it to be, and she still is debating whether or not she should change it, but she could suck it up if her friends agreed that it was a damn good outfit for a date. With a self-satisfied grin, she strikes a pose in the doorway, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

“Urgh. Definitely not.” The distaste in Jaeyoung’s voice alone is enough to kill whatever confidence she had in the ensemble. “Don’t get me wrong, you look good. You look hot. But you’re going to be adjusting that skirt all fucking day if you plan to do a lot of walking and sitting in public spaces.”

“I need her to swoon for me, Jae.” Yuna pats the strong muscle of her thigh proudly. “I need to show her what I’m packing, and what better way to do that than by showing off the goods?”

“Sooyeong-ah is already very, very well aware of your sex appeal, trust me. Put those things away.”

Hyeongtak peers at them from above the screen of his laptop. “I agree with Jaeyoung-hyung,” he adds unhelpfully. He shifts a little in the plush armchair Yuna keeps in the corner of her bedroom. “Are you even comfortable in that, noona? It looks a little tight, and you’ve always hated short skirts.”

“I should’ve asked Sangwoo and Jihye for advice instead. They don’t know me well enough yet to talk me out of wearing this.”

“Yeah, what were you thinking, asking your best friends of twelve years to help you figure out what to wear?” Jaeyoung snarks, smirking as she flips him off. His smile drops as he adds, “You’re not going to be comfortable in that, and we all know it. Go change.”

Yuna glances at her reflection in the mirror and wrinkles her nose, suddenly acutely aware of just how short the skirt really is. “Yeah, you’re right. Where’d I even get this stupid thing?”

“It’s definitely not something you’d usually buy,” Jaeyoung notes, stretching out languidly across her bed and settling against the pillows. His lips quirk. “Did you steal it from a fling or something?”

Warmth rushes to Yuna’s cheeks. “Shit, I might have,” she realizes belatedly, and Hyeongtak giggles at her.

“How’d you do that? Send her on her way in only her underwear or something?” he asks. Jaeyoung cackles as Yuna blushes a shade of red she didn’t know she was capable of. She’s going to kill both of them. She’s agonizing over what to wear to her date, which is in less than an hour, and they’re sitting here and laughing at her expense.

Yeah, they’re dead meat, both of them.

“How about we stop talking about this and start talking about what I should wear instead?”

Chapter Text

The man is beautiful by all definitions of the word. He is perhaps the most eye-catching person in the entire club, which is packed and bustling on this late Saturday night, and not only because of his impressive height. He weaves through the crowd of sweaty bodies with practiced ease and quiet confidence, as if he is aware that he’s the most attractive person in the room right now, as if he is aware of the many predatory eyes that follow his every move closely. His shirt is tight and fitted, hugging the planes of a sturdy chest flatteringly, the collar of it teasing only a sliver of tanned skin and a defined clavicle. He’s mouthwateringly handsome, a walking wet dream, and Sangwoo is growing embarrassingly hungrier just looking at him.

Yuna plops down on the stool to Sangwoo’s right, beckoning for the bartender to get her a drink. “Are you going to keep eye-fucking him all night, or are you actually going to approach him before the sun rises?” she ribs, nudging him with her shoulder good-naturedly. Heat rises to Sangwoo’s cheeks as he bats her away.

“He still hasn’t approached him yet?” Jihye gasps, seemingly appearing out of thin air and perching on the stool to his left. Yuna shakes her head.

“Nope,” she drawls, popping the p. The bartender places a glass of somaek down before her, which she receives with a polite nod of acknowledgement. She gives Sangwoo a look. “Babe, we brought you here tonight so you could eat. It’s been too long since the last time you did. But you kinda have to either approach Hot Stuff over there or stop rejecting every guy that throws himself at you in order to do that.”

“Hey! He’s got standards, unlike some other people,” Jihye remarks, giving Yuna a pointed look. The older succubus just snorts and brushes the jab off with a lazy flick of her wrist.

“I’m a simple succubus, honey. If I see a hot woman overflowing with sexual energy, I’m sold.” Over the too-loud music playing in the club, she seems perfectly comfortable with dropping all pretenses and openly referring to herself as a demon, something of which prompts Sangwoo to tense and glance around for any nearby eavesdroppers. Yuna, unperturbed, sips her drink and lectures, “Humans are just food for us, kids; when are you two going to realize that? There’s no reason to be so picky about it—if anything, you’re just damning yourselves by forming attachments to these people.”

“Oh, so it’s just a coincidence that I keep finding you in that one woman’s bedroom even when your appetite has already been satisfied?”

Yuna stiffens, her muscles tensing as she bares her teeth at Jihye. “Don’t you dare start.”

“Then don’t go home with her tonight,” the younger succubus challenges boldly, her shoulders squared. Sangwoo commends her bravery and condemns her stupidity—very few demons would ever dare to provoke the powerful beast that is Yuna. They’re lucky to have been taken under her wings, even luckier to be called her friends. But he’s currently the unlucky one, seated between the beast and her protégé as they squabble, and he’d like it to end before it gets any more heated. He plucks the glass of somaek from Yuna’s hand and takes a long swig from it, wincing as the alcohol burns down his throat. He returns the emptied glass to an astonished Yuna before folding his arms over the bartop and resting his head on them.

“I don’t know why I’m so fixated on him,” Sangwoo laments softly. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me or why I’m like this. I’ve only ever seen him in passing, yet I can’t get him out of my head. I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want him. I’ve never been excited to feed off of anyone, yet the thought of having his hands on me alone is enough to arouse me.”

“Damn,” Yuna says after a few beats of silence pass. “Babe, you’ve got it bad for him, huh?”

He whines, burying his face in the crook of his arms. His ears burn with embarrassment, and so too do his cheeks and the tip of his nose. Jihye rubs his back comfortingly and asks, “Then why haven’t you approached him yet?”

“Have you seen him?!” Sangwoo exclaims, sitting up abruptly and startling both women. He lowers his voice when he catches the bartender’s watchful eye on them. “He’s completely out of my league. He could have anyone he wanted in this entire club and then some. Why would he go for me? I’m a sorry excuse for an incubus—I can barely do my job right, I can’t seduce anyone to save my life, I usually feel repulsed by the idea of having sex with anyone, and I’m fixated on a man who I’ve only had a total of four very short but very nice conversations with. Even if he says yes to me tonight, it’d only be a one-time fling, and where will that leave me? Heartbroken and hungry.”

A look of realization crosses Yuna’s face, as if she’s finally starting to understand what the problem is. “Oh,” she lets out, “you want to court him.”

“I do,” Sangwoo confirms hopelessly, dropping his head on the countertop again, “I do. I want him in any and every way he’ll have me. I want him to know what I am. I want him to be the one who takes care of me when I’m hungry. I want to be the one he goes to when the urge to have sex with someone crosses his mind.” His voice softens. “I want to partake in all of those human dating customs with him, too.”

Silence follows his confession. Sangwoo doesn’t dare chance a glance at either of his companions for fear of seeing their judgement. Most incubi and succubi wisely followed a no-strings-attached policy—that was most logical given their nature and what they were. Even Yuna, the hypocrite that she was, told him and Jihye multiple times to live strictly by that policy. But Sangwoo had always been the odd one out, always been the weird one, always been the one who was noticeably different from the rest. He was a sex demon who needed sexual energy to survive, yet sex was unappealing to him on most occasions, and he didn’t particularly like interacting with his prey until they pounced on him. For as long as he could remember, Sangwoo had always fancied the idea of having one specific person take care of his needs. Variety is the spice of life! his peers would tell him, but he didn’t want variety—he wanted stability, something familiar and unchanging that he could tether himself to.

It took him many years to realize that it wasn’t lust he wanted; it was love. Love, which was nothing more than a fleeting thing, an emotional delusion at most, was such a silly thing for a sex demon to want. Yet, strangely enough, it was all Sangwoo had ever wanted.

“So we’re all failures at our job,” Yuna mutters, hissing when Jihye leans over Sangwoo to smack her arm. “Ow! Honey, what the fuck was that for?!”

“He just poured his heart out to us, and your first reaction is to call him a failure?!” the younger succubus chastises furiously. “Yuna! Have some respect!”

“I’ve got nothing but respect for his self-awareness!” the older succubus retorts. Her voice softens as she turns her attention to Sangwoo. “Woo, babe, there’s nothing wrong with that. At all. Most succubi and incubi are so scared of commitment that they won’t even admit it out loud when they want someone like that. Look at me. I caught a case with Jihye all because she pointed out that I can’t stay away from So—from this one human I slept with a couple of times. Fuck, I want to court her so bad, but it’s hard even admitting that to myself. Look at Jihye. She’s already been teetering on the line between fuck buddies and lovers with her human—”

“Oh my gosh,” Jihye suddenly gasps, springing up from her seat. “Hyeongtak. Hyeongtak is friends with him!”

Sangwoo and Yuna exchange puzzled looks before blankly staring at her. The younger succubus pouts at the two of them, her hands firm on her hips. “The man! The one you want, Sangwoo! Hyeongtak—my human, as Yuna so eloquently put it—is friends with him! They’re best friends! They’ve known each other for years—if anyone knows how he’d feel about you, it’d be Hyeongtak for sure.”

“How do you know they’re friends?” Yuna probes, her eyebrow raised inquisitively.

“I’ve seen them hanging out together before,” she answers breezily. “Hyeongtak talks about him a lot, and our paths have crossed on a few occasions. I was wondering why he seemed so familiar to me when you pointed him out and told me that’s the one Sangwoo wanted to pursue tonight; now I know why.”

The older succubus shrugs at Sangwoo and makes a face. “See? Teetering on the line between fuck buddies and lovers,” she reiterates. “They don’t just fuck; they apparently have conversations, too. And she’s already met his best friend! They’ll be going out on an official date in no time at this rate.”

“His name is Jaeyoung,” Jihye brusquely continues, answering Yuna’s comment with only a half-hearted glare. “And Tak mentioned once or twice that he’s been pining after this boy. Plush pink lips, skin white as snow, eyes like a grumpy kitten? Very quiet, with a soft, breathy, monotonous voice, also very direct and blunt, and kind of robotic? Is this ringing a bell or what?”

Yuna nods along thoughtfully. “Sounds just like Sangwoo,” she says. “The description fits him to a T.”

“There are a lot of people in this country who would fit that description just as well,” Sangwoo objects hastily, looking between the two succubi with flushed cheeks. “He doesn’t even know me. We’ve bumped into each other only a handful of times. The few times we have spoken have been very short and unmeaningful. I mostly watch him from afar—sometimes even in my incubus form, where he wouldn’t—shouldn’t—be able to see or recognize me.” He shakes his head firmly. “He isn’t talking about me.”

“You don’t know him, either, yet you’re already fixated on him to a point where your body reacts only to him,” Jihye points out unhelpfully. “Who’s to say he doesn’t feel the same? And who’s to say he doesn’t see you when you think he isn’t looking?”

Sangwoo opens his mouth to protest, but Yuna cuts him off before he can get the words out. “Get up, babe,” she coaxes, tugging at his arm. “Let’s go find out, hm? He’s coming over to the bar now.”

“Are you crazy?!” he yelps, trying and failing to wrench his arm free from her unyielding grasp. “Absolutely not!”

“Don’t worry about it, Yuna,” Jihye tells the older succubus sweetly, her eyes sparkling mischievously with the suggestion of an idea Sangwoo is scared to ask after. Yuna releases his arm, tilting her head curiously. “I got this.”

Sangwoo looks at her pleadingly. “What are you going to do?”

Jihye grins from ear to ear at him. “I will prove you wrong,” she swears. “Just watch.”

And then she’s off, eagerly bounding towards the stunning man—Jaeyoung; oh, how nice it feels, to finally have a name to pair with his face—and greeting him cordially like she’s seeing an old friend, and Sangwoo can only hope that a hole will open up beneath his seat and swallow him whole. But then she says something that prompts Jaeyoung to look over in his direction, and their eyes meet before Sangwoo can glance away, and a spark of recognition and interest flickers in those pretty onyx eyes of his. Blood rushes in equal parts to his face and groin when Jaeyoung offers him the most brilliant smile he’s ever seen.

Chapter Text

“Noona, you can’t do that; that’s cheating!”

“Yah, Choi Yuna, you said you’d play fair this time!”

“Excuse you, I’ve been playing fair since we started!”

Sangwoo glances over his shoulder as the irate voices of Hyeongtak, Jaeyoung, and Yuna project loudly over the low music playing in the mildly unpopulated bar. The trio lingers near the pool table, each member of it grasping their cue perhaps a bit too tightly. Hyeongtak and Jaeyoung stand to one side of the table, staring Yuna down with varying expressions of exasperation, disappointment, and annoyance. Yuna, in turn, glares right back at them with defiance, smugness, and mischievousness, with one hand on her hip and the other twirling her cue like a baton, exuding a self-assuredness that Sangwoo would’ve respected if not for how vexed his boyfriend looked in this moment.

It’s no secret that Yuna frequently cheats at pool, something Sangwoo learned the hard way when he agreed to play with her the first time he was dragged to this bar. But she’s good at getting away with it, and even better at gaslighting people into thinking it didn’t happen. Similarly to Jaeyoung, she isn’t against playing dirty when she has to, she’s hyper-competitive when the occasion calls for it, and she likes to show off and win. There’s no reason for her to show off tonight, not really, but she was losing to both Jaeyoung and Hyeongtak, so Sangwoo can only assume that she deployed a cheating tactic in favor of gaining the upper hand again. He shakes his head as the trio bickers about whether or not her recent play was considered cheating.

“Idiots,” he murmurs fondly, shaking his head. “They are all idiots.”

“But they’re ours,” Jihye counters, her voice laced with warmth and affection. Sangwoo turns to face her again, nodding as a humored smile tugs at the corners of his lips. Her own lips quirk around her glass as she takes a sip of the water in it. “Somehow, they’re ours.”

“Mm.”

“You know, I never thought this would happen to me,” she muses thoughtfully. Her fingers idly trace the rim of her glass. Sangwoo’s brows knit in question. “Being friends with them, I mean,” she clarifies, nodding in Jaeyoung, Yuna, and Hyeongtak’s general direction. “I never thought that would happen to me. I never thought I’d somehow find myself being a part of their close inner circle, nevertheless actually being considered one of their friends.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I don’t really know.” Jihye lets out a quiet laugh. “But with how everyone spoke about them and treated them, they always felt like these cool, unreachable upperclassmen. Like they were in another world separate from our own. Like they were too good to be true.” She hums consideringly. “So many of my friends had crushes on either Jaeyoung-oppa or Yuna-unnie that I thought they were these perfect, benevolent beings that straight came from Heaven or something.”

Sangwoo snorts. “That’s delusional. Nobody is perfect, least of all the two of them.” Although, he doesn’t add, he sometimes swears Jaeyoung is the textbook definition of perfect. In the seven months they’ve dated so far, he’s been nothing short of an impeccable lover, and while Sangwoo has no other experience to compare this to, he still can confidently say that Jaeyoung is likely as close to perfect as a human can get. He can also, although much less confidently, admit that he’s likely very biased in that regard.

Jihye giggles with him. “I know. I learned that one the hard way the first time Jaeyoung-oppa ever spoke to me,” she recalls. “He looked so friendly on the surface, but there was such a subdued hostility in the way he looked at me and spoke. I was so nervous when you left me alone with him! It was such a relief when he ended up going after you.”

“He’s petty,” Sangwoo hums, “but he isn’t necessarily mean, not really. I thought he was a jerk the first week I knew him, but...” His eyes find Jaeyoung again, who looks back at him in time to meet his gaze. The tips of his ears burn when Jaeyoung smiles and winks at him. He quickly turns back to Jihye. “... but I must’ve gotten lucky, because I have seen how mean Jaeyoung-hyung can get when he has reason to be. And it was a lot harsher than anything I ever had to put up with. He was mostly just a nuisance rather than a true and proper bully during our short-lived period of animosity.”

“Yeah,” Jihye agrees solemnly. “He’s a lot nicer than I ever gave him credit for, especially now that we’re actual friends. He’s ridiculously petty, but he’s also ridiculously kind, too.” She glances over at the trio, namely at Yuna, who’s currently scowling at the other two. “Yuna-unnie, on the other hand, is a lot meaner than I expected. Or, well, not mean, but she’s very blunt and brutally honest. She always had such a laid-back, relaxed, and cool demeanor whenever I saw her on campus, but she actually has a really sharp tongue!”

“Mm. But she’s surprisingly very wise, and her curt straightforwardness is equally as refreshing. She doesn’t sugarcoat anything for anyone.”

Jihye nods idly. “I wonder how Hyeongtak-oppa ended up with the two of them. Jaeyoung and Yuna are similar, so it makes sense that they click, but he’s a complete outlier. He’s incredibly sweet and sensitive all around, and he’s so nice to everyone he encounters, even the rude people. I don’t even think he has a mean bone in his body—”

“Noona, I swear I’m gonna hit you with this if you do that again!” Hyeongtak suddenly shouts, and they both look over just in time to see him wave his cue threateningly at Yuna.

“Well, he might not have a mean bone in his body, but he certainly has enough of a backbone to handle the two of them,” Sangwoo amends. “And they’re both so fiercely protective over him that he probably doesn’t even have to be mean. They’re mean enough for him.”

“True, and someone has to be the nice one out of the three of them.”

When the voices of Jaeyoung, Yuna, and Hyeongtak rise again, suggesting another round of arguing is on the horizon, Sangwoo sighs and gets to his feet. “Come on, we should go break up our idiots before they get us banned from the bar forever,” he suggests with a fond roll of his eyes. Jihye laughs and stands up as well, moving to his side.

“Yeah, that’d be for the best, wouldn’t it?”

Chapter Text

He’s pretty, but Jaeyoung has absolutely no idea who the hell he is. His head fucking hurts and his memory is foggy, and he can only recall bits and pieces of the events that occurred last night—and none of which are even remotely useful. But the stranger is beautiful and delicate-looking in a strong way, and he looks absolutely nothing like the ex-boyfriend Jaeyoung dumped two days ago, so he can at least rest easy knowing that he didn’t make the worst mistake—going back to his ex, getting in bed again with his ex, letting his ex take advantage of him while he was blackout drunk again; the list goes on—last night. But a mistake was definitely made—he would’ve loved to take this beautiful stranger sober.

He stumbles out of the bed they ended up in and surveys the surrounding room. It definitely isn’t his hotel room, and it definitely isn’t in the same hotel he booked, either. Which means Yuna’s probably freaking the fuck out right now, probably has been for a few hours now, and he should call her before she calls the cops, if she hasn’t already.

He finds his clothes folded neatly and stacked on a nearby chair—how peculiar, but also weirdly endearing; the stranger must be a neat freak, and after what Jaeyoung went through with his ex, that’s suddenly the sexiest thing he’s ever seen—and feels a wave of relief wash over him when he notices his phone sitting beside the pile. He grabs his boxers and his jeans and throws them on before snatching his phone and retreating to the bathroom to wash up. He feels oddly reluctant to leave the stranger, even though it isn’t unusual for him to leave his flings behind before they wake. The bathroom door closes quietly behind him, and Jaeyoung flinches when he comes face to face with his reflection.

He looks awful. His face is somewhat swollen and his skin is still blotchy, and there are bags under his eyes. Under the fresh hickeys and light, likely accidental grazes left behind by the stranger during their lovemaking are the bruises and lacerations given to him by his ex, and if the stranger was observant in nature or even remotely coherent last night, he definitely noticed them. And if he dared to ask about it... well, Jaeyoung can only hope that his drunken self didn’t say, “I still love him” when he explained what happened. Because he really doesn’t—he actually wants to find that bastard dead in a ditch somewhere—and his stomach twists at the idea of the handsome stranger potentially thinking their night of drunken passion happened while Jaeyoung’s heart still belonged to another.

He’s so fucking disoriented. His thoughts and feelings are a tangled mess that he can’t begin to decipher, and he can’t, for the life of him, understand why he gives a fuck about the man asleep in the other room. Chances are, he’s probably going to get told off and subsequently kicked out as soon as the stranger wakes. He should just go—there’s no reason for him to linger much longer.

He’ll call Yuna first, then take a moment to get his bearings, and then he’ll leave, he begrudgingly decides. Only partially satisfied with that choice, he dials his best friend’s number and holds the phone to his ear. She picks up before the second ring, which is a new record for her.

“JANG JAEYOUNG, YOU FUCKING BITCH, YOU’RE ALIVE!” she hollers, all banshee-like and shrill, and Jaeyoung jumps out of his skin, drops his phone, and swears profusely at the sudden assault on his ears. He snatches his phone up again, hissing at the new crack in the screen.

“Lowering your fucking voice, dammit, my head is killing me,” he snaps, wincing at the volume of his own voice.

“Where the hell did you go?! You had us so worried—we thought something bad happened to you when you disappeared and didn’t answer any of our calls!” Straight to the point as always. “Where are you now? Are you okay? Are you safe? Are you with—?”

“I don’t know—I think it’s another hotel in the area, though; I’m hungover but otherwise okay; I think I’m safe; no, I’m with a complete stranger,” he answers with a groan, cutting her rapid-fire questioning off just as her voice starts to raise again. Yuna sighs heavily on the other line.

“Thank fuck. I was so scared I’d wake up and you’d tell me you’re with that piece of shit again.”

“I know. So was I.”

“So you’re with a stranger, then. And you don’t know where you are?”

“No, I don’t. It’s a hotel, that much I know, but I don’t think it’s the one we were staying in.” Jaeyoung winces, rubbing his head. “God, how much did I drink last night? I usually don’t get hungover or drunk enough to...” His voice trails off as his eyes catch on the plain gold wedding band on his finger that definitely wasn’t there yesterday. “... I, uh, I think I did something dumb last night.”

“How dumb are we talking?” Yuna inquires. He hears shuffling on her end and the sound of fabric rustling, followed by a low groan. “You got hammered last night, by the way. I guess you were really fucked up about everything that transpired with that bitch. You drank way over your limit.”

Jaeyoung swallows thickly and steals a glance at the bathroom door. “Yuna, I... think I might be married now.”

“What.”

“It was an accident... I think.”

“How do you become accidentally married?!”

“I don’t know; the details are fuzzy, and I’m missing a big chunk of my memories from last night!”

“To who?! How?! When?!”

“I don’t—” The bathroom door opens slowly, and Jaeyoung’s words die on his tongue as he comes face to face with the beautiful stranger. His breath catches in his throat as the man takes a few measured steps towards him, slow and cautious, as if he worries that Jaeyoung will run away at the slightest motion. He casts a look at Jaeyoung’s phone, his brow quirked and lips curled, and Jaeyoung takes the hint. “Yuna, I’ll, uh, call you back later. He’s up.”

