Archive of Our Own

Endless blue above, endless blue below. Chenle inhales the scent of the sea and smiles to himself. 

His destination approaches rapidly as the taxi’s wheels roll over the asphalt with the same smoothness as the sailboats cruise through the calm waves beyond the beach. He can hear the seagull’s wails, the purr of the engine and, in the distance, the people’s voices as they enjoy the wonders of the scalding white sand on the bottom of the hill. From behind his sunglasses, Chenle spots a glimpse of towels and parasols, before the taxi takes a turn and everything hides behind a layer of lush greenery. In his mind, he can clearly picture the house that awaits him: elegant and modern, all of it straight lines and wide windows to welcome in the sun, forever accompanied by the rustle of the thin palm leaves and the murmur of the ocean, just on the foot of the hill the house overlooks. It doesn’t matter that he’s never been there before, he’s studied the photographs well enough.

His smile remains flawless and intact as he pays the driver and rings the bell. At this point, there is no need to rehearse, it’s as natural as the ivy that climbs up the thick walls on both sides of the gate in front of him. The weather is an inch too warm for his optimum as the sun relentlessly shines on him, but the excitement that runs in his veins blinds him to any sort of discomfort. 

It doesn’t take long before the gate unlocks, revealing the tall and dry image of a middle-aged woman wearing maid attire. Chenle keeps his smile right where it is. He knows her name and birthday, of course – he’s the thorough kind of guy – but he stays quiet, charmingly holding his suitcase as she scans him from head to toe. Two minutes later, she’s guiding him indoors. 

“Right this way, Mr. Zhong,” she says as she opens the door to a pleasantly fresh lobby. He looks around, enjoying the contrast between the white walls and the wood panels of the dark ceiling. Warm sunlight reflects on the wide, curved leaves of a few potted plants, placed next to abstract paintings in beige tones. A house like this would fit a cold mountain better than these ocean views, but Chenle quite likes it. “Leave your luggage there, please, we’ll take care of it. Mr. Park has been awaiting you.”

He follows the woman upstairs, taking note of the photographs and paintings he walks by – all of them impersonal minimalist portraits of scenery and architecture without a single smiling face on them. Besides their footsteps, only the slow cycles of a nearby ceiling fan rupture the calm silence of the house.

It doesn’t take long before the maid is politely pointing at a door left ajar, and before Chenle knows, he’s alone. Nevertheless, he knocks, and only allows himself in when he hears a vibrant ‘come in’.

The office doesn’t differ much from what he has seen of the house so far. The tone of the wood is constant between furniture and one of the walls, the sofa and the rug match to perfection, the plants in the corners are like small mirrors of the shrubbery that covers the hill. One of the sliding windows that opens to a narrow balcony is open, letting the salty breeze in, but the man standing in the middle of the room is turning to Chenle before he can take a deep breath and guide the scent of the sea into his lungs. 

“The Zhong’s youngest!” the man says. “What a pleasure it is to finally meet you after years of correspondence!”

Chenle’s smile opens wide. It’s the first time he sees this face outside the static flat surface of a photograph, but the living flesh doesn’t differ much from the image he’s used to. Mr. Park is somewhere in his fifties and taller than Chenle by a few centimetres, but looks strikingly out of place in such a tasteful room. The rings on his fingers, the pattern of his shirt… Chenle wouldn’t even blink if he were seeing him in the surroundings of a casino. He reaches out for a handshake that is as energetic as he had been expecting.  

“Likewise, Mr. Park.” He says. “I'm immensely grateful for your kind invitation.”

The man raises his hands, dismissing his politeness. There are more vases and statuettes than books or records on the shelf behind him, Chenle notices. “Please, it was bound to happen. I trust the journey was comfortable?”

A sudden movement disturbs Chenle peripheral vision. His words die in his throat. 

He and Park are not alone in the room after all, the figure had simply been too still for him to notice. A young man stands near one of the wide windows, close to where two walls meet, only noticeable now that he has turned his attention from the scenery outside to the conversation in the room. He’s tall too, possibly even taller than Mr. Park, and wears a pair of impeccable white trousers matched with a dark blue polo shirt. His hair is as dark as the night sky, almost hiding his equally dark eyes. A string of tiny irregular pearls adorn his elegant neck, but that’s not the only jewel he wears. A golden wedding band is neatly wrapped around his ring finger, and Chenle doesn’t have to take a double look at Mr. Park’s hands to know where the other half of the pair is. 

He stares at Chenle in absolute silence, an unreadable look in his eyes. 

Chenle almost frowns, but looks away and controls himself in time. This didn’t pop up during his research. Last thing he knew, Park was in the process of finalising his divorce to his wife, an aristocrat around his age, not married to a man who looks young enough to be his son. Strange.  

He clears his throat and reminds himself of the question he’s been asked. “Just some turbulence,” he says, “nothing to write home about.”

It would be a good moment for Park to introduce the young man standing by the window. After all, there is no way he hasn’t noticed that Chenle has spotted his presence. His mind worked fast, and his hesitancy didn’t last longer than a couple of seconds, but it was still conspicuous. And yet, the man simply sighs. 

“I can't forgive myself for not having insisted on getting my driver pick you up from the airport,” he says.

Strange. Disrespectful, even. Chenle licks his lips and tries to focus more on the person in front of him than on the one in the corner, but it’s like the young man carries magnets on his gentle features. It’s not hard, but it certainly is an unexpected distraction. 

“Please, Mr. Park, don't worry about it,” he manages to say. “As a matter of fact, I enjoyed the drive. The view of these coasts is beautiful from the air, but nothing beats seeing them at eye level.”

When Park smiles, Chenle can’t help but feel that hidden bubble of pride that never fails to swell in his chest in moments like these: when he knows he’s said the right thing, and his interlocutor has satisfaction written all over them. 

“I'm happy to know that,” Park says. He gestures at one of the four armchairs placed around the low coffee table. “Please, sit down. Take a rest.”

Chenle accepts the suggestion, picking the nearest chair as Park does the same, and carefully hides his surprise when the young man moves to sit next right next to his husband on one of the leftover chairs. He keeps his back perfectly straight like a doll and his big, chiselled hands on his lap, but his dark eyes don’t leave Chenle’s face for a single second. All of him is silent melancholy, like he’s an invisible ghost left to forever haunt this room. Chenle’s arms end up covered in goosebumps, but no one would ever be able to tell just by looking at his still flawlessly carefree smile. Is Park seriously not going to introduce his husband to his guest…? Nevermind that a face his this could be adorning magazine covers, it’s a matter of simple decency.

“Don't take offence at what I'm about to say, Zhong,” Park says as he crosses his legs too, “but you look nothing like your old man.”

A tiny familiar rush of adrenaline. Chenle lives for moments like these.

“I've heard that a lot.” He leans back on the soft armchair, letting his sore body sink into the cushion. Aeroplanes are fast and reliable, that’s for sure, but the comfort they offer still leaves a lot to be desired. “I don't look like my mother either. I'm starting to reconsider the whole stork story.”

Park laughs. Win after win. “No need,” the man says. He fishes out a pack of cigarettes and offers one to Chenle, which he accepts, but he pretends he doesn’t see the stretched out lighter and uses his own. “I'm starting to see you share the same sense of humour.”

In most dialogues that exclude someone, the bystander is usually left to observe both the sides of the conversation alternately in the same way someone watches a tennis match, but the young stranger deviates from this pattern. Instead of casting his eyes on who’s speaking, or, at the very least, watching his own husband, he stares only at Chenle, like he seeks not just to discover but to also devour his secrets. For anyone else that’s not Chenle, it would be hard to focus, but even someone with his experience is starting to feel strange. 

“Got all his best traits and none of the worst,” he says with a smile.

Mr. Park shrugs. “As long as you've inherited his talent for successful business opportunities…”

Chenle lets out a good-humoured chuckle. “Years securing deals over letter and you still don't trust me, Mr. Park?”

“You wouldn't be here if I didn't.”

Chenle does break, but he can easily trace back the origin of the deviation from his carefully crafted script to the disrespect he’s witnessing, and not to his personal discomfort. He’s handled situations that would put this office to shame. 

“It's a pleasure to know I've finally earned your respect,” he lightly says. “It truly is a shame we hadn't met face to face before. There are many things that do not fit inside an envelope.”

For the first time, he makes it obvious. He stares back at the young man so intensely that Park would have to be either stupid or blind not to say anything. Thankfully, he’s neither. 

“Oh, you mean Jisung here?” he says, barely casting a glance at the person sitting next to him. “I thought I’d told you. But it's a recent thing, in fact.”

Of course. Otherwise, I’d know.

Also for the first time, the young man’s charming full lips abandon that oneiric neutrality and stretch into a small gentle smile. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Zhong.”

Something heavy and dense tosses and turns inside Chenle’s stomach. His voice is low and soft like warm velvet, as timelessly beautiful as his face. Jisung, then. Chenle takes a drag from his cigarette and feels the smoke get tangled with something almost palpable inside him.

“Likewise.”

Jisung’s only response is the way he maintains his tranquil smile on Chenle, but the brief exchange of looks they find themselves locked into only lasts until Mr. Park speaks again.

“Now, Jisung, do leave,” he says. “Me and Chenle here have many plans to work through.”

It’s not unheard-of behaviour. It’s not even surprising – not to anyone in this room. Jisung simply nods and stands up. His smile is gone like the leaves on the wind, leaving behind only that pale apathy, and there’s something about this entire exchange, something Chenle couldn’t place to save his life, that makes the air weigh in his lungs and the oceanic breeze to smell foul. He forces out a laugh, and it comes out well. Not even his dear mother could tell it apart from a genuine one.

“Mr. Park, for goodness’ sake,” he calls, oozing what he knows is magnetism. “There is no reason for your husband to leave so soon. You won't even let me rest for a single minute before you want to dive into the paperwork?”

It catches Park off guard. He blinks. “You're completely right, my apologies. You must be exhausted.”

“I could use an hour or two to stretch my legs, I will admit.”

“Of course, of course.” Park nods enthusiastically, eyes shining. Some men's greed knows no boundaries, Chenle considers. “We'll start discussing our plans after dinner, what do you say? Or tomorrow, if you still haven't recovered by then. In the meantime, the house is all yours. Do make yourself comfortable.” He turns to his husband, and the novelty nearly makes Chenle raise his eyebrows. “Jisung can show you around if you wish. In fact, go and get us some iced tea.”

