covered in the colours pulled apart at the seams.

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/51478147.

Rating: General Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: M/M
Fandom: NCT (Band)
Relationship: Park Jisung/Zhong Chen Le
Characters: Park Jisung (NCT), Zhong Chen Le, Lee Donghyuck | Haechan, Lee
Jeno, NCT Dream Ensemble, there's like a million cameos
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - College/University, Friends to Lovers, Mistaken for
Being in a Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Mutual Pining, Confessions,
Song: Oh Shit... Are We In Love? (Valley), this is more idiots to lovers
but aren't all friends just idiots together
Language: English
Collections: Chenle Fest Round 2
Stats: Published: 2023-11-16 Words: 16,000 Chapters: 1/1
 covered in the colours pulled apart at the seams.
by Anonymous

Summary

“So let me get this straight.”

“No, actually, the point is that this whole situation is very much not str—”

“So the PhD student that you’re working with comes in, throws out the word boyfriend in
relation to you, and your automatic reaction is to think of me?”

Notes

prompt #112: Chenle is tired of having to explain to every new person he meets that him and
Jisung are just friends. So he decides to stop denying it when people assume he and Jisung
are a couple. He just neglects to inform Jisung.

See the end of the work for more notes

Yellow is the colour of the packet that Jaemin presses to Jisung’s hands.

“Jisungie, you know you could have just told me the very first time that you hated the purple
flavour!” Jaemin’s voice is full of parental exasperation. “Why didn’t you? I’ve bought it for
you three weeks in a row and you just went with it because you didn’t want to correct me?
Why would you do that?”

Jisung turns red, turning the pack of chips over his hands as he fumbles over the words of the
explanation that he’s hastily putting together that don’t involve his debilitating inability to
inconvenience anyone in the slightest way at any time possible. “Ah, hyung—it’s not that, I
don’t mind the purple, really!”

“Lies,” says Jaemin sharply, even if there’s no actual edge to his words. “I was told you hated
it with a burning passion to rival a thousand suns.” He ruffles Jisung’s hair lightly, a manner
more reminiscent of an older brother rather than a supervisor. “Next time, just tell me, yeah?
I’m not going to bite your head off about it. Don’t make me find out from your boyfriend, I
will definitely bite your head off then.”

Jisung laughs apologetically, nodding. “Yes, hyung, for sure.” Jaemin nods at him and circles
back to his desk. Jisung waits until Jaemin’s back faces him before he mouths to himself,
“Boyfriend?”

Pink is the colour of Chenle’s cheeks as he admits to his crimes.

“In my defence, I had no idea that he was already under the impression that you liked the
purple one!” Sheepishness is not a flavour of smile that Chenle puts to his mouth very often,
and it doesn’t fit his face quite right as he twists and fiddles with the wristbands on his hands
in the restless, absent-minded, authentically Chenle way that he does. Jisung sits beside him
as they wait for the bus, arms crossed and staring Chenle down. “Seriously, we were both in
same aisle and obviously I recognized him because I’d stalked him on LinkedIn, but I wasn’t
about to say anything—”

“Good, you better have not.”

“—but he was the one who talked to me first! Do you think he stalked me on LinkedIn?”

“Why the hell would he stalk y—”

“Exactly! I have no idea how he recognized me, but he said ‘Hi, Chenle, right?’ and what
was I supposed to do? So I just—”
Jisung pinches his nose in exasperation. “Can we get to the point where you told him you
were my boyfriend?”

Chenle opens his mouth and closes it, once, then twice, like a goldfish. His eyebrows are
drawn together, bewildered, and he finally decides to reply with, “Huh?”

“What do you mean, huh?” asks Jisung, hands gesturing wildly. “He said, don’t make me
find out from your boyfriend, so pray tell, why would he think you were my boyfriend? You
must’ve said something.”

Chenle presses his lips together before a grin unfurls across his face as he slides an arm
smoothly down the back of the bench, tone flirtatious as he leans into Jisung’s space. “So let
me get this straight.”

“No, actually, the point is that this whole situation is very much not str—”

“So the PhD student that you’re working with comes in, throws out the word boyfriend in
relation to you, and your automatic reaction is to think of me?”

Jisung scoffs. “You’ve been mistaken for my boyfriend more times than you’ve watched that
video of ten minutes of impossible Stephen Curry shots. It literally can’t be anyone else.” He
shakes his head, leaning back with a huff and nearly crushing Chenle’s arm between his back
and the bench. “I just don’t get it. Like yes, in college, it’s a running joke, but barely anyone
here even really sees us together, so who on earth could think we’re boyfriends?”

“Gee, I don’t know,” says Chenle quickly—too quickly. Jisung squints at him as Chenle
scratches his ear, turning away. Chenle’s great at many things, but lying has never been high
on that list. In fact, if Jisung was ever asked how he would differentiate Chenle and a clone, a
situation that he considers about every single one of his friends from time to time, the very
first skill he would test would be the ability to lie, because his Chenle would fail that every
time.

“What did you do, Lele?”

“Nothing!” says Chenle indignantly, rolling his eyes as though his complexion isn’t currently
inching dangerously close to carmine. Jisung leans in, eyes squinted suspiciously to the point
of vanishing as he surveys Chenle’s face at a proximity close enough to pick out the most
minute imperfections of Chenle’s face, his nose an inch away from Chenle’s cheek as Chenle
stares staunchly into the distance.

It's only a matter of time. Jisung counts down in his head as he counts the smattering of
wheatish acne scars on Chenle’s skin. He’s hit two on his countdown when Chenle snaps, but
that’s still close enough.

“Okaysomaybesomepeopleinmylabthinkwe’reacouple.” The bus pulls up, loud and green in a

way that makes your eyes hurt, and Chenle jumps to his feet like an electric shock has been
sent up his ass, grabbing hold of Jisung’s arm and tugging him along, long limbs and heavy
backpack leaving him struggling even as Chenle deftly pushes through the crowd to nab two
seats, placing his own backpack on the second while returning a dirty look to someone eyeing
that very seat until Jisung catches up.

“You were saying?”

“Some people at my lab might think we’re a couple.”

“But why?”

Chenle chuckles, once again in that sheepish, embarrassed way that doesn’t suit him at all,
fingers tracing the crazy shapes on the brightly-coloured bus cushions. Embarrassment has
never been something Chenle really felt, at least not first-hand – he gets very embarrassed
when his favourite cousin is in the same room though, the only man who can outdo Chenle in
that department. Junhui once made Chenle say he wanted to throw himself into a pool of acid
because of his antics, and he wears that sentence like a badge of honour to this day.

“You know I talk a lot about you.”

“You talk a lot in general – as your best friend, that is a statistical fact that I come up a lot.”

“I think someone in my lab might have gotten the idea that we’re dating.”

“Can’t believe it follows us everywhere.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” sighs Chenle. “Mark mentioned like a week ago that he thought we
were a very sweet couple, and Jeno and Yangyang hyung didn’t even flinch.”

“Oh, of course it was Mark who had to say something about it.” Not that Jisung even has
anything against Mark – just that the way that Chenle pronounces the name, the smooth r
sliding across Chenle’s tongue, amuses Jisung to no end. “Did you not even correct them?”

“What’s the point? We’re only here for another two months anyway.”

“Okay, that’s fine, but how did Jaemin hyung get to know is my real question. Does anyone
from your lab know him?”

“Not that I know of – does he do any sports?”

“Nope.”

“Can’t be Mark then.”

Jisung’s lips quirk up into a smile. “He only associates with people who play sports?”

“Yes, basically – because his entire social life outside work is just matches and training.”

“Nah, Jaemin hyung is more gym physique rather than sports physique.”

“Okay then, if not Mark – it’s probably Yangyang. He’s far too cool for someone who’s
supposed to be like, ten years older than me, and if there’s anyone at all who would have a
functioning social life outside of work, it would be him.”

“What about Jeno?”

Chenle laughs, loud and far too long, pink rising once more to the apples of his cheeks,
earning stares from the other corporate-fatigued riders of the bus. “Jeno hyung, oh my god,
don’t—” The laughing doesn’t stop, far too bright and yellow for this time for the day. “Jeno
hyung is—he’s just—he’s the last culprit on this list. He’s not a culprit at all.” Chenle takes a
deep breath, wiping the sides of his eyes where his tears have collected. “He’s like a brick
wall who is just extremely efficient and work-focused, and he never shares a single detail of
his life. I don’t even think he has a life outside of lab. The last thing I expect him to be doing
is gossip about us.”

“Well, find out if it was Yangyang hyung then!”

“Does it really matter?” asks Chenle with a careless shrug. “So Jaemin thinks we’re a couple,
so what? It’s not even going to change anything.”

Something doesn’t sit right with Jisung – especially considering the way that Chenle is the
one who goes out of his way to correct every single person in college who mistakes them for
anything more than they are. He hasn’t missed one chance to overtly specify that he and
Jisung are super-platonic, just the best of friends, definitely getting tons of action but not with
each other (they’re really not, but Chenle thinks it’s a good addition to the explanation, the
only problem being that they’re definitely not getting any action at all), so for him to take all
of this with a pinch of salt leaves an inexplainable feeling in the middle of Jisung’s chest, a
gap he can’t seem to fill in to explain this sudden shift.

“Yeah, you’re right,” nods Jisung, tugging his backpack back onto his shoulders as they draw
up to their stop, hand wrapping easily around Chenle’s wrist as he pulls him along. “Who
cares?”

(As he’ll find out much, much later – Chenle does.)

Blue is the colour of the milk carton that Donghyuck slaps out of Jisung’s grip.

“You need to stop guzzling that stuff,” says Donghyuck with a look of disgust. “Eat real food,
Ji, you’re a growing boy.”

“Milk is a superfood,” protests Jisung, as Donghyuck pours the milk over his cereal, shaking
out every drop that has somehow managed to escape Jisung’s milk expedition. It is midnight.
Donghyuck is the last person Jisung will be taking advice from, from a dietary perspective at
least. “Also, why are you single?”
“Wow, I’m being attacked first thing in the morning?” asks Donghyuck, arms raised above
his head. “You just woke up and chose violence?”