“Who is?!” Yuna exclaims. “Don’t you dare hang up on me now. You can’t leave me with so many questions and so few answers!”

“My husband, keep up with the program,” Jaeyoung snaps back, eying the man warily. “I’ll call you back when I’ve got everything sorted.” He doesn’t wait for Yuna to voice her angry protests before hanging up. The stranger’s plush lips quirk.

“Your husband,” he echoes airily, and oh, his voice. Jaeyoung’s heart flutters uncontrollably as the pleasant sound graces his ears. The stranger inspects the ring on his own finger thoughtfully, glancing between it and the one on Jaeyoung’s. “I don’t quite hate the sound of that.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t remember much of what happened last night,” Jaeyoung admits, cringing. “My name is Jaeyoung; yours is...?”

“Sangwoo.”

“It’s, uh, nice to meet you, Sangwoo-ssi. Though I imagine the circumstances could’ve been a lot better.”

“Perhaps,” Sangwoo agrees with an idle nod. His eyes drop from Jaeyoung’s face to his chest, and Jaeyoung realizes with only a small note of embarrassment that his shirt is still in the other room. Sangwoo’s brows knot together as he scrutinizes the array of marks, both fresh and old, on Jaeyoung’s exposed torso. “My memory is foggy as well, but I do remember three things.”

“And those are...?”

“Firstly, I remember that I greatly enjoyed our night together.” He takes a sure step towards Jaeyoung, meeting his eyes again. “Secondly, your ex-boyfriend doesn’t deserve you, and it seems like he never once did.” Shit, so he did tell Sangwoo about his messy relationship problems after all. That’s humiliating. “Lastly, I remember mentioning that I was twice the man your ex-boyfriend could ever be, and that I’d be happy to give you what he failed to.”

For a moment, Jaeyoung can only stand there slack-jawed and stare in silence. Was Sangwoo... hitting on him? Seriously? He seems deathly serious, and he definitely doesn’t look like the type to joke about something like this, but Jaeyoung can’t be too sure. They don’t know each other whatsoever. They slept together last night, and somehow had time to get married before that, but that was as far as he knew in regard to the man. “Are you... just saying that because we’re... married, or are you actually being serious?” Jaeyoung finally asks.

“Oh, I’m being very serious,” Sangwoo answers readily, and he sounds so honest and sincere that Jaeyoung can’t help but believe him. “I don’t think we are legitimately married, either. We would need an official marriage license for that, something of which I suspect we were denied given our intoxicated states, though my theory is that we bought these rings with the intent of getting married in mind.”

“So... you’re actually hitting on me, then.”

“Yes, Jaeyoung-ssi, if you need me to say it explicitly, then I will. I am hitting on you.” Sangwoo takes a deep breath and exhales. “You know, I always thought I would marry a woman.” His cheeks redden significantly, and the blush looks absolutely fucking adorable on him. “However, though I can’t remember all the details well, being with you was a life-altering experience for me. And I would like to take it further and see where this will take us. I would like to get to know you properly, without the influence or involvement of alcohol.” The corners of his lips curl down, and he promptly averts his gaze. “But, if you don’t feel the same...”

The feeling of not wanting to leave this man from earlier comes rushing back to Jaeyoung then. He had no desire to leave then, so why the hell would he walk out now? And pass up on this? Absolutely not. “I want to see where this takes us, too,” he confesses. “You’re hot and cute as fuck, and I didn’t want to leave you before, and I definitely don’t want to now.” Sangwoo looks back at him just as he comes into his space. Jaeyoung smiles at how much he’s blushing now. His voice drops to a sultry whisper. “So, Sangwoo-yah, show me how eager you are to give me all the things my ex never gave me.”

A fire burns in Sangwoo’s eyes, and he rises to the challenge immediately and with burning determination. He lifts himself to the tips of his toes and drapes his arms around Jaeyoung’s neck, dragging him down in a bruisingly passionate kiss that leaves him more dizzy and breathless and flustered than he’s ever felt before. Sangwoo kisses him like he means it, and Jaeyoung melts into it, welcoming the warmth that blooms in his heart.

This might be the best accident he’s ever had in his entire life.

Chapter Text

This is stupid is the first thought that crosses Sangwoo’s mind while Jaeyoung is passionately and dramatically reciting the lines he memorized for their French presentation, but it’s immediately followed by an uncharacteristically soft, And kind of fun.

Because it is. It is fun, the silly presentation that they’re doing. He felt embarrassed at first—still kind of does, actually—when he put on the historical costume Jaeyoung cheekily presented to him and vehemently insisted he had to wear, but now that they’re actually doing the presentation, he finds himself feeling... odd. Not in a bad way, not entirely, but odd nonetheless. Some unnamable thing bubbles in Sangwoo’s chest, something warm and tender and all-encompassing, and his lips quirk too often without his consent, even when he’s supposed to look serious or sad or angry. His cheeks and ears feel impossibly hot, and he knows the rosy color must show on his skin, and he hopes his classmates will assume it’s from the heat of the room and the heavy costume as opposed to anything else.

His peers look at him as if they’re seeing him in a new light, as if they’re seeing him as a true and proper human being rather than an unfeeling robot for the very first time, and it isn’t necessarily an awful feeling, though it isn’t necessarily a welcome one, either. He doesn’t quite like it, the way they’re looking at him, but Jaeyoung is good at keeping his attention on the presentation and off the looks their classmates are giving him, so, for better or for worse, he doesn’t get the chance to really overthink and overanalyze it now. Perhaps, though, he won’t get a chance to analyze that at all—not with the way Jaeyoung is looking at him.

Jaeyoung looks at him like he’s hung the stars and the moon, like he’s the most precious thing in the universe, like he just wants to pick Sangwoo up and cradle him in his arms and hide him away from the rest of the watchful eyes in the room. Jaeyoung looks at him the way Sangwoo’s sister looks at photos and videos of actors she finds attractive, looks at him the same way Sangwoo’s father looks at his mother and vice versa, looks at him with an overabundance of fondness and admiration, and Sangwoo doesn’t know why. He doesn’t know why Jaeyoung is looking at him like this. He doesn’t know why it twists his stomach into knots and makes his heart do somersaults. He doesn’t know why he wants to give Jaeyoung more reasons to look at him like this. He doesn’t know why, and he wants to wrap this presentation up quickly so he can go home and analyze it.

Because it scares him, the way Jaeyoung is looking at him and the way it’s making him feel.

It scares him so much, and yet...

A small, tiny part buried deep within him preens with Jaeyoung looking at him like that.

Chapter Text

With Jaeyoung in France, Sangwoo feels... empty. He wakes up each morning to an empty bed, with a deep sense of loss weighing him down like a heavy blanket, and when he’s finally able to drag himself out of bed and leave the room, he’s greeted by silence and an empty apartment. There are traces that Jaeyoung was here at some point—in the few pieces of furniture he had brought over, in the art he’d made that Sangwoo framed and put up on the walls, in the colorful decorations he had added to make the space feel more lively and homelike, in the little notes and love letters he’d hidden around the apartment before he left that Sangwoo is still finding—but he isn’t there now, and it’s a crushing thing, having only reminders and suggestions of Jaeyoung’s presence in his home and not having Jaeyoung himself there.

It’s not like they don’t talk. He gets at least a hundred texts every day from Jaeyoung, and they talk on the phone frequently.

But it isn’t enough.

It can’t compare to physically having Jaeyoung in his space. It can’t compare to physically being wrapped up in his arms and held firmly against his broad frame and basking in the comforting warmth of his body. It can’t do anything to soothe the building anxiety that Jaeyoung will find someone better than Sangwoo during his time working in France. One of Jaeyoung’s other friends had made a joke once, before he knew Jaeyoung was dating Sangwoo, saying that he would definitely find love in the city of love, but Jaeyoung had, rather quickly and sharply, shut that down with the firm declaration that he wasn’t finding anyone anywhere he loved more than Sangwoo. At the time, Sangwoo believed it wholeheartedly. He still does, of course, but fear and insecurity had planted their roots deep within his heart and mind during the second week of their separation, and the comment had been taunting him ever since, ringing in his mind like a broken alarm that couldn’t be silenced.

It’s gotten to a point where he can’t even focus anymore. The words in his workbooks all bleed together on the pages, and he keeps losing track of what he’s doing and making mistakes he never would have made before. It’s like that week where he lost Jaeyoung all over again, but it’s worse somehow, because he still has Jaeyoung this time, but he’s still spiraling out of control. He’s been eating less, he’s started avoiding their friends, and he’s lucky if he can muster up enough strength to get out of bed and go to class, even luckier if he has enough strength to go to the library.

A heavy sigh escapes Sangwoo’s lips as he catches another mistake in his work. Maybe he should’ve just stayed home.

The chair across from him is abruptly dragged out from the table, and a weight heavily drops into the seat. Two fingers, the nails of which have been painted a holographic black, tap insistently on the tabletop. When he looks up to snap at the newcomer for bothering him, his eyes meet those of Choi Yuna, who pins him with a hard stare and firmly says, without any preamble whatsoever, “You and me—movie night.”

Sangwoo stares blankly at her, the words not registering right away in his mind. “What.”

“Movie night,” Yuna repeats unwaveringly. “Hyeongtak, Jaeyoung, and I used to get together to watch a movie every Friday night. Well, it’s Friday, and Jaeyoung isn’t here, but Hyeongtak, Jihye, and you are, therefore, you’re coming.”

“But I don’t want to—” His mouth snaps shut at the fierce look she gives him.

“Look, Sangchoo, you aren’t okay. I know it, you know it, Hyeongtak knows it, Jihye knows it, Jaeyoung knows it.” Sangwoo’s muscles stiffen at the mention of Jaeyoung knowing that something was amiss. It must show on his face because Yuna shoots him a sympathetic smile. “Sorry to break it to you, but you’re not as good at hiding things as you think you are. And Jaeyoung is a lot more observant and attentive than people give him credit for, especially when it comes to his loved ones. I had to talk him out of coming home from France eight times in the last three days alone.”

“He’s overreacting. I’m fine,” Sangwoo insists, but the words sound hollow and fake even to his own ears. A disheartened sigh escapes his lips as he looks away from Yuna’s penetrating stare. The idea that Jaeyoung would fall in love with someone else while in France sounds silly now that he knows just how close Jaeyoung has come to dropping everything and coming back to him. How close Jaeyoung has come to throwing away a great opportunity to work for a great company all because he suspected something was wrong with Sangwoo. He’d do it, too. He’d do it, and he wouldn’t even regret it, either. Suddenly, Sangwoo feels a little stupid for ever entertaining a thought like that and letting it bother him so much.

“If you don’t want to talk about whatever’s bothering you now, you don’t have to,” Yuna tells him, uncharacteristically gentle. “But if you’re going through something, it’s better if you weren’t going through it alone. I know you’re used to being on your own and shouldering every burden by yourself, but you aren’t alone anymore—you have Jaeyoung, you have me, you have Hyeongtak, and you have Jihye. You have us. We’re your friends, Sangwoo-yah, and we care about you so fucking much. You don’t have to suffer in silence if something’s wrong.”

His chest suddenly feels tight, and his cheeks suddenly feel wet. He sniffles and wipes at his eyes and is surprised to see that his hands are wet now, too. When did he start crying? But now that he’s started, he can’t stop, and he quickly finds himself overcome by a multitude of emotions he doesn’t have the capacity to name right now. Tears fall freely from his eyes now, his shoulders shaking as he quietly weeps, and he does his best to stifle his sniffles for the sake of following the library’s rules. Yuna stands up and comes over to his side, but she thankfully doesn’t touch him, instead closing his books and neatly depositing them in his bag.

“Come on, Chu Sangchoo-ssi,” she coaxes softly, “Let’s get out of here.”

An hour later, Sangwoo finds himself curled up in his pajamas—a hoodie from Jaeyoung, one of his own shirts, and a pair of fleece pajama bottoms, also from Jaeyoung—on Yuna’s couch, surrounded by only the softest pillows and blankets she owned. Jihye is sprawled out on the recliner to the left of the couch, while Yuna and Hyeongtak have set up camp on the floor, lounging on thick, fluffy blankets spread out over the cool tile and propped up against an overabundance of pillows. On the table before them is a meal that could feed an entire army, some of it homemade and some of it takeout, complete with all of their favorite snacks and desserts. Playing on the TV is a movie Sangwoo’s never seen before, but it’s good enough that it frequently pulls more than a quiet chuckle out of him.

He had gotten off the phone with Jaeyoung a few minutes ago, promising him that he was feeling better now and that he would be alright. Swaddled up in the familiar scent and warmth of his boyfriend’s clothes, basking in the warmth of Yuna’s apartment and the jovial company of his friends, indulging in delicious food and a humorous movie, he realizes that it’s the truth—he will be okay. He still misses Jaeyoung dearly, more than words could describe, and the feeling that he’s missing something very important hasn’t entirely gone away, either, but Jaeyoung will be home in less than two weeks, and he doesn’t have to spend that time spiraling in lonely isolation anymore.

A fond smile pulls at the corners of Sangwoo’s lips as Yuna starts shouting and swearing colorfully at a stupid decision made by one of the characters in the movie. His smile widens when Hyeongtak unexpectedly joins in, albeit with far less swearing, and it widens further as Jihye’s bright laughter rings in his ears. He can’t stop the peal of laughter that escapes his own lips as the room descends into total chaos, and he looks forward to the day when they can all do this again with Jaeyoung present as well.

Chapter Text

Their spot of choice for tonight’s date is a cozy hole-in-the-wall restaurant only a ten-minute walk from their apartment. It’s small and quiet, housing only a handful of patrons, and the atmosphere is warm and welcoming, and the food is affordable but delicious and made by the loving, expert hands of the elderly couple that runs the place. Jaeyoung and his friends have come here a few times in the past—Hyeongtak said once that the couple reminded him of his grandparents, and after the ajumeoni aggressively told off a man who refused to pay for his meal without dropping her warm, friendly smile, Jaeyoung had to agree. The couple was also surprisingly okay with Yuna bringing a girl there for a date once, so it seemed like a perfect place for a date with Sangwoo.

At least, it is until one of his exes walks in a few minutes after they’ve ordered their meal.

His heart drops to his stomach because this isn’t just some random ex he parted somewhat amicably with—this is the worst one on his relatively short list of exes. This is the senior who felt threatened by both Jaeyoung and the friends he kept, the senior who tried to break Jaeyoung down and isolate him from the people he trusted, the senior who wanted to control Jaeyoung and shape him into what he wanted Jaeyoung to be. He made so many destructive sacrifices just to please this man, even though he was never good enough unless he was miserable and unwell. It’s been five, coming up on six, years since they broke up, and Jaeyoung has since healed, but his stomach still twists in knots at the sight of him alone. Because he’s neither forgotten nor forgiven anything that man has done and made him do.

“Hyung?” The soft call from Sangwoo, his sweet, loving, compassionate, dedicated boyfriend, brings Jaeyoung back to the present. His voice is monotonous and level as usual, but his eyes betray his concern, and Jaeyoung realizes that he’s been clenching his fists hard enough to turn his knuckles white. He quickly relaxes his hands and smiles.

“Sorry, I zoned out,” he excuses. “Were you saying something?”

“It was just about the atmosphere of the restaurant. I was saying that it is nice,” Sangwoo answers. His eyes flick briefly to Jaeyoung’s hands before returning to his face. “You were thinking of something upsetting.”

Caught, Jaeyoung drops his smile and slumps his shoulders. “My baby knows me so well,” he says, and he’s grateful for it. There are times when he swears Sangwoo knows him better than he knows himself, and it makes him love Sangwoo even more. He feels treasured, knowing that Sangwoo has taken the time to commit every small detail regarding Jaeyoung—his likes, his dislikes, his mannerisms, his body language, and more—to memory. He likes having a boyfriend that is as attentive to him as Jaeyoung is to him. Even if he would’ve preferred to avoid having this conversation. “I saw someone I dated years ago just now, and it reminded me of some things.”

“Bad things,” Sangwoo assumes, and he glances to his left, and his eyes correctly locate the source of Jaeyoung’s discomfort, sitting only a few tables away with some small, skinny girl who looks about as young as Jaeyoung was when he first started going out with him. Sangwoo wrinkles his nose. “He does look like he would be a bad person.”

Jaeyoung can’t help the snort that escapes him. “How could you tell?”

Sangwoo looks back at him, and he’s momentarily taken aback by the quiet yet burning anger dancing around in his eyes. “Anyone who makes you react that intensely must be a person who’s mistreated you,” he says, gently taking Jaeyoung’s hand in his and lacing their fingers together. “I see it when you talk about people you’ve encountered. I see it when you talk about people at work. I see it when you talk about your grandfather or other members of your family. You get very tense, your skin loses some of its color, and you clench your hands so tightly to a point where your nails leave indents in the skin.” He delicately caresses Jaeyoung’s knuckle with his thumb. “Usually, you’re thinking about the people who’ve either mistreated you or made you feel something negative when you do that.”

“My baby really does know me so well,” Jaeyoung murmurs faintly. Sangwoo’s lips curl with the suggestion of a smile as he releases Jaeyoung’s hand.

“Let’s grab the food and get out of here,” he abruptly decides. “We can have them pack it up in to-go boxes and take it home.”

“But our date—”

“—won’t be ruined if we decide to eat at home tonight instead. I would rather be at home in a safe environment than have you sit in a small restaurant with your ex only a few steps away.” He rises to his feet, and Jaeyoung can’t find any reason to protest or insist they stay, so he gets to his feet as well. Satisfied, Sangwoo smiles and marches up to the counter, waving the sociable ajumeoni down. “Excuse me,” he says when she acknowledges him, “could we have our order to go? We decided it would be better to eat at home tonight.”

“Sorry for the inconvenience,” Jaeyoung adds quickly, noticing that their food was basically already done, but the ajumeoni simply waves him off.

“Of course, dear, don’t worry about it,” she acquiesces graciously, and she calls out to her husband to tell him as such. He shouts back an affirmative, and Jaeyoung watches as the elderly man carefully transfers their meals from the bowls and plates to various containers. The containers are stacked in a bag and brought to the counter. Jaeyoung takes the bag as Sangwoo pays for the meal. The couple bids them goodbye as they leave, and Jaeyoung doesn’t look back even when he feels someone’s piercing gaze on him. Sangwoo intertwines their fingers and gently tugs him the rest of the way outside.

Once they round the corner of an empty street, Jaeyoung crowds Sangwoo up against a nearby wall and kisses him until they’re both breathless and gasping. “Thank you, sweetheart,” he whispers against plush lips. Sangwoo, with crimson cheeks, nods quickly.

“Kiss me like that again and the food will be cold by the time we get to it.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

“Hyung!”

Chapter Text

“What does everyone plan to do for summer break?” Jihye asks as she drops down in the seat to Hyeongtak’s right. They’ve gathered in a quaint cafe to catch up after weeks spent either studying for finals or working or both. The four of them look wrecked in some way—Jaeyoung, who graduated in February and works full-time remotely for DEX now, looked like he aged twenty years and wanted to fly back to France to murder his coworkers; Yuna, who’s in her final year of college, looked like someone who didn’t even know what the word sleep meant; Hyeongtak looked a bit thinner than she remembered and was almost falling asleep right next to his latté; and Sangwoo... well, besides the noticeable bags under his eyes, looked perfectly fine, though he is clinging a lot more tightly to Jaeyoung than what was considered normal for him in a public space. Jihye cringes, “Wow, you guys look awful.”

“Thanks,” Jaeyoung grunts, tilting his head back and squeezing his eyes shut. “I think I’m being exploited. I think I’m going to kill whatever fucking freeloaders keep dropping more work onto my plate. I’m a foreign member of the team, not a fucking idiot—who the fuck do they think they are, treating me like this?”

“That’s karma for you, baby,” Yuna jabs, but her heart isn’t in it. She just sounds angry at the idea of someone exploiting her friend. Jaeyoung must realize that, because he doesn’t even scowl or look at her. “You should quit. You can do better. Find a different company or go solo. You survived off of freelance work and commissions just fine before joining DEX, and you’ve got Veggie Venturer bringing in some money now. You and Sangchoo could totally make it as independent game developers for sure.”

Jihye nods supportively. “True! Veggie Venturer was wildly successful, and it’s still growing in popularity to this day. You two could definitely be successful indie developers if you tried,” she encourages. “Ooh! You two could even start your own company!”

Jaeyoung snorts. “Who the hell would work for us?”

“I would,” Hyeongtak mumbles into the crook of his arms. He lifts his head a little, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. “We could be a small company. Sangwoo and Jihye do the coding; we do the design. You and Yuna-noona are fluent in a lot of languages; you two could translate the games to reach a wider market. We could get—” He wrinkles his nose and gags. “We could get your brother to help us with finances.”

“Are you crazy?” Sangwoo, the once quiet observer, hisses, fixing Hyeongtak with a fierce glare. “Absolutely not. I don’t like him.”

Hyeongtak breathes a heavy sigh of relief and slumps his shoulders. “Thank goodness. I didn’t wanna work with him either; I just thought that’d be the smart move to make.”

“You couldn’t even pay me to work with him,” Jaeyoung scoffs. “Actually, I’d take death over working with him.”

Jihye looks between the three of them with wide eyes. “What’s so bad about your brother...?” she asks Jaeyoung. Yuna reaches out and pats her arm, shaking her head.

“That’s a can of worms best left for another time,” she insists. Jihye’s eyes round further in alarm, and she looks to Jaeyoung for confirmation, who pulls a face and nods his head solemnly. Yuna waves her hand. “Enough talk about the future and exploitation and that ho. You wanted to know what our plans for summer were? I’m gonna fucking sleep. All day, every day.”

“Me too,” the exhausted voices of Sangwoo and Hyeongtak echo.

“And I’m gonna be stuck working and fighting coworkers,” Jaeyoung adds miserably.

“Oh,” Jihye says, her voice small.

“What are your plans?” Sangwoo asks, tilting his head at her. Heat rushes to her cheeks, and she bashfully looks elsewhere.

“Well... I don’t know anymore.”

“What does that mean?” Yuna probes.

“I... was hoping to do something with you guys, since we’ve gotten so close and all, but you all already have plans, so—”

“I didn’t plan on sleeping all day, you know; that was just an exaggeration,” Yuna cuts in quickly. “I’m gonna be well rested by the time summer break actually comes around.”

“We could plan a week-long trip or something,” Hyeongtak suggests eagerly. Sangwoo nods contemplatively.

“I wouldn’t mind it, if you just tell me in advance what you want to do,” he informs. He nudges Jaeyoung and pouts. “It’ll give him a reason to step away from his work for a few days.”

