Archive of Our Own

We were the lie through your teeth
getting caught in our own bite.

They were only 16 and 17 when the papers were signed. Their family lawyers each took enough precaution in the proceedings to ensure that there would be absolutely no loopholes. Jaemin signed for his inheritance, and Chenle signed because his heart was tender and mind easy to sway with a boardroom full of serious faces staring down at him. Neither of them had ever been good at dealing with attention like that.

The thing is, Jaemin never ceased to be beautiful. He grew from being soft faced to having a bone structure that Chenle objectively thinks looks unfairly good when he’s got his jaw clenched, and he’s clearly put in more than enough hours in the gym to loom over people in some disgustingly self satiating, ego-feeding way. He’s made front pages and headlines, been called a ‘force to be reckoned with’ and deemed their generation's “it” boy. He’s enamored more A-listers and influencers and models than Chenle would care to count, and everybody he meets falls in love instantly despite (or perhaps because) of his strange charisma. But, none of that means Jaemin is by any means a beautiful person. Not in Chenle’s books at least.

He tries to stay out of it. And because Jaemin is Jaemin, Chenle’s spent years delaying going public with the engagement and proceeding with the inevitable marriage that the announcement will entail. For years their grandparents have agreed, only lying in wait for the perfect timing, but Chenle’s luck dwindled quicker than he would have liked in that regard.

Still, he went to great lengths to prolong his own denial.

The news reached Chenle somewhere in the sweltering heat of July.

He’d been busy fooling himself all summer; from meeting up with Jeno and Renjun in Capri, sailing along the Amalfi Coast on some chartered yacht, racing each other on the Grand Prix Circuit, going home to penthouse suites, and then abandoning most of that on a whim just to live a little. Trading fancy restaurants for food from welcoming kitchens of random grandmothers, crashing birthday parties, hitching rides from strangers, watching Renjun smoke his first proper cigarette hunched in some alley, and then kissing Jeno in hope of something more—maybe the realization of some sudden dormant love, maybe some clue to escape from the legal red thread tying his fate together, maybe just so Jaemin would never have the satisfaction of being his first kiss. The details of his logic are a little wishy washy even to himself.

They all lost a little bit of lung function that night, Renjun from hacking his airways out and Chenle from his gasping laughter, Jeno from being unable to keep up with Chenle’s unending eagerness, but the memory remains fond. What had conspired that night is something they’ve agreed to never discuss.

It was mid-day and he had finally worked up the courage to read the letter he received that very morning. Chenle remembers the three of them leaning against a fountain, catching their breaths from doing nothing in the heat, his gelato on the way to becoming a melted disaster. Renjun had hiked up his Moomin tote bag higher up his arm and grabbed the sad looking cup from his grasp.

“Careful,” He’d chided, shaking his head. And while Chenle was grateful for the help, he’d opted to emit a frustrated tsk in reply. Jeno watched the exchange silently, and it irked Chenle because he felt out of place and awfully transparent.

“I had it,” He didn’t. His fingers had trembled a little before ripping open the envelope in his grip. How bad could it have been that all modern forms of communication were abandoned for the news to be delivered to him by post? Perhaps it was bad news from the second he saw his grandfather’s address on it, and it could have well predicted the end of the world. Or, the end of his at least, which it did.

They’re 25 and 26 when they get married. When a near decade’s worth of time apart has made Jaemin a stranger, and Chenle has nothing to go off of but his reputation that precedes him to know who his husband is.

Vows curated for the media are exchanged and they act the part of lovebirds without hitch. The crowd asks them to kiss, so they do. Jaemin tilts his head and light strikes his face at all the right angles. He draws closer, Chenle breathes in notes of lavender, tastes the briefest semblance of honey. And, while he voluntarily allows himself to be distracted by indulging in how soft the lips meeting his are, Na Jaemin reaches back and clips his wings with gentle hands. When he pulls back, Chenle sees a man who is just as much trapped as he is. For better or worse.

/ / /

Renjun and Jeno visit him right before the wedding. It’s nothing too unfathomable, given that they’re his best men. But Chenle feels weird in his own skin, because people don’t kiss their best men and then act like nothing happened. Renjun tries to start the conversation off on a good note, with pleasantries and preamble. He reads into Chenle’s nerves and tries to reassure him, dusts his shoulders and fusses over the way his hair falls over his forehead, adjusting little strands here and there until the placements satisfy him.
There’s a tremble in his hands he tries to hide that Chenle inevitably ends up feeling. And when it gets too much, he steps away and looks at Jeno who’s been silently watching the whole time. Jeno gets straight to the point, crossing his arms over his chest when he speaks, “Do you want this?”

Chenle replies without missing a beat, and it stuns Jeno for a bit like he was expecting something more. “I do.”

His somber face makes Chenle squirm and he tries to joke, “You’re so serious, are you gonna run away and elope with me or something?”

Jeno sweats, and the realization is a slow sinking feeling that makes Chenle’s expression slacken into a mixture of emotions he can’t even place himself.

“Oh. Oh you—,”

“I love you. I have for a long time.” Jeno blurts out.

It’s Chenle’s turn to be stunned. He was expecting something along those lines, but not the entire truth dropped in front of him so hastily, the feelings so raw it physically hurts to look at Jeno because of them. “But I—,” Chenle shakes his head when he finds no justification to his actions, “Jeno, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be,” Jeno smiles, “I think we have bigger things to worry about. A-k-a you walking down that aisle.”

“No Jeno, I do. I love you man but like…as friends.” Chenle admits. He needs to be as honest with Jeno as he’s been with him, because the hurt he’ll inflict down the road of ignorance is something he doesn’t want to be part of. He rips it off like a bandaid because Jeno’s pain should only be momentary. He’s not the kind of person who deserves something so prolonged as having his feelings unrequited for years on end, and Chenle can’t stand having a hand in it.

“But you kissed me.”

“Heat of the moment.” Chenle cringes at his own words. How does he tell Jeno the whole truth? How can he tell anybody about the way the prospect of marrying Na Jaemin sits so heavily on Chenle that it makes him a little sick? How does he wrap his mouth around those words and then expect not to raise enough concern to have them, especially Jeno, shut the whole thing down. How does Chenle go about saying he won’t be his own collateral even if it means gambling all his happiness away, without sounding like an absolute fool and embarrassing himself?

But Jeno’s always been one for the semantics, “It was for so long though? Why would you—,”

“Jeno,” Chenle snaps, voice strained with his own emotions and annoyance all at once. “I was vulnerable. I wasn’t in a good place, and it just happened. I don’t know how much more honest it can get than that.”

“Oh.” Jeno says. He licks his bottom lip and looks an awful lot like a kicked puppy before he says something that’ll cause Chenle to hurt him even more, “It’s okay. But still, you need to think if you want to marry him.”

“Don’t you and Jaemin go way back?” Chenle grumbles. His feet are frigid cold at the moment, but duty always, always, calls. Who would he be without his identity? Without his family? Unable to love, with no money and no place to resort too. If he goes through with this, he’ll have a husband, he’ll have two families and two companies backing him up. He needs to trample on his feelings and be practical here. “Why are you being so…weird about this?”

He also needs to do something about his habit of compounding his own emotions so much he ends up blowing up on other people.

Jeno frowns and his eyebrows knit together, “It’s because I know him, Chenle.”

“Is he in love with someone else?” He humors Jeno. Because all his other bad habits are already plastered over every single headline in Seoul.

“I don’t know. Maybe?”

“Okay well if he goes through with this anyways, it doesn’t matter.” Chenle turns to the mirror. “He could bring them to the honeymoon for all I care.”

And for some reason Jeno reels at that. Thing is, he’s never seen Chenle as anything other than what he used to be. He’s stuck in the past, in who Chenle was the moment his heart skipped two beats and got lodged in his throat, and he’s never moved on since. It was real. Jeno didn’t fall for a mirage. But for now, he’s only in love with a concept. And being a concept doesn’t sit well with Chenle. Chenle doesn’t sit well on pedestals.

“You’ve changed.” Jeno pauses, and runs a hand through his perfectly gelled back hair in frustration. Chenle hasn’t. “I know you think I’m dumb, but I know you used me. And I know now that you’re using him too, aren’t you? I don’t know what for and I think it doesn’t matter because I’m sure he’s doing the same, but it just doesn’t sit well with me.”

“For a moment, I was okay with being used Chenle, I actually was. Because I get it if you’re hurt and it’s a one time thing. But I don’t see any hope of you coming around.”

“I don’t need you to hope for me coming around, Jeno, I’m fine,” Chenle says, mouth setting into a grim line right after. Because the path Jeno’s trying to tread is an open wound and every word is like salt rubbed into it. The reminder of his life spiraling after one slip up, one mistake. Like everything bad that happens afterwards is because of it. If opening his heart up is causation to destruction, then Chenle doesn’t even know why Jeno’s after a one-way ticket into it.

“This is your whole life, be serious for just one second,” Jeno stares at him dead in the eye before looking away when he sees no hope of getting through to him. He shakes his head in frustration, “I just don’t know you anymore.”