“No!” says Jisung, waving his hands frantically, taking a pause before he adds, “First of all,
just because it’s ten minutes past midnight doesn’t mean it is morning. And second of all, I’m
just… you’re so good-looking, hyung, how has no one snatched you up yet?”

Donghyuck pauses, the frown on his face shifting into suspicion before he fights back a
smile. He doesn’t believe Jisung, not for one moment. They may not know each other for
more than a month, but Jisung has been an open book all his life. “Good save, Ji.”

“I’m serious, though.”

“I don’t know, maybe my standards are too high,” shrugs Donghyuck. “People are too
intimidated by the whole package that they don’t even try.” Jisung wishes he could have a
fraction of that confidence, raising his eyebrows as Donghyuck points his spoon at him,
coated with pinkish milk from the strawberry cereal. “Why are you single? Chenle doesn’t
want a relationship?”

At this point of time, Jisung has surmised a regrettable truth: that he cares too. He doesn’t
understand where it comes from, diffusing into his mind like a noxious gas, pungent and
orange, but it’s been on Jisung’s mind like an itch he can’t scratch, the burning question –
why didn’t Chenle deny it this time?

If only Jisung paused, turned away from the question, chose not to walk down that path like
he finds himself doing inevitably, taking a right (But why does it bother me that he didn’t
deny it?), taking a staircase down and circling a corner (Do I even want him to deny it?
What’s wrong if people think we’re together?), running down corridor after corridor as the
walls close in on him (Do I actually want us to be together? Do? I? Want? Chenle?).

Maybe Jisung had gotten too comfortable, too used to the way scarlet would splotch around
Chenle’s nose and cheekbones each time someone made that assumption, the vehemence
with which Chenle would cross his arms to his chest. It was always treated as an
impossibility, a running joke, carrying the same comic weight as counting down the number
of conversational exchanges for someone to ask Chenle you’re not from here, are you?

It’s been plaguing him, and he can barely admit it to himself, let alone Donghyuck. So instead
Jisung laughs, supposedly free and disbelieving. “You’re joining the ranks of two hundred
other people – a set now including people from Lele’s lab – who think we have something
romantically. We’re just affectionate, there’s nothing non-platonic about that. Most people
just didn’t grow up that way.”

“First of all,” says Donghyuck, a wicked grin sneaking over his lips. “I never thought you
were in a relationship. I asked why you weren’t.”

A crease appears between Jisung’s eyebrows. “Well, obviously because—”

“Second of all,” plows on Donghyuck, grin widening. “People don’t think you’re in a
relationship because you’re affectionate. Have you never noticed the way you look at him?
Or the way he looks at you?”

“I…don’t know what you’re talking about,” says Jisung slowly. Alarm bells are going off in
his head, loud and crimson as his base explanations of everyone else’s assumptions begin to
dissolve, spurred on by Donghyuck’s suggestion.

“Circling back to my first point. I never thought you were in a relationship. But you do seem
like you like each other and that you’re refusing to do anything about it.” Donghyuck stares
at Jisung’s blank face, expecting some reaction, his tone becoming more exasperated as he
says, “Oh come on, have you never considered it? The thought has never crossed your
mind?”

“I like girls,” says Jisung, a wobble in his voice rendering his words a little less than
convincing. It’s not like he told his best friend from high school that he would totally date
him. (He did, but it was in a super-duper platonic way.) Or that he said the same thing once
about a particularly gorgeous barista. (He did, but the real question is – who wouldn’t date
that particular barista?) Or that he thought about his favourite male drama lead during the
first time he was engaging in sexual activity. (He will never admit it, but he did. He totally
did.)

“That wasn’t the question.”

There is a long silence, punctuated by the obnoxious way that Donghyuck crunches on his
cereal, bringing his spoon up to his mouth without breaking eye contact with Jisung for a
second.

“Maybe.”

“So I’m going to introduce you to this really cool thing,” says Donghyuck, beckoning Jisung
forward as though he’s about to leak a state secret. “It’s called bisexuality.” A flick to
Jisung’s forehead and a noise of distress. He should’ve expected exactly that, he thinks,
rubbing his forehead in the hope that he won’t have to stare at an angry purple mark in the
mirror later.

“I don’t like boys though!” protests Jisung, voice leaving his mouth a little too loudly before
he claps a hand over it, even though there’s no one else awake except for them. Renjun and
Ryujin are both still out (studying – because partying is not a privilege extended to medical
students preparing for exams), and Chenle always sleeps way too early like he never wants to
risk sleep deprivation again in his life. “Like, when I look at a boy, I don’t really think, well,
I’d really like to kiss him!”

“But you’d kiss Chenle?”

Another silence. Jisung’s footsteps down the corridors of his mind are frantic and loud, filling
Jisung’s head up with thunder and midnight blue. He wouldn’t. Maybe for money. For power.
For personal gain. Like a normal person. Or maybe? Maybe to see what it was like? Just out
of curiosity?
“Thought so,” smirks Donghyuck. He pats Jisung’s head gently, the edges of his words
slightly softening as he says, “Listen, you don’t have to figure this out right now. You asked
what I thought. I think you like him. Just some food for thought.”

And now Jisung has mental indigestion.

Grey is the colour of the sky on the one day that Chenle forgets his umbrella.

Every swear word that is a part of Chenle’s vocabulary has been hurled at both the sky and at
himself by the time he’s reached the bus stop, but he can’t step outside the small rectangle
protected by the overhang of the bus stop unless he wants to get drenched to the bone. On
cue, his phone pings with a notification.

jijungie: its pouring lemme know if u need me to bring an umbrella (ella ella ella ay ay ay)

Chenle attempts to fight back a smile before he realizes that Jisung cannot see his face
through the phone anyway, lips curling upwards as he texts back. Jisung is easy to spot in the
distance, all height and unique gait and ridiculously bright orange sweater, even if Chenle can
barely see through the sheets of rain coming down.

“You brought the black umbrella? That’s the small one!”

“Wow, how we have crumbled as a society,” says Jisung with mock disdain. “What happened
to oh my god, Jisung, thank you so much for the umbrella. You’re my saviour. I’m in love with
you.”

“I would never say that ever, even in a functioning society,” says Chenle, stepping into the
minimal perimeter protected by the umbrella, nearly chest to chest with Jisung due to the
space constraint. “I have much better taste in men.”

“Incorrect,” says Jisung, looking down at Chenle, who fights hard against the urge to stand
on his tip-toes, just to get a little closer. “You’ve literally kissed half the football team. And
you hate football. You don’t even like your own taste in men.”

“For the record,” says Chenle, giving into the urge, placing himself nose-to-nose with Jisung
in a burst of newfound bravery that stems from the way the rain isolates them from the rest of
the world, both sonically and visually. It’s too romantic. Chenle wants to run. Chenle wants to
lean in. Chenle can’t. Chenle shouldn’t. “The rest of the lab thinks I have very good taste in
men. They happen to think you’re a rather handsome young man.”

And Jisung just won’t step back, frozen in place by the proximity. Chenle wishes he would,
because he simply doesn’t have the strength to on his own. “But I’m not the type of person
you would date.” Jisung’s eyes flit downward briefly. Chenle almost misses it. If Jisung were
to lean in first—no.

Maybe I should. Do you want to date me? That’s not what Chenle says. “And you’re really
missing out. Even if you wanted to hop in line, it goes all the way around the block. Waiting
time five to eight months. I’m in really high demand.”

“Yeah, well, they’re still going to have to get past me, because I’m the assumed boyfriend,
y’know, the societally determined one, the um, you know,” Jisung’s words stutter and die out,
like the words taste a little too real on his tongue, like words were put in a joke mould only to
come out looking too close to truth.

Chenle tilts his head, heels wavering dangerously as he holds himself above the sopping wet
sidewalk, a satisfied look on his face as he nods like he’s won this round. Jisung lets the
silence expand in the space between them until Chenle’s toes finally give out, bringing him
back down with a small oof leaving his mouth, Jisung’s arm grabbing hold of his to keep him
steady.

They’re chest to chest now, and Chenle’s smile flickers, slowly dissolving away like crystal
sugar in warm coffee as Jisung leans closer this time, millimetre by millimetre, and Chenle
thinks he should step away (into the rain?), or stop Jisung (no way in hell?), or something, but
he’s frozen in place.

“Is there something on my face?”

An eardrum-shattering clap of thunder rips through the fabric of any potential conversation,
making Jisung jump and curl in on himself as he presses his head to Chenle’s shoulder as
Chenle’s hand steadies the umbrella, shielding them from the rain. Sweet, precious Jisung,
scared of loud noises, scared of the dark, scared of scary movies.

Chenle’s fears do not overlap with Jisung’s at all. He’s terrified of losing Jisung though,
which is why when they’re back in the warmth and dryness of the dorm, Chenle doesn’t bring
up any part of this exchange. There’s much more space now, so Chenle can push his feelings
just a little further, just enough to not crowd his skin and fill his lungs and blur his vision.

Orange is the colour of the ball that meets Jisung’s face with a thwack!

Jisung makes up his mind to never walk by a basketball court again, at least not when Chenle
and his lousy aim are playing. “This is why I don’t sport!” groans Jisung, hands over his face
that Chenle is gently trying to pry away.

“You’re such a drama queen, I bet you’re not even bleeding,” snarks Chenle as though worry
is not coating the tips of his fingers as he holds Jisung’s face. “Show your face to me, you big
baby.”

“No, I’m probably all bruised and messed up,” whines Jisung, attempting to turn away but
not putting up enough of a fight to accomplish his supposed goal. “You damaged my face,
this is my selling point!”

“Forgive him, he’s not generally this narcissistic,” says Chenle as three pairs of footsteps
draw up, a chorus of ragged breathing and concern, having been interrupted mid-game.

“Yeah, you’re just a terrible influence.” Jisung cracks an eye open to peer at the one who just
spoke, embarrassment suddenly flooding him as he realizes that Chenle isn’t playing one-on-
one with Ryujin, but instead with the people from his lab. Chenle must have mentioned
something before going to play. Jisung was gaming. Jisung listens to nothing when he’s
gaming.