“Well, kids, I don’t get a summer break like the rest of you do—”

“Shut the fuck up, ahjussi, I’m gonna be venturing out into the real world soon enough. We’re all grown; you don’t have to act like you’re the only adult here since you’ve got a fancy full-time job at a big company,” Yuna scoffs with a roll of her eyes. Jaeyoung tuts and flips her off.

“I feel like I’m fifty years older than you college kids with this job.”

“Well—”

“Roadtrip!” Jihye suddenly exclaims before the two could bicker any further. They both look at her with confusion written all over their faces.

“Huh?” Yuna utters at the same time Jaeyoung asks, “What?”

“Let’s go on a roadtrip. We could visit a few tourist locations across South Korea or something.” Jihye taps her chin thoughtfully before shaking her head. “No, that sounds lame. Where were you guys born?”

“Wonju,” Hyeongtak says slowly, sharing a look with his friends.

“Busan,” Yuna answers.

“Sokcho,” Jaeyoung adds.

“Daejeon,” Sangwoo responds.

“Oh, wow, you guys come from all over!” Jihye marvels. “I was born here. We could make it work, though.”

“Make... what work, exactly?” Sangwoo wondered.

“A roadtrip through all of our hometowns! We could take a train to Busan, spend a few hours to a day there, get a rental, and then go from there.” She smiles warmly. “It’d be fun, don’t you think?” Her smile falters. “Somebody at this table knows how to drive, right? And has a valid license?”

Three hands point instinctively at Jaeyoung, who startles and looks between them all. Jihye suddenly regrets opening her mouth about a roadtrip if Jaeyoung’s going to be the driver. Sangwoo must notice her apprehension, because he smiles and pats Jaeyoung’s arm, saying, “Jaeyoung-hyung is a surprisingly competent driver. He’s very alert and hyperaware of his surroundings when he’s behind the wheel.”

“We can attest to that,” Yuna adds, gesturing to herself and Hyeongtak. “We’ve been passengers in cars with him, and we’re still breathing. Miraculously.”

“I trust Jaeyoung-hyung behind the wheel of a car more than I trust Yuna-noona just standing in a kitchen,” Hyeongtak supplies.

“Hey!”

“Who said I wanted to drive the length of South Korea??” Jaeyoung cries. His protests abruptly cut off when Sangwoo looks up at him, widens his eyes a little, juts out his lower lip, and breathes out a quiet, Hyung, please. With a blush high on his cheeks, Jaeyoung crosses his arms and looks away, relenting. “Fine, I’ll be the damn driver.”

The group collectively cheers.

Chapter Text

There’s a new kid in school whom nobody seems to like, but everybody seems to love talking about. Jaeyoung hasn’t ever caught his name in passing, but they all say the newcomer is robotic and soulless, colder and meaner than any teacher could ever be, and dismissive of everyone under the sun, that he doesn’t like anyone and will make time for no one, that he’s nothing more than a freak, a know-it-all, and a loner. They say he freaks out when you touch him, snaps at you when you offer him companionship, and insults you when you ask why he doesn’t want to talk to you.

Jaeyoung’s been curious about the kid ever since the rumors started.

During lunch, the boy usually sits alone, tucked away in the far corner of the cafeteria. Students jeer at him, sometimes from afar and sometimes to his face, but he takes everything in stride, and valiantly ignores them until they eventually give up for the day and go on their way. This vicious cycle hasn’t let up even a little since the boy’s arrival, and it’s starting to get on Jaeyoung’s nerves.

Yuna and Hyeongtak are absent today, which leaves him on his own. He’s popular and well-liked enough to a point where he could sit with whoever he wanted and be just fine, but he’s on a mission today, and that mission is to put a stop to at least some of the bullying the boy receives daily. People like Jaeyoung—if they see him sitting with the kid and getting along decently with him, it’ll either be social suicide for himself or the trigger for a peaceful freshman year for the boy.

He really hopes it’s the latter, but he won’t hate the former so much as long as his best friends don’t kick him to the curb, too.

After collecting his lunch, Jaeyoung scans the cafeteria, smiling as his eyes catch on the boy sitting all alone in the back. He eats his food while reading through a workbook that looks nothing like what’s been assigned at school. Jaeyoung wonders what it’s about, and figures it won’t hurt to ask when he’s there—it might help the kid warm up to him if he does. With steady, confident strides, he makes his way to the table, bypassing everyone else, and he can feel his peers watching him with quiet intensity and intrigue the closer he gets to the boy’s table. The kid doesn’t look up when he nears, completely unaware of his presence, so Jaeyoung knocks lightly on the tabletop until the boy’s head snaps up and his eyes meet Jaeyoung’s.

Oh. He’s so fucking pretty.

For a moment, all Jaeyoung can do is dumbly stand there and stare, taken aback by how someone considered so rude and cold could look so soft and delicate. He had the prettiest eyes and the sweetest face, and Jaeyoung feels himself overcome by the sudden and strange urge to hold the boy’s face in his hands and feel his skin against his own. Which is something he definitely isn’t going to do, but the thought lingers longer than he’s comfortable with, so he shakes himself out of his stupor and smiles politely at the kid.

“Excuse me,” Jaeyoung greets, gesturing to the seat across from him, “can I sit here?”

The startled look on the boy’s face quickly vanishes, and his delicate features are schooled into a look of harsh disinterest. “I prefer not to be disturbed,” he deadpans flatly, and Jaeyoung’s heart sinks at the blunt, cold rejection. The snickers of his peers and their snide comments reach his ears, further deepening the pit that opened in his stomach. He was expecting this, sure, even expected to be laughed at and mocked by his peers for attempting this, but the immediate and frigid dismissal has his heart sinking for some odd reason. Something must show on his face because the boy then lowers his eyes, his cheeks pinkening very faintly as he mumbles, “But you can sit there if you promise to be quiet and not disrupt my focus.”

The cafeteria falls into silence. Even Jaeyoung himself is momentarily caught off guard by the quiet change of heart. The boy’s cheeks redden further, and he tries to make himself as small as possible, clearly self-conscious. A smile spreads across Jaeyoung’s lips, and he chooses to ignore the way his heart flutters at being welcomed into the otherwise standoffish boy’s bubble. If anyone asks, he definitely isn’t blushing. Not whatsoever.

“I can do that,” he promises. He doesn’t like sitting in silence, but he’s learned when and how to keep his mouth shut for prolonged periods of time after moving in with his grandfather. He doubts the boy will react anything like his grandfather would after being told he doesn’t want to be disturbed, but Jaeyoung would rather not take his chances. If the boy wants him to shut up, he can do that. Still, he kind of hoped to talk to the kid, at least for a few minutes, so he drops down in the seat across from the boy and tries, “But, if you don’t mind, I kinda wanted to ask you about that book you’re reading. What’s it about? It looks interesting.”

The boy glances at him again, scrutinizing him. Perhaps he’s looking for any hints of malice, the implication that this is the start of a mean joke, but all he’ll find is sincerity. Jaeyoung is genuinely interested in what he’s reading, even if it looks more complicated than what his brain can usually process. And the boy clearly sees that, as his features soften just a touch, and there’s the slightest suggestion of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Without warning, he launches into an impassioned ramble about coding, programming, and all things related to computer science, talking Jaeyoung’s ear off about things he definitely doesn’t quite understand but is happy to listen to all the same. His voice is airy and soft with a monotonous twinge, but it’s music to Jaeyoung’s ears, and the only thing he wants to do is make sure he keeps talking.

By the end of the sixty-minute lunch period, Jaeyoung learns that the boy’s name is Chu Sangwoo and that he plans to go to university to study computer science, and that he aspires to make video games in the future. Impulsively, Jaeyoung offers his art to the cause, because the boy started smiling at him and calling him hyung halfway through the discussion, and his heart had tumbled right into Sangwoo’s hands the longer they talked. He walks out of the cafeteria with a new friend and an embarrassingly massive crush on adorable little Chu Sangwoo.

Yuna and Hyeongtak are going to get one hell of a kick out of this when he tells them.

Chapter Text

The playful red fox lounging to the right of him on his couch is not cute whatsoever, Sangwoo tells himself. There is absolutely nothing endearing about the way he snuggles into the cushions of Sangwoo’s couch or the way he rolls onto his back so he can play with his fluffy tail. There is absolutely nothing cute about his little yips or the way his face scrunches when he yawns. There’s nothing touching about the way he tries to be close to Sangwoo without touching him or the way he tries to be helpful to Sangwoo despite being stuck in the form of a fox so much smaller than his normal outstanding height. There’s nothing heartbreaking about the dejected look on his face and the way he shrinks back whenever his attempts at getting Sangwoo’s attention fail.

“I can’t smile at you,” Sangwoo says, but it’s really more to himself than the fox, “I’m mad.”

The red fox whimpers pitifully, ducking his head and covering his snout with his paws.

“You shouldn’t have tried to eat Jihye, then.”

The fox whines again, shrinking back. Somehow, he manages to look guilty, or at least properly chastised.

“I really don’t know what your problem is with her. She’s a little pushy, yes, but she’s... nice.” Sangwoo sighs, glaring at the fox. “Unlike you.”

He tries to ignore the way his heart shatters as the red fox flinches hard and promptly curls around himself, his face disappearing under the fluff of his tail. A tremor rattles through his lithe frame, and it only serves to further break Sangwoo’s heart. A frustrated sigh escapes his lips. He can never seem to do anything right when it comes to Jaeyoung, even when the man’s stuck as a fox thanks to... thanks to... thanks to whatever completely illogical and entirely nonsensical force it was that temporarily turned Jaeyoung and Jihye into animals. Don’t ask him what happened; he really doesn’t have a single clue. One minute, he was attempting to study; the next minute, one of Jaeyoung’s friends was calling him from Jaeyoung’s phone and asking—no, begging—him to take Jaeyoung away before he ate Jihye.

Yeah, that was a disturbing phone call to receive. He was worried Jaeyoung had actually turned to cannibalism.

Hours later, he still isn’t quite sure of what happened, or how the hell Jaeyoung got turned into a red fox and Jihye a squirrel, or how he even figured out which of the few squirrels in Seoul was Jihye, or how Jaeyoung’s friends figured out it was Jihye that he was trying to eat. And he isn’t really sure if he wants the answer to any of those questions. He isn’t even sure if any of this is actually real, to be honest. It’s a lot to process right now, so he instead refocuses his attention on the red fox that’s currently in his care.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” he says by way of apology, but Jaeyoung doesn’t look up. “But you’re going to have to apologize to Jihye when you’re both human again. I imagine she must’ve been very frightened.”

Nothing. Jaeyoung doesn’t even growl at the idea of apologizing to Jihye.

“Was it an accident? Did you think she was just an ordinary squirrel?”

Silence. Sangwoo’s earlier comment must’ve reminded Jaeyoung of why he was avoiding Sangwoo in the first place, because he’s giving him the cold shoulder now—completely dropping the sweet, playful behavior from earlier. It stings a little. No—it stings a lot. Sangwoo sighs. He doesn’t want Jaeyoung to avoid or ignore him anymore. But he doesn’t know how to fix this, not really.

“Jaeyoung,” he calls out softly, “can I touch you?”

Finally, the fox lifts his head, looking at Sangwoo with eyes narrowed in suspicion, as if he expected Sangwoo to scold him some more or something. But he nods, slowly and unsteadily, startling only a little when Sangwoo gathers him in his arms and cradles him close to his chest. He presses a tentative kiss to the top of Jaeyoung’s furry fox head, breathing out another sigh.

“I’m sorry I can never do right by you,” he murmurs quietly. “I don’t know why I keep failing to. Why I keep saying things that I know are going to hurt you. Why I keep trying to push you away by intentionally hurting you.” He runs his fingers through the fox’s soft fur before scratching his chin gently. “I don’t know why you like me, Jaeyoung. I don’t know how you could like me even though I treat you so poorly. You deserve someone who’ll tell you the truth instead of telling you that they hate you. You deserve someone who has their shit together and won’t freak out because they realized that they really like you. You deserve better than some soulless robot boy. You deserve better than me.”

The weight in his arms abruptly changes. When he opens his eyes, the fox is gone, and Jaeyoung is in its place. Sangwoo flushes crimson at the awkward position they’ve ended up in—Jaeyoung sideways in his lap, with both of Sangwoo’s arms tightly wound around his torso—but Jaeyoung just smiles wistfully and tentatively cups his cheek.

“No,” he says warmly, “I think you’re perfect for me, Chu Sangwoo.”

Chapter Text

“Have you guys considered part-time jobs?” Hyeongtak asks one day while they’re eating lunch. He pokes at his food thoughtfully, looking up at Jaeyoung and Yuna from under his lashes. His stance is timid and innocent, as if he knows neither of his friends is going to like what he’s about to say next. “Eomma’s looking to hire some helping hands at her flower shop, and I think you two would be good candidates for it.”

“Oh, look! My will to live... it’s gone,” Yuna suddenly exclaims unenthusiastically, fixing the younger teen with a glare that makes him shrink in his seat. She sits up abruptly, stabbing her chopsticks in his direction. “You think I’m gonna work? On top of all the studying and working I already have to do for school?”

“It really wouldn’t be so bad,” Hyeongtak tries, pouting now. “It’s just flowers and plants; how hard could it be? And you like my eomma!”

Yuna says something Jaeyoung doesn’t catch. The rest of their conversation falls on deaf ears as Jaeyoung watches the table in the back of the room, where Chu Sangwoo sits alone again, his nose in a book and his walls erect once more. Jaeyoung doesn’t understand what went wrong—he thought they were getting along well, but last week, Sangwoo suddenly snapped at him to piss off and go away, and Jaeyoung’s been in shambles ever since. He doesn’t often overthink, but he’s been in a constant state of it now, overanalyzing every interaction and word to figure out the root of the problem. He knows he needs to stop soon—his grades have been slipping, and his grandfather hasn’t been happy about that whatsoever—but all his thoughts inevitably turn to the topic of Sangwoo even when he actively tries not to think of the boy.

A hard slap to his shoulder startles him out of his thoughts. “Yah, Jang Jaeyoung, are you even listening?” Yuna barks, scowling at him. Hyeongtak is looking at him as well, his eyes round and shining with obvious curiosity. Jaeyoung groans and rubs his shoulder, now sore and stinging.

“No,” he says shortly, “what were you saying?”

“Part-time job at Eomma’s flower shop,” Hyeongtak reiterates cheerily. He’s smiling now and his eyes are twinkling, which can only mean Yuna caved and agreed to it sometime while Jaeyoung was still in his head. Either that, or Hyeongtak suckered her into it by pouting and whining so cutely until she could no longer find it in herself to say no. They spoil this kid, Jaeyoung realizes belatedly. He’s a year and some months younger than them both, and he was such a shy, timid, and easily frightened boy before they picked him up, and he often gets what he wants from them eventually, even if they resist him for a while. Hyeongtak chatters on, “I know you two are loaded and don’t really need the money, but it could be fun, don’t you think? Being able to tend to nature together for a few hours, instead of rotting away inside this school building, the library, or your parents’ soulless high-rise and your grandfather’s soulless mansion.”

“It’ll be good for you especially,” Yuna says quietly, nudging Jaeyoung’s arm and giving him a knowing look. “You hate going home after the day’s done, even when your grandfather’s still out working.”

Jaeyoung shakes his head, cringing a little. Subconsciously, his hand lifts to touch his cheek, to touch a bruise that healed months ago. “He’s going to crack my skull open like a coconut if my grades slip because of it. He’s already going to be pissed because he’ll assume that me getting a job and making my own money equates to me trying to cut myself off from the family.”

“Which you wanted to do anyway,” Hyeongtak recalls. “So wouldn’t it be better if you had your own money lining your pockets so that you’ll be able to support yourself just fine when that day comes?”

“Yeah,” Jaeyoung says distantly, “I suppose it would.”

Yuna arches a brow at him. “So...? Are you gonna join us or what?”

Jaeyoung’s eyes flick to the table across the room, to the quiet boy who sits at it, reading his book with a discontented look etched on his face. Except, Sangwoo isn’t looking down at his book anymore. He’s looking right at Jaeyoung, his expression otherwise unreadable to the older student who once dumbly thought that he was starting to figure Sangwoo out. He’s been an enigma since the day he first arrived at this school; Jaeyoung was a fool to believe that the shroud of mist surrounding the boy would clear for him. He can’t keep thinking about this, about Sangwoo. He needs to pull himself together.

He tears his gaze away from the boy and nods to his friends. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I’ll join you guys.”

“Yes!” Hyeongtak cheers, pumping his fists in the air.

“Look at that; my will to live just came back! Let’s just hope the plants’ will to live doesn’t run away when we show up,” Yuna snickers, but her eyes are fond as she watches him celebrate. “Hopefully green thumbs are an acquired skill and not a natural-born talent, or else your eomma isn’t going to be very happy with us.”

“We’ll probably get fired on the first day,” Jaeyoung smirks.

“Probably.”

Hyeongtak sulks at them. “Don’t ruin this for me, guys. Just do exactly as you’re told, and everything should be fine.”

“Should be,” Jaeyoung echoes. He isn’t sure if he really believes that.

Chapter Text

Jaeyoung’s blood smells sweet and tangy and intoxicating, and it’s been driving Sangwoo to ruin since running home from the bar. And now that Jaeyoung’s jacket is off, the cut is exposed, and the piquant scent is so much stronger, clogging up Sangwoo’s senses and clouding his mind. His head spun and his knees buckled as soon as he opened the bathroom door, and it took every ounce of self-control he had left to stop himself from lunging at Jaeyoung and having his fill of the man’s sweet essence. He’s never had a reaction like this to anyone’s blood before, and he’s been around plenty of people who’ve bled before. Never once had he even thought of pouncing on them and drinking from the source before, even when he was starving.

So what the hell was compelling him to pin Jaeyoung down against the couch cushions and sink his fangs into his neck and leave a mark where everyone could see it?

He tells himself that it’s because he hates Jaeyoung, that it’s because Jaeyoung pisses him off more than anyone else ever has, that it’s because Jaeyoung left a claim on him by writing his name in bold, bright red on Sangwoo’s flyers, so he has the right to leave a claim on Jaeyoung in retaliation. He pretends his gut doesn’t stir with unusual satisfaction and thrill at the idea of staking a claim on the popular senior, at the idea of Jaeyoung walking around with a mark left by Sangwoo visible on his neck. He ignores the bolt of electricity that shoots down his spine as soon as he grabs Jaeyoung’s wrist and feels his warm, soft skin against his own.

It means nothing, he tells himself, but he doesn’t know if he really believes it.

“If you’re done, you should leave,” Sangwoo urges, and he isn’t sure if it’s his own comfort or the safety of Jaeyoung that prompts this sense of urgency. The smell of Jaeyoung, of his blood and his cologne, is overwhelming, and it’s rapidly eroding the remaining shreds of his self-control. He needs Jaeyoung to leave now, before he doesn’t let Jaeyoung leave at all.

“It’s cold out there,” the nuisance complains. Sangwoo growls and tugs insistently on his arm, but Jaeyoung doesn’t budge even an inch. He pretends he isn’t mildly titillated by that.

“Just go!”

Jaeyoung pouts a little. “You’re being too harsh.” Sangwoo’s eyes catch on the angry red cut on his arm—the source of the dizzying scent wafting through the air. The blood is mostly dry by now, but the small wound is still open and the smell is still so potent. And he, disturbingly enough, wants nothing more than to lick up the drops that haven’t dried yet. Jaeyoung, unaware of his plight, continues with his complaints. “It’s cold at night these days. Do you want me to—”

“Jang Jaeyoung,” Sangwoo interrupts sharply, his eyes fixated on the cut. “You need to leave. You’re bleeding in the den of a vampire who hasn’t fed yet. And I need you to leave before I do something neither of us wants.”

Jaeyoung stares up at him with widened eyes, and Sangwoo assumes he’s reasonably horrified by this revelation. Yes, vampires are common in Seoul, but most prefer to lay low and disguise themselves as ordinary humans to avoid running into trouble. After all the trouble vampires have caused in the past, they’re not exactly looked at in a positive light, even though most modern-day vampires prefer to acquire their meals through safe and legal means rather than the preferred method of snatching a random passerby and drinking them dry in a back alley at midnight of the past. Jaeyoung doesn’t seem like the type to mistreat him just because he’s a vampire, but what did he know? Jaeyoung has already convinced himself that he has a perfectly good reason to hold a grudge against Sangwoo—why not add vampirism to that? But then Jaeyoung’s eyes drop to Sangwoo’s lips, to the fangs starting to poke out between them.

Something in the air changes.

Jaeyoung’s gaze darkens to something heated and intense, his eyes half-lidded and sharp. Suddenly, Sangwoo feels like the prey caught in the predator’s trap. “Alright, let’s make a deal,” the senior proposes, his voice low and sultry, meeting Sangwoo’s eyes again. “You let me stay until my friends arrive with my stuff, and I’ll let you bite me and drink my blood. Sound good?”

Sangwoo feels faint. It’s like Jaeyoung read his mind and heard his desire to feed off of him loud and clear. And instead of freaking out or spitting in his face, Jaeyoung’s offering himself. It’s so, so tempting, but...

“No,” he whispers, shaking his head. “I can’t do that.”

“Yes, you can.”

“I can’t. What if I take too much? What if I get addicted? You have no idea how intoxicating you smell right now. I’ve never wanted to drink from someone as much as I want to drink from you. I’ve never had a reaction like this to anyone else’s blood before. You don’t want a vampire getting addicted to your blood unless you’re agreeing to be that vampire’s blood donor.”

He expects Jaeyoung to back down with that knowledge in mind. He doesn’t. Instead, Jaeyoung’s fingers close around his wrist and give it a little tug, urging him closer. Stupidly, Sangwoo willingly allows himself to be pulled into Jaeyoung’s space, but the smile he’s rewarded with makes it seem like a good decision. “How about this? You bite me, get your fill, and if you decide you like my blood that much, then I’ll be your blood donor as long as you promise not to kill me,” Jaeyoung suggests.

“I wouldn’t kill you,” Sangwoo retorts. “I wouldn’t even dream of it. Vampires take extremely good care of their blood donors. A blood donor becomes a vampire’s primary feeding source, and so vampires will take great care to ensure their donor lives a long and healthy life. We’ll just... have to figure out a way to get along.”

“We’ll figure that out in due time.” Jaeyoung tugs Sangwoo’s wrist again. “Let’s just focus on right now. You’re hungry, I smell delicious, so get your fill and we’ll go from there.”

Chapter Text

It happens the first time Sangwoo has Jaeyoung over at his place as his boyfriend and not as his obnoxious upperclassman.

