We Fall Out Of Line [6/7]
i. | ii. | iii. | iv. | v. | vi. | vii.
vi.
The full extent of Sehun’s injuries had been enough to stop his heart. Chanyeol doesn’t go into detail because he can’t. Not without ‘getting something in his eyes,’ or some other equally lame excuse for the tears that suddenly spring on his face. Sehun takes pity, anyway, and doesn’t push it.
All he knows is that he’d been so badly roughed up that Yixing could only afford to patch up the most vital damages and had to leave the rest to the doctors. At the very least it had tipped the odds to his favor. Sehun had ended up on a hospital bed unconscious for three weeks instead of the worst case scenario.
Apparently it took the healer a full day to recover from that ordeal. Several weeks after he had been discharged from the hospital, Sehun offers himself up as Yixing’s personal slave for a month as a thank you.
“I already have Jongdae for that, though,” says Yixing with a straight face and earns himself a swat on the arm from his boyfriend, complete with a loud, whiny, “Ah, whyyyy??”
The healer laughs behind a hand and pecks the pouting singer’s cheek in a bid to get back in his good graces. It works, of course, if the way Jongdae twines their fingers together seconds later is any indication. In the end, they agree that Sehun will happily continue his services as Yixing’s official taste-tester.
Jongdae goes full cuddle-monster mode then, throwing an arm and a leg over the healer’s body and tucking a cheek against his shoulder like his personal pillow. Sehun rolls his eyes and mock-berates them for being gross. Jongdae glowers at him. Then suddenly he gets a glint in his eyes that only means bad news.
Promptly detaching himself from an amused Yixing, Jongdae turns to the youngest, advancing with wide open arms. Sparks begin fizzing and dancing at the tips of Jongdae’s fingers. Sehun stiffens, eyeing the singer’s hands with horror because he knows by now how much that’s going to tickle.
“Does Sehunnie want a hug?”
“NO, HE DOES NOT.”
“Oh, but he looks like he does!”
Sehun couldn’t get out of there fast enough. Jongdae’s distinct laughter follows him as he quickly shuffles to the door.
“Yah! Don’t forget about tonight!” The singer throws out last minute.
Of course he won’t forget. Tonight will be the second time that he’s attending Up Rising’s gig. He’s been looking forward to it the whole week, but he’s not telling Jongdae that. Instead, he sticks his tongue out at him in response before closing the door behind him.
*
Sehun spots an extra pair of shoes lined up by the entryway of his apartment. He holds his breath, stopping in the middle of toeing off his sneakers.
It takes him a second to realize that the only people in the building who would own kicks as fancy as these are Lu Han, Zitao, and Yifan. Only one of them knows his PIN by heart, though. Sehun exhales, all optimism sliding off his shoulders, resenting the weight of disappointment that settles there instead.
He figures he should be used to this after being let down four times in the past month-five now. All of Jongin’s belongings are gone and the second room has been reverted back to an office. He knows he should probably stop expecting him to show up.
Sehun schools his expression into that of sheer disinterest when he finds Lu Han perched on the windowpane, munching on a bag of potato chips that he remembers getting two days ago.
“Not Jongin this time, either-sorry,” mutters the telepath, legs swinging marginally from side to side. At least he does sound a little bit remorseful.
“You’re doing this on purpose,” Sehun frowns. “And you’re trespassing and stealing,” he adds as he flops on the couch, careful not to repeat the mistake of putting too much pressure on his left side.
Lu Han bristles, pointing an accusatory piece of potato chip at him.
“May I remind you that I own this building and that you’re supposed to be cutting back on junk food anyway. I’m just checking if you’re healing alright, you ungrateful Hybrid.”
Sehun chuckles lightly, fluffing the pillow under his head while stretching his legs across the length of the cushion, knees dangling over the arm rest.
“Who told you-Yixing-hyung or Jongdae-hyung?”
Lu Han stops mid-crunch, looking much like a deer caught in proverbial headlights. He blinks rapidly then grins, as if he’s getting a kick out of being the one someone else reads for a change.
“Chanyeol, actually. Who heard from Baekhyun who heard from Tao who heard from Minseok.”
Sehun snorts. Well, that was quick-though he should have probably expected nothing less, considering how everyone has seemed so protective of him lately. It’s not that big of a deal-just an accident at his employer’s main office that involved a swinging door and him whacking into it. The tender area in his left side, where stitches used to be just a week prior, took the brunt of impact. He was on his way out then, having dropped by for a brief interview with the Big Boss for possible promotion. He did stop by the cafe on the way home, but he doesn’t recall mentioning anything about his little mishap.
“How perceptive,” hums Sehun around a yawn, eyelids getting droopy. He hears Lu Han hop down from the window, padding closer.
“Minseok said your face was contorted into a permanent wince. You’re easier to read than you think.”
Sehun’s face twitches at that. He’s heard the same before. It reminds him of clear skies as a cool breeze combs through his scalp; warm sunlight pressing on his face; the prickle of grass blades against bare, sweaty skin; a low voice; an uneven smile-
Then he feels his shirt hiking up and his eyes snap open. He flails about on instinct, swatting intrusive fingers away with a shriek. Lu Han staggers back and falls into the seater, braying with laughter as he hugs the bag of chips to his chest.
“Sorry! Sorry! I just wanted to see if you’re really okay,” heaves the telepath while trying to catch his breath.
Sehun gives him a dirty look as he readjusts his shirt, but they both know he’s not really mad. He’s never really mad at Lu Han, even though he can be weird and unbearably annoying.
“I’m fine,” Sehun blurts out sulkily. “Yixing-hyung fixed me up. I was there just now, actually. Jongdae-hyung chased me away.”
Lu Han hums knowingly. “The Lightning Hug?”
The younger nods in affirmation, dejected, and the telepath snickers.
“You poor thing.”
Sehun stares at him intently then. Lu Han isn’t inside his head, but he stops at the look on Sehun’s face, his own going stern, as if he knows exactly what’s coming next.
“If you really want to make me feel better-”
“No,” Lu Han pointedly cuts him off.
Sehun’s face crumples.
“Hyuuung…”
Lu Han gives him a hard look. “Jongin told me to tell you that I don’t know his new number, so that’s what I’m telling you.”
Sehun hates that he can’t be properly upset at Lu Han, because he doesn’t even bother to properly lie.
“I can always stalk him in Busan, you know,” he says with squinty eyes, crossing his arms on his chest petulantly.
At that, Lu Han scoffs, “Don’t waste your time. He’s on tour with Taemin, you know that.” He pops a chip into his mouth.
Sehun does know that. He knows that they’re in Osaka now and that Jongin has been filling in for another dancer who tore his ACL after a bad fall during a show in Shanghai. He’s been keeping up with concert dates and fancams. It’s all he can do because Jongin doesn’t have a single social media account. E-mail, sure, but he hasn’t had any luck with the last three messages that he sent weeks ago.
Sehun groans. A hand comes up to rake through his hair but ends up grabbing a fistful of it instead.
“Can you at least tell me when he’s planning to quit avoiding me?” He doesn’t bother veiling the despair in his tone.
“Just give it time, Sehunah. It couldn’t have been easy for him, finding out.”
Sehun emits a pathetic, grumbling noise deep in his throat. It’s not the first time he mentally flagellates himself for being a cluttered idiot who leaves extremely incriminating evidence lying around for his unsuspecting flatmate to find, instead of neatly slipping it back into the book case.
“Why did you have to tell him everything? Couldn’t you have just lied and told him that it wasn’t what he thought-”
It’s his fault. He knows it’s his fault, and he doesn’t mean to pin the blame on other people, especially not on his closest friends, but the words are out before he can stop them. Lu Han pauses, looks at him like he’s just been violently shoved.
“Sehun, seriously? Jongin knows more about seers than Chanyeol and I combined. In fact, he looked like he already knew the answer even before he came to us with the question.”
Guilt slowly gnaws at Sehun at the flash of mild hurt in Lu Han’s eyes. He can tell that Lu Han doesn’t at all take kindly to being accused of throwing a friend under the bus, because even Sehun himself knows for a fact that he would be the last person to do that. He really doesn’t know why he even insinuated.
“I know, hyung, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that,” he says softly, unable to meet Lu Han’s eyes. He gingerly sits up, spine against the back rest.
“I just,” he chokes on a lump in his throat. “I wish he’d talk to me.”
A beat passes in silence, and then he feels the sudden dip and bounce of the sofa as Lu Han dumps his weight next to him. He doesn’t recoil or bat him away this time when the telepath reaches up to ruffle his mop like he’s ten and not the grown man that he is.
“I understand,” says Lu Han, pressing fingers on the back of his neck in a gentle massage, as if to assure him that they’re okay.
“Jongin is terrified for himself, but more so for you. That’s why he’s trying to stay away, for now.”
Sure, Sehun knows that much. He doesn’t like it, but he gets it. It takes another second but as he fully registers what Lu Han just said, his head snaps to his side. He gives him a curious look.
“For now?”
“Well, if your vision is as on point as you say,” Lu Han shrugs. “Then Jongin’s not getting away that fast-which is kind of a funny thought, because he is a teleporter.”
Sehun gives that some thought and nods. That may be right but it guarantees nothing, really.
“But, Sehunnie,” Lu Han halts, and the weight in his tone has Sehun glancing his way. “Are you sure... I mean, are you really sure? I understand why anyone would freak out. Heck, I did. You know I’m rooting for your happiness-both you and Jongin, individually-but I understand that this is very complicated-“
Lu Han looks like he’s having a tough time trying to get his point across and Sehun decides to spare him. He cuts him off with a shake of his head, his eyes calm.
“Hey, everyone dies eventually, right?”
“Well... yeah, I know, but-”
Sehun’s gaze drops to the nervously fiddling hands resting on his lap. “You know, the last person I saw was Jongin and I remember thinking that that was it. The premonition-it felt just like that. I couldn’t breathe. I was sure I was going to die there in his arms, and his face was the last I would ever see, his voice the last I would hear, and his hand the last I would ever touch.”
The smile that tugs at his lips should feel out of place in this whole conversation, but it doesn’t.
“And you know what? I kind of didn’t mind.” He admits with quiet certainty. It’s a bit awkward and he knows that it’s unlike him to say things like this, but he doesn’t downplay the truth in his words.