Chenle thinks things are just better like this anyways. He still feels remorse weighing him down though, the pain in him for hurting Jeno runs bone deep. There’s a knock on the door, and a curt voice letting them know it’s show time. Renjun says he’ll handle it, and Chenle almost forgot he was even there in the first place. He must’ve been holding his breath the entire time, and Chenle’s remorse doubles at the thought of having Renjun witness the downfall of their friendship. The door opens and Renjun makes conversation with the person on the other side, discreetly blocking the pair from view. It clicks shut. Chenle balls up his hands into fists on his thigh.

“I’m sorry for kissing you.”

Jeno looks away and agrees.

“I’m sorry that I let you.”

/ / /

Upon Chenle’s insistence, they actually skip the honeymoon and head straight to Jaemin’s place after bidding the last few guests at the reception adieu. The trade off for that was having to spend more time with with both families at dinners and brunches while they’re in town, parading around their insane love for each other, but Chenle would gladly take two hours of wanting to choke on his wine to an early demise and bottomless embarrassment (plus mimosas!) over a whole week with Jaemin alone.

Jaemin takes any moment that they’re alone to just stare at Chenle, and it would be more flattering than abysmal if the looks didn’t color him like some unsolvable math problem. They don’t even make small talk. No ‘hey, how are you’s or plans to emotionally con their families together to make them believe that their union is a happy one. The thing is, it’s a facade so transparent and frustratingly overlooked that they really have no obligations to put on that grand of an act. And they seem to have a certain unspoken understanding about what to do to tackle the rest of society. It doesn’t matter to Chenle emotionally anyways—the concept of marriage felt like a sham to him far before Jaemin’s entry into his life.

Jaemin is strange enough to be unaffected by the cloud of awkwardness looming over their heads when they’re in each other's company, so he doesn’t do anything to dissipate it. And Chenle, well—he’s just too stubborn to be the first one to admit that it bothers him. So it’s easy to fall into a routine.

Jaemin’s life is surprisingly put together for someone who’s known for being such a wild card, and that makes it all the more easier for Chenle to know how to avoid him. He’s content enough in his own room anyways to go exploring around the house that nobody’s shown him around, and the perks of being Zhong Chenle is that people are nice enough to be at his every beck and call to ensure his comfort. He’s never had a reason to take complete advantage of that fact until right now, when his goal is to preferably go an entire lifetime without interacting with his husband.

Na Jaemin, his husband. It still feels strange to acknowledge him that way.

Chenle glances to his left discreetly, and sure enough Jaemin’s still there and solid. He’s got his head tilted backwards against the headrest, eyes shut but still fluttering which is a telltale sign that he hasn’t fallen asleep. His eyelashes are insane, Chenle muses. He’s insane.

Maybe it’s strange because Jaemin doesn’t really act like one.

He showed up to dinner tonight with silver hair all of a sudden, and the confusion of being unable to find his own husband nearly drove him into the arms of another man with similar stature to Jaemin’s. He got away with his image intact by a hair’s breadth when the man’s wife showed up. And the strangest part of it all is the fact that Jaemin just stood and watched—enjoyed Chenle’s mortification, even. It still makes him fume.

When the car pulls into the driveway of Jaemin’s estate that’s too lavish, even for Chenle’s tastes, he speaks for once, “You know, a warning would’ve been nice before the stunt you pulled.” And he catches the barest hint of amusement on Jaemin’s face as reply.

“What?” Chenle squirms.

“I think no warnings is nice for us if it makes you act like you’re not a spouse-for-hire for once.” He opens his eyes and raises an eyebrow.

“It’s not like you took any initiative either. I’m sorry that for once you’re reciprocated with something other than a person fawning at your feet just because you breathe.”

“So that’s what you think of me.”

Jaemin leans in with interest, and it robs Chenle of all fresh air, until it feels like he’ll just inhale Jaemin’s scent until he suffocates to an early demise. He can’t die early and he refuses to let Na Jaemin being an infuriating asshole be the reason to rob the world of a gem like himself.

Chenle scoffs, “Well you hardly make yourself a mystery.”

He doesn’t have to explain himself. He exits the car and makes sure to slam the door hard enough to make it hurt Jaemin and his wallet.

/ / /

“Only royalty have real balls,” It’s true for all implications of the statement, and the parallel is harsh enough to leave a sour taste in Chenle’s mouth as he mopes. Renjun’s laughter rings through the phone and the clatter afterwards lets Chenle know that he’s probably dropped it on his desk. He peers out of his closet to stare at the screen and is met with a closeup of Renjun’s face as he inspects the device. Chenle’s own is propped up on a mountain of haphazardly stacked shoe boxes from all his sneakers, facing his closet’s door. Now, he’s not a hoarder; it’s just that he has an emotional attachment to those babies.

His suitcase is on the floor and there are random heaps of clothes everywhere ranging from the floor to the bed to the ottoman in front of it. He swears there’s method in the madness, but he’s slowly beginning to lose all sense of reason the more time passes. The thing is, Jaemin gets all his work done by people, including packing and unpacking all of his belongings. All he does is put things on and look good. And they’d tried the same system for Chenle, except it drove him mad.

To make things worse, there’s this impromptu trip. It’s a little insane that they have to just up and leave to go visit just because some random foreign prince summoned Jaemin upon learning that he’d tied the knot. It’s an admirably close connection, but for Chenle it’s just one more reason to hate Jaemin.

He thinks he’d actually lose it if he weren’t able to pack his own things to bring. And he also thinks he already is because he doesn’t like the way they arranged things inside his closet. Chenle likes putting his own outfits together; it’s therapeutic to fiddle with and fix all of the details. But he’s also pretty particular about the order of things. So he’s taken the liberty to lock his door and not let anybody near his suitcase in hopes of restoring that very order.

“I guess the honeymoon just sort of fell into your lap huh?” Chenle can see the vague image of Renjun’s cheeks rising as he flashes a teasing smile at the camera, but he shuts it down by throwing a scarf towards his phone, effectively undoing all the hard work that went into building his shoebox high rise. From the rubble of that plummet, Renjun’s giggle rings through again.

“Misery befalls me,” Chenle says dramatically and removes the article of clothing from his front camera so Renjun can see his dramatics. Plucking his phone, he sinks to the floor and sighs, hooking his chin over the edge of the bed, “It sucks.”

“Misery does love company.” Renjun prods lightly.

“Not when the company is Na Jaemin.”

“Is it—,” Renjun pauses and scans Chenle’s expression, “Is he all that bad?”

“We’ve had one conversation, Renjun. And it was terrible.” Chenle sighs and shakes his head “Yes? No? I don’t know. Jaemin is just Jaemin. I don’t know a universe in which we’d be remotely compatible.”

“I’m sorry.” Renjun looks like he’d been zoning out at Chenle’s answer, an unfathomable expression on his face. He’d call it pity if Renjun’s features weren’t clouded with so much remorse.

Chenle smiles.

“You of all people don’t need to be.” They may not have spoken often after the whole whirlwind, but Renjun’s been the one there for him all along. It’s not like his family understand, and Chenle doesn’t have too many vent worthy friends who wouldn’t dig a knife into his back just to sell him out to the papers. And then there’s the friendship he fucked up. He shifts nervously, “How is he?”

“Jeno is…he’s healing,” Renjun winces. Chenle would see through it if he sugarcoated things, and that’d make him feel even worse. This already hurts like hell when it shouldn’t. Because Chenle doesn’t think he deserves to feel hurt; doesn’t think that scums who kiss their best friends for escapism do feel this way. Lately, Chenle’s been lost on how to feel at all.

“Okay.” He answers, hand rising to his lips to pick at the skin. Footsteps pad down the hallway right outside Chenle’s room, and Jaemin’s cackle from the other side is so loud that even Renjun hears it. He makes a face and laughs at it, and Chenle half-heartedly grins when he does so.

“Guess that’s my cue to hang up.”

Chenle almost wants to ask why. It’s not like Jaemin’s presence filling up the house vibrantly enough to impose into his little bubble is reason enough for Chenle to cut the call and seek him out. It’s not like he wouldn’t be happier forgetting about Jaemin and pretending like this is just one of his and Renjun’s trips again. But coping mechanisms like that are poison, and Renjun can’t comfort him forever. He opts to sigh and say a sulky goodbye, all melodramatic and guilt tripping, and Renjun laughs one last time before giving him some warm advice on how to take care of himself and hanging up only after Chenle nods to promise he’ll comply.

They leave that night in a private jet, and Chenle can only thank god for the thick pair of sunglasses Jaemin has on that makes it unnoticable if he’s gaping at or ignoring him altogether. He sips on his drink, and flips through a book before getting some much needed sleep.

He knows Jaemin will be haunting his dreams and his reality for the next few nights.

/ / /

There is an ample amount of fanfare when the jet touches down onto land. Chenle pulls up his window cover and squints at the beaming sunlight while admiring the view just as they’re hovering over the airport. He peels off the under eye mask he had on, and disposes of it before packing his things. He doesn’t even know how long he slept for, and doesn’t have half a mind to figure it out because of the grogginess.