Jisung’s discreet smile returns, but it seems like, this time, it’s made of plastic rather than being naturally born on his face. He stands up. “Of course.”

Alright, great. Chenle will admit defeat. The last thing he can do is insist again, so he thanks Jisung as he leaves the room (seeing that Park didn’t even consider using the word ‘please’) and tries not to follow Jisung with his eyes as he silently leaves the room. 

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

Jisung returns with a tray carrying only a jug and two glasses, and, much to Chenle’s disappointment, leaves the room immediately after settling it down on the coffee table. He doesn’t return. What can Chenle do, if not thank him again, tune back in, and engage with pointless chit-chat? He’s starting to regret having shown his tiredness. If he knew it was going to be like this, he would have suggested they dive right into their incipient deal. 

The sunlight is golden by the time Mr. Park claims he has other matters to attend to, and Chenle excuses himself before Park can present that option himself. It doesn’t matter that the window is open and that its glass occupies nearly the entirety of that wall – he’s starting to feel suffocated in this office. 

The house tour Park had promised on Jisung’s behalf never comes. In fact, for the rest of the day and until he’s called for dinner, he only catches fleeting glances of Jisung. Talking in hushed tones with the maid here, entering a room there, surveilling the work of the man cleaning the pool over in the garden. Chenle can’t afford much more. Any further boldness would be an invasion, a line he in no way wants or needs to cross, and he’s learnt the hard way all risks must be worth their profit. He tries to forget about that silent figure as he retreats to his room and unpacks his bag. Why is he so interested in the first place? This stranger is far from being the goal for his visit – Chenle didn’t even know he’d be here. 

He frowns to himself as he folds a jumper and places it in a drawer. The young man is quiet and discreet, yes, but it is an unexpected pair of eyes, an extra brain thinking and registering. Could this become a problem? Chenle shakes his head and closes the drawer. He will handle it. Besides, unpredictable events aren’t inconveniences for him, but rather welcomed necessities. They keep him alert, they keep his mind gears spinning smoothly, they keep him sharp.

There’s no reason to believe anything will go wrong, and no reason to wish to put his eyes on Jisung again so intensely. He’s staying for an entire week, after all – courtesy of his oh so generous host. He’ll have all the time he needs to grow familiar with this house and the people in it. That’s what he tells himself, at least – the truth is that his mind is buzzing with anticipation.  

Dinner goes exactly like the short meeting in the office had. Park does the talking, Chenle responds with an enthusiasm that effortlessly mirrors the host’s, and Jisung sits there, silent like his soul isn’t even alive anymore and he’s a simple automaton following a set of predefined rules that echo only grace and composure. Chenle tries not to stare at the way he cuts his steak and drinks his red wine. Maybe that’s simply how he is, maybe there’s nothing more to him, and his monotony is what drew Park in, a neat contrast to his boldness. 

Maybe that’s not the case at all. Who knows?

Chenle doesn’t, and that’s the problem. He’s dying to find out. 

Park invites him for a drink in his office after the meal is over, an invitation he doesn’t extend to his husband. Chenle is not surprised anymore. As the whiskey burns his throat on its way down, all he can think about is how the only way to solve this mystery is to get Jisung alone. Park’s presence is obviously the buffer (or at the very least, one of them) that’s keeping Jisung’s lips sealed shut. Chenle is more than aware that this curiosity goes both ways – he could feel Jisung’s eyes on him throughout the entire meal, only looking away for the time it took him to pick the food from his plate, just like his gaze was almost like a physical touch on Chenle’s skin back in the office. Yes, it must happen. They need to talk, one on one. It could be that there’s nothing more to it, but Chenle would more easily believe it will snow tomorrow. 

It’s those dark eyes of his. There’s something behind them. 

The opportunity he so eagerly awaits only arrives the following morning.

He has breakfast completely on his own: the maid who serves him orange juice and croissants informs him that Mr. Park has been stuck in his office since the early hours of the day in what appears to be an endless battle with whoever’s on the other end of his phone line – Chenle can hear his side of the conversation, muffled by the door – and Jisung is nowhere to be seen again. Chenle forces himself to be patient and enjoys the food, then returns to his room, picks up a book he brought, and whiles the morning away under the comforting early summer glow. He only raises his eyes from the pages when the sound of wheels scraping on pavement breaks the silence. 

From his balcony, he can only see half of the pool, but the visible corner at his disposal is enough. Jisung pushes one of the reclining sun loungers until it rests under the shade of a parasol and lies down. He’s not wearing swimming attire but rather a different coloured version of yesterday’s outfit. He’s too far for Chenle to confirm whether his eyes are closed, but he simply lies there motionless, long legs escaping the relatively confined space protected by the parasol. Chenle puts down the book, grabs his sunglasses from the bedside table and heads downstairs. Whatever the nature of the phone conversation, it’s rising in intensity behind the closed door when Chenle walks by – he can now distinguish clear words. Someone fucked up, apparently. Chenle would not like to be in their place, he thinks as he opens the sliding glass door and steps onto the beige tiles that surround the pool.

He tries to make himself audible, as the last thing he wishes is to creep up on Jisung and startle him, but the young man is raising his head before Chenle can even say anything. He smiles, and because it’s not that plastic smile he seems to save for his husband, Chenle grabs another lounger and drags it under the parasol too, next to Jisung.  

“Mr. Zhong,” he simply greets, sitting up. His eyes aren’t glassy anymore, but rather seem to shine even under the refreshing shade like they seek the sun themselves. His shirt today is of a soft sage green, but the small pearls haven’t left the comfort of his neck. 

Chenle matches his smile. “Please, just Chenle,” he says. “We're probably the same age.”

Jisung nods. “Chenle, then.”

To Chenle’s surprise, he looks away, facing the ripples in the crystalline water of the pool. Interesting. He was starting to think this man was addicted to eye contact. Is it the consequence of this hitherto unknown privacy between the two of them, away from anyone’s gaze? He’s still sitting straight like a wooden puppet, with his hands on his lap like before and keeping his voice as quiet as ever. Chenle wants to dig deeper, so he does.  

“I was starting to think you had fallen asleep here,” he says.

Jisung looks away from the water and blinks. “That wouldn't be appropriate.”

“I think people care too much about what is and isn't appropriate.”

It’s tiny but undeniable. The hint of a smile curls the corner of Jisung’s lips, full and pink like peaches. “Scandalous point of view,” he says. 

“I have many of those. Pick and choose.” He pulls his cigarettes and his lighter from his pocket, and offers Jisung the box. “Want one?”

However, he shakes his head. “I don't smoke. Thank you.”

“Wise choice,” Chenle says before he slots one cigarette between his lips and brings the flame closer. It’s easier to light it up, there’s barely any wind. “I can already see I'll learn a lot from you.”

A soft exhale. Jisung’s shoulders seem to relax, even if just a bit, and Chenle tries not to react to anything that’s not coming out of his mouth. “I don't have my husband's experience in business deals, unfortunately,” Jisung says. It makes Chenle shrug.

“There's more to the world beyond money.”

“Scandalous point of view again.” Lighter voice. Wider smile. What a waste it is, that someone who sounds like this keeps his lips sealed tight so often. If he were hosting a radio show, the ladies would write daily letters to the station – and some of the gentlemen too. “To some, at least,” Jisung adds. 

Chenle chuckles, breathing out smoke. To contribute to the mood, he sits back properly in the recliner and relaxedly crosses his ankles. The air smells of grass and chlorine, but all Chenle can pay attention to is the fresh notes of cologne he can detect, reaching him all the way from Jisung’s neck. He wishes he could identify the exact scent. “Now, now, who was that directed at?”

It’s fine to see the ice melt in front of his very eyes. Jisung presents him with his widest smile so far, one that forces him to look away again for a second. 

“Don't you dare put words in my mouth, Mr. Zhong,” he titters. He leans slightly back on the lounger, placing one hand on the fabric to support his torso. The new posture just makes his waist seem even more appealing. Chenle thanks himself for having remembered to bring the sunglasses, but still tries to keep his eyes from wandering too far. 

“Wouldn't dream of that,” he says before he takes a new drag from his cigarette. Then, he points at Jisung’s golden wedding band with what he’s fairly certain should come across as a casual gesture. “He mentioned it was a recent happening – may I ask how recent?”

It would be nigh unnoticeable to someone whose life doesn’t spin around observing others: Jisung slightly tenses up again. He seems to catch himself having fallen into a less than perfectly proper posture, so he fixes it immediately, and Chenle tries not to regret his own question. Some chunks of information require sacrifices, and in any case, Jisung seems to be willing to answer, even if that note of disguised mirth has vanished from his tone. 

“Less than half a year,” he says. He’s looking at the blue water of the pool again, but it’s not like last time. Now that husband was brought up, he avoids eye contact like he’s ashamed of the topic. Strange. “I'm surprised you didn't know. I was under the impression he at least considered inviting you to the wedding.” 

Chenle’s synapses fire. Why is everything about this young man brand new information to him? He clears his throat before answering. 

“Either the invitation got lost in the mail, or he changed his mind,” he says. “But it's too late to worry about that. Congratulations, even if it's half a year late.”

“Thank you.”

“How did you meet?”

When Jisung smirks, it’s clearly against his will, and that’s when Chenle confirms what he has been suspecting from the get-go: the ghost-like apathy, the rigidness, the silence… it’s all an outer shell. Self-imposed or not – that’s the following question.

“My, my, you're the curious type,” Jisung says with a slight lilt. 

“My apologies,” Chenle says. Unapologetically, of course. “Asking questions comes naturally when securing important deals. I don't think my brain ever switches off. You're under no obligation to answer.”

“It's alright, there's not much of a story here,” Jisung says. He looks up, even if all that’s there to stare at is the white fabric of the parasol. “We met at a party last year. He liked me, my family liked him. The rest, as they say, is history.” 

Of course. What else explains whatever the hell this is? It’s a tale as old as time. Jisung keeps his eyes neutral and his voice flat, but the way he keeps staring at the underside of the parasol tells Chenle everything he could possibly need to know about his true feelings towards this arrangement. He puts on a somewhat sympathetic smile. It’s too early for strong displays of empathy.

“It was worth it just for this view, was it not?” He points at the sea down at the foot of the hill, vast and peaceful like a whale. “Many would consider this paradise on earth.”

