Chapter Text
Junmyeon stood by the bed, sleeves of his crisp white shirt rolled up, carefully arranging a row of ties inside his suitcase. His phone buzzed every few minutes with emails from the branch offices in United States and Canada, reminders of the six long weeks ahead.
Behind him, on the middle of the bed, sat Jongin. His long orange tail swished back and forth in sharp, irritated flicks, the fluffy fur catching the warm bedroom light. The matching pair of orange cat ears on top of his head were flattened low, almost disappearing into his dark hair. His arms were crossed tightly over his chest, lips pushed into the deepest pout he could manage.
“You’re still packing,” Jongin muttered, voice thick with accusation.
Junmyeon didn’t turn around immediately. He simply smiled softly to himself as he tucked another shirt into place. “I am, Nini.”
“You could just… stop,” Jongin suggested. “Unpack everything. Cancel it.”
Junmyeon finally looked at him, leaning one hip against the dresser. “Cancel a six-week business trip?”
“Yes.” Jongin’s tail thumped against the mattress for emphasis.
Junmyeon sighed fondly and walked back toward the cat, sitting down beside the other suitcase. “We’ve talked about this.”
“We’ve talked about it and I still don’t like it,” Jongin shot back immediately. “Just take me with you then.”
Junmyeon reached over to smooth down one of the ruffled orange ears. It twitched under his touch. “Nini… you wouldn’t like it.”
“I would!”
“You wouldn’t,” Junmyeon said gently. “I’ll be flying between cities every few days. New hotels. New environments. Meetings all day. Site visits. Dinners with clients. I’d have to leave you alone in a hotel room most of the time.”
Jongin’s ears drooped further despite his stubborn expression.
“You hate being alone for more than couple of hours,” Junmyeon continued patiently. “You’d be stressed with all the moving. New smells, new sounds. You need stability.”
Jongin huffed. “I can handle new smells.”
“You cried when the bakery downstairs changed their coffee beans.”
“That was different!” Jongin protested, cheeks flushing. His tail lashed again. “And I wouldn’t cry in America.”
Junmyeon’s smile turned soft and knowing. “You would. And you’d call me in the middle of meetings because the air conditioning sounds different.”
Silence.
Jongin looked away.
“I’m going to be very busy. I don’t want you alone in some hotel room waiting for me all day.” Junmyeon added, reaching for a folded sweater.
Jongin’s hands suddenly shot out, grabbing one of the shirts from the open suitcase. “Then I’ll stay here,” he declared. “I don’t need to go to Sehun’s. I can stay in our flat.”
He dropped the shirt dramatically onto the floor. Junmyeon stared at it for a second… and then laughed softly.
“Nini.”
“I mean it,” Jongin insisted. His voice was wobbling now despite his effort to sound mature. “I’m completely capable of looking after myself. I’ve got my friends. I have the dance studio. I can pick up more classes. I’ll be busy.”
Junmyeon closed the suitcase gently and turned fully toward Jongin. The hybrid’s bright eyes were already glassy, his ears trembling slightly with barely contained emotion.
“You’re right,” Junmyeon said quietly. “You are capable.”
Jongin blinked, surprised at the agreement.
“You go to the studio on your own. You cook. You even remember to water the plants.” Junmyeon’s lips curved. “Most of the time.”
Jongin sniffed. “See?”
“But,” Junmyeon continued softly, moving closer, “in the evening, when it’s quiet… when there’s no one here to hold you while you watch a movie… when no one’s rubbing your fluffy ear—”
Jongin’s lip trembled.
“—you’ll curl up on the couch and cry. And then you’ll call me and demand I come home because you’re bored and lonely.”
“I would not,” Jongin whispered, already crying a little.
Junmyeon opened his arms. “Come here.”
Jongin hesitated for half a second before practically collapsing into him. Junmyeon pulled him onto his lap like he had done countless times before, wrapping both arms around the slim waist. The orange tail immediately curled around Junmyeon’s side as if claiming him. Junmyeon pressed his cheek against Jongin’s hair. “I know you,” he murmured. “Better than anyone.”
