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Somewhere on the third floor of the Rio Grande building, the view is better than usual. Bougainvilleas bloom with the wind. Next door neighbors cool off in the shade, their sprinklers watering grass that’s already dried. In the blue, cloudless sky, mayas soar. There’s a whole flock of them flying up there right now, marking the start of one fine March.
Or so Jeno tells himself. Closing the curtains, his unit halves in size. The electric fan sputters at a measly 1, because 2 is too loud and 3 blows all the allergens in his face. The too-old, too-big TV plays reruns of a game show that was canceled over a rigging scandal not too long ago. Boxes, most of them taped and labeled accordingly, suffocate what’s left of the space. They hold acid wash shorts and sun-shrunken sandals. RGB keyboards of varying builds. Michael Jackson’s Bad. A canister of gummy vitamins that have melded into one sentient being. Chargers. Bedding. Shelf stable luncheon meat. It’s a lot to say goodbye to, and frankly, not enough.
Wrapping up was a bad idea, probably. Summer makes him feel worse, just like it usually does. There’s no fighting it.
It’s a month later. Donghyuck leaves and Jeno stays.
Granted, Donghyuck has only moved an hour away and even agreed to pay half the rent for a while, but the apartment is often quieter. Cleaner, but quieter. Gone are the early mornings groaning about incoming office hours or late nights bickering over which takeout to consume in one sitting. It’s odd to admit as a self-proclaimed homebody, but sometimes Jeno hears his own breaths a bit too acutely and starts freaking out. He at least hopes Shiny New Boyfriend Johnny keeps treating Donghyuck well.
Tired from a day’s work, he toes his shoes by the door before sundown. He sees his mother’s Lady of Guadalupe sigil hanging over the foyer, alongside zero messages in personal inbox and about a dozen in his work one. Everything is more or less the same as he’d left it.
…Except maybe the cat?
It’s not his—he owns two that refuse to be separated from each other and his sister in the province. Definitely not one he’s seen out in the streets or lounging around in the lobby, either, but an uncollared kitten reaching for one of his socks by the window, light brown streaks of fur crowning its tiny white head.
Jeno advances slowly so as not to scare it off of the fire escape. The little thing sneaks in. It’s fluffier than most breeds. More regal-looking. Jeno bets some pictures could make Donghyuck swoon.
For now he is rewarded for his hospitality, first with a few small scratches at his leg, then with a long, gratifying purr. Big, brown eyes look up at him all pretty. “Why, hello there. Come in for a drink,” Jeno utters softly, crouching. He holds up the sock with a smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep this nice and toasty for you.”
The kitten mews in excitement, and continues to do so when Jeno scoops it up and heads out. She’s a girl, he learns. Building security tells him no one has reported a missing pet, so he takes on the feat of going from door to door—surely one of them will reveal an owner.
Three floors back up and he starts getting really, really antsy, on top of already being really, really sweaty. Another three, and he scraps together a feline-friendly dinner menu in his head. All hope seems lost until he reaches the end of the hall, hot light flickering from the fluorescent tubes that run at later hours. The kitten kicks off his chest immediately, warranting an embarrassing oof! as she is set free.
“Lucy! You had me worried there, baby,” someone coos, their voice oddly familiar. A hint of a smile is all it takes for Jeno’s heart to race. “Oh, my god, thank you. I really don’t know what I would have done if—Oh. Jeno? Jeno Lee?”
Jeno knows Jaemin in flashes.
Kind of like when you rewatch a movie, with some details shifting in and out of focus. He can’t recall what Jaemin does for a living or if they’re even friends on Facebook, but seeks to align what he’ll learn to the big picture: the two of them just shy of twelve, crystalized in warmth and their favorite sari-sari store candy.
Jaemin was privileged in ways Jeno was not. Before his father left, he lived in a big house, barely needed to take the train or the bus, and had countries Jeno never even heard of stamped all over his passport. His mother taught fifth-grade English at St. John’s, so he was as well-read as a kid could be. Girls liked him, boys wanted to be him, and he let neither get to his head. It made sense to pair up with him for assignments. Sometimes a bit during lunch, too, and then later with everything else.
Eventually, Jeno was subjected to a huge, doesn’t-hit-you-till-much-later-in-life crush. It’s sort of ridiculous, in retrospect. A lanky, mopheaded Jaemin of yesterday regularly contends against drama actors, exes, and short-lived flings. He’d realized it one otherwise uneventful afternoon clearing out the Lee attic, staring at a yearbook page of Jaemin on the track team for too long as his father urged him to pass the rugby glue.
That being said, this tall, handsome dream of today isn’t going down without a fight. It almost makes up for the fact that he left. “So, you said you’ve been living here a while?”
Jeno scans the space and sees classy, muted decor still in the process of being assembled and mounted. Lucy, along with her two siblings Luna and Luke, are too busy sleeping to pay it much mind. “Yeah, with a good friend from college. He just moved out, though, so now it’s just me and the advertising job I dread.”
“That’s impressive, despite what I hear about the pay. Drawing during class wasn’t such a waste, after all.”
“Guess not. Donghyuck said the same thing.”
A nice row of teeth gleams. Jaemin’s smile was one of the most striking things about him. “He funnier than me?”
“Meaner, too.” Jeno resists the urge to bounce his leg under the table. “Well, no, actually. That’s my bitterness talking. We had a bit of a falling out.”
“Oh. I won’t pry if you don’t want me to.”
“No, it’s fine. We’re fine, we’re just—yeah. On cooldown. Anyways, how about you? Why Riverside Residences, of all places?”
“I hope you cleared the rest of your day. Remember my stepdad?”
