Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

FEBRUARY, EIGHT MONTHS AFTER

LOS ANGELES

At the head of the list of off-limits interview topics put together by Jaemin’s publicist is the name HAECHAN LEE, bolded, underlined, and highlighted in a blinding red. It had floated around somewhere between for years, until about eight months ago (eight months, thirteen days, and seventeen hours, to be exact. Not that Jaemin is keeping count.) it shot up to the very top. 

Until about eight months ago, Jaemin had never been—what can only be described as mobbed—by paparazzi and hordes of fans, demanding to know exactly why he and the internationally famed singer, mononymously known as Haechan, had broken up after five very private years together.

The Jaemin of five years previous had only ever known D-list fame from his supporting roles in various films and TV shows. Mostly, he’d be recognized by loyal fans of a popular fantasy-comedy series for his recurring part across two seasons. Almost always following the routine photo and occasional autograph was the same grievance—that the writers hadn’t given up on his character’s storyline in the anticlimactic way they did.

Jaemin wished that too. He would vehemently agree if it wouldn’t reflect badly on him. He hadn’t yet reached the point in his career where he could badmouth previous projects with reckless abandon; that was reserved for A-list movie stars and white men of vampirish beauty.

Instead, he’d give a rueful smile, say Thank you for supporting me! and silently mourn what could’ve been. His breakout role, his launch to stardom. His chance to choose projects that resonated with him, work with directors that he admired, rather than appear in whatever his manager could wrangle up.

But then Jaemin met Haechan and everything changed.

Suddenly, everyone knew his name. Suddenly, swarms of people appeared everywhere he went. His follower count rose by hundreds of thousands seemingly overnight. He now had a Wikipedia page, consisting only of his IMDB credits and one sentence about his relationship status. It seemed like the whole world was desperate to get a glimpse into the life of the man who had secretly been dating Haechan for months.

Haechan (who actually preferred to be called by his real name, Donghyuck, when the crowds and cameras were absent) had warned Jaemin that this would happen. That the consequences of being affiliated in any romantic capacity with a global popstar of his caliber would be irreversible. That Jaemin’s past and future, personal life and career, would now be viewed through the lens of the person he’s dating.

Donghyuck had warned Jaemin, and Jaemin, hopelessly in love with Donghyuck, had said Fuck it! and agreed to go public. The next morning, a People magazine article confirmed their relationship via an “inside source,” and it was official. Jaemin Na, D-list actor from that awesome TV show you loved three years ago, became Jaemin Na, elusive secret boyfriend of global popstar, singer-songwriter Haechan.

It was so perfect for so long: Jaemin, taking mindful advantage of the definite career boost his new partner gave him, dabbling in arthouse films and TV dramas drenched in sepia tones and yellow lighting. Donghyuck, jetting off around the world to perform at sold-out stadiums and selling millions of albums, coming home to Jaemin and his three cats in the Tudor mansion they shared in Laurel Canyon. The public, piecing together the intimate details of their love story only through fragments of Haechan’s lyrics or Jaemin’s photography, both of them committed to dodging any prodding questions with a rehearsed, coy smile.

But Donghyuck’s warnings from early on coincided neatly with the cracks that began to form during year three, spreading inch by inch until the beautiful thing they’d built together shattered before them.

It came on an overcast Thursday, five days before Donghyuck’s twenty-eighth birthday; Donghyuck took his ring off, Jaemin took his cats back to his downtown apartment. The rain didn’t start until their driver dropped him off in front of his building, and when Jaemin realized he probably had to say goodbye to Evan, too, the shards poking into his bleeding heart stung like hell.

After everything, here was Jaemin Na, ex-fiancé of global popstar, singer-songwriter Haechan.

Donghyuck was right about a lot of things. He was right about the projects that would help Jaemin be taken more seriously. He was right about appearing in public together just often enough to keep the people satiated without ever really letting them in on their relationship. He was right about the hair length that suited Jaemin best, and he was right about Jaemin’s career being forever marred by the five years they spent together.

Jaemin thinks he could benefit from some of Donghyuck’s intuition now, to navigate the aftermath of breaking up with the world’s sweetheart while also trying to keep your career afloat. He’d probably have some sage advice about shutting down rumors, setting boundaries while maintaining dignity. What Jaemin does instead is avoid everything and march steadily along, which is easier said than done when millions of people have an opinion about what should be a private matter.

He puts everything that reminds him of Donghyuck into a box that he keeps in his top drawer, which is hard because everything reminds him of Donghyuck. He permanently disables comments on his social media pages and pauses photography posts at the guidance of his publicist.

He disappears to his parents’ house in San Diego for the salt air when L.A. becomes suffocating, only returning to make good on his brand deals in hopes that they don’t also fall through. He drowns himself in scripts for months until he lands a supporting role in a crime drama, his first project since the breakup.

And he continues to evade questions about Haechan at all costs, even though that’s all anyone is really curious about.

It’s hard to blame them. If he were an interviewer on a press junket with the Jaemin Na, he’d speed through the boring questions about his portrayal of a troubled detective in favor of the juicy stuff, which is exactly what this interviewer does.

“Shifting gears a little bit here,” she says, tucking a lock of brunette hair behind her ear. She’s pretty, with sharp eyes that give Jaemin a bad feeling when they turn onto him. “Have you ever met Mark Lee?”

Anna, his co-star, tenses beside him. Jaemin should’ve seen this coming—Donghyuck certainly would have—and had Doyoung update the list before it was too late. For now, his media training would have to suffice.

His lips take the shape of an inoffensive smile with ease. He leans forward like he’s actually engaged and the question hasn’t nearly thrown him from his seat, quiets the frenzy in his mind with the ever-present threat that any wrong move could derail his career entirely. It’s as terrifying as it is grounding.

“No, I haven’t,” Jaemin answers placidly. The interviewer isn’t satisfied; her silence begs for more. Maybe she’s hoping that he might crumble under the pressure and say what he’s really thinking, so he does: “He seems like a really sweet guy.”

It’s the truth that Mark Lee is universally loved. Captain of the Toronto Maple Leafs, one half of pop culture’s new favorite celebrity couple. His boyish grin and sharp cheekbones are plastered on every tabloid, soundbites from press conferences and interviews painting him as the endlessly positive, humble boy-next-door with a heart of gold.

Mark Lee, the athlete of all athletes, who’s dating Haechan.

“Well, you might get the chance at the Academy Awards in a few weeks. The Maple Leafs documentary is nominated, and it’s suspected that he’ll make an appearance with his new boyfriend at the ceremony.” She delivers the killing blow with a knowing grin on her face, all the while blinking innocently at Jaemin. “I’m curious. What would you say to Mark if you ran into him?”

Jaemin has to physically keep himself from gawking. Surely, she’s being pressured to go off-script like this and dig deep into Jaemin’s wounds for a good story. Surely, she couldn’t be this cruel of her own accord.

There’s no time to wonder. He turns to face the camera, smiles even wider. “I would say this: Mark, you seem like a really sweet guy. Congrats on the nomination and I sincerely wish you all the best going forward.”

The interviewer raises an eyebrow. “Is that all?”

“Yup,” he responds, voice tight.

When the cameras are off, Jaemin shakes the girl’s hand and hopes to never see her again. He bolts straight for the bathroom.