To his surprise, Jisung follows the direction of his hand but simply shrugs. “It's beautiful, yes, but I'm… not too fond of the ocean.”

If Chenle were to give it a little more thought, he would signal the way Jisung’s words make him involuntarily smile as, at the very least, an orange flag, but right now all he cares about is balancing out his last sentence. “I know someone who can't swim when I see them,” is what he settles for. It pays off. Jisung returns his attention to him and finds his way into a smile again – a shy one, that dyes his cheeks pink, but oozing with charm, nonetheless.

“It's true,” he admits. “I never learnt.”

“I could teach you. I'm only staying for a week, but that should be enough time to cover the basics.”

Jisung shakes his head. “It's not just about learning the skill, that should be the easy part,” he says. “It's more about overcoming fear.”

Fear. A few years ago, Chenle would claim he’s a stranger to that word. Now, life has taught him this kind of boldness carries sharp teeth that bite when one’s least expecting it. There is some joy to be found in tiptoeing, in seeing where the red lines have been drawn. He stares at the cigarette between his fingers, slowly burning away.

“That's the toughest part indeed,” he says. “But arguably the one that makes it worth it.”

Jisung tilts his head, a faint glow returning to his eyes. “You sound like the fearless type of person,” he offers, like he’s read Chenle’s thoughts. At this point, Chenle might start to believe he truly has. 

“I don't think anyone's fearless,” he says. “There are only those who learn how to control fear.”

“And you're one of them.”

The white smoke rises, light in weight and heavy in scent. Chenle takes it to his lips, to buy some time. The right words usually flock to him naturally, but for some reason he cannot bring himself to decipher, he wants to navigate this conversation with thought and care. It’s strange, in all honesty. Jisung is not the one he’s here to do business with, his input shouldn’t matter. And yet, and yet. “Safe investments are rarely the most profitable ones,” he ends up saying.

“I suppose that makes them boring.”

“They're necessary. Mistake your life for a rollercoaster and you won't live to see your wrinkles.”

“Balance, then.”

“Like everything in life.”

Jisung hums, leaning back on the recliner, but his eyes stay on Chenle. From a faint sparkle, barely visible, to a bright flame – his gaze burns, and Chenle is starting to think he’s not as immune to it as he had been hoping. 

“A safe bet here,” Jisung starts, “an investment that will almost certainly lose you money there.”

The corner of Chenle’s lips twitch. It could be a shot in the dark from Jisung’s side. 

It could, but it isn’t. Not with that look that sets his beautiful eyes ablaze. Chenle chuckles.

“I assure you don't have to worry about that,” he says. “Your husband won't see himself forced to sell this beautiful house any time soon. Many things can go wrong, but they're all accounted for.”

Jisung matches the lightness in his voice. “Remember those words,” he teases, leaning slightly towards Chenle, who wishes there was some breeze agitating the summer air, one that could carry the scent of Jisung’s perfume closer to him. Just a bit closer and he’ll know. “I might not love the ocean, but I sure do enjoy this pool.”

Chenle leans too. He takes his sunglasses off, to bring them to equality. “I guess you'll just have to trust me,” he says. “Do you?”

“How would I know? I met you yesterday, Mr. Zhong.” Jisung smirks. “Pretty soon for such a leap of faith.”

“Wouldn't be a leap of faith otherwise.”

The moment stretches into almost a full minute, in which nothing else exists in the world but the way their eyes stay locked. The azure water of the pool gently kisses the porcelain tiles in a constant rhythmic murmur, like the tiny waves whisper between them, commenting on everything they bear witness to. At last, Jisung lets out an amused hum and looks away, but Chenle isn’t ready to give up on the seeds that seem to be sprouting between them. 

“May I ask you an inappropriate question?” he says. “For someone who met you yesterday, that is.”

Jisung grins. “I'm terrified already,” he jokes. “Ask away.”

Will Jisung break eye contact once again when he hears Chenle’s question? Chenle places his bets.

“Why does your husband keep out of the room when we're discussing business? You say you don't have his experience, but you clearly know what you're talking about.”

Bet won – but Chenle was expecting nothing else. He watches how Jisung turns to look at a nearby palm tree as he fixes his necklace, less like it is a prized possession that must be taken care of, and more like its presence is a chore.

“Who knows,” Jisung slowly says. “Maybe it's safer this way. He can't put the blame on me if things go south.”

Chenle tenses up, but manages not to exteriorise it further than a rise of his eyebrow. “Would he?”

Jisung turns to him, and for the first time today, Chenle returns to yesterday’s feeling: that what’s hidden behind his eyes is utterly indecipherable.  

“I don't want to know.”

Yes, Chenle needs to be careful. Otherwise, he’ll start to implement deviations to his original plan that spread far beyond the limit he has settled as acceptable, and that limit would already be considered reckless by most people he knows.

“Another fear,” he says. “Just like the ocean.”

Jisung shrugs again. “Some risks aren't worth taking.”

“Absolutely. But then, it stops making sense to put ourselves in front of them, does it not?”

Jisung opens his mouth to answer, but that’s when the maid opens the sliding glass windows and announces that lunch is ready. They stand up. Jisung dusts off his already spotless clothes while Chenle hooks his sunglasses on his shirt, after putting out his cigarette on the ashtray that rests on the small table between both loungers. He’s about to head to the house when Jisung speaks again.

“Mr. Z–Chenle.”

He faces him. “Yes?”

Chenle observes him. It’s the first time they’re both standing in such close proximity, and their height difference sure is… interesting. Chenle can’t say he doesn’t like it. However, Jisung’s stature gets somewhat lost in the way he lowers his eyes and tries to hide a shy smile. His long fingers play with the green fabric of his shirt.

“I… enjoyed our conversation.”

“So did I. We must do this more often.”

Jisung’s smile grows. “Remember those words too.”

They’re already sitting at the lunch table when Mr. Park emerges from his office, face red and hair in disarray as he apologises for how this complication dragged through the entire morning. Chenle and Jisung exchange an amused look and say nothing. 

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

Despite all the promises, the chances they get to interact in the next couple of days are few and far between. Chenle didn’t come here on holiday, after all, so most of his time is spent holed up in Park’s office discussing details and arrangements and making phone calls until their ears are numb. Park’s company isn’t terrible – at the very least, he’s competent and not entirely an idiot – but Chenle’s fingertips tingle. This is akin to showing someone the most delicious looking feast, then taking it from them and replacing it with a fast-food meal before they can even start to dig in. He craves more. And the ‘more’ in question is just a few rooms away. 

Anyhow, there’s always dinner time. There’s the poolside and the corridors. They go back to exchanging lingering looks whenever their eyes meet, but there’s a new weight to them now. Jisung saves his mechanical smiles for his husband, and presents Chenle with the sweeter version of them. Chenle aches for opportunities, for evenings spent in the same room, chatting the night away like that inconvenience of a man isn’t there at all, but Jisung always disappears into his room after dinner, and all Chenle can do is go along with Park’s determination to keep the conversation flowing. It always circles back to their project, and Chenle’s dreams are haunted with endless numbers, swirling in his brain, dividing, adding, multiplying, multiplying, multiplying. 

He only gets a minute to rest on the third day.

Mr. Park adds his smashed cigarette to the pile that already fills up the ashtray and hums. “Speaking of which,” he says. “I won’t join you for dinner tonight.”

Chenle raises his eyes from the transaction records he’s consulting. “Bad news?”

“Not at all.” Park stands up and walks to the window. Surprisingly, there’s a hint of awkwardness in his smile when he turns to face Chenle. “Just a friend of mine who’s celebrating his birthday today – naturally, he invited his closest companions for dinner and, well, maybe a few card games too. But I must apologise. Abandoning my esteemed guest in the middle of the week… I should have at least warned you, but it completely slipped my mind.”

Dinner, and a few card games too. Chenle has been to a few of these birthday celebrations, he knows how they go. He tries not to smile too hard as he answers. 

“No need to apologise, my friend. Do enjoy. I’m sure I can keep myself busy.”

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

The drastic changes Chenle had been, perhaps foolishly, anticipating, never happen. Jisung gifts him one of his breathtaking smiles as he sits down, but remains mostly quiet during the meal, the first meal they share on their own. Chenle tries to remain as relaxed as he always appears. After all, it’s not like they’re completely alone: the maid is right there, replacing their dirty dishes with desert, and they can faintly hear her talking to the cook in the kitchen, just a few walls away from the dining room. It’s all logical and smart and undoubtedly the wisest course of action, but every time their eyes meet over asparagus or cheesecake, Chenle feels another chunk of his sanity slipping away. Conversation doesn’t flow, and, knowing Jisung is doing it on purpose, Chenle decides to let it be. Otherwise, chances are he’d say something he’d bitterly regret.

Traces of red berry confit stick to Jisung’s spoon, and his tongue darts out to lick it clean. At the very last second, Jisung looks at Chenle, and his breath catches. Yes, it’s a very good thing he wasn’t in the middle of any sentence as this happened, but he’s starting to want to ruin all the progress he’s made so far. 

Before he can commit to whatever bad decision he first came up with on the fly, Jisung stands up and excuses himself to his room. Chenle only lets himself take a deep, deep breath when he is also hidden behind the safety of his door. He should change into comfortable clothes and go to sleep, but he doesn’t. The house is silent, but his mind isn’t. Chasing some much-needed clarity, he turns the light off and opens the glass door to his balcony, letting the fresh night breeze invade the room. It carries the scent of the sea, salty, sharp and humid. The full moon turns the ocean into silver foil. Chenle stares at it until he hears footsteps in the corridor. A second later, a strange sound comes from his door.

He silently raises an eyebrow. It was almost like knocking, but fainter and more insecure, as if someone had awkwardly tried to knock not using their fist but rather their feet. Intrigued, he opens the door, only for his frown to immediately dissolve into a smile. 

Jisung holds a wooden tray carrying two glass cups and a jar filled with a fragrant, amber liquid that Chenle can only assume is iced tea. Even in the relative darkness of his threshold, he can distinguish the slight pink tint that dyes Jisung’s cheeks. Maybe he did knock with his bare foot after all. How could he have used his hands without dropping the heavy tray?

“Jisung,” Chenle greets. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

Partially true. The berry confit left many questions in his mind. 