From what Jeno recalls in their brief time as pen pals, the swindler stole Jaemin and his mother via American immigration, instilling none of the care or grace that should have come with it. “Unfortunately.”
“Well, now he’s my ex-stepdad. He didn’t take it too well when I refused to sign onto his shitshow of a business. Paid me hush money for his secretary girlfriend, too. But I took the cash and told Mom anyway, and now I’m here, for med school.”
Here. No longer there. Studying medicine, instead of just skimming through it in encyclopedias and almanacs. It’s weird for Jeno to think about. “For good?” he asks to be sure.
“For good,” Jaemin nods generously. “I really wanted to tell you, but before then we were already out of touch.”
“What about your mom?”
“Living with my grandparents for a bit. Though she promised she’d visit.”
“Oh, that’s great!” Silence, save for the whirr of the electric fan. “...And I’m not. Sorry for not keeping in touch. Really, I am. It’s just that with school and everything…”
There are no excuses, nor should there be any in the first place. The world turns, and people drift apart. But then again, when has that ever stopped Jeno from drowning in his own guilt?
“Hey. That was like, what, ten years ago? We weren’t even supposed to log into chatrooms unsupervised,” Jaemin urges, the air of cool to him almost enviable. That was the other thing about him: with every qualm and uncertainty Jeno dragged to the depths of his brain, Jaemin had an equally or even doubly brutal encouragement, buoying them both to the surface. “Besides, we’re here now, aren’t we? How crazy is that?”
He fishes a couple of colas from his fridge. They talk until the sound of cicadas drown them out.
Most times Jeno can’t be assed to do others favors (more out of physical exhaustion than anything else), but loneliness has gotten him moving. After all, sparing a few meals is the least he can do when Chenle and Jisung from next door invite him to PUBG every other weekend.
With Jaemin in medicine—pursuing dermatology, as his gorgeous, poreless face often exemplifies—he isn’t always around to keep things in check. To extend his pleasantries, Jeno offered to unwrap the rest of his new furniture and move them around, as well as take note of anything that is missing and can be bought. Just like anyone around here, he knows that Manila waits for no one, so you might as well get a head start.
Today’s conquest is much easier: all Jeno needs to do is make sure Lucy, Luna and Luke get ample amounts of food, water, and sunlight. He leans against the counter, happy to see his furry friends again. Seeing them devour kibble right now makes him hungry, too.
In the fridge he finds two metal canisters Jaemin said were okay to dig into, inclusive of an almost cartoonish arrangement of steamed vegetables, fried rice, and cut fruit.
They’re cute, he thinks, like a school lunch. It comes with a note he’ll think about all afternoon.
Thanks for staying—both here and in my life ₍ᐢ ɞ̴̶̷ ̫ ɞ̴̶̷ ᐢ₎ Enjoy!
A couple days later, Renjun ambushes him in their local IKEA. “So, what are your intentions with Jaemin?”
Even with the air conditioning at full blast, Jeno breaks a sweat. “Oh. Um—”
“It’s been a while and he’s neither bored nor depressed. No other person has been able to do that since… well, me. I just wanna make sure you won’t up and leave.”
Jaemin is several aisles ahead of them, too busy comparing storage units to listen in. Jeno can’t say he’s thought about making moves on him. He’s done all the apps, sped through the hookups, and blocked all the numbers (Donghyuck’s included, at one point), so anything beyond thinking of Jaemin or staring at his muscles in a sweat-soaked tank top invites more risk than reward. He is simply reconnecting with an old friend, no matter how much his soft, stupid heart beats in confusion.
“I have no reason to. Jaemin’s Jaemin, you know. And even if that weren’t the case, we’d still be living in the same complex,” Jeno shrugs. He’s aware it’s not the answer Renjun wants.
A look, pointed but not lethal. “Which, from what I recall correctly, takes several flights of stairs to traverse.”
Most categorize Renjun as Type A, though his quickfire wit and exceptional manners of dress are softened by the kindness and humility he seems to have in spades. Apparently, he handled the end of his and Jaemin’s caffeine-fueled situationship so well that it pushed him to be a topnotcher in last year’s pharmacy licensure exam. In the time they’ve gotten acquainted, Jeno has come to respect his sense of balance with a veneration, wishing he’d live like that instead of in extremes.
“I guess what I’m trying to say is that I like you and would hate to see you go,” Renjun continues. “You’re nice and easy on the eyes, not to mention the only person who sticks around for movie night.”
“My friend Donghyuck could join one day,” Jeno blurts out. He then regrets it immediately.
“See what I mean? Sweet boy,” Renjun remarks, patting him on the cheek. “If Jaemin causes any trouble, just give me a call. We’ll kill him and take custody of the cats.”
Jeno’s gut simultaneously lifts and shrivels into itself. He helps Renjun reach for a vase. Forty pesos—not bad. “Okay, let's call that an emergency precaution. Any other pointers for a young suitor like me?”
“Odd to ask that when you’re the veteran between us here,” Renjun insists. “Just don’t give into his games. Or do, if you’re into that sort of masochism. And buy yourself a pair of earplugs! He speaks of you like you’re some saint. A blast from the past,” he flails his arms around for dramatic effect, “As bright as the light that hit Paul in Damascus, sent to atone him from sin.”
All because Jeno agreed to catsit? “Wow. Didn’t know he had a knack for poetry.”
“I’m just paraphrasing. When we hung out last week, he wondered if you still ate your eggs sunny side-up. Then he spilled both our coffees.”
“I like them boiled now, actually,” Jeno answers, sheepish. “More protein that way. ”
“Would you look at that. Health-conscious, too,” Renjun smiles, grip on Jeno surprisingly firm for someone of his fruit cup stature. “This stays between us, by the way.”