There’s a deeply unhappy man approaching his thirties in the mirror. He has eyebags too purple for any color corrector to be effective, cheeks hollowed out from months of failing to remember to eat on time or sleep properly. He’s a shadow of the Jaemin from early last year, who always managed to find joy despite his relationship falling apart. This Jaemin is unrecognizable in comparison. But this is who he is now, and acceptance is hard to come by.

“You handled that really well,” Anna says when he returns to the green room. She hands Jaemin his corduroy jacket and puts a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Thanks, Anna,” he sighs. It’s hard to meet her gaze, boring into his skin.

“Some of these journalists are just so—” she huffs loudly, “—unprofessional. It’s like we’re animals to be dissected, not real people.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry you had to deal with that. I’ll say something next time, if it happens again. Hopefully it doesn’t.”

He looks at her. The sincerity is obvious on her face. 

Jaemin pulls her into a hug and mumbles, “Thank you. That means a lot.”

Doyoung apologizes profusely on the ride home, promising to eliminate any loopholes that might allow overly familiar interviewers to poke at the debris of Jaemin’s personal life in the future.

“It’s hard enough as is when they’re literally everywhere,” Doyoung says.

The sports radio broadcast that Doyoung sometimes leaves on in the background comes into sharp focus when the hosts start recapping highlights from the NHL All-Star game.

“And of course, Captain Mark Lee’s popstar boyfriend was there, but I think we’re all used to that by now,” one of the hosts says with a laugh. Someone in the studio gives a loud wolf whistle. “All eyes were on Haechan. Like, to the point that hockey fans watching from home were trending ‘#BanHaechan.’ And this headline from the HuffPost this morning: ‘Is there too much Haechan in the NHL?’”

“Asking the real questions here,” the other host snorts. There’s some commotion, and he quickly adds, “But who cares what I think? We wanna hear what you guys have to say. Call in now and—”

The car goes silent. Doyoung clears his throat. He switches to a classical station, and Jaemin watches downtown L.A. pass him by through the window, the murals and the apartment complexes, the city buses and the weak February sun.

Jaemin wonders if this is the fate he’s condemned to forever, for daring to fall in love with someone like Donghyuck. The specters of Haechan and Mark Lee haunting him wherever he goes, parading around the world with their once-in-a-lifetime love story. Millions of fans cheering them on, all while wondering why Donghyuck never looked this happy when he was with Jaemin.

There were all kinds of rumors, but the majority posited that Jaemin was to blame. Maybe he cheated on Donghyuck with one of their friends; it could’ve been that he waited too long to propose, and Donghyuck wanted someone who took him seriously; perhaps it was his fault for keeping Donghyuck locked up when all he ever wanted was to be loved out loud; possibly, he was leeching off of Donghyuck’s stardom and was jealous he’d never be as successful.

Jaemin wants to scream from the rooftops that it’s not just his fault that the relationship fell apart. He never cheated. He loved Donghyuck! He didn’t wait too long to propose; he bought a ring after only a few weeks of dating and popped the question on their second anniversary. He was always serious about Donghyuck, but people change and grow apart. It’s an inevitable fact of life.

But sometimes, Jaemin does wonder if an ultra-public relationship was what Donghyuck wanted all along. If he should have had Donghyuck on his arm at every red carpet and watched his shows from the pit amongst the fans instead of the VIP area. If he was jealous that he’d never be as successful as Donghyuck, famous for his own merit rather than who he’s seeing.

Certainly, those things were inextricable now, the fate he’s condemned to forever. Jaemin Na, failed actor, scorned ex-lover of Haechan.

Acceptance is hard to come by.

DECEMBER, SIX MONTHS BEFORE

SEOUL

The floor was warm on Jaemin’s bare feet from the ondol, a perk of South Korea he would always forget about until he was back at his father’s ancestral home every few years. Pale sunlight filtered through frost-covered windows, painting the room in a hazy glow. It was half past ten, and Jaemin was starving. He moved to walk to the kitchen when a hand closed over his wrist.

“Come back,” Donghyuck mumbled. His eyes were closed, but his grip was firm. “‘M cold.”

Jaemin laughed, a low sound in the quiet of the bedroom. “I’m about to make you breakfast, babe. Haejang guk, just how you like it.” 

Donghyuck peered through one eye to squint at him curiously. “Hmm.” He shut his eyelids again. “Five more minutes, and then you can go.”

“I guess it can wait,” Jaemin said, like he needed convincing. He climbed back under the blanket and dragged it over both of their heads, letting his eyes fall closed and the heat of Donghyuck wrap around his limbs.

They fell asleep for forty more minutes, then spent another ten kissing languidly until Donghyuck finally broke away to say, “We should probably brush our teeth.”

Jaemin had just left the pot to simmer when Donghyuck emerged from the bathroom, hair damp and chunky black glasses perched on his nose. He looked so cute like this, in an oversized tee with shorts that showed off his long, tan legs, comfortable in Jaemin’s family home like it was their own.

“Ugh, you’re so hot when you’re in the kitchen,” Donghyuck groaned as he padded across the wooden floor. He ran his palms up and down Jaemin’s forearms, tracing the neckline of Jaemin’s tank top with his finger. “You’re the sexiest man alive. I’m rigging the People vote next year.”

Jaemin grinned, hands settled on Donghyuck’s waist. “Are those glasses new?”

“Yup. Do you like them?”

“Yup. You look so cute—” he pecked the tip of Donghyuck’s nose, “—my little nerd.” Jaemin kissed the pout off of Donghyuck’s lips before it could fully take shape. “I missed you so much. Please never leave me again.”

“I never want to. You know that, right?”

“I know,” Jaemin mumbled into the crook of his neck. He lingered for a few moments before the kitchen timer went off and the two set into motion, grabbing the pot, bowls, and banchan from the fridge, and settling on the floor of the living room.

“This is amazing,” Donghyuck said through a mouthful of bean sprouts. “Thank you, babe.”

“You’re welcome,” Jaemin beamed, happy to watch Donghyuck eating his fill before scooping into the steaming soup himself. “So I just got news that filming for The Romantics starts the second week of January.”

Donghyuck gasped. “That’s so exciting! It’s in London, right?”

“Yeah! Would you…” Jaemin paused, swirling cabbage leaves around the broth. “Would you wanna come with me?”

He thwacked his arm from across the table. “Of course I’m coming with you, is that even a question?”

“Good. Just making sure.” Jaemin folded a piece of kimchi into Donghyuck’s bowl of rice. “You’re almost done recording the album, right?”

He nodded and said, “We’re choosing the last few songs to finalize the tracklist and—ooh! I’ll play them on the way to the party tonight so I can get your thoughts.”

“Perfect. I can’t wait to hear,” Jaemin smiled, which quickly dropped when he glanced at the time. “Oh shit. We gotta pick up our suits before the shop closes.” He started shoveling spoonfuls of beef and mushrooms and radish into his mouth and gestured for Donghyuck to do the same.

“Okay!” Donghyuck dragged out the last syllable, heaving a sigh and pushing his bowl away. “I’ll take care of the dishes. You go get changed.”

