Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jaemin had always believed that home was just another place. Returning to Seoul brought a mix of emotions that he couldn't quite untangle. The city pulsed with the vibrant energy he recalled from his childhood, yet it also felt like a wave crashing over him, reminding him of the years spent apart. Four intense years of training in Switzerland left him feeling disconnected; the once-familiar clang of street vendors, the drone of traffic, and the fleeting aroma of roasted chestnuts seemed both foreign and deeply nostalgic.

His parents greeted him with open arms and pride, yet beneath their smiles lay unspoken expectations. They praised his achievements, the medals that adorned his name, and his prospects for the upcoming Olympic cycle. While their words filled him with a sense of accomplishment, they also weighed him down. Jaemin felt torn between being their cherished son and feeling like a display piece at every family gathering.

The smell of his home felt strange. Perhaps he'd got too used to Switzerland, or perhaps it was the fact that his parents had rebuilt it entirely once they decided their Grand Prix medalist son needed to maintain a reputation. It was his older brother, Mark, who had broken the strange ambience. “ Hey, I’m taking you out tonight ,” he announced as Jaemin dragged his suitcase up the stairs.

“Out?” Jaemin raised an eyebrow, surprised. “I’ve barely unpacked.”

Mark shrugged, a lazy grin spreading across his face. “You’ll thank me later. You need to meet the band.”

“The band?” Jaemin repeated, his tone laced with skepticism. Of course he'd heard about it, barely . He remembered his mother crying on the phone because his brother had moved out and signed a contract for a recently independent record label called Sense Hit. She hadn't gone into details because, in her words, she didn't want to distract Jaemin from what was important. He never really asked Mark because Mark never really asked about Jaemin's stuff either. It was Haechan, his best friend, who told him more about it. Apparently, Mark had signed to be the drummer and producer of this new band called Neo Dream.

Mark leaned against the bannister, crossing his arms. “Yeah, Neo Dream. You know, the reason I’ve been staying out late? Practicing? Recording? It’s only my entire life right now.”

Jaemin’s lips twitched into a small smile. Mark’s enthusiasm was contagious, but one of the reasons he came back to Korea was to run away from chaos, and loud live music seemed more than chaotic. The idea made him feel a bit uneasy. Still, he relented. Mark had always been his anchor, the one family member who seemed to understand him without words. “Fine. But don’t expect me to stay long.”

"I know it’s not your scene. You can bring your friends," he said, grabbing the suitcase from Jaemin’s hand with a knowing smile. 

Jaemin and friends' messages.

That evening, Mark departed ahead of him, placing a set of backstage tickets into his hands. The concert itself came with no charge, but those passes were essential for him to meet his brother and the band behind the scenes. Haechan was the only one among them with a car, so just before 9 p.m., he showed up with Renjun by his side. The drive was brief yet punctuated by the relentless crawl of traffic. This was to be expected in a bustling area like Itaewon, where the venue was located. Known for its vibrant nightlife, the district boasted a reputation for outstanding clubs, exhilarating gigs, and a rich, multicultural atmosphere that drew crowds from all walks of life.

They made it just in time. Mark's band was scheduled to perform at 10, leaving them with 20 minutes to spare.

Jaemin observed that the venue was quite small, which made sense since Haechan had mentioned that it typically hosted new indie bands. Despite its size, the place was fairly packed. In fact, it was very crowded. Although he knew other bands were also performing, it appeared that Mark's band had already gained some popularity. After they cleared security and headed backstage, Jaemin experienced a sense of familiarity. It reminded him of his dressing room in Switzerland, where he would anxiously wait for his name to be announced, his heart pounding. The atmosphere was charged, with people bustling around, and artists trying to shake off their pre-performance jitters. However, the physical setting was different—a large room filled with instruments, noise, and cables everywhere.

Haechan took his hand, and finally, he saw his brother.

“I thought you got lost,” he said, a big grin that made Jaemin smile. “Come with me.” 

Mark led them through a narrow hall with some doors that had letters in them. His brother opened the one that said “Neo Dream” and his friends followed. It was their dressing room, Mark’s band’s dressing room. There was a large mirror with tons of led lights, quite similar to the one he uses when he gets ready to skate. Although, Jaemin needed much more space for that and much less noise, and also less smoke. This dressing room smelled like cigarettes, sweat and…. men. 

Jaemin was a little too focused on watching a woman applying make up to who seemed to be one of Mark’s friends in front of the big mirror, not noticing the rest of the people around.

Mark spoke then, or had been speaking and Jaemin simply didn’t notice.. “Guys, this is my little brother, Jaemin. Just the most talented skater I’ve been telling you about. And his friends that you already know, Haechan and Renjun.”

Jaemin’s cheeks flushed at the introduction. He nodded politely as Mark gestured to each of the band members. “That’s Chenle on guitar, Jisung getting his make up done, he plays the bass. They're about your age.”

Jaemin smiled at them. They didn't look like they were in a band. One of them, Chenle, who had purple hair and pale skin, shook his hand like they've been long-time friends. "I'm, like, your biggest fan," he said.

He had a pretty smile. He remembered Mark talking about him some time ago, something about going to a basketball game together.

"You're scaring him," said the other one, Jisung. His voice was soft but loud enough to talk from the makeup chair and make everyone hear him. The expression on his face showed something between disgust and amusement, it made Jaemin giggle.

"Nice to meet you. I hope we can be friends," Jaemin responded with a bow.

"If you're Mark's brother, you're already my brother too," Chenle followed. 

Mark put his arm around his shoulder playfully. "Remember he's also Haechan's best friend."

“Oh, so he has one flaw already.”

Haechan immediately chimed in with mock indignation. "Between the two Na brothers, I’m Na Jaemin’s best friend. Sorry you had to be friends with the loser one."

That had been really rude, but Jaemin had also forgotten how much Haechan and Mark claimed to hate each other. In a way, Jaemin had always known that was their relationship, cat and dog fights like when two kids in elementary school like each other but refuse to confess their feelings. Haechan had had a crush for years, but Mark was straight, or just too oblivious and less gay than Jaemin.

“You wished you could be friends with me.”

Renjun rolled his eyes dramatically, letting Haechan and Mark continue bickering. "We should’ve left Haechan at home."

Jaemin smiled, linking his arm with Haechan’s as a stop sign.

“How’s Seoul feeling like?” Chenle spoke again.

“It’s nice being back. I was too alone in Switzerland.”

It wasn’t so true. Jaemin loved being alone, although he did miss his friends. 

“I bet it was,” Jisung said, joining them. He was tall but seemed younger than everyone. Jaemin smiled at him but for some reason Jisung shied away, avoiding eye contact. Jaemin had been told he had huge intimidating eyes before, maybe that was the reason.

Then Jaemin just watched as they talked. He knew Chenle and Jisung, at least by name. They went to the same university as his friends, the same one Mark graduated from. He knew this because, even during his four years in Switzerland, his friends always kept him updated—often more than he wanted. It became part of Jaemin's routine: class, training sessions, join his friends' discord call and hear them talk about university gossip until he fell asleep. Therefore, he knew that Chenle was a Chinese transfer student who decided to stay and form a band with Mark, and that Jisung and Haechan had nearly started a full-blown feud over a sandwich in the art department’s cafeteria. He even knew that Mark and Haechan had drunkenly kissed at a party once, a detail that Chenle and Renjun never let Haechan live down.

"Where the fuck is Jeno?" his brother mumbled after a while. 

Jeno .

That name had also been familiar to Jaemin, even before his friends mentioned it in their group chat earlier. Whispered like a rumour. He'd heard it from his friends quite a lot. A prodigy in his own right, Renjun called him a walking contradiction once— charming and brash, magnetic yet infuriating , he’d said.

“I don’t know, but he should be here in five minutes or we’re cooked,” said Chenle.

“He said he’ll be back soon,” Jisung said. “He took his car.”

“Are you serious?” Mark sounded upset. “Shit!” he said as he stormed out of the room.

Jaemin felt his hand being squeezed and then they walked out of the room. The show was about to start, Jaemin could hear the band that had been playing before thanking the public. There, he suddenly remembered he brought a camera. He adjusted the strap of his camera bag, shifting uncomfortably in the crowded backstage area. 

“Where the hell is he?” Mark grumbled, pacing near the entrance to the dressing rooms, fingers twitching against his jeans. His frustration was so palpable that it was starting to make Jaemin nervous. “Does he know we’re on in five?”

Jaemin, standing slightly apart, observed the scene play like a movie. One time he heard his friends say that if Mark hadn’t met Jeno, there would be no band. Apparently, Jeno was the enigmatic frontman of Neo Dream, a rising name in the indie rock scene. There was an almost mythical aura around him, stories of his effortless charm and the way he commanded a stage, how his voice could make a room vibrate with something raw and emotive.

Then, just as Mark seemed ready to explode, Jeno strolled in.

A bit disheveled, sweat clinging to the collar of his half-buttoned shirt, a loosely knotted tie swinging with each unhurried step. He was smiling, his eyes two enchanting half moons—like he had all the time in the world.

“Relax, Markie,” Jeno drawled, running a hand through his dark hair. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

Mark groaned, shoving at his shoulder as Jeno laughed, but Jaemin barely registered the exchange. He was too busy taking him in—the confident ease, the way his arm tattoos stood out under the dim backstage lighting, the slight rasp in his voice. It was subtle, but Jaemin had felt it. A shift. That moment when two people cross into each other’s path. 

Jeno turned, gaze skimming the space—and then it happened.

Their eyes met, for the first time.

It was brief, but electric. A mere fraction of a second before Mark was pulling Jeno towards the stage, but Jaemin had felt it in his chest. It was too cringy to say it was a spark yet Jaemin wouldn’t know how to grasp the feeling any other way. That swift moment settled into his bones and stayed longer than wanted. He exhaled sharply, blinking himself back into focus as he turned, making his way towards the audience. The show was about to start.

The lights dimmed. A murmur of excitement rippled through the crowd, and Jaemin slipped into a comfortable spot saved for him and his friends near the front. He lifted his camera instinctively, framing the stage as the members of Neo Dream took their places. 

Jeno introduced the band so casually, like standing in front of hundreds of people was nothing. Jaemin had always had a hard time being around an audience that went to watch him specifically. Being a figure skater that had had numerous competitions, he should be used to it, but he never could. 

The atmosphere settled as something smoky and intimate over the venue. Jeno’s voice, husky and dripping with emotion, started filling the space. 

As a figure skater, Jaemin was extraordinary and everybody always made sure to tell him. But if there was something that was always pointed out was; Jaemin didn’t transmit emotion. Judges and trainers pointed out in every competition, they always said; Extraordinary technice, ambiguity when transmitting emotions in routine. 

And even if Jaemin tried with all his might to understand it, to do it. It never came out. 

That night, watching Lee Jeno perform on the stage, he saw it. Jeno sang like he was confessing something—like the song wasn’t just music but a heartbeat, a whisper of something deep and unspoken. The way he moved, the slight smirk that curled his lips, the raw edge in his voice—it was mesmerizing.

Jaemin snapped shots without thinking, without looking through the lens. He wanted to capture this. The way Jeno’s expression shifted with every lyric, the way the stage lights burned against his skin, how the air itself seemed charged with something dangerous and thrilling.

Jaemin noticed that Jeno had a distinct way of drawing people in—closing the space between him and the crowd, letting their hands graze over his skin as he sang, a living conduit of sound and sensation. Jaemin knew he wasn’t the only one catching his gaze, yet every time their eyes met, it felt deliberate, intentional or not, like a silent message meant just for him. And that thought alone sent a shiver down his spine.

They had played five songs, each one wrapping around the room with intensity, but it was the sixth song—introduced as their newest original song—that felt like something else entirely.

“I wrote this song when I was living in London,” Jeno said into the mic. Murmurs of excitement were louder this time, and Jaemin didn’t know if it was because his voice was raspier from singing or because they were elated by his message. “The band said we shouldn’t play it, that it was too political, that Koreans wouldn’t like it. But I think that’s mad, isn’t it?”

Guitar sounds ambiented his speech as some people in the audience shouted Jeno’s name. Then, he continued. “Anyway, I convinced them you’d like it, so don’t let me down. This is I’d love it if we made it.”

The crowd erupted into cheers. Then the moment the first distorted synth hit, the atmosphere in the room shifted. The people, already high on the electricity of the set, surged forward, a restless wave pressing toward the stage. The lights dimmed, then pulsed back to life in violent neon pinks and purples, casting a dreamlike haze over the venue.

Jaemin barely registered the people around him, his friends, his camera. His focus was tunneling onto the stage as the sound expanded, swelling until it consumed the entire room.

Jeno was in his element.

The song began with an eerie, almost robotic spoken word—a string of jarring, provocative lines thrown into the air. We’re fucking in a car, shooting heroin…  Jeno’s voice dripped with something unfiltered, raw. The kind of sound and lyrics that would make any conservative person have a stroke. And yet, the crowd roared, already chanting along.

Jaemin wasn’t sure what he had expected. But it wasn’t this.

Jeno stood at the mic like he was born to be there. His loose, white button-down, unbuttoned just enough to tease at sweat-slicked skin, the sleeves haphazardly rolled up. His slacks hung low on his hips, and his dark hair was messy, sticking slightly to his forehead from the heat of the lights. He looked like he didn’t give a damn, but Jaemin could tell—he cared. Maybe too much.

There was something almost self-destructive about the way he performed. 

Jeno gripped the mic stand loosely, then let it go, staggering a step back before pacing forward again like a caged animal. Oh, fuck your feelings, truth is only hearsay. We're just left to decay, modernity has failed us... . His hands ran through his hair, over his face, fingers curling as if trying to physically grasp the meaning of his own words. When he sang, he wasn’t just singing—he was pleading , spitting , dragging every lyric out from somewhere deep inside him.

Jaemin’s chest tightened.

He hadn't been to many concerts before, having his life devoted to skating from an early age. But he swore no one performed like this in Seoul, or anywhere really. Not like this. The rawness, the lack of restraint—it was uncomfortable in the best way possible. It was beautiful in the ugliest way possible.

Jeno’s voice hit a fever pitch, his body swaying dangerously as he half-shouted the chorus, " I'd love it if we made it! "

The room shook. Jaemin wasn’t sure if it was from the sound or the way Jeno delivered it—head tilted back, eyes squeezed shut, as if trying to convince the universe itself.

Jeno dropped to his knees, body folding forward, hand gripping the mic so tightly his knuckles whitened. His other hand pressed against his chest like he was holding himself together as he recited, “ Consultation, degradation, Fossil fueling, masturbation, Immigration, liberal kitsch, Kneeling on a pitch ….” There was desperation in his voice. The way his body reacted to the music, uncontrolled and instinctual.

Skating was all about elegance, even if you were trying to portray pain, it needed to be artistically classy. Until then, that had been Jaemin’s concept of a performance. 

But he suddenly understood .

Why people talked about Jeno like he was untouchable. Why they whispered his name with equal parts reverence and apprehension. Why, despite Seoul’s rigid expectations, despite the way this kind of music wasn’t supposed to fit here—people still came . They still listened .

Because Jeno didn’t just sing.

He made you feel it .

The buzz of the performance still clung to the air as Jaemin and his friends made their way backstage again. The scent of sweat, cigarette smoke, and cheap beer lingered, mixing with the lingering vibrations of the last song. Jaemin still felt his heartbeat thrumming in his chest, the aftershock of the music settling into his skin.

Just as they turned the corner, a familiar voice called out, "Jaemin!"

Before he could react, a body crashed into him, arms wrapping tightly around his frame. Mina. She smelled like a fruity perfume he recognised, her excitement palpable as she pulled back, eyes shining. "I’m late but I’m finally seeing you! I missed you!"

Jaemin smiled. “Me too, Mina.”

His friends joined in a big hug as Jaemin chuckled. When they separated, Mina told them about her last minute trip to Busan. It was kind of funny how her line of sight slowly shifted once the band started walking in. It immediately zeroed in on Jeno, who stood a few feet away, laughing at something Chenle said, his head tilted back slightly, exposing the sharp line of his jaw. 

Backstage was alive with post-show adrenaline, and Mark wasted no time, grabbing Jeno by the shoulder.

“You better have a damn good reason for cutting it that close,” Mark hissed. “Tell me you weren’t hooking up with someone before the show.”

Jeno, ever unbothered, grinned lazily. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Mark’s glare deepened.

Jeno sighed, rolling his eyes. “Relax. My mum called. That’s why I was late. You can put away the lecture.”

Mark exhaled, muttering something about Jeno giving him a heart attack before Chenle interrupted.

“Enough of this drama,” Chenle said, draping an arm around Jaemin. “Let’s go celebrate.”

The party was loud, chaotic, and filled with the kind of people who always seemed to know where the best afterparties were. And that, for Jaemin, had always been overwhelming. To be honest, he didn’t even know why he accepted the invitation. The air was thick with cigarette smoke and low, pulsing music, the kind that settled into his bones and made him feel slightly disoriented. 

He lingered at the edges of the room, nursing a drink he barely touched, watching the way people moved in and out of conversations. Jaemin had always considered himself to be more of a spectator than a main character. He loved the art of people watching. Mark glanced at him once in a while, making sure he was okay. Renjun and Haechan were dancing just some steps away from him and Mina, who kept serving drinks for them.

Jeno was across the room, surrounded by a group of people, exuding that same effortless magnetism he had on stage. His leather jacket was slung over the back of a couch, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he leaned back, telling a story that everybody listened to. Jaemin wasn’t sure why he was starting to feel bothered by it. Maybe it was the way he seemed so comfortable in his own skin. Maybe it was the way Mina kept stealing glances at him, even as she laughed at something Haechan was saying.

A wave of self-consciousness washed over Jaemin, making him feel small for letting his thoughts spiral in this direction. Despite being content to watch his friends from a distance, the growing sense of being overwhelmed nudged him to seek solitude. He slipped out unnoticed, or so he thought.

Jaemin wondered who this house belonged to as he sat on a swing perfectly placed where the music was distant. It was indeed quieter, the party muffled by the walls. He took a deep breath, letting the cool air settle over him.

He lingered there for a while, lost in his own thoughts, until a deep voice joined him.

 "The prodigy figure skater."

Jaemin turned. Jeno was there, with a cigarette between his fingers, watching him with a lazy, knowing smirk. The way the smoke curled around him made the entire scene feel like something out of a noir film.

Jeno leaned against the supporting beam of the swing. He had that effortless, rebellious style Jaemin had only ever pictured when reading books: dark, tousled hair, same crumpled white shirt with its sleeves rolled up carelessly, same loosened tie that looked like it had been tugged on a little too roughly. Jaemin wondered to himself why he wore that instead of the casual rock star look every other band used.

Jeno took a slow drag of his cigarette, eyes scanning Jaemin so meticulously he felt like he had shrunk. Maybe his observant eyes were giving himself away. "Heard a lot about you," he mused, exhaling smoke. 

Jaemin stiffened at the tone. So this was Jeno. "Hopefully only good things," he replied, forcing a polite smile.

Jeno’s smirk deepened. "Depends on who you ask."

Mark’s anger echoed in Jaemin’s mind from earlier. It wasn’t lost on him that Jeno had a reputation—one he clearly enjoyed playing into.

Jaemin frowned. "I don’t want to know what that means."

He tilted his head, considering him. "I’m Jeno."

“I know,” Jaemin responded. His eyes focused on his own feet. “You almost give my brother a headache.”

Jeno laughed, huskily and unbothered. It wasn’t fair for his laugh to be attractive too. "Yeah, he’s a little uptight."

Jaemin let out a small huff of amusement. "He just takes things seriously."

"Must run in the family," Jeno quipped.

Jaemin shot him a look, but there was no malice in Jeno’s tone—just amusement, maybe a little curiosity. The silence stretched between them, comfortable in a way Jaemin hadn’t expected. Jeno eventually flicked his cigarette away and nodded towards the house.

"This place feels a little much for you," Jeno observed.

Jaemin raised a brow. "And how would you know?"

Jeno shrugged. "You don’t look like someone who enjoys being packed into a room full of people pretending to care about music."

Jaemin didn’t have an answer to that. They had exchanged a couple of words but he seemed to read him better than his own family.

"If you want something actually quiet, I know a place," Jeno said suddenly. There was something unreadable in his expression, something softer than before. "Come on."

Jaemin hesitated, but curiosity won over. He followed Jeno, a stranger, as he led him through the backyard, through a small path overgrown with weeds, toward something that looked like a storage shed. It had a single door and a single window. The paint was chipped, the window slightly fogged. It looked like no one had been there in years.

Jeno pushed the door open, and Jaemin stepped inside. There was nothing apart from brushes and a lot of paint bottles on the floor. The walls, however, were a different story. They were covered in paintings—the roof was a perfectly done galaxy, above it on the narrowest wall were doodles that looked better than everything Jaemin had ever done. Dust lingered in the air, the faint scent of old paint still clinging to the space. 

Jaemin focused on the painting of a forest. It wasn’t finished. In fact, it looked like half of it had been covered with white paint.

"This was my secret place to hide when I was a child and the house was too loud," Jeno admitted, leaning against the doorframe. “Amazing, isn’t it?

Jaemin turned to him, surprised. Jeno had never struck him as someone tied to a place like this. "So this is your house, and your shed."

“My mum called it a hobby room.”

Jaemin smiled, tracing the forest with his index finger. “No one has a hobby room in Korea.”

“Well, I did,” Jeno responded. “I spent most of my life with my dad in England where I had one too, so I guess this was my mum’s way of making me feel at home too.”

That sounded too personal. Jaemin wondered if he would be stepping in the wrong territory if he kept asking. He did. “Two hobby rooms for a little boy sounds like a lot. Was it a happy childhood?”

Jeno shrugged. His gaze softened. “Most of the time.”

Jaemin felt a pang in his chest. He wanted to ask more, like where Jeno's parents were, but it seemed too personal for now. He glanced at the walls, noting the brushstrokes and the stories they told. "Do you still paint?"