Jeno mimes his mouth being locked, and then throws away the key.
“Guys! Look.” Jaemin shouts from afar, holding two wicker baskets. “These are half off!”
It seems that Renjun is taking movie night extra seriously, because now he’s telling Jeno to ring Donghyuck up for a Shake, Rattle, and Roll marathon.
After weeks of awkward texts and even more awkward phone calls, you’d think Jeno would kill for the chance of rectifying things in person. Instead, he freezes in place. Donghyuck, for one, detests horror films, claiming that none of their campy flair is worth sitting through hours of half-baked backstory (This is what he often tells people. Only Jeno knows that he screams ninety decibels loud at the mere creak of a door.) And, as extroverted as he can be, his social battery runs on intermittent power. What if he meets Jaemin and Renjun and decides he can’t bother?
Not only that, but maybe Donghyuck can’t bother with him. The last time they truly spoke was when they stacked moving boxes at the back of an SUV. Even then, it was near-silent, and Johnny was convinced one last fight was going to break out. In the end, they took the higher road, albeit one with shaky foundations. They hugged once, and that was that.
It’s getting frustrating, at this point. They’re really, truly too old to play games, but somehow Jeno feels like he’s made it to a championship match. Why the delay? What does he get, really, from hoping that Donghyuck will be the one to cave?
He loathes the ridiculousness of the situation when Jaemin sighs next to him and says, “C’mon. It’ll feel worse the longer you wait.”
“You don’t know him like I do,” Jeno murmurs, petting Luke on his lap to cope. “He’s a great guy and means well, but talk to him a certain way and he’ll have no problem using it against you.”
“I fail to see how that’s well-meaning, but fine, let’s take that out of the picture. I know you, and you’re going to lose sleep and run late for work tomorrow if you keep pacing around like this,” Jaemin argues. “Breathe. Little Luke is soaking up all your anxiety.”
“Oh,” Jeno realizes, looking at the kitten looking at him with big, curious eyes. “I’m sorry.” He kisses Luke’s snout, receiving a low purr in return. “I’m sorry, Luke. You don’t deserve that.”
“Look. I wasn’t around for the whole ordeal, but I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.”
“It was bad, Jaemin. Like advanced algebra bad. I slammed a door in his face and got hung over on half a soju bottle the next night.”
“Yikes. We need to work on your alcohol tolerance. Do you love him, though?”
“What kind of question is that?”
“A good one. Tells us if this is worth it or not.”
“...Yeah. Of course I love him. He’s worth all I can give. Sometimes even more.”
“Then do what you need to do,” Jaemin offers sympathetically. “After that, feel free to stay over.” He pauses, only having just glossed over the insinuation. “I—can set up a futon, if you want.”
It’s the best and worst thing Jeno’s heard in a while. He and Jaemin haven’t slept on the same bed in forever. Would it be weirder to say yes, or to decline? And if he were to say yes, does he make a run for the clothes and toiletries in his unit, or borrow Jaemin’s and die of humiliation? He clearly does not have the brain power for all this social maneuvering. Bed’s fine,” he ultimately decides, scratching his head. “If it’s okay with you. Oh, man. God, this sucks so much.”
“Cowardice sucks more.” Jaemin lifts Luke up and uses his paws to point at Jeno’s chest. “Jeno, repeat after me.”
Once more, Jeno and Luke are eye to eye, although not so willingly this time. “I’m not so sure I want to.”
“I—” Tap. “Can—” Tap. “Do this.” Tap tap. “For I am Jeno Lee: smart, sexy, and capable of healthy communication.”
Pink dusts Jeno’s cheeks. “...You think I’m sexy?”
“Don’t veer off topic.” There are two more taps for good luck. “Call him. If you need me, the kids and I will be in our room.”
With his phone shoved to his ear, Jeno goes for it. It takes four rings and another mini-meltdown before he hears Donghyuck’s voice, rich with fuzz and that playful twang he’s come to miss.
“Hey, stranger.”
Sooner rather than later, Jeno trades one weight on his chest for another.
“Jen?” Jaemin pops out from the bathroom shirtless, a concoction of serums on his face as he brushes his teeth.“How’d it go?”
“Good,” Jeno replies, toying with Luna’s tail as she purrs and kneads biscuits on his stomach. He’s wearing an old college shirt of Jaemin’s—it’s frayed and you could hardly tell a logo was once emblazoned on it, but the thing fits pretty well. “Not perfect like the way it went in my head, but good.”
“‘S fine. Better than nothing, right?”
“I guess so.”
After ridding himself of product, Jaemin turns the lights off. It’s late, so maybe they could talk about it more the next day. Or perhaps there is nothing to be said anymore, because Jaemin already knows how Jeno feels. After all, he is the better mindreader between them, calculated and perceptive in moments where you think his attention is elsewhere.
Jaemin nudges Jeno and Luna to the other side of the bed, and then they lay together for a while, shoulder to shoulder. From the open window, the night still rings with noise: a couple girls gushing over a new showbiz plant in the building across them, Luke and Lucy snoring at their feet, and of course, the neverending traffic just a few streets away. Sort of unsettling, given what Jeno has just been through.
Through his mysterious powers, Jaemin cuts through all of that with just five magic words, his scent so close that Jeno could breathe it in. “Proud of you. Always am.”
Jeno gives him a small smile. He dreams of mint leaves and a blue, cloudless sky.
Summer keeps wielding its power of warping time, cinching nights short and stretching the rest over and over until they crumble into grains of sand. Because he has no other choice, Jeno perseveres. He may still deal with the same annoying clients or take the same annoying train home, but at least there’s the laughing, crying, living despite it all. And Donghyuck and Renjun. And Jaemin, too, still.