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur: they made it to the tailor’s half an hour before close, which probably would have been more annoying had the shop attendant not asked for a picture with the two of them. They grabbed coffee, disguised by masks and bulky coats, and then headed back home, lounging around on the couch watching a drama until it was time to get ready for Chenle and Jisung’s engagement party.

It was nice to take it slow like this. A couple of months had passed since they’d gotten to spend more than just the weekends together, between Donghyuck being in the studio working on his new album and Jaemin wrapping up the press tour for his latest film.

But now, they were vacationing in Seoul to celebrate their best friends and could essentially be glued to the hip until the Asia leg of Donghyuck’s tour started in February. A month and a half of domestic bliss felt like a precious gem, and Jaemin intended to cherish it for all its worth.

Donghyuck stood before the full-length mirror, buttoning up the waistcoat of his three-piece suit. Jaemin’s was identical, a deep navy with pinstripes for the future wedding party. He gingerly removed Donghyuck’s suit jacket from its hanger before handing it over, helping his arms through the sleeves and buttoning it closed.

He paused to drink in the sight of Donghyuck, the man he’s loved for almost five whole years. His dark hair was tousled just right, long enough now to curl at the nape of his neck. The suit accentuated his slender silhouette, small silver hoops in his ears complementing the thick band on his ring finger.

Years later, Jaemin felt like he was looking at Donghyuck for the very first time, curious eyes meeting across a room, heart-fluttering anticipation.

Jaemin clenched his fingers tight to keep himself from tugging Donghyuck in by his lapels and starting something they couldn’t finish; they were already running late as is. Instead, he tucked a piece of hair behind Donghyuck’s ear and said, softly, “You’re stunning. The sexiest man alive.”

Donghyuck blushed and threaded their fingers together. “Let’s go.”

It was a thirty-minute ride to the rooftop restaurant in Itaewon, so Donghyuck played a few tracks from the album. They were all equally amazing—Taeyong did an excellent job with the production, as expected. Jaemin chose the R&B ballad with layers of complicated harmonies as his favorite because it made the unique timbre of Donghyuck’s voice really shine, and he loved hearing Donghyuck’s voice most of all.

There were already plenty of guests milling around the restaurant when they arrived, snacking on various appetizers at standing tables while a live band played something mellow and sweet. Chenle and Jisung were hard to miss in their cream suits, diligently making their rounds.

As they approached the pair, Donghyuck shouted, “Congratulations, babies!” and Jaemin made sure to pinch Jisung’s cheeks extra hard.

“We got you a set of wine glasses! They’re engraved with the constellation from the night you got engaged,” Jaemin said, while Donghyuck thrust the bag forward into Chenle’s arms. “We hope you like them.”

“That’s so thoughtful. Thank you, hyungs,” Jisung said. His eyes looked watery as he pulled the two of them in for another hug.

“So when’s the wedding?” Donghyuck asked.

“We’re thinking next spring,” Chenle answered, a small smile playing on his lips as he looked up at Jisung and waited for him to nod in agreement. “I’m still waiting on a save-the-date from you two, though. Or wait—should we all do a joint ceremony?”

“Ooh, good idea! It’d be cheaper that way, too.” Jisung’s eyes lit up with excitement. “How does a destination wedding sound?”

Jaemin laughed and linked his arms with Donghyuck. “I think we’re happy with how things are right now. Right, babe?”

Donghyuck smiled but kept his gaze straight ahead. “Yeah.”

“Anyway, we’re here to celebrate you guys. Do you need any help tonight?”

“Nope. Go have fun, groomsmen,” Chenle grinned, clapping Jaemin’s shoulder with his free hand. “There’s plenty to eat. We’ll come find you later!”

The menu was a blend of Chinese-Korean dishes to celebrate both fiancés, char siu bao and haemul pajeon, jjajangmyeon and tangsuyuk. Jaemin and Donghyuck located Renjun and Yangyang by their matching suits and gathered around a table near the floor-to-ceiling windows, just as the band transitioned into a set of Jisung’s favorite alternative rock songs.

It turned out that the majority of the guests were Chenle and Jisung’s extended family that they had only ever heard of, and familiarizing themselves with the faces they’d see again next spring was the night’s only real task for the future wedding party. They got to meet Jisung’s aunt, who was just as big a Haechan fan as Jisung had claimed, and hang out with Chenle’s nephew, who was only eight years old but a carbon copy of what Jaemin imagined little Chenle must have been like.

They sipped on red wine until Jaemin was tipsy enough to shed a tear during the couple’s brief but heartfelt speech. His best friends were engaged and it was beautiful. Jaemin was engaged—to the love of his life, he was sure—and it was beautiful.

“Love is everywhere,” Jaemin whispered from where he rested his head on Donghyuck’s shoulder. “I love love.”

“You’re drunk, Jaem,” Donghyuck giggled, tightening his grasp around Jaemin’s waist as they swayed slowly to the music.

The party began to wind down as the moon crept higher into the night sky. Chenle and Jisung had just approached their table again when Yangyang announced that he and Renjun were planning to go out for drinks at a new lounge in the neighborhood. Donghyuck claimed to be too tired tonight, so the six of them made plans to meet up before Renjun had to head back to L.A. and hugged each other goodbye.

Back at the house, Jaemin had just finished arranging their shoes neatly by the door when Donghyuck pounced on him, stealing feverish kisses against the wall like they were running out of time. Jaemin carried him to the living room, lips locked until he had him pressed to the edge of the sofa, shedding their clothes right there.

He bent Donghyuck over the couch and fucked into him hard and fast. Jaemin kissed his back, murmuring sweet nothings like “You’re perfect” and “I love you so much” into Donghyuck’s soft skin.

Donghyuck cried Jaemin’s name as he finished, clung to him as they cleaned up and crawled back into bed. His eyes were fluttering closed when he buried his face in Jaemin’s sternum, but he said, loud and clear, “I love you more than anything.” It rumbled sweetly through Jaemin’s chest. 

“I love you too, Hyuck. I always will.”

FEBRUARY, EIGHT MONTHS AFTER

LOS ANGELES

There’s a burgundy envelope sitting on the countertop, a pool of blood against white marble. It’s sealed with golden wax, stamped with the initials CJ. Jaemin doesn’t want to open it.

He already knows what awaits him: a formal invitation to a week-long, all-expenses-paid trip to the Italian countryside for the wedding of two of his best friends. It should be exciting, but the guarantee that Jaemin will be seeing Donghyuck in three months, if not before, fills him with a dread that sits heavy in his stomach.

It’s the kind of unease that lingers underneath his skin, even with a hand wrapped around his cock.

“You’re distracted,” Jeno says.

Jaemin doesn’t hear him, eyes unfocused somewhere behind Jeno’s head. He has to confirm his plus-one spot by the end of the week, or run the risk of being the only groomsman without a date. His ego won’t allow that possibility, not when—

Jeno stops moving. Jaemin only notices because his dick is suddenly cold. He frowns, leaning back on his elbows. “Why’d you stop?”

“You’re distracted,” Jeno repeats. There’s a small upturn to his lips despite the fact that Jaemin is actively blue-balling both of them. “What’re you thinking so hard about?”

He wants to look away, but Jeno’s gaze is intense, imploring. “We don’t have to talk about this right now.”

“C’mon, Jaem.”

“But what about…?” Jaemin pointedly looks between Jeno’s legs.