Jaemin, for the first time ever seems serious, engaged in a heated phone call. Chenle tries tuning it out. But it’s a difficult task to do when he also wants to stare at the way he clutches his jaw, or the way Jaemin’s chest rises and falls with every angry breath, or the way his lips curve up the angrier he gets as if the information on the other end keeps surprising him and making his fury grow ten folds. Chenle’s only ever gotten to see the playful and infuriating side of him, but this is an interesting contrast. He could never have imagined in his wildest dreams that Jaemin would be able to take something in his life seriously enough to be this upset. But he is now, and strangely enough Chenle understands.

“Isn’t he the one you should be doubting?” His voice rises and he tilts his head down at the realization, pinching the bridge of his nose to calm himself down, “Grandfather, I’ve spent my whole life knowing these people. If there’s anybody in that room who hasn’t associated with royals before, ever, it’s a Zhong. I can handle him.” Jaemin looks like he’s trying to whisper, but Chenle’s ears are sharp and he’s too attuned to the conversation to miss it.

Just like that the mirage of peace shatters, and the recoil of the switch in emotions running through him has Chenle flinching. Sure, his family can be protective, and a little close minded and picky and micromanaging, but they’re still his family. Most of the time Chenle hates them for who they are on the inside and for all the rotten sides of them he’s seen that’s hidden away from the world, but that doesn’t mean he’s comfortable with Jaemin of all people looking down on them.

After touch down, Chenle feels a little too nauseated to put up a facade.

What if Jaemin is right? This is all foreign territory. What if Chenle fucks up and never lives it down? All the self-doubt accumulating before it turns to anger and lashes at Jaemin makes it easy to accept his arm when he extends it to Chenle as they make their ways down the stairs together. Immediately, before he can recover or even make sense of his own feelings, they’re smothered in perfumed hugs and piled into a car to be whisked away.

It’s Chenle staring at Jaemin as Jaemin looks away this time around. And he clenches his fists on top of his knees while trying to reign his tongue in. They have to share a room at the palace, and Chenle spends most of the remainder of the day holed up in the closet pretending to sort his things while Jaemin goes around mingling and settling his affairs.

By the time dinner rolls around, Chenle’s growling stomach wants to welcome the feast laid out on the table, but they can’t get to it before making rounds on the dance floor. And that coupled with Jaemin’s increasingly frustrating presence doesn’t make him very good company. It’s apparent that the people around them pick up on his obvious disdain, and after a while Chenle doesn’t even feel self conscious enough to even try to muster a facade. His face drops, he hardly greets anybody properly, and throws etiquette out of the window when fidgeting in his expensive suit, dying to loosen the tie. He’ll just let Jaemin handle him.

And handle, he does. By tightening his grip on Chenle’s arm and cooing and caa-ing about how tired he must be, throwing in a few innuendos when mentioning how he’s the culprit behind all of the exhaustion and lack of sleep, coloring their imaginative sex lives in front of people who seem a little inappropriately happy about it all. During one of the many identical conversations of the kind, Jaemin leans in for a kiss, but Chenle frowns and angles away his face just in time for his lips to land on his cheek. Dinner is tense after that. Chenle tries to pay no mind to it but the way Jaemin stares down at him is intimidating enough to have him unable to meet his eyes for the entirety of the meal. They retire to their room early, on Jaemin’s insistence. Chenle dreads whatever he must have to say to him in the privacy of their room.

All of the feelings compounding make the drinks go down easy, and the drinks make time go by too fast for his liking. Soon enough, they’re back behind closed doors. Four walls, one king bed, and an elephant in the room so big it steals all the air from Chenle’s lungs.

“Am I a joke to you?” Jaemin starts right after the door clicks shut.

Chenle ignores him, making a beeline for the bed and aggressively grabbing a few pillows. Jaemin is in his way when he turns, so he glares up before shoving past him, “You’d make a great jester.”

The couch is scratchy when he plops down on it, and he was hardly thinking so he didn’t even grab a blanket. Chenle tries in earnest to not let the shivers show, but the adrenaline and anger coursing through him don’t really help. He closes his eyes, pretending to be asleep. Fake it till you make it, right?

“Chenle,” Jaemin crosses his arms over his chest and calls out.

Wrong.

“No, because,” Chenle sighs in frustration, bolting up, “I don’t understand you. It’s okay when you pull tricks because you want to back at home, but when I’m genuinely upset about something, it’s invalid to not give two fucks about your night?”

“That’s different,” Jaemin offers as an explanation, staring down at Chenle in a way that makes him feel like the stupidest person in the world when he’s not. He’s made and ignored enough mistakes to know he’s not in the wrong for this. “And I can’t read your mind.”

“Like you can’t keep your voice down in the plane?” Chenle smiles at him bitterly.

The way Jaemin’s face falls is satisfying. But Chenle’s done listening to him and whatever fucked up explanation he’s got lined up next to justify himself. “Just,” he leans back onto the couch, hugging the pillow. His ring feels heavy enough to sink his whole heart, “Go to sleep Jaemin. We’re done talking about this.”

And Jaemin leaves with a dejected slump to his shoulders. In the darkness of the night, when the lights are turned off, it’s apparent that none of them end up getting any shut eye.

/ / /

The morning after is tough. Chenle continues furthering his reputation as the strangest person to grace the palace walls by wearing the most dramatic pair of sunglasses from his collection to the breakfast table. His eyebags are beyond terrible from the grand lack of sleep, the ability to avoid people is only a plus. He’s sure people are bubbling with questions they can ask privately about his life, his upbringing, married life with Jaemin, Jaemin himself, and finally why Jaemin isn’t here with him. For a second Chenle imagines himself countering that with the same innuendo laced reasoning Jaemin used last night, and he immediately scrunches his nose up in cringe at the prospect.

The palace chef takes the expression as a review of breakfast and looks like he’s about to shit himself and get fired, but Chenle smiles at him placatingly to make sure the man actually doesn’t pass out in front of him.

There’s a giant window in front of him, and it provides the perfect view of the sea. The sunlight streaming in strikes his face and the warmth of it coupled with the breeze feels just right. It feels comforting. Chenle shoves another spoonful of food into his mouth, shuts his eyes, and sighs in content before chewing.

But peace has never agreed with him for too long, and the new emerging pattern linked to the loss of it seems to be the gain of Na Jaemin. All of a sudden things aren’t bright and warm anymore, and a chill sets into him as Jaemin slides into the seat across from him. He looks as haggard as Chenle does, but he does a poor job of masking it. His hair is sticking up in all directions, his face is bare, and it looks like he barely managed to get changed out of his robe and into something presentable. He glances once at Chenle, barely, and bides the rest of his time just zoning out at the table runner while sitting stock still. And Chenle just doesn’t understand.

Jaemin doesn’t strike him to be the contemplative type. Maybe his own anger kept him up? But then again, he doesn’t think anger leaves people looking and acting like the undead. Does he feel bad? Seems impossible.

Chenle scoffs into his tea and it beckons Jaemin’s attention. He hides his little smile immediately when their eyes meet and pretends to cough while looking away.

Jaemin snaps out of it. A little. He leans forward, “Good morning.”

Chenle pauses, raises an eyebrow. “Is it good?”

“Not anymore,” Jaemin sighs and wipes the corner of his lips with a napkin before setting it on the table with no care. One of the housekeepers actually looks like he’s going to cry this time at the disdainful expression and poor treatment of the napkin, and Chenle really thinks this is the last place the two of them should be if they’re offending people left right and center. But maybe that’s mostly him.

“It’s mutual,” Chenle mutters dryly before plucking his phone from where it’s face down beside his plate. He sends Renjun a couple of random text messages, and after much contemplation sends one to Jeno asking how he is.

“Uncle Jaemin!”

Chenle’s eyes snap up and he only realizes then that he’s bitten his bottom lip to the point of drawing blood. He licks over it and glances at Jaemin who gets ambushed in hugs from all sides from children. His cold and annoyed stature switches immediately, and he’s all talking in pouts and complimenting the children. The children reciprocate the energy and gush and rant and ramble, and it’s strange to fathom the chaos and ruckus that’s developed across from him in a second.

They move from topic to topic, until the children finally remember why he’s even visiting in the first place, attentions moving to Chenle. All of the sets of eyes on him are a little irking, and he smiles awkwardly. The kids go stock still, perhaps intimidated by him. One of them leans closer to Jaemin, hand cupped over mouth. Jaemin moves his head down to accommodate his height, and the kid does a very bad job at whispering, “Is that him?”

Jaemin nods, “Yep. What do we think?”

Chenle wordlessly takes off his sunglasses to make a proper good impression, and the children all gasp.

“He’s so…,”

“Wow.”

“His eyes sparkle.”

And Chenle’s ego grows and grows and grows with no bounds like it’s a beanstalk from a folk tale.

“I guess I’m lucky, huh,” Jaemin murmurs, a tinge of sadness in his voice. Chenle feels him. Their reality feels almost unfair when it comes to the expectations of these children and all the wonder they regard them both with. The compliments, all of them from everyone, now feel undeserved. Chenle may not enjoy the concepts of marriage on the surface, but he does believe love exists. He’s loved and lost before, and it doesn’t feel right to disrespect all the values with their fake situation, even if they’re not the ones to orchestrate it.