Jeno scoffed lightly. "Not as much anymore. But... maybe tonight."

Jaemin met his eyes, a silent question between them. 

"Actually, I want to start from zero," Jeno grinned. “I’ll make it a blank canvas again.”

“You want to paint, right now?”

"Why not? That party's dull anyway." Jeno moved to grab an old paintbrush from a forgotten cup, twirling it in his fingers before offering it to Jaemin. "Would you join me, or do figure skaters not paint?"

Though Jaemin barely knew Jeno and had followed him to a secluded room where anything could happen, he found himself captivated by Jeno's grin and smiley eyes, and he couldn't think of a reason to decline.

Jaemin shouldn’t have stayed, but he was there, standing in the middle of a half-forgotten hobby room, fingers coated in paint, heart thrumming too fast against his ribs because of a boy he barely knew.

It was even funny. He had been in Switzerland just a day ago, torturing himself over his future, and if he wasn’t in this room with this person, right now, he’d be doing the same but in his bedroom. Jeno had this way of making the world shrink, of making everything outside of this moment feel unimportant. The party, the expectations, the weight of a name like Na Jaemin—it all faded in the dim light of this room, reduced to nothing but brushstrokes and cigarette smoke.

Jaemin dipped his brush into the white paint and dragged it across the wall, erasing the trees he had just been admiring minutes ago. He felt Jeno watching him, the weight of his gaze heavier than it should be.

“What?” Jaemin asked without looking.

“Nothing.” Jeno’s voice was warm, amused. “You just look like you’ve done this before.”

Jaemin hummed. “I used to paint a lot as a kid too.”

“Why’d you stop?”

Jaemin hesitated, fingers tightening around the brush. He had enjoyed it, but his mum wouldn’t have allowed a distraction like that even in his early career. “Skating didn’t leave much room for anything else.”

Jeno didn’t say anything to that, just nodded like he understood. Maybe he did.

For a while, they just painted in silence, the air between them charged but unspoken. At some point, Jeno lit another cigarette, the ember glowing faintly in the dim space. Jaemin hated the smell. 

Jeno leaned against the wall, smoke curling around his lips.

And then, casually, like he was asking about the weather, he said, “Did you leave a boyfriend back in Switzerland?”

Jaemin scoffed, caught off guard. “It’s Switzerland , Jeno.”

Jeno exhaled a slow stream of smoke. “There’s no gay people in Switzerland?”

How did Jeno know? Was he that obvious? Had Mark let something slip? Or was Jeno actually flirting with him? But how could that be? He remembered hearing about Jeno’s encounters with fans—female fans. Mina had kissed him. Mina was a girl.

God.

“I barely even had queer friends,” Jaemin confessed, hesitating. “Or friends at all.”

Jeno frowned, his expression a mix of concern and disbelief. “That’s sad.”

“I know.”

Jaemin glanced up, meeting Jeno’s gaze for a fleeting second before looking away. It was too much. Jeno’s eyes were too much.

“You’re always surrounded by people,” Jaemin muttered. “You’d never get it. We have nothing in common.”

Silence stretched between them, thick like wet paint.

“You’ve never had a boyfriend?” Jeno ventured after a tense pause, his tone gentler, probing. Still, unexpected.

Jaemin hesitated. “I had a guy I used to hook up with whenever I was too stressed. He was Japanese. Closest I’ve been to a boyfriend.”

Jeno smirked. “Don’t let Mark hear that. He’d die knowing his little brother hooks up with strangers.”

There was a knowing edge to his voice, but then his gaze lingered. Too long.

“You don’t look like a hookup guy,” Jeno murmured.

Jaemin frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Jeno tilted his head, studying him. “I think it’d be hard to just spend a night with someone as beautiful as you.”

Jaemin’s breath caught. His pulse kicked up, heat creeping up his neck. But it was Jeno. The Jeno everyone talked about. Was he even serious?

“Shut up.” His voice came out weaker than he’d like.

Another stretch of silence. The cigarette burned between Jeno’s fingers as he exhaled, a ghost of a smirk still playing on his lips, and Jaemin wanted to erase it so badly. He looked stupidly attractive.

Jaemin swallowed. His chest felt too tight.

“I’m just bad at relationships,” he murmured finally. “Romantic relationships. I’m focused on my career.”

Jeno nodded, taking another drag before grinning. “See?” His voice was lighter now, almost amused. “We do have something in common then.”

Jaemin didn’t realize he was staring until Jeno met his gaze again, something unreadable in his expression. His fingers twitched at his side, itching to reach out, to pull, to take.

And maybe Jeno saw it. Maybe he felt it too.

Because before Jaemin could think, before he could stop himself, Jeno leaned in.

There was no hesitation, no second-guessing—just the feeling of Jeno’s lips pressing against his, warm and insistent, the taste of smoke lingering between them. Somehow, Jaemin found out he liked it then. He inhaled sharply, a sound caught between surprise and something deeper when the back of his head touched the recently painted wall. His fingers curled against Jeno’s crumpled shirt, holding onto something, anything, as the world outside disappeared.

Jeno kissed like he talked—confident, teasing, like he already knew the answer to a question Jaemin hadn’t even asked yet.

Jaemin melted into it before he even realised, before his brain could remind him that this wasn’t supposed to happen—that he’d met Jeno just a few hours ago, that one of his best friends liked him a lot.

The sound of their lips parting was louder than it should’ve been in the stillness of the room, echoing in his ears. Jeno’s eyes sparkled, dark, wandering around his face like he was trying to see his thoughts.

Jaemin barely had a moment to process the whirlwind of emotions, to catch his breath, or to even grumble about the streak of white paint smeared in his hair, before Jeno leaned in and captured his lips once more. This time, Jaemin felt everything with heightened clarity. The gentle friction of their noses brushing against each other, the warmth of Jeno's hands as they tenderly cradled his face. Jeno's fingers, calloused yet gentle, traced the contours of his jaw and cheekbones with a practiced precision. It was a sensation Jaemin wasn't accustomed to—not just the act of being kissed, but held .

He’d kissed guys before, but it had never felt like this. Never like his body was growing heavier and lighter all at once, like the world outside didn’t exist. He felt drowsier the more he tasted Jeno, the more he let himself fall into this new and strange state.

Even if he knew guilt would come creeping in later, even if he’d try to convince himself this was a mistake, none of it mattered.

Because right now, the fluttering in his chest was too addictive to make him want to stop.

And that had only been the first time he’d let himself go because of Jeno.

Chapter Text

Time had moved too fast after that. Too fast for Jaemin to catch up, to make sense of it, to decide what he wanted to do about it.

For three nights, he lay awake, torn between calling Jeno and telling him it was a mistake, that he shouldn't say anything to anyone, and waiting—waiting for Jeno to call first, to ask him to meet again, to give him a reason to believe that what happened wasn't just a short-lived moment.

He hated how much space Jeno occupied in his mind. 

Three nights of restlessness passed, and then Mark invited him over for a movie night at his apartment. Jaemin hadn't known Mark lived with his band until that day. It was a surprise when he stepped into the shared apartment. The warmth of the wooden floors immediately grounding him. It smelled faintly of coffee and something herbal—maybe incense or one of those overpriced candles Mark always bought when they still lived together. At least it wasn’t like their smelly dressing room.

The hallway stretched ahead, two doors at the start of it which Mark introduced as the guys’ rooms . An arched doorway led them into the living room, where he saw Chenle and Jisung. The living room seemed pretty comfy. Floor-to-ceiling windows, sheer curtains swaying slightly from the breeze sneaking in through a half-open window. The space was uncluttered, and a bit small for four men, but lived-in, a large, inviting sectional covered in plush, cream-colored pillows. A sleek black entertainment center stood against the wall, a few stray mugs and a guitar pick resting on top. 

He spent the evening eating snacks, watching dumb comedies with Mark, Jisung, and Chenle, all while pretending he wasn’t dying to ask where Jeno was.

It wasn’t until after 1 AM that he heard him—Jeno’s voice, low and casual, talking to Mark at the entrance before stepping into the living room. Jaemin didn’t even turn to look, but he felt it. The moment Jeno entered the room, it was like something shifted in the air.

He couldn’t explain why he was suddenly mad. Maybe it was Jeno’s nonchalance, like nothing had happened between them. Like Jaemin had been the only one left thinking about it. Where had he been? The question burned on the tip of his tongue, but he refused to ask. It would be pathetic. So he ignored him, turning his attention back to the movie. He tried to move on, laughing at how Jisung kept mispronouncing the name of one of the actors.

But he could feel Jeno watching him.

"Hey, you, welcome," Jeno said, stealing popcorn from his bowl.

Jaemin didn’t respond.

“You stink like cigarettes,” Chenle muttered beside him. “Go take a shower.”

Jeno chuckled but left to do exactly that.

Still, Jaemin’s mind wouldn’t shut up.

You were played.

You were nothing special.

By the time he snapped out of it, Mark had fallen asleep against his shoulder. Looking around, he realized everyone else had too. Quietly, he slipped away to get some water. The kitchen was small, with a kind of vintage charm that he liked. A cosy dining nook barely fit there. The round wooden table was set with scattered dishes, and salt and pepper pots.

He let his fingers trail over the countertop, past a pastel-yellow kettle and a tiny lamp casting a golden halo. There were little details everywhere—mismatched mugs, framed pictures resting against the wall. It was nothing like the sterile, polished kitchens he was used to. It felt like a space meant for people, for stories, for moments.

It was ridiculous, but for a second, Jaemin wondered if he could ever make a place feel like that to other people.

While reaching for ice, his gaze landed on the fridge, where a worn-out photograph clung to the door. The band stood together, arms draped over each other's shoulders, grinning brightly. The backdrop was an old studio, dimly lit. Unfortunately for him, it was Jeno’s smile that stood out the most—two perfect half-moons, his eyes disappearing with the force of it. It was effortless, radiant, an endearing contrast to the sharp masculinity of his features, and his exposed arms.

“I love that picture. I look hot, don’t I?”

Jaemin flinched, turning to find Jeno. He leaned against the counter, his freshly washed hair still damp, carrying the clean scent of soap and something unmistakably him. A lazy smirk tugged at his lips, his posture effortless as he exuded a quiet confidence.

He willed his heart to stay steady. “Decent.”

“Ouch.”

Jaemin rolled his eyes, placing his glass in the sink and ready to walk away.

“You’re upset.” Jeno’s voice was quieter now. “Why?”

“I’m not.”

“You definitely are.” Jeno crossed his arms, eyes glinting. “You were laughing just fine with Jisung a few minutes ago and now you’re all serious.”

Jaemin bit his lip, refusing to let his gaze drift lower—to where Jeno’s arms flexed as he leaned casually against the counter. He was starting to realise he had a thing for muscular arms. “He’s just funny.”

“I’m funnier.”

“No, you’re not.”

Jeno scowled. “That’s actually offensive.”

“Are we done with this useless conversation?”

Jeno didn’t answer right away. His gaze softened, searching Jaemin’s face with an intensity that made his skin prickle. Jaemin hated it—the way it peeled him open. He swallowed hard, a lump forming in his throat, and turned to leave—only for Jeno to catch his wrist, his grip firm yet careful, like he was afraid Jaemin might shatter if he held on too tightly.

It was brief. Just a touch. But it burned.

“I wanted to call you,” Jeno murmured, his voice quieter now, like he was scared of breaking the moment. His gaze went downward for the briefest second before meeting Jaemin’s again. “Would you believe me if I said I was afraid?”

He froze. “Afraid of what?”

Jeno's gaze flickered to Jaemin’s lips, then to his own hand, still ghosting over his wrist, still burning. “This.”

Jaemin’s breath caught.

Jeno's lips hesitated for a second. "It's a bit overwhelming how I feel like I'm gonna have a stroke just being near you." He licked his lips, eyes wandering. "Sorry if it's confusing."

Oh, it wasn’t. Jaemin felt exactly the same way. But he wouldn’t admit that.

“Must be the cigarettes,” he muttered instead.

Jeno chuckled. “My lungs have at least ten more years in them.” Then, after a pause, he added, “Once Mark finds out I like his little brother, the rest of me won’t last long.”

He felt heat crawl up his neck. “He’s not that overprotective.”

Jeno raised a brow. “Oh, I think he is. You’re his absolute pride.”

No, he wasn't . But Jaemin didn’t respond. He let their eyes meet for more time than he could manage, then turned his head, avoiding the suffocating sensation of Jeno’s gaze on him.

“Am I making you nervous, Jaemin?”

“Shut up,” he muttered. He moved his hand away from Jeno’s touch in a feeble attempt to regain composure. It only made things worse, though—he stepped back and collided with a chair.  

Jeno tried to suppress a laugh.  

“It’s not funny.”  

“It’s not, of course,” he said, instantly masking his amusement. Jaemin had to admire his ability to switch expressions so effortlessly.  

Just as Jaemin decided to move on, he heard Jeno’s muffled chuckle.  

“Sorry, sorry,” Jeno repeated, then casually caged Jaemin. An arm on the chair he had collided with, and the other on the edge of the dining table. “I’m not laughing at you.”  

“Sure,” Jaemin mumbled, ignoring the erratic beating of his heart. “I’m going to watch the movie, Jeno.”  

Jeno shook his head. “Let’s do a staring contest.”  

What?

“No.”

“Just one round.” Jeno grinned. “I know you’re already rich, but the winner gets 200 bucks.”

Jaemin huffed a laugh. “You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah, well, sometimes,” he tilted his head like a dog. “So?”

Jaemin straightened, the proximity already starting to feel like too much. “Fine. It’s on.”

His lips curved. They held each other’s gaze. Jeno’s eyes were dark and teasing, pulling Jaemin in, making his palms sweat. His instincts screamed at him to look away, to blink, to do anything other than let Jeno pin him under that gaze. But he wasn’t about to lose.

A strategy. He needed a strategy.

Instead of focusing on the way Jeno’s stare made him feel, Jaemin forced himself to break his face down into details. He focused on his nose, his high bride, how it was sharp, straight, with a slight upturn at the tip that softened his otherwise intense features. It fit him—elegant but effortless, like everything about him. And then there was the small mole just beneath his left eye, a tiny detail that somehow made him more perfect. Jaemin had noticed it before, but never like this. 

Jeno’s lips curled slightly, amusement flickering across his face, like he knew something Jaemin didn’t. Jaemin’s gaze flickered, almost imperceptibly, to the strands of dark hair falling over his forehead. Tousled, damp, a little messy, like he’d run his fingers through it absentmindedly. Even that was unfairly attractive.

“You know,” Jeno murmured, too casually for such a short proximity. “The more I look at you, the more I believe you’ve got the prettiest face I’ve ever seen.”

That was all. 

Jaemin shoved him in the chest before striding over to the empty space in the couch. His face burned with heat. He was relieved that everyone was asleep—being caught this flustered would have been humiliating. He wanted to yell or jump, but instead, he clenched his fists, digging his nails into his palm, the same way he did before stepping onto the ice for a competition. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling—somewhere between happiness and something else he couldn’t decipher.

Before long, a weight settled beside him. Jeno. Pretending to focus on the screen.

“You owe me 200 bucks,” he whispered.

Since then, they had started texting.

Jaemin had taken up a hobby—something to fill the hours after morning training. He couldn’t recall how exactly it started, but Jeno had mentioned repainting the hobby room, and somehow, that had become an addition to Jaemin’s routine—painting with Jeno. 

At first, he convinced himself that the electric tension between them could evolve into a solid friendship. Their first day painting had been normal. He even picked up a few techniques from Jeno. On the second, Jeno kissed him—brief, sweet—just as Jaemin was about to leave. On the third, they made out, desperate and unrestrained, like they’d both been waiting.

Everyone knew, of course.

Around 3 weeks had passed, and Jaemin had thought they were being discreet. But it only took one night out for it to happen, what he had been avoiding. Jaemin didn’t drink, he couldn’t. He had a strict mother who would lock him in his room for a month if he showed up to his training with a hangover. So that night was no different. He accompanied his friends while they drank, one, two, three rounds, Jaemin lost count.

Haechan was tipsy, Renjun was conscious enough, Karina was doing a bit better, but Mina was completely smashed. He had been trying to convince his friends that the night should be over when it happened.

Mina.

“If you wanna leave, then leave!” Her voice cracked, raw with betrayal. “ You always have other plans, you always… Fuck, everybody fucking knows! You don’t see any of us during the week because you’re with Jeno. You’re a liar and a traitor! ”

Jaemin had cried that night, alone in his bed. His parents had been out of Seoul, fixing something with one of his sponsors, as they had told him. So for that night at least, he didn't need to hide. 

Then his phone rang.

“I’m outside,” Jeno said, he sounded a bit out of breath. Haechan had told him . “Would you let Romeo in, Juliet?” 

That night, for the first time, Jaemin let Jeno into his room, his personal world, away from the ice, the music and the paint.

With a puffy face, he opened the door for Jeno. 

"Can I come in?" Jeno asked once they reached his bedroom, and Jaemin nodded, stepping aside to let him pass.

Jeno moved with a quiet grace, his silhouette framed by the ambient glow from the city's skyline that seeped through the curtains. Jaemin laid down, hugging the pillow that had been drying his tears. Jeno settled beside him, sitting while his back rested on the giant plushie from the headboard. The mattress dipped under his weight, pulling Jaemin an inch closer to the vortex of tension and comfort that Jeno represented. The familiar scent of smoke clung to Jeno, mixed with mint, and a faint cologne.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I’m a bad friend,” Jaemin replied, his own voice muffled by the pillow. “I knew she liked you, and I still… we…”

He didn’t really know how to finish that.

“You’re not a bad friend,” Jeno murmured, lying down next to him, his voice steady but soft—a contrast to the chaos that had churned within Jaemin all evening. 

“I kind of am,” Jaemin muttered, pushing the pillow down so he could speak better. Jeno turned to his side, meeting his eyes. Then he ran his fingers through Jaemin’s hair, and Jaemin closed his eyes. “You’re in my bed.” 

“I know.” Jeno’s lips twitched, that smirk returning just enough to make Jaemin’s stomach flip. “Still trying not to lose my head over it. This is the best day of my life.”

Jaemin chuckled, pushing Jeno’s hand playfully.

“She’s known for a while,” he remembered, his smile fading. “She won’t talk to me ever again.”

Jeno ran his fingers one more time before letting them rest on top of his head. Silence settled between them as Jaemin slowly closed and opened his eyes.

“I never liked her that way,” Jeno let out. “I’m sure she knows that, Jaemin. She was just drunk. We talk shit when we’re drunk.”

“You kissed her.”

“To be fair, I’ve kissed many people at our gigs,” he said.

Jaemin knew that. Neo Dream had just been gaining more popularity since Jaemin met them, and with that came Jeno’s reputation. He could feel the truth in Jeno's words, not as an excuse but as a fact laid bare between them.

Still, it didn’t prevent his heart from skipping a beat, an involuntary reaction that both frustrated and fascinated him. In figure skating he was constantly praised for how he controlled every motion, every breath, yet here he was, struggling to navigate the unpredictable choreography of his own heartbeat.

"Many people," Jaemin echoed, his analytical mind circling over it. It wasn't jealousy that pricked at him—no, it was the realization of how much he didn't want to be 'many people ' to Jeno. 

"Many people," Jeno repeated, softer this time, as if sensing the shift within Jaemin. "But it was always kind of.… part of it, you know, like… It’s a show , and everybody is euphoric, and shouting, and pushing and pulling, and I just let it happen when they ask.”

“Well, I know it’s just a show for you but what about them? What about Mina?”

“They also know it’s part of the moment,” Jeno replied. “What else would they think? They’re not kids.”

Jaemin didn’t respond, repeating Jeno’s question in his head: W hat else would they think?

“That I’m in love with them?” Jeno continued, a brief sardonic edge in his voice. “If I were in love with them, I’d probably be in their rooms right now, consoling them because they think they hurt their friend’s feelings.”

Jeno’s words hung in the air, sinking into the quiet between them. The weight of it—the implication, the way it curled around Jaemin’s heart—was suffocating and exhilarating all at once.

Jaemin turned his head slightly, his cheek pressing against the pillow as he looked at Jeno, who was still lying on his side, his fingers lazily tracing patterns on Jaemin’s scalp. Jeno’s face was close, so close that Jaemin could see the tired smudges beneath his eyes.

Jaemin swallowed. “You’re saying it like it means something.”

Jeno huffed a quiet laugh, his fingers stilling in Jaemin’s hair. “Because it does.”

Jaemin wanted to push, to hear Jeno say it outright. But the words tangled on his tongue, stubborn and afraid. Instead, he shifted, turning fully onto his side so they were nearly nose-to-nose. Jeno didn’t pull away.

“It’s not fair,” Jaemin murmured.

Jeno’s brows knit together, his smirk fading into something more uncertain. “What’s not fair?”

Jaemin studied him, the way his dark eyes softened, how that tiny mole under his left eye stood out against his skin. Jeno had kissed so many people before, had smiled at them, laughed with them, and Jaemin had never thought much of it. He had told himself he didn’t care, that it was the past. He was a liar.

“That you’re so good at making things feel like they mean something,” Jaemin finally said.

Jeno’s lips parted slightly, his breath warm against Jaemin’s own. “I mean everything I say to you.”

Jaemin didn’t move, didn’t breathe. Jeno’s fingers twitched against his temple, as if he was considering pulling away or leaning closer.

“Then say it,” Jaemin whispered, his pulse thrumming beneath his skin.

Jeno exhaled a slow, measured breath, his fingers curling slightly against Jaemin’s cheek. 

“I want to be part of your life, Jaemin,’” Jeno murmured. “Not as a friend, not as a hobby partner. I want you to be mine, and I want to be yours.”

Jaemin’s chest tightened. “Romeo is actually in my bed now.”

Jeno laughed softly, and Jaemin held his wrist. He could feel his pulse beneath his touch, steady and real, tethering him to this moment.