Jongin buried his face into Junmyeon’s shoulder, small sniffles dampening the fabric of his shirt. “I’m going to miss you too much,” he mumbled. “Six weeks is forever.”
Junmyeon kissed his temple softly. “It’ll pass faster than you think.”
“It won’t.”
“It will.”
“It won’t.”
Junmyeon chuckled and gently wiped a tear from Jongin’s cheek with his thumb. “Sehun will be there to keep you entertained.”
Jongin immediately pulled back just enough to glare. His ears flattened again.
“Sehun is cold,” he complained. “He looks like he doesn’t even know how to give good hugs. Or proper tummy rubs.”
Junmyeon laughed outright at that.
“I’m serious!” Jongin insisted, reaching over blindly and grabbing another shirt from the suitcase, tossing it onto the floor in protest. “He’s going to sit there all stiff and awkward while I suffer.”
Junmyeon tightened his hold so Jongin couldn’t reach anything else. “I’ll talk to him,” he promised, smiling warmly. “I’ll give him very specific instructions regarding tummy rubs.”
Jongin sniffled. “Detailed instructions.”
“Extremely detailed.”
“With diagrams.”
Junmyeon laughed again, pressing a soft kiss to Jongin’s cheek. “With diagrams.”
Jongin’s tail finally slowed its angry swishing, curling comfortably around Junmyeon’s waist instead. He still looked miserable, eyes red and glossy, ears droopy and dramatic.
“I still hate it,” he muttered.
“I know.”
“And I’m going to count every single day.”
“You can call me every single night.”
Jongin hesitated… then nodded weakly.
Junmyeon hugged him tighter, resting his chin on top of the orange ears. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The half-packed suitcases sat forgotten on the bed.
Six weeks.
Junmyeon closed his eyes briefly, memorizing the weight of Jongin in his arms, the warmth, and the soft natural scent that was uniquely his.
“I love you, Nini,” he whispered.
Jongin’s tail squeezed around him. “I love you too,” he replied softly.
😺
The departure hall of the airport buzzed with rolling suitcases and distant boarding announcements, but Jongin heard none of it. He was pressed up against the glass of a massive cylindrical aquarium in the middle of the terminal, eyes wide, orange ears perked high in pure fascination. Schools of neon fish shimmered past in flashes of blue and yellow, and his tail swayed slowly behind him in absent-minded delight.
“Hyung, look at that one,” he breathed, pointing at a bright striped fish. “It looks fake.”
Junmyeon smiled softly from a few steps back.
For a moment, the heartbreak was gone from Jongin’s face. He looked even younger like this. His mouth slightly open in wonder, his ears twitching every time a bigger fish drifted by.
Sehun stood beside Junmyeon with his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets, watching the scene with an unreadable expression.
“He’s easily entertained,” Sehun muttered flatly.
Junmyeon elbowed him lightly. “He’s just curious.”
“He’s twenty-three.”
“And?”
Sehun sighed.
Junmyeon gently caught his arm and pulled him a little farther away from the aquarium, lowering his voice. “Listen. About what we talked about.”
Sehun immediately looked up at the ceiling and pinched the bridge of his nose. “We talked about me making sure he doesn’t burn the apartment down,” he said. “We did not talk about… petting.”
Junmyeon shot him a warning look and glanced toward Jongin, who was now crouched slightly to follow a tiny orange fish near the bottom of the tank.
“Lower your voice,” Junmyeon whispered.
“This is ridiculous,” Sehun continued under his breath. “I agreed to look after the kid. I didn’t sign up to give him hugs and… what did you call them? Tummy rubs?”
Junmyeon’s lips twitched despite his stress. “He needs affection.”
“He’s not a cat.”
Junmyeon raised a brow.
Sehun rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.”
Junmyeon stepped closer, voice softer now. “Sehun. If he doesn’t get that kind of closeness, he’ll be miserable. He won’t say it directly, but he will be. He gets lonely at night.”
Sehun exhaled sharply through his nose, jaw tightening. “You spoil him.”
“I know.”
“You created this problem.”
“I know.”
Sehun stared at him, searching for an argument but Junmyeon just looked back steadily, with pleading eyes.