Sangwoo had decided they should do some work on Veggie Venturer even though they weren’t in the studio, and Jaeyoung, after a little bit of whining and complaining, eventually agreed. A few hours later, Jaeyoung interrupted their productive working session to inquire about dinner, offering to either go get takeout for them or cook them a meal. And Sangwoo had looked up at him, skeptical, and asked, “You can cook?”

“Cooking is an art form,” Jaeyoung had said with an unnecessary amount of pride lacing his voice. “One I happen to be very good at.”

He’d pegged it as Jaeyoung being overconfident as usual and tempered his expectations accordingly. He anticipated no more than something quick and easy, like instant ramen, but what sits on the table before him instead is the best-looking jjajangmyeon and tangsuyuk he’s ever seen in his entire life, and the array of banchan paired with it has him embarrassingly close to drooling. Sitting across from him is a very smug-looking Jang Jaeyoung, whose Cheshire-like smile indicates he knew Sangwoo wasn’t expecting much and is very much enjoying the stupefied look now on Sangwoo’s face.

“Go on,” he encourages gleefully, gesturing to the plates and bowls, “eat something. I promise I didn’t poison my baby’s food.”

Sangwoo flushes. He doesn’t know when “my baby” became a thing in their still fresh relationship, but he finds that he doesn’t quite hate it. Jaeyoung uses a lot of pet names for him, like “darling” and “honey” and “sweetheart,” but “my baby” and just “baby” by itself are the most commonly used ones, and they’ve somehow become Sangwoo’s favorites—not that he would admit that aloud to Jaeyoung, but he suspects his boyfriend already knows. The knowing grin Jaeyoung wears is proof of that, and Sangwoo hastily shoves a few pieces of pork into his mouth before his boyfriend gets the chance to tease him.

Embarrassingly, Sangwoo moans as the sweet and sour taste assaults his taste buds. It’s just right, both sweet and sour balancing and complimenting one another rather than one trying to overpower the other. The pork is crispy and fried to perfection. It isn’t quite on par with restaurant-quality food, but it’s divine all the same, and he recalls his mother saying once that food that’s been made with love always tastes the best. He didn’t quite believe that before, but he understands now why his mother said that.

“Jaeyoung-hyung,” Sangwoo says seriously, “please cook for me every day.”

Warm laughter escapes Jaeyoung’s lips, his eyes crinkling with it, and his cheeks are dusted a pretty shade of rose red. Sangwoo likes it when Jaeyoung blushes and smiles so bashfully. It makes him even prettier than he already is. “Thank you, baby,” he says, pleased. “I’m glad it turned out edible in the end.”

Sangwoo takes another piece of the tangsuyuk and hums. “Edible is an understatement.” Rarely does he intentionally add fuel to the fire that is his boyfriend’s already inflated ego, but he hopes that if he flatters Jaeyoung enough now, Jaeyoung really will cook dinner and share meals with him at least often, if not every day. “It tastes very good, hyung. I’m serious.”

Jaeyoung smiles. “I know. You aren’t known for saying things you don’t mean.” His eyelids lower sultrily, his smile softening. “That’s one of the many things I like about you.”

Sangwoo blushes crimson and ducks his head, biting back a smile. His boyfriend chuckles fondly and nudges him with his foot. “Careful what you wish for, baby,” he warns. “I’ll be in this kitchen every day if you really meant that first part.”

“I wouldn’t be opposed to it,” Sangwoo says, and he can’t suppress the way his lips quirk as Jaeyoung’s cheeks redden further. To seal the deal, he rounds his eyes a little and softly adds, “I would eagerly welcome it, hyung.”

Red is a color that only looks good when it’s on Jang Jaeyoung, and that’s a fact proven by the roaring blush that spreads from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. Jaeyoung, bashful and ruffled, groans, “Oh, you’re going to be the death of me.”

Chapter Text

Jaeyoung comes into the studio with dark bags under his eyes and exhaustion clinging to him like a second skin. He drops his bag on the floor next to his desk and collapses in his chair, groaning lowly as he pinches the bridge of his nose. Sangwoo glances over at him, taking in his disheveled form with a puzzled frown. His hair was messy, as if he’d forgotten to brush it, and his rumpled clothes were clearly ripped off of their hangers carelessly and thrown on in a rush. One of his sneakers hasn’t even been tied properly. His cologne isn’t quite as strong, either, as if he’d forgotten to put it on before he left.

“What happened to you?” Sangwoo asks slowly, eyeing his senior with bewilderment.

“Hyung had me pulling doubles at the magic shop last night, and then I had classes to attend early this morning, so I haven’t gotten any fucking sleep today,” Jaeyoung complains sulkily. His lower lip is jutting out a little, set in a mild pout that softens his otherwise sharp features. He then shakes out his limbs and turns on his monitor, stealing a glance at Sangwoo. “We’re working on backgrounds today, right?”

Wait. His words finally catch up to Sangwoo. Magic shop?

“Sunbae,” he says, “are you a witch?”

“Mhm,” Jaeyoung hums, nodding like it’s common knowledge and not a fact that has promptly rocked Sangwoo to his core. Perhaps Jaeyoung sees something on his face, because he throws a look in his direction that feels too open and genuine for comfort and assures, “Don’t worry, I’ve never used any magic on you. I’m an asshole, but I’m not evil. Everything I did to get under your skin was completely magic-free, I promise. Even if there’s no way I can really prove that.”

“I believe you,” Sangwoo says before he can think better of it. “I’ve had bullies before who used magic to cause trouble for me.” And research has told him that the recent changes and developments in his feelings towards Jaeyoung are completely natural and not the result of a spell. At one point, he had briefly entertained the notion that Jaeyoung had somehow acquired the means to use a spell on him that would change his feelings towards the senior. That was quickly debunked when his research told him he wouldn’t be having a sexuality crisis and a general crisis of feelings if he were under a spell.

“I’m sorry.”

Sangwoo startles. “What for?”

“That you’ve been bullied by witches before.” Jaeyoung’s eyes darken a little. He fidgets with his pen, twirling it between his fingers. “A lot of us aren’t very good people. Most of us, I guess I should say. A lot of us—me included—come from families of traditionalist witches that swear up and down in their teachings that witches are superior to humans and therefore have every right to mistreat humans. Some kids believe it blindly and wholeheartedly support the idea.” He winces then, lifting a hand to delicately caress his throat. His fingers tighten around his pen, his expression stormy and melancholic. “Some have it beaten into them.”

Sangwoo doesn’t need to ask to know Jaeyoung had that belief beaten into him. His body language offers a clear enough answer. But it does significantly shift the way he sees Jaeyoung. Jaeyoung’s always seemed like this... untouchable free spirit unburdened by the weight of the world. His devil-may-care attitude and capriciousness, his impulsivity to do whatever he wanted without fear of repercussion, his persistence and his passion, his outward cool and suave demeanor always gave Sangwoo the impression that he was an unshakable force of nature. That he was strong and powerful.

The idea that he could be hurt—that he has been hurt before, likely multiple times, and by various people—is earthshattering.

Jaeyoung’s eyes flutter shut, and he exhales heavily. His hand drops from his neck to the armrest of his chair. Sangwoo feels the urge to reach out and hold it. “It’s wrong all the same,” Jaeyoung says quietly, his eyes meeting Sangwoo’s. “I’m sorry that you’ve been mistreated by witches before. And I’m sorry that I’m one of those witches that mistreated you.” He looks away again, sighing. “I made up my mind to hate you before we even met. If I’d known I was going to like you this much...” He trails off, shaking his head. “Never mind; forget it. We’re here to work on your game, right? So let’s do that.”

But Sangwoo can’t just forget about it and brush it off. Everything Jaeyoung’s said in the last half-hour has greatly changed his perspective of the man, for the better. And Jaeyoung needs to know that. He turns his chair to face Jaeyoung, and uses the armrest of Jaeyoung’s chair to guide him into the same position. Bad idea. Now he’s face-to-face with a Jaeyoung whose guilt and regret twist his beautiful features into something heartbreakingly sorrowful. He doesn’t like this look on Jaeyoung. He hates it, actually. “I forgive you, hyung,” he says softly. “I appreciate your apology. And thank you for telling me all of this. I feel like I have a deeper understanding of you as a person now.”

Jaeyoung blinks at him a few times, confusion and surprise written on his face. Then he snorts, and a smile tugs faintly at the corners of his lips like the first rays of sunshine after a hurricane. It’s beautiful. “I didn’t know you even wanted to have a deeper understanding of me as a person,” he retorts. “I thought I was just here to be your designer.”

“You are,” Sangwoo confirms. “But I want you to be more than just my designer, too. I want to know everything about you, sunbae. I want to know anything and everything you’re willing to tell me.”

Jaeyoung considers him quietly. Sangwoo wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t believe him—he hasn’t exactly made an effort to try and get to know Jaeyoung, at least not deliberately. He catalogues every piece of information he picks up regarding Jaeyoung, but he doesn’t actively ask questions about Jaeyoung, his interests, his upbringing, what he likes and doesn’t like, or anything of the sort. But then Jaeyoung smiles, and it’s such a soft thing, intimate and warm and just for Sangwoo, and Sangwoo hears the rapid increase of his heartbeat before he feels it. “Alright,” Jaeyoung assents. “Ask me anything, Sangwoo-yah. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

Part of Sangwoo wants to dive right in and ask the questions he really wants answers to, like, Who thought they could beat you and get away with it? or Who thought hurting you was the right way to force their beliefs on you? He wanted to ask things like, Who taught you to treat humans and witches equally? and Why didn’t you use magic to bully me? He wants to ask about what magic Jaeyoung specialized in, how he learned it, and what he used it for. He wants to ask if Jaeyoung went to a specialized school to hone his magic and what that was like. He wants to ask what his family is like, what sort of magic they did, what they did to Jaeyoung. But he also wants to ask questions about Jaeyoung himself: what other hobbies he had outside of art, his favorite colors and foods, his favorite songs and video games, his favorite movies and TV shows, where he was born and raised, his favorite places in the world, his aspirations and dreams.

Sangwoo’s head spins with the amount of questions that rush into his mind all at once as soon as he’s given the green light. He doesn’t know where to start. Every question he wants to ask first feels too personal. Jaeyoung must realize his dilemma because he laughs.

“Take it easy; I can hear the gears turning from over here,” he teases.

“I don’t know where to start,” Sangwoo complains. “I don’t have a right to ask you half of the questions I want to ask.”

“Yes, you do. I’ve been a bother to you for a while now; you have the right to ask me whatever the hell you want.”

Sangwoo somewhat doubts that. He doesn’t think he deserves the right to ask Jaeyoung about his abusers, at least not right now. After a few moments of contemplation, he settles on something small and perhaps a little dumb, but he’s curious about it all the same. “Do you have a magic broomstick?” he asks. The bubbly laugh his question pulls out of Jaeyoung makes his heart do cartwheels.

“Really, Sangwoo? That’s the best you’ve got?” Jaeyoung chuckles. “Yes, I’ve got a broomstick. It’s a hand-me-down I got from my father as a kid, and it’s my favorite one.” He snaps his fingers, and a broom materializes out of thin air. The wooden handle is long, dipping and curving up towards the end to form a hook. The head of it is full and made of straw, wound tightly at the tip by pieces of twine. Overall, it looks old. Well-loved and meticulously taken care of, but definitely old. Jaeyoung catches it as it drops from the air and holds it out for Sangwoo to take.

“It doesn’t bite, I promise,” Jaeyoung laughs upon noticing his hesitation. Sangwoo throws a half-hearted glare at him before tentatively taking the broomstick, turning it over in his hands, and inspecting it curiously. For a broom, it’s surprisingly hefty, but it feels durable and sturdy, and he supposes that makes sense given that it has to support the weight of the rider. There’s a small engraving on the underside of the handle towards the tip—it’s Jaeyoung’s family name, Jang, he realizes upon closer inspection. In fact, there are many engravings in the wood, but they’re subtle but striking decorations rather than more names or words. Still, the craftsmanship of it is impeccable, for a broom.

“It’s beautiful, hyung,” he says, and he means it. “Do you use it often?”

“Not as much as I used to, but yeah,” Jaeyoung answers. “Whenever I have to travel far, I prefer to fly there. But sometimes, when the city gets too loud or I just need a moment of silence and time to myself, I’ll fly high above the skyscrapers and just... stay there. Admire the city from above, maybe see if I can identify any familiar places from so high up. It’s beautiful. Gives some semblance of peace in a metropolis as big and bustling as Seoul.”

Sangwoo pictures himself in Jaeyoung’s place, high above the clouds, just himself and his broomstick, gazing down at Seoul like a god from mythology would gaze down at the mortal world. He imagines being above the towering skyscrapers, above the loud crowds of people and the ceaseless noise pollution, above the blinding lights. He imagines the wind in his hair and the chilly air biting his skin. He pictures himself with Jaeyoung, escaping into the night together, high above the rest of the world, engaging in quiet conversations no one else could possibly hear—indulging in something intimate and private and consisting strictly of the two of them. No one else, just... them. Just Sangwoo and Jaeyoung. It isn’t enough to just imagine what that’d be like.

“Will you show me someday?” Sangwoo requests softly, his face warm.

“Of course,” Jaeyoung promises just as softly, color high on his cheeks and the tips of his ears. “Of course I will, Sangwoo-yah.”

Chapter Text

The look Sangwoo’s giving him is one Jaeyoung can’t entirely place. His brows are knitted together and his lips are parted, but the corners of them are turned downwards. He’s staring at Jaeyoung with quiet yet burning intensity, particularly at his torso, and Jaeyoung’s starting to feel a little shy. Is there something on his clothes that he can’t see? A coffee stain, maybe some crumbs? He inspects himself, but he can’t find the source of Sangwoo’s ire anywhere. Is he bothered by Jaeyoung’s shirt? It’s a little more snug than his other shirts, clinging to his body like a second skin, and a little shorter, too, but the fabric is soft against his skin, and it isn’t uncomfortably tight, either. But it’s just a plain black t-shirt—there isn’t anything offensive about it.

“Is that my shirt?” Sangwoo asks suddenly, his voice hushed and pointed. Jaeyoung startles as realization dawns on him.

“Oh, yeah, it is,” he remembers belatedly. He scratches the back of his neck nervously. “I’m sorry. I had to run out to meet Yuna this morning, and I just grabbed a random shirt off the hanger. I thought it was one of mine until I put it on, but I didn’t have time to change into something else.”

Sangwoo nods, saying nothing else. Jaeyoung swallows thickly and bites at his lip. He should’ve known Sangwoo was going to be upset—he’s very particular about his stuff. He doesn’t like it when people touch his things without permission first, even though Jaeyoung usually gets a pass for most things since they’re more or less living together now. Well, Jaeyoung spends more time in Sangwoo’s apartment than he does in his own, and a lot of his stuff has been moved into Sangwoo’s apartment, so it counts for something. He didn’t think Sangwoo would find Jaeyoung wearing his clothes so vexing, but he supposes they’re different in that regard, since Jaeyoung loves it when Sangwoo wears his clothes.

“I’ll take it off and wash it now,” he offers, reaching for the hem of the shirt. “I’m sorry, I really am. I didn’t mean to wear your clothes. I’ll pay more attention next time—”

“Hyung.” Sangwoo closes his laptop, stands, and approaches Jaeyoung slowly, eyeing him with an expression that now reads as downright predatory, like a hungry beast who’s just found his next meal. His fingers grasp Jaeyoung’s wrists, pulling them away from the material. His hands then find Jaeyoung’s waist, gliding up his sides and stopping at the swell of his chest, and Jaeyoung shudders with the motion. He seems mesmerized by the way the shirt clings to Jaeyoung’s body, by the way his preferred laundry detergent mingles with Jaeyoung’s favorite cologne, by the fact that it’s his shirt on his boyfriend’s body. He seems thoroughly aroused by it. “I get it now. I get why you like me in your clothes so much.”

“Do you?” Jaeyoung teases as Sangwoo crowds him against the wall, his hands and eyes still firmly on Jaeyoung’s torso. He molds himself to Jaeyoung’s body and kisses him assertively, his erection pressing noticeably into Jaeyoung’s thigh. He can’t suppress the pleased smirk that breaks out across his lips as he finally learns that Sangwoo gets as turned on with Jaeyoung wearing his clothes as he gets when Sangwoo’s wearing his clothes. He didn’t think his cute little boyfriend would have such an intense reaction to Jaeyoung in his clothes, didn’t think he’d really like or care much about it, yet Sangwoo’s kissing him with an intensity that leaves him breathless, flustered, and hot under the collar.

“You should wear my clothes more often, hyung,” Sangwoo says against his lips. He doesn’t give Jaeyoung a chance to respond before he’s leading them both to the bedroom and kissing him stupid again.

Chapter Text

“I don’t know how I feel about this,” Yuna admits one day while it’s just her and Hyeongtak in the studio. She turns around in her seat to face the couch on the opposite side of the room, feeling uncharacteristically edgy. Hyeongtak looks up from his laptop, his brow creased in question, his brown eyes glistening with unspoken worry.

“About what?” he asks her. He saves whatever he was working on before closing his laptop and moving it to the side. Yuna doesn’t know if she appreciates his undivided attention or not, doesn’t like how the way he’s looking at her makes her feel vulnerable and exposed. She wishes she could stop herself from opening her mouth—she wasn’t ever good at talking about her feelings.

“Chu Sangwoo,” she answers nonetheless. She twiddles her thumbs in her lap, swallowing thickly. “I’ve never seen Jaeyoung so smitten with someone before. And I don’t fucking like it. Chu Sangwoo hurt him once already. And I get it; Jaeyoung had it coming with his behavior and all. But he switched up too quick, that Sangwoo. Coming back to him and calling him hyung and practically begging Jaeyoung for his help in making his game. He basically aimed straight for all of Jaeyoung’s weak spots and suckered him right into it. He probably only sees Jaeyoung as a means to an end.”

Hyeongtak’s eyes soften. “You’re scared that he’s just after Jaeyoung-hyung to use him for personal gain and then discard him as soon as he gets what he wanted. You’re scared he’s going to mistreat Jaeyoung like everyone else has.”

“Of fucking course I am,” Yuna snaps. “Aren’t you?”

“Of course I am,” Hyeongtak echoes, eyeing an old picture of them that they taped to the wall years ago, when they first got this studio. “But we don’t even know if Sangwoo likes Jaeyoung back or if he’s even interested in dating Jaeyoung.”

“It doesn’t really matter, does it?” Yuna’s eyes catch on the same photo. “Jaeyoung’s going to get hurt at the end of the day. He’s setting himself up to get burned again, continuing to chase after a boy who already openly admitted to hating him.”

“I know,” Hyeongtak sighs. “That’s why we have to be here. Jaeyoung-hyung’s going to need us if this goes sour.”

Yuna exhales heavily and nods. “Yeah,” she says, “Chu Sangwoo better watch his fucking back. Because he’s not seeing the light of another day if I find that he plans to discard Jaeyoung as soon as they’re done with his game.”

Chapter Text

Helping Hyeongtak’s eomma in her flower shop proves to be surprisingly gratifying. Jaeyoung likes taking care of the many plants she keeps around and watching them flourish and grow. Tending to the plants keeps him grounded and out of his head for a while, and the company of his friends and an adult he feels wholly comfortable with has been invigorating. Making his own money has been highly rewarding too, and all the time spent not dwelling on a certain brat has done him well. His grandfather hadn’t been on board with the idea of Jaeyoung working at first—still isn’t, really—but he let his precious grandson do as he pleased so long as he got his grades back up to the high marks expected of him and kept himself in check at work so as to not embarrass the family.

So Jaeyoung does. He studies until his head spins and fights to keep his focus strictly on the lessons being taught in class and on the assignments he’s made to do. He takes great care to avoid even looking in Chu Sangwoo’s direction whenever they happen to be in the same place, drowns out the sound of his monotonous voice by fixating on someone else’s, and keeps himself on the opposite side of wherever Sangwoo is. He pretends he doesn’t feel Sangwoo’s penetrating gaze boring through the back of his skull, pretends he doesn’t wish to look over his shoulder and see what kind of expression Sangwoo’s making. He tries not to think about Sangwoo much anymore, but the stupid robot boy follows him into his dreams at night and wakes him up with tears rolling down his cheeks.

He didn’t think having a crush on someone would be this destructive.

Jaeyoung’s running on less than three hours of sleep as he tends to the few customers that trickle in while Hyeongtak and his eomma are out running an errand for the shop. Yuna’s in the greenhouse in the back, because her customer service skills lack where his have naturally flourished courtesy of interacting with his grandfather’s many investors and business partners over the years. He’s good at faking a smile when he doesn’t feel like smiling and acting perfectly friendly and polite even when he lacks the energy to socialize.

He’s tending to the tulips on display by the window when the next customers walk in, the bell chiming faintly as the door opens and closes. Jaeyoung throws a glance over his shoulder, ready to greet them, but the words die on his tongue when he sees Chu fucking Sangwoo flanking a girl who marches in like she owns the place. He’s seen her before, only a handful of times in the hallways at school with the other seniors, but never with Sangwoo. But they seem close, like they’ve known each other a while, because Sangwoo is neither stiff nor curt, and he seems perfectly comfortable gluing himself to her side. And Jaeyoung feels the ugly claws of envy sinking into his heart at the sight of them together.

He doesn’t know who she is or how she knows Sangwoo, but he wants to know what she has that he doesn’t. Wants to know why the robot boy seems comfortable enough with her, but flipped out on him out of the blue one day after being comfortable with him for a while. Wants to know why Sangwoo lost his shit when Jaeyoung stood too close to him, but is entirely calm brushing shoulders with the girl. Jaeyoung’s fingers tighten around the handle of his watering can, frustration bubbling up like lava in a volcano. He’s been wrecking himself over a kid who clearly does not and probably never did give a shit about him.

“Lies. Just lies,” the girl is saying, likely part of a conversation they were having before they entered the quaint little flower shop and disturbed Jaeyoung’s peace. “Who told you I was interested in Inguk, of all people??? Because they were definitely lying. Ew. That’s insanity, Sangchoo.”

“No one did,” says Sangwoo, and his voice alone makes Jaeyoung’s heart ache with a longing desire to be close to him again. Neither seems to be aware of his presence in the room with them yet, content to continue their conversation among the gardenias displayed by the door. Jaeyoung glances at the greenhouse, wondering if he can book it and send Yuna out in his place before they see him. Before Sangwoo sees him. “It was an assumption I made since you’ve been spending a lot of time around him and his friends lately. Isn’t that why we came here? So you could get flowers for him?”

“Definitely not,” the girl scoffs, obviously affronted. “We’re here because I want to get Byeol flowers. And that is why I’ve been hanging around Inguk and his friends lately.”

Sangwoo stares at her like she’s lost her mind. Unease and maybe a flicker of insecurity flash across his features. “But... Byeol-sunbae is a girl.”