He and Jeno are in the complex pool, in fact. Humidity stuck to them all day like a raunchy department store perfume, so naturally the only thing left to do was jump in.
The moon hangs in a waning crescent. From the water, Jaemin emerges a shark, hair matted and pointy. “Do you remember the day I left?”
This is the end-all-be-all of questions. Jeno just didn’t think it’d be uttered here at this very moment, right when they’re half-naked in thirty-something-degree weather. He dips his fingers in the pool and makes shiny dissipating ripples, as if sifting through an amniotic sac of memory. “Mm… Parts of it, yeah. The others, I’ve sorta forced out of my brain.”
“Huh. Interesting. How come?”
Another flash renders Jeno blind. It was summer then, too, before they turned fifteen. The space between them was much, much bigger than his little body could fathom. Their mothers were there in case it turned ugly, and it did, to some extent. By the time the Nas touched down in New Haven, Connecticut, Jeno’s face was splotched red from sobbing.
“Too painful, I guess,” he shrugs, not wanting to seem like he’s overthought things to death. His next words betray him entirely. “Fourteen-year-old Jeno loved you a lot.”
Of course Jeno didn't fully realize it then, but their love was quiet, reverent, like praying on pews. Hummed as St. John’s hymn, felt in the dark of a sleepover, fossilized on bikes along their old neighborhood, virtually everywhere except in clear-cut gospel. By high school graduation, Jeno sang the hymn for once, line by line, and imagined Jaemin singing it with him. He was sad and oh so guilty to conjure up a person he no longer knew, who didn’t know him.
It’s nice to kind of be proven wrong now. Love and many, many anecdotes aside (like how Jaemin’s grandmother is doing, what spread he eats with toast, or why he only watches sports now instead of plays them, among others), Jaemin is just about the same. “Okay, valid,” he says, drawling on the way he did whenever he brought something serious up. “How about twenty-four-year-old Jeno? Is he just as sweet?”
Jeno gnaws on his lip, hoping his circulation would cut off and drain him of embarrassment. “Too soon to say. For all I know, you could be scamming me and Renjun into an MLM scheme.“
“What, with all the vitamins and face creams? My instructor has a whole cabinet of them.” Jaemin shakes the wetness off his skin and stares. His eyes hold the same bonfire warmth that soothed the scrapes on Jeno’s knees, or bid him congratulations when he finally won a round of Tekken. “...For the record, fourteen-year-old Jaemin did, too. Love you, I mean. Ate Seulgi knew.”
The words are as revelatory as Moses’ Red Sea. “You told my sister, but not me?”
“Yeah, probably between sixth and seventh grade. Even after that, you were pretty high up my list with Renjun and this guy I met on a hiking trail abroad.”
“Wait, pause. Too many reveals tonight. What do you mean you hike?”
“Just that one time. I thought Mark had the aurora borealis in his eyes or something like that, until he told me had a girlfriend back in Canada. But that’s a story for another day. I’m too busy singing you praises right now.”
“Good. They’re long overdue,” Jeno frowns. He hates that he does, but can’t help it. “Though you must’ve known I knew, too. About—what we had.”
“I do,” Jaemin answers, all sorts of feelings and memories about to break surface tension. He inches closer until he and Jeno are chest to chest. “For all I know, it could be why you’re blushing right now.”
“...Am not.”
“Are too. Your cheeks are pink. Like pomelo. Pomelo Jeno.”
Jeno splashes his left bicep. When the hell did it get so big? “I take everything back. You were a pest then, and a pest now.”
Jaemin grips his wrist with a shit-eating grin. “Sure.”
They don’t kiss, nor does Jeno want them to just yet. Instead, they swim in laps, each breath dragging them deeper into the blue.
“Un-be-lievable,” Donghyuck tells him the next morning. They’re tanning, and two cans of Rite n’ Lite are sweating as much as they are. “I leave for one second and you dethrone me as neighborhood slut. For some guy you haven’t seen in years, no less.”
Jeno beams, pulling down his shades. Saying that he hasn’t even gone past first base simply isn’t on his agenda right now. He gets a real kick out of it. “Not your neighborhood to claim if you moved out of it. And it’s not just some guy.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ve heard about his cats, and his back injury, and the way you sneak over upstairs just to breathe his air. The line I was looking for, dear Jeno, was No, Hyuck, you’re the best slut I know! No one could ever be as sexy as you!” Donghyuck sing-songs. “Either that or whatever went down last night. Did you guys do it in the pool?”
Oh, Lord. “Detective Donghyuck, back at it again.”
“Twenty-four seven, baby. You’re doing okay, though, right?”
Jeno tilts his head in puppy-like confusion. “Yeah? Jaemin didn’t pull anything weird, if that’s what you mean.”
Donghyuck sighs. “No, Jeno, that’s not what I mean.”
“So…?”
“Are you really gonna make me say it?”
Jeno just blinks.
“God, I forget how dense you are sometimes. Are you eating well? Sleeping lots? Still mad at me for jumping ship?”
The day Donghyuck said he planned to move, Jeno cried buckets, leaving an archipelago of tears on both of their shirts. Opportunities simply led them elsewhere—Jeno with the job, Donghyuck with Johnny and the new circle of friends that came with him—so it made significantly less sense to own a loft they barely stayed in together. If not for today’s economy, Jeno might have sought out another place closer to his office, or at least made a very shameful pilgrimage back to his parents’. Instead, he harbored an immense, misplaced anger, followed by three more sobfests and a reluctant helping hand.
“Yes, kind of, and then no,” Jeno answers. “For a while, I was disappointed, I guess. More than I ever was when Jaemin left. One day we’re watching teleseryes together, and then little by little, our friendship gets dumped like this week’s trash. All for some model you met on Grindr.”