Almost nothing. He still heard the word basketball. It’s almost impossible to not pay attention
to Chenle, between the loud voice and the big grin and the sparkle in his eye and the fullness
of his lips and the sharpness of his collarbones and—

“Oh my god, hello,” says Jisung, scarlet flooding his face as his hands drop to his side,
finally remembering that he has to say something as Chenle mutters an exasperated knew it as
he runs a finger over the part where Jisung’s eyebrow meets his nose. Jisung wishes he could
be less aware of it.

“Hi,” says the person closest to Jisung, a man with long obsidian hair falling into his eyes,
wearing a loud yellow jersey, attractive in a less-than-subtle way, but in a way that suggests
that he may not be too aware of it. “I’m Jeno.”

Jisung chokes back a noise of surprise. He knows more than he should, and he has to ask
Chenle later how the famously boring Lee Jeno came to play basketball with them. The
introductions of the other two follow. Mark with the smooth r who is wearing a green tank
top that shows off his entire chest when you look at him from the side. Yangyang with a
multitude of silver earrings and a blinding smile, who barely looks two years older despite
actually being ten years older.

Jisung just about forgets how to speak with this many pairs of eyes on him, combined with
Chenle’s fingers gently pressing circles into his skin to make sure that Jisung’s face doesn’t
swell up. Jisung’s mouth is dry and his skin is boiling, he might pass out right there. Maybe
the damn ball gave him a concussion. That could be the only reason.

“I’m sure it’s fairly obvious,” pipes up Chenle, catching Jisung’s eye and throwing him a
small wink. Jisung feels like he definitely sustained a concussion because of how quickly his
head turns to cotton. Maybe he should see a doctor. He could ask about his heart problems
too – like why it’s beating so loud and fast right now, scarlet pumping through his veins like
his blood cells are running races. “This is Jisung.”

“Of course it is,” says Mark, his voice fond and accented. Jisung does a mental run-through
of all the accents he knows to try and figure out which country that might be from in a futile
effort to get his brain working. “We’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Good things, I hope,” says Jisung, finding his voice again with a shy laugh, mourning the
loss of warmth as Chenle pulls his hands away.

“Way too many of them,” smiles Yangyang. Jisung wants to reach out and touch his gums.
That would be weird. Jisung has been having way too many weird thoughts lately. This is not
him – right? “Is your face alright?”

“Oh, yeah, of course,” nods Jisung, too quickly at first and then too slowly, the prickle of
self-consciousness refusing to recede as he folds his arms together in front of his chest,
shoulders slumping in a futile effort to seem smaller and be less perceived. “I was just
making a run to the Coop and was wondering if any of you wanted anything.” Jisung is
caught in the midst of offers to come along, good-natured declinations of his offer, and a
general suggestion that the three elder men might be thinking of adopting Jisung the way they
have adopted Chenle.

They couldn’t though. That would make them siblings. You can’t date your siblings.

Not that Jisung wants to date Chenle. Who suggested that? (Chenle.)

Chenle lingers by Jisung’s side after the three others have dispersed back towards the other
end of the court, betting each other on how far away they can get the ball in the hoop from.
“Chenle and Jisung, this one’s for you!” yells Mark, as he throws the ball with all his might,
missing the top of the hoop by a clear foot, sending them all into peals of laughter.

There’s a tingling feeling along the side of Jisung’s face, a suspicion, and when he turns,
Chenle is looking at him, shifting from foot to foot, gaze weirdly intense. God, everything
has been weird about this whole encounter. Jisung thinks he should return to the dorm and
then throw himself off the balcony. He’d probably land right on the basketball court and ruin
their game. He’d have the worst luck even in death. “Is your face actually alright? Do you
want me to come with you?”

“No, I’m good,” smiles Jisung. His face is definitely alright. There are just too many other
parts of him that are acting up. “Are you winning?”

“Nope.”

“Unexpected.”

“Hey! I have a terrible teammate.”

“Excuses are for losers.”

“At least I can go near the ball without theatrics,” snorts Chenle, tugging on Jisung’s ear
roughly. “C’mere.” He pulls Jisung’s face closer, running a thumb down Jisung’s cheekbone.
Clinical. Practical. Nothing more there. “You shouldn’t bruise too bad.”

“And if I do, it’s your fault,” says Jisung, heart loud and body screaming. There’s heat
dripping into his stomach, dangerous and wanting, Jisung doesn’t even know what exactly he
wants, just that he does.
“Sure,” says Chenle quietly, and Jisung is caught off-guard by how quickly that was
conceded. He was prepared for a much longer conversation. He had sources, a well-
constructed defence for why it could not be his fault. Two and a half years of friendship has
equipped him very well on how to treat a conversation with Chenle like it was a Flamenco
battle, and maybe he’s just gotten much better at it than he used to be, because Chenle has
never conceded like this. Jisung doesn’t know what changed.

It happens before Jisung registers it, the way Chenle leans in to press his lips to the side of
Jisung’s nose, right at the epicentre of the pain. “Just to really sell it, y’know?” says Chenle,
casually, like he didn’t just draw all the air out of Jisung’s lungs, like he didn’t just cause
Jisung’s centre to collapse in on itself. “And if that doesn’t heal it, I don’t know what will.”

“Oh, yeah, of course,” says Jisung, voice all stuttering and strangled. He straightens up,
smoothening down his t-shirt just to have something to with his hands. Chenle grins, bright
and easy, so easy, like Jisung is not dealing with a category 5 hurricane in his chest.

If Chenle asked for his heart right then and there, Jisung would give it to him, no questions
asked. Worse, he’d probably let him break it too.

Donghyuck’s door is subjected to a series of sharp raps from Jisung’s knuckles as soon as he
finished his circuit to the Coop, armed with an emotional support tiramisu for himself and a
pack of paprika chips for Donghyuck. Donghyuck takes a whole minute and a half to open
the door, eyes bleary and dark hair mussed.

“Hyung, it’s literally 7 PM, this is no time for a nap,” groans Jisung.

“Always time for a nap,” says Donghyuck, voice thick with sleep. “Come in, young one, tell
me of your terrible romantic realizations, it’s all over your face.”

Jisung drags his fingers down his face. “I think I may feel non-platonically for Chenle.”

Donghyuck, who has laid himself face-down on the bed again, merely flashes a thumbs-up.
“What’s the new information?” he asks, voice muffled by the pillow his head is buried in.

“Hyung,” says Jisung, perching himself on the end of the bed, hands clasped on his lap to
keep himself from ripping up his cuticles anxiously. “I don’t know what to do about it. This
wasn’t the way this was supposed to happen. I was supposed to meet a cute girl at a record
shop. She’d drop her keys and I would pick them up and our hands would touch and we’d
live happily ever after. Not find out almost three years down the line that boy who cost me
my lunch on our first meeting is someone I might… I might, y’know. I don’t know what to
do about it.”

“Why must you do anything about your feelings?” asks Donghyuck, and Jisung considers
that for a brief moment before answering clearly, “Because it’s going to take me over if I
don’t.”

“You’re such a dramatic little boy,” coos Donghyuck, moving closer to Jisung and throwing
an arm over him. “My son for real. I am going to take care of you for the rest of my life.”
“Hyung.”

“It’s a crush, Ji, what do you want me to tell you to do about it? It goes one of two ways, and
then it goes one of two ways after that. Tell or don’t tell? If tell, accept or reject? If don’t tell,
tell eventually or die with regrets?”

“So what I’m hearing is that I should tell him.”

Donghyuck props his chin up, a lazy grin draped over his lips. “That’s what I generally
advocate for, yes. As long as it doesn’t ruin your friendship. It’s really idealistic to say oh, but
if they’re a really close friend, they’re not going to hold it against you!” There’s an edge to
the words, sharpened with what can only be personal experience. “But I don’t think so,
honestly.”

“So what I’m hearing is that I shouldn’t tell him.”

“Not saying that either,” says Donghyuck, smile widening at the way Jisung groans and drops
his head into his arms. “You’ll need to figure that out for yourself. Do I think Chenle could
potentially like you back? Maybe. He doesn’t act the way he does with you with anyone else
here, but there’s also the fact that you two know each other best – so maybe you have a
familiarity advantage. I can’t help playing devil’s advocate.” He bites his lip, like he’s having
a moment of self-awareness, smile diminishing. “But I’ll tell you that time heals, so even if
your confession doesn’t go right, even if you end up needing some space, it can be fixed. No
human relationship is beyond fixing, especially when your greatest crime was just liking him
too much.”

“You’ve managed to cover the entire spectrum of advice,” sighs Jisung. “Tell him, but don’t
tell him. He’ll hold it against you, but your friendship will be fine.”

“So I’m going to introduce you to this really cool thing.” Jisung does not lean forward this
time, he’s learnt his lesson. “It’s called the diverse human experience.” Donghyuck lifts his
arm instead, flicking Jisung’s forehead. There is no winning with Lee Donghyuck. “What I
have gone through means that I see the world a different way. Someone who has made
choices different from me will see things a different way. Context matters. Yes, if you tell,
you could get hurt, and if you don’t tell, you could regret it, but the way you deal with either
scenario is what matters. Sure, your friendship may be on the rocks for a bit if you tell him,
but with a little effort you can get it back to steady ground, as long as you don’t make it
worse, don’t leave it to fester. That part is up to you.”

“But it’s up to him too,” says Jisung in a small voice. “And what if he can’t stand the sight of
me anymore?”

“You’re an adult, Ji,” says Donghyuck comfortingly, even as he’s patting Jisung’s head as
though he’s anything but. “You need to make choices for yourself. You need to figure out
what you want, what is easier for you to live with. And if you make mistakes, that’s totally
cool. We all do.”

Tears well in Jisung’s eyes. “You sound like my sisters.” A watery sigh, light blue and
longing. “I miss them.”
“I’m their stand-in. I’m very qualified, I have two younger siblings myself.” A pause as
Donghyuck pulls himself up with all the struggle of a man four times his age. “Admitted,
they’re both below the age of five, but I’m being a terrible-influence-slash-sagely-guide
already. I have the basics down pat, my advice still works.”

“Let’s hope.”

“I’m never wrong, young one. Now get out of my room please, I have another nap to take.”