Several moments pass with the air standing still, and for a second he thinks Lu Han might have fallen asleep on him. But when he lifts his head, he finds the telepath staring at him, positively beaming.
“God, you sap!” Lu Han lands a hard slap on Sehun’s knee. He shrinks back with a yelp then immediately retaliates by digging an elbow in the older’s chest.
“Shut up, you asked for it.”
Sehun fiercely shields the left side of his torso with a small pillow when Lu Han abruptly shifts like he’s going to attack back. He seems to reconsider at the last moment and slumps into the backrest instead.
“Looks like you’ve got it all figured out.” Lu Han picks up the bag of junk food that somehow found itself lying haphazardly on the end table.
“I don’t-I’m winging it,” says Sehun, slipping a hand in the crinkly foil to grab a few pieces when the telepath tilts the gaping mouth in his direction. He breathes out, long and labored, and sluggishly tosses a potato chip in his mouth.
“I wish he’d make this a little easier and speak to me.”
Lu Han lightly bumps the back of his hand to the side of Sehun’s face.
“Hey, you’ve gotten this far-just wait, Sehunah,” says the telepath, lips stretching in a smile. “Wait for him. He’ll come around.”
*
Sehun does wait.
Shortly after his interview, he gets promoted to senior content design manager. He had been up for promotion since a year ago but he hadn’t been prepared to give up the comfort zone that working from home had become. No doubt he’s come a long way since then.
As the weeks pass, his workload gets heavier. Even when he loses track of Jongin’s schedule and falls behind on fancam updates, he still waits. Weeks turn to months, and summer eventually gives way to much cooler afternoons. Sehun doesn’t get a vision once in all that time, and gradually thoughts of Jongin are put on the back burner. It never goes away completely, just gets a little bit quiet.
By the time Chuseok rolls in, Sehun is up to his eyeballs in work. Between enhancement proposals, deployment, and testing of system updates, he can’t afford to take a single day off.
A pen absently twirls in his fingers while his other knuckle is pressed to his cheek, propped up on an elbow. He’s vaguely aware that it’s around dinner time now. He pushes that thought aside in favor of focusing on glaring at the problematic codes flashing on the monitor.
As if he doesn’t have enough on his plate, his phone starts buzzing non-stop beside the keyboard. He ignores it the first two times. By the third, he can make a guess-it’s either Chanyeol or Baekhyun, because neither one of those two can take a hint. Sehun grudgingly checks the ID, ready to hurl the phone to the ground in irritation, but halts at the name that registers on the screen.
‘The Annoying Deer,’ it reads. Sehun blinks. Lu Han is actually using a phone to contact him. He decides to accept the call on account of this being a notable event.
“Lu Han-hyung, what?” He withholds the warm reception, though.
“Sehunah, can you try to make it? I need help with the ventilation.”
What ventilation? He doesn’t ask because he really has no time for this.
In the background he can easily pick up the distant sound of Jongdae’s howl of laughter, Baekhyun’s shriek, and Chanyeol’s enraged bellow of: “I am fucking getting new friends!” Sehun reclines in his chair, torn between laughing out loud and crying over all the fun he’s missing out on.
“Hyung, you have ten other people there-”
“Yes, but you’re the only one who’s excellent with air... manipulation and shit.”
“But I can’t-”
“Come on, Sehunnie, our cute baby maknae, please?”
“Hyung, I have a deadline-”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, can’t you just do as I say for once? You’re ruining the surprise! Jongin is here, okay-hurry up and get your ass down here now.”
Sehun doesn’t even shut down his computer-just grabs his jacket and bolts out of the building like his ass is on fire. Bursting out of the main entrance, he lucks out and spots a cab that’s just about to pull out of the driveway. He skids to a halt, both hands rapping on the back seat window to get the driver’s attention.
His brain vacillates between reeling in excitement over seeing Jongin again and freaking out about what he should say once he does. Should he be mad at him for disappearing without a word? For staying away all this time and denying any possibility of contact with him?
Before that, though, he should probably thank him for risking everything to save his life. Jongin never gave him a chance to do so in person so he had to resort to emails and text messages that he never did get any replies to. Who knows if Jongin read them at all?
Maybe he was too busy or exhausted while on tour-oh, and his back!
Jongin gets terrible muscle spasms in the vicinity of his lumbar curve when he overexerts himself-which he does all the time being a very stubborn man, but some days are worse than others. Sehun recalls the first time that he teleported home one day, hardly able to straighten to full height. Sehun stacked up on a variety of compresses ever since as it apparently helps ease the discomfort. He still has them tucked away in a cabinet somewhere.
In spite of that, Jongin’s routines are always complex and involve a lot of breakneck twisting, because he’s not the type to go easy on himself. He really hopes his back hasn’t been acting up lately.
Thing is, Sehun’s destination isn’t at all far from the office and he arrives there faster than he can decide on an opener. He figures it doesn’t matter and sprints to the top floor where everyone is supposedly huddled in Lu Han’s penthouse for Chuseok dinner. Sehun presses the buzzer, clammy fingers curling and uncurling at his sides as he waits for the door to open.
“You’re too late,” is the first thing that Lu Han tells him through a crack in the door.
Sehun freezes, holding back on his reaction and hoping that there’s a punch line there somewhere. There’s none. He doesn’t move even when the telepath extends the gap to let him slip inside. Sighing, Lu Han steps out instead, closing the door behind him slowly.
“Jongin left. I didn’t even hear the door. Or maybe be didn’t use the door.” Lu Han pulls a long face, grumbling. “Didn’t even say bye, that insolent brat. I’m telling him to learn some fucking manners the next time I see him.”
Sehun feels something break-it simmers, prickly under his skin. His shoulders cave in, the overlapping anxiety and fervor from earlier rolling off with a slow drag of air. It leaves him feeling kind of hollow, and maybe a little foolish. This, he thinks, is the problem with chasing a teleporter.
“Well, since you’re here-join us for dinner?” offers the older and Sehun’s burgeoning hunger almost makes him say yes. But then again...
“Maybe later,” he manages a weak smile. “I left some really important work hanging. But thanks, hyung.”
Luckily Lu Han doesn’t force the issue.
“You look like shit, by the way.” He lightly sweeps a few errant strands away from the younger’s eyes. “Stop working yourself to the ground and get some rest,” chides the telepath, eyeing the dark circles on his face with disapproval before going back inside.
Sehun refuses to wallow in despair. He got through months without seeing the guy; what’s a few more days? At least now he knows that the tour is finished, that Jongin is free and back in town. That's one less hurdle to jump over.
He contemplates heading back to the office, but what a waste of cab fare that would be. It’s possible to work remotely from home, anyway, although he will have to make do with limited access and significantly less resources. Ultimately he decides that he doesn’t care. It’s getting late, he’s hungry, and he really doesn’t feel like being cooped up inside the office at this point.
He takes the elevator down to his floor and ambles lazily across the length of the hall. Stopping in front of his unit, he absently reaches for the security device so that he can key in the PIN. But before his finger can graze the stainless steel, the door swings open, knocking Sehun back half a step in surprise.
There’s an audible gasp, and then he looks up to find himself staring at an equally wide-eyed familiar face.
“Sehun,” Jongin’s voice is tight, clipped.
Pulse suddenly racing, Sehun is quick to get over the shock-way faster than Jongin does. He takes advantage of the man’s stupefied state and makes a grab for his elbow.
“Hey, what-”
Sehun wordlessly pushes into his personal space, forcing him to retreat back into the apartment, all the while making certain that the teleporter stays solid in his hold.
They stand there under the soft lighting of the cramped doorway, between a cold white wall and a shoe cabinet-which makes for the most unromantic reunion, to be honest-and Sehun finds himself struck by the realization that Jongin makes a fucking gorgeous blond.
He doesn't actually voice out this comment. In fact, nobody breathes another word. There’s some consolation in the fact that Jongin doesn't shrug him off nor push him away, probably too disconcerted to make such decisions and actually get his body to follow. Sehun knows because his own fingers refuse to uncurl around the other man's arm despite orders from his brain.
Jongin looks like he wants to say something, then uncertainty flits over his eyes and his mouth clamps shut. The tension is palpable; panic emanates from Jongin's every pore-from the way color leaves his face, the faint tremble on his skin, the fright in his blown-out irises. He seems to be on the brink of vanishing and Sehun knows that he can’t really stop him. Now it’s his turn to panic.
"Have you had dinner?" he blurts out without thinking-out of all the things that he could have possibly started with-and cringes internally.
Jongin looks totally nonplussed, brows twitching in a way that Sehun recognizes as a sign of amusement. He takes it as permission to relax, just a little.
“Have you?” Jongin asks back.
Sehun blinks, finding the flow of conversation awfully familiar. Before he can say anything, his stomach makes a low, grumbling sound in response. Sehun inwardly groans in embarrassment. It cracks a small smile out of the other man, though, so maybe it’s not so bad.
Jongin studies him for a moment. Lu Han’s voice going ‘you look like shit’ echoes loud and clear in his mind, making him self-consciously shrink back a bit. He’s not surprised when he sees a light of worry flicker across Jongin’s face.
“You’re impossible,” says the teleporter under his breath, shaking his head in forfeit.
He doesn’t quite remove Sehun’s hold on his arm as much as he naturally slips out of it as he turns and heads back inside, straight to the kitchen.
“When was the last time you shopped?”
It’s like falling back into old routine. Jongin wastes no time in rummaging through overhead cupboards, grumbling unhappily to himself every now and then when he finds nothing useful. Sehun watches him from where he’s perched on his forearms, slouching on the other side of the kitchen island.
He should probably feel some shame but it’s hard to register anything else over the contentment that thrums steadily in his veins. He drinks in the sight of Jongin navigating his kitchen-critiquing his life choices too while he’s at it, but he can’t really complain about that.
“You literally have nothing but cheese and eggs around here.” Jongin bends at the waist to inspect the contents of the fridge. Sehun knows what he’s going to find there and he braces himself for more violent reactions.
“And beer?” There you go. He almost flinches at the dark look that Jongin throws his way. "Why do you have beer and no real food, Oh Sehun?”
