Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

What used to be the funniest day of the week when Jisung was a kid turned into raw loneliness the second he was the only one left trapped in high school.

He was falling behind and Saturday nights became the clearest example of the fact. Turning around in bed for hours, he dreamed awake of what a night out would be like. And he dreamed about it again once he fell asleep. A vicious circle that felt like he was missing out on everything, for years.

Jisung had never quite fitted in this made-up family they created—it was never his in the first place—but it became jarringly obvious that he didn't belong when they met up on Sundays. Grey breakfasts on the coffee shop by the park where dark coffees and eyebags were at the top of the agenda. Everything was about incomplete anecdotes Jisung didn't have enough knowledge to understand, inside jokes he could never get, matching smiles he couldn't mimic. None of them wanted to hurt him, but no one was awake enough to realize. Not even Chenle.

He was too young, a kid, a child even when he had already grown taller than all of them. But how big you are has nothing to do with how big you feel, Jisung learned it the hard way.

In the end, a night out with his brother's friends was not as spectacular as Jisung had made it up to be in his frustrated, childish head. It was dark clubs with wall-tall screens that played the same dizzying videos again and again. Pink neon lights hanging from the ceiling washed everything in a daze, making you feel stuck somewhere between dreamy and dizzy. It was too small dance floors where you got pushed around into sweaty strangers, not chairs and stools for everyone, numb knees after standing up for too long. It was overplayed radio songs and a DJ that ignored every single one of Donghyuck’s cute girl group song requests. It was Jisung having to hold Mark’s hands with a sticky iron grip on the way to the bar, lean on his shoulder to not get lost in the crowd while Mark ordered his drink for him, wide-eyed in the darkness of the place to make sure everything went right.

Still, Jisung had fun every single night. As much fun as he’s having tonight, because it’s them, and that’s all he’s ever needed to have a good time.

Not much has changed, the club they are at today is too small for the number of people dancing inside, Jisung doesn’t like the music they are playing, and the lights are making him a bit dizzy. Maybe it’s not the light, maybe it’s just the alcohol. He only ever drinks at parties, and three glasses of whatever Mark has ordered for him is already too much.

There is a reason why he rarely drinks, alcohol turns him giggly and clingy, as needy and whiny as a child. But it doesn’t seem that bad when he throws himself at Jeno with wobbly legs and open arms, his wet lips pressing a loud kiss against Jeno’s pale cheek.

“I love you a whole lot,” Jisung yells, his nose pushed flat into the side of Jeno’s face. He tightens his arm around Jeno’s shoulder, damp fingers wrinkling up the fabric of his shirt. Jeno doesn’t complain, his cheek puffed out against Jisung’s mouth when he smiles at the words. “Did y’know that? I don’t know how you put up with me. Love you.”

Everyone else erupts into a burst of laughter louder than the music, and it sends Jisung into a fit of giggles.

Jeno pats his cheek softly, mumbling “love you too, Sung,” so quietly that there is no way anyone else in the club catches it. If Jisung turns overly affectionate and needy when he drinks, Jeno goes quiet and over-the-top serious. He keeps his fingers dug into Jisung’s soft cheek and adds, “Thank you for keepin’ me company at work.”

Jisung only laughs louder at the words, peeling himself off of Jeno’s body to drag his feet over the viscous floor and into Renjun’s arms. Renjun doesn’t frown at him or shy away from the touch, he sneaks an arm around Jisung’s waist and keeps him hooked into the curve of his body, smiling up at him with blotchy cheeks.

“You’re so pretty,” Jisung screams at him, and that makes everyone laugh again.

“Be careful, Jisung,” Chenle raises his glass to point at Renjun, looking at them with his head tilted down. “He’s taken and Lucas is damn big.”

Jisung frowns, leaning down a bit so he can rest his head on top of Renjun. “But who does he live with, huh?”

This time, when they laugh, Mark’s giggling is louder than everyone else’s. He’s clapping excitedly where he stands in front of Jisung—a cardboard crown resting sideways on his head, the three top buttons of his shirt undone, and cheeks a shade of red that only alcohol and Donghyuck can achieve.

Donghyuck, standing right beside him, is just as flushed. He’s got his arm looped into Mark’s and his cheek pressed against Mark’s shoulder, any kind of shyness or sense of privacy left locked back at home for a night. His position exposes the sweaty line of his neck, the pink neon lights of the club revealing a path of fresh bruises that gets lost underneath his shirt. Mark gets just as needy as Jisung when he drinks, but, unlike his little brother, he does have someone he can cling to on nights like these.

There it is again, through the alcohol-induced fuzziness and the warmth of Renjun’s body pressed up against his, the sharp-cold edge of loneliness chasing after Jisung even now. It’s like a claw scraping his nape, pointy nails digging into the back of his neck and threatening to slip inside. No way to walk away from it, not alcohol or paint can drown it out.

The others are still laughing when Jisung’s giddiness dies in his chest. Cheek still on top of Renjun’s head, Jisung’s squinted eyes jump over the poorly lit club until they settle on Jaemin. He stands a bit further away from Donghyuck and Mark, clear-faced and steady because he’s the only one who isn’t drinking tonight.

Jaemin is smiling, lips wet with soda stretched into a subtle curve that glints pastel pink under the neon light. He looks so fond like this, half-closed eyes watching everyone else laugh, the intermittent images displayed on the screens of the club dancing shadows over his smooth skin. For once, his hair is unstyled instead of curved to the side like always brushes it for work. Black messy strands fall over his forehead gently and it makes him look all that much softer.

He’s pretty, he’s always been, Jisung has told him before. Pretty long eyelashes and pretty pearl-white teeth and a pretty sharp jaw that sometimes Jisung wants to trace with his fingertips. Pretty laughter and pretty words and pretty hands that never hesitate to offer help when you need it.

His hands. Jaemin’s got one shoved into the pocket of his jeans, and the other one is holding his drink oh-so-carefully. The half-empty glass dangles from his pads, fingers parted as they circle the rim, and Jisung wonders if Jaemin would let him take the glass off his hand to fill the spaces between his fingers with Jisung’s own. Would Jaemin push him away? Or would he smile at him like Renjun does now when Jisung slides their palms together, fingers intertwined?

Maybe Jaemin would care as little as Renjun does. Maybe he’d care enough to hold Jisung’s other hand, enough to pull him closer.

Jisung will blame it on the alcohol, but he’s so caught up in the lines of Jaemin’s face that everything else around him is blurred, even the hard beat of the electronic music is muffled by the thumping of his own heart in his temples. Jisung doesn’t catch who says what that makes Jaemin burst into laughter, but he does catch the veins bulking up underneath Jaemin’s skin when he throws his head back in a loud chuckle. Pretty, Jaemin’s neck glistening with sweat in the damp atmosphere of the club, his Adam’s apple bobbing under a thin patch of skin, the thumb-shaped dip between his collarbones.

Maybe it has nothing to do with alcohol and it’s just the light. After all, pink is Jaemin’s color, it is only fair that he looks pretty underneath a flash of bright pink. Jisung stares at the line of Jaemin’s neck, at the crook where it meets his shoulder, and wonders how pretty his skin would look with dark pink bruises all over it.

“Let’s go, I wanna dance more,” Donghyuck says from somewhere between the blood rushing through Jisung’s head.

There’s the clinking of empty glasses against a table, Renjun’s fingers sliding off of Jisung’s when someone pulls him away, Chenle’s hand warm on Jisung’s cheek when he pats it twice.

“Sit down if you don’t wanna dance, Jisung,” Mark screams into his ear, fingers digging into Jisung’s shoulders for a second. “Looks like you’re gonna fall asleep standing.”

But Jisung can’t move, feet glued to the sticky floor of the club and eyes glued to Jaemin’s pretty face.

He wants to kiss him so badly. Wants to close the space between them, place his hands on Jaemin’s neck and fit their lips together. Wants to lick into his mouth until he finds out what Jaemin tastes like underneath the soda he’s been drinking today.

And when Jaemin finally looks at him, his eyebrows arching when his eyes meet Jisung’s, something snaps inside of Jisung with a suddenness that it tears a sob out of his throat.

Jaemin smiles at him with a familiarity Jisung doesn’t really know what he’s done to gain, but that he can’t afford to lose. With Donghyuck, he ruined something he never had. With Jaemin, he’d be breaking something he doesn’t even deserve. He can’t do this again, not to Jaemin of all people.

Jisung’s eyes well up and start to burn right there, in the middle of a club filled to the brim with strangers. His throat closes up to the point of aching and he wraps his arms around himself, his own fingers digging into his ribs as he tries to stop himself from gasping out loud.

But amongst the noisy music, the pink light, and the renewed guilt with a brand new name, the only thing Jisung wants—needs—is Jaemin. Because that’s all he’s ever known each time he hit rock bottom.

And that’s exactly what Jaemin gives him.

---

“Hey,” Jaemin whispers, gentle hands cupping Jisung’s flaming cheeks, fingers curled into the short hair at his nape. “You have to tell me what’s wrong, Sungie. I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me, baby.”

Jisung doesn’t know how long they spent at the club nor what time it is, but the sky isn’t pitch black anymore, it’s turning the kind of dark purple that announces the sun is already wrestling its way up.

The breeze is rustling Jaemin’s unstyled hair, the leaves of the trees that frame the street are rusting loudly, but Jisung can’t even feel the breeze against his body with how close Jaemin is standing. He’s tugging Jisung’s face down to try to look him in the eyes, their foreheads a breath away from touching as he digs worried fingers into Jisung’s nape.

He keeps whispering, concerned words hushed in the minimal space between them to coax an answer out of Jisung. But all Jisung can do is keep his eyes closed so his gaze doesn’t fall on Jaemin’s lips pathetically, tears falling down his cheeks like a little kid having his first fit.

“I’m a-” he tries but ends up hiccuping in the middle. “This is so- so embarrassing,” he gasps, his hands coming up and finding Jaemin’s wrists by touch, fingers curling around them. Jaemin’s pulse is beating so hard that it jumps under Jisung’s fingertips, and he curses himself under his breath for worrying him like this. He’s spent a whole lifetime worrying him like this. “I’m so fuckin’ childish.”

“Stop it,” Jaemin squeezes his face harder, shaking him a little. “What did we talk about, mhm? No age to stop crying. But, please, talk to me.”

But he can’t speak because Jaemin is so, so close. Jisung wants to push at his chest and break free. He wants to pull him closer and never let go.