And he knows they can’t force feelings, but the cold war and tension between them can only be bearable for so long before it becomes absolute torture to live with. He doesn’t want an entire life spent on thin ice.

“I think,” His eyes dart around and fall on anything but Jaemin, “Yeah, I guess I’m lucky too.”

The children take his answer as an open door to approach him with all of their inquiries, and for some reason the questions for Chenle are as strange as they come.

“You guys had to kiss for the wedding right?”

“Was it a good kiss?”

“Of course not, all kisses are ick, anyways do you guys kiss everyday?”

Chenle feels himself growing redder and redder, even if kissing everyday is the last thing they’d do. He would be mortified if Jaemin’s ears weren’t on fire too. He haphazardly dabs his face with a napkin, puts his sunglasses back on and rises from his seat, “Okay I think breakfast is over for me.”

Jaemin follows suit and gathers up the kids to usher them along as they part ways, “Yep! Us too! Let’s go, out, away from here, shoo as far as you can.”

Chenle watches their figures grow smaller and smaller, and only feels his grin grow.

/ / /

Jaemin takes the children to the beach. Chenle can see them play right from the palace’s balconies, and he lingers there staring at the scene with the excuse of needing fresh air while he drinks his tea. They keep bringing him cup after cup and Chenle only tires from it when all the internal heat from the drink and the weather outside begin to give him an uncomfortable hot flush.

Only royals have real balls? Chenle thinks he should use his time in the palace to actually learn a thing or two about that before leaving for home. So he grows a pair and marches right down to the beach, sand in his painfully expensive shoes a nuisance, and holy grail sunscreen being the only thing keeping him from ending it all, and he finds himself in front of a huffing puffing Jaemin. That is, for a little while at least.

Their eyes meet one instant, and the next Jaemin’s being tackled to the ground with the kids ganging up on him. Chenle crosses his arms over his chest and bathes in the feeling of watching his husband go down, courtesy of the screaming band of hooligans who ask too many questions. The kids eventually distract themselves with other things when Jaemin makes no move to get up, and out of the most fractional bit of concern Chenle walks over and hovers above him. Jaemin groans like an old man and Chenle tuts.

It causes Jaemin to open his eyes, and he breathlessly says, “Fuck you.”

“Fuck me indeed,” Chenle humors him and despite wearing white pants makes the horrible mistake of kneeling into the sand.

“I’m kidding,” Jaemin scans his face. And then, as his face turns somber, “And I’m sorry. I guess I hurt your pride.”

“You guess?” Chenle raises an eyebrow.

“Okay,” Jaemin rolls his eyes in acquiescence, “I did really hurt your pride, and I shouldn’t be going around saying that stuff about your family. Especially now that we’re married.”

Jaemin keeps blinking, and Chenle knows it’s not because of the sun because from where he’s angled over him, his body must be blocking all the sunlight from hitting Jaemin’s face. It’s because of a few strands of hair messily swept over his forehead, just barely poking his eyes. And Chenle really, really, really wants to reach out and brush it away. He clamps down on that thought as best as he can and decides to look away from Jaemin’s face.

“Married or not, you shouldn’t be saying that crap about my family. Our history goes deep.”

“So they say,” Jaemin smiles, “But I do think our marriage matters. I don’t know, it’s literally binding us together.”

“Haven’t felt like a married man much though,” Chenle mutters to himself. But their proximity means that Jaemin can pick up on his little out-loud thoughts just as well.

“Say that again?” He pushes himself up to hear better and effectively puts himself in a place too close for comfort. Chenle leans back and flops onto the sand, hoping it’ll swallow him up and take him back upstairs. His cheeks burn red.

“It’s nothing!”

Jaemin runs his tongue against his cheek, disbelief painting his face in a way that makes Chenle smile so hard it makes him squint like he’s staring straight into the face of the sun. “Wow. That’s how you really feel. You’re doubting my husbandly charms.”

Chenle scoffs, “Okay, and what husbandly charms have you exactly shown? None. You’re a fucking nuisance Jaemin.”

“Only to you,” Jaemin murmurs and it makes Chenle fall quiet. Look at them, bickering like they’re an actual married couple. There’s irony in there somewhere, but the situation is too complex for Chenle to pinpoint it and figure out what exactly makes it feels like something in his chest has grown wings at the admittance.

“Whatever.”

“I’ll be a not-nuisance too, if that’s what you wish,” Jaemin extends his hand towards Chenle, palm up, as if beckoning him to take it. Chenle stares at it.

“Since when do you grant my wishes?” Chenle stalls while he tries to halt the itch in his fingers which want to splay over Jaemin’s.

“Since today?” Jaemin smiles, and nods towards his hand, “Let me show you.”
And Chenle lets him. They’re only holding hands, Jaemin tugging him along to wherever it is according to the plan his brain’s concocted. But to Chenle, for some reason all of it feels like a leap.

/ / /

Leave it to Jaemin to own multiple sports cars in foreign countries. He asks Chenle to choose, and upon making a snide remark about his spending habits, Chenle’s quite rudely reminded of his own little monetary vices, which are admittedly weirder than Jaemin’s. That doesn’t mean he can’t be annoyed at Jaemin though, and the cold shoulder only thaws on the drive when Jaemin promises to fund his whole PC set up at their place. Only a crazy person would refuse an offer like that.

They eat at a food truck, and Jaemin shows him all these little getaway spots he’s unearthed every time he’s visited the country. Chenle discovers that that’s one thing they have in common—trying to find ways to maximize the escapism on vacation. And he wonders if Jaemin ever does it because he really hates being himself sometimes. Chenle doesn’t ask though.

But he does get to know Jaemin’s favorite color, how he hates strawberry flavored things, how close he used to be to Jeno and how they only recently grew apart. Chenle doesn’t dare comment on the reason.

They come back late at night, absolutely exhausted and a little drunk, and collapse on the bed as soon as they reach their room. Chenle slowly gathers the energy for the inevitable battle for who gets to take the bed now that he’s not mad, and he’s fully prepared to use Jaemin’s turn at having it for one night against him. He rolls over and finds himself right across from an already half-asleep Jaemin, breathing slow, eyes closed. He thinks it’s pretty valid to not have the heart to prompt Jaemin to leave, but Chenle doesn’t think he should be caving into the growing need to stay. His limbs feel heavy though. It’s the very reason he doesn’t roll away when Jaemin shifts closer.

“You know—,” Jaemin begins all of a sudden right when Chenle’s eyes are beginning to flutter closed. His voice is deep and groggy in a comforting way, and the idea of waking up next to him just becomes more and more tempting.

“Our life isn’t a house on top of a hill with simple pleasures, Chenle.” Jaemin pauses, falls quieter, “But it is our life now. No matter what, or who we wished end game would be for ourselves, it’s this. It’s me and you.”

“Me and you,” Chenle mourns, not sure who for.

/ / /

The one night of being on the same page doesn’t change a whole lot, really. It only adds a few silver linings like how even though they still don’t talk the entire flight back, at least they’re not fighting. They go back home and slowly transition from living the whole socialite dream to a newer normal. Well, at least Chenle does. Socialite dream is just Jaemin’s default, but he has tuned all his strange rendezvous down to save both their faces.

Most days go by swamped with work. The only source of solace Chenle finds indoors is the grand piano that sits in the living room that reminds him of home—a gold Steinway. It had been his dream to get one some day, before he quit. The ability to go back to just playing for fun dangling right in front of him feels bittersweet, and truthfully quite unreal. Being able to actually go through with it is a whole other story.

After officially finishing up with their last celebratory brunch with the families, Chenle isn’t expecting Jaemin to join him while he’s ruminating. If his schedule held true, Jaemin would’ve been off to playing tennis with Mark Lee right away, and then wasting away the rest of his day at Mark’s hotel’s bar which has long been notorious for hosting company of the likes of Jaemin. Mark is actually sweet, going off the few interactions Chenle’s had with him, but his brand couldn’t be further from what he’s really like. Maybe keeping it so untrue to self is what makes business good. But since Jaemin loves hanging out with him, maybe they’re all the same. Perhaps Mark likes picking his poison in privacy.

It isn’t unnatural that Chenle startles when Jaemin shows up and sets down two glasses of scotch onto the surface of the instrument right as Chenle’s caressing the keys. A smirk graces his features, “Care to drink?”

Wordlessly, Chenle accepts. He sips and Jaemin stalls, his eyes wandering around his own living room while he unlatches his watch from his wrist and loosens his tie. He has an odd way of making Chenle squirm, like he’s waiting for something. When he sets the glass back down, Jaemin startles him by pressing up against his back, making him instantly stiffen in his oddly careful hold. Jaemin eases Chenle’s blazer off and throws it onto one of the nearby couches before finally grabbing his own drink.

Chenle blows out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and decides to glower at Jaemin, who only shrugs, “What? I was helping.”

“If that’s your definition of help, I don’t need it.” Chenle murmurs dryly, angling his head away, mouth set in a grim line. They just got married and it hasn’t even been a month. He’s not sure if he’s quite at the stage where he can openly laugh and joke about it when both the arrangement and his disdain for it and the man across from him is still so fresh.