“He means everything to me,” Junmyeon said quietly. “Please. Just… keep him happy.”
For a long moment, Sehun didn’t answer. His tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek. Annoyance radiated from him in the stiff set of his shoulders.
Finally, he sighed. “I’ll try to be nice,” he said. “But I’m not promising anything. And I’m definitely not spoiling the brat the way you do.”
Relief flooded Junmyeon’s face. “That’s all I’m asking.”
Sehun gave him a long look. “You owe me.”
Junmyeon stepped forward and wrapped him in a quick, grateful hug. “I owe you everything.”
“You’re damn right you do,” Sehun muttered, though he didn’t pull away immediately.
A few steps away, Irene stood beside a neatly stacked pair of carry-on suitcases, tablet tucked under her arm as she checked something on her phone. She kept a respectful distance but her expression softened every time she glanced at the hybrid.
“Junmyeon-ssi,” she called softly after a moment, careful not to intrude too much. “We should head to security.”
Junmyeon turned toward the aquarium. “Nini!”
Jongin’s head snapped up.
The joy vanished instantly. His ears lowered. His tail stilled. “Oh,” he whispered. They didn’t have much time.
The walk to security felt too short. Jongin stayed glued to Junmyeon’s side, clutching onto his coat sleeve like it was the only thing keeping him upright. It looked almost comical, Jongin taller by a few centimeters, broader in the shoulders, yet clinging like a distressed child.
Junmyeon didn’t tease him. He just kept an arm wrapped firmly around his waist.
“I’ll be back before you know it,” Junmyeon murmured for what felt like the hundredth time. “Six weeks will fly by.”
“They won’t,” Jongin croaked.
“I’ll call you every night.”
“You’ll be busy.”
“I’ll make time.”
Jongin’s grip tightened. “Don’t go.”
Junmyeon’s heart clenched.
“I have to.”
“I’ll be good, just take me with you then,” Jongin whispered desperately. “I won’t complain about the moving. I won’t cry.”
Junmyeon cupped his face gently. “I know you would try. But you’d be unhappy.”
Tears spilled freely now. Jongin didn’t even try to hide them.
Boarding call.
Junmyeon swallowed.
“Sehun,” he said quietly. “Hold him for a second.”
Sehun looked deeply unimpressed.
Jongin clung harder. “No.”
Sehun stepped forward anyway, grabbing Jongin by the back of his jacket and tugging him away. The hybrid resisted immediately, tail lashing, fingers grasping at Junmyeon’s sleeve.
“Hyung—”
Junmyeon quickly kissed his forehead. “Be good. I love you.”
Sehun had to actually wrap both arms around Jongin from behind to keep him from stepping forward again. The hybrid struggled just enough to show he meant it, but not enough to break free.
Junmyeon forced himself to turn and walk away. Irene fell into step beside him.
Jongin watched until they both disappeared past security.
Sehun loosened his hold slightly. “He’s not going to turn around.”
“I want to wait until the plane leaves,” Jongin said stubbornly, eyes still locked ahead. “Maybe he’ll change his mind.”
Sehun stared at him like he’d just said the dumbest thing imaginable. “That’s not how this work.”
“I’m staying.”
“No, you’re not.”
Sehun grabbed his wrist firmly and started walking toward the exit. Jongin stumbled after him reluctantly, looking over his shoulder one last time.
The ride back was silent. Jongin sat in the passenger seat, body turned toward the window. Streetlights blurred past in streaks of yellow. Every now and then, his shoulders shook faintly. He wiped at his face quickly whenever he thought Sehun wasn’t looking.
Sehun noticed but said nothing.
By the time they reached the underground parking of their apartment building, Jongin’s eyes were red and swollen. His ears drooped lifelessly against his hair.
They stepped into the elevator. Sehun glanced sideways at the pouting profile next to him. “Seriously?”
No answer.
The elevator hummed upward.
Sehun scoffed quietly. “Pull yourself together. You’re acting like a child.”
Jongin’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t look at him.
“You’re an adult,” Sehun continued coolly. “He’s coming back. It’s six weeks, not exile.”