“I haven’t shopped in about two weeks,” he reasons, pushing off of the countertop. But Jongin is still frowning and Sehun wavers. “I have kimchi ramen in stock, though? And Nutella?”
Jongin’s scowl dips, his eyebrow hiking up in a manner that’s basically Jongin-speak for ‘you have got to be fucking kidding me.’
“I was gonna shop this weekend-if time permits,” he tries again, though his voice pretty much loses confidence toward the end. Jongin pins him with a hard, judging stare, and this time he does turn a bit sheepish under the weight of it.
Heaving a suffering sigh, Jongin turns to grab a pot. Of course they could just go back to Lu Han’s, where there is surely a ton of food ready. Sehun doesn’t bring it up because he’d rather have this-Jongin in his home, in his kitchen, all to himself. It doesn’t escape his attention that Jongin makes no mention of it either.
Jongin pulls up the sleeves of his black shirt and reaches into one of the cupboards for a packet of instant ramen. Sehun could make the ramen himself-it’s practically just a matter of boiling some water-but Jongin seems to like doing this.
“You dyed your hair,” he mouths quietly as Jongin starts up the heater to get the pot to boil. The man turns back to him, startled at first, then ducks his head, bashfully tousling his shiny, blond mop. It makes Sehun smile.
“Yeah.”
“It looks good.” It really does. It contrasts nicely to the adorable pink that now lightly tints his cheeks. “You look good.”
Jongin leans back, hands holding the edge of the countertop. The space between them is so easy to cross, if not for the island in the middle. Sehun thinks it’s just as well because it’s hard enough trying not launch himself at the man.
“How have you been, Sehun?”
“Lu Han hyung says I look like shit,” he deadpans.
Jongin chuckles lightly at that and something inside Sehun leaps at the sound.
“You do,” agrees Jongin. Sehun pouts, feigning offense, and it paints a teasing smile on the other man’s handsome face. Sehun averts his gaze then because his insides are starting to feel like molten lava.
“I heard about your promotion, by the way. Congratulations.” The way Jongin says it tells Sehun that he knows there’s more to it than just a step up the ranks; that it’s also him breaking out of the confines of his fears. And it is.
“Thanks.” Sehun glances up, locking his gaze with Jongin’s. “And thank you for saving my life.”
Jongin stiffens at that, mirth fading from his eyes. And for a second Sehun is confused.
“Yixing-hyung did that. Not me.”
“No-you got me out of there, Jongin. That was you,” Sehun contends, fixing him with a resolute stare.
“Well, don’t thank me yet,” Jongin mutters lowly with a rueful smirk. He quickly turns back to the pot and occupies himself with preparing the contents of the packet of instant ramen. His shoulders are squared, movements sharp and busy, as if to say he doesn’t want to discuss it right now.
And so Sehun doesn’t say another word. At least until the water boils.
“Can we talk about it now?” Sehun asks later as Jongin sets the hot pot on the countertop.
Jongin doesn’t answer. Instead, he steps away to pull on a drawer near the sink.
“Hey, get two. Eat with me.”
“I don’t think there’s enough for two people,” he points out, but takes two pairs of metal chopsticks anyway. Perhaps because he knows that Sehun will only insist and refuse to let it go.
Jongin sets one pair on the pot lid, angled toward Sehun, while keeping his gaze on the steaming broth, refusing to make eye contact.
“Can we talk now?” Sehun asks again. This time, Jongin puffs out in resignation and sets his chopsticks down on the lid as well.
“What is there to talk about?”
“I don’t want you to move away,” Sehun gets right to it. No hesitation.
Jongin seems surprised-though Sehun can’t quite tell if it’s because of the uncharacteristic candidness or the confession itself.
“Last time we spoke you wanted me out of here.”
Sehun pauses. It’s true. He remembers. He swallows hard, rubbing both hands on his tired face. Exhaustion must be radiating off of him in droves and he’s barely keeping himself from tearing at the seams. Maybe that’s why Jongin is still here.
“Jongin, you know why-”
“Exactly,” he says. “It’s not that simple, Sehun. Not with all of... this hanging over our heads.”
“I know it’s not. But look, do you remember my uncle? He was executed for murder-the man he killed was his trigger. And my mother-well, she married hers.”
Jongin looks at him, unblinking, mouth slightly agape. Sehun knows that this is all news to him. Before now, all he knew was that Sehun had been raised by an uncle who died in prison. And he never mentioned anything about his mother to him until now. Jongin looks like he wants to say something but can’t find the words.
“It’s a different story for everyone,” Sehun says, filling the pregnant silence. “Maybe... maybe it’s worth a shot?”
Jongin is staring at the steam rising from the pot again. His expression is carefully restrained, but Sehun can tell that he’s on the verge of cracking, too. He takes a chance. Jongin’s head snaps up, startled, as Sehun takes big strides around the island until he’s standing in front of the other man, slightly towering.
Jongin goes rigid, but he doesn’t step back-as if to challenge him, to test exactly how well Sehun can decipher nuances and identify his boundaries. But Sehun is too impatient for that. He defiantly pushes into Jongin’s space, cutting the distance between them to mere inches, until his own rapid heartbeat is telling him that he’s too close for comfort. Jongin takes to dipping his head, and Sehun fights the urge to lean in and press his nose to the man’s crown.
“Listen. I have no idea what our story is going to be,” he says softly, boldly taking Jongin’s hands in his own. “But I really want to find out.”
Jongin is the one who pries his hands free, only to press their palms together, fingers easily threading along the gaps like they’ve always belonged there. Sehun has missed this so much it takes his breath away.
“If I hurt you-if anything happens to you because of me-” Jongin cuts himself off, shakes his head like he’s trying to vanquish the thought. His voice is quiet, raw, and Sehun almost winces at how roughly it grates.
“Likewise,” he mutters, because Jongin needs to realize that the risk goes both ways and that Sehun is willing to take it.
Suddenly Jongin is stepping back. Sehun tightens his hold when he feels the man letting go.
“I don’t know, Sehun,” he sighs, tired and heavy, as Jongin looks up at him reluctantly. “I don’t know.”
“Well, at least think about it.” It doesn’t quite come out sounding like a request, with the frustrated anguish clear in the lilt of his voice and the creases on his forehead. “Please?” He doesn’t even care if he sounds childish and whiny. And he wouldn’t take it back either because the next second, Jongin is quickly tugging him closer and pressing a chaste kiss to his lips.
“Ramen’s getting cold, you spoiled brat,” he says when he pulls away. Sehun wants more so badly, but he decides not to push his luck this time.
“You’ll think about it, right?” He presses again minutes later, while they’re in the middle of a fierce chopsticks battle over noodles.
Jongin flicks him a glance, shrugs, and emits a noncommittal grunt. Several beats later, perhaps when Jongin thinks that Sehun isn’t looking anymore, he furtively tries to steal another glimpse, only to be caught red handed because Sehun most definitely still has his eyes on him.
Sehun chuckles at Jongin’s look of surprise. Jongin shakes his head, his own mouth pulling up a tiny fraction at the corners.
Sehun totally reads that as a yes.
*
Four days later, Sehun hears from Chanyeol that Jongin is moving into Junmyeon’s building. This gets him wondering because although he doesn’t expect Jongin to move back in with him-not yet, anyway-why not reclaim his original apartment instead? He doesn’t have Jongin’s number yet and so he resorts to asking Lu Han if he has, by any chance, recruited anyone new.
“No-I was actually reserving that flat for Jongin in case he still wanted it after the tour was over.” Lu Han tells him over a cup of Americano one morning. “He didn’t explicitly say why he’s moving to Junmyeon’s building, but I think it’s obvious? He’s trying to feel his way around this... thing that he has with you. Baby steps, you know?”
Sehun pauses thoughtfully and takes a sip of his dark mocha, careful not to get a single drop on his pristine dress shirt. He couldn’t keep his coat on because it’s much warmer inside the café than outside where he used to station himself usually. He’s vaguely aware that he’s gone past the fifteen-minute window allotted for morning breaks, but he honestly doesn’t give two shits. He did work through Chuseok holiday, anyway. He can slack off every once in a while.
Sehun watches the swirling fog that escapes from the opening on the lid. He quietly considers Lu Han’s words, fingers abstractedly tapping around the holder. He supposes it makes sense. Just the fact that Jongin is trying is enough.
“Baby steps,” he echoes, hope blooming hot in his chest as he hides a small smile behind his cardboard cup.
*
Friday night happens to be a particularly hectic day at the office for Sehun, and he doesn’t get out of work until ten minutes before Up Rising’s set is scheduled to start. He makes a run for it, going through calculations in his head in hopes of arriving at a possible way to get from Gangnam-gu Office to Hongdae in less than ten minutes. Despite leaving nothing unturned, he comes up empty-handed. It’s over thirty minutes away by subway and with the kind of hellish traffic at this hour, taking on the roads is out of the question. Sehun swallows down a pained whimper.
“Ah, fuck it.”
Subway, it is. Maybe they won’t notice that he’s late if he’s really quiet and slinks in really carefu-
“Hey, Oh Sehun!”
Poised to take a sharp right toward where the nearest station is, he brakes so fast his soles could have left skid marks on the ground. He spins around, head darting left, right, and back. He spies hints of jerky movements in his peripheral and he stops.
Sehun holds his breath, squints as he takes short, tentative steps toward the corner of the building where a tree and a singular lamppost are rooted. And then a figure of a man steps halfway out of the shadow. The bill of a black snap back conceals half of the stranger’s face-but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t recognize that shapely mouth, pulled into a crooked curve. Sehun grins, awash with relief. It kind of reminds him of the first time they met.
“Hey-what are you doing here?”
Jongin tips back his cap just enough so that Sehun can see his eyes.
“You can’t get to Hongdae in five minutes any other way,” he says simply.
Oh, Sehun blinks.
OH!
A dramatic gasp has his eyes expanding into saucers, and he does a little excited-bunny-hop, feet-shuffling thing that makes Jongin throw his head back in soundless laughter. Sehun makes a cursory inspection of his surroundings before scuttling to join the teleporter in the shadows.
“What do I do?”
“Uhh,” Jongin scratches the side of his neck nervously, looking anywhere but at him. “Hold on tight, I guess?”