To his surprise, Jaemin pouts a little comically, “Don’t be such a stranger.” And it makes Chenle scoff.

“How about you go back to pretending like you don’t know me?”

All the spite and venom doesn’t faze Jaemin a bit, in fact it only works to further amuse him. “How do you know I don’t? You’re hardly a mystery yourself. In fact, you’re such an open book it’s cute. I think this could work well, after all Chenle.” He crosses his arms, leaning back against the piano, and letting out a sigh of contentment. “Anyways, we’re going out this weekend. It’s time to make rounds as a married couple in our friend groups.”

An open book? Chenle knows a lie when he hears one, and to have Jaemin say such an obviously false proclamation straight to his face feels like a serious offense. He’s the furthest from an open book; he’s a book locked inside another book, locked inside a suitcase, thrown into an ocean. Chenle has the urge to scratch away the expression from his face. He hates it when people gloat and Na Jaemin is the last person who should be doing that. But he settles for just narrowing his eyes and pulling the most spiteful expression he can muster, “Your friend groups, you mean. And I’ll go only if I want to.”

Jaemin raises an eyebrow and clasps his hands together, like he’s really doing Chenle some favor here, “And what’s going to make you want to?”

Chenle scoffs, “Not you. That’s for sure.”

“I’m just trying to make this work, Chenle,” Jaemin nags. He isn’t mad, but oddly enough Chenle feels like a cat who’s been reprimanded for dipping his paws into unchartered territory—like the kitchen sink. “Be a team player.”

“This was never meant to work. You can go back to religiously raising your body count, and I’ll go back to my own life and we’ll be like all the other dysfunctional families around. Capiche? I hardly need to know your friends to do that.”

Jaemin stares at him, and for one miraculous second Chenle begins to think that he’s finally, finally gotten through that thick head of his and gotten the actual message across. That is, until Jaemin raises an eyebrow and asks with the most annoyingly teasing lilt ever, “Family, you say?” And quieter he adds, “Me and you.”

Chenle sees no option but burying his face into his palms and groaning, too physically tired from all the charades of the day to actually deal with Jaemin at the moment, and he chooses to ignore the reference to their rare moment of sincerity for his own good. Jaemin raises his hands in defeat and retreats to his room. “Okay, fine, you can go back to doing you. Just consider the invitation.”

His laughter booms the entire way down the hall and Chenle flushes crimson.

“Family!” His voice echoes before the room door clicks shut.

/ / /

Chenle liked it a lot better when Na Jaemin was just another familiar face in the tabloids. Now, he has the obligation to be right by his side when people draw hearts in the byline. For a moment, standing in front of the glass case housing his Rolexes and Patek Phillipes, he wishes for a moment for Jaemin to just forget him.

The thing is, all of this would be so much easier on him had Jaemin not had this sudden urge to pull all of Chenle’s strings, so intimately you’d think they’ve been friends for years. And what’s worse is Chenle unwinding like he always does. Thing is, the wall around his heart’s built of calluses. It’s as easy to heal as it is to hurt, and he’s always been a little reckless when it comes to his own defenses. Jaemin is attractive, he’s fun, he’s eccentric, he’s the person everyone wants, and he’s got a stone on his ring finger that makes him all Chenle’s. For some reason that feels like power, and the last thing Chenle wants to do is get drunk on that. If only Jaemin gave him reasons to hate him, then Chenle could go on merrily with his own life, living out the fate he’s always convinced himself would lie in wait for him. Anything else is unfamiliar, and treading that path has always ended in Chenle losing sight of himself.

But here he is, picking out a watch from his collection while an inkling of nervousness sinks slow in his gut, certain that if Jaemin actually abandoned him, it would hurt for real. And they’re barely friends.

Jaemin knocks twice on the door to his walk-in closet, and invites himself in before Chenle can utter a syllable. He helps himself to a tour, eyes the collection Chenle’s been rooted in front of for a solid 15 minutes, and zeroes in on one of the watches to the far left. He has to lean over Chenle to grab it, and Chenle finds himself holding his breath. “This one,” Jaemin takes his wrist and delicately clasps on the watch. He handles Chenle in a way that makes a flush rise up his neck.

Once it clicks on, Jaemin’s eyes drift to Chenle’s, and he smiles so small and genuine that it makes Chenle pull back like he’s been burned. There’s grave consequences to a smile like that.

“Ready?”

Chenle nods. And they leave for the party. They’re chauffeured there, and a handful of paparazzi slew various strings of fury inciting words meant to provoke reactions. While Jaemin is used to all the fanfare, Chenle’s entire life spent enjoying solitude leaves him feeling unbearably unprepared. He blinks at every harsh flash and his expression twists to show his very obvious displeasure for the cameras before he can clamp down on his emotions. Jaemin waves one last time and flashes a million watt smile before escorting Chenle indoors, and Chenle mutters only for his ears, “How you thrive on this is beyond me.”

Jaemin’s got this stupid, dopey, carefree grin plastered on his face that makes his excitement just a slight bit contagious. “Think of Tinkerbell who dies without attention. She’s a personal role model.”

“Fair enough,” Chenle feels a faint buzz of exhilaration running through him. He smirks up at Jaemin and clutches onto his tree trunk of an arm when he offers it to guide them both the right way, “Explains your penchant for drama.”

“Admit it or not, you like it.” Jaemin leans down and his lips are so close to Chenle’s ears when he murmurs the words that it’s dizzying. Thankfully, Mark saves the day by greeting them. And whether he’s mastered the art of acting or if he really is that clueless to the tension he’s cutting through, Chenle welcomes the necessary interruption. He jumps at the chance of separating from Jaemin, and although he expected to deal with a more nefarious group of trust fund men, he’s pleasantly surprised to find himself actually getting along with a few people.

Mark introduces him to Minghao and Junhui, and upon realizing that Renjun is a mutual friend, their conversation flows easily. Like Jaemin and him, they married for their companies. But unlike them, there’s a smooth understanding between the pair. They lead interestingly contrasting lives, and one would expect Junhui’s impulsiveness to clash with Minghao’s micromanagement, but Chenle figures that an entire lifetime of friendship helps to work out the kinks in the dynamic.

“It gets better,” Minghao tells him with a reassuring calmness in his eyes before winding an arm around Mingyu’s waist to drag him to the dancefloor. The way Junhui’s eyes linger on them tells Chenle there’s more to that story than their perfect facade of peace. The advice counts for something, since there isn’t much he can say about his own marriage. Being on constant crossfire with Jaemin is tiring, and the torture of dealing with that for a lifetime would send him into an early grave. And moreover, it prompts Chenle to seek out Jaemin through the multitude of people in the crowd. He runs his hand down the chest of some drunk man who propositions him brazenly before weaving out of the mess of limbs and finds Jaemin at the bar, swirling his own drink. Chenle stops and watches, for some strange reason just seeing him like this feels a little intimate. It’s like he’s found that one second window where Jaemin is absolutely transparent, and even then he’s opaque in ways that make Chenle wonder how many layers to unwind until he’s bare and soft hearted and squishy. Jaemin realizes there’s eyes on him, and when he cranes his neck to catch Chenle in the act, he breaks out of the daze and inches forward. “Seat taken?”

Jaemin’s guard is up, and he jokingly twists his lips into a look of feigned distaste for Chenle, “I wish.” His fingers twitch on the table and he downs his drink before properly focusing his attention on him, “How’s your night?”

For once Chenle deems that Jaemin’s earned an honest smile from him, “Surprisingly not the trainwreck I was expecting.”

“Yeah I saw you,” Jaemin smiles too.

“You were looking?” Chenle blurts. It’s an odd thing to take him by surprise. It’s not like it invokes any feelings in him, it’s just one of those pieces of information you can keep tucked into the back of your mind, and the knowledge of it just feels fulfilling.

“‘Course I was. See, my husband cleans up nice and I have a bit of a jealousy streak but don’t tell him that,” Jaemin jokes and Chenle hates him for it. Hates that he can just say things like that without thinking twice or caring about the implications or what they are or how it leaves Chenle’s mind in a tug-of-war. But his tired eyes and red ears tell Chenle he’s a little tipsy, and both his night and Jaemin have been nice so far, so he thinks he’ll let this one slip. “But yeah, your debate seemed too heated so I didn’t interrupt.”

“Good call,” Chenle leans onto the counter and rests his cheek against his palm, angling his body towards Jaemin and just letting himself sink into the bubbliness of the moment.

“Was it a learning moment?” Jaemin shakes his shoulders childishly, and his voice takes on a cooing lilt.

It makes Chenle laugh, “Cute.” And before Jaemin can even retaliate tacks on, “Curb your praise kink.”

“For your information, I’m into degradation.”

Chenle scrunches his nose at the TMI but he thinks he brought it onto himself. And when a calm silence overtakes them again he answers Jaemin’s question sincerely, “Just the importance of a united front, not much.”

“Mmm,” Jaemin leans closer to him and mimics Chenle’s pose, his lids shutting, hair matted against his forehead from the sweat, and insane eyelashes fluttering on his cheeks.