“Honey, we met on Grindr,” Donghyuck groans, as contrarian as ever. “Then you dodged me in Philosophy for like, a week straight.”
Jeno rolls his eyes. “Not the point.”
“I know. Johnny was so out of the blue, even for me. I’ll spend the next decade apologizing, I swear.”
“There’s no need to. Look, all I’m trying to say is that this—” Jeno points to Donghyuck’s chest, and then to his own. “—is good. Some may say great. But staying great needs effort, and clearly we couldn’t give a lot when we were fresh out of each other’s bubbles. Not only that, but saying goodbye to you felt like saying goodbye to myself. To my purpose, if that makes sense.”
“It doesn’t,” Donghyuck nods. “But go on.”
“It’s like I’ve been shaken awake, and there’s not much ahead of me. Like, what is there to be proud of? A subpar job? A workout routine I can no longer commit to? All I have are the people around me. And without them, I’m… I don’t know. Sometimes, even with Jaemin back, I’m reminded of all the things I’m not.”
The air condenses with the ghost of rain, but it’s not thick enough to give them reprieve. Donghyuck doesn’t speak until the kids from the Mekong building stop flutter-kicking the pool. “I’m gonna sound like the worst person in the world right now, but is it so bad, being alone? Or needing people, for that matter? Would you shame me or Jaemin if we felt the same way? Because we do, whether you pick up on it or not. Personally, I think it’s a matter of balance. As long as it’s not crazy expensive or just plain crazy, you can do anything or be with anyone you set your mind to. Regret is for people with time to waste.”
“I know,” Jeno agrees, sad. “I know you're right, and I know I can power through this. I just needed to wallow for a bit. Seulgi usually let me.”
“I get ya. Though just so you know, you were the most you you’ve ever been. You still are, with or without me.” Donghyuck sips on more of his soda, looking up at the sky. His skin glows better than Jeno remembers; soft in his face and stomach, but toned everywhere else. One would never guess he used to do graveyard shifts at a call center. “You’re someone who loves deeply. So deeply, in fact, that our classmates thought you were in a cult! I’ve seen it rub off on everything you do, everyone we meet. Me included. I hugged the takeout you sent me the other day even if it was piping hot, and took nice pictures and prayed and everything before digging in. I wasn’t even mad when Kuya Doyoung stole my garlic rice.”
It’s by no doubt a rave review, and yet Jeno remains his own worst critic. “I’m glad, but, um. It’s not suffocating you, right? Because if it is, you have to tell me. Please. I don’t wanna ruin things again.”
Donghyuck tuts and shakes his head. “Nope, nuh-uh. You want us to play nice? That includes you being nice to yourself. Use it or lose it.”
“I suppose that ‘lose it’ isn’t really an option here.”
“You bet your plump ass it isn’t.”
“...I missed you, Hyuck. Have I told you that today?”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, stop. You’re making me turn on the waterworks!” Donghyuck swats Jeno’s arm. “As I was saying, worry about more important stuff, like rent, or Mr. Childhood Sweetheart getting into your swim trunks.”
“Oh, I paid rent in advance this month.”
“See! That’s one thing down. You’re doing good. Same way I am. I told my family about Johnny, y’know.”
“Wait. You did? Hyuck, that’s…wow. What’d they say?”
“Eh. They love him more than me now. I’m celebrating my freedom by taking that ceramics class in the North. Waitlist is taking fucking forever.”
Talking to Donghyuck often feels like this whole slap in the face. At first you’re hit with quick, piercing force, stronger than what’s expected or even allowed, and then with a slow, sobering wave of clarity, like an ice pack soothing the sting. Jeno, on the other hand, speaks in tightly wrapped gauze, the deeper meaning only unfurled when you care enough to be patient. It’s probably why they haven’t killed each other yet. Together, they reach new understandings—about love, life, the world.
“Okay, fine. Wasn’t gonna say anything, but the crown’s still yours,” Jeno relents, unsurprisingly fond. “Jaemin and I haven’t done it in the pool. Or, um, ever.”
Donghyuck nearly falls off his lounge chair. “And they say angels don’t walk among us,” he praises, pulling Jeno into a tight embrace. “Second place is still up for grabs, though. Here. Why don’t I give you my wax lady’s number?”
Jeno Jeno Jeno
Free from class
I drive. Renjun navigates. Donghyuck is on aux duty
Don’t say no I know you don’t have anything lined up this weekend
??? What do I do
Hehe
Just sit nice and pretty :)
You didn’t think I’d forget about your birthday did you??
Soon enough all four of them take the expressway, en route to Renjun’s family’s lakehouse just south of the city.
Lucy, Luna, and Luke are big enough to speed along, too. So far, the trip hasn’t taken any detours, save for a quick lunch-slash-merienda break in San Pedro. With plenty of music and ventilation to stave everyone off of heatstroke, Jeno falls asleep to Silk Sonic, the drab of toll gates and rail guards whizzing him by.
He wakes up past sunset, too groggy to register that Mrs. Huang kisses him on the cheek. The house is a pleasant mix of modern and antique, a slab of concrete with cracking white paint and a nipa-lined roof. Tall, green banaba trees leave blooms of pink on unpaved driveway. There are double the amount of cicadas here than there will ever be in the Metro. The smell of lichen and mildew is everywhere, though laced with a certain charm that can draw any traveler in.
The three cats are freed from their carriers, gearing everyone up to unpack and eat a homemade dinner. When talk of work and local destinations die down and Mrs. Huang retreats to her quarters, they settle into hushed, restful settlement. Such solace is rare. Even rarer to have someone—three whole other someones, more precisely—to share it with. Jeno wants to stay here for as long as he can.