The girl throws a pointed look at him, her voice sharp. “And? Byeol’s a girl. I’m a girl. I like Byeol, and I think she likes me too. You got a problem with that, dearest little brother of mine?”

Oh. That’s his sister. He’s mentioned her a couple of times. Chu Sanghee, if he remembers correctly. Jaeyoung pretends the realization doesn’t make him feel immensely relieved.

Sangwoo, on the other hand, swallows thickly and hesitates. It’s the first time Jaeyoung’s seen the robot boy look so unsure of himself and out of his depth. His cheeks are colored a faint red, his eyes downcast, wringing his hands self-consciously. The part of Jaeyoung that longs to flee loses to his nosy desire to know what’s making Sangwoo look like this. “Isn’t it... unnatural?” the boy whispers. “To... like someone of the same sex like that?”

Well, shit.

“Oh, Sangchoo,” his sister sighs, pityingly, shaking her head in exasperation. She looks around then, as if finally remembering that they’re in public, and her eyes meet Jaeyoung’s a split second after he’s put the watering can down and resolved to make a break for it. He freezes in place as her eyes widen with recognition and realization. “Oh, hi, you’re hot. Oh. Wait. Wow. Okay. You’re the one Sangchoo’s obsessed with—”

“Noona!” Sangwoo shouts, hastily slapping a hand over the girl’s mouth, his eyes wide and his cheeks aflame. He looks at Jaeyoung like a deer caught in headlights, startled and troubled, and as much as he’d like to say something to the robot boy, he isn’t sure if it’ll be something nice or something mean, and he promised both Hyeongtak’s eomma and his own grandfather that he’d be good, so Jaeyoung takes that as his cue to leave.

“I gotta go, but if you need anything, my coworker, Yuna, will be out to help you in a sec.” Without another word, he rushes into the greenhouse, letting out a frustrated growl when he doesn’t see Yuna right away. The greenhouse isn’t so massive that it’d be easy to lose a person in, and Yuna isn’t so short that she’d be hard to find among the lush greenery, which means she’s squatting down somewhere behind the taller plants growing there. He takes off towards the east of the greenhouse, calling out, “Yuna-yah, Yuna-yah, Yuna-yah.”

“What, bitch, can’t you see I’m working here?!” she calls back, and Jaeyoung veers right and finds her huddled around the false nettles instead. She’s looking at him with her lips pursed and eyes narrowed, disgruntled. He pouts at her, rounding his eyes a little, hoping he looks at least half as cute and convincing as Hyeongtak does when he sulks. Judging by the way Yuna wrinkles her nose, he guesses he missed the mark by a long shot.

“I need you to go out front for a sec.”

“No fucking way.” She goes back to trimming the nettles. “You’re on customer service duty until Tak-ah gets back, not me. So it’s your problem, not mine.”

“And I’m not asking you to stay out the whole time, but Chu Sangwoo’s here an—” Yuna stands up so fast that it makes Jaeyoung flinch and take a subconscious step back. She fixes him with a are you serious? look, one hand on her hip and the shears grasped threateningly in the other one. “—on second thought, never mind.”

Yuna tosses the shears to him, which he fumbles with but manages to catch. “Let me go see the little robot boy that squashed your ego and broke your heart,” she says with far more glee than appropriate, dusting her hands off on the viridian green apron they wear as part of their uniform. “Don’t destroy the nettles while I’m gone,” she warns before leaving the greenhouse. Jaeyoung wavers, torn between eavesdropping and finishing Yuna’s task of trimming the plants, eventually settling on the latter. He lets out a shuddering breath and kneels down, his hands slightly shaky as he picks up where she left off.

Not even five minutes later do quiet footsteps approach his workspace. “Hyung,” the soft voice of Sangwoo calls, “can I talk to you?”

Jaeyoung squeezes his eyes shut and sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand and gripping the shears with the other. He’s going to fucking kill Yuna for this. He should say no. He really should say no and tell him to scram. But he makes the mistake of looking up at Chu Sangwoo, who gazes at him with round, sincere eyes that appear to be glassy and cheeks as red as the roses grown here. He seems almost as anxious as he was before, but a little more sure of himself, a little more determined. It’s the most vulnerable Jaeyoung’s ever seen him, and it weakens whatever defenses he built to protect his heart from the robot boy who broke it.

Fuck.

Chapter Text

Sangwoo’s stomach flips as the ship rocks and sways with the motions of the surrounding ocean. His hands, trembling and pale, grasp the wooden railing like his life depends on it. His throat burns with bile, which he forces himself to swallow down. He would not be throwing up over the side of a boat, sickness be damned. His pride and dignity wouldn’t allow him to be caught dead doing something so unsanitary, nor was that even something he was remotely comfortable with doing. Even if trying to keep the sick down was only succeeding in making him feel even more nauseous. Sangwoo hunches over the railing, squeezing his eyes shut, as a full-body shiver overtakes him. He doesn’t look up even as heavy footsteps approach.

“You’re not getting seasick, are you?” the smooth, deep, rich voice of the ship’s captain inquires, equal parts concerned and teasing. Sangwoo shivers again, this time for a different reason, one he can’t quite discern. “Come with me. I think I have something you can take to help with that in my quarters.”

“Bring it here,” Sangwoo demands, because Jaeyoung’s presence alone does unusual things to his body. He’d rather not be alone anywhere with the captain, least of all in his private quarters.

“You don’t get to demand things of me on my ship, I’m afraid.” There’s a smile in Jaeyoung’s voice. He must think this is funny, the bastard. Sangwoo looks up to glare at him at the same time Jaeyoung leans in closer to taunt, “Little prince, you have no jurisdiction here. You’re a stowaway who trespassed on my vessel. I won’t bend over backwards to satisfy your whims.”

Jaeyoung turns on his heel and promptly walks away, his long legs carrying him to his quarters in only a few short strides. His sharp, foxlike eyes meet Sangwoo’s as he opens the door, and he beckons with a cock of his head for Sangwoo to come to him. Then he disappears inside. The ship rocks again as a particularly large wave crashes into it, and another wave of nausea washes over him. Against his better judgment, Sangwoo pushes himself away from the railing and walks on shaky, unsteady legs towards the captain’s quarters. He hesitates before going inside, closing the door quietly behind him.

“I hope you haven’t lured me in here with the promise of relief just to kill me,” Sangwoo says, eyeing the captain warily. A smile stretches across Jaeyoung’s lips, catlike and menacing. His onyx eyes glisten with an emotion Sangwoo can’t place, but it sends a chill down his spine all the same. The captain reeks of danger. Of all the ships in the harbor his sister could’ve chosen, why did it have to be this one?

“If I’d wanted you dead, little prince, I wouldn’t have waited until we were alone to do it,” Jaeyoung retorts. He holds out a ginger root to the prince hovering uneasily by the door. “Chew on this. It should help with the nausea.”

Hesitantly, Sangwoo approaches, tentatively taking the root from him. He inspects it quietly for a few moments, gauging whether or not it’s been poisoned or tampered with in some way. “Why don’t you want me dead?” he asks, stealing a glance at the captain, startled by the intensity in his gaze. Jaeyoung’s features soften, then, as he closes the distance between them. Sangwoo sucks in a breath, his heart beating uncharacteristically fast in his chest.

“I think you’re extraordinarily handsome,” Jaeyoung declares bluntly, his eyes dark and burning with something akin to desire. “I think you’re beautiful and mesmerizing and charming. You captivate me, little prince, and I’d be loath to kill you now or anytime even remotely soon, stowaway or not.”

Sangwoo pretends the blush that spreads across his face and down his neck isn’t from his words or close proximity. He’s never been called handsome or beautiful before. The many suitresses his parents tried marrying him to always thought he looked much too delicate, svelte, and feminine, especially for a prince destined to lead his kingdom one day, opting to instead blatantly insult him for his unsatisfactory and disappointing appearance. He never particularly cared about the opinions of outsiders before, especially regarding his appearance, but Jaeyoung looks at him like he’s something worth looking at. Like he’s something more desirable than diamonds and gold. And he has no idea how he feels about that.

“I have no intention of holding you for ransom, either, little prince,” the captain continues, his voice a low, deep purr that further heats Sangwoo’s skin. His hand comes up to cup Sangwoo’s cheek, his thumb ever so lightly caressing the burning skin, and Sangwoo stupidly melts into the touch rather than trying to slap him away. Jaeyoung leans in, his eyes dropping to Sangwoo’s lips before flicking back up to his eyes again.

“Then what else could you possibly want from me?” Sangwoo asks quietly and sharply, struggling to maintain eye contact with the captain. His cheeks burn under Jaeyoung’s quiet scrutiny. He wants to lean closer to Jaeyoung, wants to press their lips together to see how it’d feel, and slap him across the face for daring to get in his personal space at the same time. Instead, he just stands there, feet bolted to the floorboards. “I have nothing else to offer to you or to your crew if you don’t wish to sell me back to where I came. I am a prince—I have no use for a band of pirates terrorizing the seas.”

Jaeyoung laughs. “I was a prince once, too, and I can assure you that piracy is an acquired lifestyle anyone can adjust to with time. You certainly can be useful to me without me having to give you up for money, don’t worry.” He pries the ginger root from Sangwoo’s hands, dangling it in his face and smirking. “So long as you can overcome that seasickness of yours. You’ll have to, if you’d like to travel with us.”

Sangwoo scoffs and shakes himself out of whatever trance Jaeyoung just had him in. He takes a step back, swallowing thickly. “Whoever said I wanted that?” he snaps, folding his arms over his chest. “What self-respecting prince would leave a life of opulence, wealth, and power behind for piracy?”

“Someone who has a reason to run away from a life of opulence, wealth, and power. Like me.” Jaeyoung’s eyes soften. “Like you.”

Sangwoo wants to tell the captain to shut his mouth, wants to tell him to stop acting like he knows him. But he isn’t exactly in any position to deny running away from his kingdom and his duties, and to even attempt to deny it would be in vain given that Jaeyoung is, most unfortunately, clever and observant. And if Jaeyoung’s telling the truth about him being a prince—which would be downright astonishing to Sangwoo; really, how could this rugged ruffian ever have been royalty?—then he likely does, to some extent, understand why Sangwoo ran and what he’s running from. And if he meant it when he said he wouldn’t give Sangwoo back to his kingdom, then staying with Jaeyoung is his best and only option right now.

With a huff, Sangwoo holds out his hand. “Give that to me,” he orders, because he’ll be damned if he lets this roughneck walk all over him, captain or not. He lifts his chin defiantly. “And I’ll decide if I want to travel with you or not. Perhaps, if you’re a good enough boy, I will.”

A voice in the back of his mind whispers to be careful what he wishes for as Jaeyoung’s eyes widen and darken considerably. The captain then smiles, his cheeks a faint red, and steps into Sangwoo’s space again. He produces a dagger from the sheath on his hip, opposite his sword, and cuts a piece of the ginger root, pressing it to Sangwoo’s lips and startling him. “You want me to be good for you, little prince? Fine, I’ll be good,” he says, but it sounds a lot more like a taunt than an act of submission, and Sangwoo suddenly feels like he’s been caught in a trap. He should be feeling smug, given that Jaeyoung said earlier he wouldn’t bend over backwards for Sangwoo and is now doing just that, but smugness is not among the many feelings he’s currently experiencing now.

But Sangwoo is nothing if not stubborn, so he parts his lips and takes the piece of ginger offered to him without breaking eye contact with the captain, who smirks in satisfaction and cuts him another piece.

Chapter Text

“It’s not what you think it is,” Sangwoo insists, his voice level and calm despite the marathon his heart is doing in his chest.

“So that’s really not a hickey on your neck, then?” Sanghee asks skeptically, her eyebrow arched and lips pursed, eyeing the spot on his throat Jaeyoung sank his teeth into the night before, which peeks out only slightly from under the collar of his boyfriend’s hoodie, with fervid interest. He doesn’t know how his sister noticed it—the hoodie was covering the bite completely when he left this morning—but now that she has seen it, she won’t let it go until she has all the facts straight. They’re alike in that regard, which proves to be unfortunate in this particular situation.

“No,” Sangwoo says slowly. The look on Sanghee’s face tells him she isn’t buying it, but he presses on nonetheless. “It’s a bruise that I acquired when someone bumped into me on my way to class the other day.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“... Do I look stupid to you?” Sanghee crosses her arms and leans back in her seat, her right eye twitching with annoyance. Her muffin sits half-eaten and forgotten on the table between them. Sangwoo wishes she would go back to eating it and drop this whole conversation entirely. But she doesn’t, instead doing her best impression of their mother when something doesn’t impress her. “I know what a hickey looks like, Sangchoo. And that’s most definitely a hickey.”

Sangwoo is torn between confessing the truth and seeing how far he can take this lie. He hasn’t yet told anyone in his family that he has a boyfriend, for fear of how they would react to the news, and Sanghee certainly wasn’t the first one on the list of family members to tell, even if she was closer in age to him than to the elders in their family. Queerness was never something brought up often in his family, if at all, so he had absolutely no idea how any of the members of it felt towards queer people and queerness in general. Sanghee could prove to either be a remarkably supportive older sister or no better than a conservative old crone. And he isn’t yet ready to find out, especially not without Jaeyoung there to support him in case things went south.

“Have you somehow forgotten a few important details about me? When have I ever shown an interest in having sex with anyone before? Who could have possibly given me a hickey?” Sangwoo makes a mental note to apologize to Jaeyoung about this later, even if his boyfriend would understand why he denied his existence. “Whether you believe it or not, I got this—” He points at the bruise. “—after bumping into someone on campus. They were carrying a box, and the corner of it jabbed into my neck hard when we collided. That is all.”

Sanghee nods thoughtfully, pursing her lips again. He figures he successfully convinced her until she glances at his clothes and asks with a sly grin, “Okay, so whose sweatshirt is that, then? Because I don’t remember you ever wearing hoodies that big. You liked oversized clothes, yeah, but that’s too big, even for your standards.”

“It’s mine.” Technically, he’s telling the truth this time. Jaeyoung said it himself that his clothes were Sangwoo’s, and that he was free to help himself to them as he pleased. And Sangwoo made sure to wear one of the few plain, monochrome hoodies he had for this very occasion. “I bought it in the wrong size by accident, but decided that I liked it enough as it was and chose not to return it.”

Sanghee gasps theatrically, exclaiming, “Chu Sangwoo, deviating from his regularly maintained programming by buying a sweatshirt a few sizes too big? Without losing his shit over it?” She then drops the act and narrows her eyes probingly. “This story’s getting harder and harder to believe, Sangchoo. Have you somehow forgotten a few important details about yourself?”

Sangwoo groans, wrinkling his nose at her. “You’re impossible to reason with. Talking to you is like talking to a brick wall. Why did I agree to meet you for lunch again?”

“Because I’m such a wonderful sister, and you love and miss me so much.”

“Ew. Absolutely not.”

“Hey!”

Chapter Text

“I can’t believe we’re friends sometimes,” Yuna growls, eyeing Jaeyoung’s attire with no shortage of disgust and irritation. “I’ve put up with you and your bullshit for twelve years, but I think this is crossing a line. I can’t even look at you without feeling the urge to hit you. If I’d known you were going to pull this shit in college, I would’ve let you go when you graduated high school and went into the military.”

“Stop being so dramatic,” Jaeyoung bites back, dropping unceremoniously next to her on the studio’s couch. “It’s not your feathers I’m trying to ruffle.”

“Well! That didn’t go as planned, now did it? Because you’re ruffling my feathers by sitting here with me wearing that.”

“Should I undress for you, then?”

“At this point, I think I actually would prefer you walking around naked. I can’t fucking stand seeing all this red; it’s making my head spin.” Jaeyoung smacks her arm, eliciting a startled yelp from Yuna. She rubs the now sore spot and glares at him. “You’re bigger than him. You work out more than he probably does. Look at those biceps. Look at those abs. You could probably whoop his ass. If you’ve got a score to settle, for the love of God, just go beat the kid up and drop this bullshit already.”

“Contrary to popular belief, I don’t actually want to hurt the kid,” Jaeyoung retorts, unimpressed. “What the fuck do I look like to you, a monster? If I wanted to hurt him, believe me, I would’ve done so already.”

“Then what do you want?”

“I don’t fucking know! I just want to ruffle his feathers and have some fun. I’ve got more free time than I know what to do with—might as well bug him a little, learn a thing or two about comp sci, and brush up on my French while I redo that stupid class.” He yanks the offensive red beanie that’s been mocking Yuna lately off his head and runs a hand through his hair, tousling the dark strands. “There’s nothing I can do to shake him. I meant to ruffle his feathers, but instead I’m ruffling my own. I’m losing my fucking mind over this kid.”

“And I’m losing mine just being in the same vicinity as you,” Yuna grunts. “Give it a rest, Jaeyoung. At least once you’re away from him. Bring a spare set of clothes to change into, or else you’re banned from the studio until you’re normal again.”

“Yah, this is my studio, in case you’ve forgotten!”

“Well, I’m taking ownership over it!”

Chapter Text

Ever since he told Jaeyoung that he should wear his clothes more often, Sangwoo sees his boyfriend in his shirts more often than he doesn’t. T-shirts, long sleeves, flannels, and even hoodies all somehow find their way onto Jaeyoung’s body. They’re often tighter and shorter on him than on Sangwoo, given that he’s a lot more muscular and taller than Sangwoo is, but they fit him nonetheless, and the t-shirts in particular look especially good on him. The fabric clings to the lines of his body in all the right places, leaving little to the imagination while still maintaining some semblance of modesty, and he looks downright sinful whenever he throws a leather jacket over them. Like something out of a wet dream.

And when he throws a flannel into the mix? Sangwoo’s a fucking goner.

Sangwoo loves his flannels. Sangwoo loves his boyfriend. Seeing one of his flannels on his boyfriend... well, it does things to Sangwoo. He never truly understood why Jaeyoung got so giddy and flustered whenever Sangwoo was in his clothes until recently, but he isn’t entirely put off by the sudden spike of sexual interest he feels upon seeing Jaeyoung in certain articles of his clothing, even if it can be very distracting in moments like these, when they’re working in the studio and their friends are present.

Yuna and Hyeongtak have set up camp on the couch around the back, while Jihye is on her way with coffee for them, meaning it really would be improper for Sangwoo to get on his knees between Jaeyoung’s sturdy thighs right now, even if he wants nothing more than to do just that. It isn’t entirely his fault Jaeyoung looks so inviting right now, sat there in Sangwoo’s flannel and t-shirt, a pair of ripped blue jeans, and his stupid fucking lip ring, sitting with his legs spread just enough to accommodate the width of Sangwoo’s shoulders. It wouldn’t be so hard for him to dip under the desk and settle in the space made just for him. He just wishes Yuna, Hyeongtak, and Jihye would go somewhere else, because he’d rather not have an audience tuning in to the beautiful sound of Jaeyoung’s rich, deep moans, and he’s pretty sure Yuna would punch him if he pounced on Jaeyoung right here, right now.

So, he’s stuck trying to complete an assignment he really doesn’t have the energy to focus on, while Jaeyoung works on something for DEX to his left, probably not even remotely aware of his boyfriend’s inner turmoil. Sangwoo considers reaching out to touch his hyung just a little, maybe press a quick kiss to the sensitive spot on his neck just to get him wired, when the door bursts open and Jihye comes excitedly bounding in. He internally curses her poor timing and draws back.

“Good morning!” she sings, awfully chipper for nine o’clock in the morning, putting Sangwoo’s coffee cup down next to him and handing Jaeyoung a can of Black Holic (how wild was it that Jaeyoung ended up developing a taste for the stuff while Sangwoo’s tastes changed to favor something sweeter?). He opened the can and took a long swig without wincing, and Yuna gags from the couch behind them as if the drink personally offended her somehow. Jihye suddenly pinched his sleeve with interest, her brow furrowing. “Oh, oppa, is this yours? I don’t remember you being a regular wearer of flannels.”

“It looks pretty ill-fitting, too,” Yuna chimes in, her voice teasing and knowing, standing and approaching them. She takes her coffee cup from Jihye with a quiet thank you and slings her other arm across the back of Jaeyoung’s chair. “Almost like it isn’t your size.”

“What are you talking about? This fits perfectly,” he insists nonchalantly, tilting his head back to look up at the girls. Sangwoo swallows as the length of his neck is exposed following the action and tears his gaze away. He wills himself to settle down before he really does pounce on Jaeyoung in the company of their friends.

“I can’t believe we’ve finally seen the day where Jaeyoung-hyung wears his boyfriend’s clothes,” Hyeongtak says, and he too joins them by the desk, eyeing Jaeyoung with gleeful intrigue. “It’s always Sangchoo wearing hyung’s clothes, never the other way. I didn’t even think his clothes would fit you, hyung.”

Jaeyoung snorts and stretches his arms out in front of him, testing the fit of the shoulders thoughtfully. “Neither did I.” He drops his arms, looking back up at the party of three that swarms him now. He seems a little baffled as to why they’re so interested in this, and frankly, Sangwoo agrees. “It’s a little tight and short, sure, but jeez. I might have to let Sangwoo pick out my clothes for me whenever I go shopping. The fabric’s so nice and comfortable. Of both the flannel and the t-shirt.”

“You’re wearing his shirt, too?” Yuna guffaws. “That explains it, then. I wondered why I was seeing more of your abs than I was comfortable with lately.”

“It’s cute,” Jihye inserts, smiling sincerely at Jaeyoung. “Sangchoo’s clothes look good on you.”

“Thanks?” Jaeyoung looks between the three of them, squinting, his brow raising. “Why the fuck are you all so interested in this? Sangwoo wears my clothes all the time, and you don’t swarm him like this. What’s the big deal?”

“Because it’s so weird seeing you in someone else’s clothes,” Hyeongtak answers. “Like, yeah, true, most people’s clothes are too small for you, but if you can squeeze yourself into Sangwoo’s clothes, you can definitely squeeze yourself into my clothes. Ooh, I have some oversized cardigans that could probably fit you!”

Jaeyoung’s nose wrinkles. “I don’t want to wear your clothes.”

Sangwoo doesn’t want Jaeyoung wearing Hyeongtak’s clothes either, but Hyeongtak has an affinity for big, pastel-colored cardigans, and lighter colors tend to make Jaeyoung look especially soft and inviting. Imagining Jaeyoung in a pastel-colored cardigan, maybe one that’s well over his own size, sends another wave of desire through Sangwoo. Damn, he really needs to settle down. He stifles his groan by biting his lip, squeezing his eyes shut, and instead letting out a shuddering breath. Maybe he and Jaeyoung aren’t so different after all. Jaeyoung likes his clothes on Sangwoo because they’re his and because they’re so much bigger on Sangwoo. Sangwoo discovered recently that he likes Jaeyoung in his clothes just as much, and is realizing that he might like the way Jaeyoung would look in oversized clothes (only ones that were his).