They talked for a bit longer, until Jaemin’s eyelids started growing heavier, the warmth of Jeno’s presence pulling him into something dangerously soft, dangerously safe. His fingers loosened around Jeno’s wrist, but he didn’t let go completely. He couldn’t.

His thoughts blurred at the edges, exhaustion creeping in, but the question slipped out before he could stop it.

“Don’t you think we’d be better as friends?”

Jeno didn’t hesitate. He smiled, small and knowing, the kind of smile that said he’d already thought about this a hundred times before. “I wouldn’t be able to handle that.”

Jaemin hummed in response, eyes barely open now. He heard the quiet rasp of Jeno’s breath, felt the slight shift of the mattress as Jeno moved closer, just a little.

“Even right now,” Jeno murmured, voice barely above a whisper, “I’m dying to kiss you.”

Jaemin’s heart stuttered, but sleep was pulling him under too fast for him to overthink it. Instead, he did the only thing that felt right—he leaned forward, just a little, and pressed a drowsy kiss to Jeno’s lips, and then, slowly, to the tip of his nose.

Jeno inhaled sharply.

Jaemin barely registered it, his lips curling faintly as he mumbled, “Stay.”

Jeno let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh. Then, gently, he slid his hand back into Jaemin’s blond hair, fingers threading through the strands like a promise.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

And Jaemin, who until then hadn’t known that safety could feel like this—like warmth, like quiet certainty, like something he didn’t have to earn—let sleep take him.

His alarm had awaken him in the morning, the early light seeping through his curtains, casting muted gold over his sheets. His body was warm, cocooned in the slow, steady rhythm of Jeno’s breathing. It took him a moment to register the weight around his waist—Jeno’s arm, draped over him, firm even in sleep, like he belonged there. A small smile tugged at Jaemin’s lips as he shifted, propping himself on one elbow to admire Jeno’s sleeping face. From this angle, his side profile looked solemn, undisturbed. Peaceful.

Jaemin always woke up puffy, and since he’d cried himself to sleep the night before, he knew it’d be ten times worse. Yet somehow, Jeno remained stupidly perfect. His dark circles only made him hotter, accentuating his sharp jawline, the slight part of his lips betraying his exhaustion. It was unfair.

Carefully, Jaemin let his fingertips wander, tracing along the veins of Jeno’s forearm, where ink curled over his skin like it had always belonged there. A chain wrapped around his arm in sharp, deliberate links, and beneath it, delicate script stretched in a language Jaemin couldn’t quite decipher. His fingers ghosted over the lines, following the ridges of Jeno’s skin, the soft blue beneath his surface. He had noticed before how prominent and alive his veins looked, but touching them made him feel something stir under his own skin.

His touch lingered too long. Jeno stirred, his grip tightening just a fraction around Jaemin’s waist. A soft groan left his lips as he buried his face against the nape of Jaemin’s neck. His breath was warm, sending an uninvited shiver down Jaemin’s spine.

Jaemin exhaled sharply. “You need to wake up, Romeo.”

A noncommittal hum vibrated against his skin. “Five more minutes, Juliet.”

“I have training.”

“On a Saturday?”

“Yeah, on a Saturday.”

“Skip it.”

Jaemin scoffed, prying Jeno’s arm away and rolling onto his back. “I can’t skip it.”

Jeno finally cracked one eye open, his gaze hazy with sleep, a slow smirk curling his lips. “Then let me sleep here.”

Jaemin chuckled. “Aren’t you scared my parents might get here soon?”

“Why would I be?” Jeno sat up at last, stretching, his drowsy smile making him impossibly more handsome. “I have Mark’s approval. That’s all I need.”

Jaemin rolled his eyes, raking a hand through his messy hair. “Come brush your teeth.”

Jeno groaned dramatically, but followed, dragging his feet across the floor as he trailed Jaemin into the bathroom. Jaemin handed him a spare toothbrush without a word, the quiet between them filled only by the sound of water running.

Jaemin watched in the mirror as Jeno squeezed an ungodly amount of toothpaste onto the bristles, his movements sluggish and unfocused.

“You’re wasting half of it.”

Jeno shrugged, shoving the toothbrush into his mouth. “It’s seven in the morning, baby. Be patient with me, I can barely function.”

Jaemin bit his cheek to stop the grin that threatened to spread. Baby . He had called him baby . Instead of acknowledging the way his heart stuttered, he shook his head as he started brushing his own teeth, their reflections standing side by side. It was strangely intimate, watching Jeno’s brows furrow as he brushed, eyes still heavy with sleep.

When they finished, Jaemin moved onto his skincare routine, carefully patting toner onto his skin. Jeno leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest as he watched with growing interest.

“You really go through all that every morning?”

Jaemin nodded. “I have sensitive skin.”

Jeno hummed, stepping closer. “It’s pretty.”

Jaemin tried to ignore him, smoothing moisturizer over his cheeks. But then—hands. Warm, firm hands settling against his waist. And then—lips. Soft, unhurried, pressing against the curve of his neck.

Jaemin’s hands stilled. His breath faltered.

Jeno’s voice was low, teasing. “I’ll make us breakfast.”

And before Jaemin could say anything about it, Jeno walked away, leaving the touch of his lips lingering on the skin of his neck. Jaemin's fingers grazed over the spot absentmindedly, warmth lingering where Jeno had pressed his mouth. He swallowed, glancing up at his reflection—his face was flushed, eyes wide with something he wasn’t ready to name. The bathroom felt smaller, the air thicker, his pulse a steady drum in his ears.

Same morning: Jaemin and friends' chat.

When Jaemin finally went downstairs, he found Jeno standing in front of the open fridge, an adorably frustrated scowl on his face.

“What’s wrong?” Jaemin asked.

Jeno shut the fridge doors with a huff. “The only breakfast I can make is too British for your kitchen. No bacon, no sausages. I made some toast and eggs already, but it’s not enough. Do you like tomatoes? I’ll grill some.”

Jaemin couldn’t help the giggle that escaped him. The contrast between Jeno’s reputation—cocky, pretentious, a supposed casanova—and the man in front of him, grumbling about grocery stock, was too endearing.

Jeno turned, brows furrowing before softening into a small smile. “What?”

“Nothing,” Jaemin stepped closer, warmth settling in his chest. His boyfriend. Jeno was his boyfriend . The height difference wasn’t much, but he still needed to tilt his chin up slightly, just enough to nudge their noses together. He realized he liked doing that. Maybe because it felt just as intimate as kissing but somehow warmer, like the anticipation before something deeper.

Jeno’s hands settled on his hips. “Oh, I think you’re making fun of me.”

“I’m not,” Jaemin chuckled. “I just have a schedule, and on Saturdays, I usually have a quick breakfast—oatmeal, eggs, or just a protein shake and fruit. But I like your menu. I’ll skip my diet today for you.”

“A schedule? A diet?” Jeno groaned playfully. “Fuck, I forgot I’m dating an elite athlete. Where is it?”

Jaemin pointed to the schedule on the fridge. Jeno squinted as he read, his expression shifting from amusement to genuine concern.

Jaemin pointed to the schedule on the fridge. Jeno squinted as he read, his expression shifting from amusement to genuine concern. His own fridgel displayed a picture with his friends, a snapshot of careless joy, while Jaemin’s schedule was perfectly planned by his mother, each hour accounted for, each moment predetermined. 

“Seven thirty, wake up, quick breakfast, of course,” he read. “Nine in the morning, off-ice conditioning, core work and yoga… Sounds interesting. Ten thirty, two sessions on-ice training, lunch break. One in the afternoon, another off-ice skill work, ballet class? Damn. Two thirty, more on-ice training. Four in the afternoon, end of training.”

His eyes wandered as he kept analysing the schedule, he looked like a concerned, lost puppy.

“So?” 

“That’s mad,” he said. “There’s even a slot for personal time.”

Jaemin shrugged. “My parents. But that’s just there. It’s off-season so they’re not really that strict right now.”

“I thought Mark was exaggerating when he said they were suffocating you,” he scowled. “Is that why you went away?”

Jaemin’s chest tightened. No? Yes? Actually, he wasn’t sure. All his life, he had simply followed along to his parents’ orders, never questioning, never straying. His mother, once a promising ballet dancer, had been forced into early retirement due to injury; his father had given up on being a musician when the money never came. It wasn’t a surprise they had latched onto Jaemin’s success, pouring every resource into his career, shaping him into the perfect athlete they never got to be. Every coach, every training camp, every piece of equipment—funded with unwavering support. They were well-off, but Jaemin always carried a quiet, gnawing guilt, as if their sacrifices were bricks on his shoulders. If he ever disappointed them, if he ever stepped out of line, it wouldn’t just be failure—it would be betrayal, and Jaemin would be the worst son to ever exist.

When he was 16 and earned a spot in a prestigious Switzerland skating academy, part of him didn’t want to leave. But when he did, he realized that the thing he enjoyed the most about it wasn’t his sudden liberty, it wasn’t the new culture, but how much better he felt without his parents. And he felt bad, extremely blameful for it. Yet, then, at almost 20, he hadn’t really let his mind circle around it too much, until now, with Jeno’s dark eyes locked onto his.

Jaemin hesitated. No would be a lie. Yes would make him feel ungrateful. The truth settled somewhere in between. 

Before he could answer, Jeno took his wrist, fingers brushing against his pulse. “It’s alright, darling,” he murmured, voice impossibly soft. He cupped Jaemin’s face, thumbs skimming his cheekbones. “It’s okay to hate them a little bit, you know.”

Jaemin felt himself physically weakened. He exhaled, a small smile creeping onto his lips.

“You won’t have to follow a schedule once we move to England and get married,” Jeno teased with his eyes turned half-moons.

Jaemin muffled a chuckle. “We’ve been official boyfriends for a day.”

“And?”

He bit his lip and leaned in closer, his stomach twisting with nervous excitement at the unspoken meaning between them. This was unfamiliar territory—he’d never had a proper boyfriend, at least not one who lasted more than two weeks. In the end, Jaemin had always reached the same conclusion: they had either been experimenting or just looking for sex. For him, it had mostly felt like the latter. Being alone in a foreign country and being a professional athlete often meant that superficial connections were all he had to grasp at the idea of romance.

Uncertain of what to do with the sudden rush of warmth in his chest, he hesitated for a moment before slowly nudging their noses together again, his hand resting lightly on Jeno’s shoulder.

“Oh, stop that,” The huskiness of Jeno’s voice brushed against Jaemin’s cupid’s bow just as their lips finally met. A quiet hum escaped Jaemin, surprised yet thrilled when Jeno’s tongue slid past his lips, teasing, playing, melting into him. The sensation sent a shiver down his spine, and without thinking, his fingers wandered up, tracing the curve of Jeno’s shoulders until they settled at the nape of his neck. They had made out before, but this—this felt different. He pulled back, gasping for air, but Jeno refused to part completely, peppering soft pecks at the corner of his lips.

Then, without a word, Jeno took Jaemin’s hand and placed it over his chest. On top of the fabric of his black shirt, his heart pounded wildly, matching the erratic rhythm of Jaemin’s own.

“There’s something about you,” Jeno murmured, his gaze holding Jaemin’s in that way it always did—like he saw through him, like he knew things Jaemin hadn’t even figured out about himself.  “Something that makes me feel like this… alive. I know we’ve just met, but I can’t imagine ever feeling like this with somebody else.”

Jaemin swallowed, pretending the heat spreading through him was just from the air in the kitchen. He knew exactly what Jeno meant, and he thought they were both a bit crazy for it. Jaemin didn’t have a way with words, so instead, he kissed him. And then, before he could stop himself, he bit Jeno’s bottom lip, like an instinct that even he didn’t recognise on himself. 

Jeno’s brows knit together, in pain probably. “I’m pouring my heart out for you, and you bite me?”

Jaemin’s eyes widened. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

A slow smirk tugged at Jeno’s lips. “Don’t worry. It’s really hot.”

Jaemin let out a soft chuckle, and Jeno grinned, pressing a slow, lingering kiss just below his jaw. He could’ve let himself sink into it—let Jeno’s touch steal the last bit of reason left in him—but he knew if he did, he’d be late.

“Jeno,” he mumbled, barely holding on to his resolve.

Jeno hummed against his skin, his lips trailing lower.

“I have to be at the rink soon, and I’m pretty sure Mark mentioned something about a rehearsal in the morning.”

Jeno sighed dramatically, nuzzling into Jaemin’s neck before murmuring against his ear, “Physically, you look nothing alike. But in moments like this, I hate being reminded that he’s your brother.”

Jaemin snorted before kissing him one last time—a firm, playful smack of lips. He was about to pull away completely, mentally preparing himself to finally eat and get ready for training, when— 

The front door shut.

His stomach dropped.

His parents.

He expected them to come later in the afternoon, so this wasn’t a pleasant surprise. He rushed to the door, his palms a bit sweaty. 

“Nana!” His mother beamed as she pulled him into a hug. “How did it go with your friends?”

“Good, Mum. Great,” he answered too quickly, already trying to steer her away from the kitchen. “I, uh, invited someone over this morning.”

“Oh? Karina?” Her brows lifted. “By the way, there’s a car parked outside our house. Do you know whose it is?”

“No, uh…” But before he could finish, they were already stepping into the kitchen.

And there stood Jeno.

“Good morning, ma’am.” Jeno offered a polite bow, his signature eye-smile in full effect. “You have a beautiful house.”

His mother didn’t move. She took him in—head to toe. Jaemin, on the other hand, wanted the ground to swallow him whole. Jeno, with his straight trousers, tight black shirt, tattooed arms on full display, tousled bed hair, and lips still swollen from Jaemin’s bite, was the literal embodiment of her worst nightmare.

Jaemin thought he looked like the hottest man on earth.

His mother, judging by her expression, looked like she was preparing his funeral.

“What is Lee Jeno doing here, Jaemin?”

Oh . Oh, so they knew each other. Of course, they did. He was Mark’s bandmate.

Shit. He was Mark’s bandmate.

“Mum, he—”

“Mark asked me to give him a lift,” Jeno cut in smoothly. “To the rink where he trains.”

His mother turned to Jaemin, arms crossing. “I thought Haechan was taking you.”

“Oh, he was busy, ma’am.” Jeno plucked a grape from the counter, popping it into his mouth with zero hesitation. “Should I go say hi to Mr. Na?”

Jaemin wanted to scream. He was terrified and fascinated by Jeno’s ease.

“It’s getting late. I think we better go, Jeno.”

Jeno’s lips curled. “Sure.”

Jaemin wasn’t even sure how long it took them to get to Jeno’s car. All he knew was that he only felt like he could breathe once they were inside, doors shut, and the engine rumbled to life.

“I’m sorry,” Jaemin blurted out.

Jeno’s eyes stayed on the road. “It’s fine. They already hated me. They think I influenced Mark into joining the band. That, and they also think our music is shit.”

Jaemin frowned. “I love your music.”

A brief glance. A small, knowing smirk. “I know.”

Jaemin exhaled, trying to steady the nerves still buzzing in his chest. “I got anxious,” he admitted. “I thought she might notice that we… that we’re together. And it’s not that I want to hide it, but I’ve never told them. That I’m, you know, gay. And they know. I’m sure they know. I mean, they have to know. I’ve never tried to hide it, but I’ve also never said it to them directly. It’s… It’s scary.”

Jeno didn’t respond right away. He didn’t need to. Instead, he reached over and placed his hand on Jaemin’s knee, palm open—an invitation. Jaemin hesitated only for a second before slipping his fingers into Jeno’s, their hands locking together like they were meant to fit.

By the time they arrived at the rink, Jaemin felt a little lighter.

Jeno leaned against the barrier as Jaemin laced up his skates, watching with quiet interest.

"I was supposed to do core work first, but my trainer sent me a message and said he wants me to warm up before he arrives. You should come watch a full practice one day," Jaemin said, glancing up at him.

Jeno’s eyes crinkled with adoration. "I’d love to. And I’d love to see you compete. You’re serious when you’re on the ice—it's hot.”

Jaemin rolled his eyes but couldn't fight the small smile. He stepped onto the rink, gliding effortlessly before spinning once, and balancing on one leg from time to time. When he looked back, Jeno had a smirk on his face, and he pushed his tongue in the inside of his cheek as if wanting to say something but keeping it to himself.

“You’re a show off, Juliet.”

Jaemin chuckled from the distance, sliding closer to Jeno until he reached the dasher board separating him from Jeno. “Look who’s speaking.”

Before Jeno could say anything, his phone rang. Jaemin giggled when Jeno rolled his eyes and pointed at the phone with annoyance. Mark.

“Close your eyes, I’ll be there before you open them,” he hung up and sighed. "I should go before he throws a fit."

Jaemin rested his arms on the barrier. "Guess I'll see you later, Romeo?"

Jeno leaned in, pressing a fleeting kiss to Jaemin’s forehead. "I’ll die if you don’t."

Jaemin felt his heart pound harder, his fingers curling slightly against the cold surface of the rink’s barrier. Jeno walked away, and as he did, Ten, his coach, turned up. His usually calm expression twisted in shock, his already large eyes widening as he mouthed, "What the hell?"

Jaemin bit his lip to stop himself from laughing. He loved Ten—he had been a retired figure skater who had chosen to become a coach at only twenty-seven. They were close, closer than a coach and student typically were. At times, Ten had even been the parental figure Jaemin had desperately needed back when he was training in Switzerland. Seeing him flustered now, of all times, was almost amusing.

Jaemin stayed there for a moment, staring at the doors long after Jeno had disappeared through them. His heartbeat still hadn’t settled, and he wasn’t sure if it ever would.

A whistle from Ten snapped him back to reality.

"I didn’t know you were into bad boys." Ten smirked, crossing his arms. "You’ll tell me everything when we’re done."

Jaemin huffed, shaking his head as warmth crept up his face. 

With a deep breath, he turned back to the ice. His heart was still racing, but it wasn't from nerves anymore.

Chapter Text

Jaemin hadn’t expected Jeno to become such an essential part of his life. 

He trained in the morning, saw Jeno in the afternoon, saw the guys rehearse, made Jeno not miss rehearsal—which was deeply welcomed by Mark. Sometimes Jeno saw him train, sometimes Jaemin saw him write songs. In general, there was no day he didn’t know about Jeno. 

What had started as stolen glances turned into something far more consuming. Jeno had a way of making everything feel alive—conversations that stretched till dawn, shared meals that tasted better simply because they were together, and the unspoken warmth of his presence.

Neon lights punctuated the night like distant stars, marking a path along the restless streets. Jaemin walked in unhurried strides. The thrill of the concert still hummed through the air, mingling with the soft chatter of late-night wanderers. Jeno appeared by his side, interlocking their fingers and  pulling Jaemin closer, his laughter bright against the evening’s muted pulse.

"You're a terrible distraction," Jeno teased. "I kept looking for you in the crowd."

Jaemin feigned innocence, a shy smile tugging at his lips. "And did you find me?"

Jeno's grin widened. "How could I not?"

The city moved around them, a swirl of lights and distant voices. Jeno’s presence beside him was both grounding and exhilarating, a rare combination that made his heart feel unexpectedly light.

They wandered aimlessly, out of the venue. "Want to get some fresh air by the river?" Jeno asked, his tone casual but inviting.

Jaemin nodded. "I’d like that."

They strolled through the city’s vibrancy, street stalls spilling with life and color. Buskers played beneath streetlights, their melodies weaving into the night as small crowds gathered. 

"Seoul feels different at night," Jaemin said, his voice a soft muse.

Jeno raised an eyebrow. "Different how?"

Jaemin paused, considering. "I don’t know. I can breathe more easily."

He felt Jeno’s eyes on his side profile, probably trying to understand what Jaemin meant.

"We should stay here forever then," Jeno replied, his tone half-joking, half-something-else.

They reached the river, its surface a shimmer of reflected city lights. They leaned against the railing, the water’s looked gentle compared to the freezing wind.

"Being back here, it’s strange," Jaemin confessed, eyes fixed on the glow of the river. "I thought I'd feel at home right away, but..."

Jeno's gaze was steady, encouraging. 

"I feel more like a stranger than ever," Jaemin admitted, a mix of humor and seriousness in his tone. "Everything is the same, but I'm different."

The older nodded, understanding. He pulled Jaemin’s hand and put it inside the pocket of his jacket, maybe noticing how it’d started to shiver. "You've been away on your own. It takes time."

"I just feel like..." Jaemin hesitated, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his face. "I should be grateful for being back. I’m here with my family, my parents. But I… I think I’m happier when they’re not around."

Jeno leaned in, his voice quiet but firm, his free hand held his chin so gently that Jaemin felt weightless. "There’s nothing wrong with that, baby."

Jaemin looked at him, truly looked, and saw the sincerity in his eyes. He wasn’t just saying things to make him feel better, and for Jaemin’s head that was a rude awakening; what do you mean you choose not to please everybody all the time and expect to be understood?

"It feels wrong," Jaemin said, leaning into his touch.

Jeno smiled gently. "So you’ll wait until it feels right?"

Jaemin didn’t answer. At least now he knew he wasn’t a villain for feeling that way. Jeno’s palm left his chin, and it suddenly felt cold. His eyes were on the river, he was thinking about something.

"My parents divorced when I was three," Jeno spoke, breaking the momentary silence. "I was too little to know what was happening, why my mum cried and I was suddenly getting on a plane with only my dad."

"Why did it happen that way?"

"They only got together because of me," Jeno shrugged. "Obviously, a marriage without love wasn’t gonna last long. Dad got a job in England, mum fell in love with somebody else… with her best friend. But she.… she died in an accident, and my mum was too depressed to raise me.”

Jaemin listened, absorbing Jeno’s words and the quiet strength behind them. He squeezed his hand inside the pocket, snugging to his side to rest the left side of his face on Jeno’s shoulder. 

"Do you resent her for it?" he asked.

"I did," Jeno replied. "When I was about fourteen, I was sick of my dad’s half-ass answers when I asked why they had split up, so I waited for summer because I knew I got to come here on summers, and see her. So I waited, and I asked her. And I hated how honest she was with me. I told her ‘So you left me because you were sad that someone died? It’s not my fault she died.’”