“Don’t worry about me, we’ll finish later. Tell me what’s bothering you first.”

He sighs and sits up properly, pulling the sheets over them both when Jeno moves to sit beside him.

This should be weird. It’s not the first time they’ve discussed their problems while fully naked, though, so the peculiarity is lost on Jaemin. He steels himself to lay it all bare, in a different sense.

“Chenle and Jisung’s wedding.”

“What about it?”

Jaemin gets struck with an idea that he can’t believe he hasn’t thought of already. “What if I brought you as my date?”

Jeno tilts his head. “I mean, I’m already invited, so I guess we could go together?”

“Okay, it’s decided then!” Jaemin claps his hand over Jeno’s thigh. “You’ll get an upgrade to all the exclusive wedding party perks and we can hang out for a week straight. It’ll be a blast, Jen.”

“Is that what you really want?” Jeno asks, shuffling around to get a better look, setting his all-knowing puppy dog eyes onto him. “We were gonna hang out anyway.”

“Yeah,” Jaemin shrugs, like it’s obvious. “But now we can hang out in Italy! It’s the opportunity of a lifetime. Don’t tell me you’re not enticed by it.”

Jeno purses his lips and replies, “I am. But isn’t this…y’know?” He trails off, and Jaemin raises his eyebrows, waiting for him to continue. “This isn’t about hanging out in Italy—we could do that on our own time. I think…you just want a date for the wedding because Donghyuck is probably bringing Mark, and you don’t want to be single while they flaunt their relationship in front of you. Am I right?” 

Ouch. There’s no countering that. They both know it.

“But I really did wanna hang out with you in Italy,” Jaemin pouts.

“I know, Minnie,” Jeno pats his head. “I’ll be your date if you really want me to. I’m just worried that it might make things more…tense, than they would be already.”

Jaemin frowns. He’s probably right. It’s a little bit pathetic to bring a fuck buddy (and best friend!) as his date just to prove to his ex that he’s moved on, when the truth is that he hasn’t. Not even close.

But what option does that leave him? Sitting and enduring the pain of watching Donghyuck and Mark be happy together while Jaemin feels anything but? That will happen regardless—the least he can do is give himself someone to rely on.

He decides, then, that this is the only path forward.

“Everyone already thinks we’re together, anyway. We might as well get something out of it,” Jaemin laments.

“You’re not wrong.”

He grabs Jeno’s hand. “I’d essentially be using you, Jeno, but I’d hate for you to feel that way. You can say no if it makes you uncomfortable. Our friendship comes before anything, obviously.”

When Jeno smiles, his eyes scrunch up into half-moons. “I’ve used you for your body how many times, now? I have no idea, but I’m gonna do it again once we’re done talking.” Jaemin barks out a laugh. “The point is, I really don’t care. I’d have to be dumb to pass up those perks, anyway. Put me down as your date.”

“You’re the best!” Jaemin shouts, before he inches the blanket away from Jeno’s lap and positions himself between his best friend’s legs. “Now let’s take care of this little guy.”

A few days later, after another round of interviews, Jaemin finds himself at the Ralph’s nearest his apartment because he’s out of paper towels. He’s throwing an oversized bag of chocolate-covered raspberries into his basket when he remembers he still needs to grab a card for Jisung’s birthday, even though it’d already passed last week. Jisung had forgone a party this year—too stressful, apparently, with the wedding looming ahead—in favor of seeing each of his friends individually throughout the month, which was probably for the best.

On his way out of the aisle, with the perfect birthday card in hand, a magazine catches Jaemin’s eye. Vanity Fair, February edition.

“MY DREAM GUY”

HAECHAN AND MARK LEE ON BEING THE WORLD’S MOST TALKED ABOUT COUPLE

Haechan wears a suit jacket, wire-framed glasses, and shorts. His bare thighs bracket Mark’s head as he sits on his shoulders. Mark wears a cable-knit sweater with a dress shirt and tie, his hair parted neatly in a way that makes him look like a wealthy, private school boy. He’s struggling a bit under Haechan’s weight, but he’s smiling. They both are.

It’s clear they’re in love, despite not even looking at each other. It’s obvious in the way Mark’s fingers are splayed tightly across Haechan’s knee caps, in how Haechan’s arms are outstretched to the sky, trusting Mark to keep him steady no matter what.

Bile burns at the back of Jaemin’s throat even as he moves to pick it up, flipping through brazenly romantic images of the pair frolicking through a European villa. He stops on a close-up of Haechan cupping Mark’s face: they stare into each other’s eyes with an intensity too intimate to be on display.

He’s frozen in place until a soft gasp down the aisle pulls him out of his stupor. A young girl stands to his left, her eyes flicking between him and the open magazine. He’d only bothered to wear a hat today; there’s no doubt that he’s been recognized.

Jaemin tosses the magazine back onto the shelf, the basket in his arms crashing to the tile flooring as he books it out of the store. Red-hot humiliation courses through his veins until he makes it back to the safety of his apartment. He really needed that birthday card, and now he’ll have to find a new place to shop entirely.

Fuck.

He must have made for a painfully pitiful sight, near tears in the grocery store over pictures of his ex-fiancé and his new boyfriend. Jaemin hasn’t cried over Donghyuck for a few months now—that girl happened to catch him on a bad day, during a particularly bad week. The wedding and the press tour have been digging into the wound anew, so how could anyone blame him?

It’s also been months since Jaemin allowed himself the transgression of peeking into his Donghyuck drawer, but he just needs to look at one thing.

He’s turning his engagement ring between his fingers when Chenle calls.

“Chenle, hey.” Jaemin puts the ring away, slams the drawer shut, and collapses onto his bed like he’d been there all along. “What’s up?”

“Hi, Jaemin! I just wanted to catch up. How’s the press tour been?”

“It’s been tiring, but not bad overall,” Jaemin says. Luna crawls onto his stomach, and he runs a hand through her soft, gray white fur. “How’s the wedding prep going?”

“It’s good! We finalized the cocktail menu yesterday. There’s a drink I think you’re really going to love.” Chenle sounds like he’s grinning. “Jisung found some greys in my hair last night, which is definitely new. But otherwise it’s good. I’m really excited.”

“I’m glad. I am too.” He sighs involuntarily and hopes it comes across as wistful, but Chenle must be able to sense his apprehension.

“Are you okay?”

“Yup. Fine. Just happy to hear how you’re doing.”

“You’re not fine. You forget I can see right through you,” Chenle chides. “Or hear, whatever—what’s wrong?”

It’s a little embarrassing how transparent Jaemin has become these days. He can’t seem to make it through one conversation without radiating desperation, like there’s a bat signal broadcasted to the entire city that says PLEASE HELP ME I’M NOT OKAY.

“I don’t want to make this about me. It’s just—” Jaemin starts. “The whole thing with…him is kind of awkward, y’know? And I keep getting more anxious as the wedding gets closer.” He takes a breath. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to stress you out more, that’s not fair of me.”

“Jaemin, it’s okay, I promise. I hate to put you guys in this situation. I mean…I don’t think any of us saw it coming, but…we’ll try to keep you apart as much as we can. Weddings are supposed to be fun for everyone. I can’t have the happiest day of my life if I know you’re miserable the entire time.”

“I won’t be miserable, I swear. Just being with you and Ji is enough, so don’t worry about me.”