Donghyuck lies back on his chair, puppeteering Luna into an impossible dance routine. “Hey, Jaemin. What year were you born in?”
“2000,” Jaemin answers with his back turned. He and Renjun are washing the dishes while Jeno is wiping down the table. “So was our dear Renjun here.”
“Oh, shit. When again, exactly?”
“August and March respectively.”
“Ooh, Leo, huh. Guess that means I’m your kuya. And that Renjun’s mine. Whoa.”
“Free reigns to boss you around,” Renjun winks, slapping a towel over his shoulder. Jaemin smiles and basks in his inherent cuteness. “Jeno, too.”
“You, yes. Jeno? Hardly,” Jaemin counters. “His sister spoiled him rotten. Though he was president of the chess club once.”
“Oh, my god, yes. Have you seen that picture of him with the little oval glasses?” Donghyuck points out, using Luna again to mimic when Jeno beat an opponent with a pawn to g5. Though Jeno never quite made it to the finals that day (his opponent from another school was too sick to show up, so he won by default), he still remembers the moment as one of his best. “I’m surprised Mrs. Lee hadn’t mom-agered him into oblivion.”
“She actually did Seulgi and I the favor of gatekeeping us. Said ‘The bigger your head gets, the less flattering it is on camera’ and stuff,” Jeno explains, trying to nail a stern yet nurturing tone.
“I respectfully disagree,” Renjun argues. “You would’ve done our generation a favor. Made us eat our veggies if it meant having a face like yours.”
“I second the motion,” Donghyuck adds. “Though now I’d think less child star, more supermodel extraordinaire. Like, why airbrush sexy guys’ abs for a living when you can be said sexy guy?”
Because there’s nothing I hate more in this world than being perceived? is Jeno’s first thought. With enough restraint, he does not share it.
He ignores the look he knows Jaemin is already shooting him, because frankly, he doesn’t know what he’ll find. Perhaps a joke rests on the tip of Jaemin’s tongue. If not that, maybe a saccharine sweet remark that everyone will cringe at for the duration of their trip. Neither are exactly ideal.
Temptation soon lets him know for sure. From the other end of the table, Jaemin's lips curl. “Whoa. Let’s hold our horses, shall we,” he jokes lightheartedly. The shine of the plate he’s wiping down pales in comparison to his eyes. “No use in celebrating our boy if you guys scare him off.”
The guy is so handsome it hurts. Remarkably, Jeno thinks, He sees me—all of me, even now—and I him.
“Anyways,” Jeno coughs, a smidge too late to be considered natural. “Jaemin’s definitely seen the pic. He was there to take it.”
Renjun gasps. He’s clearly caught on, but doesn’t dare to comment on anything. Jeno will make sure to carry all of his luggage on the way back. “Show me,” he tells Jaemin. “Now.”
“Fear not, Renjun. It’s in my bookmarks,” Donghyuck says matter-of-factly. “Actually, would you like a whole slideshow?”
Jeno frowns. “I thought you knew how to work this thing.”
“Shhh, don’t say that. Marimar can hear you.” Jaemin revs up the motorboat a third time, her breadth shaking on a patch of water lettuce. “She just needs some warming up.”
“You named her Marimar?”
“Nonsense. Renjun did. Now get on.”
The sun isn’t at its hottest yet, but that barely spurs Jeno to be at his most adventurous. He’d spent the whole morning on his hands and knees, begging Renjun and Donghyuck to swap places with him despite them having the combined survival skills of a snail. They threw him a life vest and showed him the door, insisting that they’d follow once they buy his birthday cake in the nearest town. While hurt, Jeno was at least relieved they weren’t going to bake it themselves (Out of the four of them, Jaemin is the only one to be trusted with anything hot and/or sharp.).
He decides to make the most of it for good manners if not anything else. He should feel things he wouldn’t have felt if he were back home, like sand crunching between his toes, or the wind picking up as he speeds farther and farther away from the dock, or how Marimar actually is a great name for a boat. The morning’s clouds are white and fluffy. Mangrove clusters cave him and Jaemin in, making for fun obstacles to drive around. The beryl blue of the lake swishes around them, molten light skittering on it like silvery fish. To think that Jaemin was once here, just a road trip away, instead of out there somewhere with the Pacific Ocean breaking them apart, is yet another thing to make peace with.
It isn’t until noon when silence is broken. Jaemin parks Marimar where the tide lays low. He then slips off his shirt, which Jeno graciously appreciates from where he’s sitting.
“It seems I see you like this more than I do with you clothed,” he remarks, hoping the red on his face is just the beginning of a bad sunburn.
“You saying no to free eye candy?” Jaemin teases, winking. Perhaps this was what Jeno feared all along. “Off. That polo of yours is soaked.”
Jeno mirrors him with probably half as much confidence, but that doesn’t seem to stop Jaemin from wolf-whistling. He feels his eyes following him—Jeno chooses not to question such as he folds his shirt and dives in.
The water is cool, like a popsicle made runny with the pad of your tongue. He blows approximately ten bubbles before coming out a new man, his drenched hair flopping around and making a mess on Jaemin’s chest.
“Down, boy,” Jaemin snickers, shielding himself. “I take it you’ve warmed up to the great outdoors?”
“It’s because of the outdoors that I was dying in the first place,” Jeno cries, wiping his face and slicking his hair. “But really, thank you. You, Renjun, and Hyuck didn’t have to.”