Jaemin swallowed, letting Jeno continue. 

“I was an asshole even as a kid,” he said, a short chuckle full of irony. “I hated her until I was mature enough to understand her. My dad remarried and as soon as I graduated high school, I decided to come here for university. I tried to live with her, but I couldn’t. And I love her, don’t get me wrong. I love her, and I love that I’m the first person that she calls when she needs help, but just like you, I’m happier when she’s not around.”

Jeno exhaled. Jaemin took in his profile from his angle, his brows a bit furrowed.

“Can I meet her someday?”

He gazed at Jaemin, a small smile appeared on his lips. “Sure. She already knows about you.”

Jaemin straightened up. “What did you tell her?”

Jeno looked at him, his eyes full of amusement. “That I have the sexiest man alive at my feet.”

He chuckled, pushing his shoulder against Jeno’s as the mood shifted, their earlier lightness resurfacing as they traded stories and jokes. It was in these moments, Jaemin realised, that Jeno’s charisma became a balm, soothing his overthinking mind with its genuine simplicity.

A couple of days later, Jaemin found himself sitting down at the table with his family. Mark seemed nervous, constantly asking if he was alright. But Jaemin hadn’t seen it coming. It was supposed to be a normal Sunday and a dinner gathering, not a sentence of accusations. 

His parents' voices overlapped, a discordant symphony of disappointment and disbelief. He felt each note of anger vibrate through the sterile living room, piercing the fragile normalcy he’d been clinging to. Mark was as silent as him, their shared glance a quiet fortress against the rising storm.

"This is unacceptable," his father’s voice cut through the din, sharp and unyielding.

"We didn’t raise you for this, Jaemin," his mother added, her tone a mix of injury and contempt. "Is this what you were doing while you were supposed to be training?"

The words twisted in Jaemin's chest. He tried to speak, to assert the certainty he was just beginning to feel, but their relentless voices drowned him out. 

"Why can’t you understand?" Jaemin finally managed, his voice strained but determined. " He is important to me."

"Important?" His father scoffed, incredulous. "You’re throwing everything away for some phase?"

Jaemin flinched but held his ground. "It’s not a phase. Jeno and I—"

"You’ll stop seeing him," his mother interrupted, her voice brokering no argument. "He’s a distraction, and you will focus on what matters."

Jaemin’s heart pounded against the cage of expectation closing around him. He turned to Mark, hoping for the anchor his brother had always been.

"You know they’re wrong," Mark said, his voice quiet but clear, a stark contrast to their parents’.

"This isn’t your place, Mark," their father warned, his gaze hard and unrelenting. "Stay out of it."

Jaemin felt the walls pressing in. It all was suffocating, each breath a battle against the life they’d decided for him.

"He’s my brother," Mark insisted. "I know him, and I know he’s happier since they’ve been together."

His parents turned their full wrath on Mark, but Jaemin no longer heard. His resolve crystallized, clarity cutting through the chaos. He knew, in that moment, that he could not stay any longer.

"I’m not leaving Jeno," Jaemin declared, his voice firm with the truth that had been buried under years of discipline. "I’m leaving this house."

The room fell silent, the echo of his words a startling contrast to the storm that had raged seconds before. His parents stared, a mix of shock and anger freezing them in place. Only Mark moved, closing the space between them with a solidarity that made Jaemin’s decision feel real.

"Jaemin," their mother began, but the certainty in Jaemin’s eyes stopped her.

He turned and left, the distance was a painful liberation. The air outside the suffocating room felt startling immediately. He went straight to his room, Mark following without question.

Jaemin packed quickly, a reflection of the urgency that had finally been unleashed. Mark was by his side, gathering things and offering quiet words of support.

"Are you sure about this?" Mark asked, but his eyes held only encouragement.

Jaemin nodded. "Do you have space in your apartment?"

Mark smiled warmly. “We do.”

They moved with purpose, the bonds of family and duty unravelling as the reality of Jaemin’s choice took form. There was some sort of adrenaline in his body.

"That was really unexpected of you," Mark admitted, a hint of admiration breaking through his usual steadiness.

"I know," Jaemin confessed, feeling the weight of what he was doing collide with the thrill of doing it. "I feel great."

They left the room in silence, the void behind them echoing with a finality Jaemin hadn’t anticipated. As they reached the front door, his mother stopped him, but Mark helped him open the door.

“He’ll be alright,” he told his parents. “Don’t make things worse.”

Together they stepped into the night. The air was sharp and freeing, clearing the fog of doubt that had threatened to engulf Jaemin. He breathed deeply, tasting what he had just done.

They reached the band’s apartment, the familiar chaos of instruments and laughter spilling into the hallway. Jaemin hesitated at the entryway, the noise and warmth an overwhelming contrast to the silence he’d left. Mark walked up, carrying his bag.

"Go on," Mark urged, a grin playing on his lips. "I told the guys on the phone. They’re waiting for you."

Jaemin nodded, the last of his uncertainty dissolving. 

The band’s apartment was filled with instruments laying here and there, opposite from the last time Jaemin had visited it. Chenle and Jisung rushed to hug him, helping him sit down with them on the couch like he’d been to war. It was too much, too fast, and completely liberating. 

Mark tried to regain order, laying down rules and insisting to Jaemin that they needed to figure out sleeping arrangements, but Jaemin found it hard to focus when his eyes landed on Jeno, sitting on the coffee table in front, shirtless.

Jaemin had seen glimpses before—Jeno’s forearms, the sharp lines of his wrists, the way veins traced paths over his skin when he flexed his fingers. But this? This was something else entirely.

Jeno sat there, his eyes wandering from Mark to Jaemin, cigarette dangling from his lips as he flicked the lighter open. The small flame cast shifting shadows over the ridges of his chest, illuminating the dips and contours of muscle that stretched beneath ink-stained skin. Tattoos sprawled over his arms, winding up to his shoulders. Some were sharp, bold lines, others delicate sketches that softened the sharpness of his build.

Jaemin's gaze trailed over the defined cut of his collarbones, the smooth plane of his chest, and the way his abs tightened slightly as he exhaled. Every part of him looked sculpted. The black leather of his watch contrasted starkly against his skin, his fingers adorned with silver rings that gleamed under the light. His jeans hung low on his hips, revealing the defined v-line Jaemin had only imagined before.

Jeno didn’t need to pose. He existed like this naturally—effortlessly, devastatingly beautiful.

Jaemin was fucked.

His brother exhaled, concern lining his usually composed face. "We should sort this out before things get messy," he said.

Jaemin laughed, the sound swallowed by the apartment's vibrant noise. 

"So, I was thinking," Mark persisted, his voice tinged with the responsibility Jaemin had come to expect from him. 

Mark was already listing options: Option one was him, his brother. His bed was small but somehow he said they could squeeze together like when they were kids. Option two was the couch, but he said they’d take turns, one day Jaemin and the other his brother. He was trying to find a solution that kept Jaemin close and comfortable. The fussing was both endearing and amusing, a reminder of the familial bond that had always kept them together.

"Why don’t we just put him in the bathtub?" Jeno’s voice cut through the conversation, a playful smirk dancing on his face.

"Very funny,” Jaemin told him. Jeno stood up just to plant a kiss on his forehead, eyes two half-moons. Jaemin felt his pulse quicken, warmth spreading in his chest.

"Or… Listen to this, Mark. I have a brilliant idea," Jeno suggested in a sarcastic tone that made Jisung laugh. He sat down next to Jaemin, throwing an arm around his shoulders. "He could sleep with me, his boyfriend. In my room, which is the biggest.”

The tension Mark carried eased into an exasperated smile. "Your bed isn’t an option.”

Jaemin's hands tickled. He was grateful for Mark’s steadfast support, but there shouldn’t be a problem if he decided to sleep with his boyfriend, was there?

"Don’t think I should buy another bed just for me," Jaemin said, glancing at Mark with a mixture of gratitude and mischief. The words hung like an unspoken acknowledgment of the change both of them knew was coming.

Mark sighed, the seriousness giving way to a brotherly affection. "Fine," he conceded, "but I don’t want to hear any complaints. If you fight, Jeno sleeps outside, not the other way around."

“I love you too, Markie,” Jeno said, making the other throw a pillow at him.

The conversation was light and unrestrained, unlike anything Jaemin had experienced under his parents’ roof. The spontaneity was a relief. It was a jolt to his carefully disciplined senses.

Chenle bounced into the room with a can of soda in hand, his purple hair a vibrant exclamation point. "So it’s decided," he declared, "Nana’s with Jeno."

Jeno’s face lit up with a triumphant grin, interlocking his fingers with Jaemin’s. "Duh."

"Okay, new rule," Chenle added, unable to contain his laughter. "No sex when we’re in the apartment."

Jaemin chuckled, seeing his brother’s expression shift. They were teasing him until a resigned smile pulled at his lips. Jaemin absorbed it all, the sights and sounds. He appreciated Mark’s efforts to shield him from chaos, but he was drawn to the uncertainty, the spontaneity that Jeno and the band embodied.

As the evening wore on, Jaemin forgot about the weight of his decisions. Surrounded by the warmth and noise of the apartment, he knew that his life had shifted in a way that was both profound and irrevocable.

Jaemin felt his eyelids heavy as Jeno asked him if he wanted to sleep. That was the first time he entered his room.

Jeno stepped inside first, letting the door click shut when Jaemin walked in.

The space was warm, dimly lit, and effortlessly Jeno. The air carried a faint trace of cologne—woodsy, crisp, with an underlying spice that lingered in him. His gaze swept over the room, taking in the posters plastered on the walls, a mix of classic rock legends and underground bands he barely recognized, but knew Jeno swore by. 

A guitar leaned against the desk, its strap hanging loose, and a set of drumsticks rested haphazardly beside a notebook filled with scribbled lyrics or unfinished thoughts.

Against one wall, beside the bed, a tall mirror caught Jaemin’s movement, reflecting the glow of the streetlights bleeding in through the large window. The curtains were drawn halfway, letting in just enough of the outside world to remind him how late it’s gotten. The glass is slightly fogged from the contrast of the cool night air and the warmth inside.

Jeno chuckled, raspy and short. “You look like a kitten analysing their new home.”

Jaemin smiled and flopped onto the bed, sighing as the mattress dipped under his weight. The comforter was soft, slightly crumpled like Jeno had been sitting there moments before. Jaemin stayed there for a second too long before rolling onto his back.

From this angle, he could see everything—the way Jeno’s desk was cluttered but organized in its own way, papers and music sheets spread out beside an old set of headphones. A half-empty glass of water sits on the nightstand, a book lying open next to it, spine cracked. It’s familiar, and somehow, despite the posters and the music equipment, it’s still... calm.

Jaemin shuts his eyes for a moment, breathing in.

It felt dangerously easy to exist there.

"I'll take a shower," Jeno said, running a hand through his hair. “You’ll tell me what happened with your parents before falling asleep, right Juliet?”

Jaemin barely nodded, eyes trailing over his naked torso one last time before he disappeared behind the door in front of him. The faint sound of water running filled the quiet. He turned onto his side, fingers idly gripping the edge of the comforter. Jeno’s scent still clung to the pillow, mint and cedarwood, something warm and inherently him.

He hadn't meant to close his eyes, just to rest them for a second. But the bed was too soft, the room too warm, and the exhaustion in his bones too heavy.

By the time the shower shut off, Jaemin was already breathing slow and steady, lost somewhere between Jeno’s scent and sleep.

It must’ve been around 4 a.m. when Jaemin slowly arouse. He laid beside Jeno. His breathing was a gentle rhythm, each rise and fall a comforting reassurance that this moment was real. It was their first night together, or well, the second. For Jaemin, it felt like stepping into a dream he hadn’t realized he was dreaming.

He turned slightly, watching the soft rise of Jeno’s chest, the peacefulness of his face in the dim light. The connection between them was unlike anything Jaemin had known, a fragile yet profound thread that bound them together. It was exhilarating in its newness, yet it felt like something that had been quietly inevitable.

His thoughts circled, weaving between the events of the day and the quiet now enveloping them. He marveled at the way his world had changed, how each decision had brought him to this point. It was more than he had allowed himself to hope for, more intense than he had thought possible.

Jaemin felt a vulnerability that was unfamiliar, but with Jeno, it was paired with a surprising sense of safety. He closed his eyes, letting the awareness of their closeness wash over him. It was intimate in a way that was both startling and natural, like discovering a missing piece of himself.

Jeno shifted slightly, his arm settling around Jaemin with a tenderness that pulled at every corner of Jaemin’s heart. The gesture was simple but sincere, Jaemin realised how deeply Jeno had become a part of him. The emotions he felt were far more than the infatuation he had expected, more significant than the affection he had acknowledged. It was a clarity that thrilled and terrified him, but with Jeno, it was a fear that felt worth facing.

"Are you okay?" Jeno whispered, his voice a gentle intrusion into the dark.

Jaemin smiled, a rush of warmth flooding him. "More than okay," he replied.

“It was hard trying to fall asleep not knowing what was going on inside your mind,” he let out.

Jaemin turned to his side, facing Jeno. The dim light of the night coming from the window was enough to tell apart his handsome face. Glistening drowsy eyes and a slight furrow. The depth of his words caught him by surprise, but nestled in the warmth of his chest.

“They wanted me to not see you again,” Jaemin confessed, taking the tip of his index finger to Jeno’s chin. “I told them that wasn’t going to happen. Mark tried to defend me. I couldn’t handle it anymore, so I told them I’d leave. Now I’m here.”

“They didn’t try to stop you?”

“I think they were shocked,” Jaemin smiled. “Or scared, I don’t know. I’ve never done something remotely close… I’ll talk to them eventually, just not… now. I don’t want to see them for now.”

“Okay…”

It was all Jeno said. He then trapped his inex finger and kissed the top of his hand. Jaemin closed his eyes, surrendering to the serenity of the moment. Just like that, Jaemin drifted to sleep again. The last thing he felt was Jeno’s warmth beside him, a promise of everything they could be. It was a quiet transformation that had taken him by surprise but now felt as though it had always been meant to be.

After a few more nights together, Jaemin decided to do it.

He wasn’t a horny teenager that couldn’t handle any other night sleeping next to his boyfriend’s naked torso and not do anything about it. No. He was a mature twenty-year-old that simply wanted to take the next step into a relationship.

That night, the band had had an appearance in a local festival, and after that everybody had left to party, like usual. But Jaemin had planned something else. He had gone into the bathroom and made sure to follow all the steps needed to practise the art of… bottoming. He wouldn’t judge himself, really. Jaemin considered himself a pillow princess . He had majorly bottomed with his hookups before, and topped just enough to realise that he didn’t enjoy doing all the top work at all. 

Therefore, instead of the party, he suggested to Jeno that they go home . A fake cough and the cheap excuse that he was getting sick was all it took. Jeno hadn’t suspected anything until they were inside, seeing Jaemin’s pink cheeks and mischievous eyes. 

"Are you sure you’re sick?" Jeno asked, the dim light catching the same mischief in his eyes.

Jaemin's pulse quickened, a smile playing at his lips. "Not really."

Jaemin had been thinking of this night all day, anticipation building with every passing hour. The show, the crowd, the music—it had all been background noise to the real desire that pulsed beneath his skin.

As soon as the door of their room clicked shut, the pretense of patience dissolved, leaving only the raw, unfiltered intent.

"Help me get undressed?" Jaemin asked, the boldness of the request fueling his own need.

Jeno’s surprise melted into a look of pure want. He moved closer, the confidence of his touch igniting Jaemin’s already frayed composure. He sat at the end of the bed, pulling Jaemin by the hip with one hand. Jaemin stood there, between his legs, while Jeno looked up at him with glistening eyes.

"If you’ve been waiting for us to be alone, you should’ve just said so. I would’ve kicked them all out of the flat," Jeno said, his voice low and teasing as his hands slid under Jaemin’s shirt.

Jaemin laughed, the sound breaking against the charged atmosphere. "I was expecting you to take the first step."

“What?” Jeno’s hand stopped, looking up at him. “I was going mad trying to be a patient and respectful boyfriend.”

Jaemin chuckled, holding the hand under his shirt and slowly moving it back and forth. “You are a patient and respectful boyfriend,” Jaemin murmured, leaning down, and capturing Jeno’s lips.

Then Jeno’s hands were moving with knowing intent, his mouth left Jaemin’s just to follow the trail of skin exposed for him. Jaemin’s breath started to become weighty.

As Jeno’s hands found the button of his trousers, his mouth found a new spot underneath his shirt, his nipples. Jaemin felt the last of his self-control slip away. He pushed Jeno’s nape in, moaning at the feeling of his tongue sucking on his buds. His dick twitched, and a broken moan escaped his lips.

"You sound beautiful," Jeno breathed, his head abandoning the inside of his shirt. “I wanna hear you more.”

And like that, his pants were off. With only his black shirt, underwear and socks, Jaemin was tossed into the bed. He gasped, seeing how Jeno ever so slowly smothered the skin of his knees with kisses, all the way to his upper thighs. He did it all with such a loving, yet torturing pace. When he reached his nipples again, Jaemin felt shivers. He lifted Jaemin’s shirt just enough for him to suck on them. 

Jaemin knew that was one of his many sensitive spots, but maybe he had forgotten just how much. He was already leaking, pushing his hips upwards to get some type of relief. Jeno was on his side, a smirk showing up on his lips as he noticed Jaemin’s relentless writhe.

“I would’ve sucked your tits sooner if I’d known how needy it gets you,” Jeno whispered in his ear. Then his hand traveled down and, finally, Jaemin’s cock got his attention. Jeno fisted him clothed, then dragged his boxers down until they were completely out of the way, letting the garment fall to the floor, and slowly drawing his palm up and down his aching tip.

“Yes…” Jaemin whimpered, something about how Jeno had referred to his nipples making him more stupidly turned on. 

Jeno put his forehead against Jaemin’s, and Jaemin saw the way his pupils dilated. Then, without a warning, he captured Jaemin’s lips and dipped his tongue into his mouth. Jaemin stifled a grunt, letting Jeno swirl his tongue around his, while he took the chance to unbutton Jeno’s shirt. 

He’d like to say he took it slow, but the truth was that Jaemin was desperate. The closest he’d got to having sex with Jeno before had been dry humping, inside Jeno’s car, just a couple of times after kissing hadn't felt enough. He had mostly waited because his overthinking head would tell him he was escalating too fast. But every second that passed had burned more and more.

A string of saliva formed between them when Jeno drew away. Jaemin felt the need to complain, but it got stuck in his throat when he heard Jeno’s husky voice cut through the heat. “Did you prepare for me?”

“Yeah, but I’m….” he whispered, dragging his fingers through Jeno’s exposed chest. “It’s been a couple of hours. I’m gonna need a bit more.”

Jaemin saw the corners of Jeno’s lip curl up. “So you touched yourself before the show, Juliet?”

Jaemin felt his entire body flush red. Jeno was not actually asking, Jaemin could tell he was almost picturing it, looking at him with penetrating eyes and a cocky smile. 

“It’s fine,” he continued, his voice deeper than before. “Just let me watch next time.” 

Jaemin slapped his shoulder playfully. He let Jeno chuckle but pushed their lips together, and bit him. Jeno grunted, the grip on his dick tightened and Jaemin let out a quiet gasp. 

The game ended when Jeno kneeled down. He lifted Jaemin’s legs off the bed, then pushed his knees apart. Jaemin studied him from his point of view. Mentally thanking himself for undoing his buttons. The white shirt hung open, slipping down his shoulders, framing the sharp lines of his collarbones and his well-worked abs. His muscles shifted as he exhaled, as if he was holding himself back. Jaemin was already half naked, and his legs were quite literally open, having the man between lean down on him at a ridiculously slow pace.

His forearms, strong and veined, flexed as he kept his thighs apart. Jaemin moaned in need, the scent of mint and something deeper—smoky, intoxicating—curling around them. 

Jaemin let out a soft moan as Jeno pressed kisses against his inner thighs. Then his thumb brushed against his entrance. “Fuck,” he rasped, “every part of you is pretty.”

Jaemin attempted to close his legs out of instinct, Jeno’s words sending waves of heat through his throbbing dick. He didn’t say anything, just reached for the lube Jaemin had left on the besidetable, and although he knew Jeno was probably fighting to say something about it, he didn’t. He coated his fingers thoroughly, his eyes locked on Jaemin’s as he pressed one finger against his entrance, slowly pushing in. Jaemin gasped, his body tensing for a moment before he relaxed, letting Jeno inside. Jeno’s fingers were longer than his, the position also made him reach deeper, it was intense, and he couldn’t help but moan as Jeno began to move it, curling it slightly to press against his bundle of nerves.

“J-Jeno,” Jaemin panted, his hands clutching the sheets as Jeno added a second finger, stretching him open, his fingers moving in and out with a rhythm that made Jaemin’s head spin.

“You’re so tight,” Jeno murmured, his free hand gripping Jaemin’s hip as he scissored his fingers, preparing him. “Do you feel that? Does it feel good, baby?”

Jaemin whimpered, his body trembling as Jeno’s fingers brushed against that sweet spot again, sending a jolt of pleasure through him. But just as he had started to think it was too much, his fingers left his hole, being quickly replaced by his mouth. Jaemin quivered, his mouth letting out soft whines that only increased in volume when Jeno began flicking his tongue at the same pace that his other hand fondled him. 

Jaemin ran his fingers through Jeno’s hair, almost urging him not to stop. Then, he felt a third finger open him up, so deep inside that Jaemin was seeing stars. Jeno pumped them in and out with a new vigorous rhythm, while his mouth engulfed him with no warning, he swirled his tongue around, and Jaemin could feel himself getting closer to the edge with every thrust of Jeno’s fingers.

“Please,” Jaemin begged, his voice breaking as he looked down at Jeno, his eyes pleading. “I need you… I need you inside me.”