“Let’s go home, Jaemin.” Chenle grabs his hands and winds them over his own shoulder, and he thinks the way Jaemin slumps onto him is more a conscious move than the alcohol talking than he’d care to admit. They bid their goodbyes as well as they can and the car comes to take them home. Outside, it’s a bit of a wait in the winter, and Jaemin huddles close as a result, burying a whine into Chenle’s shoulder. Chenle murmurs a few complaints at the action, and watches his breath fog in front of him. And he thinks it’s a bit of a wonder how he stays so warm despite the frigid wind.

/ / /

After the night out, their already rocky marriage heals a little. It still is a house of cards, but they’re getting better at learning how to stand against the gusts of wind coming their way, one mistake at a time. The loneliness subsides a little now that they have each other to actually spend time with, and Jaemin starts spending an awful lot more time indoors. Some nights Chenle will come out of his room to see him whipping a late night snack up in the kitchen, still in his work clothes, blazer thrown on the dining room chair and shirt rolled up to his elbows. Jaemin does these little musical performances and dramatically flips the pan and doesn’t even bother hiding his amusement when he announces his presence through a cackle.

He gets hit on the ass with a spatula in return and glares at Jaemin with enough intensity to send him burning. But they eat together, and there’s something about the peace they have in moments like that that gets Chenle hooked enough to have him forcing himself to stay up and tend to the need like it's a craving.

Nowadays Jaemin stays back on the weekends to watch movies, and when Chenle’s nose deep into a book, he’ll hover right above his head and quietly read with him. Sometimes he’ll come into Chenle’s room right before bed and linger around just because he wants to talk about it. Jaemin doesn’t know how to ask for certain things directly, so Chenle just tells him he’ll read to him sometimes and watches him perk up in anticipation.

Chenle says he thinks it's about time Jaemin met his friends too, and Jaemin keeps delaying it. Chenle thinks the nervousness is cute, and he quietly thanks god for it too because Jeno’s been dead silent since the day of the wedding.

It’s a weekend again, and they’ve just gotten done swimming in their pool that Chenle remembers again. His mood takes a dip and he finds himself at the piano. It ends up becoming a reminder that no matter how much they play house, Jaemin and Chenle really don’t know each other as well as they’re beginning to think they do. And it’ll stay like that, god, Chenle hopes it stays like that.

Jaemin takes a seat beside him, and his warmth feels good enough for Chenle to cave into the intrusive thought in his mind telling him to shift closer. Jaemin doesn’t mind. In fact, his eyes might even be fond when he reaches out and pushes a few stray strands of hair away from Chenle’s face. “You always look, but never play. Why’s that?”

Chenle is clad in a robe, fresh out of a warm shower all bare faced and red-cheeked. His hair is damp and a few droplets run down the back of his neck uncomfortably. It’s the most exposed he’s ever felt around Jaemin, but he finally feels like this life is one he’s slotted into perfectly despite the oddities of their circumstance. And unwinding with the glasses of wine, clutching onto the lingering hours of the weekend when a whole busy week awaits puts an awful touch of domesticity on everything, like a cherry on top. Maybe it’s that bubbly, familiar warmth that prompts Chenle to open up. It’s probably still all riddles to Jaemin, but there’s comfort in knowing he’ll take whatever Chenle chooses to give and meet him right where he is.

“Because there was a time when someone really, really, loved me for it.”

Jaemin’s fingers hovering over the keys contemplatively, and Chenle hates himself a little for disrupting his peace like this unprompted. He finds the words to answer, “That’s beautiful.”

The thing about opening up is that when he starts, he just can’t find it in him to stop. The emotions just escape his usual iron-fisted reign over them, and one of the worst side effects of bottling up is this horrible burst of rawness that leaves him feeling ashamed of himself.

“It’s terrible, actually.”

Chenle would do anything in the world but be loved like that again.

/ / /

Jaemin can only put off meeting Chenle’s friends for so long, and in the end it's a forced introduction of sorts at a big business banquet. It’s about to be a busy night, with them being perhaps the most sought after pair in the room, reigning over two of the biggest companies together. And as great as he is at his job, Chenle really just wants to crawl back into his room and cling onto the safety and familiarity of it all.

But work is work. He gets his hair and make up done, and gets dressed, and accessorized for his big official debut into the business realm as a married man.

When he walks into the living room, phone pressed to his ear to let the chauffeur know to bring the car around, Chenle spots Jaemin on the couch spooning peanut butter into his mouth. He has to hold back from rolling his eyes, because they really are oceans apart when it comes to personality. Somehow, and Chenle doesn’t know how this works, Jaemin also feels like the only person in the world who really knows him.

Which becomes evident in the way he forces a bite into Chenle’s mouth upon noticing his shaky hands.

“We can be late,” Jaemin speaks in pouts when he nags, “You need the energy.”

Chenle grumbles and really wants to throw a tantrum, but choosing to function on a piece of toast and caffeine for the whole day is on him. The whole ordeal ends with them being a whole half an hour late to the banquet, when they reach Jaemin doesn’t bother explaining himself while Chenle spews sheepish apologies to everyone. Jaemin doesn’t care about anybody in the room, really, but he does things like tightening his hand around the small of Chenle’s waist, and leaning against him when he notices tiredness set in, and subtly tugging Chenle along to calmer parts of the room. Jaemin tries, as much as he can, to make time for just the two of them. For some reason it makes Chenle feel chosen. Something he firmly believes that no one should be allowed to make him feel. It’s too much power over him, it’s bad. But Jaemin keeps doing it in a good way. Jaemin keeps taking care of him.

Chenle chooses not to dwell on it. He spots Jeno and Renjun in a corner of the room, flutes of champagne in their hands, looking just as disgruntled as he feels at being dragged here to mingle. Relief sets in upon seeing them, and Chenle makes a beeline in their direction.

Jeno notices them first. It’s the first time Chenle’s seen him since—

“Hey,” He tips his head forward in greeting and quickly looks away, pressing his glass to his lips.

“Hi.” Chenle says breathlessly, “How are you doing?”

“I–,” Jeno looks up properly and notices Jaemin, then his hand placement, his proximity to Chenle. He doesn’t look too pleased, and momentarily Chenle feels a piercing kind of guilt coursing through him that makes him shrug off Jaemin’s hold as casually as he can in response. “I’m okay.”

“That’s good, uhm, Jaemin this is Jeno. Jeno you already know–,”

“Yeah. I know.” Jeno snaps. He looks surprised at himself, and the tone of his voice is enough to have Renjun looking up from his phone that he was engrossed in and finally notice the both of them. He looks happy to see Chenle, then his eyes move to catch Jaemin’s and widen.

Renjun looks taken aback, “Jaemin.”

“The best man,” Jaemin regards Jeno first, “How could I forget?”

How could he not? Chenle wishes he could scoff. The wedding was stiff and awkward and tense, and when the priest asked the room if anybody objected, Chenle held his breath and prayed for all the restraint in the world to keep Jeno from acting on his impulses. After the wedding, Jeno disappeared into the crowd, Renjun in tow to comfort him, and Chenle didn’t blame the pair because he wanted to run away from his own wedding too.

“Renjun. What’s up?” Jaemin smiles softly, leaning back, hands in his pockets.

Chenle stares at the exchange, pleasantly surprised. Maybe he had less to worry about than he thought he would when introducing them. Jeno and Renjun both tend to be protective to the max, and most of the time them enabling each other makes it a difficult time for Chenle and his plus ones. But to give credit where it’s due, Chenle does admit that most of the plus ones thus far can only be classified as dumb mistakes. So maybe they’re not wrong for it.

“You guys know each other?”

“Briefly,” Renjun is quick to reply.

Jaemin stares at him for a little bit, “Yeah. Briefly.”

Chenle tries in earnest to make conversation and get it flowing, but nothing seems to work and a stifling silence envelopes them once he realizes his efforts are going in vain. He allows Jaemin to steer them away and doesn’t end up seeing the pair for the rest of the night.

It feels like a breakup, the distance between them. Chenle never wanted this. If you had told him this would be his future with Renjun and Jeno five years ago, he would’ve spat expletives in your face and called you crazy.

His heart aches all the way home, and in his room when he’s so tired that his bones feel like they weigh enough to drag him down, Jaemin accompanies him. He fluffs the pillows, takes his shoes off when Chenle slumps against the headboard, and draws the blanket to his chest. Chenle feels impossibly small, bad memories rushing to mind and good memories catching the rot of recent developments. He encircles a hand around Jaemin’s wrist, and Jaemin stays to listen attentively to his request. In his right mind, Chenle would not do this. It isn’t him—to be vulnerable, all of him an open wound. But he fears that without distraction, his cruel thoughts will deprive him of peace. And so he says, “I don’t want to be alone right now. Can’t you stay?”

There’s no real reason for Jaemin not to. It isn’t like he’s a one night stand with an unspoken warning on him; do not get attached flashing in neon lights. No, they’re tethered together whether they want it or not, and Chenle thinks he deserves this comfort at least after the night he’s had.