“Nah. We wanted to,” Jaemin replies. Textbook pleasantry, really, though from him it’s extra special. Jaemin’s grandmother once said that his heart was too big for his body. Even now, with age having hardened him and late-stage capitalism raining on everyone’s parade, he shares it whenever he can. That’s how he got the best marks for recitation, or why he owns three cats instead of one. If you ask Jeno, it’s both his strongest trait and biggest downfall.
“So?” Jaemin nudges Jeno with his elbow, splashing them both. “What’s it like, being twenty-five?”
Jeno shrugs. “Anxious as I am, I hardly got to think about it because I was so swamped at work. Seulgi had to text last night so I could remember. Guess ‘m just older. Ever so slightly wiser. More forgetful.” He steps on wet dirt at half-speed, subconsciously inching toward Jaemin. “Looks-wise, though, ways ahead. I hope. No more zits or oval glasses.”
“You put yourself down too much. Those were adorable,” Jaemin sulks, his lashes catching thick, gleaming droplets. “If only I were there to stop your Lasik appointment last year…”
“But you weren’t,” Jeno answers out of nowhere. No anger or resentment churns within him—Donghyuck has taught him that it simply isn’t productive. Perhaps what he feels is a wave of sadness he needs to swallow down with small talk. “If your ails really must be soothed, I use non-prescription lenses sometimes. Kuya Johnny’s friend Doyoung got me a nice pair.”
“Cute. But um, you’re right. I wasn’t. Hence the wanting to,” Jaemin explains, oddly hesitant in his delivery. The two of them stay there for a while, taking in more of their surroundings. “Listen. Can I say something weird?”
“Nothing you say phases me anymore,” Jeno encourages. He chooses not to question his own shortness of breath, either. “Your weird is my ordinary.”
Jaemin raises a brow. “And if I said Marimar secretly carried a dead body?”
Jeno ponders the thought for a grand total of one millisecond. “Then we dump it here and head back for snacks. I’ll even help you pin blame on your stepdad.”
Jaemin is struck by the admission, as if Jeno weren’t a dog at his feet from the very moment they met. With soft eyes, he says, “I don’t deserve you, I think.”
“Clearly,” Jeno jokes, not having it in himself to look back.
“Rude. This is where you’re supposed to say that I do.” Jaemin closes the gap between them, pulling Jeno into an embrace. He kisses Jeno’s neck, each one bigger and noisier than any other person would smack on. “That I cooked you the best meals, gave you the warmest hugs, told your dad you didn’t break that vase when you totally. Fucking. Di—”
“O-kay,” Jeno concedes. The sensation is too much for him to handle, but he doesn’t necessarily pull away. “You’re my knight in shining armor, Jaemin Na. Would you mind getting to the point before our fingers prune?”
“Right.” Jaemin clears his throat. “So. Jeno.”
“Jaemin,” Jeno nods, the name uttered like it’s his own. It’s then he feels that time runs even slower, submerging them into something truly and wholly theirs.
“When you said you loved me around the same time I loved you, I kept thinking: would we have dated if I stayed? Would it have taken a week into sophomore year, or after two college degrees and a string of girls who deserved better?” Jaemin sucks in a deep breath, then puffs it out like a train on full throttle. “Furthermore, would we have lasted? Is it normal to fixate on my love life—or lack thereof—this much? Like why, oh why would this all come up again after a decade of shoving it down?
“At first I thought I was swept up in the moment, seeing you near my new apartment of all places. But no. You’re as good and as beautiful as I remember, and clearly you’ve become many other things, too. I couldn’t help but be nosy.”
“I—” Jeno is out of words, as per usual. He has the sneaking suspicion that today, Jaemin has stolen his. “What are you trying to say?”
“That I’m sorry I ever left,” Jaemin stammers. He and Jeno are now face-to-face. “It’s been years, Jeno. I want to make up for all the lost time, if you’ll let me.”
It’s almost hard to hear, and so earnestly, at that. Jeno often overjustifies his place in the world, to go above and beyond just to prove he can want the things he wants, feel the things he feels. How could Jaemin know, then, to accept him just as he is?
He cannot pinpoint what makes him go against his emotional code of conduct: perhaps it’s the proximity, or the sun hitting Jaemin just right. Months of tension building and building and building, catalyzed by histories both shared and separate. The desire to finally take life by the horns instead of letting it kick you into the dirt, not knowing where you’re going next but enjoying the ride, anyway.
But what he does know is that now, his lips meet Jaemin’s, and it tastes softer than seawater.
With poor Marimar being pushed to her limits and a secret entry at the back of the lakehouse, Jaemin pushes Jeno into bed.
It isn’t the safest of landings, as they’re a little out of practice. With sweat on their backs and water still clinging onto their hair, Jeno’s head falls flat on the older, stiffer mattress instead of the newer, softer pillow. “Ow.”
“Sorry, baby,” Jaemin apologizes, grazing his lips against each of Jeno’s temples. He moves to his cheeks, then to the sweet spot below his jaw only the best of kissers know how to take advantage of. “That feel better?”
Jeno bites on his lip, reveling in the new pet name. “Not sure. Another try wouldn’t hurt.”
“Cute. Thought you’d be shier.”
“Oh, I am. I lost all feeling in my arms, like, five minutes ago.”
Jaemin laughs at the display of sincerity, rewarding him with hungry eyes and palms running up and down Jeno’s chest. “You look good,” he whispers in an octave lower than the overly mushy, nagging voice he’d use most days. “Gorgeous, I think, is the word I’d use. I don’t think I told you that yet.”
Jeno gasps when thumbs ghost past his nipples. He’s enjoying this too much, too fast. Can Jaemin tell? “I recall ‘beautiful’, which I find hard to believe. But thank you. A—and likewise.”
“You’re right. I did speak too soon,” Jaemin teases. He cocks a knee between Jeno’s legs, the coolness of it a shock to the warmth reverberating from within.