Jisung is so overwhelmed, drowning in Jaemin’s proximity, in his breath hitting Jisung’s face, in his sugary smell, melting under the warmth of his hands. Jaemin touches him like something frail, speaks to him gingerly as if Jisung will come undone under a harsh word. Just someone he has to take care of, that’s what Jisung has always been to Jaemin. That’s what he will always be.

“Just take me home,” Jisung pleads, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Jaemin’s. “Please. I just wanna go home.”

For a second, Jaemin doesn’t move. He keeps their foreheads pressed together, hands sliding down Jisung’s cheeks slowly. Jisung holds his breath the entire time, scared Jaemin will call him out, remind him that hiding away will not make his problems disappear. But Jisung tried once and it worked, even if it took longer than half of his life. He might as well try again.

But they both know Jaemin is far too nice to play dirty, and giving Jisung what he wants is what he’s always been best at, even if he doesn’t realize it.

“Alright,” he whispers, thumbs drawing circles at both sides of Jisung’s neck. His skin is damp with sweat and tears, probably sticky with alcohol, but Jaemin doesn’t seem to mind. “Let’s go, baby.”

---

Like a cruel joke, the sky is a perfect blend of deep oranges and soft pinks when Jaemin stops the car in front of Jisung’s apartment. It’s the exact same shade of pink as the tiny painting Jisung keeps tucked in the inside pocket of his jacket.

The tack-tack-tack of the blinkers is louder than usual when the rest of the city is still fast asleep, only accompanied by Jisung’s intermittent sniffing. Swollen on the inside and on the outside, Jisung’s head throbs, his temple pulsating against the closed window and his eyes burning. Even though his throat aches each time he tries to swallow, Jisung is dying to say something before he leaves, but he can’t find words other than I’m sorry and Jaemin doesn’t want to hear that.

“I messaged Mark so he doesn’t worry.” Jaemin’s voice breaks through the silence, breathy and heavy. “Said I took you home because you were sleepy.”

Jisung hums and undoes his seatbelt, squirming in the seat until he’s flat against the backrest. “Thank you,” he blurts out, his voice breaking at the end.

Silence sets between them again, but Jaemin sighs loudly before it can stretch out for too long, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel to the rhythm of the blinkers. “This needs to stop, Jisung.”

Swallowing so hard that it makes him wince, Jisung looks down at his own hands, resting on his bouncing legs. He plays with his own fingers as he tries to come up with something to say, stretching the skin of his knuckles just to smooth it all out again. He breathes loud through his nose, eyes shut close when he finally turns around to face Jaemin.

The seams of Jisung’s mouth curl downward against his will the second he sees worry carved in every single wrinkle of Jaemin’s pretty face. It’s all around his lips, pushing them into a concerned pout. It’s in the corners of his eyes, eyelids heavy with something different from sleep. It’s in the frown between his eyebrows, the dent that always shows up there when Jaemin doesn’t know what to do.

“I’m sorry,” Jisung says shakily, bringing his hand to his mouth and chewing on the skin of his index finger. “I keep crying like a baby and causing scenes.”

Apologies are the only thing he can offer right now. And it’s such a foreign yet familiar feeling, the same green guilt turning in his stomach and crawling up his chest bitterly, overflowing in the form of tears. But it’s heavier, colder, sharper when he can’t share it with anyone. It’s disarming, looking up at Jaemin and seeing all over his face that, for once, he doesn’t get it. And Jisung has never been brave enough to voice things so close to the heart.

“Stop saying that,” Jaemin scolds him and he slaps Jisung’s hand away from his mouth to grab his chin between thumb and index fingers instead. He draws Jisung closer with a harsh pull, undoing his own seatbelt at the same time to lean forward. For a second, Jisung can’t stop his eyes from falling down to Jaemin’s pursed lips, still shiny with remnants of soda. “I haven’t seen you like this since Donghyuck left during his last year of college,” Jaemin says with a jerk of Jisung’s chin that forces their eyes back on each other’s. “And I doubt it’s just the alcohol.”

Oh, but it is the alcohol, unveiling truths you didn't want to see but can't deny. People drink to forget, but drunk people never lie, especially not to themselves.

And how to tell Jaemin that, for the first time, he's not helping. How to tell him that he's making it worse because Jisung only wants to lean in and lick soda off his lips. How to tell him that Jisung has already been here once and that he refuses to do it all over again, no matter how different it feels. How to tell Jaemin that he looks prettiest like this, half of his face glowing cloud-pink and cotton-soft.

How to tell him that Jisung has figured out why pink suits him so well, and that Jaemin might hate the answer.

Jisung swallows his thoughts the way one would swallow glass, with a throbbing throat and eyes screwed shut. He lies, "I'm fine."

Jaemin laughs, low and bitter and oh-so-tired. "I thought we were past this," he whispers, and the disappointment Jisung reads on his face when he opens his eyes is the worst of it all. “You can’t go on like this, baby.”

Still, Jaemin is so gentle when he slides his hand up Jisung's cheek, his thumb rubbing the sensitive skin under his right eye as if he's trying to spell it away.

He smiles the same soft smile Jisung has seen a million times over the past few years—lips pressed tight together and the corners of his eyes tugged down—a mirror of the smile he offered when Jisung buried himself between the sheets of his bed after he saw Mark and Donghyuck kissing for the first time. That's how Jaemin has always seen Jisung: a scared little kid that needs strong arms around him to keep him in one piece.

"I have to go," Jisung says, pulling away from Jaemin's touch hastily before he starts crying again.

With another deep sigh, Jaemin lets him go. He slumps in his seat with a thump, his hands back on the steering wheel, fingers drumming against the rubber. He’s still frowning and worry tenses all the lines of his face in the warm light of the sunrise.

Jisung can't leave him like this. He gets shaky fingers into the inside pocket of his jacket and hands Jaemin the only explanation he can offer right now: pink tulips on a tiny 3x3 canvas.

Jaemin grabs the tiny painting with crystal-careful fingertips and Jisung leans across the console to place a rushed alcohol-brave kiss on his rose cheek. He pulls away with his eyes closed, tugs the door open, and hopes that Jaemin somehow gets him.

---

When Jisung wakes up, he does so to warm light coming through the drawn curtains and to fingers running through his hair.

He turns in bed and tugs at his blankets to cover his eyes, but someone sitting on top of them makes it impossible. He grunts, tries to blink his bleary eyes open, and yawns loud and wide, tearing a low chuckle from the other person in the room.

“Renjun?” Jisung asks with a sleep-rough voice, rubbing his eyes with the pads of his fingers. He winces at the sharp pain flashing through his head when he pushes himself up on his elbows. He opens and closes his stale, dry mouth and he looks around through sticky eyelashes. “Oh, hi,” he mumbles when his eyes find Mark, soft-faced and blurred around the edges.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” Mark keeps his voice down as if it’s still the middle of the night, but by the yellow light that’s crawling into the room, Jisung has probably slept through breakfast and lunch. “You okay? I brought you an aspirin.”

Jisung grunts again when he finally straightens up in bed and Mark automatically pulls up his pillow so Jisung can lean against it. He can’t open his eyes properly yet, but he looks at his brother between swollen eyelids and lifts his hands in the air waiting for a pill and a glass of water.

When Mark hands them to him, Jisung swallows the aspiring and empties the glass in three counted seconds. He gives the glass back to Mark and asks, voice husky, “Why are you here, hyung? I know how to deal with a hangover.”

“It doesn’t look like a hangover, though,” Mark says. He isn’t whispering anymore, and the tone of his voice forces Jisung’s eyes wide open.

“What are you talking about?”

Now that Jisung looks at him properly, he notices the weird twist on Mark’s mouth, the tense line of his shoulders, the peeled-off, bitten-red skin of his lips. He’s fidgeting, holding the empty glass of water with one hand and pressing down on the tips of his fingers with the other.

“You cried all night, didn’t you?” Mark asks, and he’s the one who seems on the verge of crying when he stares at Jisung with round shiny eyes. “And it’s not the first time you spent the night crying, right?”

Jisung stays quiet, blinking at Mark as he breathes through his open mouth. He lets the silence speak for him because some things are just too bitter to admit them aloud.

Mark laughs through his voice, his head hanging between his shoulders. “Fuck,” he bumps the butt of the glass against his knee, shaking his head no. “I’m so stupid.”

“What is this about, Mark?” Jisung asks and he reaches out to hold Mark’s hand steady. “I’m half asleep. I’m not following.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” The question may seem reproachful, but there’s only guilt in the lines of Mark’s face when he looks up at Jisung. It’s the same green guilt Jisung has seen staring back at him in the mirror way too many times.

“Tell you what, hyung?”

“About Donghyuck.” The words plummet heavily in Jisung’s stomach like a rock, hit his chest like a close-fisted punch. “About your feelings, Jisung,” Mark keeps blurting out, his eyes jumping around the green walls of Jisung’s room, his hand shaking in Jisung’s grip. “I could’ve- I’ve been hurting you all this time. Shit. I could’ve done something. I-”

“Stop it,” Jisung grips Mark’s hand tighter, peels his fingers off of the glass, and turns around to set it on the bedside table so he can interlock their fingers properly. “Hyung,” he says through his swollen throat, putting all the strength he’s got into stopping his words from wavering. “This is unnecessary.”

Mark’s face only crumples more at the words. “Is it, though?” He rips his hand out of Jisung’s grip to rub his nape, his head hanging low once again. “Because apparently, you’ve been struggling for months. And I knew- I knew something was up. But I’m so fucking stupid that I didn’t see- ” a sniffle breaks his words in the middle, and he isn’t crying when he looks back up at Jisung, but the redness in his eyes is just as bad. “You’ve probably been hurting for years and I kept coming to you with my dumb problems and-”

“That’s enough, Mark,” Jisung almost yells, his hands coming to Mark’s shoulders, gripping tight to prevent him from sinking down again. “Shut up and listen to me for a second, alright? It’s not your fault.” Mark opens his mouth to retaliate, but Jisung digs his fingers tighter into his shoulders. “It’s not. I kept it to myself, it was my decision. I didn’t want you to know.”

This is exactly why Jisung didn’t want Mark to know—the ruined skin of his lips, the dark bags under his eyes, the sickly pale tone of his skin. Jisung would take anger over this any time, but Mark has never learned how to get mad at Jisung, has spent his entire life trying to carry Jisung’s mistakes as his own.

And Jisung is tired of the guilt, sick of going through life leaving nasty green footprints after each step he takes. But he’d swallow all of Mark’s guilt in a second if he could. This is his burden to wear, after all, and he’s not willing to pass it on to someone else.

“Believe me when I say this is unnecessary, Mark. Please.” Jisung lets go of one of Mark’s shoulders to point at his own face. “I’m not like this because of Donghyuck,” he confesses shakily. “That’s- I think I’m over that.”