Jeno lifted his head, but his fingers didn’t stop. His lips were darkened and wet with saliva. “I’d never deny you anything, baby, you know that…. But I wanna see you come on my fingers first.”

Jaemin’s breath caught. He could feel the pleasure building inside him, coiling tight in his stomach as Jeno’s mouth moved to his hole again to work him open with his tongue. His body was trembling with pleasure as his tongue kept pressing deeper, curling inside him.

His breath was coming in short. “Jeno, I… I…” Jaemin’s voice was a desperate whisper, his body trembling on the edge.

Jeno pulled back, his lips pressing against Jaemin’s thigh as he looked up at him, his eyes filled with hunger. “You’re so beautiful,” he said, his tone rough with desire. 

Jeno took him in his mouth again, his tongue swirling around the tip, his cheeks hollowing out as he sucked. Jaemin cried out, his body writhing, his hips bucking. It was too much, too intense, too overwhelming. He pushed at Jeno's shoulders, his breath coming in ragged gasps. 

Jeno used his fingers to stroke him, and his tongue found his entrance again, licking, probing, preparing. Jaemin’s  body tensed as he knew it was coming. It wasn’t a foreign sensation, but somehow he felt it more intense than ever. He pushed back against Jeno, and with a loud gasp, he came. 

His body arched off the bed as his release spilled over his stomach, staining his shirt. His vision blurred, the pleasure so overwhelming he felt like he was floating, like he was about to lose himself completely.

Jeno pulled back, his lips slick and swollen as he looked up at Jaemin, a smug grin on his face. “You taste amazing,” he said, his voice full of desire. Jaemin’s face flushed, his heart still racing as Jeno stood, pulling him into another kiss. The taste of himself on his lips sent a jolt of heat through him.

Jeno’s cock was a heavy weight against Jaemin’s thigh, and Jaemin’s breath hitched as he felt it. His hand touched Jeno through his trousers, rubbing against it to make him moan. He was rock hard. The mere fact sent vibrations to his groin, and Jaemin wouldn’t doubt he was hard again. Jeno pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses along Jaemin’s collarbone, his jaw, his neck. Jaemin’s head fell back, a soft groan escaping his lips as Jeno’s hands moved to his own trousers, undoing the buckle of his belt with practiced ease.

Jaemin felt his heart was about to explode. 

Once the belt was out, Jeno slid his trousers down, just enough to reveal his bulge. Jaemin couldn’t help drawing his eyes there— maybe for curiosity, horniness, or something else entirely. But once he saw it, he couldn’t look away. The way the fabric of his underwear stretched, the undeniable shape beneath it… it made his breath hitch, his fingers gripping the sheets just a little tighter. 

Heat bloomed in Jaemin’s cheeks. Jeno shifted slightly, the movement making his stomach tighten. He’d felt Jeno’s size before, when they had humped against each other in the heat of the moment. But now, seeing it, he felt a mix of awe and nerves. 

Jaemin saw as Jeno’s hands traveled down, pushing his boxers to lay with his trousers, and he touched himself slowly, his eyes hooded as they locked into Jaemin. Jeno was big, veiny, thicker and longer than anyone Jaemin had been with, and the sight of it made his stomach clench with both apprehension and desire.

Jeno must have felt the way Jaemin’s eyes lingered. He chuckled, extending his arm to let his fingers brush his cheek. “You okay?” he asked, his voice soft but laced with amusement.

Jaemin nodded, his throat dry. “Yeah,” he whispered, his fingers trembling as he inclined a little and reached out, wrapping his hand around Jeno’s cock. The heat of it, the way it pulsed in his hand, made his own body respond, his cock twitching as he stroked Jeno slowly.

Jeno groaned, his hips jerking into Jaemin’s hand. “Jaemin,” he breathed, his voice strained. His hands moved to Jaemin’s chin, and he leaned down, pushing him back into the mattress as he kissed him, deep and needy.

Jeno’s hands moved to Jaemin’s thighs, pushing them apart as he settled between them. Jaemin’s breath hitched as Jeno’s hands slid up his legs, his touch light but insistent. His lips followed, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along Jaemin’s inner thighs.

“Jeno….” Jaemin’s voice was a desperate whisper, his hands gripping his lover’s shoulders, sensing Jeno’s lips moved higher, closer to where he needed him most.

Jeno’s smirk widened as he looked up at Jaemin, his eyes filled with lust. “Yeah?” he said, his voice low and rough.

Jaemin felt himself flush more, like his face and neck wasn’t enough. “I want you,” he said, his voice trembling but steady. “I want to feel you inside me.”

Jeno’s hands gripped Jaemin’s hips, leaning down to press a kiss to his stomach. “You’re going to get exactly what you want,” he promised, his voice thick with desire. 

Jeno’s lips moved lower, kissing a trail down Jaemin’s stomach until he reached the sensitive skin just above his cock. Jaemin’s breath hitched, his body trembling with anticipation as Jeno’s hands moved to his thighs again, holding him open.

“It’s fine, baby,” Jeno said, his breath hot against Jaemin’s skin. “We’ll stop whenever you want.”

Jaemin closed his eyes, his nails digging into Jeno’s skin. He felt his hands caress his hips, and moved to his ass, his fingers spreading him open once more. The cool air from the window hit his exposed skin, and he shivered, his body trembling with anticipation.

“You ready?” Jeno asked, his voice low as he brushed their lips together, his eyes filled with lust.

Jaemin nodded, his voice trembling but steady. “Yes,” he said, his hands sliding up Jeno’s back. “I’m ready.”

Jeno reached for the condom Jaemin had carefully placed beside the lube, smiling. He knew he'd also be teased about it later. 

Jaemin’s heart pounded in his chest, seeing Jeno get rid of the envelope quickly and wrap the condom around his dick, red, thick, and proud. Jeno positioned himself, the head of his cock pressing against his entrance.

“I want you to feel good,” Jeno murmured, his voice husky as he leaned down to press a kiss to Jaemin’s neck. “You need to relax a bit for me, baby.”

Jaemin nodded, his hand that had been gripping Jeno’s shoulders softened the touch, letting Jeno press inside. The sensation was intense, making Jaemin writhe a bit for the mix of pain and pleasure. His breath hitched, his body tensing for a moment before he forced himself to relax, letting Jeno press deeper.

Jeno’s lips captured his in a searing kiss, his tongue sweeping into Jaemin’s mouth as he kept going, inch by inch, until he was buried to the hilt. Jaemin’s back arched off the bed, a loud moan escaping his lips as Jeno’s cock pressed against his prostate, sending a jolt of pleasure through him that made his whole body tense up.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Jeno growled, his voice rough with desire as he waited for Jaemin to adjust. 

Jaemin’s eyes fluttered shut, his body squirming as he felt Jeno’s cock pressing against his every nerve. “You can move,” he whispered when he couldn’t hold it in, his voice shaky. “Move, please.”

Jeno pulled back a bit, thrusting into Jaemin with slow, deliberate strokes. Jaemin’s hands tangled in Jeno’s hair, his body trembling with pleasure as Jeno’s cock pressed against his sweet spot with every roll of his hips, with so much ease, sending waves of pleasure crashing through him. 

“Jeno—fuck—,” Jaemin moaned, his hips trying to meet his thrusts halfway, seeking more. 

He felt rushes of heat invade every part of his body, his legs trembling, his mouth agape as he felt himself spread out, feeling Jeno pull out completely just to bury himself more into Jaemin.

“You take it so well,” Jeno whispered, a low groan escaping his lips. His fingers grip the back of Jaemin’s knees as he pushes them backward, making them almost reach Jaemin’s chest. “So good for me.”

Jaemin cried out, the angle making his body tremble. Jeno sinked into Jaemin like it wasn’t enough, like the sound of their skin pounding wasn’t obscene enough. But Jaemin understood that feeling way too well right then, he wanted Jeno to consume him until there was nothing left of him, he wanted Jeno under his skin.

Jaemin felt dizzy, whimpers filling the room, his voice breaking when he babbled something out. His head was blurry with the way Jeno was fucking him. His thrusts became harder, faster, each one hitting Jaemin’s prostate. Jaemin hadn’t felt this good in his life. 

His whimpers turned into cries, his body arching as Jeno’s cock drove into him again and again. He felt like he was being split open, like Jeno was reaching into the very core of him. 

“I’m gonna— ah —Jeno, I’m—” Jaemin’s voice broke, his legs quivering.

“Come, princess ,” Jeno commanded, his voice low and rough.

Jaemin felt himself melt at the name, his knees buckling in Jeno’s hold.  

Jeno’s hands gripped Jaemin’s skin tightly, holding him still as he slamed into him. He buried his face in the crook of Jaemin’s neck, kissing and nibbling.

Jaemin’s body tensed, his back arching off the bed as the pleasure crashed over him, sending him spiraling over the edge. He cried out, his body spasming with the force of his orgasm, milking every last drop of pleasure from him.

Jeno’s thrusts became erratic, his hips stuttering as he chased his own orgasm, his cock sinking deep. Jeno’s lips captured his and they kissed sloppily, Jaemin still high and dizzy, Jeno’s cock pulsing inside him as he stayed there.

He came inside the condom as Jaemin’s body combusted with the aftershocks of his orgasm, his hands tangled in Jeno’s hair as they kissed, their breaths mingling in the quiet of the room. Jeno’s lips broke away from his, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead as they both caught their breath.

“God,” Jeno breathed out, his voice raspy, pressing a kiss to Jaemin’s neck. “Maybe we should move out, baby.”

Jaemin smiled drowsily, his hands sliding up Jeno’s back as he held him close. “Not until we get married,” he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion as he pressed a kiss to Jeno’s lips.

He was joking, of course. But the way Jeno’s eyes glistened made him know that it wasn’t a joke for him. He pulled out, and Jaemin felt the loss way too vividly, a quiet whine escaping his mouth

“Okay,” he said, laying by his side. He held Jaemin’s waist and made him face each other, nose to nose. “Give me a year. The band will be bigger by then. We can go to England, you pick the spot."

Jaemin chuckled. Maybe he was still having a post-orgasm thing. 

“I’m serious," Jeno said, squeezing his waist lightly, his voice dipping into something softer, more reverent. "Open up your mind, baby."

Jaemin swallowed, because this—this was dangerous. Jeno was looking at him like he’d already decided, like his future had been rewritten the moment Jaemin walked into his life. And Jaemin loved that it felt like that.

He sighed, feigning exasperation as he nuzzled into Jeno’s touch, rubbing their noses together in a delicate eskimo kiss. "Fine," he whispered. "I want it to be in your childhood hometown."

Jeno grinned, his moon eyes appearing as he kissed Jaemin’s cheek, then his jaw, then the sensitive spot below his ear. "That’d be New Malden, London."

"And," Jaemin continued, tilting his head slightly to give Jeno better access, "I want to meet your dad first."

Jeno paused, lips hovering over his throat, the warmth of his breath sending goosebumps across Jaemin’s skin. He pulled back just enough to meet Jaemin’s gaze, a slow, knowing smile creeping onto his lips.

"Sure," he said, brushing his thumb over Jaemin’s bottom lip. "You’ll meet him."

There was a promise in his voice, one that made Jaemin’s stomach flip like they weren’t just letting their imagination roll. But then again, Jeno didn’t say things he didn’t mean. If he said Jaemin would meet his dad, then it was already set in motion. If he said he wanted to marry him, then—

Jaemin exhaled sharply, heart pounding.

"You're crazy," he whispered, not even sure if he was talking to Jeno or himself.

Jeno laughed, and then he dipped down, pressing lazy kisses to his collarbone, his chest, his stomach—taking his time.

"Only about you," he murmured against his skin.

And Jaemin thought—for the first time—that he could actually be crazy for Jeno, too.

When round two came, it was slower yet more intense, a deep and unrestrained exploration that left both of them wrecked. Jaemin had told Jeno that they could skip the condom, and Jeno had been a bit too keen about it. 

The rhythm was perfect, building from a teasing pace to a crescendo that shook Jaemin to his core. As the second climax tore through him, Jaemin experienced it as a small death, a collapse into an intensity so complete that he barely registered his own cry. It was exquisite and blinding, and he rode it with every ounce of energy he had left.

They collapsed in a tangled sprawl, Jaemin’s head spinning with the force of the release. His breath came in ragged gasps, each one a reminder of how profoundly the experience had affected him. Jeno pulled him close, the familiar weight an anchor in the tumult of Jaemin’s emotions.

They laid together afterward, the air thick with the scent of sweat and sex. The earlier charge of anticipation softened into a warm satisfaction that filled the room. Jaemin felt different, changed by the intensity of what they’d shared, yet more himself than he’d ever been.

"We should take a shower," Jeno had said, a playful challenge in his voice as he caught his breath.

Jaemin turned to him, a grin spreading slowly, confidently. "Take me," he said.

After getting themselves cleaned, they laid down together, their fingers entwined. Jaemin closed his eyes, exhaustion and contentment lulling him into a heavy, satisfied sleep. The connection was undeniable, and Jaemin knew, as the edges of consciousness blurred, that he’d never felt more certain of anything in his life.

Chapter Text

June had just started. Him and Jeno had been officially together for two months. 

The band had decided to have a beach weekend , according to Jisung, in search of inspiration. The beach looked beautiful that day, sprawled beneath the midday sun, its wide expanse liberating. 

Once they all had settled down their things in their rented rooms, Mark was the first to hit the sand, a competitive grin splitting his face as he challenged the others to keep up. Chenle followed, a burst of purple and laughter, catching up and passing with exuberant ease. The sound of their playful taunts filled the air, passing it on Jaemin.

He and Jeno trailed behind, fingers intertwined, watching the guys play like kids. The weight of the last few months, with all its intensity and emotion, slipped away, leaving them light and unburdened.

The band had started working on their first album. They were all happy. Jaemin was too, he had become their number one fan, not missing one of their shows.

Jaemin smiled, watching the others dissolve into the surf. He turned to Jeno.

"Think they’ll remember how to play instruments when we get back?" Jaemin teased, his voice carrying on the wind.

Jeno laughed, the sound rich and free. "I wouldn’t count on it."

They staked out a spot on the sand, the sun hot on their skin and the sound of the ocean wrapping around them like a favourite song. Jaemin felt part of the group, yet distinctly aware of the separate world he and Jeno had created. It was a comforting duality, one he’d never imagined for himself but now cherished beyond measure.

He laid back, closing his eyes against the glare of the sky. It was strange how different he felt since leaving his parents’ house, in a good way. The breakaway seemed distant, but somehow Jaemin knew that he shouldn’t be too at ease. His parents had taken it like an act of rebelling, had assumed that Jaemin would come back crawling just a week after leaving, but it didn’t happen. And the fact that they hadn’t done anything about it was something that Jaemin should worry about.

Jeno stretched out beside him. "You look like you’re actually relaxing," he observed, poking Jaemin’s side.

"Shut up," Jaemin replied jokingly, grabbing Jeno’s hand.

The day slipped by in golden stretches, a contrast to the usual constraints of schedules and expectations. The band reveled in their freedom, and Jaemin reveled in Jeno. 

As the sun dipped lower, painting the sky with streaks of orange and pink, Jaemin and Jeno exchanged a look, the kind that carried wordless understanding.

"Want to head up to the cabin?" Jeno suggested, the wind lifting his shirt.

Jaemin nodded, and they walked together to the small cabin they had rented, just for the two of them.

By the time they reached the cabin, Jaemin’s heartbeat was a steady, insistent pulse beneath his skin. He stepped inside first, the door clicking shut behind them, sealing them away from the world.

Jeno barely had a chance to turn before Jaemin was on him.

The kiss wasn’t careful. It was heat, urgency—an unspoken need that had been building all day. Jaemin fisted his hands into the fabric of Jeno’s t-shirt, dragging him closer as their lips collided. Jeno gasped into his mouth, startled but eager, his hands immediately finding Jaemin’s waist, pressing into his sun-warmed skin.

He moaned softly as Jeno backed him against the nearest wall, the hard press of wood cool against his overheated body. Jeno kissed him deeper, his tongue sweeping past his lips, slow but thorough, like he wanted to savor every part of him.

Jaemin arched into him, his body pliant, desperate for more contact. Jeno groaned low in his throat, his hands roaming—down his back, over his hips, gripping, kneading. He wasn’t even trying to be subtle. He never was.

Jaemin gasped when his boyfriend broke away, but the reprieve was brief—Jeno’s lips traced along his jaw, down his neck, teeth grazing just enough to make his breath hitch.

"Seems like someone couldn’t wait," Jeno whispered against his skin, his tone a husky tease.

Jaemin shuddered, his fingers curling into Jeno’s hair as he tugged him back up for another kiss, biting at his bottom. "Neither could you."

Jeno chuckled, dark and raspy. Before he could do anything else, Jaemin straightened up and switched their positions, pushing Jeno against the wall. And just when the smirk was forming in his face, Jaemin dropped to his knees. 

His hands rested on his thighs as he looked up at Jeno through his lashes.

He saw Jeno’s eyes physically darken, licking his reddened lips. Jaemin’s hands moved to his belt, his fingers working quickly to unfasten it. He pushed his pants down just enough to free his cock, already half-hard and growing thicker by the second. Jaemin took in the sight, his mouth watering. 

He let his hands tremble slightly as he reached out, his fingers brushing against the tip, feeling the heat of it, the way it pulsed under his touch.

He’s so big, Jaemin thought, nibbling on his bottom lip as he stared at Jeno’s length, the veins running along the shaft, the head glistening with precum. He’d felt it inside him, he’d seen it before, but up close like this, it seemed even more intimidating than he’d imagined. 

“You don’t have to if you’re not ready,” Jeno murmured, his voice soft but laced with anticipation.

But Jaemin shook his head. “I want to,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. He leaned forward, his breath hitching as he pressed his lips to the tip of Jeno’s cock, tasting the saltiness of him, the faint musk that made his head spin.

Jeno let out a low groan, his hand coming up to tangle in Jaemin’s hair, not pushing, just holding, as if to hold himself together. “Fuck, Jaemin…”

Encouraged by Jeno’s reaction, Jaemin opened his mouth wider, taking more of him in, his tongue swirling around the head as he began to move. He wasn’t sure if he was doing it right, but the way Jeno’s fingers tightened in his hair, the way his hips bucked slightly, said enough.

He sucked gently at first, his lips pressing against the shaft as he moved up and down, his tongue darting out to tease the slit at the top. Jeno’s moans grew louder, more desperate, and Jaemin felt a surge of power, knowing he was the one making Jeno lose control like this.

“You’re so fucking good,” Jeno rasped, his voice strained as he thrust up into Jaemin’s mouth, just enough to deepen the sensation without overwhelming him.

Jaemin’s eyes fluttered shut, focusing on the motions, on the way Jeno’s cock filled his mouth, the way it felt against his tongue. He sucked harder, his head bobbing faster, his left hand gripping Jeno’s thighs for support while the other covered the part his mouth couldn’t reach.

Feeling the need of oxygen, Jaemin pulled away briefly, breathing through flaring nostrils, and as he did so, he saw Jeno spit onto his dick, using his own hand to pump himself at the view under him. In that instant, Jaemin didn’t know what took over him, but he looked at Jeno through his lashes, and stuck his tongue out, silently requesting something Jeno immediately understood. 

His boyfriend cursed under his breath, then lifted Jaemin’s chin slightly, spitting into his mouth and groaning at the sight. Jaemin swallowed, his skin erupting in goosebumps at how lustful it felt, repeating it until he felt satisfied with himself. Then he took Jeno into his mouth again, his cheeks hollowed as he sucked, gagging every time he tried to take it deeper, slobbering all over his chin. He could feel the weight on his tongue, the way it stretched his lips and filled his mouth. It was a challenge, one he was more than willing to rise to.

Jeno’s hips began to move, shallow thrusts that made Jaemin misty-eyed. He took as much as he could, his throat relaxing as Jeno pushed deeper, until the head of his cock brushed against the back of his throat. Jaemin’s hand tightened around Jeno, his own arousal growing with every moan that escaped Jeno’s lips.

“So perfect, princess ,” Jeno praised, his voice strained. “You were made for me.”

Jaemin’s eyes rolled back at his words, his body trembling with need. He could feel Jeno’s cock throbbing in his mouth, the taste of precum coating his tongue. It was heady, intoxicating, and Jaemin found himself craving more.

Jeno’s thrusts became more urgent, his grip on Jaemin’s hair tightening as he pulled him closer, his cock sinking deeper into his sore throat. Jaemin’s breath hitched, his nose brushing against the hand that stroke the base of Jeno’s cock, as he took him all the way, his throat muscles working around the thick shaft.

Jeno’s breathing grew ragged, his fingers tightening in Jaemin’s hair as he let out a guttural moan. “Jaemin, I’m close—fuck—”

But Jaemin didn’t pull away. He kept going, sucking harder, faster, until Jeno’s hips jerked and he came with a loud gasp, his release spilling into Jaemin’s mouth.

Jaemin didn’t think twice before swallowing, his body trembling as he tasted Jeno, the bitterness of it mingling with the sweetness of the moment. He pulled back slowly yet not fully, his lips still wrapped around Jeno’s cock as he licked him clean, his tongue dragging along the shaft until Jeno shuddered and let out a soft groan.

“Fuck, Jaemin,” Jeno breathed, his hand caressing the back of Jaemin’s head. “I discover something new about you every day…. You’re just incredible, baby.”

Jaemin felt a rush of pride, his cheeks flushing as he pulled away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His jaw was sore, and his own cock was aching with need. He knew Jeno could see it, could see how much he wanted him.

“I’ll make you feel good now,” Jeno said, his voice raspy as he saw Jaemin stand up, then grabbed his waist and pulled him closer.

Jeno’s lips were on his before he could even catch his breath, their mouths crashing together in a heated, messy kiss. Jaemin’s senses were still reeling from the intensity of what they had just shared, but Jeno wasn’t done. Not even close. Jaemin felt the weight of Jeno’s desire in the way his tongue swept into his mouth, the faint taste of salt and musk lingering— his own release , Jaemin realized with a shiver. It was lewd, so lewd, but it only made Jaemin’s body thrum with need, his cock demanding for attention.