Jaemin stares at him, and then slowly nods, “Yeah. ‘Course I can.” He makes a space for him on the bed, underneath the blankets. He doesn’t go to sleep, not really. He stays sitting up, back against the headboard, and draws Chenle up to his chest, listening to the ragged breathing of someone whose mind is racing miles a minute. He runs his hand on the crown of Chenle’s head, smooths the soft locks of hair down, until the air grows still and silent.

They stay. Entangled in each other’s arms, nursing wounds, until the sun rises and slivers through the curtains to steal any last notion of peace.

/ / /

Rarely does Chenle repent. To do so he would have to feel bad about his actions, which isn’t an emotion many people have the power to invoke in him. But the people who do, absolutely kill him when they hold it over his head. It’s how he finds himself out for brunch one weekend, Jeno’s text back which comes in the form of a light hearted threat, pacing in front of the restaurant, fidgeting with the ends of his beanie, feeling terribly overdressed and under-prepared, rehearsing soft apologies to himself. Be on time, the text had said. Chenle’s been here a whole half hour ahead of time craving the soft, familiar comfort of Jeno’s hugs. His phone buzzes in his coat pocket, and he ignores it, electing to walk through the doors finally—just five minutes after their scheduled meeting time. Just the right amount of late to not signal urgency, not late enough to warrant disapproval.

Jeno is already sitting there, taking off his scarf before settling in with the menu.

“Hey,” Chenle greets.

Jeno pauses for a second, as if bracing himself, and then smiles softly, in a way that makes Chenle believe that everything will be okay, “Hey.”

Forgiveness won’t be on his terms, it may not be gentle to him, absolutely at the mercy of Jeno’s whims, but it’s all alright with Chenle so long as it means that forgiveness is on the table at the very least. A waitress drops by their table to pour them two glasses of water and hand them their menus. In silence, both of them accept and skim through even though they know they’ll just end up ordering their usual and splitting anyways. Still, for pride’s sake this time Chenle keeps the facade.

He grows some balls, and begins the conversation, starting somewhere safe and light-hearted; an already chartered upon territory. It’s teasing, pokes and prods at all of the soft bits around Jeno’s heart, until his hesitant chuckles under his breath turn to genuine laughter. But beyond the humor, Chenle doesn’t choose to invoke anything more serious. It isn’t his place – that certainly is an understanding that he’s come to. In the end, Jeno seems grateful for having been allowed to approach the elephant in the room on his own accord, at his own pace. It’s just as Chenle slices into his pastry and Jeno’s lips leave his scalding hot coffee cup. “How is married life? Tell me.”

And Chenle isn’t the type to have to be told twice to go on a rant; blabbering away comes to him naturally. Somewhere amidst all his complaints he relaxes into the familiarness of the atmosphere. Chenle describes the domesticity, the drawbacks and delights of being involved with Na Jaemin. “And does he treat you well?” Jeno asks with a nonchalance Chenle is slightly afraid to analyze, wondering if it’ll begin to crumble at the gentlest scrutiny. He dusts his fingers and grabs a napkin to dab across his face before stuffing his hands in his pockets, leaning back, and staring at Chenle expectantly. Conjuring an answer for that takes Chenle a moment, but it isn't hesitance that is the cause – it’s just a loss for words. Telling stories about Jaemin is simple enough, but really diving into the heart of their marriage dynamics is a far more vulnerable position. “He treats me honestly.”

“Honestly.” Jeno echoes, zoning off for a minute to think about it. And Chenle doesn’t rush to explain.

“Now you tell me.” Chenle leans back, comfortable enough to be that playful brand of smug he often is around Jeno and Renjun.

“Huh?”

“All about Milan.”

“You knew? Did you watch my walk?” Jeno stares at him for a good while, his spoon hanging in the air, mid-way into an attempt to steal a swift bite from Chenle’s portion despite having said that he didn’t want to eat anything at all. And, because forgiveness isn’t about equivalent exchange and more about generosity and heart, Chenle nudges his plate forward without complaint. Because forgiveness isn’t easy, he has to look at the disbelief in Jeno’s eyes, put there by the real assumption that they’d drift away permanently this time around.

Because love isn’t easy, Chenle turns his head and doesn’t dare to sneak a glance at Jeno as he pathetically confesses,“Wouldn’t miss it for the world. I bought snacks for it, streamed it on my TV, facetimed Renjun so we could experience it together.”

He leaves out the part where both him and Renjun shed tears and cursed Jeno out for leaving them both out of the loop, which turned into Chenle being scolded for being the root cause of it all, which turned into the blame shifting to Jaemin and the awkward encounter of having to explain to him why Chenle was wailing Na Jaemin at 4 in the morning. He’d just missed Jeno terribly. The three of them aren’t complete if it’s not three.

“Embarrassing,” Jeno smiles into his cup and Chenle knows it’s a good sign, that it’s safe to finally breathe out a sigh of relief and assume they’re good again.

The world softens once more, and Chenle bathes in the warmth of it all, allowing himself for a solid while to lower all guards. His phone chimes, and the screen lights up with a silly picture of Jaemin. Chenle opts to ignore it, wanting to devote his complete attention to the friendship he’s just mended, lest it escapes from his grasp again. And Jaemin is a sensitive topic anyways, not one he’s sure Jeno and he could take on right now.

Five consecutive missed calls later, Jeno emits an exasperated sigh, “Take the call please.”

Sheepishly, Chenle flushes crimson and picks up on the sixth attempt, hissing into his phone, “Idiot,”

“Married life is so lovely,” Jaemin replies, unfazed, voice syrupy sweet enough to make Chenle scrunch his nose up in distaste.

“What do you want?”

“To tell you that you’ve been chosen,” Jaemin announces, like Chenle’s participated in a lottery or something.

“For what.” He deadpans.

“To be my lunch break buddy,” Jaemin’s sing-song voice makes Chenle want to uninstall and then reinstall his ears, but a shred of guilt also makes itself known as he scrambles to find a way to take a rain check. Truth be told, his reaction isn’t so invalid, seeing Jaemin’s obviously imposing method of inviting himself into Chenle’s plans and inserting himself everywhere like the nosy goblin he is. But Chenle can’t help himself as his expression softens when Jaemin rambles on, “I’ll drive. I’m craving sushi so you don’t get to choose, but if I feel generous I’ll let you choose the dessert place and cook tonight, cool?”

“That’s a terrible tradeoff you know?” Chenle smiles, and then it dims, “I’m in the middle of something right now—with Jeno. I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“Oh,” Jaemin says. And then adds on, “Oh. Good luck with that.”

“It’s going great, thanks for asking,” Chenle murmurs unintelligibly into the phone, slightly concerned that Jeno may be able to eavesdrop into the conversation.

“It’ll be okay, and you’ll come home and cook dinner this time for abandoning me and we’ll watch a movie together okay?”

“Whatever,” Chenle grumbles, but he’s making the grocery list in his mind already.

They say their goodbyes and hang up, and when he returns his attention back to Jeno, there’s an indecipherable observant expression on his face. He clears his throat, “Was that—”

“Jaemin? Yeah,” Chenle says in one breath. He’s expecting something – some grand rebuttal, something that’ll leave him desolate once more and end in Jeno storming off. But, Jeno simply quirks his brow.

“He’s so loud.”

Chenle practically folds over and onto the table in relief, “Tell me about it.” And then for extra measure promises, “I’ll introduce you guys, properly this time. And then he can take you to every layer of hell himself.”

“Okay,” Jeno smiles at him, and every problem just sort of crumbles under the mercy of it.

/ / /

The thing about things not going his way and sort of crumbling to his feet like that in such a falsely disarming method, is that Chenle’s never been good at catching. His feelings know only the switch that alternates between complete control and abandonment, and anything in between ends up being so messy he falls apart somewhere within the collapse and becomes his own collateral.

Making up with Jeno invokes a distant nostalgia Chenle’s long forgotten to feel, and the days after reminiscing about the happiness wears off reminds him just why he hates the past. You never really forget the first person you loved—and since Chenle’s never loved anybody after, the one love he’s had has become the sole memory ingrained into his mind that’s associated with the word. There’s scenes that just won’t stop replaying in his mind like a broken record—bad ones, and good ones that make it worse. There’s these weird feelings which swell and seem to bloom in his chest that leave him tingly all over, staring at the wall distantly in hopes that they’ll go away. But, turning a blind eye to it is just easier than dealing with it.

Jaemin becomes a happy accomplice in Chenle’s deflection and a welcome distraction. And whenever he’s at work or with friends, and Chenle’s done taking care of his own responsibilities with time to kill, Jeno and Renjun replace that role. Which is bad because there are only so many days they could go cafe hopping before his facade dwindles in front of them and they begin to see right through. Jaemin is the safer alternative—he doesn’t know Chenle’s vulnerabilities well enough, and sometimes not being known is better than being in love. If it continues to allow Chenle to tolerate Jaemin and all of his oddities, then there’s a silver lining somewhere in that grand act of deflection too.

His patience has come a long way dealing with Jaemin. And that’s really the only thing that keeps him from blowing up at Jaemin while he takes his sweet time getting ready.