Sehun is only happy to oblige, the distance between them tapering with every slow, deliberate step. He catches Jongin’s Adam’s apple bob. Sehun bites his lower lip to try to keep the grin from splitting his face as tendrils of satisfaction coil around his stomach. He means to drape his arms around Jongin’s shoulders but ends up giving in to impulse-he plucks the cap off of Jongin’s head, turning it around to get the bill out of the way. And then he cups his cheeks.
Jongin’s hands snap up to attach themselves to either side of Sehun’s hips. Sehun’s heart stills for a second, almost prepares to either be pushed away or be locked in place so he doesn’t get any closer. But Jongin does neither. Sehun dares take a small step forward and meets no opposition even as their hips lightly brush. His heart does a little dumb, excited-bunny-hop shuffle, too.
“My savior,” he whispers playfully, which has Jongin eye-rolling in response. He’s smiling bashfully, though, and it’s so pretty that Sehun decides that he really doesn’t mind being lame as fuck if this is what he gets in return.
“Quit it or I’m leaving you behind,” Jongin hisses, though there’s barely any real venom in his tone.
Giggling lightly, Sehun’s hands skim Jongin’s sides to snake around his torso, slender fingers clenching around the soft material of Jongin’s warm hoodie. He feels Jongin clasp his hands over the small of his back and he buries his face in the crook of the dancer’s neck. Chest flush against chest now, Sehun faintly registers Jongin’s racing heartbeat matching his own. He smiles a bit at that, glad that he’s not the only one.
“Up, up, and away.”
Jongin snorts, “I don’t fly, you idiot.”
Sehun has a retort ready on the tip of his tongue. But then he senses a shot of prickling heat lancing through his body, as if breaking him apart atom by atom. And then in a flash, they’re gone.
*
Sehun can be extremely obstinate when he really wants to be. He puts this tendency into action the day Jongin moves in to his new apartment, two blocks away from Sehun, on a late Saturday afternoon. He’s present and ready to offer his assistance even without the dancer asking for it. If he’s being completely honest, it’s also a convenient excuse to keep hanging around Jongin’s place.
His new neighbors drop by throughout the day to say hello, but they don’t stay long. Sehun secretly thanks his luck for his friends’ exceptional perceptiveness today. Though to be fair, a lot of those reasons are probably legitimate, with the exception of Baekhyun’s “Oh, I forgot! I, uh, need to buy cat food. Must save kitty from starvation! Haha,” when he doesn’t even own a cat. From the way Jongin’s brow hikes up, Sehun can tell that he knows this too.
“For the record: I didn’t put them up to this. I swear I didn’t tell them to say that,” Sehun declares after they watch Baekhyun close the door behind him as he scurries out.
Jongin looks askance at him. “I should hope so. That was terrible.”
“I don’t even know what to say,” Sehun agrees with an incredulous expression on his face and Jongin cackles.
“Why are you even unpacking everything?” Sehun says as he chews on crispy fried chicken skin.
It’s nine in the evening and they’ve managed to sort through nearly half of the dancer’s stuff. The whole process would have gone faster if Sehun did less sitting around while lazily sifting through Jongin’s newly amassed Blu-ray disc collection and more real work. Jongin doesn’t reprimand him for being more of a distraction than actual help, though; just pouts like a petulant child and heaves a long sigh. To appease the man, Sehun orders chicken for them both and pays for it, too. Works like magic.
Jongin, sitting cross-legged beside him on the couch, gives him an odd look.
“I mean, you’re going to be moving out again soon enough,” Sehun shrugs, expression blank.
Jongin cocks an eyebrow at him. “A little presumptuous?”
“What can I say, I’m an optimist.”
Jongin snorts, head shaking in forfeit. He chucks a clean bone into a plastic bag where it joins the rest of its kind and holds it up to Sehun so he can do the same.
“Well, Mr. Optimist,” says Jongin in a mock-grim tone as he unfurls his legs while tying up the plastic with greasy fingers. “If you’re not going to be useful here then you might as well just go home. It’s getting late.”
Sehun watches Jongin get up and pad away from the couch, all the while trying not to blurt out “but home is wherever you are,” or something equally theatric and cheesy. He exhales dramatically instead and follows Jongin to the sink so that he can wash his hands. He makes sure to get some water on the dancer when he wrings his fingers, and chortles when Jongin glares at him.
“You’re so cute,” Sehun unabashedly comments as he uses his sleeve to wipe Jongin’s nose dry.
“You’re a fucking menace,” mumbles the dancer darkly, yet he doesn’t stop a grinning Sehun from attempting to clean up his face, only to make a bigger mess by smearing the suds onto dry spots.
Sehun does leave after a while. Jongin’s looking pretty tired. And though Sehun’s not quite up to trudging through the chilly night, he figures asking if he can sleep over might be pushing it too far.
But he comes back the next day. And the next. And the day after that.
With Sehun’s workload, Jongin’s day normally ends way ahead of his. Most days he goes straight to Jongin’s place; sometimes with food, sometimes asking if Jongin has food-which he always does because he’s not quite as flighty and disorganized as Sehun is, admittedly.
Some days he finds Jongin with a certain drag in his gait and Sehun immediately takes over, all hunger and exhaustion forgotten. Jongin tries not to make a big deal of it because it always goes away after he takes it easy for a while-though not before he has to suffer through the worst. And so Sehun helps him to bed, makes sure he’s got topical pain relieving gel applied evenly over his lower back, and sometimes tidies up a little because he knows how messy places bother the other man. Jongin always tries to protest but Sehun is just as stubborn as he is, if not more.
Sehun does end up unintentionally falling asleep on Jongin’s couch a couple of times. Jongin probably takes pity and decides against waking him up every time it does happen. He’s always up before Jongin is the following day, and makes a mad dash back to his apartment, muttering expletives under his breath when he stubs his toes into random things in his haste. By some miracle he always manages to make it to work on time.
Everything comes to a head nearly two weeks into this pseudo-routine.
Sehun comes over with two servings of jajangmyeon takeout. The moment the dancer opens the door for him, he immediately picks up on the extra weight hanging in the air. Truth is, Jongin doesn’t always let him in with a big smile or with explicit enthusiasm. The tight expression on his face isn’t exactly out of the ordinary. Sometimes it simply means that he’s bone tired or that he’s not really in the mood, but he never turns Sehun away. Neither does he do so now, but there’s something about how he is tonight that makes Sehun feel unwelcome for the very first time.
Over dinner, Sehun tells him about how his colleague-Lee Jinki-accidentally printed out an entire volume of yaoi manga on the office printer. Jongin indulges him with a light chuckle, but there’s nothing of that mirth in his eyes. Sehun can’t help but feel increasingly uneasy. They fall silent for a while, occasionally interrupted only by slurping noises. But that’s more Sehun than Jongin; Jongin has barely touched his food.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Sehun finally asks.
Jongin glances up from his bowl and looks at him with a grave expression on his face.
“Sehun, listen. I think-” He sets his chopsticks down on the table with an ominous clatter. The tone he uses is enough to make Sehun nervous. He holds his breath. Something definitely isn’t right.
“I think you need to stop.”
“Stop what?” He has a hunch-but maybe he’s wrong. He hopes he’s wrong. It’s like Sehun’s heart is on a chopping board and Jongin is holding the cleaver suspended above it.
“This,” The dancer straightens his back, forehead creasing impatiently, as he irately makes wide gestures with his hands. “There’s a reason why I didn’t move back in with you. Or why I didn’t go back to Lu Han-hyung’s building. Or why I haven’t given you my number.”
And the blade falls.
Sehun bristles. He feels cold all of a sudden. He swallows thickly, lips drawn thin.
He can feel the weight of Jongin’s words on his shoulders. None of that is untrue. Still, he can choose to stand his ground and say ‘no, we can make this work, Jongin,’ but then he realizes that there’s probably no point when that’s all he’s been trying so hard to show him all this time, and yet Jongin can still look him in the eye and tell him to just fucking get lost.
Sehun sneers at his own stupidity. I don’t even have his fucking number.
It might just be his imagination but he thinks he may have caught the dancer wince before his gaze falters and drops to the countertop. Jajangmyeon suddenly seems so unappetizing; almost offensive. He glares at it as he tries to keep the resentment boiling in his gut under control. Faint tapping noises sound rapidly against the window as the wind outside whips violently through the branches. Sehun takes a breath, hands clenching at his sides. The rapping stops.
“Okay,” he mouths quietly, his voice coming out tight.
“Sehun-”
“No, I get it,” Sehun pushes his chair back and grabs his half-finished bowl of black noodles. “I get it. I’m sorry.”
He drops the bowl in the trash and heads for the door, grabbing his coat on the way out. He doesn’t look back. He doesn’t hear anyone try to stop him anyway.
*
“Maybe he just wanted you to give him some space? You were kind of smothering him,” Jongdae says, ever the blunt one, and spears a piece of ttokbokki with the pointed end of a wooden stick.
Beside him, Yixing splutters around a large bite of odeng. Sehun gapes at the singer, visibly affronted. A sudden gust of cold autumn breeze causes the loose plastic tarp that serves as the door into the pojangmacha to flutter briefly.
“There, there.” Chuckling indulgently, the healer reaches across the small round table and pats Sehun’s beanie-clad head. “What he means to say is that maybe Jongin needs some time apart from you to think.”
It’s been a week since he stopped coming over. He doesn’t go to Up Rising’s show either; or at least he doesn’t go with the rest of the group. He shows up during the second night along with Yixing instead.
Sehun pulls a long face and absently stabs at his own serving of spicy rice cakes.
“You’d think nearly four whole months away would be enough time to think,” he grumbles. “I’m trying, but I don’t know-it’s like he doesn’t want to believe that it can work out. I don’t stand a chance.”
He’d be embarrassed about how vulnerable and bitter he sounds, but at this point he really doesn’t care. He can feel his friends’ eyes on him even as they don’t say a word. All of sudden a can of beer clunks on the table in front of him.
“You need this more than I do,” says Jongdae then adds, his voice more gentle, free of barbs, “It seems to me like Jongin’s having a tough time seeing past his fear-and that’s normal, believe me. But both of your hearts are in the right place, Sehunnie. You’ll figure this out.”
Sehun takes a deep breath as he grabs the can.