Jeno peeled his shirt off, fingers dragging over his chest like he was committing every inch to memory. The air between them was thick, charged, and Jaemin barely had time to process before Jeno’s own t-shirt joined the pile on the floor.

Their jeans followed—slow, teasing, until Jaemin stood in nothing but his boxers, Jeno’s gaze dark with hunger. He reached for him, but Jeno smirked, hooking his fingers into the waistband and sliding them down himself, knuckles grazing heated skin.

His lips glistened, and his hands slid down Jaemin’s sides to grip the back of his thighs. Without warning, he lifted Jaemin off the floor, and Jaemin instinctively wrapped his legs around Jeno, his arms circling his neck for balance. Jeno carried him to the bed, their lips meeting in a series of hungry, devouring kisses that left Jaemin’s head spinning.

When Jeno sat down on the mattress, Jaemin straddled him. Their bodies were pressed so close that he could feel every inch of Jeno’s hard length against his own. Heat pooled in his lower belly, and he let out a shaky breath as Jeno’s hands slid down to cup his ass, squeezing firmly.

“Your body gets all red when we’re fucking. It drives me crazy,” Jeno murmured, his voice rough with want. His fingers teased at the cleft of Jaemin’s ass, and Jaemin’s cheeks burned, his heart racing. “It’s because you’re mine, right princess ?”

Jaemin nodded, wanting to say something but unable to find his voice. He was Jeno’s, in every way that mattered, and even if he had just recently discovered how much hornier it got him to be called princess , the combination made his chest tighten with emotion. Jeno’s lips curved into a smirk, and he leaned in to kiss Jaemin again, slow and deep this time.

When Jeno pulled away, he reached for the bottle of lube inside the bag placed on the bed. Jeno squeezed a generous amount onto his fingers, the slick sound almost unbearably erotic, making Jaemin’s body quiver with anticipation. Jeno’s free hand rested on Jaemin’s hip, his touch grounding and soothing as he let Jaemin fix his position on top of his lap.

“Relax for me, okay?” Jeno murmured, his voice low and comforting. His fingers pressed against Jaemin’s entrance, and Jaemin let out a soft moan, his hips shifting instinctively.

Jeno worked him open slowly, carefully, his fingers slick and warm as they pushed inside. Jaemin felt heady, leaning forward to let his forehead rest against Jeno’s shoulder, adjusting to the sensation.

Once he was able to take more of Jeno’s fingers, he felt him curl them just right, brushing against that spot inside him that made his vision blur, and Jaemin let out a broken whimper, his nails digging into Jeno’s back. “Feels so good,” he gasped, his voice trembling. “Don’t stop, please—”

Jeno chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent shivers down his spine. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you,” he promised, his fingers moving in slow, deliberate strokes that had Jaemin squirming in his lap. Then, in such a contrast, he continued. “Do you like to fuck yourself on my fingers, baby?”

Jaemin moaned, nodding a bit desperately, his breath coming in short, uneven gasps when Jeno continued to stretch him, his touch both gentle and unrelenting. By the time Jeno withdrew his fingers, Jaemin was trembling with need, his cock leaking against his stomach. 

Jeno’s hands moved to his hips, guiding him into position, and Jaemin’s eyes fluttered shut as he felt the blunt head of his boyfriend’s cock press against him. Slowly, Jaemin pushed himself down, inch by inch, his eyes locked on Jeno’s as the latter watched his reaction.

His breath hitched, his body stretching to accommodate Jeno’s size. It was overwhelming, the way he filled him from this position, the way he pressed against every nerve inside him. He could feel Jeno’s cock rubbing against his sweet spot, sending waves of pleasure through him.

“J-Jeno,” Jaemin gasped, his hands clutching at Jeno’s shoulders as he kept pushing himself down, taking more of him in. “Oh my god, oh god…”

Jeno groaned, his hips thrusting as he bottomed out, his cock buried deep inside Jaemin.

“Fuck, baby,” Jeno groaned, his voice rough with desire as he pressed his hand against Jaemin’s stomach, feeling the bulge of his own cock inside him. “I can see myself inside of you.”

Jaemin whimpered, trying to catch his breath as Jeno began to move, his cock sliding in and out of him with a rhythm that was almost unbearable. The pressure of Jeno’s hand on his tummy sending sparks of pleasure through him.

He let out a shaky moan, his head falling back as Jeno filled him completely, the sensation overwhelming in the best possible way. Jeno’s hands moved to his ass, squeezing it apart and holding him steady as he pushed his hips up, slamming against Jaemin’s movements.

Jeno’s head tilted back, Jaemin clenching around him. “You feel amazing, baby. So tight—”

Jaemin’s cheeks burned, but he didn’t have the capacity to be embarrassed, not when Jeno’s cock was pressing against that spot inside him with every small shift of his hips. His body was rising and falling as he rode Jeno with growing confidence. Jeno’s hands guided him, encouraging him to take what he needed, and Jaemin lost himself in the rhythm, his movements becoming more desperate as pleasure coiled tight in his belly.

“J-Jeno, baby,” Jaemin gasped, his hands clutching at Jeno’s shoulders as he bounced in his lap. “It’s—I’m gonna—”

“You’re so good,” Jeno praised, his voice rough and strained, his hand wrapping around Jaemin’s cock. “Let go for me.”

Jaemin’s vision blurred, his body trembling as he reached his peak, his release spilling between them. Jeno followed soon after, his hips jerking upward as he thrust deep inside Jaemin, filling him completely. Jaemin collapsed against Jeno’s chest, his breath coming in ragged gasps as they rode out the aftershocks together.

Jeno’s arms wrapped around him, holding him close, and Jaemin buried his face in the crook of Jeno’s neck, his body still trembling. Jeno’s lips pressed against his temple as he murmured something soft and sweet, but Jaemin was too spent to make out the words. All he knew was that he was exactly where he was meant to be—in Jeno’s arms, safe and loved.

June was about to end.

The rink swallowed Jaemin in echoes and cold. He skated lazy circles, waiting for the last stragglers to leave. When the ice was finally clear, Ten approached with measured strides.

“What’s wrong, hyung?” Jaemin asked, a frown forming in his face.

"Jaemin," Ten began, his tone carefully neutral. "Your parents were here again."

Jaemin nodded, already anticipating the weight of the words to follow. The icy air bit at his skin, the chill seeping in as Ten spoke.

"They’re concerned about your focus," Ten continued, choosing each word with precision. "They want me to be stricter with your training."

It was the conversation Jaemin had been dreading. He was following his usual routine, except that maybe sometimes he skipped some ballet classes. But Ten always said that his flexibility was already amazing, so there was no need to worry. Yet they were his parents, and they were waiting for Jaemin to make a mistake and throw it at his face.

"Of course they do," Jaemin said, his voice barely masking the frustration beneath. He stopped, letting the stillness settle around him, sharp and accusing.

Ten’s expression softened. "They think you’re throwing away your career."

The words struck like ice, a cold certainty that Jaemin had fought hard to escape. He looked away, his reflection on the ice blurring his nerves.

"I’m not," Jaemin insisted, though the conviction he felt with Jeno and the band wavered under the rink’s harsh light. "Tell them I’m doing okay. You told me my performances have gotten so much better. I am fucking able to transmit something more now than just perfect techniques—"

"They’re not convinced," Ten finished for him, understanding but resigned. "They’re looking for another coach."

Jaemin felt his throat closing in. They wanted to replace Ten because they knew it would affect Jaemin. Ten was special to him. He’d been his shoulder to cry on when the pressure was too much, he’d been his carer when exhaustion had taken over his body and he couldn’t deal with himself anymore.

He met Ten’s gaze, the vulnerability in his eyes stark against the determination he tried to muster. "No, they can’t do what they please. I’m not sixteen anymore."

Ten sighed, the sound a small, visible cloud between them. "They said they were discussing their options. Also, that your classification for the World’s Championship was at risk, which is ridiculous by the way. I don’t know what they’re trying to do."

Scare him.

The conversation lingered as Jaemin left the rink, each word a reminder of how far his parents would go to keep him on their path. He made his way to their house.

They were already waiting for him, their resolve unyielding. The living room was a stark stage for their confrontation, the warmth he’d known with the band replaced by an icy clarity that left no room for dissent.

"We’ve given you everything," his mother said, the accusation landing before Jaemin had a chance to speak. "And this is how you repay us?"

He braced himself, knowing the script by heart but unprepared for the rawness of hearing it again. The precision of their anger cut deeper than he remembered, each line rehearsed to perfection.

"We supported you when no one else would," his father added, his voice a hammer that pounded Jaemin’s defenses thin. "All those years of training, and you’re just throwing it away. Do you know how many people would kill to be in your place?"

Jaemin tried to steady himself, but the force of their demands threatened to drown him. It was like being caught in a familiar storm, each wave of guilt and expectation crashing harder than the last.

"I’m not throwing anything away," Jaemin said, his voice tight with the effort of holding his ground. "I’m doing fine. I love what I do, but I just want a life outside of it."

"You don’t have anything without skating," his father retorted, the finality of the words closing around Jaemin like a vise. "What do you think you’re doing?"

Jaemin opened his mouth to answer, but the rush of their certainty was overwhelming. Jaemin knew that he was at the level of his career where he was actually getting paid, but he had never demanded for a glimpse of that money. Maybe his parents were scared of that, of Jaemin ditching skating and leaving them penniless, which was even stupid because they already had a lot of money. He’d always felt guilty because he knew how much of an expensive sport it was, and how much their parents had paid for years of training before he became who he was today. They held every advantage, each sacrifice and dollar spent on his career an arsenal they wielded without hesitation.

"You don’t understand," Jaemin protested, the conviction he’d found with Jeno slipping beneath the surface.

"We understand perfectly," his mother said, her tone sharp enough to pierce through Jaemin’s rising doubts. "That boy is a distraction, a bad influence. You can’t see it, but we do."

"You’re going to regret this," his father warned when he didn’t respond, an ultimatum that echoed through the room and settled deep in Jaemin’s chest. "We won’t let you waste what you’ve worked for."

He stood there, suspended between the echoes of his parents’ voices and the truth he wanted to believe in. 

"Jaemin," his mother said, her voice a final, cutting line. "This isn’t a game. You need to wake up before it’s too late."

He looked at them, their faces set in an expression of determined certainty, and knew he couldn’t let them do this. He couldn’t let them get inside his head.

"I’m not waking up," Jaemin said, his voice raw with the effort of speaking up. "I’m just not a little boy you can control anymore."

The words were another unexpected turn for his parents. Jaemin walked out, leaving the shock and anger behind as he left. Each step was a fight against the gravity of guilt and doubt, but he forced himself to keep moving.

Outside, the night felt vast and cold, the same chill he’d left at the rink reaching out to meet him. Jaemin walked into it, the finality of his parents’ words trailing him like a specter, and wondered how much longer he could hold on.

July had just begun, the air thick with the lazy heat of summer. 

That day Jaemin found out that his parents had just begun to carry through their threats. They had blocked every single one of their bank accounts , the ones Jaemin used, leaving him stranded without a cent to his name. 

Even as a legal adult, they held all the power—ever since he started skating, they had made themselves his legal managers, ensuring that every endorsement, every sponsorship, every piece of prize money funneled directly into their hands. His own success, repackaged as their control.

The apartment was a bit chaotic that day. Jaemin had invited Haechan over since he and Mark seemed to get along a little bit better. The guys had all their instruments spread out in the living room, still deep in the process of crafting their first album. Wires coiled around the floor like ivy, notebooks lay open with scribbled chords, and a faint hum of an unfinished melody lingered in the air. It smelled like wood, old coffee, and something uniquely theirs—a mix of music and home.

Jaemin sat on the couch, pretending to focus on a book Karina had gifted him, the paperback resting against his bare thighs. He was in shorts, skin warm against the pillows, but his mind was elsewhere. 

Jeno was right beside him, completely absorbed in his guitar, fingers moving over the strings with an almost feverish focus, like he was chasing something just out of reach. The muscles in his arms flexed with every subtle movement, veins standing out against his skin, illuminated by the soft glow of the afternoon light. His tank top only made it worse—hot, tattooed and effortless, like he wasn’t even trying.

Jaemin wasn’t even turning pages anymore. The book on his lap had been abandoned minutes ago, his attention hopelessly drawn toward Jeno. When he finally accepted that there was no way he was going to absorb a single word, his gaze dropped to Jeno’s notebook lying beside him. Without much thought, he picked it up, flipping through the pages. It was filled with half-written lyrics, scratched-out lines, and frantic scrawls of inspiration.

People…. Give Yourself a Try…. If I believe you…. Medicine….. Fallingforyou. Jaemin read the titles, one page each.

“I wrote Medicine about you,” Jeno said suddenly, eyes never leaving his guitar. His voice was calm, like he was stating something as simple as the weather. “It’s not ready yet. I keep changing some lines, but you’re gonna like it.”

Jaemin’s fingers froze on the page. His heartbeat stuttered, then picked up, rapidly against his ribs. He turned to the song, scanning over the words, even the crossed-out ones, but he focused on the ones he could read.

And how can I refuse? Yeah, you rid me of the blues

Ever since you came into my life

And ‘cause you’re my medicine

Yeah, you’re my medicine….

Jaemin smiled, feeling his cheeks heating up.

And you opiate this hazy head of mine

And ‘cause you’re my medicine….

He traced the handwritten ink, a warm sensation blooming in his chest. Feeling loved was one thing, but feeling loved through a song was something else entirely. It was indescribable. Jaemin closed the notebook for a second, grounding himself before opening it again, flipping to another page.

“When will the album be finished?” he asked, clearing his throat in a weak attempt to sound casual.

“Soon enough,” Jeno murmured.

Before Jaemin could respond, Jisung appeared, dropping onto the couch beside him and shoving a cup of ice cream into his hands.

“For you,” Jisung said.

Jaemin huffed a laugh but took the spoon. They had become strangely close in the past few months, bound by the simple fact that they were the only two 20-year-olds in the apartment. It had only taken one night of sharing ice cream straight from the carton to make them inseparable.

“We’ll finish the album,” Jisung continued, voice soft but thick with exasperation, “when Jeno-hyung stops making us change things last minute.” He turned to Jaemin, pleading. “Please tell him to stop doing that, Jaeminnie.”

Jaemin smirked, scooping a spoonful of ice cream into his mouth. “Why are you giving the guys a hard time? Didn’t you tell me to relax and stop being a perfectionist?”

Jeno finally paused, fingers stilling on the strings. Without hesitation, he leaned in and stole a quick kiss from Jaemin’s lips—soft, brief, and completely unfair.

Jaemin barely had time to react before Jeno pulled back, licking the remnants of ice cream off his own top lip, a smirk ghosting his expression. “Don’t listen to him,” he said, unbothered.

A loud groan came from the kitchen. “He won’t let us live!” Chenle shouted.

“Not true,” Jeno’s eyes locked onto Jaemin’s, a small smile hidden.

Jaemin only rolled his eyes, pushing him playfully. Jeno smirked, his attention shifting back to his guitar, strumming a few soft chords before speaking again.

“Check Fallingforyou. ”

Jaemin frowned, caught off guard. The title was familiar—one of the songs he had skimmed through just minutes ago.

“Also not finished, but also about you,” Jeno added, voice quiet, yet certain.

Jaemin blinked, fingers tightening slightly around the notebook as he flipped back to the page. The words that hadn’t been scratched stared back at him, unassuming yet intimate in their rawness.

The melody from Jeno’s guitar shifted, softer now, almost hesitant.

Jaemin read in silence, some words trapping him more than others.

I'm caught on your coat again

You said, "Oh no, it's fine"

I read between the lines and touched your leg again, again

I'll take it one day at a time

Soon you will be mine, oh, but I want you now

I want you now

When the smoke is in your eyes, you look so alive

Do you fancy sitting down with me maybe?

'Cause you're all I need

Jaemin let the corner of his lips curve slightly. “I’m starting to feel special,” he murmured, voice giddy.

Jeno didn’t react at first, just kept plucking at the strings with that quiet concentration, like he was letting Jaemin’s words settle into him. But then, he smirked, tilting his head just enough to catch Jaemin’s eye.

“That one was actually about Mark.”

Jaemin clicked his tongue, feigning exasperation as he scooped another spoonful of ice cream into his mouth. But before he could swallow, Jeno was already moving.

“Wait,” Jeno said, voice lower, the teasing edge smoothing into something else. Something that made Jaemin pause.

A calloused thumb traced along Jaemin’s bottom lip, slow, deliberate, dragging just enough to make him shiver. Jeno’s gaze flickered down, studying the faint sheen left behind by the melting ice cream.

And then he leaned in.

The first kiss was quick, a light press against the corner of Jaemin’s mouth. Then another, closer to the center. Then another, more insistent, lips parting slightly, tasting, chasing—short and repeated and just a little too noisy.

Jaemin hummed against his lips, he felt his fingers twitch on the notebook still clutched in his lap. His tongue flicked out briefly, chasing the sweetness off Jaemin’s lips like he had all the time in the world.

Then, with a sudden shift, he cupped Jaemin’s face with one hand, his fingers pressing against his cheeks in a way that made Jaemin’s lips pucker involuntarily—soft, round, utterly ridiculous.

Jeno chuckled against his mouth, his lips brushing over Jaemin’s now exaggerated pout, pressing another playful kiss right onto the forced shape of his lips.

Jaemin let out a muffled sound of protest, hands flailing against Jeno’s arm as he tried to pull back, but Jeno only tightened his grip slightly, pressing one, two, three deliberately loud smacks against his lips—each one more dramatic than the last.

It got Jaemin feeling all fluttery in his stomach. And then—

“Oh my god, can you two not ? I can’t anymore.”

Jisung’s voice cut through the moment like a slap, exasperated and entirely unimpressed.

Jaemin barely registered him, mind still caught in the lingering heat of Jeno’s mouth, but the slow realization hit when he realised Mark pretended he was too busy, and Chenle laughed at Jisung.

“At least pretend we don’t exist,” Haechan grumbled.

Jaemin finally managed to wrench himself free, face burning, lips still slightly puckered from the way Jeno had squished his cheeks.

Jeno sat back, smiling too confidently, completely unfazed, wiping his thumb across his own lips like he was savoring the taste.

“Sorry,” Jeno said, but it came out entirely unapologetic. “Tell Jaemin to stop being so beautiful, it’s distracting me.”

Jaemin smacked his arm, mortified, but the only response he got was Jeno’s quiet chuckle and the easy weight of his hand settling against Jaemin’s knee, fingers drumming lightly, like he had already moved on.

Jaemin buried his face in his hands.

Jeno squeezed his knee.

Yeah. He was doomed, but so in love. 

Jaemin had been pushing himself beyond his limits. Pre-season was all he had—rapid two months before the merciless grip of the competitive season took hold, before the ice demanded more than just skill, before it demanded everything he had left to give.

In the competitive season, he needed peak performances for major titles, especially for the Olympic qualification. In those months, he usually trained at least 35 hours a week, had full programs with quads, competition simulations, tapering before events. He traveled a lot too, had high-stakes schedules with minimal rest between competitions.

Therefore, pre-season needed to gear up for all that. He was building stamina, increasing his training hours, but trying to take breaks at the same time. He was having more ice time for quad practice, had full programs run-throughs, small test events, and of course, the preparation for the Grand Prix in October.

It was a lot.

His friends, the band, Jeno, and Ten stood by him every step of the way. When exhaustion clawed at his bones, they reminded him to rest. When exhilaration made his heart race, they cheered him on. And yet, as much as Jaemin thrived in their presence, a hollow ache remained—one he never voiced. He was proud of himself for doing this without his parents hovering over him, but the truth was, they were still there, in the background, pulling the strings. Ten had to keep them informed, they still financed every part of his journey. And though distance from them brought a fleeting kind of happiness, deep down, Jaemin feared that no matter how far he ran, their shadows would always catch up.

That’s why, that late afternoon, just after he was leaving the ice rink, his heart stopped when he checked his phone. A message from his parents.

Jaemin, we've made a decision. You're going to the Cricket Club, the one in Toronto. It's pre-season, and we're not letting you waste it here when you should be sharpening your skills. You won the Grand Prix Final once, you will win it again this October, and we trust you to be ready to take the World Championship in March. No excuses.

Coach Ten's coming with you and you’ll have a second coach in Canada. We’ve come to the conclusion that they’ll know what you need to beat everyone. We've already paid for everything, there’s nothing we can pay for here in Seoul, so don't let us down.

Pack your gear, focus, and make us proud. We won't give you a second chance. We'll be there at midnight to pick you up, flight leaves at 3 a.m. We love you and know you'll do what's best for you.

Hugs,

Mum and Dad

That same night, Neo Dream had been invited to an important indie rock festival—Live Club Night. Jaemin had been excited to go, had been ready to feel alive, to let the music swallow him whole for just one night. But he didn’t tell anyone what was happening. Not Jeno. Not Haechan or Mark. Not a single soul. The words sat like lead in his throat, too heavy, too cruel to speak.

When he called Ten, his last chance, his voice cracked with desperation. But Ten’s sigh was quiet, almost mournful. He had known. For days. And it was already too late. “I’m sorry,” Ten murmured. “The money’s gone, Jaemin. It’s all been spent on their plan.”

Jaemin hung up, staring at his phone as if he could will the words away, as if he could wake up from this. But the screen stayed lit, and the reality remained—a prison sentence disguised as a dream. And he couldn’t run from it.

Jaemin had to lie. He told Jeno he wouldn’t be going to the festival because he felt tired, a pathetic excuse that Jeno believed. He sat at the dining table in the kitchen, listening to the laughter and excitement spilling from the others as they got ready, their voices distant, almost unreal. The golden kitchen light felt too warm, too kind for a moment like this. He stared at the untouched bowl of salad in front of him, his fingers curling around the edge of the table, gripping, holding on—because if he let go, he feared he might shatter. His chest ached, his mind spiraled, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was the last time he’d ever belong here.