It generally takes patience. Some introspection. Some simmering of feelings to reach a

sensible, logical conclusion, a plan of action. It’s a delicate situation, and Jisung can read the
HANDLE WITH CARE stickers placed all over it. He takes deep breaths as he tries to unwind
the threads in his mind, pink on red on orange, a loud, eye-hurt, nose-bleed, jumbled mess
that makes his cranium throb. He’s not going to say anything about this. He will not do
anything about this. He’ll be fine.

chenlmfao: tell me how’s it feel sitting up there

chenlmfao: feeling so high??? SO FAR AWAY TO HOLD ME???

Jisung tries to laugh, to brush this off with a platonic roll of the eyes at the way Chenle is
incapable of starting a single conversation in a non-dramatic way, but the laugh gets strangled
in his throat and there’s a heat that climbs up his spine, like boiling honey defying the laws of
gravity, spreading across Jisung’s neck and cheeks. He sticks his head out the living room
window, the whole basketball field to his left. There’s a small figure lying spreadeagle on the
middle of the court, and Jisung would be concerned if not for the same figure lifting an arm
up and waving wildly at him.

“Come down!” yells Chenle, voice clear in the stillness of the evening. The kids in the
playground adjacent have gone home, and the sun has dipped beyond the horizon, the red and
purple vestiges of the sunset beginning to dissolve at the jagged line where the sky meets the
fields.

Jisung tries to ignore the way his heart thrums in his ears as he approaches the basketball
court. Chenle’s eyes are closed, a song mumbled under his breath in sync with the tinny notes
wafting from his phone. His hair is splayed out around his crown, a few damp strands still
clinging onto his forehead, and his eyelashes flutter gently before he opens his eyes, breaking
into a grin at the sight of Jisung, shattering Jisung’s heart into tiny shards that scatter through
his bloodstream as he lies down in the space that Chenle pats.

Jisung keeps about a foot of distance between them, the space obliterated as Chenle rolls
over, pulling Jisung’s arm out to use it as a pillow, knees pressed into Jisung’s hip as he curls
up like a cat.

“You’re disgusting,” mutters Jisung. “All sweaty and gross.”

“And you’re not pushing me away.”

Jisung can feel the colour run out of his body, laying on the hard concrete like a transparent
glob of feelings that’s melting away, turning to water beneath the heat of Chenle’s cheek
pressed against his shoulder. Chenle’s hand brushes his sternum, coming to rest gently at the
notch where Jisung’s neck meets his shoulders. Jisung forces his gaze to remain steadily
upwards.

“Are you looking for Sagittarius?”

There’s far too much light pollution. That’s a stupid question. Chenle knows it’s a stupid
question. Jisung knows that Chenle knows that’s a stupid question. Chenle just wants his
attention, wants him to turn and look at the stupid grin on his face. Jisung can feel the threads
wrapping around his bones, colours changing to amber and wine red and mulberry, deepening
with need and pulling at his neck to make him turn even as he desperately fights the impulse.

“You know I can’t see shit right now.”

He’s never been good at fighting his impulses, a habit worsened by Chenle’s own lack of
impulse control, like it’s contagious, like his habits get caught in Jisung’s lungs, like his
feelings coat Jisung’s skin. It’s dizzying, how much Chenle has left Jisung covered in him,
with his speech patterns and food preferences and the sweat he is wiping on Jisung’s shirt and
why is Jisung mesmerized by the simple action of Chenle pressing his forehead to Jisung’s
collarbone like this is supposed to disgusting and gross and oh no Jisung looked over he gave
in he looked over and Chenle objectively looks like shit but Jisung thinks he might be the
prettiest boy he ever set eyes on and Jisung might just tell him because Chenle should know
he has to know—

“Yeah, I know.”

Jisung’s heart seizes in his chest at the words – it’s only when Chenle speaks that Jisung
realizes that he’s been staring at his lips. He corrects his gaze immediately, but locking eyes
with Chenle seems like an even worse decision, a slip from frying pan to fire. Jisung nods
slightly to acknowledge the statement, but neither of them moves a muscle, like neither of
them knows exactly where to go from here – worse, that they know exactly where to go from
here, but they’re trying to see if the other one can be braver.

Chenle’s hand curls ever-so-slightly, fitting the curve of Jisung’s neck. A small indication,
barely perceptible, but it’s the final yank at the threads pulling at Jisung, and he lurches
forward, stopping just a couple millimetres short of Chenle’s face. Chenle’s hand draws
upwards towards Jisung’s cheek, his rough palm steadying Jisung, assuaging the screaming
urge to pull away. He’s not pushing Jisung away either.

The three seconds before Jisung leans in feel like an eternity, a decision that Jisung manages
to grasp onto just by the very tips of his fingers. It only lasts a second – short and dry and
with just a little too much force, and Jisung’s body understands before his mind does as
Chenle tilts his head slightly to kiss back, and it feels like nothing Jisung could have ever
prepared himself for, so maybe it’s a good thing that he didn’t.

Reds and yellows and oranges splotch along Jisung’s skin where Chenle’s warm breath hits
him, lighting him up as he chases kisses from Chenle’s mouth, mind blank, mouth warm.
Chenle’s tongue tangles messily with his, hands scrunched in the collar of Jisung’s t-shirt like
Jisung may disappear if he lets go. Jisung’s gone his whole life chasing the very stars that he
finds behind his eyes, melting down into midnight blue and silver as Chenle’s hands run
through Jisung’s hair.

It’s only when Chenle finally pulls away to catch his breath does Jisung realize the weight of
what he’s done. He’s barely digested oh god, I like my best friend and now oh god, I kissed
my best friend has tumbled into his stomach like a lead anvil. His breath is like ice in his
chest, the summery humidity in the air suffocating him pore by pore. He shouldn’t have come
down. He shouldn’t have turned.

There’s a little meter measuring emotional energy in Jisung’s chest, and his brain goes dark
as it hits a solid zero, all the adrenaline draining from him as the threads in his body pull taut
at once. Fight, flight, or freeze?

“We can’t talk about this right now,” he squeaks out finally, eyes casting around at the cracks
in the court to prevent looking Chenle in the eye. Jisung doesn’t know how he’d be able to
handle it, no matter what it was, like trying to find your next step when the floor has fallen
out under you. He thinks he’s not doing too terrible though – at least he didn’t run away
without another word.

He still runs away before Chenle can say anything in response. He may not be terrible, but
he’s definitely not good at this either.

Purple was the colour of Chenle’s hair on the day they met.

Chenle only remembers because it was the first time he had ever dyed his hair, when he had
begged and bargained and finally gotten his disapproving mother to make an appointment at
the salon, where she stood behind him as he waited impatiently with foil all over his head.
The look of joy on Chenle’s face at the result was almost enough to coax a smile out of her.
Almost.

The day after was his first day of college, a landmark moment that marked truly leaving high
school behind. Chenle hated high school, with its petty drama and annoying, ever-changing
social ladder, the seemingly innocent conversations that he’d get into that would be
weaponized against him, and the lack of true friendship, other than the one bestowed upon
him kindly by one gentle, warm-hearted Ning Yizhuo, the only person from high school that
Chenle would miss.

College presented hope, new beginnings, and opportunity to leave behind puberty-driven
mistakes, messy feelings, and the constant ache of never fitting in. Considering that there
would be ten times as many people his age now, the statistical probability of finding people
like him was much greater, and he thinks he’d proved right when he meets Min Hajun on the
very first day, a boy who is more smile than face and returns Chenle’s effervescent
enthusiasm with its intensity doubled.
It's great at the beginning, when they hang out every day and they explore the whole campus
and Hajun befriends all the cool seniors and gets them invited to parties. Chenle has great
alcohol tolerance, he learns, and great kissing skills too, and he’s running on the high of
independence and endless energy drinks, barely calling home and thinking it’ll never catch
up to him.

It catches up to him.

His hair isn’t nearly as vibrant at this point, wash after wash rendering it more of a dirty
violet at this point. He’s run through his allowance for the month and the food in the cafeteria
is extra inedible that day and he hasn’t slept right in about ten days and he’s just gotten back a
test that he knew he didn’t do well on but it sucked to see the confirmation of his suspicions
and Yizhuo hasn’t called because she’s off busy being cool and adult in her own college and
Chenle reaches for a glass but he doesn’t hold it with enough strength and it shatters
spectacularly on the grimy concrete floor, the noise startling the boy next to him, who jumps
and drops his entire plate of food.

And Chenle wants to cry, but the boy next to him looks like he’s going to beat him to it, so
Chenle apologizes to him multiple times, hands over his own plate of food, and then runs out
of the cafeteria, the cuffs of his jeans splattered with stew. It’s his lowest moment yet. Yizhuo
would tell him to take heart – the worst is generally yet to come. Chenle misses her cheerful
pessimism.

Statistically, given that there were over five thousand people across programs, the chances of
running into that very boy seem very slim, but Chenle runs into the very next day, after
having slept for eighteen hours straight, more than enough to realize the magnitude of the
mortification that came with the previous day’s cafeteria debacle. It’s not even the fact that he
caused a catastrophic yet quite delicious incident, but more the fact that he ran away from it.
Chenle doesn’t run. What had he become?

So Chenle goes up to the boy, who is sitting outside the café hunched over a frappuccino, a
book clutched between his long slender fingers. He looks up when Chenle takes the seat next
to him with no preamble, recognition flooding his features immediately, even if Chenle
guesses that he probably looks a lot better than the mess of TV static attempting to pass for a
human being that he was cosplaying yesterday.

Chenle has to take a moment to form his words, taking in the fact that when the boy doesn’t
look like he’s about to burst into tears, he actually looks rather…hot. Broad shoulders, sharp
cheekbones, soft eyes, and a certain frailness that seems to hide strength that could catch you
off-guard. Chenle would probably make out with him at a party. God, parties. The very
thought is making him sick right now. Hajun texted him earlier to tell him that he’d be going
to one later, and Chenle had to say no for the first time without any tangible academic or
health reasons.

“So, I wanted to apologize,” blurts out Chenle when he realizes that the boy is regarding him
expectantly.

“I should hope so,” says the boy, voice deep and words measured. His voice is a couple
pitches lower than Chenle expected it to be, and it sends tingles down his spine. Yeah, Chenle
would definitely make out with him at a party. To have a voice like that moan in your ear…
delicious. “You sure you don’t have a party popper or something behind your back to startle
me even worse this time?”