Jisung matches his smile. His eyes could be mistaken for stars with the way they shine. “I was worried that with my husband gone for the evening you'd feel lonely or bored, so I thought you might want some company.” He raises the tray a bit, as if it were humanly possible for Chenle to have missed it. “And iced tea.”

I want both. One more than the other, though.

“Of course, thank you,” he says instead. He moves away from the entrance, giving Jisung space to follow him into the room, and quickly closes the door behind him. “Bring it to the balcony, please. There's a pleasant breeze.”

The oceanic scent is even stronger now that they’re outside, and the murmur of the waves at the foot of the hill grows pleasantly louder. Jisung sets down the tray on the small table between the two chairs, but Chenle makes a point to be the one who pours their drinks. It smells like cinnamon, and there is a lazy smile on Jisung’s lips as he sits down too and stretches his legs. Chenle decides not to waste any time.

“Now, isn’t this quite... scandalous?” he starts, as he hands Jisung his drink and watches him raise an eyebrow in response. “A married man visiting someone who's not his husband, late at night... in his bedroom?”

“Why would it be scandalous? We're not doing anything wrong.” Jisung raises the glass, making the ice cubes clink. “Look, we're not even drinking alcohol!”

Chenle brings their glasses together in a toast. “Quite right, but you know how people talk.”

“No one needs to know.”

One could fit the full moon in Jisung’s eyes. They reflect its silver light in a way the ocean, no matter how beautiful, simply can’t match. Chenle lowers his gaze to Jisung’s fingers, wrapped around the tall glass, and notices he’s not wearing his wedding ring. 

“We're keeping secrets now, then?” Chenle finally asks. “The two of us.”

Jisung shrugs. “Why not?” 

Velvet voice. Chenle wonders how soft it would sound, whispering sweet nothings in his ear. The breeze seems to grow warmer, so Chenle forces himself to look away and takes his lighter and his cigarettes from his pocket. He shoots an only half apologetic look at Jisung. “I’d offer, but you’ve told me–”

To his surprise, Jisung stretches out his hand. “Hell with it,” he says. “Give me one.”

Interesting. Now, Chenle could hand him the lighter and the small box, but where’s the fun in that? Instead, he only hands Jisung his cigarette, and watches him slot it between those beautiful cherry lips. He imitates him, then motions him to come closer. Jisung keeps his eyes on him as he leans forward on his chair. When the flame flickers on, it lights up both cigarettes at once, and Chenle’s wish, born by the pool, finally comes true. The scent of Jisung’s perfume fills up his nostrils with an intensity the smoke just can’t quite match. A note of wood, a note of apple, a note of summer. The iced tea won’t get him drunk, but this proximity might. 

Jisung leans back on the chair again and breathes out a white cloud. His hands look so beautiful like this, one grabbing the glass, the other holding the cigarette, both bare of any adornments. Chenle finds himself wishing that string of pearls would disappear from his neck. Wouldn’t it get in the way if he were to kiss it?

Something as terrible as delicious makes Chenle’s stomach tighten.

“May I ask you something truly scandalous?” he says.

Jisung rolls his eyes, but there’s a hint of fondness in his grin. “You tend to do that.”

“How did you end up here?” he immediately shoots. “What was your life like before you found yourself stuck in a marriage that clearly doesn’t fulfil you?”

Jisung’s lips part in surprise. For a moment, he seems to forget that he’s holding an object in each hand, and simply sits there with his wide eyes sparkling towards Chenle. He’s about to take a step back and apologise for going too far with his curiosity, when Jisung shakes his head and chuckles.

“Good Lord, it really is that simple.”

“What do you mean?”

He lowers his eyes to his glass. The ice cubes twirl around the surface like they’re dancers on a stage. “You know, I don't think he's ever asked me that,” Jisung murmurs after a while. “It's like my previous life didn't exist, and that I arrived on this earth the night we met.”

‘He liked me, my family liked him.’

“Well, I am asking that.”

Jisung lets out another laugh, but the careless languidness from before is starting to slip away. The moonlight exposes his rosy cheeks to the world, and he just looks… shy. When he takes a sip from his drink, he seems to do it simply to buy some time, but Chenle keeps his eyes on him and wishes he were tasting the tea not from his own cup but rather from Jisung’s lips.

“Surely you don't want to hear me ramble,” Jisung says.

“What if I do?” Chenle fires back.

“Don't think you can cajole me with your businessman charm, Mr. Zhong.” Jisung laughs as he stresses the two final words, but a certain unease taints his tone. “Isn't this your line of work? Making people around you feel valued?”

“It is my line of work,” Chenle confirms, “but look at that.” When Jisung raises a confused eyebrow, Chenle glances down at his wristwatch. “It's way too late to be working.”

He tries to keep it in, Chenle will give him that. In fact, his face seems to take on the monumental effort to remain still as stone, as if there isn’t an obvious smile pulling upwards the corner of his lips. Chenle doesn’t bother hiding anything, letting his shameless smile stay right where it is.

Eventually, Jisung accepts defeat and lets out an amused sigh. 

“Alright.” He places down his half-empty glass, but holds onto the cigarette as he stands up. At first, Chenle simply watches him as he leans his arms on the balcony railing, but then he follows him there. “If you must know,” Jisung continues once they’re side to side facing the endless dark ocean, and points at the full moon. “I wanted to go there.”

Chenle blinks. “The moon?”

“The moon.”

“Metaphorically...?”

Jisung laughs. “Physically!” he states. The tension that held his shoulders hostage back when they talked about Mr. Park is all gone now. “Step on those craters myself. Have you thought of that? We all stare at the moon, but one day there could be someone up there, staring back at us with a smile.”

Chenle is the kind of person who likes to keep his feet well-grounded on the world below him, always keeping his dreams realistic, never biting more than he can chew. He never dreamt of the moon, never once considered how it would feel like to look at the earth from above. 

It’s so round, white like marble. So close, yet so far. It floats alone, imposing in all its beauty, but maybe it sighs, longing for the day it welcomes its very first guests. 

Jisung lets out a quiet exhale. “I'm sorry,” he murmurs, “you must think this is completely ridiculous.”

It’s only then that Chenle realises he’s been quiet for the last minute or so. He’d like to say his voice comes out as easy and normal as it always does, but that would make him even more of a liar than he already is.

“No, not at all,” he finally says, hoping he’s doing a satisfactory job at disguising the way his words are a bit too wobbly. It’s easier to do this when he’s confident about the opaque outer shell that he keeps around him at all times, the one that wears the perfect portrait of a version of himself painted on the surface, but that layer feels scaringly transparent under Jisung’s dark eyes. “I think it's quite beautiful, the idea of someone looking at us from there,” he admits. “We could wave, and they'd wave back.”

He keeps his gaze on the moon as he speaks, and lets it stay there even after he finishes. It’s just until he feels normal again, he tells himself, but it feels like an impossible task with the way Jisung looks at him. Finally, he dares to face him. 

It’s worth it. His smile is small and bashful, but it makes him shine. For a long moment, they simply remain there, locked in the moment, hearing the waves softly crash against the shore like they whisper tales of old.

“A secret for a secret then?” Jisung offers.

Chenle snorts and takes the almost forgotten cigarette to his lips. “And you call me the businessman.”

“Well, you noticed it yourself. I know the tricks, I've read the books.”

Chenle could lie. There are not many skills he’s perfected to the same degree of perfection as this one, after all. It’s not even second nature anymore, it seems to be intrinsic to his being – automatic, mechanical, easy. He wakes up with lies spilling from between his teeth and dreams of them as he lies his head down to rest once the night falls. 

He could lie, but he doesn’t want to. Not tonight.

“Very well,” he says. He almost laughs at himself. Most people struggle with eye contact when they’re speaking falsehoods, while he’s avoiding Jisung’s curious gaze as he bares a real part of him. How ironic. “Young little me wanted to be a singer,” he shares. Then, he giggles, but he’s not sure that’s not simply a way to hide the way his heartbeat hastens. “As you can see, not every child dreams as high as the moon.”

Stages. Applause. Lyrics, records, instruments. He doesn’t usually let himself think about the way things could have happened – what’s the point in staring down at doors that will forever stay locked?

Jisung hums. “There's nothing wrong with setting more realistic goals.”

His tone is simple, genuine. Too genuine, enough for Chenle to suddenly feel raw and exposed. He fights back the only way he knows, by dialling his charm up to one thousand, and tries not to regret sharing words he logically knows Jisung won’t repeat to anyone else. 

“Exactly,” he says. He’s thankful there is still some tea in his glass – his tongue is dry and numb. “You could be buying tickets to my show instead of being here, chatting with me.”

Jisung hums again, this time in agreement. When he fully turns to Chenle, abandoning the lovely sight of the ocean bathed in silver, Chenle tries not to crumble. There’s something different in his eyes now, something strange in his smile. He has just drunk, but his throat feels parched again. Jisung crosses his arms and tilts his head to the side.

“Yes,” he says. “I'd listen to your songs on the radio, instead of listening to your lies.”

Chenle’s stomach drops.

It’s hardly the first time someone has called him a liar, but knowing that he won’t be able to weasel his way out of this one with a tinge of charm, a quick laugh and an even quicker response… That’s the true novelty. That’s what makes his heart rush, his lungs tighten. No, he can’t deny Jisung’s words, not to his face, and that’s because Jisung knows. 

He swallows. “My lies?”

Jisung keeps his arms crossed but takes a step forward. Then another, then another, until his face is centimetres apart from Chenle’s. He prays his knees remain weightless as he inhales the fresh scent of his cologne, perfumed with the sweet aroma of the iced tea. When Jisung speaks, Chenle can feel his warm breath brushing over the skin of his lips.

“Don't you think I know, little viper?” Jisung murmurs. “That you're planning on tricking my husband out of his money?”

Time stops. There’s only the two of them – faces an inch apart – and the gentle sea, the cigarette smoke, the paler line around Jisung’s finger, where the ring usually hides his skin from the sun. No one is fearless, not even Chenle, and moments like this are perfect examples of his human nature. His heart tries to claw its way out of his ribcage.

Although it’s completely impossible, the feeling lingers on: Chenle is certain this young man had him all figured out the second their eyes met a few days ago in the office. It should be terrifying – after all, he can’t remember the last time he felt this naked with all his clothes on.

But if that were the case, then why in the world would Jisung’s smile be so… serene?