Sangwoo lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Hyung,” he says, “you’ll be the death of me.”

“How?!” Jaeyoung exclaims, obviously caught off guard by the sudden comment. Yuna barks out a laugh while Jihye and Hyeongtak stifle their giggles behind their hands. Sangwoo just shakes his head, his shoulders slumping.

“You just are.”

Chapter Text

Jihye never thought to ask Sangwoo if he was particularly fond of or attached to the nickname, Sangchoo. To her, it just sounded adorable, like an affectionate little moniker for friends and family to use to address a boy who was as cute as the name suggested. He seems more partial to it now than when she first started using it, but Jihye’s noticed how the nickname is never once used by the person closest to him, Jaeyoung. In fact, he sometimes even winces when she, Yuna, or Hyeongtak uses it. Jihye initially thought it came from a place of envy or some sense of possession, like he should be the only one calling Sangwoo by cute nicknames or something like that, but as a group of six enters the café and sits down at a table only steps away from her and Sangwoo, she realizes that it might be out of disdain for the nickname itself.

Sangwoo is decidedly tense in the seat across from her, his head lowered and his shoulders hiked, his eyes downcast, stormy, and dark. He holds his glass of lemonade tightly, his knuckles paper white and his fingers trembling slightly. The newcomers snicker and whisper things amongst each other, like, “Is that Chu Sangchoo?” or “Sangchoo still looks as cold and bitchy as he did back in high school,” or “Sangchoo must be giving that poor girl right there hell,” or “Is that his girlfriend? What girl would ever want to put up with Sangchoo’s bullshit?”

It isn’t hard for Jihye to imagine the same group of people a few years younger, surrounding a young Sangwoo and throwing insults at him while calling him what she had once thought was just an endearing nickname. And the idea that she’s been calling him by a nickname that was used to bully him has her stomach dropping and her heart sinking.

“Hey, oppa?” she asks tentatively. Sangwoo looks up. “Do you want to go somewhere else? It’s getting pretty noisy in here.”

Chu Sangwoo is nothing if not stubborn and dedicated to routine. He shakes his head slowly, almost as if he’s unsure of the answers himself, and insists, “No. This is fine.” Then he drops his head again, looking back at the workbooks they’d been studying from together. Jihye wants to drag him out by the straps of his backpack. Meeting up in this particular café has basically become their thing—the first time she ever met Sangwoo off-campus was here (which was promptly interrupted by Jaeyoung), and she even confessed her feelings to Sangwoo here. Both instances occurred in this specific café, at this specific table. And recently, they’ve been coming here for their weekly study sessions. Of course Sangwoo wouldn’t want to leave until their session ended.

She takes out her phone and opens a conversation with Jaeyoung.

> (from Jihye, 12:15 P.M.) Hey, oppa, how do you get Sangwoo to do something when he’s being stubborn?

To her relief, Jaeyoung texts back immediately.

> (from Jaeyoung, 12:15 P.M.) why, what are you trying to make him do

> (from Jihye, 12:16 P.M.) I think some people who might have bullied him in the past came into the cafe? He’s been really tense and uneasy since they came in, and they’ve been whispering about him, but he refused to leave when I suggested going somewhere else!!! But I don’t want him to have to keep listening to what they’re saying about it him, since some of it isn’t really nice :(

> (from Jihye, 12:16 P.M.) I just want to get him out of here, but he won’t budge!!! What can I do to get him to leave?

> (from Jaeyoung, 12:16 P.M.) Stay there. I’m on my way.

It isn’t quite the answer Jihye was looking for, but it’s a solution that she’ll willingly take. She figures Jaeyoung’s presence there would make Sangwoo feel at least a little more at ease, and he’s fought on Sangwoo’s behalf before. Jihye isn’t above standing up for her friends—she’d very much like to go over there and tell those jerks to shove it—but it’s just her and Sangwoo alone right now, and Sangwoo seems like he’d rather sit there and take it than confront them, which is unlike the brave Sangwoo who usually stands up for himself as soon as he’s been wronged. Whatever they did to him must’ve been enough to douse the flames of his bravado in their presence.

Jihye’s blood boils at the thought.

Jaeyoung bursts into the café not even ten minutes later, his hair windswept, his chest heaving, and his eyes alight with an intense fury and frenetic worry. He takes a second to collect himself before approaching their table with long, quick strides, eyes on Sangwoo and no one else but Sangwoo. Silence befalls the group of bullies as Jaeyoung nears, and three of them look up with interest as he briskly stalks past them without sparing the group a glance. Sangwoo perks up a little as his boyfriend drops down in the empty seat at their table and reaches out to tickle his chin. “Hyung,” he whispers like a prayer.

“Hi, baby. Hi, Jihye-yah,” Jaeyoung greets, somewhat breathlessly.

“Hi, oppa,” Jihye says, her shoulders slumping with relief. She stiffens as she hears one of the girls from the group ask the others why someone like Jaeyoung would be sitting with someone like Sangwoo. Sangwoo swallows thickly, his eyes flicking briefly to the group before returning to his vexed boyfriend. Jaeyoung’s right eye twitches, his jaw clenching, but he maintains his focus on Sangwoo, shifting a little in his seat to shield more of Sangwoo from their view.

“What are you doing here, hyung? I thought you were working on a project for DEX at the studio.”

“I was in the area,” Jaeyoung answers breezily, though his windblown appearance suggests that he was not, in fact, in the area and actually ran all the way there. Judging by Sangwoo’s skeptical expression, he doesn’t believe the claim whatsoever. “Needed some fresh air before I got the urge to call one of my coworkers and curse them out or something. Whatever work I had to do there, I can just do here. I brought my stuff and everything.”

Sangwoo blinks at him, his lower lip jutting out slightly. He then looks at Jihye with his brows knitted together in thought. “You asked him to come,” he guesses. Jihye shakes her head.

“I asked him for help getting you out of here,” she corrects. “He invited himself.”

“Oh.” Sangwoo’s cheeks pinken slightly. He lowers his head, twiddling his thumbs in his lap. “You didn’t have to, hyung. I would have been fine.”

“Did you want to stay because it’s routine for you to study here with Jihye, or because you think leaving would be like showing weakness or something like that?” Jaeyoung asks softly, his expression gentle and open. Sangwoo stiffens at the question, and Jihye finds herself amazed by how accurately Jaeyoung can read him. “Because, baby, turning your back and walking away isn’t cowardly or weak or anything like that. You don’t have to sit here and listen to those fuckers gossip about you where you can hear them.”

“But running away is weakness,” Sangwoo insists. “It proves that, even after all these years, their words still manage to get under my skin. If I leave now, then it lets them know that they’ve won. That they’re still capable of hurting me, that they still know which buttons to push to get a rise out of me. At least if I pretend to be indifferent, then they won’t get the satisfaction of knowing that they’re succeeding in bothering me.”

“Oh, baby...”

Jihye clenches her fists and raises them to her chest assertively. “Oppa, your comfort is more important than whether or not they get any satisfaction from you leaving,” she declares fiercely. “Who cares about them and their egos anyway? Bullies are just people who like making others feel bad about themselves because their sense of self-worth is severely lacking. Look at you! You have real friends who cherish you and a partner who’d move mountains or kill a man for you. What do they have? Ugly faces and even uglier personalities. They’re just jealous because their lives are empty and unfulfilled. They probably don’t even actually like each other.”

Sangwoo eyes the group thoughtfully. Jihye glances over her shoulder while Jaeyoung openly glares at them, making no attempt to hide his hostility. She watches with amusement as one of the guys looks over and startles upon making eye contact with Jaeyoung, who in turn quirks his eyebrow in challenge, as if daring the guy to open his mouth and say something else. Sangwoo touches Jaeyoung’s arm, bringing his attention back to him.

“I want to go to the studio,” Sangwoo murmurs, “please.”

“Of course, baby. You want me to kick Yuna and Hyeongtak out, or are you good with them sticking around?”

“They can stay.”

“Okay. Do you want to stop by that bakery you like on the way there? I’ll buy my baby whatever he wants.”

For the first time since the group’s arrival in the café, Sangwoo cracks a small smile and nods. “Yes, hyung, thank you.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Jihye chimes, stuffing her books and pencils back into her bag. She looks up at Jaeyoung and grins, batting her eyelashes. “Jaeyoung-oppa, will you buy me whatever I want, too?”

Jaeyoung wrinkles his nose. “No fucking way. You have your own money; buy yourself whatever you want.”

“Be nice, Jaeyoungie-hyung,” Sangwoo says, and Jaeyoung relents immediately, though not without a whiny, petulant groan.

“Sure, Jihye-yah, I’ll buy you whatever the hell you want, too.”

“Thank you, oppa!!” she chirps, grabbing her bag and slinging it over her shoulder. Sangwoo chuckles a little and adjusts the straps of his own bag over his shoulders before being ushered out of the café by Jaeyoung, who throws one more glare over his shoulder as they pass the group’s table. Jihye pats herself on the back for calling on him for assistance and skips out after the couple, making a mental note to ask Sangwoo if he was truly comfortable with her and their other friends using Sangchoo as a nickname for him.

Chapter Text

The first week of summer break starts with Yuna dragging them all on a week-long vacation overseas to some coastal city in the state of New York, and it was this experience where the group collectively decided that Yuna should never plan a trip ever again, as she had initially failed to consider the possibility that some members of their little group had never left the country before—and those members were Chu Sangwoo and Ryu Jihye. Jihye had been perfectly calm during the flight, spending most of it sleeping on Hyeongtak’s shoulder. Sangwoo, on the other hand, had maintained a steady death grip on Jaeyoung’s arm, overthinking all the ways this could go horribly wrong, because while Sangwoo was starting to break away from what was familiar and embrace change, new experiences still scared the shit out of him, and flying fourteen hours nonstop definitely was not the best way to introduce him to the wonderful world of traveling.

But they survived. And made it to their vacation rental in one piece. Somehow.

Sangwoo has since settled down from his self-induced frenzy, and Jaeyoung no longer feels like leaving Yuna for dead in a sketchy back alley in the foreign country. In fact, tonight is probably the most peace the rental has experienced since their arrival the day before. They’ve set up camp in the living room, a movie playing, mostly forgotten, on the large TV screen mounted to the wall, the audio of it drowned out by Yuna’s complaints and Sangwoo’s soft, disgruntled groaning.

“It’s so fucking hot, holy shit,” Yuna complains for the umpteenth time that day. She’s sprawled out on the carpet, starfished and lying on her stomach in front of the air conditioning unit that’s struggling to pump out enough cool air to dispel the stifling heat and humidity. With a loud groan, she flips the unit off, growling, “Come on, bitch, I’m melting over here. You were working just fine earlier; don’t cheap out on me now.”

“Us,” Sangwoo corrects, and he’s also glaring at the AC unit, spread out on the floor to Yuna’s right. From the couch, Jaeyoung eyes his boyfriend pityingly. It’s the one thing Sangwoo hates most about himself—he can never catch a break in any season, not when he’s so intolerant of both high temperatures and low temperatures. He’s so sensitive to the cold and the heat, but it’s easier to warm up by layering thick, heavy clothes in cold weather than it is to cool down in hot weather. Sangwoo whines a little, and it’s probably the most petulant anyone that isn’t Jaeyoung will see him when he isn’t drunk. “Don’t cheap out on us now.”

Hyeongtak snickers from the armchair to the right of the couch, before full-on laughing, doubling over and clutching his stomach. Both Yuna and Sangwoo sit up a little to glare daggers at him, with the former looking about ready to throw something at him. “Maybe we should’ve gone somewhere cooler for,” Hyeongtak says once he’s calmed down a little. He startles upon meeting their heated gazes. “Hey, stop looking at me like that!”

“Sleep with both eyes open, Tak-ah,” Jaeyoung drawls. The boy swallows and smiles nervously at their friends.

“I don’t know, I think this has been pretty nice so far,” Jihye pipes up from the armchair opposite of Hyeongtak. “Yes, it’s been pretty muggy, but it’s been lovely nonetheless. The rental we’re in is beautiful and spacious, and it’s quiet and peaceful—”

“Quiet and peaceful? The drunken karaoke Jaeyoung-hyung and I were subjected to last night says otherwise,” Sangwoo grunts, rolling over onto his back. He closes his eyes, huffing. “There are bars only a short walk away from the house. And they seemed to have decided last night to have a competition that would determine who has the louder drunken patrons. I do not want to hear drunken singing coming in from the windows while I am trying to indulge in my boyfriend’s lips.”

“People sing karaoke drunk all the time in Seoul. Have you even met Yuna-unnie? She’s a professional!”

Yuna scoffs at her, before wrinkling her nose at Sangwoo. “Can you indulge in your boyfriend’s lips when we aren’t all in the same house? I’m not trying to hear all that.”

“Did you hear anything last night?” Sangwoo retorts. Before she can answer, he continues, “No, you didn’t. Because we have respect for our companions and would not do anything inappropriate in their company.”

“You told me last night that the drunken singing killed the mood,” Jaeyoung interjects teasingly, and the death glare Sangwoo gives him would be intimidating if not for how flushed and pouty his boyfriend was due to the heat. Yuna looks at him aghast, like she’s ready to get up, run to the kitchen, and beat them both with the first wooden spoon she finds. Jaeyoung snorts. “Chill out, bitch, I’m just kidding.”

Yuna wrinkles her nose. “Somehow I really don’t believe that.”

“It doesn’t matter if you believe it or not. It’s what happened.”

Yuna mutters something that he doesn’t catch before going back to staring down the air conditioner. Jihye, ever the optimist, glances between the four of them consideringly. Jaeyoung can see the gears turning in her mind, and he resigns himself to being an accessory in whatever convoluted plan she’s cooking up to get the overheated duo to settle down before they decide to attack the AC or something. A lightbulb abruptly goes off in his mind. “Let’s get some ice cream.”

Yuna pins him with a deadpan stare. “Ice cream,” she echoes like it’s the worst idea she’s ever heard. Jihye, on the other hand, looks at him like it’s the greatest idea she’s heard all day.

“That sounds like a wonderful idea, oppa!” she chirps, and Jaeyoung appreciates that, despite the rough start to their friendship, she’s always got his back during times like these. He can count on her to pull through for him. “There’s that truck that comes through the neighborhood around this time, right? We could get something from it, throw on a better movie, or just hang out on the front stoop and enjoy the weather.”

“Hyung’s treat,” Hyeongtak adds eagerly, eliciting a startled shout from Jaeyoung.

“Yah, why am I always the one getting stuck paying for everything?!”

“Because you’re the one with a full-time job, and DEX pays you well,” Yuna answers without missing a beat.

“I’m beginning to think you people just want me for my money.”

“I could never want you for your money,” Sangwoo scoffs, sounding blatantly offended that Jaeyoung would even suggest such a thing, even in jest. “If I was in this relationship strictly for money, I would have—”

“Don’t finish that sentence, baby; I get the point.” He jerks his thumb in Yuna, Hyeongtak, and Jihye’s general direction. “It’s these three who want me for just my money.”

Yuna smirks at him. “Hey, Tak-ah and I have been putting up with your overdramatic, prideful, obsessive ass for over a decade; it’s time you pay your dues. And it’s just ice cream. It’s not like I’m asking you to buy each of us diamond rings or something.”

Jaeyoung grumbles under his breath, but he assents all the same and gets up to grab his wallet from the bedroom upstairs. By the time he comes back down, the rest of them have moved outside to the front stoop to wait for the ice cream truck to come, and Jaeyoung smiles, satisfied that Yuna and Sangwoo have finally peeled themselves off the floor and gotten off the air conditioner’s case for now.

Chapter Text

“Why are we so dressed up tonight?” Hyeongtak wonders, inspecting himself thoroughly in the mirror, twisting his body every which way so no part of him went unexamined. He wears a cream-colored suit with a soft turquoise turtleneck underneath, and he looks cute as a button but also severely overdressed for the club. Yuna even put a little lip tint and blush on him, making his lips and cheeks appear a few shades redder than usual. It doesn’t look remotely bad on him—really, it adds to his charm—but Yuna’s insistence that they dress to the nines tonight is bewildering.

Yuna steals a glance at him before looking back at Jaeyoung, who stands before her with his legs awkwardly spread wide to bring himself down to her height. “We’re going to one of the fancier clubs tonight,” she answers simply, opening a brand new tube of lip tint for Jaeyoung. It’s redder than Hyeongtak’s, deep and rich in its ruby red color. He swears his lips are red enough as they are—how much redder do they need to be? Yuna gives him a look. “Yes, this is necessary,” she snaps, answering the question before Jaeyoung has a chance to ask it. “We’re all getting laid tonight; I’m so sick and tired of the dry, lame-as-fuck experiences we’ve been having lately. We’re going to walk in that club looking irresistible.”

“Guess you better lay off on drinking, then,” Jaeyoung remarks dryly, earning a glare from Yuna. “What? No offense, but you’re not whatsoever sexy when you’re drunk as a skunk and singing songs nobody else is in the middle of the club.”

“Shut your mouth,” she grumbles, and he obeys with a cheeky smirk, allowing her to carefully apply the product to his lips in peace. She takes a step back to admire her work, and Jaeyoung takes that as his cue to straighten up. Yuna nods, satisfied. “Perfect. Let me put my jewelry on, and then we’re off.”

Jaeyoung nods idly, approaching Hyeongtak and the mirror he’s still checking himself out in. With a nudge, the boy moves aside so Jaeyoung can peer at himself. He’s momentarily taken aback by the man in the mirror, who looks so much like Jaeyoung but also not at all like Jaeyoung. He’s gorgeous, no doubt, but he’s definitely overdressed, and the violet suit jacket Yuna threw at him hugs the broadness of his shoulders perhaps a bit too much for comfort. He makes a face and asks, “Who the hell wears a suit to a club?”

“What else do men wear to those fancy upscale lounges?” Yuna calls back, looking between her collection of gold jewelry and silver jewelry contemplatively.

“I don’t know; I’ve never been to one!”

“No uncles or aunties or cousins have ever been to one, either?”

“If they have been, I wouldn’t know. It’s not like I talk to them on a routine basis, and they’d be downright stupid to mention anything like that at the family gatherings. Grandfather would maim them for sure.”

“What about your brother?”

“I’m pretty sure he wears a suit even when he sleeps. He wears nothing but suits no matter the occasion.”

“Why are we even going to an upscale club in the first place?” Hyeongtak inquires, rejoining Jaeyoung by the mirror. He seems about as put off by the semi-formal attire as Jaeyoung is, which isn’t saying much given Hyeongtak very rarely has reasons to wear such attire. “What’s wrong with our usuals? The devil that you know is better than the devil that you don’t, right? So why go somewhere new?”

Jaeyoung snorts, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. “Did you get cut off? Did your parents cut you off, and now you’re looking for a wealthy sugar mommy to pamper you? Is that what this is about? The gold would look a lot better, by the way.”

“Thank you,” Yuna says, and proceeds to replace the silver piercings she put in with gold. “And no, I didn’t get cut off, nor am I looking for a hot, rich lady to pamper me.” She pauses, then backtracks a little, “Though it would be nice if I scored a hot, rich lady willing to pamper me—”

“Figures.”

“—but I just wanted to try something new. Live a little, you know? Might as well have a little fun while we’re still young and hot. Plus, we keep bumping into all the same people at our usual spots—and I know you were ready to flip your shit when Junghoon and Boram walked into the club last weekend. Or the weekend before, when you-know-who came in.”

Jaeyoung winces and crosses his arms. “Yeah, yeah, I know; you don’t have to remind me. I wasn’t complaining, by the way—just wanted to know what the hell was going through your head when you decided out of the blue that this is what we were doing tonight.”

Yuna hums in acknowledgement and joins them by the mirror to give herself and them one last look over. Jaeyoung can’t help the snort that leaves him—Yuna’s never been particularly fussy about dressing up or intentionally making herself look appealing, yet here she stands, wearing an emerald green cocktail dress, her hair and makeup done, and her jewelry matching. It’s so out of character for Choi Yuna—it’s so out of character for all of them, in fact, and yet here they are. He wonders what sort of establishment she’s taking them to, wonders what sort of people will be there, wonders if it’s not too late to back out and say he isn’t feeling well and that he’d rather stay home instead.

But he’d be damned if he left Yuna and Hyeongtak to go off on their own, Jaeyoung realizes, not for the first time. They might be grown adults who are perfectly capable of taking care of themselves, but he’s the oldest of their party of three, even if only by a few months in Yuna’s case, and he’s been responsible for them for the better part of his life. He’d fret like a mother hen who’d just lost her chicks if he stayed home while they went by themselves.

But, if anyone ever asked, he’d say he’s just coming along to find a cute guy or girl to hook up with. Even if he won’t be hooking up with anyone until he knows for sure that Yuna and Hyeongtak are completely safe.

But that isn’t a detail anyone else needs to know, not really.

“The world is not ready for us,” Yuna says pridefully, her voice bringing him back to reality. She slings her arms across both of their shoulders, grinning from ear to ear. “Look at us. We’re fucking gorgeous. We’re absolutely going to get bitches tonight.”

“Remember, noona, no drinking for you,” Hyeongtak reminds her, nudging her a little with his elbow and smirking, “or else you’re going to get absolutely no one tonight.”

“You guys act like I’m a wild animal when I’m drunk.”

“It’s something similar,” Jaeyoung inserts, receiving a slap across the back for his gibe. “Yah! You’re just hitting me ‘cause you know I’m right!”

Yuna opens her mouth to retort, but Hyeongtak beats her to it, waving his hands with a nervous smile. “Why don’t we head out now before neither of you makes it in one piece?” he suggests frantically.

“Good idea,” Jaeyoung agrees cheerily while Yuna glares at him. He wastes no time striding to the door, throwing his shoes on, and making sure he has everything he needs in his pockets. Yuna and Hyeongtak follow suit, and they’re out the door moments later, in a taxi bound for the fancy club Jaeyoung still doesn’t know how to feel about. When they arrive, Jaeyoung catches sight of the most beautiful man he’s ever seen in his entire life, sitting right at the bar with a disgruntled expression on his face. He couldn’t be any younger than Hyeongtak, his face youthful and unblemished, his skin white as snow, and his lips pouty, round, and petal pink. He looks pissed out of his mind but also deeply uncomfortable, and that alone is enough to keep Jaeyoung away for fear of unsettling him further.