“Not today, but I can keep it in mind to make our future encounters entertaining,” says
Chenle with a cheesy wiggle of his eyebrows.

“Bold of you to assume I want to see you again.” The words are sharp on their own, but there
are hints of a smile sanding their edges, barely hurting Chenle’s feelings when they make
contact.

“Come on, surely you expect me to make it up to you for yesterday’s cafeteria debacle.”
There is a pride pin on the boy’s bag. Chenle’s words always have paths – talking his way
into opportunities, talking his way out of sticky situations, and he knows exactly where he’s
headed this time. He can see it clearly.

“Nah, it’s cool,” says the boy with a casual shrug. “You didn’t look like you were having the
best day either. Could you have handled it better? Probably. But it’s cool.” A small smile,
hesitant and gentle and coral. Chenle wants to throw up all over the table.

“I know, but I feel really bad about it,” says Chenle, eyes widening in the doe-like manner
that he’s perfected over years of being an only child. His parents have never said no once in
his life, so he’s aware of the power he holds, but as he’s grown up, he’s also grown to realize
the weight of responsibility. Doesn’t mean he’s careful about it. “Is there anything at all that I
could do to make it up to you? Any assignments you need help with? Any money you need
wrangled from someone?”

The boy lets out a disbelieving laugh. “You jumped straight to I’ll extort someone for you?
Damn, take me to dinner first.”

“Done, what time works for you?” asks Chenle, unable to believe that it was this easy. Maybe
this is his meet-cute, his meant-to-be, his one-and-only, his—

“Today? I can’t today, I’m attending the dance showcase.” And that’s when he says it. “My
girlfriend’s performing.”

Well. That doesn’t add up very well with Chenle’s plans at all. It feels like a needle has been
pushed into the hopeful balloon in his chest. There isn’t even a pop, just a disappointed
pshhhhhh as it loses air slowly, whizzing around Chenle’s chest before settling at the
disappointed depths of his stomach. “Oh! I don’t really keep up with the cultural events
here.” Lies. He has every music event of the semester marked on his calendar.

“What? Aren’t you in first year?” asks the boy.

“No, I’m actually in my final year,” lies Chenle terribly. He can lie when he’s standing on
some kernel of truth, but this time, his foundation is wobbly and he’s barely keeping himself
upright. “Been to too many of these.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen you in ecology classes, Zhong Chenle,” says the boy with a grin, and ruby
rushes to Chenle’s cheeks, caught. It feels like he’s attempting to waltz this entire
conversation but every step he takes lands him ankle-deep in caramel quicksand. “No
pressure, obviously, but I wouldn’t mind if we bumped into each other there. Without food in
our hands, hopefully.”

And what’s Chenle supposed to say now? Sorry, can’t, unfortunately I shall be figuring out
my plans on what to do on the day I’d kept aside to marry you. “Sure, I’ll see you there.”

Yizhuo thinks he’s a first-class idiot. Yizhuo has always thought that! That’s why they’re
friends, but this time more than ever. She’s on video call with Chenle as Chenle holds up
various outfits, hair mussed from how many shirts he’s taken off and put on. If Chenle is the
type to blindly choose one option and rush forward full speed, Yizhuo is the kind to carefully
scrutinize every single option until the person presenting them to her gets fed up and picks
for her, which is why Chenle dearly regrets asking her for her opinion on what to wear to this
fucking dance showcase.

“Well, it could be this, but I also liked the blue one,” says Yizhuo neutrally, face grainy as a
consequence of the hostel’s shitty Wi-Fi.

“Does it even matter?” asks Chenle with a groan of exasperation. “I don’t even know if I’m
going to run into him!”

“And yet you’re still going when there’s no other reason for you to,” points out Yizhuo, grin
wide and amused as she scratches her nose with the back of her hand, paintbrush close
enough to her eye to give Chenle anxiety. “You don’t even know his name, Lele.”

“Well, I’m sorry,” says Chenle with a roll of his eyes, stretching out the vowel. “I was caught
off guard by the fact that he did know my name! How? There’s no way. I’m not even
popular.” A scoff in response. “What? I’m not!”

“Well, you’re not invisible,” says Yizhuo. “And you’re sure as hell loud.” There is a smudge
of yellow paint on her temple. Chenle decides not to tell her about it. “How does it matter?
Get it from him when you see him later, I’m manifesting it for you.”

“You’re such an enabler.”

“Please. It’s between me and your impulsiveness. You’re going to carry through with this
anyway.” She’s not wrong.

Yizhou’s manifesting gets him nowhere, because Chenle doesn’t find the boy at the
showcase, despite his careful eyes scanning the crowd as he starts out at the back and makes
his way all the way to the front, before spotting him in the wings, clapping enthusiastically
and swaying with the music. The tangerine and electric blue lights wash over the boy, and
Chenle feels so stupid, even if he’s accomplished exactly what he came here for.

So it's a little crush. The boy has a girlfriend, for fuck’s sake, and while Chenle is not going
to deny himself the sight of a pretty face if he can, it all feels a little pathetic to him now. He
really has to find better things to do with his time. Surprisingly, the dance showcase is quite
good – Chenle stays for the rest of it, finding some acquaintances from his physics class in
the first row and striking up a conversation with them.

It takes half an hour, but Chenle forgets about the boy, instead laughing far too loudly about
Yongbok’s story about how he quit the dance team in less than a day, and how Minjung is
missing a club meeting to watch this instead. Maybe this was what the universe meant for
him when he stepped out, maybe the real treasure was the friends he found along the w—

“Chenle!”

It’s far too easy to pick out the owner of the voice, between the deep timber of his voice and
the way he towers over half the crowd. What Chenle doesn’t expect, is for the owner of the
voice to throw his arms around him clumsily, whispering quietly in Chenle’s ear, “She broke
up with me, please give me an out here.”

It’s fate. It’s in the stars. “It was actually a long time coming.”

They’re sitting on the roof of the electrical department. His name is Park Jisung, Chenle’s
found out now, thanks to Yongbok stepping forward and introducing himself after Jisung
caught Chenle entirely off-guard with that hug. There is a soda cradled in Chenle’s hands, a
thank-you from Jisung, and the feelings that Chenle was wrestling with are untangling
steadily the longer Jisung talks.

Jisung is nothing like Chenle expects him to be. He cries and spills the details within half an
hour of them breaking away from the event, has to be close to physically dragged to the roof
since students are technically not allowed there, wide eyes casting around anxiously at every
slight noise. He leans forward when Chenle talks and affixes him with a gaze far too intense
to put words to.

Chenle is supposed to be the one who overshares with reckless abandon, but Jisung sure has
given him a run for his money at the end of their conversation, that spans all the way until the
wisps of golden light creep up to the horizon. So much for a functioning sleep schedule.
Turns out Jisung’s trying (and failing) to keep one too. The pride pin on his bag is for his
sister. He’s scared of as many things as Chenle hates, and he doesn’t seem ashamed of it at
all. He wants to work in making technology more accessible for the differently abled. He’s
sugar and muted tones and a deep laugh and extremely upset that there’s not a single rooftop
tall enough for him to see the stars clearly.

He's not Chenle’s type at all, but Chenle doesn’t care at this point. The days melt into each
other with Jisung laughing at all of Chenle’s jokes, bickering back at him even though he
always lets Chenle win eventually, always tagging along on errands or for coffee whenever
Chenle asks, and hating parties like the plague. It’s a nice change of company, a nice breath
of fresh air. Jisung is a good friend, and Chenle isn’t bummed out by the fact. Not in the
slightest.

Chenle doesn’t care, he can swear by it.

At least until the first time they get mistaken for a couple, when the violence comes out in his
arms as he crosses them to his chest, all red and shaking his head like he’s struggling to expel
water from his ears.

It comes from Hajun, who is upset that Chenle hasn’t come to a party with him in a month,
and confronts Chenle one night with anger and alcohol in the slurred words that he spits at
Chenle, who at that moment, has crossed paths with him because they’re both at the juice
shop past midnight. Jisung stands behind Chenle with a quivering hand on Chenle’s shoulder,
a juxtaposition that seems funny and awkward considering Jisung would have to fold himself
in half in order to be completely hidden by Chenle’s wiry frame.

“So now just because you’ve got a boyfriend you forget all about your friends?”

But Hajun’s not a friend, Chenle has realized by then. Friends care about you when they’re
sober as well, but Hajun only speaks with honey in his mouth when he has at least five shots
coating his tongue already. Jisung, on the other hand, is a friend. Jisung cycles the long route
so he can drop by Chenle’s hostel and drop off cold meds when the onset of winter upsets
Chenle’s sinuses. Chenle finds a rooftop that’s tall enough to see the stars and spends the
night letting Jisung point out all of his favourite constellations as he laughs with no malice
every time Chenle demonstrates that he is simply unable to keep track of which is which.

But they’re friends. Not boyfriends. They could never be. Jisung is straight, and the
encounter with Hajun sets a trend for every incident that follows when they’re mistaken for a
couple, when Chenle shakes his head vehemently and makes it excessively clear that they are
not romantically linked in the slightest, teeth gritted and tone disgusted.

It’s worse because Jisung has a much milder reaction to being mistaken for a couple than
Chenle does. After the second time it happens, Chenle apologizes, tacking on a rhetorical
question about how that assumption could possibly be made, and Jisung offers an anatomical
explanation so as to why that could be the case.

“Okay, so to start off with, we don’t exactly have any concept of personal space,” says
Jisung. Chenle’s head whips around, about to voice a contradiction before Jisung simply
points to Chenle’s legs, currently resting on Jisung’s lap, and Chenle’s words die in his
mouth. “Not very common for two dudes.”

“Well, that’s because I’m super repressed on an affection scale from being an only child and
having terrible friends in high school, what’s your excuse?”

“Two older sisters,” shrugs Jisung. “Physical and verbal affection come very easily to me.
You know that very well, darling best friend who I cannot do without.”

Chenle retches. He still can’t do verbal affection – not when it’s genuine, anyway. “I would
sell you to Satan for a corn chip and you would do the same with me.”