Chenle was right after all. The idea that there could be nothing behind that look in Jisung’s eyes never seemed likely anyway.

He finds himself smiling as he replies. “Are you going to denounce me?”

Jisung huffs out a laugh. He steps back, taking a drag from his cigarette before he sets it down on an ashtray. Chenle wants to drink the smoke directly from his lips. “Denounce you?” Jisung shrugs. “I think I might help you.”

That does it – Chenle finds his way back into his own body. He grabs the jug and pours himself another dose of tea. His hands aren’t as stable as he would have enjoyed yet, but he’s getting there. “It's a big risk,” he warns. “Aren't you afraid?”

When Chenle points the jug at Jisung, he lets him fill his cup too. “I am,” Jisung says, softly over the sound of the drink splashing against what’s left of the ice cubes, now round and polished by the night heat. “But someone once told me something about overcoming our fears.”

They’re starting to return to his area, thankfully. Either that, or he’s forcing it – whatever helps him sleep at night. “Then, may I offer you a deal?” he asks. Jisung says nothing, simply signalling him to continue. “I want to buy your silence. You pretend you know nothing and let me work, and once my little magic trick succeeds, part of the money is yours. Enough for a little boost, to start over anew.”

“You're very confident it will work.”

“I know it will. And even if it doesn't, I'm the one who’s… sent away. You can play the confused husband role, and no one will suspect a thing.” He negates the step back Jisung took a minute ago and comes closer. Jisung simply lets him, making no effort to maintain their distance. When Chenle runs a fingertip over his sharp jaw, Jisung closes his eyes for a second and leans into his touch. “So, what do you say?”

Jisung comes even closer, close enough for him to feel the body heat he irradiates even over the fabric of his clothes. It only gets more intense when Jisung takes his hands to Chenle’s chest, long fingers playing with the first two undone buttons of his shirt. Then, he smiles. 

“Come on,” he whispers. “You had my yes the second you walked through the front door.”

There’s no turning back now. Chenle loses himself in the beautiful sight of those plump lips and snakes one arm around Jisung’s waist, feeling him huff in amusement when he pulls him even closer, until their chests are touching and his mouth is brushing over Jisung’s ear.

“Anything else I have your yes for?” he asks.  

When Jisung leans away – just enough to be able to stare directly at him as he answers, thankfully – Chenle finds his teeth sinking into his lower lip. Jisung moves his hands from his chest to his neck, and fuck, they’re so warm and big. Chenle’s heart speeds up again, but the reason could not be more different from before.

“Mhm,” Jisung murmurs. “This too.”

Chenle wastes no time. He closes his eyes, leans forward, and presses their lips together.

Jisung tastes like smoke, like cinnamon, like bliss. 

The pace is otherworldly from the get-go: Jisung kisses like he's desperate, like all life will cease if he doesn't take for himself all Chenle has to offer, and Chenle gladly matches his eagerness. He pulls him even closer, if that were possible, and asks for no permission before he slips his tongue inside Jisung's warm mouth. Not that he would ever receive a negative answer: Jisung hums in delight, the sound melting into the kiss and lighting up fires inside Chenle. Jisung's lips aren't just a treat for weary eyes, they're also soft like clouds – in every regard except the way he kisses, that is. One of his hands stays on Chenle's neck, but the other travels to the back of his head as the kiss deepens and deepens. Chenle wishes he would grab a fistful of his hair, and… well, Jisung might just be a mind reader. 

He keeps his grip tight and unchanged on Jisung's waist, but his lips are abandoning Jisung's mouth and travelling across his jawline before he can even stop himself. One kiss, two, three, ten, a million and it would still not be enough. Chenle moves down to Jisung's neck and revels in the way the touch of his lips makes Jisung moan and tilt his head back, allowing him easier access. 

Chenle's fingers tremble, digging into Jisung's sides. He can't leave marks behind. Fuck, he really can't. Jisung might have taken his ring off, but that doesn't mean he's willing to show up to his husband with marks of another man's teeth on his neck. The fact that he doesn't even warn Chenle against this and instead puts his safety in his hands is enough to ground Chenle, to clear his head of the rabid thoughts that plague his mind and demand him to ravish Jisung alive. 

He can't, so he doesn't. Life isn't always fair. He just wishes this stupid necklace weren't here. It does get in the way. 

He's about to move back to kissing Jisung before his body escapes his own control, when he feels two hands on his shoulders, pushing him back. His heart drops. Has Jisung changed his mind? Is he–

Oh. He's unbuttoning Chenle's shirt. 

His teeth sink into his lower lip as he watches him. Shaky hands, flushed cheeks, shiny eyes, heaving chest. He's so beautiful. He's so fucking beautiful like this, already so wrecked after some kisses that Chenle feels himself hardening inside his trousers. Fuck, he needs him, and he needs him now. 

He tightens his grip on Jisung's waist and spins them around towards the sliding glass door. Jisung gasps in surprise when his leg hits the small table and the half empty jug of iced tea sways dangerously, but his attention is back to Chenle the second he understands the glass isn't in danger. Somehow, he manages to undo all the buttons on Chenle's shirt before they're even indoors again. He's smiling as he lets himself be dragged to Chenle's bed, and his only response to being dropped onto the bed is a huff of surprise and a grin.

What a delight it would be, to mimic his actions and unbutton his shirt little by little. Chenle's mouth waters as he imagines his skin, hidden by less and less fabric as his hands work, until his chest is bare under him. But alas, the buttons on his polo shirt barely reach past his collarbones. It matters not. If anything, it's even better. Instead of waiting and teasing, Chenle can simply guide him to raise his torso as he rids him off the piece of clothing all in one go. His breath is hasty and ragged as he straddles his hips and stares at the wonder beneath him. Jisung is perfect, absolutely perfect like a sculpture, and the way he blushes and looks away from Chenle's piercing gaze only makes him more enticing to Chenle's eyes. He sits down more comfortably, making Jisung groan in pleasure, but that sound morphs into a whine when Chenle's fingertips brush over his chest and stomach as delicately as he manages. His nipples harden under this thin, barely-there contact, and there's no mistaking the growing lump on his crotch. Chenle smiles and licks his lips before he leans down, supporting his weight by planting his hands on each side of Jisung's pretty face. It's easy to kiss him like this, just like it's easy for Jisung to whimper against his lips, hands eagerly seeking to slide his unbuttoned shirt down his shoulders. Chenle helps him out, pulling away for only a second in order to throw the garment away.

Chills cruise down his spine when he leans down and finds Jisung's cherry lips again. If kissing on the balcony was already mind numbingly good, then the feeling of repeating all of those feelings with less clothing in the way simply makes him dizzy. He lowers his body until his chest is pressed against Jisung's, exchanging this addictive heat. It's no surprise Jisung feels the need to wrap his legs around Chenle's waist, pulling him even further down. This time, Chenle is the one who can't keep a moan in, when their clothed cocks brush together. 

“What would he do if he knew what we're doing?” he asks, breathless against Jisung's lips. “What would happen to me?”

“Don't talk about my husband when you're like this with me,” Jisung murmurs. His fingers dive into the waves of Chenle's hair. “Just don't.”

Chenle chuckles. “It's not easy.” He grinds his hips down, forcing a moan out of Jisung. “I just want to rub it on his face.”

Jisung visibly tries not to smile, but instead of burning Chenle with his gaze like he certainly intended, he just ends up blushing. There are many emotions swimming in his eyes, dark like the night ocean, but none of them even begin to resemble guilt.

They're both smiling when Chenle leans down for another kiss, and from then on, he just lets his control slip away. 

Both belts become unbuckled, both trousers slide down their legs and get unceremoniously thrown onto the floor. Their underwear shortly follows. Jisung's fingers tremble as he hooks his fingers on Chenle's waistband and pulls down, letting his cock spring free, but they're left to grip the sheets below him when Chenle does the same to him. 

Chenle's mouth waters. Jisung was beautiful both fully clothed and half clothed, so it's no surprise that his naked body is just as breathtaking, but fuck. Fuck. His long legs, his broad shoulders, his tiny waist, his… Chenle swallows, mesmerised. It's the biggest he's seen, there's no doubt about it. And yet, Jisung's eyes flutter close as he spreads his legs open.

If it were possible for Chenle to harden even more, this sight would have done it. Jisung's parted lips, his messy hair, his length, hard as rock and dripping with clear fluid. Fuck, Chenle wants to destroy him, and he wants it right now.

But that's what that other man would do. And Chenle is not him. 

Instead, he strokes his own length a few times, to try and clear his mind, and leans down, a grin refusing to fall from his lips. He places his body onto Jisung's, tasting the entirety of his skin with his own, grinds down his hips to make him moan, touches every inch of skin his palms reach, plants hot wet kisses onto his neck. Jisung's breath catches here and there, and he squirms in delight like he can barely comprehend what he's feeling, but Chenle doesn't stop. In fact, he's only getting started.

From his neck to his chest: Jisung's spine arches as Chenle's tongue circles one of his nipples. A clearer headed Chenle would be praying the maid and the other servants know when to stay quiet, because the moan Jisung releases must have resonated across the entire house, but the Chenle that is currently sucking onto Jisung's nipple as he teases the other with his finger couldn't give less of a fuck. He only cares about pleasuring this angel. That's all. 

He doesn't remain still for much longer, however. The second he feels Jisung's hands on his head again, gripping his hair, he releases his nipple, shining with saliva, and continues his journey down. From his chest to his stomach to his navel: Jisung's thighs are shaking by the time Chenle settles between his legs and takes hold of his cock. It's heavy and warm on his hand.

Jisung tries to stifle a whimper when Chenle strokes him once or twice, hand flying to his mouth as he raises his torso by planting his elbows on the mattress.

“Sorry to bring it up again, but I need to know” Chenle comments. He could keep stroking Jisung's impressive length – it feels good and comfortable in his hand – but it's way more fun to see him fail at keeping his hips together, so desperate for some friction that he tries to fuck himself into Chenle's tight hand. “Does he do this to you?”

Jisung shivers. “This…?” he asks, voice small. Chenle thinks he knows and that he's simply in disbelief, but he doesn't mind providing him with a practical example.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “This.”

He keeps his eyes on Jisung as his tongue darts out and licks the tip of his cock. Jisung, however, fails to match him. Fuck, so cute. One tiny lick and he's already shaking, cheeks so red they burn and words failing him.