Still nothing.
The elevator doors opened.
The moment they stepped into Sehun’s apartment, Jongin walked straight down the hallway without a word, opened the guest room door and slammed it shut.
The sound echoed through the flat.
Sehun stood there for a moment, staring at the closed door.
He exhaled slowly, rubbing his hand over his face.
“Great,” he muttered to himself, “…You owe me big time, Junmyeon.”
😺
The apartment had been quiet for almost three hours. Sehun didn’t check on the cat boy. He worked at his desk for a while, then eventually got up and started dinner. If the kid wanted to sulk, he could sulk. But when the beef hit the pan and began to sizzle, filling the apartment with a rich, mouthwatering aroma, Sehun became aware of movement in the hallway. There was the faint creak of a door, the soft sound of hesitant footsteps, and then Jongin appeared at the edge of the kitchen as if he wasn’t entirely sure he was allowed to step into the space. His orange ears rested low against his hair, and he was holding his tail carefully in both hands, fingers buried in the fur in an unconscious self-soothing habit. His eyes were still slightly swollen, even though he was clearly trying to act as if everything was fine.
Sehun glanced at him once, then turned back to the rice cooker.
“Wash your hands,” he said evenly. “And sit.”
Jongin nodded without a word. He washed his hands at the sink, then slid onto one of the stools at the kitchen island.
The food was already laid out. Grilled beef sliced neatly. Stir-fried vegetables with sesame oil. Pickled radishes. Kimchi. A small pot of steaming soup in the center. Two sets of bowls, spoons and chopsticks.
Sehun scooped rice into a second bowl and placed it in front of Jongin.
“Eat.”
Jongin lowered his head politely. “Thank you for the food.”
He picked up his chopsticks and took a cautious bite. His ears lifted almost instantly. He blinked. Then took another bite, a little bigger this time.
Sehun noticed. “What?”
“I didn’t know you could cook like this,” Jongin admitted, genuinely surprised. “It’s really good.”
Sehun huffed lightly. “I’ve lived alone for over ten years. Cooking is basic survival.”
Jongin chewed thoughtfully. “Junmyeon-hyung is older than you and he still can’t cook properly.”
Sehun raised an eyebrow. “Then who feeds you?”
“Me,” Jongin said, as if that part was obvious. “Mostly during the week. He gets home late. He’s tired.” A tiny, fond smile appeared. “He tries on weekends sometimes. But it’s kind of…”
He hesitated.
“Kind of what?”
Jongin leaned forward slightly and lowered his voice, as if sharing a secret. “Bad.”
Sehun let out a short, surprised laugh.
Jongin immediately straightened. “Don’t tell him I said that,” he added quickly. “He’d feel so betrayed.”
“I’ve told him worse,” Sehun replied dryly. “I’ve known him longer than you. I used to taste his experiments and tell him directly that they were terrible.”
Jongin’s eyes widened. “You’re brave.”
“I’m honest.”
They ate for a moment in relative quiet before Jongin spoke again.
“Do you still eat together a lot?”
“Not really.”
“Why not?”
Sehun shrugged. “He works too much.” Then after a brief pause, he added, “And when he’s not working, he’s usually with you.”
Jongin stilled. His ears dipped.
“Oh.”
He looked down at his rice bowl, expression thoughtful. “Did I… take him away from you?”
The question was so careful, so sincere, that Sehun almost softened immediately.
“It doesn’t work like that,” he said. “People grow up. They get busy. Priorities shift. It’s normal.”
“So you don’t miss him?”
Sehun paused. “I didn’t say that,” he replied, quieter now.
Jongin studied him, long and searching. Then he nodded once, like he’d reached a decision. “When he comes back,” he said, “we should eat together. The three of us.”
Sehun blinked. “That’s not necessary.”
“It is,” Jongin insisted gently. “You said you don’t eat together much anymore.”
“That’s just how things are.”
Jongin shook his head. “It doesn’t have to be.”
Sehun looked at him, slightly caught off guard by the firmness in his tone.
Jongin’s fingers tightened briefly around his chopsticks before he continued.