Mark’s mouth twists into a distasteful grimace, his frown deepening as he stares at Jisung. “Are you sure? You aren’t saying that to make me feel better, right?”

“Honestly, I don’t know if I’m sure,” Jisung says with a chuckle. He lets go of Mark completely and tangles his hands in the sheets, his legs bouncing against the mattress. “But I’m saying it because I truly think so. I’m done lying to you, alright? Or, like, hiding the truth.”

“How come?” Mark asks, his mouth turning upward for the first time since Jisung opened his eyes, a teasing smirk pulling at the tense skin of his cheeks. “Is there someone new?”

Jaemin’s voice resounds in Jisung’s head, sad and quiet on a pink-tinged night: I happened to find someone I liked more, but it didn’t work out either.

With heated cheeks and a dry mouth, Jisung ducks his head down, lips pressed tight together. He shrugs, his fingers smoothing the wrinkles he created when he crumpled the blanket in his fists. “I don’t know.”

Mark gasps loudly, then. Jisung looks up at him to find him wide-eyed and firm. “It’s not Chenle, is it? He told me you got jealous a while back,” he says, his thumb thrown over his shoulder as if pointing to a memory. “Why did you even get jealous? Nothing’s going on with Chenle. I don’t like him or anything, I swear-”

“You’re rambling again,” Jisung hits Mark’s chest with an open palm, doubling down as laughter bubbles out of him. It’s weird, laughing like this when his entire body is swollen with tears. But laughing with Mark always feels right. “I don’t like Chenle, he’s my best friend,” Jisung smiles, flopping back down against his pillow. “And I know you don’t like him either, hyung. You’re literally going to get married in like 5 days.”

Mark is the one bursting into laughter now, a fit of chirpy giggles that have him stomping the floor with his feet. “Yeah, that’s right. I’m just, like, a bit overwhelmed,” he says with squinted eyes, fingers fidgeting once again. “I’m sorry.”

“Hyung, you didn’t even know-”

“Let me say this, please,” Mark pleads, taking a big gulp of air. “I’m sorry I was so dense that I didn’t see it,” he says and lifts one hand in the air to stop Jisung from interrupting again. “And I’m sorry because, Jisung, I swear I mean it when I say that I would give up anything for you. Anything but this,” he sniffs, his arm coming down so he can touch the silver band on his other hand. “Even if I knew. It’s the one thing I just can’t give up on.”

“I know,” Jisung assures him, reaching out to grab Mark’s hand. “And I would never expect you to do something like that. Hell, I’d be so fucking mad at you if you messed this up for yourself,” Jisung says, thumbing over the ring around Mark’s finger. “You deserve him, hyung. No matter what I was going through, I was always sure of that one thing. You deserve each other, and I’m happy for you. Do you believe me?”

Mark nods fast, his face softening into a smile when he pulls his hand away from Jisung’s grip. “Why does it sound like you’re the one cheering me up, now?” he says, grinning now, full-on pink cheeks and white teeth. He punches Jisung’s shoulder, breaking into another one of those happy giggles Jisung wishes he knew how to paint. “It should be the other way around.”

“I’m sorry too, hyung,” Jisung finally spits out. “Sorry for keeping quiet and shutting you out. I didn’t want you to worry.”

Mark rolls his eyes at him, but his grin doesn’t waver. “You sound like Donghyuck now, with the worrying talk.”

The skin of Jisung’s neck and cheeks heats up at the words, and he groans as he flops back on his bed, burying himself in his pillow. “Was he the one who told you? I knew he knew. This is so embarrassing.”

“He didn’t tell me, but I talked to him when I found out,” the mattress creaks when Mark leans on his elbow, half lying down next to Jisung. “He said he had a feeling, but that he wasn't sure about it. He didn’t tell me ‘cause he knew I’d beat myself up over it and he didn't want me to deal with it when he wasn’t sure if it was true.” When Mark laughs now, the whole bed shakes with it. He slaps Jisung’s shoulder, bending down to rest their heads together for a second. “You two know me too well.”

Jisung is smiling, light-chested and comfortable for the first time in what feels like years, no trace of bitter guilt squeezing his insides. But then he asks, “How did you find out, then?”

And Mark’s reply paints Jisung angry-red in the blink of an eye.

“Jaemin called me last night.”

---

Spring is turning yellow, June ten full clocks away. The sun shines naked against the bare skin of Jisung's neck and arms, breeze blowing warm today, hot enough to leave his jacket home for the first time this year. It is not hotter than Jisung's blood, though, damping the palms of his hands and simmering under his tongue as he stomps through the colorful streets of Seoul, brighter than they have the right to be.

Jisung is dry-mouthed and chapped-lipped when he halts at the taxi stop. He steps off the sidewalk, dirty sneakers digging into the dirty-white stripes on the road, and he presses sticky palms to the smoldering hood of a too-familiar orange car.

The pink bunny that hangs from the rearview mirror trembles when Jisung pushes down hard, chin up when he yells, "Get out."

"The hell is up with you?" Jaemin says when he clicks his door open, sliding out of the car in his grey-clad legs. He's got the top buttons of his shirt undone, sleeves rolled up to his elbows as usual, but the pretty glint of the sun over his skin only has Jisung burning deeper. "Hands off the hood. C'mon, Sungie," Jaemin commands with a tilt of his head, his hand pushing his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose right after.

Jisung does as he's told. He takes his hands off the hood of the car, but only to stomp closer to Jaemin and press his fingers to his shoulders, rough enough to make him stumble backward.

"How could you do this to me?" Jisung grunts and walks closer, hands still in the air and ready to shove again. "Did you tell Donghyuck as well? Is that why he knows? Who else did you tell?"

He never gets to score another push because Jaemin is faster than him, clever fingers curling around Jisung's bony wrists to force him still.

"Hyuck knows 'cause you're everything but subtle," Jaemin hisses, stepping so close that one of his feet fits right between Jisung's. "Can you calm the fuck down now?"

"Fuck you, Jaemin," Jisung spits, squirming to try to break free. Jaemin only tightens his grip, his thumbs digging into the soft flesh of Jisung's sweaty palms to push his arms down to their sides. "Seriously, fuck you. I trusted you. It was not your secret to tell. You had no fucking right to-"

"I was worried about you, alright?" Jaemin whisper-screams like a harsh secret, tugging Jisung even closer as if he doesn't want the entire street to hear. "I hadn't seen you like that in years. You keep everything bottled up and I didn't want you to go through all that again because I know-"

With a sharp tug, Jisung rips his wrists out of Jaemin's hold. "You don't know shit," he says lowly, one of his hands coming up again to dig a finger into Jaemin's chest. "That was so fucking stupid on your end. Stop acting as if you know everything about me. I don't need you to fight my battles or whatever hero shit you think you're doing."

"I'm not trying to-" Jaemin starts, but cuts himself off with a loud sigh. Jisung can't see his eyes due to the sunglasses, but Jaemin throws his head back as if he's rolling his eyes at him, his lower lip trapped so tightly between his teeth that the pink skin goes white. "I was just worried. I was trying to help because I've been worried for years, Jisung. Is that so bad? Is it so hard to grasp?"

"Don't talk to me like that," Jisung takes a step back, bubbling up from the dip between his collarbones all the way down to the back of his thighs when he realizes how close they are standing. He stretches an arm between them, open palm facing Jaemin to stop him from coming closer. If Jaemin touches him again, Jisung fears he might melt into the pavement. "I can handle myself. I've told you one time too many, I can handle myself."

"I know that," Jaemin clicks his tongue, his shoulders sagging, feet fumbling on the floor as if he's desperate to get near. "I never thought you couldn't, but that doesn't mean that you-"

"Stop treating me like a child!" Jisung snaps, hands fisted at his sides. And he might be causing yet another scene, throwing an unnecessary tantrum, but at least it's his choice. "I'm not a kid you have to take care of, get that through your thick skull."

There is a moment where they go quiet, but Jisung's heart tumbles over messy beats in his temples, breathing coming out in harsh pants through his nose, the static voice of someone calling Jaemin's name through the radio of his taxi. Jaemin shuffles in the silence, setting his shoulders, mouth straight in a thin line.

"I haven't treated you like a kid in so fucking long," he says and the seams of his mouth curl upward in a smirk that makes little to no sense. Jisung would kill to be able to look into his eyes right now. "I don't even see you like one."

Jisung swallows on nothing, curls clammy fingers in the fabric of his pants. "What does that even mean?"

Jaemin laughs, dry and teetering-cruel and so-not-himself. But his teeth flash as pretty pearl-white as always when he grins. "Why don't you try to read between the lines? If you're as grown up as you said."

The threat of tears looms over Jisung one more time, tightening his throat to the point of aching. For a second, he wants to rewind two years per second and land back where everything was easier, back when Jaemin was too nice to get as twisted as Jisung has always been. But what's the point of all this if Jisung is the first one who keeps longing for the past.

He lifts his chin, swallows down the knot in his throat, and takes it.

"You can go to hell with your condescending bullshit," Jisung's voice comes out wobbly, but the words are out and that's what matters.

"Alright," Jaemin walks closer, but he moves past Jisung and towards the door of his car, and Jisung is left rubbing his itching fingers on the denim fabric of his pants. He turns around and follows Jaemin with his eyes, watching as he slips back into the driver's seat. "I'll leave you alone. Now go lock yourself in your room and cry about it."

And that's exactly what Jisung does. Jaemin has always read him best, after all.

---

They say old habits die hard. Jisung is not a man of tradition, but he fully intends to hide away in his room until the day of the wedding, swollen-eyed and guilt-filled.

But the second day between his poorly painted green walls, his phone blinks with a notification.

hyuck hyung

meet me at our place in half an hour

me:

???

@ the bar?

hyuck hyung

where else

---

Jisung waits sitting at the bar, his tall stool placed next to Donghyuck's self-assigned one even though it's still empty. A full glass of cold orange juice sits in front of him and Jisung pushes the ice cubes around with the butt of his white straw, cheek squeezed against his closed fist and his right leg tapping the metallic footrest nonstop.

"It's just Hyuck," Jeno says with his signature half-moon smile drawn on his face. He leans across the bar, one hand tangled in his yellowish cloth and pressed flat against the brown counter, the other coming up to tug at Jisung's earlobe. "He's not gonna bite you. Maybe he'll make fun of you a little, but that's no biggie."

Eyebrows high in his forehead, Jisung ducks his head to get rid of Jeno's teasing hand. "A little?"

"Alright, a lot," Jeno's small smile turns into a full-on grin when he straightens up. "But you know that's just who he is. Nothing personal."