But as the night goes on, and Yuna and Hyeongtak find themselves in decent company, Jaeyoung gradually closes the distance between him and the bar, if only to put distance between him and the people who’ve tried chatting him up. His interest in hooking up with just anyone diminished as soon as he saw the beautiful man, who hasn’t yet moved from his seat. He’s been approached multiple times throughout the night, mainly by people he seems to know, but Jaeyoung caught one or two people trying to flirt with him. If anyone asks, he didn’t feel some odd stroke of satisfaction when the man dismissed each of them (and he isn’t dumb enough to believe that he wouldn’t also be dismissed if he tried to shoot his shot).

Still, he finds himself settling on a stool not far from the young man at the bar, and he gets a virgin cocktail because he still has to keep his eyes on Yuna and Hyeongtak and make sure they all get home safe when it’s time to go. Because of course Yuna couldn’t resist the alcohol, and Hyeongtak’s promise of “just one drink, hyung!” turned into three, going on four.

There’s some shuffling to his left, and when he looks over, he gleefully finds that the pretty man has come to him, now sitting on the stool directly next to Jaeyoung’s with his own mocktail on the countertop before him.

Jaeyoung can only hope his friends will behave long enough for him to at least get pretty boy’s number.

Chapter Text

Sangwoo comes into the studio to find Yuna leaning over Jaeyoung’s chair, peering closely at something displayed on his computer monitor. She stands with her back to him, scratching her head in thought and drumming her fingers idly on the leather backrest of the seat, her body completely obscuring both Jaeyoung and the contents on the monitor from view. A quick glance around yields an otherwise empty studio, the absence of Jaeyoung’s other friend, Hyeongtak, evident in the otherwise quiet room, suggesting a peaceful, productive day of work. Finally. He doesn’t necessarily mind the presence of Hyeongtak in the studio, who apparently doesn’t come by as often as he used to, but he has trouble keeping his mouth shut for longer than three minutes, which is even worse than Jaeyoung, who can go about roughly five to ten minutes without saying a word. Sometimes even longer, if he’s particularly focused on something. But Hyeongtak can be a distraction at times, and Sangwoo prefers to work in a quiet environment, even if that isn’t the sort of environment Jaeyoung’s studio fosters.

“Does this make sense to you?” Jaeyoung asks suddenly, and Yuna leans in even closer, her hand dropping from the backrest to his broad shoulder. Sangwoo watches with mild envy—he wishes he could touch Jaeyoung so casually like that, but his heart does flips and his stomach twists whenever he does make physical contact with the senior. Just being next to him is enough to have his heart flipping like an Olympic gymnast. It’s something he should really get checked out soon, because he shouldn’t be feeling like this around anyone, least of all Jang Jaeyoung.

He isn’t yet ready to admit that all the research he’s been doing lately on abnormal desires and weird bodily sensations might be on to something.

“The delivery’s off,” Yuna says after a brief pause. She (finally!!) takes her hand off Jaeyoung’s shoulder and folds her arms over her chest, shifting her weight a little. “It feels kind of... I dunno, robotic? Almost like a machine is talking instead of a man.”

“That’s kinda the point,” Jaeyoung points out. “Robotic stoicism is, like, a major part of his character. I’m asking if the actual content of what he’s saying makes sense.”

“What are you working on?” Sangwoo finally asks, taking a few measured steps towards the pair. Yuna moves aside so he can see Jaeyoung, who perks up and smiles so brightly as soon as he locks eyes with Sangwoo. Sangwoo pretends it doesn’t make his stomach swoop.

“Sangwoo! I didn’t think you were coming today,” Jaeyoung beams. He’s so radiant, more so than the sun itself, his smile dazzling and heartstopping. It makes Sangwoo’s knees buckle. No one’s ever been this happy to see him before. “We’re doing dialogue today. Well, I am; Yuna’s just proofreading for me.”

“I don’t see why,” Yuna says with a groan, throwing her head back. “You’re in the theater club, not me. You’ve written and directed plays before; you shouldn’t have any trouble with some dialogue for a game.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, am I interrupting your oh-so-busy schedule?” Jaeyoung bites back. “Just ‘cause I have experience writing scripts and shit doesn’t mean it’s high on the list of mastered skills I have. Yah! You never want to do anything for me.”

“Wow! Jang Jaeyoung admitting he’s not good at something? The world must be ending.”

“But you are good at writing scripts, sunbae,” Sangwoo insists, even though it’s a bad idea that will definitely inflate Jaeyoung’s ego further. “We received the highest marks in class for our French presentation partially because of the script you wrote. A script for our game shouldn’t be a challenge for you.”

Jaeyoung full-on blushes, blood rushing to his cheeks and ears in equal parts. He gapes at Sangwoo for a few seconds until he becomes too bashful to continue, quickly looking away and trying to stifle a big grin and what sounds like a little giggle behind his hand. Yuna gags from his left and throws a halfhearted glare at Sangwoo.

“Don’t boost his ego like that; it’s better for us all if his ego isn’t inflated that much,” she grumbles. “He’s gonna be giggling and kicking his feet about this all fucking day, I just know it.”

“Oh,” Sangwoo says, intelligently, his own cheeks a little warm. Does Jaeyoung just like being praised in general, or does he particularly like it when Sangwoo praises him? He goes to ask as such before a different question strikes him. “Do you not get praised for your good work often?” he wonders, directing his attention to Jaeyoung. Yuna’s mouth snaps shut, her eyes rounding slightly. Huh.

“I mean, yeah, I do,” Jaeyoung says, but something about the way he says it nags at Sangwoo. It must show on Sangwoo’s face because he clarifies, “I get praised often, really. It’s just... Sometimes it’s conditional, I guess? Or just really insincere. Like, a lot of times, people who are interested in going out with me or sleeping with me or something will praise my work because they think flattery will get them somewhere. Or some people who want to work with me will compliment my work and then turn around and insult it if I don’t want to work with them.”

“Oh...”

“Mhm. You get used to it, people treating you one way when they want something from you and flipping their shit when you don’t give it to them.” Jaeyoung’s face falls then as realization dawns on him. “Ah. Right. You are used to it...”

Sangwoo nods. Of course he is. Humans have the potential to be deeply insincere, conniving, and dishonest creatures, and he’s had his fair share of encounters with people like that before. But Jaeyoung is popular and well-liked by nearly everyone who knows he exists, as far as Sangwoo’s aware—the idea that someone would speak ill of something Jaeyoung worked incredibly hard to create to his face leaves him feeling oddly unsettled and vexed. Jaeyoung’s talent as an artist far surpasses that of every other artist he’s ever seen, even those who regard themselves as professionals or masters of the craft. His hands only know the creation of pure perfection, something that should be impossible to achieve, yet is so easily achieved by Jang Jaeyoung.

“Whoever insults your work is incredibly stupid and should get their eyes checked,” Sangwoo says before he can think better of it. Jaeyoung’s eyebrows fly, his eyes widening in obvious surprise. Yuna barks out a noisy laugh, the first sound she’s made since this conversation started. Sangwoo frowns at her. “What? It’s the truth. Sunbae is an extremely talented artist who is leagues above everyone else. There isn’t anyone who could surpass him or come close to the level of skill he has. No offense.”

“Sounds like you’re just biased,” Yuna quips, snickering. “He’s talented as fuck for sure, but I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Consider getting your eyes checked soon, then.”

“I, uh, need some air,” Jaeyoung announces suddenly, his voice pitched. He rises from his seat in a rush and flurries past them both, and is through the door before Sangwoo can even blink. Silence follows his abrupt departure. Then Yuna bursts out laughing for some unknown reason, doubling over and clutching her abdomen, cackling not unlike a witch. Sangwoo gapes at the door, utterly bewildered by what just transpired.

“Is... he okay?” he asks after a beat, sending Yuna into another baffling laughing fit.

“Yeah,” she wheezes, wiping a tear from her eye, “he’s good. Better than good, even. He’s fucking great.”

Sangwoo just stares at her, unsure if her words are to be believed or not. She clearly went delirious at some point within the last ten minutes, he figures, given that she’s laughing uncontrollably, as though she’s just been told the funniest joke that ever existed. He considers going after Jaeyoung when Yuna straightens up, finally relatively calm again, and says, “I’m gonna step out too.” She jerks a thumb in the direction of the monitor. “You look over the dialogue for Jaeyoung; see if it meets your standards. I’m gonna make sure he’s not dancing around campus and freaking everyone out with it. We’ll be back in a few.”

And then she’s gone too, leaving a dumbfounded Sangwoo in her wake.

Chapter Text

“Do I really want to know?” Jaeyoung asks with a long-suffering sigh, looking up at the perplexing robot boy with exasperation. Sangwoo’s face falls. He swallows and forces himself to push through the guilt. “You made it pretty clear that you hated me. What’s there for us to talk about, Sangwoo? Unless you want to take a few more swings at my heart?”

“I wanted to apologize,” Sangwoo mumbles, ducking his head. Jaeyoung startles at the admission, his eyes widening a fraction. Sangwoo looks up again, his eyes watery. “My behavior towards you the other day was uncalled for, and I’m sorry for it. I said a lot of things I didn’t mean. Hyung, I... don’t hate you. Not at all.”

Jaeyoung scoffs. “Then why did you say you did?”

Silence follows his question. Sangwoo’s ducked his head again, wringing his hands in another rare display of self-consciousness not unlike the one he witnessed earlier when Sangwoo first came in. When he asked his sister whether or not liking someone of the same sex was unnatural. If he was blushing then, he’s downright glowing now, his cheeks and ears a startling shade of crimson that shouldn’t look as cute on him as it does. Briefly, Jaeyoung entertains the notion that Sangwoo might have a crush on him, before dismissing it so as to not get his hopes up. He discards the shears and slowly rises to his full height, his hands on his hips, a sigh escaping his lips.

“Sangwoo-yah,” he says softly, “I’m not a mind reader.”

“I know,” Sangwoo whispers back. “I don’t know how to say it.”

“Write it, then. Or show me.”

Sangwoo’s cheeks got impossibly redder at the suggestion, his gaze dropping briefly to Jaeyoung’s lips before dropping entirely to the floor beneath their feet. Jaeyoung’s brows raise with interest. So that’s what it is, then. A giddy smile spreads across his lips as he takes a step forward, then another, until he’s well within Sangwoo’s bubble of personal space. The not-so-robotic boy startles, but he doesn’t jerk back, instead looking up to meet Jaeyoung’s eyes again.

“Go on, Sangwoo-yah. Show me.”

Sangwoo hesitates. For a minute, Jaeyoung thinks that maybe he’s got it all wrong and he’s just making Sangwoo uncomfortable, but then Sangwoo’s up on his tiptoes, his hands grasping Jaeyoung’s shirt collar and pulling him down. Their lips meet clumsily, inexperienced and unrefined, but it has Jaeyoung’s knees buckling all the same, his heart swimming in a rush of startled euphoria. Sangwoo’s lips are even softer than they look, and they mold to Jaeyoung’s own so nicely, as though they were puzzle pieces meant to fit together. It leaves him breathless, his head spinning, his face burning, and it ends before he can fully immerse himself in it.

“I like you, hyung,” Sangwoo confesses softly, out of breath. “I like you a lot. I said I hated you because you made me feel things I have never felt before, and that scared me. I thought pushing you away would fix everything, but it only made it worse.”

Jaeyoung’s shoulders slump with immense relief. He takes Sangwoo in his arms, hugging him close, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “I was so nervous,” he murmurs. “I thought you really did hate me.”

Sangwoo startles at the embrace but melts into it quickly, tentatively wrapping his arms around Jaeyoung’s torso and fitting his head under Jaeyoung’s chin. “I could never,” he insists. “I like you too much to hate you.”

Jaeyoung feels a mini detonation going off in his heart. Heat rushes to his cheeks and ears, a big grin breaking out across his face. Oh, he’s not going to survive dating Chu Sangwoo, is he?

Chapter Text

French class with Jang Jaeyoung is always a hit or miss. Some days, it’s uncomfortably peaceful, with Jaeyoung hyperfocused on completing his work instead of bugging Sangwoo. Their conversations are often productive and educational, usually related to the work they’re doing, and it’s through these discussions that Sangwoo discovers Jaeyoung’s fluency and proficiency in the language. He helps Sangwoo when he notices him struggling, but he doesn’t outright give Sangwoo the answers, instead guiding him with unwavering patience until Sangwoo figures it out himself. These tend to be the best days, and they showcase a side of Jang Jaeyoung that Sangwoo... weirdly does not hate.

But there are other days, like today, where the little shit in Jaeyoung stirs from hibernation and seeks to pester Sangwoo in what seems to be a bid for attention, but he seems to be aware of Sangwoo’s limit now and has enough courtesy to back off when he’s reached it. It’s an off-putting development given that Jaeyoung initially made it his mission to make Sangwoo’s life hell when they first met, but he finds that the teasing isn’t quite so intolerable now, and the banter almost feels playful and friendly. And he does not hate that, either.

That does not, however, mean he’s gone soft on Jaeyoung. He hasn’t, not whatsoever.

Occasionally, he’ll bite back with a snarky retort of his own in response to one of Jaeyoung’s jabs, and he’ll pretend the answering giggle doesn’t make his stomach flip. Sometimes, he’ll take a stab at Jaeyoung first, before Jaeyoung can start the catfight, and he’ll pretend the way Jaeyoung preens at it doesn’t make his heart soar. It’s their routine, now. This little push and pull between them, the almost amicable, good-natured blows they exchange with one another.

It’s... nice. Not that Sangwoo would ever admit that aloud.

They’re doing a peer review today. During their last class, the professor had them draft a brief conversation between two characters in French about any topic of choice. Sangwoo, naturally, chose computer science for his topic, specifically a discussion about semantic errors. The professor likely expected something simpler, like a conversation about where the characters were from or even the weather, and maybe he should have stuck to something easy and simplistic, but a conversation like that was awfully boring in the grand scheme of things. Who really cared about where someone came from, or what the weather was like, or something ordinary like that? It doesn’t matter, not really.

“Switch papers with the person sitting next to you,” the professor instructs, smiling humorously at the exasperated groans let out by a handful of students. “Don’t make those faces; I told you all that we’d be doing a peer review today last week. Now switch.”

Sangwoo dutifully hands his notebook over to Jaeyoung, who takes it and immediately makes a sour face. Sangwoo, affronted, glares at him and snaps, “You haven’t even read it yet, and you’re already criticizing it?”

“I’m criticizing it already because I can’t fucking read it,” Jaeyoung retorts sourly. Sangwoo’s jaw falls open in offense. Jaeyoung drops the notebook down on the desk unceremoniously and grabs his bag, rummaging through it urgently for some unknown thing. His brow creases in frustration. “Oh, fuck, don’t tell me I forgot my glasses in the studio.”

“You don’t usually wear glasses to class. I thought you could read just fine.”

“Yeah, when the writing is clear and legible.”

“It is clear and legible!”

Jaeyoung looks up from his bag, incredulous. “Your handwriting is atrocious. That’s worse than chicken scratch!”

Insulted, Sangwoo seizes Jaeyoung’s notebook and flips to his assignment. Sangwoo prides himself on being neat and tidy in all aspects of life, including his handwriting. Yes, he may have a little trouble writing in the foreign language, given that the French writing system is completely different from Korean Hangul. It felt a lot like trying to write with his non-dominant hand, but he took great care to maintain a steady hand and write everything neatly. If his writing is considered chicken scratch, then the ever chaotic and disorderly Jang Jaeyoung’s handwriting should be leagues worse than Sangwoo’s.

Except it isn’t.

Jaeyoung’s handwriting is not only neat and legible, it’s also artistic and beautiful. The letters of most words are connected, flowing elegantly into one another through a series of refined loops and curves, suggesting they were written all at once and without lifting the pen until the end. Cursive, Sangwoo thinks the style is called. There’s nothing visually offensive or even remotely messy about Jaeyoung’s handwriting despite it following a foreign writing system. Another indicator of Jaeyoung’s proficiency in French, another piece of evidence to support his belief that Jaeyoung really doesn’t need to be in this class. There’s nothing on the page for Sangwoo to poke fun at, he realizes begrudgingly.

Sangwoo drops the notebook down, his lip curling. “Why are you even in this class? You clearly don’t need it. You appear to be perfectly fluent in both spoken and written French.”

“Did you forget already? I’m here for you, Sangwoo-yah,” Jaeyoung answers without missing a beat. Sangwoo jolts, his heart doing a funny thing, his stomach flipping with some nameless feeling. He’s aware that Jaeyoung joined the class just to bother him, but now that they’ve apparently moved on from that, Jaeyoung really has no real reason to stick around as far as Sangwoo knows. He swallows, looking away from Jaeyoung then, thumbing through the used pages of Jaeyoung’s notebook. All of his French notes are written in the same stylish cursive, so it couldn’t be a recent development.

“When did you learn French?” he asks, itching for a solid answer to the question that’s been nagging at him since Jaeyoung joined the class.

“Oh, years and years ago. When my parents were still together.” Jaeyoung’s brow furrows in thought, or maybe it’s distaste that has him pinching his expression like that. “When I was a kid, I mean. We lived abroad in France for a few years due to my mother’s job. I think we moved when I was six? So my brother and I were learning French for a while before that.”

Sangwoo nods consideringly. His brain identifies four important pieces of information: Jang Jaeyoung’s parents are divorced, Jang Jaeyoung has a brother (age and name unknown), Jang Jaeyoung is bilingual (possibly multilingual?), and Jang Jaeyoung lived in France for an unspecified number of years. For reasons lost on him, he files that away for later, in the secret folder lingering within the farthest reaches of his mind, the one that hungers for more information about the unruly senior he’s been entangled with since the semester began.

“Thank fuck,” Jaeyoung exclaims suddenly, and when Sangwoo looks over again, he’s untangling his glasses case from the mess in his bag. Sangwoo would rather die than admit it aloud, but Jaeyoung looked charming that one day in the café, the first time Sangwoo ever saw him in glasses. It softened that delinquent persona Sangwoo associated with him, and made him look more distinguished despite his outfit being anything but sophisticated. He looks even less sophisticated now, decked out in bad boy leather with four of his piercings in again, yet the addition of the glasses only serves to elevate his charm rather than reduce it. The girls sitting at the table next to them certainly seem to think so. If they were peeking at Jaeyoung before, they’re openly staring now, and it makes Sangwoo feel irrationally annoyed.

But Jaeyoung isn’t looking at them. He’s looking at Sangwoo’s work with the same sour expression as earlier, but it’s marginally worse somehow. “How the fuck am I supposed to peer review this if I can’t read it?” he wails, and Sangwoo’s annoyance moves on from the girls to Jaeyoung.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” he scoffs. “If the teacher can read it without glasses, then surely you can with glasses.”

Chapter Text

The young man nurses a virgin daiquiri, condensation collecting where his fingers grasp the glass. He stares pointedly at the drink, his body stiff and rigid beside Jaeyoung’s, anxiety rolling off of him in waves. The smell of his cologne—tart and earthy, not unlike a cup of freshly brewed coffee—wafts through the air, its pleasant smell an oasis in comparison to the putrid scent of sweat, alcohol, and cheap perfumes that’s been assaulting Jaeyoung’s nostrils for the past two or so hours. From afar, the young man looked beautiful. Up close, he’s downright ethereal, an otherworldly knockout who didn’t belong in such a sleazy nightclub.

His snow-white skin glows even in the low lighting of the room. Dark hair has been combed back and styled carefully so as to not obscure his cute face, something for which Jaeyoung is eternally grateful. His attire isn’t quite as dressy as Jaeyoung’s, consisting instead of an elegant midnight blue silk shirt that’s loose-fitting everywhere but around his shoulders, black slacks that accentuate long, toned legs, a belt cinching a dainty waist, and black leather loafers. There’s a necklace at the base of his throat and a few rings on his fingers, and if Jaeyoung isn’t mistaken, subtle, shimmery makeup was applied around his eyes and on his cheeks. The man does look deeply uncomfortable, though, either in the attire itself or just with the attention it garners him, and Jaeyoung finds himself overcome by the sudden urge to sweep the young man off his feet, take him somewhere quieter, and swaddle him up in the comfiest clothes he owns.

Jaeyoung steals a glance at Yuna and Hyeongtak, worrying his lower lip. The two of them are together, dancing to the sensual R&B song playing with a handful of people he recognizes from the art department at their college, and they both seem to have sobered up a little, as they’re no longer stumbling over their feet or giggling uncontrollably. He takes out his phone and shoots a quick text to them before looking at the young man next to him and cocking his head towards the door. “You wanna step outside for a minute? You look like you could use some fresh air.”

The young man nods, and allows Jaeyoung to guide him through the mess of sweaty bodies and out the door. He seems to relax as soon as the cool nighttime air hits his skin, tension leaving his body with a long, heavy exhale. “Thank you,” he says, his voice a soft, monotonous drone that stirs the butterflies in Jaeyoung’s stomach.

“I take it clubs aren’t your usual scene,” Jaeyoung comments, leaning against the wall beside the young man.

“They aren’t. But it’s my older sister’s birthday today, and I was coerced into coming here with her and her friends tonight.” The young man’s brow creases, his eyes narrowing. It gives him the appearance of a disgruntled kitten, and it’s fucking adorable. “I don’t understand why. She knows nightclubs aren’t for me and that I don’t like loud, crowded spaces. She knows that I’d rather spend the night at home working on assignments or unwinding with a video game.”

“Sounds like you’ve got your priorities straight.” Jaeyoung snorts a little and shakes his head. “I’m backed the fuck up on commissions and coursework right now. I like clubbing as much as the next guy does, but for once, I think I’d rather be working.”

“Why is that?”

“This whole thing was just... not our brightest idea.” He gestures to his clothes, pulling a face. “My best friend chose this, and I think... I dunno, it’s just really not that comfortable to wear. And the club itself is underwhelming. Yuna—my friend—made it sound like it was going to be this grand, fancy thing, but it’s not really all that different from our usual nightclub picks. Same drinks, same music, same vibe, just a hell of a lot more expensive. And I wasn’t really in the mood to go clubbing tonight to begin with.”

“Oh. So you aren’t enjoying yourself, either, then.”

“I wasn’t.” Jaeyoung looks over at him and smiles. “I definitely am now, though.”

The young man scoffs a little, but his lips quirk nonetheless, and Jaeyoung considers that a victory. His smile is pretty—soft and subtle, a barely there, minuscule thing, but it’s enough to make the butterflies swarm. The smile drops as soon as his phone rings, though, and he mutters something under his breath before begrudgingly answering the call. A woman starts talking—shouting, more like—before he can even speak, “Where the hell did you go, Sangchoo?! I turn my back for two seconds, and poof! You’re gone! Em said she saw you walking out with a man; what’s that about, huh?!”

“I went outside for air,” the young man (Sangchoo??) says calmly. “And the man I stepped out with is my senior from university, the artist I was telling you about the other day. Jang Jaeyoung.”