From that point on it’s a puzzle game of limbs and teeth, open-mouthed kisses missing the hesitance that once permeated their every move. What Jeno has forgotten with past partners, he currently examines with painstaking detail: the hairs on his arms wet and gnarly like whirlpools, Jaemin’s chest broad and heavy with monsoon breath, the way that nothing about this sizzling stickiness could deter him from wading on, not even a little bit.
Perhaps this is their big picture now—the two of them just shy of a whole new life, finally working again as one.
The thought is very rudely interrupted with Jaemin untying the drawstrings on Jeno’s shorts. Jeno bucks up to the movement, mouth agape. “Can you—fuck…”
Jaemin holds him down, massaging his thigh. “Getting there.”
“No condom?”
“None. Didn’t think I’d get this far, to be honest with you.”
“Nonsense.” Jeno shakes his head in disbelief, and probably at his own dick at half-mast. “You had me from the start.”
He’s really, really glad he took Donghyuck’s wax lady’s number, because the look on Jaemin’s face is priceless. Laid bare, his length sheathes into Jaemin’s grip all nice and smooth. They both watch him harden, skin pulled taut, a pearl of pre-cum dripping down from Jeno’s tip.
Jaemin gets hard, too. The thought of seeing just how much consumes Jeno to the point of desperation, out-crazying every wet dream he’s had in his lifespan combined. He aches for touch so badly that he takes the poking feeling at his inner thigh to his own, licking his lips in the process.
Until now, the position hasn’t existed to Jeno outside of cramped university lodging and low-resolution porn. His senses are ultra-heightened, the secrecy of this all setting his insides ablaze instead of just aflame. His hips are beginning to hurt from the grinding, but he doesn’t care. Where Jeno is thicker, Jaemin is longer. Jeno leaner, Jaemin buffer. And when Jeno starts moaning and getting tired, Jaemin licks a stripe up his palm to keep the momentum going, nearly stroking themselves to completion. It’s heaven in their hands.
“I’ll fuck you first thing Monday,” Jaemin rambles filthily, digging into Jeno’s slit with his thumb.“Eat you out all morning. Open you up with my fingers, maybe, and then make you come as much as you want. Would that be okay?”
Jeno just nods dumbly, too lost in the sensation to argue that by then, he’ll have work, and Jaemin will have school. “Uh-huh.”
Jaemin gives the swell of his ass a good slap, flashing a toothy grin. “Good boy.”
Coming in ribbons to the sound of that has got to warrant an emergency session with a therapist, but Jeno literally and figuratively milks the moment for all it’s worth. He spills all over his stomach and a bit at Jaemin’s face, to which the madman licks and swallows without breaking any eye contact. Somehow, Jeno is still turned on, and all the more fond.
“Before you say anything,” Donghyuck warns, “just know that it’s not my fault.”
“It totally is, considering he sped up when the roads looked empty,” Renjun sighs. “Anyways, I did what I could. Reconstructive surgery isn’t exactly my forte."
A big, blue dilapidated chiffon cake sits before them, just two degrees off from sublimating into the heatwaves. Its 2 and 5 candles have fused with some of the sprinkles. The B in Happy birthday! is unevenly spaced. Both tick Jeno’s inner designer off to no end, harking back to his many ghosts of cakes’ past.
Ultimately, though, he’s just glad his friends are safe. “Don’t worry,” he insists. “I think it’s kind of cute.”
Donghyuck grimaces. “I said absolve me of blame, not of criticism.”
Jaemin comes out with a lighter, a knife, and paper plates. “Alright, let’s keep this party going. Make way, please.”
With the grace of a pro, Jaemin lights the candles, his palms emitting a soft orange. When Renjun whips his phone out and Donghyuck sings with a range no one else can fathom of having, he sits next to Jeno, watching him watch the scene. Below the table, he squeezes Jeno’s hand, his warmth everpresent.
Jeno should really wish for something practical, like a raise, or a lifetime supply of protein supplements and self-respect. But he doesn’t, and won’t ever regret it.
So they go home and live their lives. Days linger. Summer won’t really end, at least for a while. Neither do their worries, nor their jobs. But some of the doubt does. The change isn’t that big, but Jeno feels it. He can call his parents. Host dinner parties. Take a walk every now and then. Apply to the agency that has better pay and provides more sick leaves.
He contemplates such thoughts somewhere in the Rio Grande building, a few floors up from where he usually is. Eventually, Jaemin noses Jeno’s neck, the sweat there more a turn-on to him than a nuisance. “Are you just gonna sit there and not admire the fruits of my labor?”
“Hey. I thought I was gonna do the heavy lifting,” Jeno says, kissing his forehead. “But okay. Lemme see.”
There lies a new view: a small three-tier shelf from their shopping trip with Renjun, holding different pieces of themselves. Jaemin’s assortment of textbooks, for one, or pictures of the cats and the film cameras he used to shoot them. Jeno has a pair of dumbbells and a shell he found by the lakehouse, along with some shirts to be stored in a cabinet for later. Michael Jackson’s Bad lies back on the upper left corner—on loan from Donghyuck, of course.
It’d be stupid to move in together without going on a few dates first, but this is a nice in-between. Lined on grainy wood, the stuff gleams. Neat, but not clinical. Complementary, but also their own things.
“Very us, I’d say,” Jeno muses.
The sun may have dulled at this hour, but Jaemin's smile sure hasn’t. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Arm in arm, they lean onto each other. Maybe there will be more boxes of things coming along. More experiences, change—good, bad, some disorienting mix of both. Whatever comes his way, Jeno feels like he’ll be ready.
For now, he’s fine where he is.