The bar shines a saturated white today, the naked light of the spring sun crawling through the open door and washing everything clear-golden. The tiny specks of dust that are dancing around in the bright light disappear when Donghyuck finally walks into the bar, eclipsing the sun for a stretched second.

"Were you two talking about me?" he asks as a greeting. The grin on his lips makes up for the muted sun. "My ears are ringing."

"The world doesn't turn around you, Hyuck," Jeno says with a roll of his eyes.

Donghyuck walks closer back-lit by the spring sun, fuzzed golden around the edges, and Jisung would beg to differ, but he keeps it to himself. He might be over it, but irrefutable truths never waver and Lee Donghyuck could put the sun to sleep if he tried hard enough.

"You're so mean to me, Jeno," hand clutching his shirt dramatically, Donghyuck slumps in his seat with a loud sigh. "You wound me."

Jeno hits him with his cloth before he walks towards the coffee machine. "Same order as always?"

"Nah," Donghyuck takes one of the white straws from the plastic tube on the counter and sticks it into Jisung's glass. "Gonna steal from Jisungie. Sharing is caring, right?" he asks, looking at Jisung through his eyelashes as he leans down to sip from the drink. Jeno only smiles and nods, moving on to attend to two customers that walk into the bar at that moment.

"Alright, but we split the bill."

"Thought you'd be nicer to me," Donghyuck pouts, his jutted-out bottom lip wet and twinkling. "Guess I should've seen it coming since your crush on me is gone now..."

Jisung's mouth falls open, an unwelcome heat crawling up his neck and settling down on his cheeks. It only gets worse when Jeno screeches, dissolving into a fit of laughter when he looks at Jisung's face.

"Oh my god," Jisung croaks out, sinking into himself, hands coming up to rub his tingling face.

"I'm just playing, just playing!" Donghyuck giggles loud and high-pitched. His stool creaks when he leans closer to pat Jisung's thigh. "C'mon, look at me. I'm not even here to talk about that."

"What are we here for, then?" Jisung asks, voice muffled against his sweaty palms.

Donghyuck stays quiet for a second as if considering his next words. He squeezes Jisung's knee, causing him to jump in his seat and drop his hands from his face, kicking the air because it tickles. Through a small chuckle, Donghyuck says, "Na Jaemin."

Jisung groans out loud, his head lolling back. "That's even worse. I'm going home."

"C'mon, don't be a little bitch," Donghyuck says with one last, firm squeeze to his thigh. "You have it really easy."

"What does that even mean?" Jisung asks, his hand reaching through the bar to grab his straw again, the melting ice cubes clicking against the glass when he moves them around.

"You like him, right?" Donghyuck says. Jisung keeps his eyes on his drink, following the tiny droplets that fall down its length, lips cursed to stop himself from breaking into ridiculous giggles. "Are you blushing, Jisungie?" Donghyuck touches Jisung's heated cheeks with warm fingers, catching his chin between his thumb and index finger. "Look at me. Oh my god, you're so cute."

Jisung leans back on his seat, hands flailing around to get Dongyuck's fingers off his face. He's only making it worse, the heat on Jisung's face and neck spreading to the rest of him, falling all the way to his thighs and sneaking through his skin. He has to suck his lips into his mouth when the seams of his lips start to curl upward in an uncalled smile.

He clears his throat and grips Donghyuck's wrist tightly. "I don't know, okay?" Jisung confesses with a small mouth, his eyes cast down. "I'm not sure."

It’s kind of fascinating how Jisung manages to stay in one piece when Donghyuck takes his wrist out of his grip only to hold his hand properly. If this was happening a few months ago, Jisung would be melting on the inside, dry-mouthed and short of breath, his stomach turning around with nausea. Now, all he can do is stare at their hands and wonder what it would feel like if it were Jaemin's and not Donghyuck's, his lower lip caught tightly between his teeth.

"What d'you feel about him?"Donghyuck asks quietly, his previous teasing tone replaced by something soft. He starts to draw circles on the back of Jisung's hand when Jisung sticks his tongue into his cheek, unsure if he wants to answer. "Don't be embarrassed. Remember that I live with your brother, you can't get cheesier than him."

That gets a chuckle out of Jisung, nerves slowly rolling out of him. "I don't really know how to explain it," he confesses. His free hand reaches for the straw again, the ice all melted by now. "All I know is that, when life sucks, I just wanna be with him." He keeps his eyes on the glass of juice when his leg starts to bounce, his and Donghyuck's hands shaking with the movement. "And I kinda wanna kiss him."

"I figured that last bit," Donghyuck jokes. Jisung finally looks at him only to frown, his hand tightening around Donghyuck, squeezing his fingers together. "Ouch! Let go, I'll stop!"

When Jisung finally loosens his grip, Donghyuck cradles his hand to his chest dramatically, his lips pursed into a pout. Jisung rolls his eyes at him, but he can't help the smile that takes over his mouth.

"I think it's pretty obvious that you like him, though," Donghyuck says, his features easing into a new smile, small and wary. "I mean, I figured it out because I have eyes and I'm smarter than him," he trails off. "And smarter than you."

Jisung takes his right foot off the footrest to kick Donghyuck's shin. Donghyuck curls into himself and avoids the hit at the last second. He lifts his index finger in the air as if he's about to announce something life-changing.

"But that's what it is about, right?" he says, sitting properly again when Jisung drops down his foot. "When you feel so comfortable with someone that you don't hide any part of yourself 'cause you know they are gonna stay anyway. The person you call when you've been crying for hours and you got snot all over your face, that's the one."

"It didn't feel like that when I-" Jisung tries, wrapping his arms around himself. "When I used to like you."

Donghyuck visibly softens at the words, his eyebrows fall over his half-closed eyes and he scrunches up his nose. The skin of Jisung's nape warms at the expression. He tries to rub the heat away with his sweaty palm, but he only makes it worse.

"Maybe you didn't like like me and it was just this crush that seemed big because it was your first."

"What a long fucking crush," Jisung mutters under his breath, dragging a snort out of Donghyuck.

"I can't tell you what it was," Donghyuck says, his hand back on Jisung's thigh when his leg starts to bounce again. "But you get all shy and weird around me. And it's very cute, don't get me wrong. But I bet it's not really that comfy."

And maybe that is the key to everything, the sharp contrast between the scorching fire that is Donghyuck and the pleasing warmth that is Jaemin. For Jisung, it is also about simmering and exploding and burning up when it comes to Jaemin. But above all that, it’s about peeling off his skin with uneven nails and tearing it off in ribbons, revealing all the dirty mud that is hidden underneath. It's about Jaemin waiting, coaxing Jisung to keep going, staining his hands and still finding reasons to stick around.

Jisung shrugs at Donghyuck's words, grabbing the cold glass with tingling fingers. He doesn't know how to put his thoughts into words, so he drinks half of the juice to avoid a reply.

"Do you know how I know?" Donghyuck leans closer as if he's about to share a secret, hand cupping his mouth. "Because that was me with Mark when I first realized I had a thing for him. I was so embarrassing, do you remember? Following him around and shit, but then I couldn't even hold a proper conversation to save my life."

"Yeah, it didn't help that you two went through that phase at the same time," Jisung pointed out, lips moving against the rim of the glass. "It was painful to watch. And Mark wouldn't shut up about you, god."

Donghyuck starts to giggle, nails in his mouth and cheeks lit up red with memories. It's adorable, Mark flustering him like this even when he isn't around. Even after all this time.

"Why did you say I have it easy, though?" Jisung asks, the glass clicking against the bar when he sets it down.

"We've got work in an hour," Donghyuck says after checking the watch on his left wrist, a silver band that matches the ring Mark gave him. "Jaemin won't be coming 'cause he's been calling in sick for two days now." Jisung frowns at the words and Donghyuck doesn't wait for him to ask to offer an answer. "He told me what happened, that's partly why we're here. He also confessed he's been locked in his room like a crybaby since it happened. That's how easy you've got it."

It's such a jarring thing to imagine: Jaemin trapped between the four walls of his room, curled up between his blankets, face hidden in his pillow just like Jisung does when everything gets a little bit too much. It's like a cannonball to the chest, the fact that Jisung is the cause of it. It's like a blade through the stomach, the knowledge that it's probably not the first time, and that Jaemin would never call Jisung to make it better.

"I'm still mad at him, though," Jisung points out, rubbing his damp palms against his jeans.

"I know, but he feels like pure shit," Donghyuck says. "And all these years of waiting are punishment enough for one mistake, don't you think?"

Jisung's hands halt on his legs, his spine tensing up at the words. He looks at Donghyuck for a long, quiet moment, his mouth running dry as the words sink like salt through his skin. "What do you mean years?"

He never gets more of an answer than the crook of Donghyuck's eyebrows.

"Jeno, did you know Jisungie is in love?" Donghyuck announces when Jeno walks closer to them again.

Jeno takes their glass of juice and frowns down at the watery liquid, his nose scrunched up. "Oh, yeah. He's as obvious as Mark."

It takes Jisung a while to catch up with their conversation, his mind reeling, flying over years of friendship with Jaemin at lightspeed. "I'm not in love," he blurts out, lips pursed and cheeks permanently on fire. "I just realized I like him, dammit. Relax a little."

"So he's also as oblivious as Mark. Great!" Jeno exclaims with a wave of his hand before he disappears into the storage room.

"I'm not oblivious, I just admitted I like him," Jisung retaliates, hooking his feet into the footrest of the stool to stop his legs from bouncing again. "You two are getting too excited about this and I don't even-"

"Alright, alright," Donghyuck eyes Jisung lazily as he leans against the counter. "Let's forget this conversation and have it again in five months once you realize."

Jisung huffs, rolling his eyes and jumping off his stool. "Oh god, you're so-"

"Amazing?" Donghyuck provides with a shit-eating grin. "Funny, charming?"

"Impossible," Jisung deadpans. "And insufferable."

"Your crush on me begs to differ, though."

Groaning loudly, Jisung picks up the coat he placed on another stool when he arrived. "Past crush on you. Get it straight."

Donghyuck's grin only stretches wider, the tip of his tongue sliding between his teeth. "There's nothing straight about this, baby."

Jisung ends up stammering, his mouth opening and closing as he twists his fingers in the fabric of the coat. The longer he struggles, the wider Donghyuck's smile gets.

"Was that too soon?" Donghyuck asks, shoulders shaking with a chirpy giggle.

A chuckle ends up making its way past Jisung's lips, Donghyuck's laughter as pretty as it is contagious. "No, it's fine," he says, lip between his teeth before he adds, "just wondering if it would've been like this if you liked me back."