“I’ll try, but no promises.”

He hesitates. “There’s something else.”

“Is this about the plus one?”

“Yeah,” he says. Luna’s tail thumps against his hip in a comforting rhythm, like she can feel the uptick in Jaemin’s heartbeat.

“You can bring Jeno, if that’s what you want.”

“Are you sure? We’re not really together—”

“I know you’re just friends. But we like him plenty, and you’ll have someone to lean on. Please bring him.”

“I will,” he says. “Thank you.”

It’s silent for a second; Jaemin chews on his lower lip.

“You want to know if Donghyuck is bringing Mark, right?”

Damn it. “Am I that obvious?”

Chenle’s laugh is contagious, which takes some of the edge off. “Yeah. You should probably work on that. Y’know, since you’re an actor and all that.”

“Fuck,” Jaemin smiles.

“This is why I got that role over you when we were teenagers.”

“Don’t rub it in,” Jaemin groans, but he much prefers the teasing to being deciphered like a poorly written code. It’s a lot easier to bear.

Chenle gets quiet again. “He is, by the way. I hope that doesn’t make you spiral.”

Jaemin knows Chenle didn’t mean it to, but it stings a little. “It won’t. I’m fine, remember?”

“Yeah.” There’s some noise on the other end that sounds like shuffling papers. “Your suit fitting appointment is in two weeks. I booked another one at the same time, since I figured you’d be bringing Jeno. I’ll send you the details over text, okay?”

“Noted. Thanks, Chenle,” Jaemin says. “I know I haven’t been…fun to deal with. But I really appreciate everything you do. And I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. You’re my friend, not just something to deal with,” Chenle says in his earnest way. “I love you and I’m always going to want to make sure you’re okay, so please don’t feel like you’re burdening me, or Jisung, or anyone else. We’re here for you.”

Tears pool in Jaemin’s eyes for the second time that day. Luna pads over and licks his face. “Okay,” he says softly.

“Love you, Jaem. Talk later?”

“Yeah. Love you.”

NOVEMBER, FIVE MONTHS AFTER

NEW YORK CITY

Chenle turned twenty-seven on a Friday, so he invited everyone to come celebrate his birthday weekend in NYC. It was a come-and-go type thing, fly in as you please and stay as long as you’d like, as he’d put it. Jaemin had a break before the final week of filming for Manor of Death, so it only made sense to go on a three-day bender with his closest friends.

After five excruciating months of going through the motions and having to be dragged out of his apartment to see faces other than his co-stars, it seemed like this might be his chance to feel normal again. It’d be a Donghyuck-free weekend, too, since he was off wrapping up the last leg of his tour in Toronto—all the more reason for Jaemin to enjoy it to the fullest.

On Friday, Chenle’s personal chef made a full-course Italian dinner for everyone: erbazzone reggiano, rosemary focaccia, chopped salad, porchetta, and tiramisu. There’d been plans to go clubbing, but Yangyang had literally passed out from a food coma, so they popped open bottles of wine and chatted the night away.

It was nice, familiar. Renjun lay his head in Jaemin’s lap, like he always did when he got sappy and drunk, while Kun told a story about working at Haidilao for a day. Jeno, who was always more of Jaemin’s friend, was getting his muscles felt up by Chenle, which was a good sign. Jisung didn’t even seem to mind because he joined in after a while, too. Yangyang woke up just in time for Dejun to kick off karaoke and they all sang together well past midnight. 

Afterwards, when everyone else had fallen asleep, Jaemin lay in the guest bed, pleasantly intoxicated. He realized he hadn’t spent every moment thinking about Donghyuck. 

Maybe things are finally looking up, he thought. A little bubble of hope formed in his chest; Jaemin held onto it until it put him to sleep.

Kunhang had flown out the next morning to attend the grand opening of his sister’s new tea shop, Dejun needed to be in the studio to prepare for his new comeback. Kun had an afternoon fitting for an upcoming red carpet event but would be back later that evening, which left the core friend group to have Saturday brunch together at a casual spot in Brooklyn Heights.

Jaemin was glad Jeno had come along. It made fifth and sixth wheeling Chenle, Jisung, Renjun, and Yangyang much more tolerable, and made it easier to ignore the obvious vacancy.

On his way back from the bathroom, he saw everyone hunched over the table, deep in discussion. Jisung’s eyes were wide, and Chenle was frowning. The conversation hushed as soon as Jaemin took his seat.

“What’s with the weird atmosphere?” Jaemin joked, cutting into his stack of lemon ricotta pancakes.

“Nothing,” Renjun shrugged. “We’re just trying to figure out where in Bushwick to go first tonight.”

“Right,” he squinted. It was an unspoken tradition, at this point, to start the night at House of Yes, so surely something else was going on. Everyone seemed to very pointedly be avoiding eye contact, so Jaemin turned to Jisung, the most likely person to crack. “What were you actually talking about?”

Jisung’s shoulders immediately slackened, and he opened his mouth to speak. Chenle slapped a hand over his lips before he could.

“We weren’t gonna say anything because you’ve been having a good time and none of us wanted to ruin that,” Chenle said, carefully. His delivery made Jaemin feel like he was about to be told that he only had a month left to live. “But I think it’s better if you heard it from us, since we’re all here to support you.” He looked to Renjun for confirmation, who gave a solemn nod.

Jaemin’s skin started to itch. “What is it?”

“You know Mark Lee, right? The hockey player?”

He nodded. He remembered seeing something a couple of months ago about Mark’s appearance on Johnny Suh and Jaehyun Jeong’s Night Night! podcast. Mark had talked about attending one of Haechan’s shows, gushing about how cute he was and how Mark wished that he’d gotten Haechan’s number. Jaemin hadn’t given it much thought at the time. It’s not like Mark was special for thinking Donghyuck was cute and wanting his attention; that was a normal day for Jaemin.

He wasn’t really sure what was about to come out of Chenle’s mouth, but he knew it couldn’t be very good.

“Well, Donghyuck is at one of his games right now in Toronto,” Chenle started. Jaemin waited for the other shoe to drop. “And a bunch of news outlets just confirmed that they’re dating.”

“Oh,” Jaemin said.

The bubble had burst in his face. He was foolish for expecting anything different. Of course, Donghyuck would be the first to move on. It was just Jaemin’s luck that it would happen in the most painful way possible, at the most inopportune of times. But really, there could never be a good time to find out that Donghyuck had successfully moved on after just five months, when Jaemin was still struggling to shake five years’ worth of memories.

Though it wasn’t Donghyuck’s fault for finding someone new. He probably believed that Jaemin had moved on to Jeno long ago, just weeks after the breakup. The articles were widespread, false, but treated like the truth, and Doyoung had decided the best course of action was to make no comment and let the stories die down on their own.

It was Jaemin’s fault for secretly hoping that this was just an extended break, that he and Donghyuck would eventually find their way back to each other. It was Jaemin’s fault for seeing his life as beginning and ending with Donghyuck, for thinking that Donghyuck was it for him, and thus he’d lost everything.

And it was Jaemin’s fault that right now, his friends were looking at him like a ticking time bomb. But he couldn’t be the reason Chenle’s birthday weekend was ruined because he needed constant comfort and reassurance; he’d asked enough of them throughout the past five months already. It was his turn to hold himself together for the sake of everyone else.