“I hope so.”
vii.
vi.
The full extent of Sehun’s injuries had been enough to stop his heart. Chanyeol doesn’t go into detail because he can’t. Not without ‘getting something in his eyes,’ or some other equally lame excuse for the tears that suddenly spring on his face. Sehun takes pity, anyway, and doesn’t push it.
All he knows is that he’d been so badly roughed up that Yixing could only afford to patch up the most vital damages and had to leave the rest to the doctors. At the very least it had tipped the odds to his favor. Sehun had ended up on a hospital bed unconscious for three weeks instead of the worst case scenario.
Apparently it took the healer a full day to recover from that ordeal. Several weeks after he had been discharged from the hospital, Sehun offers himself up as Yixing’s personal slave for a month as a thank you.
“I already have Jongdae for that, though,” says Yixing with a straight face and earns himself a swat on the arm from his boyfriend, complete with a loud, whiny, “Ah, whyyyy??”
The healer laughs behind a hand and pecks the pouting singer’s cheek in a bid to get back in his good graces. It works, of course, if the way Jongdae twines their fingers together seconds later is any indication. In the end, they agree that Sehun will happily continue his services as Yixing’s official taste-tester.
Jongdae goes full cuddle-monster mode then, throwing an arm and a leg over the healer’s body and tucking a cheek against his shoulder like his personal pillow. Sehun rolls his eyes and mock-berates them for being gross. Jongdae glowers at him. Then suddenly he gets a glint in his eyes that only means bad news.
Promptly detaching himself from an amused Yixing, Jongdae turns to the youngest, advancing with wide open arms. Sparks begin fizzing and dancing at the tips of Jongdae’s fingers. Sehun stiffens, eyeing the singer’s hands with horror because he knows by now how much that’s going to tickle.
“Does Sehunnie want a hug?”
“NO, HE DOES NOT.”
“Oh, but he looks like he does!”
Sehun couldn’t get out of there fast enough. Jongdae’s distinct laughter follows him as he quickly shuffles to the door.
“Yah! Don’t forget about tonight!” The singer throws out last minute.
Of course he won’t forget. Tonight will be the second time that he’s attending Up Rising’s gig. He’s been looking forward to it the whole week, but he’s not telling Jongdae that. Instead, he sticks his tongue out at him in response before closing the door behind him.
*
Sehun spots an extra pair of shoes lined up by the entryway of his apartment. He holds his breath, stopping in the middle of toeing off his sneakers.
It takes him a second to realize that the only people in the building who would own kicks as fancy as these are Lu Han, Zitao, and Yifan. Only one of them knows his PIN by heart, though. Sehun exhales, all optimism sliding off his shoulders, resenting the weight of disappointment that settles there instead.
He figures he should be used to this after being let down four times in the past month-five now. All of Jongin’s belongings are gone and the second room has been reverted back to an office. He knows he should probably stop expecting him to show up.
Sehun schools his expression into that of sheer disinterest when he finds Lu Han perched on the windowpane, munching on a bag of potato chips that he remembers getting two days ago.
“Not Jongin this time, either-sorry,” mutters the telepath, legs swinging marginally from side to side. At least he does sound a little bit remorseful.
“You’re doing this on purpose,” Sehun frowns. “And you’re trespassing and stealing,” he adds as he flops on the couch, careful not to repeat the mistake of putting too much pressure on his left side.
Lu Han bristles, pointing an accusatory piece of potato chip at him.
“May I remind you that I own this building and that you’re supposed to be cutting back on junk food anyway. I’m just checking if you’re healing alright, you ungrateful Hybrid.”
Sehun chuckles lightly, fluffing the pillow under his head while stretching his legs across the length of the cushion, knees dangling over the arm rest.
“Who told you-Yixing-hyung or Jongdae-hyung?”
Lu Han stops mid-crunch, looking much like a deer caught in proverbial headlights. He blinks rapidly then grins, as if he’s getting a kick out of being the one someone else reads for a change.
“Chanyeol, actually. Who heard from Baekhyun who heard from Tao who heard from Minseok.”
Sehun snorts. Well, that was quick-though he should have probably expected nothing less, considering how everyone has seemed so protective of him lately. It’s not that big of a deal-just an accident at his employer’s main office that involved a swinging door and him whacking into it. The tender area in his left side, where stitches used to be just a week prior, took the brunt of impact. He was on his way out then, having dropped by for a brief interview with the Big Boss for possible promotion. He did stop by the cafe on the way home, but he doesn’t recall mentioning anything about his little mishap.
“How perceptive,” hums Sehun around a yawn, eyelids getting droopy. He hears Lu Han hop down from the window, padding closer.
“Minseok said your face was contorted into a permanent wince. You’re easier to read than you think.”
Sehun’s face twitches at that. He’s heard the same before. It reminds him of clear skies as a cool breeze combs through his scalp; warm sunlight pressing on his face; the prickle of grass blades against bare, sweaty skin; a low voice; an uneven smile-
Then he feels his shirt hiking up and his eyes snap open. He flails about on instinct, swatting intrusive fingers away with a shriek. Lu Han staggers back and falls into the seater, braying with laughter as he hugs the bag of chips to his chest.
“Sorry! Sorry! I just wanted to see if you’re really okay,” heaves the telepath while trying to catch his breath.
Sehun gives him a dirty look as he readjusts his shirt, but they both know he’s not really mad. He’s never really mad at Lu Han, even though he can be weird and unbearably annoying.
“I’m fine,” Sehun blurts out sulkily. “Yixing-hyung fixed me up. I was there just now, actually. Jongdae-hyung chased me away.”
Lu Han hums knowingly. “The Lightning Hug?”
The younger nods in affirmation, dejected, and the telepath snickers.
“You poor thing.”
Sehun stares at him intently then. Lu Han isn’t inside his head, but he stops at the look on Sehun’s face, his own going stern, as if he knows exactly what’s coming next.
“If you really want to make me feel better-”
“No,” Lu Han pointedly cuts him off.
Sehun’s face crumples.
“Hyuuung…”
Lu Han gives him a hard look. “Jongin told me to tell you that I don’t know his new number, so that’s what I’m telling you.”
Sehun hates that he can’t be properly upset at Lu Han, because he doesn’t even bother to properly lie.
“I can always stalk him in Busan, you know,” he says with squinty eyes, crossing his arms on his chest petulantly.
At that, Lu Han scoffs, “Don’t waste your time. He’s on tour with Taemin, you know that.” He pops a chip into his mouth.
Sehun does know that. He knows that they’re in Osaka now and that Jongin has been filling in for another dancer who tore his ACL after a bad fall during a show in Shanghai. He’s been keeping up with concert dates and fancams. It’s all he can do because Jongin doesn’t have a single social media account. E-mail, sure, but he hasn’t had any luck with the last three messages that he sent weeks ago.
Sehun groans. A hand comes up to rake through his hair but ends up grabbing a fistful of it instead.
“Can you at least tell me when he’s planning to quit avoiding me?” He doesn’t bother veiling the despair in his tone.
“Just give it time, Sehunah. It couldn’t have been easy for him, finding out.”
Sehun emits a pathetic, grumbling noise deep in his throat. It’s not the first time he mentally flagellates himself for being a cluttered idiot who leaves extremely incriminating evidence lying around for his unsuspecting flatmate to find, instead of neatly slipping it back into the book case.
“Why did you have to tell him everything? Couldn’t you have just lied and told him that it wasn’t what he thought-”
It’s his fault. He knows it’s his fault, and he doesn’t mean to pin the blame on other people, especially not on his closest friends, but the words are out before he can stop them. Lu Han pauses, looks at him like he’s just been violently shoved.
“Sehun, seriously? Jongin knows more about seers than Chanyeol and I combined. In fact, he looked like he already knew the answer even before he came to us with the question.”
Guilt slowly gnaws at Sehun at the flash of mild hurt in Lu Han’s eyes. He can tell that Lu Han doesn’t at all take kindly to being accused of throwing a friend under the bus, because even Sehun himself knows for a fact that he would be the last person to do that. He really doesn’t know why he even insinuated.
“I know, hyung, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that,” he says softly, unable to meet Lu Han’s eyes. He gingerly sits up, spine against the back rest.
“I just,” he chokes on a lump in his throat. “I wish he’d talk to me.”
A beat passes in silence, and then he feels the sudden dip and bounce of the sofa as Lu Han dumps his weight next to him. He doesn’t recoil or bat him away this time when the telepath reaches up to ruffle his mop like he’s ten and not the grown man that he is.
“I understand,” says Lu Han, pressing fingers on the back of his neck in a gentle massage, as if to assure him that they’re okay.
“Jongin is terrified for himself, but more so for you. That’s why he’s trying to stay away, for now.”
Sure, Sehun knows that much. He doesn’t like it, but he gets it. It takes another second but as he fully registers what Lu Han just said, his head snaps to his side. He gives him a curious look.
“For now?”
“Well, if your vision is as on point as you say,” Lu Han shrugs. “Then Jongin’s not getting away that fast-which is kind of a funny thought, because he is a teleporter.”
Sehun gives that some thought and nods. That may be right but it guarantees nothing, really.
“But, Sehunnie,” Lu Han halts, and the weight in his tone has Sehun glancing his way. “Are you sure... I mean, are you really sure? I understand why anyone would freak out. Heck, I did. You know I’m rooting for your happiness-both you and Jongin, individually-but I understand that this is very complicated-“
Lu Han looks like he’s having a tough time trying to get his point across and Sehun decides to spare him. He cuts him off with a shake of his head, his eyes calm.
“Hey, everyone dies eventually, right?”
“Well... yeah, I know, but-”
Sehun’s gaze drops to the nervously fiddling hands resting on his lap. “You know, the last person I saw was Jongin and I remember thinking that that was it. The premonition-it felt just like that. I couldn’t breathe. I was sure I was going to die there in his arms, and his face was the last I would ever see, his voice the last I would hear, and his hand the last I would ever touch.”
The smile that tugs at his lips should feel out of place in this whole conversation, but it doesn’t.
“And you know what? I kind of didn’t mind.” He admits with quiet certainty. It’s a bit awkward and he knows that it’s unlike him to say things like this, but he doesn’t downplay the truth in his words.