Donghyuck gets that soft look on his face again, eyebrows drawn together and eyes half-closed, his smile as gentle as a stroke of faded-red watercolor.

"I don't know," he clicks his tongue, head tilted to the side. "Doubt we'd be talking about your huge crush on Jaemin, though."

Jisung rolls his eyes and ducks his head down, his gaze pointed to the floor when he asks his next question. "Why didn't you tell Mark? About my... thing for you. If you knew, why didn't you tell him?"

Donghyuck's expression sobers up and he straightens his back. "It was not my secret to tell," he says with a nonchalant shrug. "I wasn't even sure if it was true, I just had a feeling. But I knew that you didn't want to say anything, and that was enough to keep my suspicions to myself," he explains. "I might be Mark's boyfriend, but I'm also your friend. And I'm a pretty damn good friend."

Jisung can't see his own face, but he's pretty sure he steals Donghyuck's soft look at the words and makes it his own. His heart swells in his chest, but it doesn't hurt for once. Nothing but raw fondness rushing through him.

"Fiancé," he says and walks closer to press the coat to Donghyuck's chest. The seams of his mouth tug upward at Donghyuck's confused blink. "You called Mark your boyfriend. You should've said fiancé. And thank you for lending me this the other day, it's been months."

"Oh, thanks," Donghyuck mumbles, hugging his fluffy coat to his chest. "Now I have no excuse to keep stealing Mark's."

"As if you need one."

Jisung steps back and laughs loudly when he takes in the deep blush over Donghyuck's cheeks. He's keeping his lips pressed tight together to stop himself from smiling.

"Look at you, still getting all red when you're gonna get married in three days. And you call him cheesy."

Donghyuck throws a half-hearted kick to the air that doesn’t reach Jisung. "Shut the fuck up and go talk to your man. You need a date for the wedding."

---

When Jisung reaches the end of Jaemin's hall, he finds the door to his apartment already open.

Jaemin is waiting for him there, arms crossed over his chest, ankles locked together, his right shoulder leaning against the wood.

"What are you doing here?" he asks as soon as Jisung comes to stand in front of him, his mouth pulled into a tight line.

To someone who doesn't know him, Jaemin's stance may seem easy and nonchalant. Even a little pissed off, maybe. But Jisung knows better.

Jaemin is wearing dark clothes on a day off: old black Adidas track pants and a washed-grey rumpled shirt that's tight around his flexed biceps, too small for him. A simple and comfortable outfit for a day at home, but Jaemin hates his dull work uniform enough to make sure he slips into cheerful colors at the smallest chance he gets, his closet like a painting of a rainbow in pastel tones.

His face goes empty when he looks at Jisung, calculatedly so. But Jisung can easily read into the unusual paleness of his skin, between the taut line of his mouth, through the faint grey smudges under his eyes. Jisung has cried enough nights in this lifetime to recognize a guilty face.

"Get dressed," Jisung says, tilting his chin toward the interior of the apartment. He keeps his hands balled at his sides, his thumbs rubbing his own knuckles so they don't reach for something he doesn't have. Not yet, at least. "You have to drive me somewhere."

Jaemin crooks an eyebrow at him, but it has little to no effect when it gets hidden by the messy strands of black hair that cover his forehead. "Are you going to tell me what this is about?"

Jisung breathes shakily through his nose and takes a step closer. Jaemin visibly tenses up, unlocking his ankles to stand up straight, arms still firmly crossed over his chest. Jisung only stops approaching once the tips of his sneakers almost kiss Jaemin's socked toes.

"Someone once told me that you can't fix anything by locking yourself in your room," Jisung says.

Once the words sink in, Jaemin's face softens, his mouth relaxing into the hint of a small smile. The sight of it squeezes Jisung's chest to the point that it aches, burning with the need to keep tugging at the seams until it becomes a full-on grin, pearl-white teeth and pretty pink lips.

He uncurls his fingers to carefully place his tips on Jaemin's belly, right under his crossed arms. His gray shirt is so worn out that it feels paper-thin under Jisung's hands, the warmth coming up from Jaemin's skin damping Jisung's palms.

"So, please, get changed and help me fix this," Jisung adds.

When he pushes Jaemin back into the apartment with a dry shove, Jaemin doesn't resist. His teeth flash white before he disappears into his room.

---

The sky is an infinite wash of light teal blue today, no specks of white in sight to eclipse the sunlight. The trees of the park rumble softly, lulled by a breeze that tangles up Jisung's hair and sticks to his bare arms like sweat.

Summer is weeks away but it can be felt in the air, warm enough to redden up Jisung's cheeks the same way a blush would. Still, Jaemin decided to get into a denim jacket that matches the color of the clear sky and complements the bright pink shirt he's wearing underneath. He's dressed in such pretty colors that he would easily blend into the spring landscape if Jisung decided to paint it. Jaemin is leaning against a tree, back pressed to the rough trunk and hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans, the dancing branches drawing shadows on his face.

"What happened now?" Jaemin speaks for the first time since they stepped out of the car. His feet drag over the grit when he locks his ankles together, dried cherry blossoms scrunching under his weight. "What did Donghyuck do?"

Jisung shuffles in front of him, his right hand strangling his left one, fingers squeezed tightly into his sweaty palm. "It's not about Donghyuck," he mumbles, his chin dropping to his chest.

"It's always about Hyuck."

In a way, Jaemin is right. Jisung wouldn't be standing here, sun shining on all of his worries and insecurities, if it wasn't for Donghyuck. This time, though, Donghyuck is not the reason why Jisung's mouth has gone dry nor the answer behind the swelling in his chest.

"Until it's not," he croaks out, squeezes the words past the drumming heartbeat in his throat.

He's staring at Jaemin's feet now, watching as he untangles them just to tangle them again, grit lifting off the ground with each jerk.

"Look at me," Jaemin says.

Jisung thinks I'm already looking, but that's not enough, not today. He lifts his chin, eyes sliding up Jaemin's pink shirt before they set on his tired eyes, face shadowed grey by the tree.

Jaemin licks his lips, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat when he swallows. "What did you bring me here for, then?"

And the answer tumbles out of Jisung's lips far too fast and easy for someone who's a master at hiding between blankets and half-lies. "To kiss you," he says, eyes on Jaemin's chest because it's easier this way. "If you'll let me."

As silence stretches between them, Jisung regrets not grabbing a jacket today. It's far too bright, he's got skin and feelings exposed for the whole world to see, and the deepest parts of himself might not shine pretty enough for Jaemin. He wraps his arms around himself, his feet digging into the grit and his teeth sinking into his lower lip, and he waits.

Most kids are afraid of the dark, but it is light that doesn't offer any corner to hide. Jisung is done getting his hands dirty digging escape routes, though.

"What are you talking about?" Jaemin asks, his voice not louder than the breeze. He's gone still, feet flat on the ground, back straight against the trunk. "You don't know what you're saying."

Jaemin is shaking his head no when Jisung finally dares to look at his face. He's got wide eyes and awfully pale skin under the shade of the tree, but Jisung has dreamed about rejection more times than he can count and he's pretty sure that's not what it looks like.

"I'm perfectly aware of what I'm saying," he states slowly, stepping closer. Jisung uncrosses his arms and presses damp fingertips to Jaemin's belly when he's close enough, just like he did earlier today on his threshold. "Trust me a little, Jaemin."

With another shake of his head, Jaemin takes his hands off his pockets to curl them around Jisung's wrists. His grip isn't tight, but Jisung wonders if he's squeezing hard enough to pick up on the way Jisung's pulse trips over beats at the touch.

"Stop. Of course I trust you," Jaemin blurts out, his chapped lips closing and opening before he's able to get the next words out. "But, Sung. You liked Donghyuck two days ago, you can't say this and expect me to-"

"I wasn't crying because of him," Jisung curls his fingers into the hem of Jaemin's shirt, knuckles brushing over his belly. "I said you didn't know anything, didn't I?"

Jaemin winces, his face pinched into a painful grimace of furrowed eyebrows and twisted lips. "I'm sorry," he whispers, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh of Jisung's bare forearms. "I shouldn't have talked to you like that, but I-"

Jisung shushes him. "I don't care about that anymore," he shakes his head and tugs at Jaemin's shirt. He takes a last tentative step, his sneakers lifting grit from the ground and spilling it over Jaemin's shoes when he shuffles closer. "Just believe me when I say that I happened to find someone I liked more. Someone I like for real." Jisung ducks his head down when Jaemin attempts to look away, their foreheads a breath away from touching. "And I'm hoping it will work out this time."

"Since when are you so fucking brave," Jaemin scoffs. His head falls back against the trunk with a soft thump, the line of his neck exposed by the movement. Up close, Jisung sees that his skin isn't sickly pale anymore—a soft rose blush that starts on his cheeks cascades down his neck, pools on the dip between his collarbones, and it disappears under his shirt. Jisung is dying to press his lips there, test if the skin tastes as warm as it looks. "Now you wanna talk about feelings? Who are you and what have you done to my Jisung?"

Something about the possessive adjective has Jisung whining against his will. He ducks his head at the sound and swallows to stop himself from making another embarrassing sound, but Jaemin is already staring at him through his eyelashes. His head still against the trunk, but his eyebrows are crooked up, the seams of his mouth twitching.

It's not even the first time Jaemin has used it on him, they've known each other for almost their entire lives, after all. But it hits different now, standing so close together that Jisung could count Jaemin's eyelashes if he wanted. It’s about the underlying meaning, about the implications. It's about belonging with someone in the fever-hot, all-consuming way Jisung has been craving for so long—warm cheeks and weak knees and dry lips, and someone in front of him that feels it all right back.

He mumbles, "I'm just following your advice."

"You're so cute, baby," Jaemin lets go of Jisung's wrists to cradle his face between his hands instead. He tugs him even closer, craning his neck to meet Jisung's eyes, a smirk on his lips. "You're all red now."

Jisung groans, tries to hide his face again, but the grip Jaemin has on him stays firm. "Are you gonna kiss me or what?"

Jaemin's smirk turns into a full-on grin, pearl-white and pretty pink and so sweet-looking that Jisung can taste candy in his mouth just by staring at him. "I thought you were supposed to kiss me."

Closed-eyed and dizzy, Jisung does just that, his hands sliding around Jaemin's waist to grip the sides of his shirt when he jumps into the darkness head-first.

Ask Jisung how many people he’s kissed and he won’t have enough fingers to count them. Ask him how many of them have felt like this, and he will offer you one name only.

Jaemin tastes like yesterday.