Jaemin took a sip of bitter coffee and swallowed it thickly. “Okay, well, thanks for telling me. I appreciate you guys looking out for me, but I’ll be fine.”

Renjun and Jisung exchanged glances. The rest of the table remained silent.

He forced a laugh and hoped it wasn’t obvious. “Guys, I promise I’m fine. I’m not letting this ruin anyone’s fun, especially not my own.”

Yangyang grinned with all of his teeth, and it drew a genuine smile out of Jaemin. “Love ya, Jaem. You’re strong, buddy.”

“Love you, too, Yang. Now give me a bite of that french toast.”

Jaemin played the role of the unaffected, cool guy, like his life depended on it. His friends spent the rest of the day trying and failing to sneak surreptitious looks at him and see if he was really holding it together as well as he claimed to be. He figured that maybe if he convinced them, he’d be able to convince himself, too.

And it almost worked: Sungchan, Shotaro, and Sion all arrived that evening, along with Yizhuo and her group members that Jaemin had met at Chenle’s last NYC birthday bash two years earlier. Getting ready for a night out with Aeri, Jimin, and Jeno made it nearly impossible to think about Donghyuck when he was laughing so hard.

By the time they arrived at House of Yes, Jaemin was already buzzed from tequila shots in Chenle and Jisung’s kitchen. It was a good level to enjoy the packed heat of the dance floor and get lost in the bass that thrummed through his veins. He danced with Sion and let Minjeong grind on him while Yangyang pointed and laughed, and Jisung looked on, completely scandalized. Jaemin downed two more lemon drop shots with Sungchan at the bar before they stumbled into Jupiter Disco.

Naturally, his famous friend group got recognized. They were hard to miss with Chenle wearing a sparkly sash that screamed BIRTHDAY BOY at everyone in the vicinity. That was also fun, until Jaemin went to the bar to grab drinks for him and Jeno, and he overheard a conversation between two girls waiting to have their order taken.

“Haechan’s ex-boyfriend is here. That actor Jaemin and all their friends,” one of the girls shouted to be heard over the DJ's set.

Jaemin tensed and ducked his head, trying to press himself against the bar and go unnoticed.

The other girl gasped loudly. “Do you think he knows about Haechan and Mark Lee? I just saw a pic of them kissing after Haechan’s concert ended!”

“No way, that’s crazy. I’d off myself if I was him,” the first girl laughed.

It felt like divine intervention that the bartender set down his drinks right then, because Jaemin’s mask was slipping. He shoved his way through the crowd until he found the group, too distracted to feel sticky liquor sloshing over onto his hands. They were all smiling and having a good time, but it was so dissonant to the sudden, sharp pang between his shoulder blades that Jaemin briefly wondered if he was dying.

He chugged what was left of his Long Island iced tea and Renjun gripped his arm tightly.

“Fuck, Jaemin. Slow down,” Renjun hissed. He searched for something in Jaemin’s face, and his gaze softened. “You can’t do this, not here. You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

“I lost everything, Jun,” Jaemin mumbled.

The music was grating. Everything hurt. Jaemin needed to go home, to his king bed and his cats. Not to downtown L.A., where everything felt cold and lifeless and fake. But to Laurel Canyon—to his quiet street and lush backyard. To the century-old creaky floorboards. The patio that the setting sun cast in hues of gold. The green velvet couch in the living room next to the grand piano, where Jaemin would rest his head while Donghyuck would sing.

He needed to go home to Donghyuck.

“I know it feels that way right now, but you’re gonna be okay, Jaem.” Renjun said into his hair, squeezing him tight. “It’ll just take some time.”

Everything after that was a blur. He remembered Renjun helping him pull it together long enough for them to hit two more bars, where rounds of birthday shots for Chenle teetered Jaemin into the realm of irresponsibly drunk. It took a while for Jeno to notice the state he was in, considering he was also pretty sloshed. But as soon as he realized, he called them an Uber back to his apartment in Hamilton Heights and Jaemin cried the whole way there.

Sunday morning, he woke up in Jeno’s bed wearing only his boxers, head heavier than a ton of bricks. He had the distinct, out-of-body sense that he’d hooked up with someone the night before. Jaemin quickly sat up and whipped his head around to take a look at Jeno next to him, who was quietly rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

Jeno stretched his arms above his head—horrifying purple bruises trailed down his neck and onto his chest. “Morning, Jaem,” he rasped.

Jaemin tugged the blanket over his lap. “Did we…?”

“Yeah,” Jeno ran a hand through matted hair.  “We were both really drunk, though, and you cried after. I don’t remember anything else.”

“Oh, wow, that’s…awful. I’m sorry,” Jaemin laughed in his shock, and then immediately winced. “Good thing it happened with you and not a stranger. Can you imagine?”

“Yeah, I still had fun. At least I think I did,” Jeno said, eyes twinkling. “D’you wanna grab breakfast before we head over to Chenle’s and say bye?”

“Sure, sounds good.” Jaemin reached for the half-empty glass of water on the nightstand and gulped it down. He paused for a moment. “We should probably talk about this, right?”

“We can,” Jeno shrugged. “You’re still my best friend. I think we were both just horny and it was convenient. It’s not like I’m expecting anything, so nothing has to change.”

“Okay,” Jaemin agreed; he could get behind that. Truly, he was grateful that his first time having sex with someone other than Donghyuck in five years was with someone he trusted. It was a little weird that someone was Jeno, but Jaemin doubted that anyone else would stick by his side when he consequently freaked out about it. And then Jaemin realized that Donghyuck most likely wasn’t having any hang-ups about any of this, which was sickening and reassuring in equal measure. “Nothing’s changed. Let’s get breakfast.”

You might want to delete social media for a few days, Doyoung had texted as Jaemin waited for his flight out of LaGuardia.

He was already two steps ahead: Jaemin deleted everything off his phone and filtered out all notifications that weren’t from his team, his closest friends, or his parents. He let his mom know he’d be coming to San Diego as soon as Manor of Death wrapped.

He’d lost everything, and yet the inevitable was still happening. Jaemin wrapped up what was left of his heart and steeled himself for a few more months of pain.

APRIL, FIVE YEARS AND TWO MONTHS BEFORE

NEW YORK CITY

A cool breeze swept through the private terrace overlooking narrow streets lined with brownstones. The trees shook gently, lamp posts projecting rippling shadows across sidewalks and stone tiles. Goosebumps rose on Donghyuck’s bare arms, and he shivered.

It would have been imperceptible if Jaemin hadn’t been watching. He only noticed because he noticed everything about Donghyuck.

With each passing day, Jaemin found it harder to tear his eyes away from him. There was just so much to see: his sun-kissed skin, the moles dotting his face and dancing down his throat. How the apples of his cheeks stood out when he laughed. The crooked pinky finger on his right hand, which was especially fun to watch when he played piano on his thighs.

Jaemin examined each detail with the curiosity of someone who sought to know every inch of the person in front of him and carefully tucked it away.

“You’re staring again,” Donghyuck said. They’d fallen into a heavy silence after Jaemin announced that he would finally be heading home tomorrow afternoon.