“Sure,” says Jisung with an indulgent smile. “So in addition to that, there’s also the fact that
you can rarely find one of us without the other, so it seems to make logical sense that we’re
together, considering that with all the other people you hang out with, you hang out with in
groups like the insufferable extrovert you are.”
Chenle is getting tired of the groups too. Most of them were formed at the parties Chenle
went to, and now that he no longer is going to them, he can feel himself becoming slowly
estranged from them. It’s cool though – Sieun from his Signals and Systems class is sweet
and great company in class, and Chenle is eyeing the open position on the music team,
encouraged by Yuqi, one of the seniors that he met at one of the Freshers’ events, so if
anything, it’s a good thing that he’s slowly shifting the centre of his social life away from
booze. Yongbok and Minjung have also become semi-permanent fixtures of his weeks, not
nearly as permanent as Jisung has managed to make himself feel in the tiny, tiny colourful
fraction of Chenle’s life that he’s been present for so far.

“Fair,” nods Chenle, unable to come up with much of a defence for once in his life. “But
we’re not a couple. You don’t even swing that way. Doesn’t it bother you?”

“Nah, I don’t mind,” says Jisung with a light laugh. “It’s cute that people think we’re that
close. It’s an amusing thought.”

It’s a thought that makes Chenle’s head hurt to linger on too much, so he leads the charge
with the clarification when the assumption is made the third time, the fourth time, and every
time after that in the two years that follow. There’s a small part of him, angry and screaming
and constantly cherry in the face when Jisung looks at him just a little too soft, when Jisung
holds his gaze just a little too long. Could he? Would he? What if?

Maybe Jisung was still mourning his old relationship and holding himself back. Maybe
Jisung wasn’t the type to initiate romantic action. Maybe Jisung was scared of his own
feelings. Maybe if Chenle had stared just a little longer Jisung would have kissed him. Maybe
Chenle should’ve just worked up the nerve to kiss him when Jisung looked at him like that.
Some moves have Chenle sympathizing with the people who assume that they’re a couple,
because when he dissociates himself from the situation, sometimes he can see it too, and then
he wants to take his eyeballs out with a fork.

It takes going to a party at the very end of his third year of college for the grey smoke to clear
before Chenle’s eyes. He’s only there because Jimin is graduating at the end of the semester
and has thrown a huge house party for her birthday, and she’s Chenle’s favourite music senior
after Yuqi and will take great offence if Chenle isn’t there. Jisung is at Chenle’s side without
even having been asked. Chenle would’ve asked anyway, but with Jisung he doesn’t need to
anymore.

Jisung sticks close initially, the low levels of sobriety and high levels of overcrowding
scaring him out of socializing. There’s a girl who attempts to make conversation with him,
only for Jisung to trip all over his words due to being distracted by two people very poorly
attempting a body shot as they lounge on the couch.

“Jisung, for god’s sake,” sighs Yongbok exasperatedly, stealing a bottle of alcohol deftly from
the hands of someone passing by, clearly too inebriated to realize the blatant theft he just fell
victim to. “That girl is very obviously interested in you. You should go get her.”

Jisung looks over at Chenle, who already has his lips wrapped around the mouth of the bottle
that he’s wrenched from Yongbok. Specks of neon blue lights and the reflection of Christmas
lights in May dance in Jisung’s eyes, wide and unsure, almost as though he’s waiting for
permission, or just one more little push, like Chenle’s words could direct his footsteps in
whichever direction and Jisung would just let him.

No. He’s being a good friend. He’s here because of Chenle, about to ditch him to hook up. Is
it cool with you?, he’s asking, not will you be jealous? Will you stop me? Don’t you want me
instead?

“Yeah, you should go talk to her.” Strawberry punch on his tongue and blood in his teeth. It
isn’t like he could have said anything else. Chenle watches Jisung out of the corner of his eye
as he finds himself at different places in the house, never far enough to miss how Jisung
sheds the awkwardness, running his hand through his hair as he asks if he can sit next to the
girl, the way the space between them slowly disappears, and the way they wear giddy smiles
that get hazier and hazier as Chenle presses purple-blue grape vodka in a red solo cup to his
lips.

Dreamy lapis lighting. Triple vision. The flow of the girl’s strawberry blonde hair as Jisung
runs his slender fingers through it, tilting her head up as they make out messily in a loveseat
in the corner of the room. Fuchsia pink pain thrumming through every blood vessel of
Chenle’s, envy bubbling green and gruesome in his stomach. A random dull grey jersey, a
clear expression of interest. Chapped, rough rose lips on Chenle’s. Regret will be yellow,
tasting of bile, but Chenle will only have to deal with that in the morning anyway. Jisung will
be in someone else’s bed in the morning – it’s not like he was ever planning to be in Chenle’s
in the first place.

Fighting and fighting and fighting the allegations and for what? So what if people thought
they were a couple? The assumptions would never amount to anything anyway, no number of
people accidentally applying the societally determined framework of commitment to their
dynamic would ever change the foundation they were actually built on. Why does Chenle
fight until his arms are aching and his brain is in overdrive and his teeth grind themselves
down anyway? What difference does it make if he doesn’t?

Maybe it was blessing in disguise that Jisung was oblivious all along. No explanations had to
be given if no questions were asked, if no issues were detected. Jisung still laughs the same at
all of Chenle’s jokes, still bickers back at him and still lets Chenle win eventually. They study
for their exams and drink way too much coffee. They sit on rooftops and Chenle watches
Jisung instead of the stars. He always has. He’s just not nervous about being caught anymore.
It couldn’t possibly mean anything anyway.

It takes a day to recover from the hangover (Jisung brings over soup and lets Chenle nap on
his lap). It takes a week for Jisung to break up with the girl from the party (he’s really neutral
about it, while Chenle is just numb). It takes a month for Chenle for take a deep breath and
not feel a catch in his diaphragm, or words rattling around in his ribcage, the noise getting
quieter and quieter as each day goes by (Jisung is still there, always there on unspoken
invitations that Chenle cannot bring himself to revoke).

“It’s so cute to see people actually holding sweet relationships with each other.” Mark Lee is
holding a motor in one hand and a cluster of wires in the other. Chenle has known him for
three and a half weeks, and hopes he’ll know him long after he doesn’t have to anymore.
“Modern dating is in shambles most of the time.”
Chenle smiles, wry and plain, the contradiction dying in his throat. Maybe this was the
closest he’d ever get to calling Jisung his, and there was nothing to do but be okay with that.

Chenle’s okay with it. (As he’ll find out later, Jisung is the one who’s not.)

Indigo is the colour of the insulation of the wire that Chenle twists into a heart.

The others are still having their post-lunch coffee, but Chenle returned to the lab saying he
had work – he didn’t, he just wasn’t up to socialize at that point. Crystal raindrops encrust the
window, the silver drizzle coming down gently in the aftermath of the storm that happened
that morning. Maybe it was just the weather that was fucking Chenle’s mood up.

Maybe not. Of course not. Chenle knew it wasn’t the weather.

It’s been a week. Jisung has barely spoken to him, other than noises of surprise and mumbled
apologies when they cross paths (they live in the same house, it is literally inevitable –
Chenle wants to deck Jisung across the face). Chenle promised himself that he would be
patient, that he would give Jisung time to sort out his feelings. It took Chenle four years to
figure out that he was bisexual, after all, he’s sure he could spare Jisung a mere fraction of
that.

The difference, however, that Chenle wasn’t out there kissing his best friends at that time, so
technically this time it’s not just Jisung’s problem. Among the things that Chenle is bad at,
patience ranks alongside lying, which leaves Chenle with a perpetual silver itch of feelings
beneath his skin, something he’d gotten used to living with, but that was only on the premise
that they would never be returned. He’s been holding it together so far, even if just barely,
like a pillow stuffed to bursting, seams straining.

“Chenle.” The addressed jumps at the mention of his name and turns towards the door. A
voice as strict as that could only belong to one person. Jeno stands by the door, and for a
second Chenle feels busted in the middle of not doing work, but Jeno is looking right at him,
not around him, so this must be about something different. “Come with me.”

Chenle tucks the twisted wire into his pocket, getting up and following Jeno without
question. They’re in the elevator without a single word exchanged before Chenle finally asks,
“You needed something, hyung? Where are we going?”

“Didn’t need anything. We’re going to the bakery.”

Well, that does next to nothing to answer Chenle’s questions. Jeno’s bought him a pastry and
coffee before he finally asks, sitting opposite to Chenle on a plush velvet seat. “What’s been
going on with you?”
Oh god. Oh no. This can’t be happening, Surely Chenle can’t be out of it enough for Lee Jeno
to take notice. That could only mean one thing: that he was slipping on his work.

“Hyung, I’m really sorry, I think I’m still having a little trouble understanding the code we’re
working with, and I—”

“No, your work is fine, this isn’t about that,” says Jeno, a small smile on his face. Chenle
doesn’t see those very often, but he’s been getting used to mild positive emotion from Jeno
ever since they played basketball together. It took one walk from the court to the bus stop,
just the two of them, for Chenle to be convinced that there was definitely a heart in there
somewhere, with the way that he smiled and waved as he left, the way his stick-up-the-ass
attitude mellowed just the slightest at work.

Turns out Jeno is a lot of fun outside of work. Chenle could not have guessed. “I was just
worried that something else might be going on with you.” Jeno puts a hand over Chenle’s in
an almost parental way. “I’m just asking as a friend. You don’t need to tell me anything you
don’t want to, and this won’t leave the two of us. We don’t have our work hats on right now.”

“I feel like an anonymous source speaking to a journalist,” laughs Chenle, warmth leaching
into his fingertips as he curls his hand around his coffee cup. “No, Mr. Lee, I don’t have any
leads on the Park-Im drug bust case.”

Jeno chuckles and lets the silence settle over them as he digs into his strawberry cheesecake.
It takes less than a minute for Chenle to break. “I might be having some… romance
problems.”

Jeno’s chewing stills, and he nods at Chenle to go on.

“Jisung isn’t my boyfriend,” confesses Chenle. There should be alarm bells going off in his
head, ones that tell him that he should be telling Yizhuo this instead. Not someone at work,
goddammit, but Chenle has been drowning for a while and doesn’t care whose hand is
extended to him first, he just knows he needs to take it. Especially when Jeno doesn’t know
enough about him to judge – could this be the start of a beautiful friendship? Could this be
the worst mistake Chenle makes? It could go either way, but Chenle has no more mental
space to calculate odds of each outcome.