Lips sweet like strawberry flavored milk and body as warm under Jisung's knuckles as endless summers between these trees, Jaemin slides slow hands down Jisung's neck to paint fingertips over the naked skin of his arms, touch careful and tender like the wet nib of a gel pen drawing flowers on goosebumps.

He coaxes Jisung's mouth open tentatively, licking at the seam of his mouth before he finally sneaks inside. Jaemin kisses gingerly and patient, the same way he's been peeling dead skin off Jisung's body for years now, scratching at the crusted familiar sensations to unravel the scary yet exhilarating parts that lay underneath.

Jisung keeps his eyes closed and his head tilted to the side, kissing back slowly as he wills his chest not to explode, heart blooming under his ribs like the spring around them.

Jaemin curls hot fingers around Jisung's hands, working his fists open until he lets go of Jaemin's shirt so he can tug Jisung's arms around his neck instead. Their lips part for a second, but Jaemin is wrapping his arms around Jisung's waist to press their chests together, his mouth brushing over Jisung's like a feather-light caress.

And Jisung has stood in this park a million times, but he swears he's never been here before.

His fingers slide into Jaemin's hair and the surface of the trunk scrapes the backs of his hands, but he pushes closer anyway. His lips fall open in a shaky breath when Jaemin replaces his mouth with his thumb, his hand cradling Jisung's jaw as he swipes the pad of his finger over Jisung's wet, burning skin.

"Look at me," Jaemin asks, but it sounds completely different than before, rough and raw.

When Jisung opens his eyes, Jaemin is looking at him half-lidded because of a smile and something else, something that has Jisung's cheeks growing incredibly hotter.

"Hi," Jaemin whispers. His thumb is still on Jisung's mouth, and he only moves it away to stroke the apple of Jisung's cheek instead, his smile turning into a smirk when he says, "Got even redder."

A strangled grunt crawling up his throat, Jisung shuts his eyes again and leans down to press his face to Jaemin's neck. Jaemin lets him, his chest rumbling with a burst of laughter against Jisung's, the hand that was on Jisung's cheek cradling his nape now.

The skin of Jaemin's neck is as warm as Jisung thought it would be, smells like a mix of the cherry air freshener of his car and berry body soap. Jisung can't help himself, he tightens his arms around Jaemin's shoulders and presses a small kiss on the spot behind his ear, a barely-there touch that has Jaemin shivering against him.

"You're shaking," Jisung whispers, tingling lips dragging over Jaemin's heated skin.

Jaemin's laughter is low in Jisung's ear. "Yeah," one of his hands squeezes Jisung's hip, the other draws slow circles on his nape. "I still don't know what's happening."

It's mesmerizing, the effect Jisung seems to have on Jaemin, the power to make him weak at the knees just with a simple brush of his closed lips. It's so mesmerizing that Jisung can't understand how he didn't realize it sooner.

"Years."

The hand on Jisung's nape halts and Jaemin goes tense against him. "Huh?"

"Donghyuck said years," Jisung says and pushes at Jaemin’s shoulders to pull back a bit, just enough to search in his eyes. Jaemin is still flushed pretty pink, but his expression hardens, the seams of his bright mouth tugging downward. "I'm so sorry. Fuck," Jisung scoffs, thumbs digging into the dips of Jaemin's collarbones. "You've been there for me all this time while I was crying over someone else but- Dammit. I didn't even see it. You were there, but I wasn't, and-"

Lips crashing onto his cut off Jisung's words. He can't melt into it, though, because Jaemin's mouth takes off almost as soon as it lands. He starts peppering kisses all over Jisung's face, pecking his lips, smooching his cheeks, smacking his forehead.

Jisung scrunches up his face, mouth pursed to stop himself from dissolving into a fit of giggles. "What are you doing?"

"I'm shutting you up," Jaemin declares, placing a kiss on the tip of Jisung's nose right afterward. "Is it working?"

"Yeah, but this is important-"

"You're talking rubbish, Jisung," Jaemin stops with the kisses to look him in the eyes, both of his hands framing Jisung's waist now. "I wasn't all alone pining over you and moping around. I rambled about you to literally everyone. Your brother included."

Jisung scoffs open-mouthed, thumbs drumming against the sides of Jaemin's neck. "That's embarrassing."

"Yeah, well," Jaemin's mouth twists into a smirk, his hands squeezing Jisung's waist as if to prove a point. "I don't really give a fuck right now."

"Alright, but still," Jisung insists. He has to bite his lips to stop himself from breaking into a bashful smile when he says, "I wanna be to you what you are to me. Wanna be there when you need me."

Head tilted to the side, Jaemin's face goes soft at the words, low eyebrows and a tiny smile. "You already are, Sungie."

Jaemin reaches up and grabs Jisung's hands to take them off of his shoulders. He pulls Jisung in as if he were to hug him, but he leads their hands into the pockets of his denim jacket, his chin hooked into Jisung's shoulder when Jisung falls against him.

There, inside of the right pocket of Jaemin's jacket, Jisung's fingers map out the shape of a 3x3 canvas, the surface bumpy with dried-up paint. He huffs, rubbing his forehead on the crook of Jaemin's neck as he intertwines their fingers inside of the pockets.

"Are you wearing pink because I said it suited you?" Jisung asks, his heart so swollen up that it threatens to clog his throat.

The skin of Jaemin's neck goes warm under Jisung's forehead, hands damping up in his grip. "Maybe."

Jisung pulls away and walks backward in the general direction of the car, tugging Jaemin along with him.

"Come home with me," he says, chin up even if his face is burning up.

Allowing himself to be dragged away from the tree, Jaemin raises an eyebrow at him. "Isn't Renjun home?" He sticks out his tongue to lick his dry lips, and Jisung can't help but follow the movement. "We might bother him."

"God, I didn't mean it like that," Jisung grunts, halting to stop himself from tripping. "We don't have to be loud. You're so annoying," he huffs at Jaemin's shit-eating grin, getting his hands out of Jaemin’s jacket to bump his shoulder with a closed fist. "Anyway, Renjun bothers me every time Lucas comes over. So he better suck it up in the future."

When Jaemin giggles, it is loud and chirpy and easy.

---

The weight of it all doesn't hit Jisung until later that day, the sky so dark that his room is almost pitch black.

Jaemin pushes the door closed with his back and leans there for a second, watching Jisung standing in front of him.

"What?" Jisung asks in the quiet of the room, socked feet shuffling closer.

Jisung's breath gets caught in his throat when Jaemin's hands cradle the sides of his neck, his fingers cold after holding the wheel for too long. He pushes Jisung towards him gently, sinks fingers into his nape to force his head down, lower just enough to rest their foreheads against each other.

It is so dark that Jisung can't see much—the shine of Jaemin's eyes, the slope of his nose, the silhouette of one side of his face—but it is enough to read the fear all over Jaemin's features.

In a shaky exhale, Jaemin mumbles into the small space between them, "Don't bail on me."

Jisung shakes his head no, fast, his nose bumping against Jaemin’s as he reaches for him. He tangles clammy hands in the denim fabric of Jaemin's jacket, tugs him away from the door, and pushes him into his body, arms firm around his waist so neither of them can run away.

With his breath coming out in short gasps, Jaemin slides one of his hands from Jisung’s neck to his throat. Goosebumps raise all over Jisung's arms when Jaemin curls his fingers around his neck, his palm pressed flat against his Adam's apple.

Jaemin doesn't squeeze, doesn't push or press, he only holds Jisung's neck firmly as he leans in to catch his lips in a slow kiss. Jisung goes breathless, but it's not because of the grip Jaemin has on him. It is because of Jaemin kissing him as if he were turning himself inside out—bare-chested, cut-open, naked-hearted.

Jisung can taste it all—from the exhaustion that grows bone deep when you've been fist-fighting your feelings for too long, to the dizzying exhilaration that comes with finally finding someone that fits just right. He can taste it all because he's felt all of it, here, between these four poorly painted walls.

It's not mud that he tastes. There is no nasty green, no guilt-induced nausea, no loneliness creeping around the corners. There is only the loud beat of his heart, drumming out of control against Jaemin's palm. And Jaemin's mouth taking Jisung apart stroke by stroke, his lips curling into a smile that grows wider the faster Jisung's heart races.

The sky is so dark that his room is almost pitch black, but there is a kaleidoscope behind Jisung's closed eyelids.

---

The following morning, Renjun so much as raises an unimpressed eyebrow at them when he finds them together eating breakfast at the living room table.

“Good morning,” he mumbles on his way to the kitchen, his eyes lingering on Jaemin for a second, Jisung’s shirt big enough on him to reveal his collarbones.

Jisung sticks a full spoon of cereal into his mouth, eyes focused on his milk when he says, “I thought he would ask.”

“He saw it coming,” Jaemin shrugs nonchalantly, nibbling into a toast. Jisung stares at him in silence, chewing his cereal. “What?” the left corner of Jaemin’s lips twists upward and he winks at Jisung openly. “Told you I rambled about you to everyone.”

And Jisung is getting a little tired of blushing at everything that comes out of Jaemin’s mouth, but he gets his revenge when Jaemin almost chokes in his toast at his next words.

“By the way, will you come to the wedding with me?”

It is a yes—teary-eyed, red-cheeked, breadcrumbs all over the white living room table—but still a yes.

---

Maybe life simply consists of this: the passing of time punching you in the face, with stone knuckles so each hit will scar as a reminder that there is no going back.

Jisung has been stuck in the same cycle since he was a child, this twisted game where Mark leaves and he stands behind, just watching.

Mark, leaving for school when Jisung was still learning to talk. Mark, leaving for high school when Jisung was just starting secondary school. Mark, leaving for college and moving out of their family house. Mark, leaving their shared weekends to focus on his full-time job. And Jisung running after him, tripping over each step in a poor attempt at mimicking the path, forcing his feet to fit into Mark’s footprints and failing every single time.

Now, as some kind of sick metaphor, Jisung stands right behind Mark at the altar, hands clasped at his back and eyes boring into Mark’s broad shoulders.

Jisung’s right leg is bouncing up and down, like a time-bomb ticking backward to the second he will run out of the church before the fancy vault comes crashing down on him.

“For a second there,” Jisung said earlier today, the door to Mark and Donghyuck’s shared bedroom clicking closed behind him, “I thought I’d pull a Jo March when I walked in here.”

Mark looked at him through the reflection of the full-length mirror he was standing before. He had his fingers curled into the hem of his black jacket, stretching the material down to try to get rid of the little wrinkles between the buttons.

“What are you talking about?” he asked, eyebrows arched, head tilted to the side, a smile on his lips that seemed nervous more than anything else.