Jeno walked in, his hair messy, his characteristic wrinkled white shirt slightly unbuttoned, a black tie in his hand.

Without saying a word, he wrapped his arms around Jaemin from behind and rested his head on Jaemin's shoulder, exhaling a breath that trembled against his skin. "I'd die just to know what's inside your mind," he whispered, his voice carrying the kind of feeling that could shatter something fragile.

Jaemin didn’t respond, a lump rasping his throat.

Jeno buried his face into the crook of his neck and collarbone, inhaling like he was trying to commit the scent of Jaemin to memory, like he knew—somehow—that this moment was slipping through his fingers. Jaemin bowed his head too, feeling his cheek press against his boyfriend’s, caressing the back of his head with one hand, and letting the other grasp on his shoulder. They stayed like that, bodies intertwined, time standing still, until Chenle’s voice shattered the fragile silence, calling Jeno’s name, reminding him of a world outside this embrace. 

Jeno grunted, reluctant, lifting his head as if tearing himself away from something irreplaceable.

“I hate those guys,” he murmured, his breath brushing the sensitive skin of Jaemin’s neck. “I’ll be back soon. Rest well, and don’t miss me.”

Jaemin smiled, his hand sliding down Jeno’s nape to knead him slightly again. “Okay, Romeo,” his voice came out small.

Jeno’s chuckle was breathy and short, lingering through Jaemin.

“Jaemin,” he called.

Jaemin hummed, leaning his head back as much as he could to look into his eyes. They were deep, sharpened with an emotion Jaemin had seen a couple of times before.

“I….” Jeno said, his eyes wandering across his face. “I love—”

No.

Jaemin couldn’t do that to himself nor Jeno. If he knew what Jaemin was about to do that night, he wouldn’t be saying it.

He covered Jeno’s mouth. “Don’t—don’t say it right now.”

Jeno frowned, but it subtly faded into a mischievous smile. “Okay,” he said. Then he licked his lips and started mouthing the words again, one by one, voiceless.

“I love you.”

His heart stuck inside his throat.

Jaemin ran his fingers through the hair at Jeno’s nape. “ Me too, ” He mouthed back, watching Jeno’s eyes turn into beautiful crescents.

“God, I adore,” Jeno said, pressing a kiss against his lips, “you,” another kiss, this time slower.

Chenle’s voice resonated through the apartment again. “Goddammit, Jaemin, send him!”

Jeno huffed a curse. Jaemin smiled—or tried to.

The truth was, Jaemin didn’t want him to leave. This was the last time he’d touch him, kiss him, breathe him in. His hands, his lips, his warmth—everything he had memorized in quiet moments—he would lose it all. God, he didn’t know when he would see him again, if he would ever see him again. He didn’t know how he would live with himself, carrying the weight of what they could have been, of what he was about to shatter with silence and departure.

Jaemin swallowed, hoping the burning feeling in his eyes didn’t turn into tears just yet. “You should go.”

“What if I put you in my pocket?” Jeno smirked.

Jaemin only hummed, then nudged their noses together in slow motions, softly, wanting to etch the moment forever into his mind. Then Jeno pulled away, and Jaemin felt breathless, anxious.

“I’ll see you later, my love, ” Jeno whispered, pressing a lingering kiss against his forehead. “Don’t disappear on me, okay?”

And he left.

And Jaemin broke into tears, his body shaking with silent, wracking sobs. His hands clutched at the fabric of his shirt as if holding himself together, as if that could stop the way his chest ached, splitting open like a wound that would never heal. His breath came out in shuddering gasps, drowning in the weight of everything he was losing, everything he would never get to say. He wanted to scream, but no sound came out—only the broken, desperate sobs of someone who had no choice but to leave the only person that showed him how to really feel.

And when the time came, he walked away. Even as his heart screamed for him to turn around, even as his hands trembled with the urge to hold on just a little longer. He left.

Chapter Text

During his first year in Toronto, Jaemin felt completely disconnected.

It was supposed to feel good. The victory. The success. The medals clinking against his chest, the standing ovations, the headlines with his name. It was supposed to mean something.

And yet, he felt nothing.

The Grand Prix Final. The World Figure Skating Championships. Senior category. Two-time winner. His name etched into history once again. His performances had been called breathtaking, effortless, and emotive for the first time in his career. His routines, perfected down to every fraction of a second, judges had given him near-flawless scores. People had showered him with adoration, banners with his name, thousands of voices chanting in unison.

And still— nothing .

His second year started with no difference.

His days followed a rhythm that didn’t belong to him. Wake up before dawn, lace up his skates, train until his muscles screamed, review his diet, push his body past limits that should have broken him by now. His life had become a show, a meticulously choreographed performance both on and off the ice.

His body was there, standing on the highest step, but his mind was not. He wasn’t sure where, exactly. Maybe in a cramped apartment filled with music and laughter, the scent of coffee and guitar strings in the air. Maybe in the warm embrace of someone who once whispered against his skin like he was the only thing that mattered.

Jeno.

Of course Jeno had tried to reach out, through his phone, through Mark, through Ten, through his friends, and even through his parents. Multiple times, during different stages of his life. But Jaemin couldn’t do that to himself. He knew that speaking to him would only bring things down, and Jaemin couldn’t promise anything to him if he still couldn’t manage his own life on his own. The day Jeno stopped trying to contact him was the day that Jaemin finally broke down.

Plenty of nights blaming himself for everything made him analyse every single thing he’d ever done wrong, and that’s when Jaemin decided he needed to find a way to take control of his own life. 

The reasons why his parents had him wrapped around their fingers were because they had control over two things from Jaemin, his career and his money.

Ever since Jaemin’s first Grand Prix victory at 19, his parents had hoarded his earnings, stashing every won from prize money, Korean federation grants, and small sponsor deals into a family account they dubbed “his safety net.” They’d preached discipline, claiming they were safeguarding the future of their prodigal son. But when they sent him to Toronto’s Cricket Club that dawn for the pre-season, Jaemin’s world tilted.

He poured out his frustrations to Ten one humid evening over coffee near the rink, his hands clenched around the ceramic mug, knuckles pale from the pressure. His parents’ control had only tightened around his throat since arriving in Toronto, their influence stretching into every aspect of his life like an iron grip he couldn’t pry open. They weren’t just monitoring his progress—they were ensuring their dominance over it. His training schedules were no longer just structured; they were suffocating. Any hint of independence was met with swift reminders of who had built his career, who had funded every lesson, every costume, every flight.

They wielded their power ruthlessly, making it clear that any act of defiance, any rebellious behaviour, could lead to dire consequences. They knew how much Jaemin loved skating and used it as a very powerful weapon. If he stepped out of line, if he dared to challenge them, they had the means to ruin him. Because according to them, if he couldn’t be great, then they would make sure he’d be nothing at all. A few well-placed calls, whispers in the right ears, and Jaemin knew they could sabotage everything he had worked for. The International Skating Union, national sports committees, sponsors—his parents had ties everywhere, and they wouldn’t hesitate to use them if he didn’t comply.

Ten had seen the tears in Jaemin’s gaze, the barely restrained rage simmering beneath his helplessness. He had listened in silence, eyes dark with understanding, before finally reaching into his pocket and sliding a small business card across the table. It bore the name of an important Canadian sports lawyer.

The lawyer had told him that his parents had been banking his earnings informally, and that under South Korean and Canadian law, Jaemin was entitled to his earnings as an adult unless he signed them away—which, at 18, he naively did. 

So his parents had exploded when the court order froze their account, but by September of that year, a judge ruled Jaemin’s earnings—past and future—were his. In a shaky call, they apologised, and guilt twisted in Jaemin’s chest as he said, “Keep the past money, it’s fine.”

From that on, Jaemin did notice a change in them. They sometimes made Jaemin feel like they actually cared now, like they actually worried about him.

Usually, when Mark called him, he’d say they asked about Jaemin quite a lot, like his brother had some confidential information they wouldn't be able to get from Jaemin. Maybe they had finally noticed how much pain they had caused him, maybe they had seen how emotionally disconnected Jaemin felt since he left Seoul.

In spite of all that, Jaemin still loved his parents. And he secretly hoped they could forgive each other someday.

But it was a big step. He had stopped being his parents' pawn. 

Riding the high of another competition, Jaemin signed with new sponsors. High-end brands snapped him up, decking him out in custom skates and sleek jackets, while a famous Korean skincare brand splashed his face across Seoul. Event prizes flowed too—thousands from the Final, plus tidy sums from Skate Canada tune-ups he crushed in Toronto.

Jaemin also cemented his legend at the World Championships in Boston. Beneath a roaring crowd and glaring lights, he became the only skater ever to land a quadruple Axel in competition. He took the gold, a South Korean flag draped over his shoulders. His parents, glued to a TV in Seoul, fired off a dry “Well done” text, but Jaemin left it unanswered. 

He focused on rearranging his life for a while, taking care of himself and his career. 

The following year , fresh off his Worlds win, Jaemin accepted a starring role in Kingdom on Ice, a dazzling professional ice show set to premiere in London , England. Of course it was great for him, professionally, but the real reason he'd taken it was a secret kept inside his chest.

About Jeno, he knew too much, superficially.

He never asked Mark about him . There was an unspoken rule between them, a silent agreement forged through time—Jaemin had only answered his brother’s calls three months after he left. Yet Mark somehow already understood why Jaemin did what he did. Even if they never talked it out with detail, they had the same parents after all. Mark knew how hard it had been for Jaemin to cut Jeno out of his life, so he never forced the subject. He never said his name, never hinted at him in passing, always made sure to call when Jeno wasn’t around. 

Sometimes he wondered if it had been hard for Mark too. Jeno was still his bandmate, his friend—he had to see him every day, work with him, build something together. Mark had been caught between two people he loved, forced to balance the weight of Jaemin’s absence in Jeno’s life while still being the brother Jaemin needed. Did they talk about him? Were things still the same?

Jaemin would never ask.

It didn’t matter anyway. Neo Dream had become unavoidable, their name steadily rising, their faces everywhere. Even without asking, Jaemin always knew something . A snippet of a song playing in a coffee shop. A viral clip of a performance on his social media feed. A new headline, a blurry photograph of Jeno leaving a venue, looking the same yet somehow different. Jaemin didn’t seek it out, but the world made sure he knew. And no matter how much time passed, it never got any easier.

Jaemin knew that Jeno had started seeing other people—at least, that’s what the headlines plastered across the internet claimed. Although Mark always made sure to reassure him, in the most casual, offhanded way, that nothing was serious. 

His voice would waver ever so slightly whenever he’d say, “ None of us has the time to date. Really, none . I mean, I don’t think we even want to.” As if he desperately wanted Jaemin to know that the photos on the articles were meaningless.

But Jaemin wouldn't think it was unfair if Jeno did. While Jaemin couldn’t even force himself to fall for someone again— and he did try —he knew Jeno deserved it. He deserved love, deserved someone who wouldn’t leave without a word. Jaemin had done that to him. He had vanished, severed every tie, and for that, he felt like he had no right to feel jealous. No right to ache at the thought of Jeno smiling at someone else the way he used to smile at him.

The night it happened, Jaemin had been terrified .

Telling Jeno meant watching him break. It meant standing in front of the only person who had ever truly made him feel and choosing to walk away. And Jaemin knew himself—he would have wrecked. And he also knew Jeno, he wouldn’t have let him go. He would’ve fought—fought Jaemin’s parents, fought for Jaemin—and it would have made everything so much worse. Maybe Jaemin’s career would’ve officially ended, and the band wouldn’t have been able to perform in such an important festival—the band’s major chance to become who they are today. Maybe they would’ve resented each other.

Who knows?

Things were done. He had left in the only way he knew how. Swift, brutal, complete.

And of course, Jaemin wasn’t expecting Jeno to understand that. He didn’t have to. Jaemin didn’t deserve that he did. 

In his own case, moving on…. it just hadn’t worked. 

It was in the middle of his second year in Canada when he had been walking down the aisle of a supermarket, a puffer jacket bigger than himself to cover from the cold, carefully choosing his groceries, that Jaemin saw him —or well, thought he saw him.

The side profile was unmistakable. The sharp jawline, the high bridge of his nose, the darkness of his hair. It sent a shock through Jaemin’s system, rushing him to the spot. His fingers clenched around the plastic basket in his hand, his heart hammering so violently against his ribs that he could hear it in his ears.

Before he could think, before reason could settle in, his body moved on its own. He walked up to the guy almost too suddenly, gripping his shoulder a bit too harshly, desperate for him to turn around, to prove that he wasn’t just imagining it. 

But when the man turned, blinking at him, flustered and in confusion, Jaemin’s heart sank.

It wasn’t Jeno.

“Do I know you?” the guy had asked.

Jaemin swallowed, his throat dry. “I—” He let go of his shoulder, taking a step back. “Sorry. Thought you were someone else.”

The guy—Eric, as Jaemin later learned—smiled at him anyway. “I look like that guy from Neo Dream, I know. I get that a lot.”

That was how he met Erick. He was a Korean-American who had been working in Canada for a while. He had invited Jaemin out way too immediately for someone who had just been mistaken for another person. And Jaemin should’ve said no. He should have politely declined, but he didn’t.

Maybe it was the loneliness. Maybe it was the gnawing ache in his chest that never quite went away. Maybe it was the stupid, stubborn part of him that wanted to see if he could recreate what he lost with someone who almost looked like him. So he said yes.

But after a while of going out with Eric, it wasn’t a surprise to anyone when it didn’t work.

Jaemin just couldn’t bring himself to feel something. And perhaps that was on him, perhaps he was expecting too much—waiting for that sudden, intense click of connection that he’d felt with Jeno. But it never happened. Not in a month. Not in two. Not even when Jaemin finally built up the courage to tell him that they should part ways.

Eric had taken it well. Too well. He had just smiled, given him a nod, and told him he understood. That sometimes things just weren’t meant to be.

Jaemin wished it had hurt more. Maybe then it would have meant something.

His friends had made fun of him for it. For how ridiculously similar Eric looked to Jeno. They even sent side-by-side pictures in their group chat, comparing their faces like it was some sort of twisted joke.

Jaemin never found it funny.

Because even if they were physically alike, Eric was nothing like Jeno. Yeah, he was sweet, smart, respectful, and even a good kisser, but there were no cocky remarks, no playful nudges when he made a bad joke, no teasing smirk right before he pulled him in for a kiss. 

There was no challenging banter that left Jaemin rolling his eyes but grinning anyway. No silly arguments over who got the last bite of food, only to end with Jeno shoving it into Jaemin’s mouth with that triumphant glint in his eyes.

Eric was kind—almost too kind. He spoke softly, never interrupting, never pressing. He never looked at Jaemin like he was a puzzle he was dying to solve. Kissing him was easy, but there was no rush, no dizzying breathlessness that made Jaemin feel like he was standing at the edge of something dangerous and exhilarating.

And that was the problem. He wasn’t Jeno. 

It was so absurd. He’d only been with Jeno for four months. Why was it so hard to find someone who could make him feel the same in such little time?

By then, Jaemin realized that deep down, he still held onto the hope that eventually, somehow, he would find his way back to Jeno.

Haechan told him that he wasn’t helping his own case either way, since even after the first year after he left that apartment, Jaemin had turned into a bit of a masochist. 

After Neo Dream had released their first album, it was an immediate success. Jaemin had listened to it, knowing exactly how much it would affect him, but he still did. And it wasn’t a surprise that Medicine , Fallingforyou , and more songs like Inside Your Mind —that Jaemin couldn’t bring himself to listen to all the way—topped the first numbers of the album. 

They hadn’t gone crazily mainstream—apparently, they were considered too controversial for the general public—but their fanbase was super big, even more so in Europe and North America.

Jaemin sometimes read news about them, finding one especially amusing. It detailed how Neo Dream had officially been banned from Malaysia after Jeno kissed Chenle on the mouth during a show and spoke out against the country’s LGBTQ laws. That was such a Jeno thing to do. 

But eventually, for his own good, Jaemin had to force himself to stop consuming more content about them. It was physically affecting him. 

The last thing he had seen about Jeno had been an interview titled “ Jeno Lee: The Emotional Responsibility in Music, British GQ”

It was just Jeno, without the band. He wore a simple white t-shirt that revealed the sharp line of his collarbones. His plain jeans fit snug around his legs, effortlessly stylish like he’s always been. Seated across from a young interviewer, he leaned back slightly, fingers tapping idly against his knee. His dark hair hadn’t changed, slightly tousled, strands falling over his forehead. The warm studio lighting caught the sharp angles of his jaw, the depth of his eyes. The interviewer welcomed him warmly, congratulating him on Neo Dream’s recent success.

Then, after a little chit chat, she asked him. “How do you feel about the amount of emotional investment that you get from fans? Do you find it difficult to handle?”

Jeno’s eyes flickered for a second. "I think that… I think it's difficult when you’re presented with it so often. You know, when people say things like you saved my life, whatever they say… it’s like, um… you can’t take in every single one of those because you’d lose your mind."

He stopped, exhaling. "If I tried to take on the emotional responsibility of everybody that said that to me, I’d lose my mind. So, I try to take a really serious artistic responsibility instead. I try to put it all into my music so it’s there to be shared with everybody, so I don’t have to try and individually deal with those things. It’s weird, isn’t it? I don’t think I’m ever in an environment where I can truly appreciate it. Nor should I, nor would it be wise for me to stand there and try to appreciate it. On a show day, when there are people around, or at a meet-and-greet, when someone’s like, Can I just say this thing? while we’re getting a picture… sometimes, I’m a bit like—I can’t. I can’t deal with the three-second summarisation of your sister dying. I can’t. It’s too much for me. And that’s where I struggle with it because it really does affect me. I spend a lot of time thinking about it. People say things to me, and I just can’t forget about it.”

The interviewer nodded, leaning forward slightly. "I think that comes from the fact that you're very sensitive. I mean, you’re kind of an open book. You share so much of yourself with your fans, and I think that makes you more susceptible to feeling something because you care so much."

Jeno huffed a quiet laugh. "Yeah, I really do care. And it blows my mind that people get what I do, you know? It really does. We’re kind of a weird band, and so it’s really cool that people… that they just get it. They’re just… so much."

The interviewer smiled. "I think so too. Now, Jeno, in the past, you've said that you find it difficult to be in romantic relationships. Do you think these emotions could make it harder for you to pour your heart into someone?"

Jeno hesitated, a breath of laughter leaving his lips. "No, no. That’s—that’s totally different. I actually don’t think I’m bad at it. I learned that I need to be in love, but like, really in love, you know? And that hasn’t happened in a while."

"We’ve heard many of your songs that really portray this emotion, but I’d like to ask, do you find it difficult to fall in love?" she asked.

Jeno exhaled through his nose, gaze flickering downward before he met her eyes again. "Maybe, I don’t know. I’ve just– I just think I can’t fall in love with someone else now if I’m still in love with someone from the past."

Jaemin’s heart had stopped. His breath caught in his throat. Without hesitation, he shut his laptop.

After that, he had restricted himself. No more interviews. No more updates. Because if he got in Jeno’s way too suddenly, he feared it wouldn’t end well. Or maybe, he was just too scared of how easily his world had rebuilt itself upon hearing him. 

But now, it was different.

Now, it had been three years since he’d left Seoul.

Now, he had money of his own, could make decisions of his own, and more importantly—he was in London. The same city where Neo Dream was having the final stop of their tour.

Jaemin had decided to go. He had barely managed to get tickets, landing a spot somewhere deep in the crowd. His hair was freshly highlighted, blond melting into soft brown. He chose a basic pair of light-washed jeans, a silk pink shirt, and put just a bit of makeup on his face.

For three years, he had abstained from their music as much as he could. But tonight, he was breaking his own rules. He needed to see Jeno. To hear him. Even if it ended up destroying him.

He arrived a bit late.

As he tried to find a spot, the lights dimmed, casting long shadows across the elaborate two-tiered stage—a sprawling, deconstructed house.

Jaemin stood among the pulsing crowd, eyes trying to catch a better view of the stage. There was a warm lamp glowed in the corner, casting soft shadows over a couch that looked too ordinary to be real. The television flickered with static, and somewhere in the background, a staircase led to nowhere. It felt like watching someone’s dream unfold in real time. It kind of resembled their old Seoul apartment. 

It seemed like the band was preparing for a new song. From the distance, Jaemin managed to see Jisung, Mark, and Chenle, but not the person he had come to see. He felt anxiety consume him, hands sweaty and a twirl in his stomach, but just as he tried to catch his breath, Jeno walked in. Not like a performer storming onto a stage, but like a man arriving home after a long night. He stumbled, lit a cigarette, and sat at the edge of the staged couch, staring into nothing before picking up the mic. The band began to play.

His world stopped for a second.

Jaemin didn't recognise some songs, but the show felt intimate, almost voyeuristic. Jaemin watched as Jeno moved through the set, pressing his hands to the walls like he was trying to push them down. He monologued, he drank, he climbed into the television set like he was trying to escape himself. The music bled into the performance seamlessly—raw, aching, strangely beautiful.

And then, just as the weight of it settled into Jaemin’s chest, the lights cut out. A few seconds of darkness, the people shouted with emotion, like they already knew what was coming.

When the stage lit up again, the band was standing before the crowd, bathed in color, instruments in hand. The second half hit like a shot of adrenaline. A new song rang through the speakers, and suddenly the entire venue moved as one. The melancholia of the first act melted into something euphoric, reminding Jaemin why it wasn’t a surprise that they had come so far in so little time—this wasn’t just a show, but an experience.

The night had felt like a fever dream. Jaemin’s heart still pounded from the highs of People , Jeno's voice hoarse from screaming lyrics he had written a long time ago.

And then, everything dimmed.

A single spotlight flickered on, illuminating Jeno as he put on a leather jacket.