Several moments pass with the air standing still, and for a second he thinks Lu Han might have fallen asleep on him. But when he lifts his head, he finds the telepath staring at him, positively beaming.
“God, you sap!” Lu Han lands a hard slap on Sehun’s knee. He shrinks back with a yelp then immediately retaliates by digging an elbow in the older’s chest.
“Shut up, you asked for it.”
Sehun fiercely shields the left side of his torso with a small pillow when Lu Han abruptly shifts like he’s going to attack back. He seems to reconsider at the last moment and slumps into the backrest instead.
“Looks like you’ve got it all figured out.” Lu Han picks up the bag of junk food that somehow found itself lying haphazardly on the end table.
“I don’t-I’m winging it,” says Sehun, slipping a hand in the crinkly foil to grab a few pieces when the telepath tilts the gaping mouth in his direction. He breathes out, long and labored, and sluggishly tosses a potato chip in his mouth.
“I wish he’d make this a little easier and speak to me.”
Lu Han lightly bumps the back of his hand to the side of Sehun’s face.
“Hey, you’ve gotten this far-just wait, Sehunah,” says the telepath, lips stretching in a smile. “Wait for him. He’ll come around.”
*
Sehun does wait.
Shortly after his interview, he gets promoted to senior content design manager. He had been up for promotion since a year ago but he hadn’t been prepared to give up the comfort zone that working from home had become. No doubt he’s come a long way since then.
As the weeks pass, his workload gets heavier. Even when he loses track of Jongin’s schedule and falls behind on fancam updates, he still waits. Weeks turn to months, and summer eventually gives way to much cooler afternoons. Sehun doesn’t get a vision once in all that time, and gradually thoughts of Jongin are put on the back burner. It never goes away completely, just gets a little bit quiet.
By the time Chuseok rolls in, Sehun is up to his eyeballs in work. Between enhancement proposals, deployment, and testing of system updates, he can’t afford to take a single day off.
A pen absently twirls in his fingers while his other knuckle is pressed to his cheek, propped up on an elbow. He’s vaguely aware that it’s around dinner time now. He pushes that thought aside in favor of focusing on glaring at the problematic codes flashing on the monitor.
As if he doesn’t have enough on his plate, his phone starts buzzing non-stop beside the keyboard. He ignores it the first two times. By the third, he can make a guess-it’s either Chanyeol or Baekhyun, because neither one of those two can take a hint. Sehun grudgingly checks the ID, ready to hurl the phone to the ground in irritation, but halts at the name that registers on the screen.
‘The Annoying Deer,’ it reads. Sehun blinks. Lu Han is actually using a phone to contact him. He decides to accept the call on account of this being a notable event.
“Lu Han-hyung, what?” He withholds the warm reception, though.
“Sehunah, can you try to make it? I need help with the ventilation.”
What ventilation? He doesn’t ask because he really has no time for this.
In the background he can easily pick up the distant sound of Jongdae’s howl of laughter, Baekhyun’s shriek, and Chanyeol’s enraged bellow of: “I am fucking getting new friends!” Sehun reclines in his chair, torn between laughing out loud and crying over all the fun he’s missing out on.
“Hyung, you have ten other people there-”
“Yes, but you’re the only one who’s excellent with air... manipulation and shit.”
“But I can’t-”
“Come on, Sehunnie, our cute baby maknae, please?”
“Hyung, I have a deadline-”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, can’t you just do as I say for once? You’re ruining the surprise! Jongin is here, okay-hurry up and get your ass down here now.”
Sehun doesn’t even shut down his computer-just grabs his jacket and bolts out of the building like his ass is on fire. Bursting out of the main entrance, he lucks out and spots a cab that’s just about to pull out of the driveway. He skids to a halt, both hands rapping on the back seat window to get the driver’s attention.
His brain vacillates between reeling in excitement over seeing Jongin again and freaking out about what he should say once he does. Should he be mad at him for disappearing without a word? For staying away all this time and denying any possibility of contact with him?
Before that, though, he should probably thank him for risking everything to save his life. Jongin never gave him a chance to do so in person so he had to resort to emails and text messages that he never did get any replies to. Who knows if Jongin read them at all?
Maybe he was too busy or exhausted while on tour-oh, and his back!
Jongin gets terrible muscle spasms in the vicinity of his lumbar curve when he overexerts himself-which he does all the time being a very stubborn man, but some days are worse than others. Sehun recalls the first time that he teleported home one day, hardly able to straighten to full height. Sehun stacked up on a variety of compresses ever since as it apparently helps ease the discomfort. He still has them tucked away in a cabinet somewhere.
In spite of that, Jongin’s routines are always complex and involve a lot of breakneck twisting, because he’s not the type to go easy on himself. He really hopes his back hasn’t been acting up lately.
Thing is, Sehun’s destination isn’t at all far from the office and he arrives there faster than he can decide on an opener. He figures it doesn’t matter and sprints to the top floor where everyone is supposedly huddled in Lu Han’s penthouse for Chuseok dinner. Sehun presses the buzzer, clammy fingers curling and uncurling at his sides as he waits for the door to open.
“You’re too late,” is the first thing that Lu Han tells him through a crack in the door.
Sehun freezes, holding back on his reaction and hoping that there’s a punch line there somewhere. There’s none. He doesn’t move even when the telepath extends the gap to let him slip inside. Sighing, Lu Han steps out instead, closing the door behind him slowly.
“Jongin left. I didn’t even hear the door. Or maybe be didn’t use the door.” Lu Han pulls a long face, grumbling. “Didn’t even say bye, that insolent brat. I’m telling him to learn some fucking manners the next time I see him.”
Sehun feels something break-it simmers, prickly under his skin. His shoulders cave in, the overlapping anxiety and fervor from earlier rolling off with a slow drag of air. It leaves him feeling kind of hollow, and maybe a little foolish. This, he thinks, is the problem with chasing a teleporter.
“Well, since you’re here-join us for dinner?” offers the older and Sehun’s burgeoning hunger almost makes him say yes. But then again...
“Maybe later,” he manages a weak smile. “I left some really important work hanging. But thanks, hyung.”
Luckily Lu Han doesn’t force the issue.
“You look like shit, by the way.” He lightly sweeps a few errant strands away from the younger’s eyes. “Stop working yourself to the ground and get some rest,” chides the telepath, eyeing the dark circles on his face with disapproval before going back inside.
Sehun refuses to wallow in despair. He got through months without seeing the guy; what’s a few more days? At least now he knows that the tour is finished, that Jongin is free and back in town. That's one less hurdle to jump over.
He contemplates heading back to the office, but what a waste of cab fare that would be. It’s possible to work remotely from home, anyway, although he will have to make do with limited access and significantly less resources. Ultimately he decides that he doesn’t care. It’s getting late, he’s hungry, and he really doesn’t feel like being cooped up inside the office at this point.
He takes the elevator down to his floor and ambles lazily across the length of the hall. Stopping in front of his unit, he absently reaches for the security device so that he can key in the PIN. But before his finger can graze the stainless steel, the door swings open, knocking Sehun back half a step in surprise.
There’s an audible gasp, and then he looks up to find himself staring at an equally wide-eyed familiar face.
“Sehun,” Jongin’s voice is tight, clipped.
Pulse suddenly racing, Sehun is quick to get over the shock-way faster than Jongin does. He takes advantage of the man’s stupefied state and makes a grab for his elbow.
“Hey, what-”
Sehun wordlessly pushes into his personal space, forcing him to retreat back into the apartment, all the while making certain that the teleporter stays solid in his hold.
They stand there under the soft lighting of the cramped doorway, between a cold white wall and a shoe cabinet-which makes for the most unromantic reunion, to be honest-and Sehun finds himself struck by the realization that Jongin makes a fucking gorgeous blond.
He doesn't actually voice out this comment. In fact, nobody breathes another word. There’s some consolation in the fact that Jongin doesn't shrug him off nor push him away, probably too disconcerted to make such decisions and actually get his body to follow. Sehun knows because his own fingers refuse to uncurl around the other man's arm despite orders from his brain.
Jongin looks like he wants to say something, then uncertainty flits over his eyes and his mouth clamps shut. The tension is palpable; panic emanates from Jongin's every pore-from the way color leaves his face, the faint tremble on his skin, the fright in his blown-out irises. He seems to be on the brink of vanishing and Sehun knows that he can’t really stop him. Now it’s his turn to panic.
"Have you had dinner?" he blurts out without thinking-out of all the things that he could have possibly started with-and cringes internally.
Jongin looks totally nonplussed, brows twitching in a way that Sehun recognizes as a sign of amusement. He takes it as permission to relax, just a little.
“Have you?” Jongin asks back.
Sehun blinks, finding the flow of conversation awfully familiar. Before he can say anything, his stomach makes a low, grumbling sound in response. Sehun inwardly groans in embarrassment. It cracks a small smile out of the other man, though, so maybe it’s not so bad.
Jongin studies him for a moment. Lu Han’s voice going ‘you look like shit’ echoes loud and clear in his mind, making him self-consciously shrink back a bit. He’s not surprised when he sees a light of worry flicker across Jongin’s face.
“You’re impossible,” says the teleporter under his breath, shaking his head in forfeit.
He doesn’t quite remove Sehun’s hold on his arm as much as he naturally slips out of it as he turns and heads back inside, straight to the kitchen.
“When was the last time you shopped?”
It’s like falling back into old routine. Jongin wastes no time in rummaging through overhead cupboards, grumbling unhappily to himself every now and then when he finds nothing useful. Sehun watches him from where he’s perched on his forearms, slouching on the other side of the kitchen island.
He should probably feel some shame but it’s hard to register anything else over the contentment that thrums steadily in his veins. He drinks in the sight of Jongin navigating his kitchen-critiquing his life choices too while he’s at it, but he can’t really complain about that.
“You literally have nothing but cheese and eggs around here.” Jongin bends at the waist to inspect the contents of the fridge. Sehun knows what he’s going to find there and he braces himself for more violent reactions.
“And beer?” There you go. He almost flinches at the dark look that Jongin throws his way. "Why do you have beer and no real food, Oh Sehun?”