“So?” Chenle insists. He licks again, this time flattening his tongue against as much of Jisung's sensitive skin as he can. 

“N-no,” Jisung lets out. He can barely look in Chenle’s direction “He doesn't.”

“I figured.”

There's no warning: he does it on purpose. One second he's barely doing more than breathing onto Jisung's dick, the next he's shoving all of him as deep into his throat as he can. 

No song Chenle could have composed had he decided to follow his young dreams would have been as sweet as the choked-out moan that rises from Jisung. His hand pulls at Chenle's hair in a way that would be painful weren't it so sweet. Jisung feels so big in his mouth, so delicious on his tongue. Chenle hollows out his cheeks and gets to work.

It doesn't take much effort to turn Jisung into more of a mess than he already was. Chenle sets a fast pace from the get-go, determined to push him to the absolute limit tonight, and every bob of his head has Jisung moaning and pressing his hips against Chenle like his life will end unless he fucks his mouth right here and now. Chenle doesn't mind. In fact, he thinks he loves this, so he closes his eyes, focuses and lets Jisung use his mouth the way he pleases. Jisung is stumbling through what could be a sentence before long. 

“C-Chenle, I… please,” he breathes, “I need – ah, fuck, Chenle…”

That can't be. Chenle pulls out immediately and tries not to smile when Jisung whines in protest. Damn, his jaw hurts. He's not new to these pleasures, but it's the first time he's ever had someone like Jisung inside his mouth.

“Chenle…”

Chenle sits up, and he's about to speak when he feels a strong hand grabbing his wrist. Jisung's eyes shine under the moonlight that enters through the open window when Chenle turns to him. 

“I need you.” 

Chenle smiles, cupping his jaw with a delicate hand. “Yeah?”

Jisung nods. His blush spreads to his neck and to the tip of his ears. “My trousers…” he tries to say. His voice comes out scratchy and hoarse, and he wasn't even the one with a dick inside his mouth. “In my pocket. There's a…”

Chenle chuckles. “You came prepared.”

Jisung looks away. He nibbles on his lower lip, but that could very well be his way of hiding a smile. “We both knew how this night could end,” he whispers, and all Chenle can think about is his bare ring finger.

“Don't tell me the iced tea was just a prop,” Chenle teases.

“I needed an excuse, didn't I?”

“To have sex with me, or to call me a liar to my face?”

Jisung's eyes shine. “Who knows. Maybe both.”

His look triggers something inside Chenle. It's like a piece of him has been tethering on the edge of falling for a long, long time, and this is finally the gust of wind that tips it over. As he reaches out to grab Jisung's trousers from the floor and fishes out a small glass bottle from their left pocket, he chooses not to think too much about it. It's for everyone's own good. 

Jisung ends up on his knees, hands gripping the headboard and head dropped back, nape supported by Chenle's shoulder as he presses his fingers inside him. One at first, coated in the oil Jisung secretly brought, slow and steady; then two, increasing the pace and the strength he's using. 

Fuck.

He's tight, so tight. Chenle wonders when was the last time he and his husband were together like this, even though he doubts the scenes that happen in their bedroom are anything similar to this. He tries to keep the rest of his body very still, only letting his fingers work their way into Jisung, but everything gets harder as time goes by. When he curls his fingers inside Jisung and hits him where he feels it the most, the moan he lets out flies straight to Chenle's cock, and he's left to wrap his free arm around Jisung's waist, pulling him closer, and pressing his aching length against the back of his thigh. It barely helps. Patience is a virtue, and the last thing he wants is to hurt Jisung, but fucking hell. 

Jisung lets out a long, drawn-out hum and turns his head towards Chenle. Their faces are so close, Chenle would only need to lean forward a tiny bit to kiss him.

“Chenle,” Jisung calls.

“Yes, darling?”

His eyes flutter close. His gorgeous obsidian eyes. “Go forward.”

Heat pools in the pit of Chenle's stomach. “Are you sure, baby?”

Instead of answering immediately, Jisung reaches out and once again grabs a fistful of Chenle's hair. After he brings him closer, he licks Chenle's lips, and Chenle can only breathlessly chase after his mouth. “Absolutely.”

Needy, eager, desperate. Jisung presses his body back against Chenle’s skin, urging him to move forward, and even such a simple touch has Chenle’s head spinning. He nods, and plants a fervent kiss on the corner of Jisung’s lips before he forces himself to move away from Jisung’s addictive warmth – the small bottle won’t fetch itself, after all. 

He tries to keep his head clear and focused as he coats his length with more of the fragrant fluid, feeling goosebumps rising on his arms when its coldness spreads across his most sensitive spots, but clouds insist on covering his thoughts, on obscuring everything that isn’t Jisung, on making him so dizzy he could collapse. What else can he do, besides grabbing himself with one hand and Jisung’s waist with the other? It’s not like Jisung wants him to do anything else.

Jisung holds his breath when Chenle’s tip presses against his entrance, but he doesn’t push in, not yet. Instead, he smiles through the hazy smoke that swirls around his head, feeling chills of pleasure climb up his spine as he nibbles on Jisung’s earlobe as he teases him. Once, twice, thrice, he pretends he’s doing it only to move away at the last second, until Jisung is shaking in his arms. 

“Please…” he whispers. “Just… oh, God, Chenle, please…”

In any other circumstance, Chenle would’ve pretended he couldn’t hear him, but tonight his skin is burning too warm for him to keep this mischief going for much longer. He moves his hand from around Jisung’s waist to his jaw, turning his head towards him so he can kiss his beautiful lips as he finally pushes in and makes his length disappear inside Jisung. 

A choked-out whine, a shudder, a hand flying to grab a fistful of Chenle’s hair: Jisung’s eyes flutter close as he takes him in. His teeth dig into Chenle’s lower lip as he slowly pushes his dick inside him, but Chenle doesn’t mind the pain. Jisung could cut his lip open and make him bleed all over his sheets and he would still find a way to dream about him. 

His original plan was to sit very still for a few seconds after bottoming out, giving Jisung some time to adjust to the novelty, but Jisung’s not having that. Chenle has barely given him all he has to offer and he’s already pushing his hips back, silently begging for movement, for more, more, more. And how could Chenle deny him anything?

It starts slowly at first, but it evolves rapidly like a tornado on the horizon. Thrusts that are born gentle and careful shift into their hips slamming together, filling the room with all the sounds of their skin meeting, into moans that spill from Jisung’s mouth like the most beautiful song, into sighs that Chenle can barely keep to himself. He holds Jisung close, not ready to give up on the warmth of his back pressed close to his chest and stomach, but fuck, he’s feeling greedy. Too greedy, too selfish. He wants to attach his lips to Jisung’s neck and bleed him dry like a vampire, but he also wants to kiss him until he faints – not to mention the mind-numbingly delicious perspective of staring into Jisung’s moonlight eyes as he fucks him senseless. Ah, what to do…? He can’t even think straight enough to make a decision. He lets himself fall into autopilot, chasing nothing but these shared pleasures, conscious of nothing but the way Jisung is so, so tight and warm around him. 

In the end, Jisung ends up deciding for him. He holds onto Chenle’s hair for purchase and attempts to kiss him, but a sudden moan forces him to abandon the task. He breaths onto Chenle’s mouth, eyes closing against his will, cheeks flushed red, undecipherable whispers falling from his lips. He tries to speak, but Chenle only holds him closer and fucks him harder. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, matching his words with the pace of his thrusts. Jisung can only whimper in response. “You’re so, so beautiful, you know that?”  

Chenle could delay his pleasure for a bit longer, if he needed to, but why would he? Jisung’s moans are rising in pitch and frequency, his knuckles are snow white from how he’s gripping the bed, his hips press back over and over again, meeting Chenle halfway. Why wait? Why delay? Won’t it feel better to reach the destination in unison? The sound of the headboard meeting the wall behind it grows frantic, irregular. 

It doesn’t take long before Jisung is letting out his loudest sound so far. He lets his head drop to his chest as he clenches around Chenle and spills out, white and pearly like his necklace. He comes all over the headboard and the sheets under his spread knees, but the fireworks exploding behind Chenle’s eyelids prevent him from seeing any of that. Fuck. He lets his head fall on Jisung’s shoulder as his orgasm cruises through his body, sweeter than the iced tea, hotter than last morning’s scorching sun. His skin tingles, his vision goes blurry, his mind empties out. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He fucks Jisung through it as he fills him up, but by then, his muscles have taken the helm to themselves, aware that they can no longer rely on his brain for any sort of coherent control. Jisung might never step foot on the moon like he dreamt about, but Chenle feels like he’s just taken him there for a moment.

It takes him a long time to come down to earth again. A deep silence has filled the room when he gains consciousness of himself again, only disturbed by the faint buzzing that still lingers inside his ears. He’s still holding onto Jisung like he will float away the second he lets go, and he almost wants to stay there. Until the sun rises, until the week ends – anything. And yet, he can’t deny it. The way he gets to watch his come drip down Jisung’s thighs as he pulls out more than makes up for that. Chenle smiles and presses a kiss onto Jisung’s cheek.

“Feeling alright?” he murmurs.

Jisung tries to speak, but his words fail him, reducing his attempt at speech to a smile that’s as giddy with delight as embarrassed, accompanied by a nod. Chenle chuckles as he pushes Jisung’s damp hair away from his forehead. Why isn’t a man like him spending every waking hour being pampered and spoiled? He would deserve nothing else, but Chenle tries not to think too much about the strange origins of these thoughts as he grabs a bath towel he left to dry on the back of a nearby chair and gently cleans Jisung up with it. Any gentleman would do such a thing. Any gentleman would guide a sleepy, hazy young man into his embrace, leading to lie down on a clean side of the bed they just shared. And he would also certainly hug the man in question from behind, pulling him closer as a trail of soft kisses connects his collarbones to his jawline. 

“I can't stay much longer,” Jisung murmurs, as he makes no effort whatsoever to move away from Chenle’s comfort. “He might come home at any second now.”

“Just five more minutes, then I'll let you go.”

Another kiss, then another, then another. Jisung takes a deep breath and relaxes, melting into Chenle.

“You look so unhappy,” Chenle finds himself saying before he thinks he’s even made that decision. “Especially when he’s around, there's only emptiness in your eyes.”