Jisung walked closer to stand next to Mark in front of the mirror, their shoulders pressed together as he stared at their dressed-up reflections. White against black.

“Little Women, you know. The newest movie,” he explained, but Mark only blinked his wide, confused eyes. “Jo is the main character,” Jisung chuckled, leaning further into Mark’s shoulder. “When her big sister Meg is about to get married she kind of causes a scene. Like, kneels on the floor and everything to beg her to run away together.”

Mark scrunched up his nose and furrowed his lips, his hands tightening on his jacket. “You want me to stand Hyuck up on the altar now?”

Jisung grabbed Mark by the shoulder, turning him around so they were facing each other. “Thought I would, but I changed my mind,” he said, tugging at Mark’s wrists to force him to let go of his suit. “You’re gonna break the damn buttons if you keep pulling at it.”

A shaky sigh left Mark’s mouth, his shoulder sagging with it. “Why d’you change your mind?” he asked, his fingers now messing with his gelled hair.

“Stop it, you’re gonna fuck it up and you look great.” Jisung frowned and swatted Mark’s hand away, grabbing his forearms to stop him from fidgeting again. “Writing my speech was a pain in the ass, it can’t go to waste. Also, the suit we picked for Donghyuck is hot as fuck, you’re gonna love it.”

Mark rolled his head back with a loud groan, eyes squeezed shut. “Shut up, he’s been teasing me about it for weeks.”

“Two hours for the grand reveal, right?” Jisung smiled, tightening his grip on Mark’s forearms. “I know you’re nervous, but it’ll be fine,” he said, shaking Mark a little until a matching smile bloomed on his face. “We all worked hard for this. You’re gonna have the perfect wedding you dreamed about.” Jisung let go of one of Mark’s arms to tap his jaw with two fingers. “Chin up.”

Smile morphing into a wide grin—hollow cheeks and flushed skin—Mark squared his shoulders. “When did you grow up so much?”

If Jisung were to answer the question now, he would reply that never.

He still wants to get down on the floor, get the knees of his white suit pants dirty as he clings to Mark’s legs, and beg him to please don’t leave him. There’s a part of him that’s throwing a tantrum, crying about a future Mark creating a family Jisung will not belong to.

He may still be a child in many aspects, but at least Jisung has learned how to separate reality from irrationality and keep his selfish out-bursts quiet.

Jisung hasn’t grown up that much, but he likes to believe that he’s grown up enough.

Enough, at least, to smile genuinely at the expression on Donghyuck’s face when Mark says I do. Lips pressed tight, Donghyuck’s Adam’s apple bobs when he tries to swallow down tears, his eyes shining golden in the candle-lit church.

In all the years he’s known him, Jisung can’t recall a single moment he’s seen Donghyuck cry. Now, when Mark steps closer and places shaky hands on Donghyuck’s cotton-covered waist, a single tear slides down Donghyuck’s right cheek. Mark dries it up with his lips before he ducks down to kiss him properly on the mouth, the entire church clapping and whopping at the sight.

And if Mark has to leave, Jisung knows no one better he could do it with than Donghyuck.

---

“Silence, everyone!” Chenle stands up on his seat, champagne glass in one hand and a fork in the other, chest puffed out in front of a fancy room full of people. “My best friend is gonna give the best speech you will ever hear,” he announces, hitting his glass with the metallic fork. “Shut up and do not interrupt.”

Jisung curses under his breath, his cheeks flaming. He pushes himself to his feet and his chair creaks loudly as it slides back over the shiny floor of the banquet hall. He takes out a piece of paper from the inside pocket of his white jacket, a worn-out sheet that keeps buckling up when Jisung tries to stretch it open over the tablecloth with sweaty hands, it’s been opened and folded so many times that it has each crease memorized.

A gentle pat on his butt has him snapping his head up, eyes sliding to his left where Mark is sitting. “Here,” he offers Jisung a mic with his signature hollow-cheeked smile, eyes creaked with happiness. “Don’t be nervous.”

“Yeah, don’t be,” Donghyuck leans closer, his body stretching over Mark’s to whisper-shout at Jisung. “We aren’t expecting much, anyway.”

“C’mon, don’t be like that,” Mark frowns at his husband, pushing him back into his own seat. Donghyuck only giggles loud and chirpy, sounding sugar-high.

With a roll of his eyes and his chest rumbling with laughter, Jisung wraps damp fingers around the mic and brings it to his mouth tentatively.

Not getting nervous is impossible when he’s standing at the main table, facing a golden hall full of well-dressed people, more strangers than close friends. The attention was already overwhelming when Mark pointed proudly at the painting that’s hanging behind their backs the second they arrived, announcing to the entire room with a swollen chest that it was his little brother’s work.

All eyes are on Jisung again, blinking up at him expectantly when he clears his throat into the mic.

“To be honest, words have never been my thing,” he starts, but cuts himself off to cough when his voice breaks at the end. He presses his lips together and ducks his head down, his eyes searching over the blue ink on the paper. “Writing has always been my brother’s thing, so I’m sorry if this speech makes no sense,” Jisung laughs dryly into the mic, rubbing at his nape with his free hand. “I’m good with brushes, though. But I think I never would’ve picked one up if Mark hadn’t picked up a pen. I hope you like the painting, hyung. It wouldn’t exist without you.”

Jisung turns around to wave at the landscape on the wall with a shaky arm. The room starts to clap softly, Chenle’s loud whooping standing out from the other faint cheers. Jisung takes the moment to sneak a glance at Mark to find him looking at him—his eyes are shiny, but his face is serious for the first time since he set foot on the church.

Snuffling into the mic, Jisung turns around to face the crowd again. He places his free hand on the tablecloth, his thumb drumming against him as his eyes scan his wrinkled paper.

“I’m not good with words, but Donghyuck has always told me he trusts me with colors, so I’m gonna use color for this,” he’s interrupted by Donghyuck’s cheering, his tipsy laughter only getting louder when Mark shushes him. “This may be weird, but I’m an artist, so I’m sure you guys won’t be surprised if I’m a bit weird. Sometimes, I like to think of the colors I would use to paint people who are important to me.”

Jisung stops for a moment to pick up the paper from the table. It goes against every school lesson on how to speak in public—never hold your notes or people will be able to see how nervous you are—but Jisung is too scared of his eyes welling up and not being able to read through his tears to care about that right now.

He sighs loudly into the mic before he continues. “I painted Mark for the first time when I was 12, and I used the color green,” he announces to the room. “I’ve always thought of green as the color of envy and jealousy, and it fit just right. I envied him for so many reasons when I was a kid: he got the better grades, the newer clothes, the bigger room, the cooler...” Jisung lifts his eyes from the paper to look at Donghyuck. “The prettiest boyfriend.”

The words make Donghyuck giggle, his eyes drifting shut as he leans his weight on Mark’s side, cheek squeezed against his shoulder. The reaction draws a small smile out of Mark, who places a fast kiss on Donghyuck’s wavy hair before he focuses his eyes back on Jisung.

“I got to envy him so much,” Jisung says and gazes down at his paper again, his heart swelling to the point that it feels like his ribs are piercing through it. “So much, that I kept wondering what it’d feel like if he had to walk in my shoes for one single day. And you know what?” He lifts his head to look at the audience, his fingers tightening around the mic until the tips go white. “He chose today of all days to wear my shoes. He walked up to the altar in my old shoes that are way too big for him, and he didn’t care because they were mine.”

Jisung squeezes his eyes tight for a second, the mic pressed to his lower lip so hard that his teeth sink into his flesh.

A hand touches his thigh softly, then. He looks down to find Mark blinking up at him, glossy-eyed and with his lips pursed into a pout.

“You okay?” he asks softly, his fingers patting Jisung’s leg.

Jisung nods fast and turns his paper between his fingers. He squares his shoulders and offers Mark a tight smile before he faces the crowd again. His eyes linger on the end of the main table where their parents are sitting down with their hands clasped together, tears already running down their mother’s cheeks.

“My brother is so good,” Jisung breathes out. “All this time, I think I didn’t really envy him. Maybe I was just scared I wasn’t good enough to follow him wherever he went. Because he’s so good, I knew he would come far in every stage of his life. And that’s what he’s done!” Jisung waves his paper towards Mark, his eyes falling to the table because he’s too embarrassed to face anyone. “Had the prettiest boyfriend and now he’s got the prettiest husband.”

Donghyuck giggles again, louder this time, and it has Jisung smiling into the mic, nerves easing up on him. He rests the paper back on the tablecloth and wipes the sweat off his palm to move the mic to his other hand.

With a deep breath, Jisung keeps talking. “I know I don’t envy him anymore because I’ve learned so much thanks to him,” he squares his shoulder and lifts his chin, daring to look away from the paper and into the crowd. “He’s taught me how to find the best in the small things, taught me that dreams look very different depending on who you talk to, and that perfect never means happy.”

Jisung’s eyes find the table where his friends are sitting at. They are all looking at him attentively, Chenle kneeling on his chair to make sure Jisung catches the thumbs up he’s sending his way. That’s all he needs to get through the last few sentences without tripping over his words even if he’s hot all over, damp on his nape and the back of his knees.

“It’s not rare for little kids to get jealous. Hell, I used to get jealous every day,” Jisung chuckles. “But Mark never got jealous of me because he always put me first. We didn’t even fight, it was just me throwing one-sided tantrums because he always took my failures as his own. And I used to get mad about it when I was too young to understand,” Jisung confesses, turning around to face Mark. “But I’m gonna be thankful to you forever.”

Mark is crying now, his mouth curled down and his eyebrows furrowed in a useless attempt at keeping his tears at bay. He’s got his gelled black hair all tousled for running his fingers over it and cheeks tinted red for rubbing at his skin, but he still shines brighter than all the twinkling golden lights of this banquet hall.

“You’re still green,” Jisung tells him, reaching out a hand. Mark takes it, and he shakes in Jisung’s hold, sweaty and nervous and so painfully human. Still perfect. “Green like the grass in the backyard of our family house, or like the walls of my bedroom that we painted together, or like the trees of the park we spent half of our lives in,” Jisung says, pointing at the painting with a tilt of his head. He squeezes Mark’s hand once before he lets go. “Green for all the good reasons.”

Jisung slides his eyes to Donghyuck, then. He’s stopped giggling, focused on Mark’s tears now. He keeps his eyes on Jisung’s face, but he’s got his hands on Mark’s shoulders, his thumbs running circles on his shoulder blades.