Jaeyoung’s heart does flips and cartwheels in his chest, pounding against his ribs with an uncontainable joy, threatening to break free from his chest and explode into the night. The young man knows him. He knows him! He knows his art! And he seems to like Jaeyoung, at least enough to approach him, sit with him, and then go outside with him. A shudder runs down his spine as Jaeyoung wills himself not to do a little jig to dispel some of the gleeful energy threatening to engulf him.

“Noona,” the young man sighs, “you need to stop watching true crime shows. If he were a serial killer of some kind, then the people he befriends on campus would’ve mysteriously turned up dead by now. The whole university knows his name; if he was bad news, everyone would’ve known about it.”

A burst of disbelieving laughter escapes Jaeyoung. The man’s lips quirk again in response. After a few extra reassurances and parting words, he moves the device away from his ear and hangs up, huffing out a breath of air. Jaeyoung, in an attempt to not grin like an idiot who’s just won the lottery, schools his features into a lazy smirk and hums, “So... you know me?”

The young man’s ears redden a little, suddenly bashful. “I’ve seen you a few times on campus,” he answers, “and I’ve been following your art account on Instagram for... um, a while.”

His eyebrow arches. “A while?”

“A few years,” the young man clarifies stiffly, looking away. His cheeks are as red as his ears are now. “I’m... a big fan of your work.”

“Did I die at some point in the night? Am I in heaven right now or something?” Jaeyoung peers closely at the young man, who seems baffled by his sudden line of questioning. “You’re handsome, cute, and sexy, and you’re also a fan of my work? Oh, today’s either my luckiest day or I’m dreaming.” He shakes his head, and looks back at the pretty boy, grinning and blushing uncontrollably now. “Okay, don’t mind me. We go to the same school, right? So I should know you, or at least know of you. What’s your name?”

“Chu Sangwoo,” the young man says, and Jaeyoung’s eyes nearly pop out of his skull.

“No fucking way.”

“I wouldn’t lie about my name.”

“No, I mean...” Jaeyoung, at a loss for words, gestures vaguely, his voice trailing off. The young man—Chu Sangwoo, apparently—narrows his eyes a little, his arms crossed over his chest and his expression hardening.

“Ah, I see. You aren’t interested in me now.”

“No. That’s not it, I just... You have a reputation, you know? For being unsociable, cold, stoic, blunt, and mean. So you approaching me first and telling me you’re a big fan of my art is, well... It’s really fucking flattering, actually, and I need a minute to wrap my head around it.” He scratches the back of his neck, certain his face is glowing redder than the sign above them is. “I’m even more interested in you now than I was before, to be perfectly clear.”

“Good,” says Sangwoo, and he’s got a little smile on again. Thank fuck for that—the last thing Jaeyoung wanted was to chase the pretty boy away. It was definitely startling to find that the stunning beauty standing before him was the infamous comp sci major who’d made it his mission to stand out as little as possible, even more so to find that said infamous comp sci major was a fan of his work. He’d always heard that Chu Sangwoo was highly critical, had high expectations of others, and was damn near impossible to impress. The fact that Chu Sangwoo liked his art... well, it was an honor, truly. Perhaps the highest praise he’s ever received for his art.

“I’d take you out on a date right now if I could, but I think we’re both stuck here for the night,” Jaeyoung says. “You because it’s your sister’s birthday and me because someone’s gotta make sure my friends don’t do something they’ll regret in the morning. So... can I get your number instead?”

Sangwoo considers him for a moment, then nods. “You can have my number if you agree to sit with me and continue talking to me when we go back inside.”

Jaeyoung grins. “Deal.”

Chapter Text

Years ago, after graduating high school, Chu Sangwoo had moved to Seoul for university and was never seen nor heard from ever again. Given his nature, it made sense why the few other students from their high school who’d gone up to Seoul for the same reason never crossed paths with him even once—he was introverted and kept to himself all the time, preferring a night in rather than a night out. He’d never go anywhere normal people his age frequented; that just wasn’t like him at all. And it certainly was unlike him to go anywhere normal people his age go with friends, just like a normal human being would.

Until the café. Until tonight.

Two weeks ago, they’d gone to a café on the other side of Seoul at Junghwa’s insistence, because he’d heard the place was pretty popular with the students attending Hankuk, which was only a fifteen-minute walk away from the café. What a surprise it’d been to find Chu Sangwoo sitting at a table with a pretty girl, smiling and laughing like a normal person would. It was even more surprising when the most beautiful man Haeun had ever seen sat down with Sangwoo and the pretty girl, and it was downright astonishing when he scratched under Sangwoo’s chin so familiarly. But perhaps the most startling part of that was how Chu Sangwoo smiled and leaned into the touch rather than lashing out at the guy and calling him a creep for putting his hands on him.

And it’s happening again tonight.

Tonight, they’ve gone to a quiet hole-in-the-wall bar on the other side of Seoul, once again at Junghwa’s insistence, because this, too, was a hidden gem beloved by Hankuk students. Iseul had been joking when she asked if they’d see Sangchoo here too, but as they enter the quaint little bar, they find that it’s no longer just a joke.

Chu Sangwoo is here, and so are the pretty girl and the beautiful man from the café. They’re crowded around one of the pool tables with two other people, engaged in what appears to be a very intense game of pool. Haeun can’t decide what surprises her more: the fact Sangwoo is at a bar on a Saturday night instead of at home, the fact he knows how to play pool and is playing with a group of people, or the fact he is clinging to the beautiful man much like a lover would. The two of them are, frankly, glued to one another, the man’s arm draped over Sangwoo’s shoulders and Sangwoo’s arm around his waist, and they look more like a happy couple than Minho and Iseul do.

“He must’ve been cloned,” Iseul says to Haeun’s right. “I know he had a sister; do we know if he has a secret twin brother hiding somewhere? There’s no fucking way that’s Chu Sangchoo.”

“Why are all his friends so attractive?” Junghwa scoffs. “They’re all definitely popular among their peers. Why settle for someone like Sangchoo? They probably just hang out with him out of pity or something.”

“He’s such a weirdo,” Minho adds, wrinkling his nose. “And he’s so fucking rude and self-centered, too. He probably treats them all like shit.”

Perhaps he spoke a bit too loudly, because five heads snap in their direction and the serene expressions of enjoyment on both the beautiful man and the pretty girl’s faces morph into something openly hostile and appalled. The beautiful man definitely has a look that could kill, and Haeun’s pretty sure the only thing stopping him from bringing them to an early grave right now is the death grip Sangwoo has on his waist. The pretty girl turns to the other two, a gorgeous woman and a cute boy, and points at them, telling them something Haeun doesn’t catch. The additional glares tell her that it wasn’t something good, and the gorgeous woman’s curled lip confirms it.

“You got a fucking problem?” the gorgeous woman barks, taking a menacing step forward. “‘Cause I do. That’s our baby you’re talking about. Nobody’s talking shit about our Sangchoo and getting away with it.”

“Watch your fucking mouth,” the beautiful man snaps. Minho flinches and takes a step back, ducking behind Iseul. The man scoffs. “The only rude, self-centered weirdos here are you fuckers. You see somebody enjoying themself, and your first reaction is to start running your mouth? Shut the fuck up.”

“Hyung, noona,” Sangwoo starts, but quiets down when the cute boy shakes his head.

“There’s no stopping them once they catch a case with someone,” he warns with a sigh. “Best we can do is hold them back before they land themselves in jail or something.”

“Violence isn’t the answer,” the pretty girl says. The cute boy smiles a little at her until she adds, “Violence is the question. The answer is yes.”

The cute boy’s face falls. He groans miserably and shakes his head. “Oh no. They’ve ruined you.”

Haeun swallows and takes a shaky step back, glancing towards the door, wondering if she can ditch her friends and get away unscathed. Maybe they won’t come after her if she pretends she was just coerced into coming along tonight instead of being there on her own accord. But then Iseul grabs Minho and Junghwa’s arms and drags them to the door, beckoning with her head for Haeun to follow. “It’s not worth it,” she says, “let’s just get out of here. I’m not about to scuffle with what looks like three cold-blooded killers in a bar they’re definitely regulars in.”

“But they started it—!” Junghwa protests. Haeun smacks his arm, eliciting a yelp from him.

“No, you guys did by opening your mouths! Let’s just end it before they end us,” she hisses frantically. “Iseul’s right; this isn’t worth it. Sangchoo’s got like-minded, ferocious wackos in his corner now. None of what we did in high school is going to fly now.”

Iseul drags Junghwa and Minho out the door and up the steps. Haeun throws one more glance over her shoulder at the group, and she feels her heart do a weird little thing. The beautiful man is no longer focused on them, his attention fully on Sangwoo, concern obvious and written clearly on his face. The cute boy has also flocked to Sangwoo’s side, while the girls continue staring Haeun down, watching her expectantly, waiting for her to leave with her tail between her legs, too. They clearly care a lot about Sangwoo, and she doesn’t doubt that they would fight on his behalf. Some of them probably already have, Haeun guesses, looking particularly at the beautiful man who partially obscures Sangwoo from her view, just like he did at the café.

She swallows thickly, choked up by an unknown feeling, and turns on her heel, reaching for the door. The gorgeous woman calls out snarkily from somewhere behind her, “Bye-bye, you won’t be missed!”

Her words follow Haeun out the door and all the way back to the train station.

Chapter Text

The farthest reaches of the palace gardens seem to be the only place where Prince Sangwoo can claim even the briefest moment of peace lately. His parents and the staff have been in a tizzy between preparing for his engagement to a princess he cannot bother to remember the name of, and the arrival of a prince who apparently wants Sangwoo’s hand in marriage and will fight for it if necessary. His parents have yet to disclose the name of this prince to him, and he’s been so wrapped up in his inner turmoil recently that the gossip among the servants falls upon deaf ears. He doesn’t want to marry the princess, and he doesn’t think he’ll want to marry the prince, either.

He wants to marry Jaeyoung, the charming and sweet painter from a village on the outskirts of the kingdom with whom he’s shared a great many passionate nights since their teenage years.

Sangwoo hears shuffling to his left and sighs, wishing a hole would open up beneath him and swallow him whole. Jihye’s head peeks out from behind the tree that obscures his corner, and she smiles, a tentative thing that tells him she has no good news to offer. Jaeyoung, who’d become a court painter the day he turned twenty, abruptly vanished one day, leaving behind only a note that promised they’d see each other again soon. In hysterics, Sangwoo had begged Jihye, Yuna, and Hyeongtak to find him, but weeks have gone by since then, and their search around town and the surrounding areas yielded nothing. Yuna and Hyeongtak—Jaeyoung’s closest friends—knew nothing about what happened or where he’d gone.

“Sangchoo,” Jihye greets softly, because she knows he hates being addressed by his friends as “Your Highness” when there’s no one else around to overhear. She sits down on the stone bench beside him, her gaze sympathetic and sorrowful. “How are you doing?”

“Terribly.” Sangwoo stares at the ground beneath his feet. He blinks back tears, swallowing the lump in his throat. “This is a nightmare. I’m caught between marrying a violent princess and a prince I know absolutely nothing about, and Jaeyoung is still missing. Perhaps he doesn’t love me anymore. Or perhaps he no longer wishes to play with someone else’s toys.”

A dainty hand rests lightly on his shoulder, giving it a little squeeze. “I don’t think it’s like that,” Jihye offers. “He said in the note that he would return soon, and that he still loved you very much. His family is separated, correct?”

“Yes,” Sangwoo mutters. “But I know nothing about who his mother is or her side of the family. I only know that it’s very big, and that Jaeyoung sees them infrequently. He doesn’t seem to like them all that much.”

“Maybe something happened that required him to go see them.”

Sangwoo shakes his head and sighs. None of this soothes the ache in his heart, nor does much to dispel the heartbreak that’s been eating away at him since Jaeyoung’s departure. A million maybes mean nothing in the face of what seems to be the truth—Jaeyoung grew tired of Sangwoo and wished to distance himself, but tried to let him down gently. Sangwoo should have seen this coming, really. He is a prince, and princes are often required to marry the children of other royal families. It was inevitable. He realizes now how stupid he was for latching on to Jaeyoung despite knowing that they could never truly have one another. Of course Jaeyoung would flee as Sangwoo’s engagement neared. Of course he wouldn’t stay to witness his lover’s engagement and subsequent marriage to another woman.

“Go back to work, Jihye,” Sangwoo whispers, his voice wobbly and fragile. He wants to cry, but he wants to be alone for it. Jihye has seen enough of his vulnerability for one day. “Please fetch me when the prince has arrived. I wish to be alone right now.”

“Of course,” Jihye says, but he can hear the hesitation in her voice, like she’d rather do anything but leave him alone. Still, she abides by his request, giving his shoulder one last squeeze before reluctantly leaving the garden. As soon as she’s out of earshot, Sangwoo curls in on himself and sobs into his hands, unrestrained and sorrowful, his body trembling from the force of his melancholy. Tears pour from his eyes like buckets of water, rolling down his cheeks and dripping onto his robes, temporarily staining the expensive fabric with his despondency. His body itched to feel the warmth of Jaeyoung’s skin against him again. His heart yearned to hear the professions of love Jaeyoung whispered into his hair when he thought Sangwoo was sleeping and wouldn’t hear. He longed to run away and search for his lost love.

But he was trapped within this gilded cage of glittering isolation and opulent loneliness, his love life left solely up to the whims of his parents and the alliances they wished to form.

Another cry escapes his lips as he thinks about just how unfair all of this is. Sanghee got to marry the woman she loved because that woman was also a princess. She never had to sneak around or lie or pretend she wasn’t going to see her lover like Sangwoo did. In fact, their parents were well and truly over the moon when Sanghee announced over dinner years ago that she was courting the princess of a powerful neighboring kingdom and would marry no one else but her. Her previous engagement was immediately called off, and their parents promptly invited Sanghee’s lover and her family to discuss their marriage and form an alliance between their kingdoms.

That was something Sangwoo would never have. Jaeyoung was only a painter, coming from a family of peasants. His father a potter; his stepfather a farmer. His twin brother is a merchant who sold their wares to people within their village, the neighboring ones, and sometimes even within the kingdom itself. Before Jaeyoung became the court painter, he was a merchant alongside his brother, and it was through this that Sangwoo had met him. His father simply adored Jang-ssi’s ceramics, so when eighteen-year-old Sanghee and fifteen-year-old Sangwoo accidentally broke one of his favorite vases, they snuck out one day and went to the markets to purchase a new one from the twins. Sangwoo had been enamored with Jaeyoung ever since, and he was surprised to find that the feeling was mutual the next time he saw Jaeyoung.

Sangwoo was always a prince, and Jaeyoung was always a peasant. Realistically, they had been doomed from the start. But that didn’t stop Sangwoo from sneaking out of the palace for clandestine meetings with Jaeyoung. That didn’t stop Sangwoo from sneaking into his room when Jaeyoung moved into the palace after he was appointed as one of the court’s painters. Maybe it should have. It would have saved them both the heartache.

Sangwoo sniffles, stiffening as the leaves crunch under the weight of someone’s shoe. For a minute, he worries Jihye has come back to warn him of the prince’s arrival, but her footsteps are a lot lighter than these. They’re heavier than Yuna and Hyeongtak, too, so it couldn’t be them either. They could belong to another servant, maybe one of the gardeners, but they almost sound like they could be...

“Sweetheart...”

Sangwoo’s head snaps up at the quiet call. Jaeyoung stands before him dressed in lavish robes and decorated with expensive jewelry. His skin is practically glasslike and flawless, the ink stains on his fingertips painstakingly scrubbed away until they’re as pristine and unblemished as the rest of him. Jaeyoung has always been surrounded by a regal air, carrying himself with a quiet confidence and unmatched swagger that had people mistakenly bowing to him and not Sangwoo during escapes to nearby villages, but now he truly looks the part. A heavy crown of glittering, polished gold adorns his head, and Sangwoo entertains the notion that he might’ve fallen asleep at some point because this couldn’t possibly be real.

Jaeyoung kneels down and cups his tear-streaked cheeks with such tender reverence that Sangwoo ends up weeping all over again. He’s pulled into Jaeyoung’s arms and embraced so tightly, as though he feared Sangwoo would disappear if he were to release him. Sangwoo clings to Jaeyoung, sobs leaving him in rapid succession as he debates whether this is real or not.

“Sweetheart, I’m so sorry,” Jaeyoung croaks, and his voice is watery, too, the hands that hold Sangwoo trembling like leaves in a hurricane. “Oh, Sangwoo, my love, I’m so sorry...”

“Wh-where did you go?” Sangwoo hiccups. He draws back enough to meet his lover’s eyes, but not enough to leave his embrace. Jaeyoung’s crying, too, he realizes, and belatedly notes that even weeping does little to ruin the beauty that is Jang Jaeyoung. Even when he’s crying, he’s beautiful too. How can that be? No one should look pretty while they’re crying. There are more important questions to be asked, though, so he files that away for later, and swallows the lump in his throat. “Why did you leave me...?”

Jaeyoung lets out a strangled noise that sounds like both a laugh and a sob. “You’re crazy if you think I was going to let anyone else but me marry you,” he says. “I couldn’t do that. I think I’d rather die than watch you touch, kiss, and marry someone that isn’t me.”

“I would rather die than marry anyone else, too, but please don’t tell me you’re going to lie to my family and convince them that you’re a prince when you actually aren’t... You know that won’t end well if the truth is discovered.” More tears roll down his cheeks as he envisions what punishment would be in store for Jaeyoung if he were caught. “I-I’d rather marry someone else than have you punished for something like that.”

Jaeyoung cups his cheeks again, wiping teardrops away with a few delicate brushes of his thumbs. “I am a prince, Sangwoo,” he confesses faintly. “My mother is a princess of the largest seaside kingdom south of here. Mistakes were made, and that’s how my brother and I came into existence, but while Jaehong was disowned after my father was exiled once the king—my grandfather—realized he didn’t come from a noble family, I was never really stripped of my title due to the king’s affinity for me. I grew up as a peasant, yes, but I’ve always been a prince, even if it was really only in name.”

He presses a kiss to Sangwoo’s forehead and exhales heavily. “It took a lot of arguing, yelling, scuffling, and convincing to get him to agree to this, given that he’s such a traditional old prick, though he eventually gave in once he realized how beneficial an alliance between his kingdom and yours could be. But since all of his other grandchildren are either already married, are engaged, or will be engaged soon, he had no other choice but to use me.” Jaeyoung’s eyes soften as he gazes at Sangwoo, a flicker of doubt flickering through them. “Here’s to, ah, hoping you actually want to marry m—”

Sangwoo doesn’t let him finish his sentence. He pushes Jaeyoung down on his back and straddles him, kissing him deeply and pouring every ounce of his love, affection, and adoration for Jaeyoung he could into it. Jaeyoung melts into him like a wave giving in to the pull of the ocean, his lips parting easily and willingly for Sangwoo to make room for his own. He kisses Sangwoo like he’s breathing air for the first time in centuries, like Sangwoo and Sangwoo’s lips are the only thing he needs for survival. And Sangwoo kisses back just as frenetically, just as desperately, swallowing the low groan Jaeyoung lets out when Sangwoo threads his hands through his hair, knocking the crown off.

Sangwoo could spend an eternity languidly kissing Jaeyoung like this, but air is unfortunately a thing they both need. When Sangwoo begrudgingly draws back, he finds the most beautiful sight beneath him. Jaeyoung looks utterly debauched, his cheeks and ears as red as his lips, his eyes half-lidded and pupils blown, his chest heaving as he pants. His hair is a mess, the crown cast somewhere aside to his right, and he looks so much better without the gleaming golden symbol of his status on. He looks more like himself. He looks more like the Jaeyoung Sangwoo grew up with and fell in love with. It’s this thought that has Sangwoo swooping down to capture his lips in another heated kiss again.

“Of course I want to marry you,” he murmurs ardently. “I wanted to marry no one else but you. Jaeyoung, I... You had me so worried. I thought you didn’t want me anymore when you left.”

“I know, darling, I’m so sorry,” Jaeyoung whispers back, cupping his face again and pressing their foreheads together. “I should have told you first, but I didn’t want to get your hopes up in case my grandfather didn’t agree to it. But I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere again.”

Sangwoo smiles. “Good. You’d better not leave my side like that ever again.”

Jaeyoung chuckles softly and nods. His hands drop to Sangwoo’s waist, pulling him down so that he’s lying atop Jaeyoung’s chest. Sangwoo closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, listening to the beating of his lover’s heart against his ear, grounding him and reminding him that this is truly real. That Jaeyoung is really here, that he might actually have a chance to marry the person he loves so dearly.

“How did my parents react when they saw you?”

“Your father almost fainted, and your mother looked utterly baffled,” Jaeyoung laughed. ““Aren’t you Sangwoo’s painter?” she’d asked, and my grandfather told her that it was a long story. I imagine he’s probably explaining it to them now.”

“Should we be there?”

“We probably should be. It’s our marriage they’re discussing, after all.” Jaeyoung’s lips quirk. “But I’d much rather stay out here with you.”

“And I’d much rather be out here with you, too,” Sangwoo hums, “but I also don’t want our absence to give them any reason to doubt our union. I want them all to see, with their own eyes, how very much in love we are with one another.”

Jaeyoung’s eyebrows raise with interest. “How very much in love we are with one another?” he echoes, his voice adopting a teasing yet surprised lilt. “Chu Sangwoo, my beloved, did you just say you loved me?”

Sangwoo flushes, suddenly bashful and shy. They’ve been together secretly for many years now, but neither dared to ever voice those words—“I love you”—aloud before. Jaeyoung has said them a great many times during moments where he thought Sangwoo was either asleep or wouldn’t hear his quiet confession, but Sangwoo kept those words sealed tight within the depths of his heart, knowing that he truly would be damning them both if he admitted aloud to being in love with Jaeyoung. It would have deeply hurt them both if they professed their love to one another only to have to split once Sangwoo was married. No, it was better to pretend that they simply liked each other.

But there’s no reason to hold back now, is there?

“Yes, I did,” Sangwoo confirms. He looks up, meeting Jaeyoung’s eyes, making sure he can really see his sincerity. “Jaeyoung, I love you. I’ve loved you for a long time, and I’ve never stopped loving you for even a second. I don’t think there will ever come a time where I won’t love you. I—ah!”

In the blink of an eye, Sangwoo finds himself on his back with Jaeyoung looming over him, his eyes dark with adoration and desire. He kisses him fiercely, whispering, I love you, I love you, I love you over and over against Sangwoo’s lips. Sangwoo throws his arms around Jaeyoung’s shoulders, unable to stop the euphoric giggles that escape him.

This isn’t a nightmare after all, it seems.