To his surprise, Jisung answers almost immediately, like the answers to these questions have been on the forefront of his mind for a long, long time now. “What's there to feel happy about?” he says. “But that's not something you should lose sleep over.”

The bed faces the window and the balcony – Chenle can’t look at the moon from where he lies. What he can do, however, is to trace the shadows its silver glow casts on Jisung’s soft skin.

“Right,” he murmurs. “I'm just your lover for the night.”

It’s hardly the first time he’s been in a situation like this. What sets Jisung apart from all the people he’s slept with over the years, that he will inevitably be forced to forget and let go by the time this chapter ends? By all intents and purposes, nothing. 

It’s just the moonlight playing tricks on him, hand in hand with the proximity they’re sharing. Yes, that’s it. That must be the reason why the idea of having to forget Jisung any time soon makes Chenle’s stomach churn.

“Believe me or not, I had never done this before,” Jisung says, oblivious to his musings. 

“Why wouldn’t I believe in you?”

Jisung simply shrugs, but he says nothing. Pulling Jisung closer and planting a gentle kiss on his neck could be written in the dictionary right in front of the word ‘mistake’, but that’s precisely what Chenle does. Blame it on the moon.

“He doesn't touch you like this, does he?” he asks, so quietly it's a miracle Jisung hears him.

“No... not at all.”

“I wish I didn't have to let you go.”

Chenle closes his eyes, pretends those words didn’t sneak through his teeth, and most importantly, pretends he doesn’t notice what Jisung says next. Jisung doesn’t repeat it either, simply cuddling closer, so Chenle adds another lie to his ever-growing collection. 

Jisung didn’t say ‘then don’t’. Not at all. 

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

Bless the glorious morning sun and its light: Chenle feels like a new man as he stands in the garden between cacti and gravel paths, tasting Jisung’s sweetness as they kiss. It really was the moonlight playing tricks on him. He sighs into the kiss. Good to know. He’s out of the woods and he no longer feels the aching desire to do something stupid choking him slowly. He still hasn’t managed to get rid of everything that night induced in him, but he tells himself he’ll get there soon enough. In the meantime, he gets to enjoy the wonders of Jisung’s warm kisses from where they stand, with dense foliage shielding them from the house. 

They didn’t get to see each other a lot yesterday, but maybe it’s a good thing that Chenle had the chance to dissect all that happened without any distractions worsening his dilemmas. 

The week is almost over. Chenle tells himself everything must come to an inevitable end and tightens his grip on Jisung’s waist. In return, he earns a playful nibble on his lower lip, so he decides to take the teasing a bit further, and moves from Jisung’s lips to his neck, leaving traces of saliva where he wishes he could be leaving rosy bruises. It’s only once his lips find something colder than human skin that he remembers the object in his pocket. He hums to call Jisung’s attention and pulls away, grinning to himself as Jisung tries to chase after his lips. 

“I have a question for you,” he says.

Jisung tilts his head. There’s the softest smile on his lips, the gentlest glow in his dark eyes. The combination of vertical stripes on his shirt and the knee-length shorts he wears today makes him look even taller, but Chenle can only focus on… just how pretty he looks.

Strange. His stomach shouldn’t be twisting and turning like this under the sunlight. That kind of incomprehensible thoughts should be an exclusive nighttime occurrence. He clears his throat and lowers his gaze to the pearl necklace. He used to be so good at maintaining eye contact even under the most dreadful situations, what the hell happened to him?

“What is it?” Jisung asks. 

Chenle puts on a forced smile and discovers he can turn it into a genuine one quite easily. At least he’s still got it in him. “It’s not really a question, now that I think about it,” he says, taking one hand to Jisung’s neck and feeling the smooth texture of the tiny irregular pearls. “But you must like this necklace a lot. You wear it every day.”

The dreamy look on Jisung’s eyes disappears, but that’s nothing Chenle hadn’t been expecting. He doesn’t take his fingertips to the necklace, touching the pearls with fondness dripping from his eyes and voice, he just shrugs. “He gave it to me,” he shares. “On the second time we met.”

“That’s not really an answer.”

Jisung doesn’t reply. He does take his hand to his collarbones, but only to hold Chenle’s hand and intertwine their fingers. Chenle’s heart almost skips a beat.

“Does he make you wear it?” he asks, even though he already has a good idea of the answer.

“No,” Jisung murmurs. “I just… thought I should.”

Exactly. Chenle grins, releases his hand from Jisung’s gentle grip and traces the necklace until he finds the clasp. Jisung sucks in a breath when he opens it.

“What are you doing?”

The gravel that surrounds the cacti in this area of the garden is white and polished, almost like the pebbles are bigger, less shiny pearls. Once Chenle throws the necklace into a corner of the decorative patterns, it completely disappears. Jisung’s eyes widen in surprise, but Chenle doesn’t give him a chance to say anything before he pulls out the box he’s been keeping in his pocket. He hands it to Jisung, but he doesn’t immediately accept it. 

“What is this?” he asks, eyebrow raised. His long fingers hover hesitantly over the dark blue velvet box. 

Chenle chuckles. “Come on, darling. Just open it.”

Jisung is still not fully convinced – Chenle can see it in the way he blinks, puzzled – but he ultimately decides to trust Chenle. Once the uncertainty on his face morphs into wonder, Chenle tries not to think too much about the emotion it induces, deep in his heart. How long has it been since he felt something like this?

Jisung’s jaw drops as he stares at the brand-new silver necklace, snuggled inside the box. The pendant is shaped like a waning moon, simple yet elegant.

When Jisung finally raises his eyes from the box back to Chenle, they glow. All of him glows. “Is this why you disappeared for the entirety of yesterday’s afternoon?” he murmurs.

You… noticed. “I had to go downtown for other stuff too,” Chenle lies. It’s not easy. “But I walked by a store and… well, it has your name written all over it, doesn’t it?”

Jisung lowers his gaze back to the moon-shaped pendant, fingertips slowly brushing over the shiny surface like he can hardly believe the image he sees. 

“Do you like it?” Chenle asks.

“Yes, it’s beautiful.”

Chenle reaches for the box. “Then, may I?”

Jisung nods and turns around. It’s hard to close the clasp, but Chenle blames it on the tiny mechanism and not on the soft warmth that rises from the back of Jisung’s neck. 

“There you go,” he says once it’s done. 

It’s longer than the pearl necklace, long enough to disappear under Jisung’s shirt, but Chenle doesn’t mind. This tiny moon is too beautiful to constantly be under strangers’ eyes. Add it to the list of secrets the two of them already share. 

Jisung smiles, leans down, and makes their lips meet. Chenle can’t say he doesn’t prefer when he’s the one pulling Jisung down, but only a madman would refuse his kisses. 

“Thank you. You didn’t have to,” Jisung whispers, breath warm against Chenle’s mouth.

“I know. I’m not asking for anything in return.”

There it is again. That odd drop in his stomach that defies logic and reason and insists on making itself shown even under the bright sun. The explanation hides behind dense layers of smoke, but for the first time in his life, Chenle is not desperate to uncover the truth, to search through clues and leads like a detective determined to solve a mystery. This time, he closes his eyes, and denies the fact that Jisung has already given him something in return after all. Something dangerous, something he never asked for. 

He should refuse such a present. Nothing good will come out of it. Instead, he feels a tinge of sadness when Jisung pulls away and quickly fixes his hair and his collar.

“I hear footsteps,” he says. He’s still putting one step of distance between him and Chenle when his husband’s face appears, following the same gravel path they had both taken to the cactus garden. 

There’s no time for Chenle to think about whatever his stupid brain has decided it wants to do; there’s only time to smile and hide the velvet box in his pocket.

“There you are,” Mr. Park greets good-humouredly. “I was starting to think you two had run away.”

Ah. “And abandon our deal halfway?” Chenle laughs. For the first time in years, it sounds fake to his ears. “How could I? Jisung just told me he lost his other necklace yesterday, so we’ve been looking for it all over the garden.” He sighs. “It’s like it evaporated.”

Jisung nods in confirmation, but when he says nothing, Chenle doesn’t make him talk either. If it really is true that he doesn’t usually sleep with his husband’s business partners, there’s a sizable chance he’s not used to lying and an even bigger chance he’s not as good at it as Chenle. 

Mr. Park blinks, staring down at his husband’s neck like he’s struggling to remember what necklace he even used to wear. Chenle tries not to hate him too much, and instead, decides to guide his frustration towards the golden wedding band on their fingers. Isn’t it obvious silver matches Jisung’s skin tone much better? “Is that so?” Mr. Park muses. “I’ll buy you a new one, if you want.” He doesn’t give Jisung any time to respond before he’s draping an arm over Chenle’s shoulders and guiding him along the path, towards the house. It pains him to hear Jisung’s lonely footsteps trailing behind them, but he can’t afford to turn around. “I bring good news, Zhong.”

Chenle searches for the ‘business mode’ switch inside his mind and turns it on. It’s not easy, there are boxes and boxes and boxes of undecipherable clutter in front of it. “I was expecting nothing less,” he says. “Tell me everything.”

“It’s ready. One phone call and the deal goes through.”

He tries to feel excited, but all he can pay attention to is the gentle creaking of the pebbles under Jisung’s soles. Fuck. “No way! That’s wonderful. Ah, old man, I knew we had it in us,” he says. “It was assured from the start.”

Mr. Park laughs. “It’s when we get too cocky that things go south.”

“I prefer to call it confidence.”

“Right, right. I was thinking, maybe we should throw a party. You know, just a small celebration.”

Chenle’s alarms ring. A party, huh? That could be dangerous, but everything he’s done since he walked into this house has been dangerous, in one way or the other. Besides, if it’s just a small gathering… It should be fine. He’s dealt with more complicated matters. 

Mr. Park guides him to his office, and Chenle has no choice but to immerse himself in the final preparations. He should be ecstatic that his bank account is about to double in size, and there is, of course, some anticipation making his ears buzz, but he finds himself wishing this will all be over as soon as possible. It’s unusual. On past occasions, he’s always enjoyed every step of the process, savouring every step of the thrill. 

Half an hour later, he’s standing in front of the window in Mr. Park’s office, phone in hand and staring at the blue water of the pool. Park let him handle the final touch, and he is far too prideful to deny such an opportunity. The call is on hold – an irritating little jingle squeezes through the holes in the receiver straight into Chenle’s ears, but right now, he’s tuning all of it out and focusing on two things only. 