“I don’t like eating alone,” he said quietly. “Even if the food is good… it feels empty. Like something’s missing.” He swallowed. “If we’re all in the same building anyway, why not just sit together? It’s warmer that way.”
He looked up then, directly at Sehun. “I don’t want you to be alone if you don’t have to be.”
There was no pity in his voice. No forced kindness. Just honest concern. Sehun almost dismissed it out of reflex. But Jongin wasn’t joking. His expression was open, serious in a way that made it impossible to brush aside. Sehun cleared his throat lightly.
“…We’ll see,” he said at last. “You don’t need to worry about me.”
“I’m not worrying,” Jongin replied softly. “I just think it’s nicer.”
Sehun looked at him for another second, then gave a small shrug. “Yeah. Fine. Whatever.”
It wasn’t enthusiastic. But it wasn’t a no. Jongin’s tail swayed faintly behind him. They finished the rest of the meal in quiet. The silence wasn’t tense anymore. When they were done, Sehun stood and reached for the dishes.
“I’ll do it,” Jongin said quickly.
Sehun paused. “You don’t have to.”
“I know.” Jongin slid off the stool and started gathering the bowls carefully. “But I will.”
There was something almost determined about the way he stacked them—like he needed to prove he wasn’t just a sulking burden.
Sehun watched him for a moment, then stepped back.
“…Don’t break anything,” he said.
“I won’t,” Jongin replied, a tiny hint of pride in his voice.
Sehun wiped his hands and walked into the living room, grabbing the remote and turning on the TV. The low murmur of a news anchor filled the space. From the kitchen came the soft rush of running water. The gentle clatter of dishes being washed. Sehun leaned back into the couch and stared at the ceiling for a second.
This was going to take adjustment.
In the kitchen, Jongin carefully rinsed the last bowl, ears drooping slightly—but not as much as before. A few moments later, he appeared at the entrance to the living room.
“I’m done,” he said quietly.
Sehun glanced up from the TV. Jongin was standing there like he wasn’t sure what came next. His hands were folded together in front of him again, fingers twisting into the fur of his tail. He was squeezing it hard enough that the tip flicked sharply in protest.
He looked… small. Not physically. He was almost as tall as Sehun. But small in the way people look when they don’t want to ask for something. Sehun knew exactly what he wanted. And that was the problem. Closeness like that had always meant something to Sehun. It wasn’t casual. It wasn’t automatic. In his mind, that kind of contact belonged to couples. To people who chose each other. Not to acquaintances. Not to the overly affectionate hybrid his best friend had dropped into his care for six weeks.
Jongin shifted again. Squeezed his tail tighter.
Sehun’s jaw tightened slightly. He had promised. And he always kept his promises.
He let out a slow breath through his nose. “…You can sit,” he said at last, patting the empty space beside him.
The change in Jongin was immediate. His ears lifted. His eyes widened just a little.
“Okay,” he said — too quickly, too brightly.
He crossed the distance in a few steps and sat down. Close. Very close. Sehun felt the heat of his body before he even processed the proximity. Their thighs pressed together. Jongin had positioned himself right next to Sehun's side, effectively trapping Sehun against the armrest. There was nowhere to retreat. Sehun adjusted slightly, trying to create even half an inch of space, but Jongin only seemed to interpret the movement as settling in. Their shoulders brushed. Sehun’s arm, pinned awkwardly between them, had no choice but to move. He lifted it and draped it along the back of the sofa instead.
That was a mistake. Jongin immediately leaned in, resting his head carefully against Sehun’s shoulder. Sehun went completely still. He could feel the soft brush of orange fur against his neck. The steady warmth of Jongin’s cheek through the fabric of his thin shirt. The slow, calming rhythm of his breathing. The kid had absolutely no sense of personal boundaries. Or maybe he just trusted too easily. Sehun forced himself to relax his shoulders.
“…Do you want to watch something?” he asked, voice even despite the internal recalibration he was undergoing.
“Yes,” Jongin replied instantly.