“I haven’t shopped in about two weeks,” he reasons, pushing off of the countertop. But Jongin is still frowning and Sehun wavers. “I have kimchi ramen in stock, though? And Nutella?”
Jongin’s scowl dips, his eyebrow hiking up in a manner that’s basically Jongin-speak for ‘you have got to be fucking kidding me.’
“I was gonna shop this weekend-if time permits,” he tries again, though his voice pretty much loses confidence toward the end. Jongin pins him with a hard, judging stare, and this time he does turn a bit sheepish under the weight of it.
Heaving a suffering sigh, Jongin turns to grab a pot. Of course they could just go back to Lu Han’s, where there is surely a ton of food ready. Sehun doesn’t bring it up because he’d rather have this-Jongin in his home, in his kitchen, all to himself. It doesn’t escape his attention that Jongin makes no mention of it either.
Jongin pulls up the sleeves of his black shirt and reaches into one of the cupboards for a packet of instant ramen. Sehun could make the ramen himself-it’s practically just a matter of boiling some water-but Jongin seems to like doing this.
“You dyed your hair,” he mouths quietly as Jongin starts up the heater to get the pot to boil. The man turns back to him, startled at first, then ducks his head, bashfully tousling his shiny, blond mop. It makes Sehun smile.
“Yeah.”
“It looks good.” It really does. It contrasts nicely to the adorable pink that now lightly tints his cheeks. “You look good.”
Jongin leans back, hands holding the edge of the countertop. The space between them is so easy to cross, if not for the island in the middle. Sehun thinks it’s just as well because it’s hard enough trying not launch himself at the man.
“How have you been, Sehun?”
“Lu Han hyung says I look like shit,” he deadpans.
Jongin chuckles lightly at that and something inside Sehun leaps at the sound.
“You do,” agrees Jongin. Sehun pouts, feigning offense, and it paints a teasing smile on the other man’s handsome face. Sehun averts his gaze then because his insides are starting to feel like molten lava.
“I heard about your promotion, by the way. Congratulations.” The way Jongin says it tells Sehun that he knows there’s more to it than just a step up the ranks; that it’s also him breaking out of the confines of his fears. And it is.
“Thanks.” Sehun glances up, locking his gaze with Jongin’s. “And thank you for saving my life.”
Jongin stiffens at that, mirth fading from his eyes. And for a second Sehun is confused.
“Yixing-hyung did that. Not me.”
“No-you got me out of there, Jongin. That was you,” Sehun contends, fixing him with a resolute stare.
“Well, don’t thank me yet,” Jongin mutters lowly with a rueful smirk. He quickly turns back to the pot and occupies himself with preparing the contents of the packet of instant ramen. His shoulders are squared, movements sharp and busy, as if to say he doesn’t want to discuss it right now.
And so Sehun doesn’t say another word. At least until the water boils.
“Can we talk about it now?” Sehun asks later as Jongin sets the hot pot on the countertop.
Jongin doesn’t answer. Instead, he steps away to pull on a drawer near the sink.
“Hey, get two. Eat with me.”
“I don’t think there’s enough for two people,” he points out, but takes two pairs of metal chopsticks anyway. Perhaps because he knows that Sehun will only insist and refuse to let it go.
Jongin sets one pair on the pot lid, angled toward Sehun, while keeping his gaze on the steaming broth, refusing to make eye contact.
“Can we talk now?” Sehun asks again. This time, Jongin puffs out in resignation and sets his chopsticks down on the lid as well.
“What is there to talk about?”
“I don’t want you to move away,” Sehun gets right to it. No hesitation.
Jongin seems surprised-though Sehun can’t quite tell if it’s because of the uncharacteristic candidness or the confession itself.
“Last time we spoke you wanted me out of here.”
Sehun pauses. It’s true. He remembers. He swallows hard, rubbing both hands on his tired face. Exhaustion must be radiating off of him in droves and he’s barely keeping himself from tearing at the seams. Maybe that’s why Jongin is still here.
“Jongin, you know why-”
“Exactly,” he says. “It’s not that simple, Sehun. Not with all of... this hanging over our heads.”
“I know it’s not. But look, do you remember my uncle? He was executed for murder-the man he killed was his trigger. And my mother-well, she married hers.”
Jongin looks at him, unblinking, mouth slightly agape. Sehun knows that this is all news to him. Before now, all he knew was that Sehun had been raised by an uncle who died in prison. And he never mentioned anything about his mother to him until now. Jongin looks like he wants to say something but can’t find the words.
“It’s a different story for everyone,” Sehun says, filling the pregnant silence. “Maybe... maybe it’s worth a shot?”
Jongin is staring at the steam rising from the pot again. His expression is carefully restrained, but Sehun can tell that he’s on the verge of cracking, too. He takes a chance. Jongin’s head snaps up, startled, as Sehun takes big strides around the island until he’s standing in front of the other man, slightly towering.
Jongin goes rigid, but he doesn’t step back-as if to challenge him, to test exactly how well Sehun can decipher nuances and identify his boundaries. But Sehun is too impatient for that. He defiantly pushes into Jongin’s space, cutting the distance between them to mere inches, until his own rapid heartbeat is telling him that he’s too close for comfort. Jongin takes to dipping his head, and Sehun fights the urge to lean in and press his nose to the man’s crown.
“Listen. I have no idea what our story is going to be,” he says softly, boldly taking Jongin’s hands in his own. “But I really want to find out.”
Jongin is the one who pries his hands free, only to press their palms together, fingers easily threading along the gaps like they’ve always belonged there. Sehun has missed this so much it takes his breath away.
“If I hurt you-if anything happens to you because of me-” Jongin cuts himself off, shakes his head like he’s trying to vanquish the thought. His voice is quiet, raw, and Sehun almost winces at how roughly it grates.
“Likewise,” he mutters, because Jongin needs to realize that the risk goes both ways and that Sehun is willing to take it.
Suddenly Jongin is stepping back. Sehun tightens his hold when he feels the man letting go.
“I don’t know, Sehun,” he sighs, tired and heavy, as Jongin looks up at him reluctantly. “I don’t know.”
“Well, at least think about it.” It doesn’t quite come out sounding like a request, with the frustrated anguish clear in the lilt of his voice and the creases on his forehead. “Please?” He doesn’t even care if he sounds childish and whiny. And he wouldn’t take it back either because the next second, Jongin is quickly tugging him closer and pressing a chaste kiss to his lips.
“Ramen’s getting cold, you spoiled brat,” he says when he pulls away. Sehun wants more so badly, but he decides not to push his luck this time.
“You’ll think about it, right?” He presses again minutes later, while they’re in the middle of a fierce chopsticks battle over noodles.
Jongin flicks him a glance, shrugs, and emits a noncommittal grunt. Several beats later, perhaps when Jongin thinks that Sehun isn’t looking anymore, he furtively tries to steal another glimpse, only to be caught red handed because Sehun most definitely still has his eyes on him.
Sehun chuckles at Jongin’s look of surprise. Jongin shakes his head, his own mouth pulling up a tiny fraction at the corners.
Sehun totally reads that as a yes.
*
Four days later, Sehun hears from Chanyeol that Jongin is moving into Junmyeon’s building. This gets him wondering because although he doesn’t expect Jongin to move back in with him-not yet, anyway-why not reclaim his original apartment instead? He doesn’t have Jongin’s number yet and so he resorts to asking Lu Han if he has, by any chance, recruited anyone new.
“No-I was actually reserving that flat for Jongin in case he still wanted it after the tour was over.” Lu Han tells him over a cup of Americano one morning. “He didn’t explicitly say why he’s moving to Junmyeon’s building, but I think it’s obvious? He’s trying to feel his way around this... thing that he has with you. Baby steps, you know?”
Sehun pauses thoughtfully and takes a sip of his dark mocha, careful not to get a single drop on his pristine dress shirt. He couldn’t keep his coat on because it’s much warmer inside the café than outside where he used to station himself usually. He’s vaguely aware that he’s gone past the fifteen-minute window allotted for morning breaks, but he honestly doesn’t give two shits. He did work through Chuseok holiday, anyway. He can slack off every once in a while.
Sehun watches the swirling fog that escapes from the opening on the lid. He quietly considers Lu Han’s words, fingers abstractedly tapping around the holder. He supposes it makes sense. Just the fact that Jongin is trying is enough.
“Baby steps,” he echoes, hope blooming hot in his chest as he hides a small smile behind his cardboard cup.
*
Friday night happens to be a particularly hectic day at the office for Sehun, and he doesn’t get out of work until ten minutes before Up Rising’s set is scheduled to start. He makes a run for it, going through calculations in his head in hopes of arriving at a possible way to get from Gangnam-gu Office to Hongdae in less than ten minutes. Despite leaving nothing unturned, he comes up empty-handed. It’s over thirty minutes away by subway and with the kind of hellish traffic at this hour, taking on the roads is out of the question. Sehun swallows down a pained whimper.
“Ah, fuck it.”
Subway, it is. Maybe they won’t notice that he’s late if he’s really quiet and slinks in really carefu-
“Hey, Oh Sehun!”
Poised to take a sharp right toward where the nearest station is, he brakes so fast his soles could have left skid marks on the ground. He spins around, head darting left, right, and back. He spies hints of jerky movements in his peripheral and he stops.
Sehun holds his breath, squints as he takes short, tentative steps toward the corner of the building where a tree and a singular lamppost are rooted. And then a figure of a man steps halfway out of the shadow. The bill of a black snap back conceals half of the stranger’s face-but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t recognize that shapely mouth, pulled into a crooked curve. Sehun grins, awash with relief. It kind of reminds him of the first time they met.
“Hey-what are you doing here?”
Jongin tips back his cap just enough so that Sehun can see his eyes.
“You can’t get to Hongdae in five minutes any other way,” he says simply.
Oh, Sehun blinks.
OH!
A dramatic gasp has his eyes expanding into saucers, and he does a little excited-bunny-hop, feet-shuffling thing that makes Jongin throw his head back in soundless laughter. Sehun makes a cursory inspection of his surroundings before scuttling to join the teleporter in the shadows.
“What do I do?”
“Uhh,” Jongin scratches the side of his neck nervously, looking anywhere but at him. “Hold on tight, I guess?”