One, the final confirmation he’s about to hear.

Two, the image of Jisung in his swimsuit, sitting submerged on the blue steps of the pool as he leans his head back to take in the warmth of the sun on his wet, glistening skin. Nothing shines more than the silver pendant on his chest, though. 

A soft crackle coming from the phone brings him back to earth.

“Good news, Mr. Zhong.”

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

Chenle remains hidden until he manages to identify most of the guests. There are still some unfamiliar faces roaming around the house before he decides to make himself seen, but he figures he can’t reasonably wait any longer before Park notices and starts searching for him. After all, his work is fifty percent of the reason this house is full tonight. 

Thankfully, Mr. Park’s description of a ‘small gathering’ has been more or less accurate: there aren’t as many people as Chenle had feared. In impromptu situations where he can’t conduct a thorough background check on everyone he’s mingling with, smaller crowds are always preferable. Less chances of anything going wrong, of anyone seeing something that was meant to remain secret. 

He stares at his image reflected in the mirror for a full minute before he leaves his room for the last time. No, this isn’t ideal, but it’s necessary. And he must be up to the task. It’s all almost over, victory is so close he can already smell it, just out of reach but steadily approaching his eager hands. He can’t fuck it up now. A minor slip up and he’s sleeping on hard concrete tonight. He closes his eyes for a second, takes a deep breath, and tells himself that’s not going to happen. Sure, there were distractions, but he handled them well. 

Distraction. 

One singular distraction, and he’s standing by the pool chatting with a lady. This is a beach house after all, not a place for tuxedos and bowties, so the men wear white shirts or linen suits and the women wear light dresses; it's all casual enough for Jisung to leave his first few buttons undone, exposing the thin silver chain around his neck. It shines under the outdoor lights, but Chenle tries not to look too often in his direction. The moon glows, tall and white, and hasn’t Chenle concluded he cannot trust it under any circumstances?

It goes well at first. Too well. 

Mr. Park, oozing with satisfaction from every pore, introduces him to everyone as his ‘new business partner’, eyes glistening as he goes on and on about all the future avenues they’ll walk down together, a whole new future opening its arms for them, if the success of their most recent venture is anything to go by. Chenle feels electric, buzzing with contained energy, and easily falls into the character he’s been playing ever since he arrived. Who would’ve thought that it’s easy again? Surely the fact that Jisung isn’t around has nothing to do with it. He has just been having a few bad moments, that’s all. Every actor puts on a poor performance once in a while. 

He’s cheerfully discussing investments he never plans to actually go through with an older woman he’s just met when a hand gently lands on his shoulder. He knows who it is even before he turns around. Shit. Everything was going so smoothly. The inevitable distance that settled between the two of them tonight has been useful for Chenle to feel in full control of his cognitive skills, but now the spell is broken, and he just wants to grab Jisung by the wrist, drag him to an empty room and kiss him against the locked door. What the fuck is wrong with him?

It’s the moon. It’s just the moon. 

He freezes the smile on his face and prohibits it from falling as he turns around to see Jisung, smiling like a mechanical angel, right next to a man Chenle hadn’t seen before. As beautiful as Jisung’s smile is, Chenle recognises a version of it in the afternoon they met: distant, quietly uncomfortable. Chenle steels himself. There’s no other option. 

“Mr. Zhong,” Jisung greets. That’s not the name I prefer to hear in your voice, darling. “I found someone who’s eager to meet you.”

He swiftly takes care of the introductions, but Chenle notices something is off as soon as the other guest hears Chenle’s name. Once names are exchanged and his job is done, Jisung lets his gaze linger on Chenle for just a second too long, then turns around and serves himself an appropriately half-full glass of champagne. Chenle tries to peel his eyes off him, to moderate success. Besides, the man’s raised eyebrow strikes him as a bad omen, somehow.

“Zhong, huh?” the stranger says. “I’ve met a Zhong Chenle before, but he looked nothing like you.”

An ice-cold drop of sweat rolls down Chenle’s spine.

Well, shit.

This is precisely why background checks are important. Fuck, this is bad. Very bad. 

Jisung pauses halfway through taking his glass to his lips and glances at him over his shoulder. 

Chenle’s mouth grows dry. Another second of hesitance at it will draw suspicions, he must be fast. Fuck, is he losing his skills? What in the world is going on? It’s rare, because he’s good, but this is not the first time someone makes a comment of this nature. All those other times, he’s managed to weasel his way out of the situation like an eel slipping from a fisherman’s grip, but now he can feel the weight of Jisung’s perplexed glance on his skin, almost like it’s a physical object burning to the touch. It’s hard to focus. It throws him off balance. His heart beats fast like a hummingbird.

Fuck, I already came this far. I’ve already done all of this. I can’t let it go to waste.

Chenle laughs. 

“That can’t be true, my friend!” he says. He takes a sip from the glass he holds. It marginally helps. “We’ve never met before.” He playfully leans forward. “I’d remember.”

The man blinks. “I know, I don’t remember your face at all,” he says, narrowing his eyes like he tries to piece the puzzle together. “But I could swear–”

“Oh, you must have met my brother,” Chenle says. Not his go-to strategy, but it might work. He hides his free hand behind his back. He’s not sure it’s shaking, but better safe than sorry. “Different Zhong. We look nothing alike, that’s a fact. Most people make the exact face you’re making right now, friend. It’s like we were born from two different mothers.”

“I was certainly the Zhong I met was Chenle but… Well, maybe I really was wrong.”

“The human memory truly is flawed–”

Jisung turns fully around and leaves the room without a word. A wave of nausea hits Chenle right in the stomach. 

Of course he heard. Of course he got it. 

Fuck! Chenle tries to take another sip from his glass but finds it empty. This is dangerous, he needs to do something. His heart races as he manages to change the course of the conversation with the man he’s just met, so it isn’t as obvious he’s running away when he reaches his limit, excuses himself, and nearly runs in the direction Jisung went.

The pool area is crawling with clusters of guests, but Chenle elbows his way through until he’s away from the crowd and closer to the cacti. The area is illuminated by small, yellow lamps guiding the guests through the paths, but it’s far enough from the house to be empty of guests. The air here is clean and free of the clouds of smoke that rise to the ceiling and linger around the pool like mist. He finds Jisung just in time to see him down the rest of his champagne in one go.

Chenle stands there for a second. He wants to speak, but no words he finds seem appropriate enough. He fucked up. He really did. Hardly his fault, but he was never the one to find excuses for his mistakes, to shift the blame onto others. He should have been more careful, and that’s the truth.

After what could have been a whole century, Jisung lets out a huff and shakes his head. 

“I don't know why I was even surprised.” He turns around. There’s no… betrayal in his eyes? No anger, no revolt. Only a rather disheartened acceptance. Chenle blinks, perplexed. “You lied about everything, why wouldn’t you lie about this too?”

Chenle’s short nails dig into his palms, his teeth sink into his bottom lip. Why does it matter? Jisung is only one of the thousands of people he’s lied to, why does it…

Why does it almost hurt to see this silent disappointment in his eyes? 

“I'm sorry,” he blurts out. “I should have told you, back when we formed our alliance.”

Jisung huffs again, but there isn’t much humour in it. Chenle hangs onto the fact that he sees no frustrated ire in his eyes with enough strength to make his fingertips bleed. Maybe… maybe there’s a chance to fix this. Maybe Jisung will give him a moment to explain, to–

Fuck, why does it fucking matter?! Why does he care? He’s not supposed to care in the slightest. He doesn’t let it happen, ever. He doesn’t… He doesn’t do this.  

Shit, his head hurts.

“So,” Jisung continues, “where's the real Zhong Chenle? Dead in a ditch?”

His tone is almost too neutral. Chenle searches through the debris and against his last drop of rationality, wonders what can be salvaged. He shakes his head.

“At this hour, probably asleep at home,” he guesses. “He doesn't know about any of this, I started intercepting the letters a long time ago. I managed to catch most of them, but I think I missed a few.” He lowers his eyes to Jisung’s left hand. “Like the wedding invitation.”

Jisung only nods. “I see.”

There’s a pressure in his chest, and every word they share only thickens it. It really is true, no one is fearless. Far from that.

“Is this where you draw your line?” Chenle asks, hating how raw his voice comes out. “Is this where you turn your back on me?”

To his utter surprise, Jisung’s lips twist into a small smile. “Come on,” he murmurs. “We're each other's ticket to freedom. I want to earn mine; you want to keep yours.”

Chenle takes a step closer to him. He knows that if he were to look into a mirror, he’d recognise nothing. Not the vulnerability that coats his words, not the shakiness of his heartbeat, not the growing terror.

“Then at least promise me this isn't the last time we see each other.”

For the first time, Jisung appears to be something more than downhearted. His eyebrows raise, betraying his surprise. 

“What are you talking about?” he quietly asks. “Isn’t this all there is? Isn’t this just a transaction? Aren’t you catching a plane to the other side of the world as soon as the deal is finalised?”

It should be, and he is. The ticket is in his room, hidden between the pages of a book. 

There are no reasons to let this happen any other way. If Jisung silently prayed for more honesty, then that’s something for him to deal with on his own. Or at least, that’s what Chenle would be thinking were he standing in front of anyone else in the world.

It shouldn’t hurt. It never hurt before. Chenle tries to throw silent curses at the moon, but it only laughs at him. 

Well, there’s no turning back now, is it? There’s no running from it. So be it. 

All or nothing. He’s got so much to lose, and he finds himself betting it all.  ‘I wish I didn’t have to let you go.’ ‘Then don’t.’ He really said it. It’s pointless to pretend he didn’t.

“Is that all you want it to be?” he asks.

Jisung’s lips part in surprise. The pendant catches a ray of moonlight and shines like a diamond on his chest. 

Then, he smiles, and Chenle dares to find hope in his eyes.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

Chenle lies on his back, still breathless, comforted by the weight of Jisung’s head resting on his shoulder. Snow falls outside their window, landing on the pines and covering the ground in white sheets.

“Tell me something,” Jisung asks. His voice is raspy, but that’s hardly a surprise.

“Anything.”

“What’s your real name?”

“Darling, after hearing you call me Chenle, I don’t think I want to go by anything else in my life.”

“...you’re just impossible.”

Chenle smiles and plants a kiss on his forehead.