He shifted again, wiggling slightly to get comfortable, and then, as if this situation wasn’t already intimate enough, he slid his arm around Sehun’s waist. Not hesitant or testing. It was just natural. Sehun’s brain short-circuited for half a second. He stared down at the arm around him. Warm, secure and casual. The kid is unbelievable.
“What do you want to watch?” he asked, choosing survival through distraction.
“I don’t mind,” Jongin said softly. “You can pick.”
Sehun grabbed the remote. Netflix filled the screen. He scrolled through rows of titles, trying not to be hyper-aware of the weight leaning into him. Action. Romance. Comedy. His thumb paused over a recently added horror film he’d been curious about for a while. He’d missed it in theaters, and it had only just become available to stream. Dark. Psychological. Violent, from what he’d heard. He didn’t know how intense it actually was. But maybe it would be enough. Maybe halfway through, Jongin would get scared and retreat to the safety of the guest room. Maybe he’d finally untangle himself and give Sehun back his breathing space. It wasn’t malicious. It was strategic.
Keeping his tone neutral, Sehun glanced down slightly. “There’s a horror movie I’ve been meaning to watch,” he said casually. “Want to try that?”
Jongin tilted his head slightly against his shoulder. “Is it very scary?”
“Probably.”
A pause.
“You don’t like horror?”
“I’ve never really watched any,” Jongin admitted. “Junmyeon-hyung says I get too immersed in movies.”
Sehun almost smirked. “You probably do.”
Jongin considered that for half a second. “Okay,” he said brightly. “Let’s try it.”
Sehun studied him briefly. “…Alright.” He pressed play.
The screen faded to black, opening music started, Jongin instinctively shifted even closer. His fingers tightened slightly at Sehun’s waist, and his head settled more firmly against his shoulder.
Sehun exhaled slowly. Perfect. Absolutely perfect plan. He just had to wait. Either the movie would scare the clinginess out of him, or this was going to backfire spectacularly.
The movie turned out to be far better than Sehun had expected.
From the very first sequence, the music settled deep into the room, rich and atmospheric, weaving itself through the dark visuals in a way that made everything feel larger than life. The cinematography was beautiful, the pacing deliberate, the tension more psychological than frightening. It wasn’t the kind of horror that made you jump; it was the kind that lingered, heavy and intimate.
Jongin barely moved the entire time.
At some point, Sehun wasn’t even sure when, his hand had drifted from the back of the couch to Jongin’s head. It had been unconscious at first, a simple grounding motion, his fingers brushing lightly over soft orange fur.
But the texture was… distracting.
The small cat ear fit perfectly between his fingers, warm and velvety, twitching faintly every time he rubbed the base. It was almost soothing, the repetitive motion. He found himself doing it without thinking, thumb tracing slow circles, fingertips combing gently through the fur.
Jongin melted under the touch.
Soft little sighs slipped from his lips every now and then, barely audible beneath the soundtrack. His tail had curled around his body at some point, resting fully across Sehun's thigh now, the tip swishing lazily back and forth against his leg in content rhythm.
They were both absorbed in the film. The world on screen swallowed them whole.
It didn’t take long for Sehun to realize the film wasn’t frightening in the way he’d hoped. The tension simmered, yes, but it never quite tipped into terror.
And then the energy shifted entirely.
The scene changed to a dimly lit bedroom, all amber light and slow shadows. Clothes began to disappear without ceremony, falling out of frame. Bare skin caught the light. The camera didn’t cut away, it lingered, unapologetic, tracing the lines of bodies moving together. It was a full, unguarded sex scene, intimate and explicit in its framing, even if the details remained just beyond clarity. The sounds alone made it obvious: uneven breaths, soft gasps, the quiet rhythm of skin against skin.
Sehun felt himself stiffen almost immediately.
This was not what he’d signed up for.
It was intimate.
Too intimate.
He became abruptly aware of the hybrid pressed against him.
Jongin’s breathing had shifted, slower and heavier, the rhythm syncing unconsciously with what was happening on screen. His fingers began tracing idle patterns along Sehun’s side, more deliberate now, less distracted. A faint vibration stirred in his chest, almost a purr, soft but unmistakable, a sound of quiet, instinctive pleasure.