He stood at the center of the stage, a bottle hanging from his hand. He had a black shirt with a silky black tie that he loosened underneath his jacket. It was definitely part of his artistic performance, it was the type of clothing that Jaemin remembered with so much adoration. 

Jeno left the shirt partly undone, collarbones sharp under the glow, his hair a damp mess that he pulled back. There was a sluggishness to the way he moved. Jaemin knew it was an act. Part of the show. He knew Jeno's art and how he liked to play into it. Nonetheless, there was something more vivid about this in specific. 

The first notes of another song Jaemin didn’t recognize drifted through the speakers. Slow. Haunting. The kind that settles into your chest before you even realise it.

And then, Jeno sang.

I know a place… 

It’s somewhere I go when I need to remember your face….

The melody twisted through the air, delicate yet aching, and Jaemin felt it before he understood it. There was something about the way Jeno’s voice cracked, how his gaze flickered towards the crowd but never truly landed on anything. Like he was seeing something—someone—who wasn’t there.

We get married in our heads…

Jaemin saw him take a slow sip from the bottle, throat bobbing. He let the part-of-the-show alcohol linger before exhaling, like it was a habit he was trying to break but couldn’t. His free hand curled around the mic stand, knuckles white.

Jaemin’s stomach turned.

The song stretched on, each lyric settling into his ribs like a quiet revelation. He had never heard it before, as he had been strict with his restriction, but something about it felt disturbingly familiar. A conversation he had forgotten.

Hold on and hope that we'll find our way back in the end...

Jeno’s voice dropped to something fragile, and in that moment, Jaemin felt it. The weight of everything that had happened.

Do you think I have forgotten

Do you think I have forgotten

Do you think I have forgotten

About you?

The last chorus hit, and Jeno let the words carry him as a feminine voice sang in the back, tipping his head back, letting himself feel whatever it was he had been trying to drown with liquor and late-night thoughts. Then, as the final notes faded into silence, he turned. Walked toward the staged door. Crossed it without looking back.

The lyrics still ricochet in his head. If this was about him, it meant everything he had been longing for. But even if it wasn’t—if there was the smallest sliver of doubt—there was no ounce of insecurity left in him to stop him now. He had to see Jeno. He had to talk to him. He had to fix this.

When the concert ended, the first thing Jaemin did was contact Mark. His fingers trembled as he typed, heart hammering against his ribs. It took some time, but eventually, Mark responded. When Jaemin told him he was outside the venue, Mark didn’t hesitate. “ I’ll be there,” he had said.

Minutes later, Mark emerged from the security exit, and the second they saw each other, Jaemin was engulfed in a tight hug. It was warm, grounding—reminding Jaemin of how much he had missed his brother as well.

Mark pulled back first, searching Jaemin’s face carefully before speaking. “Do you want to see him ?” His voice was soft, almost hesitant, as if afraid of Jaemin’s answer.

Jaemin swallowed thickly, nodding.

Mark didn’t ask anything else. He just led him inside.

The venue was chaos. Crew members were tearing down the set, moving equipment, rolling cables, their voices blending into an overwhelming hum. The closer they got to the dressing rooms, the tighter Jaemin’s chest became. He felt the weight of every footstep, every breath, every second stretching painfully. His hands clenched into fists, trying to suppress the way his entire body felt like it was being pulled into something inevitable.

Then, finally, Mark stopped in front of a door. His hand hovered over the handle before he turned to Jaemin. Slowly, he pushed it open.

Jaemin’s heart almost gave out.

Jeno was inside, his back facing them, phone in hand, completely unaware. He was still wearing the same clothes from the show, but had got rid of the tie, being left to lay on a chair.

Mark didn’t step in. He simply held the door open for Jaemin before giving him one last look—an unspoken good luck —before closing it behind him.

The quiet click of the door made Jeno turn around, glancing up, distractedly at first. Then he really looked.

“ …Jaemin .”

His name left Jeno’s lips like a breath of disbelief.

Jaemin forced a small smile. “Jeno…”

He blinked, his phone slipping from his hands onto the vanity without a second thought. “You’re—you’re here.”

Jaemin nodded, shifting on his feet. “Yeah.”

“Mark didn’t tell me you were coming.”

“Oh, he didn’t know. It was a surprise.” Jaemin exhaled shakily, trying to keep his voice light. “I wasn’t supposed to come, actually. But I’ve been in London for a few weeks and I thought… I thought I could see…. the band.”

Jeno’s lips quirked into a small, almost hesitant smile. “It’s a nice surprise then.” His voice had softened, careful. “Did you get to hear us play?”

Jaemin nodded, his chest tightening. “Some songs… But you guys are still my favorite band.”

Jeno’s eyes flickered, unreadable. “We still are? I’m glad to hear that.” His voice dropped slightly. “You’re still our favorite fan.”

Jaemin chuckled, shaking his head, recalling the wave of euphoric people from the audience. “I don’t think so. Now I have millions of competitors.”

For a moment, silence stretched between them. Then, Jeno murmured almost too softly, “Still… You know you’re special.”

His heart squeezed painfully, and maybe it was the years of distance between them, but something surged inside him, something dangerous and hopeful. Jaemin leaned against the vanity, crossing his arms, trying to appear composed even as his hands trembled.

Jaemin’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Am I?”

Jeno’s lips curled slightly, his eyes turning into those signature crescents that Jaemin had spent so long trying to forget. A soft hum left him, a quiet confirmation. 

“How have you been?” he said then, his tone too delicate. 

“I’m okay,” Jaemin replied, “I..uhmm… I’ve matured enough to live alone. Well, I haven’t got a place here yet, but uhm, I’ve been earning my own money for over a year and a half now so…. I got to experience living alone back in Canada, you know, even without Ten-hyung.”

Jeno let his eyes wander on his face. “And how has it been…. living alone?”

Jaemin shrugged. “As good as an introverted twenty-three year old can feel in solitude.”

“God,” Jeno huffed a chuckle, “I forgot how young you were. I joined the band at twenty three.”

“It’s not like you’re old,” Jaemin said, rapidly. He tended to speak too fast when he was nervous. “I mean yeah, twenty seven is closer to thirty than twenty, but we’re not that far apart.”

His gaze darted away, down to the notebook on the vanity. His fingers brushed against its pages absentmindedly, but his movements were slow, deliberate.

Something about the way Jeno was acting—hesitant, unsure—made Jaemin realise he’s nervous.

It was strange. He could count on one hand the times he had seen Jeno like this, not to say roughly only one time. But it made sense when he asked “How are things with Eric?”

How did he know? Had Mark–

“Your brother was drunk,” Jeno explained, like he could read Jaemin’s thoughts. “I mean, I was a bit drunk too but it was something hard to forget.”

Jaemim bit his tongue. That had happened what, six months ago, eight?

“Oh, no, he’s a nice guy but it didn’t work,” he responded, watching closely how Jeno nodded, then licked his lips.

“I tried to–I tried to talk to you,” he scoffed a short smile, almost sarcastically, “many times.”

“I know, Jeno,” his eyes suddenly burned, then he knew his voice would come out brittle. “I just–I couldn’t, not with how I left. I couldn’t apologise, I couldn’t listen to your voice, I couldn’t do anything, and I hated—I hated myself for leaving, for hurting you…. I–”

“It’s alright,” Jeno cut, his hands landed on his face, tenderly, wiping away the tears that had started rolling down his face. “It was hard to understand at first, but maybe it had to happen, you know? You’ve grown, Jaemin, you’re still the most amazing skater in the world but now you’re free, you don’t have to meet anyone's expectations or wait for a personal time slot to open up in your schedule.”

Jaemin chuckled, breathing calmly as Jeno wiped another tear away. His fingers wrapped around Jeno’s wrists and he let himself lean into his hold.

Jeno was looking at him— really looking at him. The kind of gaze Jaemin had memorised years ago, the kind that burned and made him feel seen in a way that was both exhilarating and terrifying. Jaemin could feel it, that same tension that had always remained between them.

And so, he inhaled sharply, and finally said it. “I loved About You .”

Jeno’s fingers stilled, his throat bobbed as he swallowed.

“It’s everyone’s favourite ever since it came out,” he said, his voice quieter. 

Jaemin hummed. “Is it… also a song open to interpretation?”

Jeno’s gaze drifted away, as well as his hands, leaving his face cold. He let out a faint smile, meeting his eyes again. “Not really.” A pause. Then, “I thought it was too obvious it was about you.”

His heartbeat drummed so loudly in his ears he almost didn’t hear the words that followed.

“I mean,” Jeno exhaled through his nose, his laugh short, almost self-deprecating. “ About You is about you. The song, I mean.” His fingers ran across the bridge of his nose—a nervous tic Jaemin recognised instantly. “I wrote it thinking of you… for you.”

Jaemin’s mind was spinning. His lips parted, but no words came out.

Jeno kept talking, but Jaemin wasn’t listening anymore. Not really. His pulse was erratic, his entire body screaming at him to do something. 

So he did.

Before he could stop himself, his lips were on Jeno’s.

And Jeno responded like he had been waiting for this moment the entire time.

His hands found Jaemin’s waist instantly, his thumbs pressing into the fabric of his shirt, grounding him. The kiss wasn’t rushed, wasn’t frantic—it was soft, slow, like rediscovering something they had both lost but never forgotten.

Jaemin had thought their first kiss after all this time would be desperate, but it wasn’t.

It was something deeper. It was gentle. It was the kind of kiss that made Jaemin ache in places he didn’t know existed. He wanted to drown in the way Jeno’s lips moved against his, in his minty taste, in the way his palms ghosted over his ribs, in the way their noses brushed—so natural, so them.

And Jaemin wanted this. He needed this so badly.

A sudden knock at the door broke them apart just enough for their noses to remain pressed together.

The slick, breathless sound of their parting kiss filled the silence, and Jaemin closed his eyes briefly, the moment lingering in the space between them.

Another knock, followed by a forced cough.

Jaemin turned around, finding Mark standing in the doorway, looking like he had definitely been there longer than he should have.

“I’ve been coughing for an eternity here,” Mark deadpanned, rubbing his neck awkwardly. “Our van is waiting.”

But Jaemin and Jeno didn’t get in the van. They went to Jaemin’s hotel room.

—--

The elevator doors had barely shut before Jeno pressed Jaemin against the mirrored wall, stealing kisses between hushed giggles and quiet, desperate sighs. Jaemin tried to push him away playfully, but Jeno only grinned, fingers teasing at Jaemin’s waist as his lips found the curve of his neck. He was relentless, peppering soft, heated kisses along Jaemin’s skin while his hands curled into the fabric of Jeno’s jacket, trying to keep himself steady. The elevator chimed, and Jaemin exhaled sharply, fumbling to retrieve his key card as Jeno nipped just below his ear.

They stumbled into the hotel room, the door clicking shut behind them. The space was bathed in warm, dim lighting, the dark-paneled walls exuding a quiet elegance. Fancy floor-to-ceiling windows framed the glittering city skyline, causing a soft glow over the black satin bedding. A single lamp on the bedside table illuminated the room in a golden hue, its light flickering against the deep brown headboard. 

The air was thick with anticipation, the silence only punctuated by their heavy breaths.

Jaemin rushed to the bathroom, and came back to leave a bottle of lube in the bed, but didn’t give Jeno a chance to tease further—he grabbed his wrist and pulled him toward the bed with a playful smile, their bodies collapsing onto the plush mattress. Jeno hovered over him, capturing Jaemin’s lips in another searing kiss, fingers slipping under the hem of his shirt. They kissed until the heat between them became unbearable, until the friction of their clothes felt suffocating.

Jaemin was the first to tug at Jeno’s shirt, his fingers trembling slightly as he unbuttoned to reveal his toned stomach. Jeno smirked, sitting back just enough to yank it off in one fluid motion before leaning back in to kiss along his jaw. 

Jaemin breathed heavily, his hands fumbling with the buttons of his own shirt. Jeno, impatient, brushed his hands aside and took over, popping each button open with too much ease, his fingertips grazing over Jaemin’s skin as he worked. The shirt slipped from Jaemin’s shoulders, pooling behind him as he sat perched on the edge of the bed, chest rising and falling rapidly.

Jeno ran his hands along Jaemin’s torso before pushing him back onto the sheets, dark eyes gleaming under the soft bedroom light. But Jaemin turned his own body around, too shameless because maybe he was too desperate. The cool fabric of the comforter contrasted against his burning stomach. Jeno held the side of his jaw, and their lips met again, his neck hurt a little with the uncomfortable position, but he didn’t  mind. Jeno’s hands were restless, getting rid of his pants and boxers in one go before Jaemin could even register it, leaving him only with his pair of socks on. 

Then, he felt Jeno start grinding against him, making him feel how hard he was under his pants, how much he needed him. Jaemin moaned, the neediness rushing south to his impatient entrance and his painfully hard cock rubbing against the duvet.

Jaemin let out quiet moans, sending his hand back and squeezing in the middle of their bodies to unbuckle Jeno’s pants. He wanted to feel him bare, but Jeno held his hand and instead of letting him fulfill his purpose, he kissed his palm, then leaned to his ear.

“We’ll get there,” he whispered. Jaemin whined. “I need to taste you first.”

Oh, that sent shivers through his spine.

Jeno leaned down, his breath warm against Jaemin’s skin, pressing a soft kiss to the curve of his ass. “I missed you,” he murmured, his lips brushing against Jaemin’s sensitive skin. “I missed you so much.”

His breath caught as Jeno’s tongue traced a hot, wet path over his entrance, his body trembling at the sensation, his hips raising instinctively. “Fuck,” he gasped, his hand reaching back to tangle in Jeno’s hair, pulling him closer. “Jeno…”

He hummed against Jaemin’s skin, the vibration sending something electric through him. He didn’t waste any time, his tongue plunging inside, teasing and probing as Jaemin writhed beneath him. “God, you taste so good,” Jeno groaned, his voice muffled against Jaemin’s sensitiveness. Then his hand enveloped his cock, and Jaemin fell on the clouds.

His head fell forward, his breathing ragged as he tried to hold himself together. It had been too long since he’d felt like this—since they’d been together like this. Too much time of longing, of wanting, of needing this, and now it was finally happening.

Jeno’s hands gripped his hips, holding him in place as he continued to eat him out, his tongue working him open with so much vigorousness. Jaemin’s moans filled the room, low and desperate, as he felt himself loosen under Jeno’s relentless attention.

“Please,” Jaemin begged, his voice trembling. “Jeno, I need—I need more.”

Jeno pulled back, his breath hot between Jaemin’s thighs as he pressed a soft kiss to the base of his spine. “You’re so fucking perfect,” he murmured, his voice rough with desire. “I’ll give you everything you want.”

Jaemin could hear the sound of a bottle being opened, the slickness of lube as Jeno coated his fingers. He shivered in anticipation, rushes of heat invading every joint of his body. His back arched as he felt Jeno’s fingers press against his hole.

“Good, baby,” Jeno soothed, his voice low and steady. “You’re doing so good.”

Jaemin’s breath hitched. Jeno’s finger slipped inside, the sensation familiar but still enough to make his head spin. “Yes, baby—fuck,” he gasped, his body instinctively pushing back against Jeno’s hand.

Jeno kissed the dimples of his back softly, his breath warm against Jaemin, adding a second finger, scissoring him open slowly and carefully. “You’re so tight,” he murmured, his voice deep with desire. “I told you, you were made for me.”

Jaemin’s eyes fluttered shut, his body trembling as another finger was pushed inside him, brushing against his prostate, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through him. “Jeno,” he gasped, his voice breaking. “I want you to—I need you”

“It’s alright, princess,” Jeno interrupted, his voice rough but gentle. “I can’t hold myself any longer either.”

Jaemin could hear the sound of Jeno stroking himself, the slick sound of lube as he coated his cock. He turned his head as much as he could, longing for the view, his eyes locking with Jeno’s as the man positioned himself between his legs.

Jeno’s gaze was dark, filled with a hunger that made Jaemin’s stomach flip. He leaned down, pressing another soft kiss to Jaemin’s lower back before guiding the tip of his cock to his entrance.

Jaemin erupted into goosebumps. He felt the pressure, the way Jeno’s cock stretched him open. “Fuck,” he groaned, his body trembling as Jeno pushed in slowly, inch by excruciating inch. Oh, he’d almost forgotten how big he was.

“Just relax, baby, just a bit more,” Jeno murmured, his voice low and soothing. “Only you know how to take me well.”

Jaemin’s nails dug into the sheets, his right cheek flattened against the bed as Jeno bottomed out, the feeling of being so full in such a long time almost overwhelming. He could feel it too well, every vein, every inch of Jeno’s cock as it pressed against his walls, stretching him in the best possible way, making him feel split open.

“Oh you’re so tight, Jaemin—fuck” Jeno moaned, his hips flush against Jaemin’s ass. “How do you always feel this good?”

Jaemin whimpered, wriggling his ass as he couldn’t wait anymore. But Jeno held him in place, his hand came down on Jaemin’s ass with a smack, not hard enough to be painful yet the obscene sound echoed in the room. Jaemin gasped, his back arching as the sting bloomed across his skin. His fingers clenched the sheets, his breath coming in shallow pants. Jeno had noticed how much Jaemin had liked it, because his hand came down again, and again, leaving a trail of red handprints on his ass.

“Ah—god—,” he moaned, his hips lifting instinctively, wanting more. The tingle mixed with pleasure, sending sparks straight to his cock.

Then Jeno started to move, pulling out almost all the way before thrusting back in with a deep, steady rhythm. “Jeno—Jen,” he gasped, his own hips pushing back as Jeno’s cock brushed against his spot. “Oh, God—yes, yes…yes, right there.”

His grip on Jaemin tightened, his thrusts growing harder and faster as he chased his own pleasure. “You’re taking me so well, baby, you feel so fucking good,” he groaned, his voice rough and desperate. 

Jaemin was drooling all over the duvet, his mind hazy, his eyes teary. All he focus on was how Jeno’s cock pulsed inside him, how it filled him to the brim, the way his thrusts hammered over his sensitive spot over and over again. He reached down, his hand sliding over his own stomach, whimpering louder when he felt the bulge of Jeno’s cock pressing against his palm, going in and out of him.

“Fuck, Jeno,” Jaemin groaned, his body trembling as the sensation sent him spiraling, clenching and unclenching erratically. “I’m close, I’m—”

But before he could finish, Jeno flipped him over suddenly, smoothly.

“I want to see your face,” he said, pushing his knees apart and getting between them. Then he moved Jaemin’s legs and tenderly put them up his shoulder, almost folding him in half, securing them. He leaned forward, and cradled his face with one hand. “You look more beautiful when you come, princess. So good—”

Then, he kissed him, all tongue and saliva, moaning as his cock buried back into him, slowly at first, but then, it was frantic.

Jaemin gripped his back, feeling his climax build in his stomach. It was too much, it was wrecking all his senses. He had started to babble out words so senseless that they became writhing sounds.

Jeno’s hand went down to jerk Jaemin off, but it didn’t take much before he came with a loud cry,  tears rolling down his face. His body shook with spasms, feeling Jeno’s thrusts become sloppy, until he released into him with a strangled moan. 

Jaemin’s head was foggy, his vision was blurry. He tried to catch up his breath as Jeno rode out their orgasms slowly, helping Jaemin put his shaky legs down on the bed again. Jaemin sobbed, maybe because the pleasure had been too much or because he had missed this so badly. 

Jeno kissed the corner of his eyes, his lips delicate, as if trying to erase the remnants of his tears. His warmth lingered there even after he spoke.

" Are you okay, love? " Jeno’s voice was a soft murmur. He said it with so much gentleness in his voice, and so much care in his face, his gaze searching into Jaemin’s eyes as if he could take away every ache just by looking at him.

It  made Jaemin's chest tighten, made him want to pull Jeno in and never let go—to fuse their bodies together until the lines of where he ended and Jeno began were completely blurred. But the only thing he could do about it was wrap his arms around Jeno’s back, feeling the heat of his skin.

"I love you," Jaemin whispered, voice slightly unsteady, his nose a little sniffly. But he meant it. With everything he had, he meant it.

Jeno's lips curled into a smile, his eyes crinkling into the two soft half-moons he adored so much, glowing with something deeper than just joy—it was devotion, absolute and unshakable. He brushed his thumb along Jaemin’s cheek, caressing him, and holding his gaze as he whispered back, "I love you more.”

And then, after bumping their noses together, he repeated, this time voiceless, like that one night in the band’s apartment. “I love you, Na Jaemin.”

Jaemin sniffed, a quiet giggle leaving his mouth upon reading Jeno’s lips. Then, he did the same, mouthing with a grin. “I love you, Lee Jeno.”

Jeno chuckled shortly, meeting Jaemin’s lips in a kiss—slow, unhurried, brimming with emotion. Jaemin felt as if he were laying his entire soul bare, letting Jeno touch every fragile part of it. And in return, he felt Jeno offering him the same, every word pouring into the way their lips moved against each other, into how his tongue swirled around Jaemin’s.

His fingers dragged along the smooth planes of Jeno’s lower back, memorizing the muscles that flexed beneath his touch. The warmth of their bodies pressed together, skin against skin, breaths tangled. Jaemin broke the kiss with a soft gasp, his lips parting as he felt Jeno shift above him—felt the slow roll of his hips, the steady push that sent waves of pleasure rippling him whole.

His legs instinctively wrapped around Jeno’s waist, heels pressing into the small of his back, urging him closer, deeper—because even with how intimately connected they were, it still didn’t feel close enough. He wanted Jeno everywhere, he wanted Jeno to be drown in him, he wanted them to be one.

And this time, it wasn’t about urgency. It wasn’t about desperate need.

It was slow. It was tender. It was reverent.

It was love .

Jaemin clung to him, arms tightening, lips brushing against Jeno’s shoulder as he let himself be consumed by the moment. And in that sacred space between them, where only they existed, he knew—no force in the world could break them apart. Not this time.

Not when, despite everything, they had found their way back to each other in the end.