“Is this the last dinner of your life?” He inquires, sighing and inviting himself onto Jaemin’s bed. Plopping down on it headfirst, Chenle fishes his phone out of his pocket and starts playing a random idle game where he manages his own hotpot store. The volume is on full blast, and in the background the sink is running from where Jaemin is in the bathroom. The door is open, and through his peripheral Chenle can make out Jaemin’s silhouette by the sink.

“Patience is a virtue, Chen-le,” Jaemin’s mouth curls around his name obnoxiously, exaggerating every syllable.

“I have no virtues when it comes to you,” Chenle replies. Renjun’s text notification reminding him to head out in 10 minutes pops onto the screen and he swipes it away.

Truth be told, Chenle doesn’t want to go out tonight either. He’s gotten so used to life with Jaemin, just working and staying in, within the comfortable bubble of their home and their own companies, that going to Jeno’s for dinner feels like a chore now. He knows he has to get into the groove of it again though, and he has to find a way to work Jaemin’s presence into the equation and set a new normal. Perhaps that’s what makes him dread it more – the slightest probability of doom that Jaemin always brings with him.

He walks out of the bathroom and into his closet, emerging from inside with a casual shirt. He sets the properly pressed fabric onto the bed and grabs his watch from the bedside table before anything else. Chenle’s eyes skim over the gold jewelry over Jaemin’s bare skin – and this part of his routine has always annoyed the living daylights out of him. The way he accessorizes before dressing, and the way the sight of it drives Chenle just a tad bit crazy.

“Have you considered developing one?” Jaemin makes eye contact. Suddenly parched, Chenle looks away.

“Nope.”

In the end they’re a whole 30 minutes late, and Chenle can only hope that his million watt smile and good wine is consolation enough.

Renjun is the one who opens the door, and he stops for a minute – gaze scanning the pair with an indecipherable expression before it gives away to the disappointed look Chenle’d been expecting. “About time.”

“It wasn’t my fault,” Chenle rats Jaemin out in a heartbeat, and in reply Jaemin scoffs. Renjun rolls his eyes and opens the door wider to invite them in. They change their shoes to slippers and Chenle leads the way to the living room, a clang of pots and pans resounding from the kitchen that he’s sure he doesn’t want to witness. Renjun is supervision enough. Jeno’s apartment is known territory, Chenle traces his hand over the displays, taking note of any little changes, and plops onto the couch with a comfortable familiarity. Jaemin lingers longer, taking in the carefully decorated interior. Jeno’s space is very intentional – every little piece of art hand picked, every little detail planned to be the perfect balance of sentimentality without being overbearingly exposing. Don’t bring it up, Chenle wants to warn. But he refrains because it would be so much more entertaining to watch Jaemin squirm in impatience, forced to listen to Jeno’s immensely long tangents about art and interior decoration.

Eventually, after making a whole round of the living room, Jaemin sits beside Chenle, winding an arm around his shoulder to spread himself across the seat while Chenle scoots into the corner with a dissatisfied grumble.

“So far so good,” Jaemin chirps.

“Can’t wait to watch your downfall,” Chenle replies, because under the interrogative scrutiny of their hosts, Jaemin is bound to topple like a house of cards. And he intends to savor every moment.

Dinner colors them giddy, because of the scents wafting from the kitchen. They gather around the table, and Renjun carefully serves them portions of the dishes while Jeno takes a seat at the head of the table in absolute exhaustion.

“Look at him, tired little puppy,” Chenle coos, much to Jeno’s chagrin. But he’s too tired to come up with a response, so he just takes everybody snickering at his misery like a champ. Conversation is surprisingly sparse. Chenle assumes they’re saving the interrogation for when he’s not there, so he makes sure to give them just that afterwards.

When they resituate themselves in the living room, popping open that bottle of wine, Chenle excuses himself to the balcony for fresh air. The weather is nice, the moon is dim and the stars twinkle overhead. Breathing in, Chenle makes a mental note to drag everybody to the balcony to just drink underneath the sky.

He doesn’t know what he’s expecting when heading back inside. The tinted glass doors had made it difficult to peer inside and see anything but the glow and blurry silhouettes. But, it certainly isn’t, “You kissed him?”

And more importantly, “No, he kissed me.” Renjun tries holding Jeno back with a palm to his chest, but it barely works to keep him in place, “And you know what’s worse? It was because of you. He wanted to escape you so bad he–,”

It’s like cold water down his spine, the shame and embarrassment that runs through him. He’s flustered but that still doesn’t stop him from balling his fists up and announcing his presence, “I what?”

“Chenle,” Jeno whips around immediately, adorably guilt struck face that makes him feel even worse, because truthfully Chenle has no reason to be mad when he’s the one breaking apart people and pieces in his life because he can’t handle the cards he’s been dealt.

“Why would you tell him?” He still whispers. Because things were just getting better, because all secrets like these do is draw rifts between the people most important to him. Because, whether he likes it or not, Jaemin is one of them too.

Jeno takes it. His expression worsens, but he still takes the blame. All that love morphing and turning him into one big target that he willingly concedes to becoming. But Jaemin doesn’t know peace.

“Renjun told me.”

“Renjun told you,” Chenle repeats, the words taste foreign in his mouth and a sharp pang of hurt rings through his chest at the thought. Renjun told Jaemin. And then, as if remembering, he reels back and stares at Renjun, “You told him?”

Renjun crosses his arms across his chest, eyes glistening with unshed tears that he tries to blink away while looking up at the sky. His gaze flutters to everything, and then zeroes in on Jaemin accusingly, “We should’ve told him, Jaemin, I told you this wasn’t a good idea.”

“There is no good idea in a situation like this,”

“Tell me what?” The pit of dread in his gut grows, eats away at him, hollows him out until his hands are trembling. His mind goes back to a few years ago, the uncertainty, the impending loss, the last expression on Kun’s face.

“I–,” For all the honesty he wanted to preach, no words leave Renjun’s mouth, lodged in his throat. It makes sense, they’re best friends. How could he ever lodge a knife into Chenle’s back without the slightest tinge of remorse?

“We were in love.” Jaemin whispers, and even his quiet voice rings in Chenle’s head like an ear-shattering scream.

There’s an acrid taste in Chenle’s mouth, like blood rushing up his throat after the knife’s been pulled out. And he heaves quietly, in disbelief, while time comes to a stand still. “You–,” Jaemin doesn’t owe him anything but they were getting somewhere. Chenle was beginning to open up and then—, “You saw what happened with Kun you—,” He turns to Renjun next until the walls feel like they’re beginning to close in.

He grabs his things, makes a beeline for the door. Nobody chases after, because Chenle’s words are bound to sting.

They were In love. In love.

/ / /

In the end, Chenle handles it like he handles everything else: by ignoring it. He buries his feelings six feet deep, and avoids everybody as much as he can. He’s a bullet roaming free, dislodged from any sense of rationality, going about his days on complete autopilot.

Having to accompany Jaemin to a work banquet is a forced shove back into reality.

When they’re home again, Jaemin quietly whispers to him in the living room, “I love you. I’m sorry.”

But Chenle wants to punish him.

“We slept together. Two days later, he took the money grandfather offered him and left to do bigger things with his life. One year later I found my family lied. And, 6 months after that he was married.” Chenle smiles, “It can take 250 days to break a habit, Jaemin. I gave Kun a solid 550.”

“I think they did it to save the engagement. You’re the reason my heart broke.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know, Chenle. Can I make it better?”

“After you just made it worse?”

“Renjun and I—,”

“Are old news? He’s my best friend you asshole.”

“And I loved him—”

“Which is why you love me now, Jaemin, because every part of me you’ve seen is through his lens. ”

“You want a divorce.”

Jaemin comes to the most obvious conclusion. Unfortunately, Chenle doesn’t work like that.

“No, Jaemin, I want this marriage,” Chenle cups Jaemin’s face and practically feels the flush rising up him. His hands tremble a little at the small of Chenle’s waist, his lips curl unsurely, happy but perturbed at the uncharacteristic response. He can probably smell the wine off Chenle, and knows his tongue is too loose now to soften his jagged words. And he knows that whatever Chenle says or does, will cut Jaemin deep. Even when he kisses him.

And still, Jaemin kisses back. And still, he hoists Chenle onto the piano, lets him undo the buttons on his shirt, pulls away to kiss down his neck and bury his face in that crook, waiting for the blow to come. Chenle’s breath comes in short pants, and he feels something stir within him that shouldn’t. He brushes his hair away from his forehead and throws one hand on Jaemin’s shoulder, the other hooking under his chin. “And I want you to know the whole time that I’ll never love you again. Like every other dys-fucking-functional marriage we’ve known.”

“Until death,” He presses a chaste kiss again square on Jaemin’s lips, eyes soft when he pulls away and the hurt renders Jaemin still and Chenle’s hate colors him in all shades of blue.

Chenle presses their foreheads together, and closes his eyes, fingers carding through the hair on Jaemin’s nape, “Do us part.”

We were the junkyard dog
with someone’s heart in his jaw
saying, ‘Listen, I’m just really scared
to be alone at night.’