Sehun looked down. He shouldn’t have. Jongin’s head was still resting against his shoulder, but his lips were slightly parted now, his eyes half-lidded as he watched the screen. The faint flush that always lingered high on his cheekbones had deepened. His tail tightened subtly around Sehun’s thigh, the tip dragging in slow arcs.
There was something incredibly sensual about the way he looked in that moment. Sehun’s fingers stilled on his ear. His gaze lingered a second too long. Without realizing it, he leaned closer. And then Jongin’s eyes snapped upward. They locked. For a brief, suspended moment, neither of them moved. Jongin’s pupils were blown wide, dark and warm and far too aware.
“Sehunnie…” he murmured softly, voice low in a way that did not match the innocent tilt of his ears. “You smell so nice right now.”
Before Sehun could process the words, Jongin shifted. He turned his face into Sehun’s neck, pressing close, inhaling deeply like he was committing the scent to memory. And then, a tiny, warm flick of tongue brushed against the skin just below Sehun’s ear. It was quick and soft, but there was nothing accidental about it.
Sehun shot to his feet so abruptly that Jongin nearly slid sideways on the couch.
The spell shattered.
He cleared his throat, pulse hammering hard enough that he could feel it in his temples. His mouth was suddenly dry, his skin hot where Jongin had touched him.
“I—” He swallowed. “I’m getting a drink.”
His voice sounded strange to his own ears.
“Do you want anything?”
Jongin blinked up at him, expression slow and almost dazed before it sharpened again. He shook his head. “No.”
Sehun didn’t wait. He walked straight into the kitchen and braced both hands against the counter.
That was inappropriate. Junmyeon would absolutely not appreciate what had just happened.
Sehun dragged a hand down his face and exhaled sharply before opening the fridge. He grabbed a bottle of beer, twisted the cap off, and took a long swallow, then another, until half the bottle was gone.
His thoughts were a mess. He couldn’t fully untangle what had happened. The kid was… magnetic. That was the only word that fit. Pretty in a way that was almost dangerous. Soft and warm and instinctive in his affection. There was no calculation in him. No restraint. Just trust and desire for closeness and whatever sensation felt good in the moment.
Dangerous.
Sehun straightened slowly. He needed boundaries. Immediately. He wasn’t here to indulge in this. He was here to take care of him. To make sure he was safe and comfortable. Not to blur lines. Not to take advantage of that open, trusting nature.
He returned to the living room with the beer in hand and deliberately sat down on the opposite end of the couch this time. He left clear space between them and even pulled one of the cushions down to place beside his thigh like a subtle barricade.
Jongin noticed immediately. His brows drew together.
The movie continued playing for another few seconds before Jongin reached for the remote and paused it.
The sudden silence felt loud.
“What are you doing?” Jongin asked, eyes fixed on him.
Sehun opened his mouth. Nothing came out. The look in Jongin’s eyes wasn’t seductive anymore. It was hurt. Confused.
“I’m not doing anything,” Sehun managed finally.
“Then why…?”
Jongin trailed off mid-question, gaze dropping to the cushion. To the distance between them. And then something shifted in his expression. It was almost visible, the moment understanding clicked into place. His ears perked, his eyes brightened, and the biggest grin spread across his face.
“Oh.”
Before Sehun could react, Jongin grabbed the cushion and tossed it onto the floor.
“I don’t need that,” he declared lightly.
And then, without hesitation, he slid across the couch and gently lowered his head onto Sehun’s thighs instead.
Sehun froze again.
Jongin stretched out fully, long legs extending along the cushions, his body relaxed and comfortable as if this were the most natural thing in the world. He adjusted slightly, then lifted the hem of his T-shirt just enough to expose warm, smooth skin of his stomach.
He reached up, caught Sehun’s hand, and placed it flat against his stomach.
The heat of him radiated instantly through Sehun’s palm.
Jongin looked up at him with open, uncomplicated happiness.
“There,” he said brightly. “You can start now.”
Sehun couldn’t speak.
His hand remained where Jongin had placed it, fingers splayed against warm skin while his mind raced in a dozen different directions at once.
Boundaries.
He needed boundaries.
Immediately.