He had come to NYC to attend Chenle and Jisung’s housewarming party and was crashing with his new friend Jeno, a catalog model and his future co-star in the limited series they’d both booked earlier in March. He was only supposed to stay for the night and then fly back to L.A. to start learning his lines.

Yet here Jaemin was a month later, on the rooftop of a townhouse in Greenwich Village, halfway in love with an extremely famous popstar. The carved out space in his brain where his lines should’ve been stored now belonged entirely, permanently, to Donghyuck.

“Sorry,” Jaemin replied. He didn’t mean it at all—he looked at the side of Donghyuck’s face and the slope of his jaw like doing so could uncover Earth’s greatest secrets. Part of him was convinced it could. He kept staring.

“It’s okay,” Donghyuck turned to face him. From a foot down the wooden platform where they sat, his brown eyes seemed to sparkle in the dim moonlight, or maybe that was just Jaemin waxing poetic again. “I like when you look at me. It makes me feel…special.”

Another surprising detail about Donghyuck that Jaemin had discovered—he was shy. For someone who’d been in the spotlight since he was sixteen, touring the world, gracing magazine covers and late-night talk shows, award ceremonies and red carpets, navigating all of it with effortless confidence and unshakeable charm, Donghyuck was secretly shy. 

He was skilled at putting up a front, tapping into the flirtatious, easy-going appeal of Haechan and making the world fall at his feet; it was an act he’d perfected over more than half a decade. But it turned out that the real Donghyuck blushed a lot. He couldn’t meet Jaemin’s eyes for longer than a few seconds at a time. He played coy, always waiting to see if Jaemin would make the first move. He tempted and teased with bold words, but squirmed when Jaemin took the bait.

The ball was in Jaemin’s court, the whole game was essentially in his control. Still, somehow, he found himself at Donghyuck’s feet. It was an inevitable thing, he figured. Like how the moon controls the tides, anyone in Donghyuck’s immediate vicinity falls for him hard and fast. Jaemin was no different.

It was baffling, then, to think that someone with millions of fans dying for him to even glance their way would feel special being looked at by Jaemin.

Unremarkable, D-list actor Jaemin. The Jaemin who gave himself a shitty bleach job when he thought he screwed up an important audition. Donghyuck claimed to really like the color on him, so that wasn’t a very good example, but it was all confounding nonetheless. Because he had practically nothing to offer, barely breaching the outskirts of the dazzling society Donghyuck had lived in for so long.

Jaemin might not have understood why Donghyuck held him in any regard, or why he let him stick around for a whole month, but he wasn’t going to let the opportunity go to waste.

“I like looking at you,” he said, gaze drawn to the way Donghyuck’s mouth parted open slightly. “I’d like to keep looking at you, if you’ll allow it.”

Donghyuck laughed. He turned away, and Jaemin wished that he wouldn’t. “I’ll allow it.”

It was quiet again, the air charged with a floaty sort of anticipation that closed around them both. Jaemin wondered if he would have to be the one to say it. But then Donghyuck scooted closer until their thighs touched, granted Jaemin’s wish and stared right back at him.

“If I asked you to cancel your flight tomorrow and stay here while I work on this album,” he said quietly, another gust of wind ruffling through his chocolate brown strands, “What would you say?”

Jaemin blinked hard to make sure Donghyuck was really there and not a glittering mirage he’d been fooled by all this time.

Donghyuck was really there, and he was looking at Jaemin in a way that made his heart balloon so violently in his chest that his ribcage nearly burst open.

“I’d say yes. In a heartbeat.” Donghyuck hummed and pressed his lips together like he was trying to suppress a smile. Jaemin continued with a grin, “I hope you’re asking me, because I may have already cancelled my flight. I kind of need a place to crash.”

“Okay. This is me asking you,” Donghyuck said, knocking his shoulder against Jaemin’s.

“Okay,” Jaemin echoed, gingerly cupping Donghyuck’s face with both hands. “This is me saying yes.”

He let his thumbs trace the warmth blooming across Donghyuck’s cheeks, holding him in place before he could freak out and turn away. Donghyuck’s breath stuttered as he inhaled. His eyes fell closed, granting Jaemin permission to lean in and press their lips together.

Donghyuck’s mouth was soft and tasted a little like chocolate. He made a quiet noise as Jaemin’s fingers threaded gently through his hair, looping his arm around Jaemin’s neck to tug him in closer. The kiss was tantalizingly slow; Jaemin mapped the topography of Donghyuck’s lips, their plush shape, and how they slotted perfectly between Jaemin’s own. 

Donghyuck was the first to break away, face flushed a sweet shade of pink. Their noses brushed when he breathlessly asked, “What about your lines?”

“Hmm?” was all Jaemin responded with, because he was dazed and mesmerized and had no idea what he’d said. He chased Donghyuck’s mouth like he couldn’t possibly stop himself if he tried, and Donghyuck gave in easily. 

He pulled away again after a few seconds, this time with a loud smack. “The lines you have to learn, Jaemin,” Donghyuck laughed.

“I’ll improv—” he stole a kiss, “—I’ll write my own—” he stole another kiss, “—I don’t care.” He lingered on the last one, grazing his teeth across Donghyuck’s lower lip, which made him whimper. “I’ll do whatever it takes to stay here with you,” he said simply, and it was scary to voice the bare and utter truth like this. “This is real for me, and…I want to see where it goes.”

“It’s real for me, too,” Donghyuck whispered. A car honked loudly from the street below, followed by a few shouts that reminded Jaemin where he was: on the rooftop of a townhouse in Greenwich Village, halfway in love with Donghyuck Lee. “Let’s see where this goes.”

FEBRUARY, EIGHT MONTHS AFTER

LOS ANGELES

The following week, Renjun comes over to Jaemin’s place for lunch. He sits at the kitchen island while Jaemin spreads pate and mayo across two baguettes, recounting his experience as a guest judge for an idol survival show in Beijing.

“But the most important part was that I got to talk to Lay Zhang. Lay, Jaemin!”

“Holy shit, Jun!” Jaemin’s butter knife accidentally clatters to the table, startling laughter out of them both. “What did he say?”

“He said he listened to my last EP and he liked it. I think I died and went to heaven,” Renjun says, dreamily. “And he was, like, insanely handsome in real life. I was definitely making heart eyes at him the whole time.” He shoots a glare in Jaemin’s direction. “Don’t tell Yangyang I said that.”

“I won’t,” Jaemin extends his pinky and earnestly wraps it around Renjun’s. When they let go, he starts assembling their bánh mì. “I’m so happy for you! You deserve this more than anyone.”

“Thank you,” Renjun beams. “It’s kind of crazy. Like, I got to meet Lay, Chenle met Stephen Curry, and Donghyuck’s doing a song with Taemin—”

“He’s doing a song with Taemin?”

Jaemin’s first instinct is to pick up his phone and call Donghyuck, sincerely congratulate him for achieving what he’d been dreaming of for years. It seemed he finally managed to convince his label that a collab would be huge—this was a major step for Donghyuck to be able to wield more control over his creative direction altogether. Jaemin wanted to tell him how proud he was, shake him by the shoulders and scream You did it!

But that was no longer his place; cheering Donghyuck on from the sidelines was a job that belonged to his partner and his friends, and Jaemin was neither of those things.

“Yeah. You didn’t know?”