“I’m sorry because this became a praise speech about Mark instead of a wedding speech,” Jisung says, and the entire room burst into laughter. Mark chuckles between his tears, dabbing at his wet eyes with the heel of his hand. “But I’m only going to say one thing to Donghyuck,” Jisung smiles, and Donghyuck grins right back, his cheek back on Mark’s shoulder. “It’s still scary to see my brother walking to places where I can’t follow him. But Donghyuck always says he trusts me with colors, so I’m trusting him with my favorite one.”

---

Music only fills up the banquet hall once dinner is over and the waiters flutter around the place with different types of cake on their trays.

Mark flies from table to table to make sure everything is going alright, the tip of his black tie stained for accidentally getting dipped in dirty plates. His chair isn't empty, though. Next to Donghyuck, a giant rilakkuma bear sits with its head resting against the edge of the table, its brown fur washed by the multi-colored neon lights that flicker in tune with the music.

The dance floor is mostly empty, the guests still busy with their desserts, coffees, and glasses of wine. Jisung pushes his plate of cake back when it's only half-eaten and gets up to walk towards the open space.

Jaemin is standing there, a glass of red wine in hand. He's got his other hand tucked inside the pocket of his black trousers, his matching jacket wrinkling around his forearm.

"So," he wiggles his eyebrows at Jisung when he sees him approach, his tongue peeking through the gap between his pearl-white teeth.

Jisung wants to bite him.

He doesn't, but he does press a quick peck to the corner of Jaemin's mouth when he comes to stand in front of him.

Jisung throws his arms around Jaemin's shoulders and Jaemin takes his hand out of his pocket to automatically place it on Jisung's waist, firm and steady.

"So?" Jisung asks, running one of his hands through Jaemin's hair to brush away the spare strand of hair that falls gently over his forehead.

Jaemin brings his glass up to Jisung's mouth and touches the rim to his lower lip in a silent question. "Your parents don't know about us," he points out casually as he leans the glass away from Jisung's mouth when he shakes his head no. "Is it okay if I ask you for a dance or do you not want them to find out like this?"

Red wine has never been one of Jisung's favorite drinks, but it tastes sweeter on Jaemin's lips.

Jisung doesn't kiss him deeply. He presses their lips together for a few seconds and runs his tongue over Jaemin's closed mouth to taste the alcohol that has settled on the creases of his lips. Jaemin gasps into the kiss, his fingers tightening on Jisung's waist as he fully slides his arm around him to press their chests together.

They part with a giggle, Jisung's forehead dropping on Jaemin's shoulder to hide the flush on his cheeks. "Does that answer your question?" he asks in a breathless whisper.

Jaemin's chest rumbles against his when he hums softly. He drops a soft kiss into Jisung's hair before he repeats, "So..."

The smile is obvious on Jaemin's tone, but Jisung still pulls back to look at him in the eyes. "So?" he asks with a crooked eyebrow and he can't help himself when his eyes follow the twist of Jaemin's mouth.

"Which color would you use to paint me?" Jisung rolls his eyes at the question, laughing through his nose when Jaemin squeezes his waist again with a pout. "Tell me."

And Jisung doesn't know where his bravery is coming from. Maybe it's due to the dreamy atmosphere of the wedding hall, with its twinkling lights and pretty orange tulips and the sugary smell of cake. Maybe he's still running on the high of a speech well done, giddy with the memory of Mark's happy face. Maybe love is just as sticky as it is sweet, and he should blame the staccato in his chest on Mark and Donghyuck.

Jisung doesn't have an answer, but he does find the courage to slide one of his hands down Jaemin's chest, his fingers curling around the pink tie he's wearing to tug him closer. "What do you think?" he asks when their foreheads touch, eyes wide open even though his entire body is simmering.

"And what does pink mean?" Jaemin asks softly.

It should be easy to reply, Jisung knows it by heart: sweetness, kindness, and romance; harmony and inner peace; universal love for oneself and for others. Pink is a careful color, kind and softly pretty, meant for smooth feelings and thoughtful hands.

This time, Jisung can't get the words past the knot in his throat. He presses his fingertips into Jaemin's shoulders and huffs, pulling back when he says, "You can google it."

"Way to kill a moment, baby," Jaemin complains, loosening his grip around Jisung’s waist to let him go. He's still smiling, though, pearl-white, pretty pink, and knowing.

Jisung doesn't get the chance to reply. Suddenly, Donghyuck is yelling at everyone to keep quiet as he drags a red-faced Mark to the center of the dance floor.

When they halt near Jisung and Jaemin, Mark asks in hushed words, "Do we really need to do this?"

"You've been running around all day," Donghyuck says and places his hands on Mark's shoulders to shake him a little. "You're so worried about everything being perfect that you aren't having fun. And this is your day, dumbass."

Mark lifts his chin and looks at Donghyuck with his round, shiny eyes, his mouth curling into a tiny smirk. "It's our day."

Donghyuck scoffs and pushes Mark backward. "You're so corny," he says with a roll of his eyes, but he can't stop the tips of his ears from going red.

Jaemin leans against Jisung's shoulder and drags a chuckle out of him when he whispers into his ear, "Officially married but they still act like teenagers with a crush."

"You all know how Mark is so into wedding traditions, right?" Donghyuck announces to the room with a shit-eating grin. He points at his thigh, reaching down to walk his fingers over a band of deep-red lace. Jisung doesn't know when Donghyuck put it on, but the garter is neatly tied over the black cotton of the right leg of his pants. "And he wanted to skip this one."

The room explodes in whoops and cheers for what feels like the millionth time today. Lucas' deep voice stands out over everyone else and Jisung finds him standing across from him and Jaemin, clapping loudly with a huge smile on his face and an unimpressed Renjun next to him.

"You're insufferable," Mark tells Donghyuck, but he's already kneeling in front of him. He presses one knee to the smooth marble tiles and offers the other to Donghyuck, the fabric of his suit stretching dangerously.

Donghyuck giggles and rests one hand on Mark's head to balance himself as he places his right foot on top of Mark's thigh. "Yeah, yeah. But you're stuck with me for life."

"Divorces exist, Hyuck," Mark points out with an overly serious face. The way his hands curl around Donghyuck's calf, though, tell Jisung he isn't planning on letting go any time soon.

Donghyuck tightens his grip on Mark's hair and leads him closer to his leg, his smile only widening. "Shut up and put your mouth to better use."

It is more ridiculous than it is sexy.

At first, Mark also traps the fabric of Donghyuck's pants between his teeth when he tries to bite the garter. Then, when he tries again, the lace doesn't drag properly over the cotton, and the red band won't go down no matter how hard Mark tries. In the end, Donghyuck ends up helping him, pushing the pretty lingerie down with one hand as he keeps the other tangled in Mark's hair.

They’re laughing so much throughout the whole thing that Jisung is afraid they both will end up on the floor in a mess of tangled limbs. They almost fall once Mark gets the garter to Donghyuck's ankle and pushes his feet off his thigh to take it off completely, but he catches Donghyuck's hand to steady him just in time.

Once the garter is off and Mark is back on his feet, doubled-over with laughter, he throws the band to the crowd. He isn't even looking where it lands because he's too busy staring at Donghyuck.

"Oh my god, Renjun," Lucas yells over the noise of the crowd.

When Jisung looks at him, he can't help the burst of laughter that runs through his body. He clutches Jaemin's shoulder, curling into his side and laughs the kind of laughter that makes your belly hurt good.

Lucas stands there, his smile taking over half of his face and a deep-red garter placed sideways on his hair. "I guess we have to get married next," he says, reaching out to grab Renjun's waist.

But Renjun recoils, frowning and blushing at the same time. "That's with bouquets, dumbass. Not a fucking garter."

Jaemin's voice in Jisung's ear pulls him away from the scene. "What about that dance now?"

And Jisung is already turning around to face him with the yes hot in his mouth when Mark shows up at his side and grabs him with impatient hands.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," he says, rushed words and his eyebrows high on his forehead. "But Sung, my colleague really liked your painting," Mark points to one of the tables with a tilt of his head, his face lighting up in the biggest smile Jisung has seen today. "They wanna talk to you about your prices and stuff."

"What?"

Mark nods enthusiastically, his hands holding Jisung to drag him along with him. "Yeah, c'mon. Let me introduce you."

With nerves swirling in his stomach and his heart picking up its pace, Jisung has just enough time to look over his shoulder and glance at Jaemin before Mark is pulling him away.

"I'll save you a dance," Jaemin tells him with a wink, tilting his now empty glass of wine towards him. "Go get those orders, baby."

---

The walls of Jisung's bedroom are still half-painted, his ceiling stares down at him blinking grey every single time he opens his eyes. But, during the weekends, he gets out of bed and his bare feet step on clothes that aren't his own.

It's been five months of weekends like this: feet rumbling over old newspapers, shoulders knocking against canvases in progress, the sticky smell of paint blending in with the warmth of just-made toasts.

Jisung sits at the living room table and pages through his small notebook with bleary eyes. He reads over the orders he's completed, those he's only halfway through with, and all the others forming a waiting list. He looks away from his papers when someone sets a plate in front of him—almost-burnt bread with butter and strawberry jam, nothing much but just enough to be perfect.

"Good morning," Jaemin greets him, leaning across the table to press the words to Jisung's cheek. "Slept okay?"

With a nod, Jisung grabs one of the toasts and bites into it, watching as Jaemin flops into the chair in front of him.

He always wakes up a few hours before Jisung, his body so used to his work schedule that it ticks like a clock even on his days off. He's still sleep-soft, blurred around the edges and all rumpled when he stretches his arms over his head, rubbing at his half-lidded eyes with a small yawn.

Jaemin's face is swollen with exhaustion, the whites of his eyes blending with red, his lips a tad too pale, his cheeks shaded with pink. He's still pretty, slumped there when he smiles at Jisung sleepily, Jisung's worn-out shirt sliding down one of his shoulders.

"I've been thinking of dyeing my hair pink," Jaemin says and he reaches towards the plate. He doesn't grab a toast, he only drums his fingers on the edge of the ceramic. "Do you think it'd suit me?"

And Jisung should tell him that it's not about the color pink, not anymore. He should tell Jaemin that he's always known you can link more than one person to the same color, but that he's found out with him that you can link multiple colors to only one name.

It's been five months like this, and Jisung really should say out loud that it's not about one color, it's about all of them.

He doesn't say anything, but he slips into his old sneakers once Jaemin is gone and walks three blocks to the open door of Jeno's bar.

Jeno looks at him with his half-moon eyes, a cold orange juice already on top of the bar when Jisung flops down on a tall stool.

"Spit it out, Jisung."

And Jisung doesn't need to hide behind paintings to admit, "I think I'm in love with him."