“Oh,” says Jeno, eyebrows scrunching together before they rise up his forehead. “Well, now
that I think about it, you never confirmed it.”

“Yeah, we’re just really, really good friends, and then he kissed me. Last week. And he just
hasn’t talked to me about it at all.”

“So you haven’t talked about the kiss or you’re just not talking at all?”

“The latter.”

“Small wins,” shrugs Jeno. “At least he’s not acting like it didn’t happen.”
“I don’t know,” sighs Chenle, taking a small bite of his pastry and staring morosely out the
window. It feels like this is a situation that is romantic and dramatic enough to warrant it. “I
thought I could give him some space to figure his feelings out. Maybe I should have just
pretended nothing was wrong. Maybe that would have been better.”

“It’s alright, a kiss is perceived with different weights by different people,” says Jeno. He eats
his cheesecake in a way Chenle has never seen before – crust first and filling after. Chenle is
distrustful of the quality of advice from a man like that. “It may not mean much to you, and it
could mean a lot to him, so that’s why there’s a disparity in your reactions. Don’t beat
yourself up for it. You’re his best friend, right? Just give him some space if he needs it, he’ll
find his way back.”

Chenle buries his head in his hands, voice muffled through his fingers. “Yeah, I just…that’s
not the problem?”

“Oh.” Jeno pauses, eyes softening. “I probably should’ve asked this first but…do you like
him?”

“I did when I first met him,” admits Chenle, taking a swig of his too-hot coffee and
continuing with his conversation like half of his mouth has not become a graveyard for his
taste buds. “I think I just found him attractive. That’s all it was, I think. The idea was there,
for years. I didn’t do anything with it, though. In the last couple months, it’s certainly
gotten…weird.”

“So you like him.” Jeno raises an eyebrow. “Or do you love him?”

Chenle grimaces, dropping his head into his hands again. “I’m too young for love.”

“No such thing.”

“But if I’m in—” The word sticks in Chenle’s mouth, all cloying and saccharine, getting
caught in his teeth like chewing gum over braces. “You know, if I L-word him—”

“Chenle, I think you’re a really cool kid, but please don’t say L-word. You’re not thirteen.”
Work Jeno flits across Friend Jeno’s face for a second, and Chenle blanches before Jeno
quickly corrects his expression. “You’re more than old enough to be in love! We have
different interpretations of love at different ages, it’s not like it gets more correct as you get
older, it just changes. You can say it. Saying it makes it less scary.”

“No, because I’ve been surrounded by people who have claimed to be in love and it’s just…
plainly infatuation. It doesn’t last and it all seems so fleeting and it almost seems like a
disservice to call it love? Like you’re not in love, you’re fifteen.”

“Well, you’re not fifteen. What do you think classifies as love?”

Chenle has given this question less thought that he probably should have. “Love is…it’s just
so big and all-encompassing, you know? Not even in an obsessive way. Like you think about
them all the time but not consciously. That sounds obsessive too, but take everything I’m
saying in a non-obsessive way, because love…love is supposed to be a big deal, isn’t it?
There’s just so much of it and it gets everywhere and you’re supposed to have this earth-
shattering realization that you’re in it. In love. Like you always have to be submerged within
it.”

“I like that,” nods Jeno approvingly, like Chenle’s just told him how they can improve their
code’s speed by seventy percent. “But I think that’s supposed to be a feature, not a bug. And
you don’t always have to have an earth-shattering realization about it. Sometimes it sneaks up
on you. Sometimes someone is just there for weeks, for months, and you just wake up one
day and you know that you love them. It’s just a fact at that point. Sure, it can be scary at
first, but eventually you’ll realize that love actually makes you braver.”

“You’re really wise, hyung,” says Chenle, propping his chin up on his palm and flashing a
cheesy grin in a hopeless ploy to lighten the tone of the conversation. Jeno is smiling and a
smile is draped over his words. Maybe Chenle’s the one weighed down by the fear of the L-
word (sorry, Jeno), suddenly too aware of the heavy blanket over his being. “What’s your
story? Surely some of this comes from experience.”

“Can I not just be extremely observant? Taking lessons from the people around me and their
successes and failures?”

Chenle shakes his head. Jeno laughs, amused and gentle, a sound that Chenle does not expect
from Jeno at all. It’s lilting, almost musical, and Chenle thinks that if he wasn’t hopelessly in
love with Jisung, he’d have caught feelings for that laugh in a minute.

Oh, wait.
Oh, shit.

A myriad of expressions flash across Chenle’s face as he decides his next words, finally
settling on, “So what happens when you fall in love? Where do you go from here?”

“It really depends,” says Jeno, tapping his fork against his lips. “I’ve only been in love once,
and I only realized it when he was moving away for college. I didn’t really end up telling
him, but I think that was why it took so much longer to get over. Sometimes the rejection
helps, sometimes it just feels too real when you say it to the person but it fades eventually. It
differs, so you just have to figure out what works for you.”

“I don’t know,” mumbles Chenle. “I’ve never really confessed to anyone before.”

“The first one is the hardest,” says Jeno, practical as always. “You’ll need to talk about it
eventually, and when you do, you’ll find the strength. And you’ll talk your way through it.
And then talk some more after that. You talk so much, Chenle.”

“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” asks Chenle with a grin. “I know you love it.”

“It’s bearable,” says Jeno, but he’s smiling.

“So what happened to the guy you were in love with?” asks Chenle as they walk back to the
lab. The rapid humanization of Lee Jeno over the last week along with his groundbreaking
realization of feelings of l—(he can say it without censoring it, he swears – sorry, Jeno)—
have left him rather emotionally overwhelmed, but Chenle can feel things begin to settle and
make sense in his mind, like a game of Tetris – and Chenle’s terrible at Tetris. Hopefully he’s
better with his feelings.

“Oh?” A small laugh. “He returned four years later and he was in love with me the whole
time. Anyway, we’re engaged now.”

Chenle balks at that, jaw dropping open in utter disbelief. “Hyung! You just told me about the
heartbreak and didn’t mention the good stuff? What is wrong with you? This is so amazing,
congratulations!”

“Thank you, Chenle, I really lucked out with him,” smiles Jeno, open and affectionate and
sparkling with love. Chenle wonders if he looks this way when he talks about Jisung. He
probably does. That’s the real reason why everyone assumes, isn’t it? “You might know him,
actually.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I think your boy works in the same lab as him. His name’s Na Jaemin.”

Black is all Jisung can see.

He hasn’t dealt with a power-cut in years. He notes two things:

1. At least he’s in his room.

2. But it’s nighttime. Fuck.

Jisung hates the dark, more than anything else. His sisters have tried to break him out of so
many of his phobias, whichever ones they thought were easiest to get out of his system, and
while Jisung is nothing like the shivering autumn leaf that he was during his early teenage
years, he hasn’t managed to shake too many fears – but especially the fear of the dark.

He’s frozen at his desk, wondering if he should go seek out the others in the house. Renjun
went out earlier, and Ryujin is never in the house on Saturdays anyway. Donghyuck is
probably there. Chenle is… well, for Jisung to avoid Chenle the whole week just to jump into
his arms the second something freaked him out would paint him in every shade of weak and
awful.

There’s a loud knock on Jisung’s door, sending him all but jumping out of his own skin.

“It’s Chenle and definitely not a super-scary otherworldly being wearing his skin, open up.”

The first emotion Jisung feels is relief. The second is suspicion – maybe it is a super-scary
otherworldly being wearing Chenle’s skin. The third emotion is deep mortification, because
is Jisung going to run to Chenle to keep his spine upright after a week of demonstrating that
he practically doesn’t have one? The last emotion is a plea to the universe that it is actually a
super-scary otherworldly being wearing Chenle’s skin, that it kills Jisung and frees him from
the prison of his own feelings.

Jisung fumbles with his phone flashlight, doing a quick sweep of the room before he pads his
way to the door, wrenching it open and causing Chenle to scrunch up his face in the harsh
white glow of his phone. Chenle plucks the phone from Jisung’s hand as he shuts the door
with his foot, easy and nonchalant like nothing is wrong at all. “I figured you may not want to
come outside your room, but I could also hear your scaredy-cat thoughts from the other end
of the house.”

“I could hear your actual thoughts from this end of the house,” says Jisung, frozen in place as
he observes the sharp angles of his face emphasized by the phone flashlight. Jisung wants to
run his fingers over the lines, press kisses where they intersect. He’s about to be sick. “Bad
game of League?”

“The worst,” groans Chenle, body swaying forward in his usual expressive way, like he’s
about to collapse onto Jisung before he decides against it, straightening up. Jisung nearly
sways back towards him, untethered except for Chenle’s gravity. “Apparently there’s a
problem with the transformer that supplies power to this area. They’re not sure how long it’ll
take to fix it, but worst case, we’re stuck like this for a few hours.”

“Ah,” says Jisung stupidly. “You sure you shouldn’t be joining them? They might need
reinforcements.”

“You’re so right, I should be there right now,” nods Chenle, a faux-smug grin resting gently
on his lips as he makes his way to the bed, Jisung scurrying after him following the light. “I
could get it up and running in a couple minutes, tops. Just gotta cut the red wire.”

“Just know that I will not trust a single robot you have built,” says Jisung with a roll of his
eyes, heat rushing up his chest giddily as Chenle laughs, loud and dolphin-like. Jisung has
missed him like s schoolchild missing summer on the first day of school.

“You better not, most of those will be made just to hunt you down,” Chenle switches off the
phone flashlight, plunging them into darkness as they sit on opposite ends on the bed. “Just to
conserve battery. We don’t know when we’ll be able to charge your phone again, and the
flashlight is really draining.”

They should’ve gone to Chenle’s room, where the window faced the city, so at least they
could be able to make out shapes and outlines, but in Jisung’s room facing the fields, Jisung
can’t even see his hand kept an inch away from his nose. He can feel the vague panic setting
in again. He hates the dark. He hates that he’s so scared of it. He hates his own fear of
anything and everything.