Sehun is only happy to oblige, the distance between them tapering with every slow, deliberate step. He catches Jongin’s Adam’s apple bob. Sehun bites his lower lip to try to keep the grin from splitting his face as tendrils of satisfaction coil around his stomach. He means to drape his arms around Jongin’s shoulders but ends up giving in to impulse-he plucks the cap off of Jongin’s head, turning it around to get the bill out of the way. And then he cups his cheeks.
Jongin’s hands snap up to attach themselves to either side of Sehun’s hips. Sehun’s heart stills for a second, almost prepares to either be pushed away or be locked in place so he doesn’t get any closer. But Jongin does neither. Sehun dares take a small step forward and meets no opposition even as their hips lightly brush. His heart does a little dumb, excited-bunny-hop shuffle, too.
“My savior,” he whispers playfully, which has Jongin eye-rolling in response. He’s smiling bashfully, though, and it’s so pretty that Sehun decides that he really doesn’t mind being lame as fuck if this is what he gets in return.
“Quit it or I’m leaving you behind,” Jongin hisses, though there’s barely any real venom in his tone.
Giggling lightly, Sehun’s hands skim Jongin’s sides to snake around his torso, slender fingers clenching around the soft material of Jongin’s warm hoodie. He feels Jongin clasp his hands over the small of his back and he buries his face in the crook of the dancer’s neck. Chest flush against chest now, Sehun faintly registers Jongin’s racing heartbeat matching his own. He smiles a bit at that, glad that he’s not the only one.
“Up, up, and away.”
Jongin snorts, “I don’t fly, you idiot.”
Sehun has a retort ready on the tip of his tongue. But then he senses a shot of prickling heat lancing through his body, as if breaking him apart atom by atom. And then in a flash, they’re gone.
*
Sehun can be extremely obstinate when he really wants to be. He puts this tendency into action the day Jongin moves in to his new apartment, two blocks away from Sehun, on a late Saturday afternoon. He’s present and ready to offer his assistance even without the dancer asking for it. If he’s being completely honest, it’s also a convenient excuse to keep hanging around Jongin’s place.
His new neighbors drop by throughout the day to say hello, but they don’t stay long. Sehun secretly thanks his luck for his friends’ exceptional perceptiveness today. Though to be fair, a lot of those reasons are probably legitimate, with the exception of Baekhyun’s “Oh, I forgot! I, uh, need to buy cat food. Must save kitty from starvation! Haha,” when he doesn’t even own a cat. From the way Jongin’s brow hikes up, Sehun can tell that he knows this too.
“For the record: I didn’t put them up to this. I swear I didn’t tell them to say that,” Sehun declares after they watch Baekhyun close the door behind him as he scurries out.
Jongin looks askance at him. “I should hope so. That was terrible.”
“I don’t even know what to say,” Sehun agrees with an incredulous expression on his face and Jongin cackles.
“Why are you even unpacking everything?” Sehun says as he chews on crispy fried chicken skin.
It’s nine in the evening and they’ve managed to sort through nearly half of the dancer’s stuff. The whole process would have gone faster if Sehun did less sitting around while lazily sifting through Jongin’s newly amassed Blu-ray disc collection and more real work. Jongin doesn’t reprimand him for being more of a distraction than actual help, though; just pouts like a petulant child and heaves a long sigh. To appease the man, Sehun orders chicken for them both and pays for it, too. Works like magic.
Jongin, sitting cross-legged beside him on the couch, gives him an odd look.
“I mean, you’re going to be moving out again soon enough,” Sehun shrugs, expression blank.
Jongin cocks an eyebrow at him. “A little presumptuous?”
“What can I say, I’m an optimist.”
Jongin snorts, head shaking in forfeit. He chucks a clean bone into a plastic bag where it joins the rest of its kind and holds it up to Sehun so he can do the same.
“Well, Mr. Optimist,” says Jongin in a mock-grim tone as he unfurls his legs while tying up the plastic with greasy fingers. “If you’re not going to be useful here then you might as well just go home. It’s getting late.”
Sehun watches Jongin get up and pad away from the couch, all the while trying not to blurt out “but home is wherever you are,” or something equally theatric and cheesy. He exhales dramatically instead and follows Jongin to the sink so that he can wash his hands. He makes sure to get some water on the dancer when he wrings his fingers, and chortles when Jongin glares at him.
“You’re so cute,” Sehun unabashedly comments as he uses his sleeve to wipe Jongin’s nose dry.
“You’re a fucking menace,” mumbles the dancer darkly, yet he doesn’t stop a grinning Sehun from attempting to clean up his face, only to make a bigger mess by smearing the suds onto dry spots.
Sehun does leave after a while. Jongin’s looking pretty tired. And though Sehun’s not quite up to trudging through the chilly night, he figures asking if he can sleep over might be pushing it too far.
But he comes back the next day. And the next. And the day after that.
With Sehun’s workload, Jongin’s day normally ends way ahead of his. Most days he goes straight to Jongin’s place; sometimes with food, sometimes asking if Jongin has food-which he always does because he’s not quite as flighty and disorganized as Sehun is, admittedly.
Some days he finds Jongin with a certain drag in his gait and Sehun immediately takes over, all hunger and exhaustion forgotten. Jongin tries not to make a big deal of it because it always goes away after he takes it easy for a while-though not before he has to suffer through the worst. And so Sehun helps him to bed, makes sure he’s got topical pain relieving gel applied evenly over his lower back, and sometimes tidies up a little because he knows how messy places bother the other man. Jongin always tries to protest but Sehun is just as stubborn as he is, if not more.
Sehun does end up unintentionally falling asleep on Jongin’s couch a couple of times. Jongin probably takes pity and decides against waking him up every time it does happen. He’s always up before Jongin is the following day, and makes a mad dash back to his apartment, muttering expletives under his breath when he stubs his toes into random things in his haste. By some miracle he always manages to make it to work on time.
Everything comes to a head nearly two weeks into this pseudo-routine.
Sehun comes over with two servings of jajangmyeon takeout. The moment the dancer opens the door for him, he immediately picks up on the extra weight hanging in the air. Truth is, Jongin doesn’t always let him in with a big smile or with explicit enthusiasm. The tight expression on his face isn’t exactly out of the ordinary. Sometimes it simply means that he’s bone tired or that he’s not really in the mood, but he never turns Sehun away. Neither does he do so now, but there’s something about how he is tonight that makes Sehun feel unwelcome for the very first time.
Over dinner, Sehun tells him about how his colleague-Lee Jinki-accidentally printed out an entire volume of yaoi manga on the office printer. Jongin indulges him with a light chuckle, but there’s nothing of that mirth in his eyes. Sehun can’t help but feel increasingly uneasy. They fall silent for a while, occasionally interrupted only by slurping noises. But that’s more Sehun than Jongin; Jongin has barely touched his food.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Sehun finally asks.
Jongin glances up from his bowl and looks at him with a grave expression on his face.
“Sehun, listen. I think-” He sets his chopsticks down on the table with an ominous clatter. The tone he uses is enough to make Sehun nervous. He holds his breath. Something definitely isn’t right.
“I think you need to stop.”
“Stop what?” He has a hunch-but maybe he’s wrong. He hopes he’s wrong. It’s like Sehun’s heart is on a chopping board and Jongin is holding the cleaver suspended above it.
“This,” The dancer straightens his back, forehead creasing impatiently, as he irately makes wide gestures with his hands. “There’s a reason why I didn’t move back in with you. Or why I didn’t go back to Lu Han-hyung’s building. Or why I haven’t given you my number.”
And the blade falls.
Sehun bristles. He feels cold all of a sudden. He swallows thickly, lips drawn thin.
He can feel the weight of Jongin’s words on his shoulders. None of that is untrue. Still, he can choose to stand his ground and say ‘no, we can make this work, Jongin,’ but then he realizes that there’s probably no point when that’s all he’s been trying so hard to show him all this time, and yet Jongin can still look him in the eye and tell him to just fucking get lost.
Sehun sneers at his own stupidity. I don’t even have his fucking number.
It might just be his imagination but he thinks he may have caught the dancer wince before his gaze falters and drops to the countertop. Jajangmyeon suddenly seems so unappetizing; almost offensive. He glares at it as he tries to keep the resentment boiling in his gut under control. Faint tapping noises sound rapidly against the window as the wind outside whips violently through the branches. Sehun takes a breath, hands clenching at his sides. The rapping stops.
“Okay,” he mouths quietly, his voice coming out tight.
“Sehun-”
“No, I get it,” Sehun pushes his chair back and grabs his half-finished bowl of black noodles. “I get it. I’m sorry.”
He drops the bowl in the trash and heads for the door, grabbing his coat on the way out. He doesn’t look back. He doesn’t hear anyone try to stop him anyway.
*
“Maybe he just wanted you to give him some space? You were kind of smothering him,” Jongdae says, ever the blunt one, and spears a piece of ttokbokki with the pointed end of a wooden stick.
Beside him, Yixing splutters around a large bite of odeng. Sehun gapes at the singer, visibly affronted. A sudden gust of cold autumn breeze causes the loose plastic tarp that serves as the door into the pojangmacha to flutter briefly.
“There, there.” Chuckling indulgently, the healer reaches across the small round table and pats Sehun’s beanie-clad head. “What he means to say is that maybe Jongin needs some time apart from you to think.”
It’s been a week since he stopped coming over. He doesn’t go to Up Rising’s show either; or at least he doesn’t go with the rest of the group. He shows up during the second night along with Yixing instead.
Sehun pulls a long face and absently stabs at his own serving of spicy rice cakes.
“You’d think nearly four whole months away would be enough time to think,” he grumbles. “I’m trying, but I don’t know-it’s like he doesn’t want to believe that it can work out. I don’t stand a chance.”
He’d be embarrassed about how vulnerable and bitter he sounds, but at this point he really doesn’t care. He can feel his friends’ eyes on him even as they don’t say a word. All of sudden a can of beer clunks on the table in front of him.
“You need this more than I do,” says Jongdae then adds, his voice more gentle, free of barbs, “It seems to me like Jongin’s having a tough time seeing past his fear-and that’s normal, believe me. But both of your hearts are in the right place, Sehunnie. You’ll figure this out.”
Sehun takes a deep breath as he grabs the can.
“I hope so.”
vii.