“Hey,” says Chenle, uncharacteristically soft, the gentle tones of his voice washing over
Jisung like hot chocolate. “I’m not going anywhere.”
It’s about the current situation, Jisung knows that, but it feels like Chenle has reached into his
chest with his nimble fingers, undoing a dense onyx knot in his lungs that has been making
Jisung suffer. Jisung exhales slowly, unaware of how long he’s been holding his breath,
purging his cells of the tension and doubt that has been slowly eating away at him.

“Where are you though?” Jisung leans forward, feeling blindly for Chenle. “Is this your
foot?” It is indeed Chenle’s foot, held in midair like an olive branch. Jisung holds his ankle
uselessly, a giggle quivering at the back of his throat that Chenle draws out with his own
laughter, trying vainly to shake off Jisung’s grip.

“Release my foot, I’ll let you hold something better.”

There’s a that’s what he said hanging onto the seam of Jisung’s mouth, his teeth barricading it
from escaping. He wouldn’t have hesitated to make the joke two weeks ago – Chenle would
have just doubled down and made it worse and Jisung would have shoved him and regretted
all his decisions. It feels off-putting to keep words in his mouth when Chenle’s around,
pricking at his gums and getting lodged between his teeth. The cold realization of change
wafts into Jisung’s lungs, a whisper of this is all your fault playing over and over in his head.

The influx of thoughts grows and Jisung’s hand slackens, a buzz growing at his temples.
When he zones back in, the warmth of Chenle’s palm is leaching into his own, Chenle’s grip
loose as his fingers just barely hang onto the gaps between Jisung’s fingers, like he’s giving
Jisung the chance to pull away. Jisung’s fingers curl in response, dwarfing Chenle’s hand in
his, but his grip doesn’t strengthen, their hands settling in the space between them, allowing
them both the privilege of pulling away if they want to.

(Neither of them wants to.)

“Look, I know we have to have a conversation.” A huff accompanies the statement – restless,
jittery Zhong Chenle, with impatience strung within every tendon of his. Jisung wonders why
he likes him. “Do you want me to bring it up, or will you? Or do you want to shelf it and talk
about it when the lights are on so we don’t have to sit in it if it gets awkward?”

“Well, it’s awkward already, how could it get worse?” points out Jisung, attempting a light
laugh even as shame unfurls in his gut. Chenle squeezes Jisung’s hand, like he’s berating him
for having no trust in Chenle to keep things light, to fill the silence with inanity, anecdotes
from work and summaries of unhinged YouTube videos. Jisung wonders how he didn’t like
him even sooner. “I can bring it up.”

“Technically, I already did, so…”

Jisung feels that familiar prickle at the back of his neck, the one he gets when Chenle is
messing with him in that whiny voice, tone dripping with teasing and familiarity. Jisung
wonders if there’s any chance, if there’s any way that he won’t have to undergo the painful
ordeal of getting over him. Not even because he wouldn’t want the pain – but because he
doesn’t quite want to get over Chenle.

“It doesn’t entirely count, you didn’t bring up the primary objective of the conversation.” A
deep breath. “Which is, you know, the fact that I may have a crush on you.” Jisung’s words
run into each other like a pile-up on the highway, a burst of courage coursing through his
veins. “I may not. As in, not may. I do have a crush on you.”

“That’s cool, I have a crush on you too,” says Chenle, with far too much nonchalance. Jisung
takes a full three seconds to understand it, and he’s already scripted his next words – a spiel
on how he values their friendship too much and how he understands if Chenle needs some
space – before realizing that he doesn’t need to say any of that, his voice settling on a stupid
sounding, “Huh?”

“Why are you surprised?” says Chenle, almost offended. “I have great taste in men.”

“Oh.” Jisung can feel Chenle’s fingers disentangle from his own, Chenle’s hand trailing up
Jisung’s arm to rest gently on his shoulder, a grounding wire, an anchor to reality. Jisung
raises a cautious hand to where Chenle holds him, following down Chenle’s arm, across
Chenle’s collarbone, to rest at the curve of Chenle’s jaw. He can’t even see his face in the
dark but Jisung can feel the push of Chenle’s cheek against his palm, letting him know he’s
smiling. “I like you so much.”

“You know, you could have just said this like a week ago and we could’ve just kissed like
that for the last seven days.”

“No, you’re right, and I don’t know how you held out without saying a thing for seven days.”

“I barely did! You were trying to kill me, I’m going to make you spend the rest of your life
making up for that.”

The rest of your life. Jisung feels like he just missed a step on a staircase. “I was freaking out,
I thought you’d have called me out by day two and by the time we got to day five I was
convinced you hated me now.”

“Hey!” Chenle peels his cheek from Jisung’s hand, his palm migrating from Jisung’s shoulder
to put half the strength he has into shoving Jisung’s chest. “I was trying to be understanding.
I’m a supportive friend. The best ever.”

“You are,” says Jisung, sincere as ever, smile twirling over his words as he draws closer, his
other hand settling at Chenle’s waist, pulling him closer. “I’m so lucky to have you.”

Chenle’s cheek grows warm against Jisung’s palm, fingers curling in Jisung’s collar as he
pulls him forward roughly, blindly until Jisung can feel Chenle’s warm breath on his lips.
Jisung has to marvel at Chenle’s accuracy. Just a little more force and one of their noses
would be broken. “Can you shut up and kiss me already? You’re at a seven-day backlog
already, I sure hope you’re not about to make things worse for yourself—”

Jisung leans in softer this time, nearly missing Chenle’s lips, kissing like Chenle’s made of
glass, like time would drag out if Jisung didn’t run blind into it, chasing the moment. Kissing
in the dark sets the nerve endings in Jisung’s skin on fire, his concentration splitting between
the feeling of Chenle’s lips on his and the way Chenle’s hands drag down Jisung’s neck and
chest, fingers digging into fabric of Jisung’s being, unravelling him slowly.
Yellow threads for the happy sigh Chenle lets out between kisses. Green threads for the way
he murmurs Jisung’s name against the shell of Jisung’s ear with a flavour of romance that
Jisung has never associated with the way Chenle says his name, sending electricity down
Jisung’s spine. Blue threads for the way Chenle whispers is this okay? as he encroaches the
space on Jisung’s lap, knowing the answer anyway, the same answer to the same question
given before Chenle kisses down Jisung’s neck, hungry and wanting. Orange threads for the
way Jisung tilts Chenle’s head up, kissing into his mouth incessantly, unable to hold himself
back further. Red threads with the way Jisung twists his body and brings them both down on
the bed, Chenle caged beneath him, wasting no time with pulling Jisung down.

Jisung is undone, molten and rainbow in Chenle’s hands and the way they wander his body,
the way that Chenle kisses like a dam has broken, like he’s been waiting too long. Jisung
feels everything and nothing all at once, hot and cold and effervescent as he buries his head
in the hollow of Chenle’s neck, letting himself be held as they both roll over onto their sides,
Jisung’s arm wrapped around Chenle’s waist.

The lights flicker on, sudden and harsh, causing Jisung to screw his eyes shut, unable to
handle the influx of photons, squinting in the light to focus on Chenle’s face, a honeyed glow
washing over Jisung’s skin as he meets Chenle’s gaze, with the awe and wonder that comes
with witnessing a particularly beautiful sunrise. He squirms upwards, gathering Chenle in his
arms, pressing a kiss to Chenle’s forehead, shyly, like he’s trying to be discreet, like his
feelings have not already spilled over in every hue known, and Chenle laughs, free and
unbridled, and Jisung forgets about the record shops, the dropped keys, and what was
supposed to be, because he knows it couldn’t hold a candle to what this has ended up being.

Red is Jisung’s favourite Taylor Swift album.

Message in a Bottle is playing from Chenle’s phone as Chenle puts together sandwiches, a
couple for each of them, belting out the lyrics using the mayonnaise bottle as a mic. Jisung
sits on the counter, sipping cautiously at the hot cup of coffee in his hands, waiting for the
caffeine to start pushing the sluggishness from his limbs.

A month of walking on cotton candy skies. The look on Chenle’s face when he looks over at
Jisung and finds him looking back already. A quiet reassurance, a growing comfort. Time that
passes by languidly, caught in the nooks of stolen kisses and warmth. Chenle tucking himself
away into Jisung’s side, curled up like a cat and stealing all the blankets. Jisung is happy.

They still bicker – that’s the best part of it actually. Jisung wins more arguments, and when he
does Chenle will start another argument about how kissing in the middle of a very good
comeback doesn’t count as a victory. Jisung will win that argument too. (Chenle lets him.)

There are the beginnings of something bigger, deeper, warmer, building at the back of
Jisung’s heart. Jisung’s never been in love before. He’s always assumed it would burn, in
scarlet and crimson and maroon. It’s too gentle to burn.

Chenle burns his finger on the sandwich maker. It’s small and barely leaves a mark, but he’s a
drama queen about it anyway, whining about it to Jisung, who retorts back about how much
skill it would have taken for Chenle to manage fucking up while using something that he uses
every single morning. The doe eyes come out as Chenle holds out his finger, a smile resting
on Jisung’s face as he kisses Chenle’s finger first, then pulls him forward to kiss his forehead
as well. It’s a consequence of Chenle’s height, Jisung can’t help himself at all.

“The way I have to spell things out for you all the time,” huffs Chenle, wicked grin back on
his face once he’s secured the kisses he wanted. “You’re lucky I love you so much.”

“I love you more.”

He’s not afraid to look at Chenle, not afraid to lock gazes with him and let Chenle survey his
face for the slightest sign of a joke, knowing there won’t be one. Chenle presses his lips
together once he’s come to his conclusion, biting back a smile even as his eyes sparkle,
crinkles forming by them and giving him away, his hair catching the early morning sunbeams
that stream in through the window, ethereal and radiant. Jisung is in love with him – warmly,
gently, timelessly, like a constant phenomenon that would exist whether he was aware of it or
not.

Sunshine and honey and daffodils and Chenle. Jisung’s love isn’t red.
It’s golden.

𖦹
End Notes

i was SO nervous about this fic i have never written chenji before so i really truly hope that i
did it justice! please do let me know if you enjoyed it :3
this one's for my chenji bestie/beta reader, the reason i wrote this at all <3
big hugs to mod milk! i had the time of my life being a part of this fest :]

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