“No, I didn’t.” He busies his hands with sprinkling seasoning over the two sandwiches and pushes one of the plates across the island. “I’m happy for him, too.” He walks around the counter and climbs onto the stool next to Renjun.

“This is so yummy, thank you,” Renjun says after he swallows his first bite. “I’m coming over for lunch every week.”

“Please do. I’ll make you something even better next time.”

For a while, they eat in silence, the apartment filled only by the sounds of Luke and Lucy play-fighting in the living room and the quiet indie music coming from Jaemin’s speaker.

Renjun is the first to speak up. “You could tell him, you know.”

“Hmm?” 

Renjun raises his eyebrows, and the realization must dawn on Jaemin’s face, because he presses on. “I think he’d be happy to hear from you.”

“I don’t—I mean, we’re not really on speaking terms. That would be…weird.” 

“It’s not weird to try and mend things. Or to try to be amicable again,” Renjun says, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin. “So much time has passed.”

“I just don’t know if I’m ready for that yet,” Jaemin says, wishing they could return to the peaceful silence of a few minutes ago.

He knows it’s not fair to ban Donghyuck as a topic altogether, not when they all still run in the same circle. Jaemin would never ask that of his friends anyway. It’s just easier to carry on as if nothing has changed, like there’s no overlap between them at all.

“You can’t avoid him forever, Jaem.”

He plays with a stray piece of carrot and avoids the intensity of Renjun’s gaze. It’s starting to feel like everyone in his life has vowed to take turns picking at Jaemin’s insides and forcing him to evaluate their findings. He wants to retreat, shield himself from the truths he’s not prepared to confront.

“I know that.”

“Then why won’t you try? At least for the sake of your friends.”

“It’s not that easy, Renjun,” Jaemin mumbles. He can hear the frustration simmering in Renjun’s voice, but this is the last thing he wants to talk about right now.

“It could be. But I think—” Renjun cuts himself off. When he starts again, it’s quieter. He folds his hands in his lap. “Sometimes, it feels to me like…you want to keep being heartbroken. Like you think it’s easier to wallow on your own than trying to pick yourself back up again and move on.” 

“You think I’m pitying myself?” Jaemin asks, and he’s humiliated by the way his voice cracks. 

Renjun’s mouth falls open. “No, that’s not what I—”

“Maybe I am, a little bit,” he interrupts. “But I lost everything. I don’t know what else to do.”

“That’s the thing, Jaemin, you haven’t. You had a life before Donghyuck, and you can have one after,” Renjun insists. His words might’ve been good advice for someone else, but they don’t apply to Jaemin. “Donghyuck has realized that already, he’s moved on and he’s happy. I think you need to try, too.” Renjun sucks in a breath like he hadn’t quite meant to say that. 

Jaemin doesn’t respond, just sits there. His stomach is flayed and he can’t look.

He barely registers when Renjun touches his arm, whispering an apology and letting himself out of the apartment. He stares at the lines in the marbled countertop until they blend together into a swirling mess. He sits there with his half-eaten sandwich until the sun has dipped low into the sky, only getting up to give the cats dinner. He doesn’t remember how he gets into bed, or when the tears start flowing, but the feeling of his soggy pillowcase pressed against his wet cheek is sobering.

Renjun is right, Jaemin thinks as he flicks off his bedside lamp. I can’t live like this any longer.

The next morning, Jaemin gets up at six a.m. to go for a run. His eyes are swollen and puffy, so he hopes no neighbors recognize him as he sprints past houses with Spanish-tiled roofs and beneath evergreen trees. He hasn’t run consistently since the beginning of January, spurred at the time by flimsy New Year’s resolutions that he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep, so it’s a bit embarrassing how out of shape he is.

But new beginnings won’t magically happen just because Jaemin wants them to, so he jogs until sunlight washes away the morning’s chill. His stomach growls violently when he realizes he’d barely eaten lunch yesterday and skipped dinner entirely.

Back at home, Luke greets him by rubbing against his sweaty calves. Jaemin takes a long, hot, contemplative shower, eats peanut butter and banana toast out on the patio, and decides that it really is time to move on, or to at least make an attempt to.

He’s let the breakup define him since it happened, let it seep into his career and taint the things he used to love. Some of those things are natural reactions to a long-term relationship ending, he knows, but Jaemin also knows he’s convinced himself he has nothing left so deeply that it started to feel like the truth.

He saw the backlash online and stopped posting his photography in hopes of combatting it, until eventually, he stopped taking pictures altogether. He hasn’t hosted a dinner party since he moved back downtown because it felt pointless without a sprawling, rustic kitchen and a co-host. He heard whispers that his career was bound to take a hit, and resigned himself to the fact that he’d only ever land mediocre, supporting roles for the rest of his life, so he shot low for projects that seemed to fit that mold.

To put it simply, Jaemin suspects he’s developed something of an inferiority complex over the past eight months. That’s probably what Renjun was getting at yesterday—he should probably thank Renjun for helping him come to that realization and give lunch together a second shot.

Maybe Jaemin’s life will never be fully extricated from Donghyuck’s, and maybe the general public will always view the things he does through a Donghyuck-shaped lens. That doesn’t mean he has to stop living or doing the things he wants. It’s not a fair excuse to live in his ex’s shadow forever, either.

And the truth is, Donghyuck has moved on, no matter how much it hurts Jaemin to acknowledge it. He’s found a way to be happy. Jaemin owes it to himself to try, too.

He starts by texting Jeno and asking him if he’ll model for Jaemin in the evening, once Jaemin gets off from a solo shoot and interview to promote Manor of Death.

That afternoon, Jaemin gets styled in brown suede with a red tie and a comically oversized suit jacket, hair slicked to let just a few strands fall strategically across his forehead. The photographer snaps pictures of him strolling down the street, holding a paper bag full of baguettes, sprawled suggestively across a couch.

None of the photoshoot’s direction correlates in any sensical way to the stoic detective character he plays on the show, but he answers questions with sincerity and interest the whole way through. What drew him to the role (needing a job), his chemistry with his co-star Anna (great), how he deals with rough patches in his personal life (he’s still figuring that out), and what trajectory he sees his career taking in the future (a positive one, hopefully).

He meets up with Jeno afterwards, and together they drive down to the Santa Monica pier with Jaemin’s camera in tow. He gets a shot of Jeno eating ice cream, then one of Jeno laughing as the ocean spans wide behind him. He takes a picture of the sun setting next to the Ferris wheel, of their hands submerged halfway in the sand.

When he gets home, Jaemin clicks through the photos with a small smile on his face. He debates pulling up Instagram for at least ten minutes before he gives in and posts his favorite one: Jeno on the crowded pier, eyes closed to the wind billowing through his hair and his clothes, the sky around him streaked with vivid oranges and pinks.

It feels like a new beginning.

Manor of Death premieres on Friday, and Jaemin gets to wear another fancy suit and walk down the red carpet with his cast. He flashes his winning, toothy smile at the cameras and waves at all of the fans, linking arms with Anna as they make their way through the throngs of interviewers.

A popular influencer who Jaemin recognizes politely beckons the two of them over through the shouts of the paparazzi. She asks silly questions about cast inside jokes and their acting rituals, and then she asks Jaemin, “How are you enjoying the single life? Personally, I think you’re winning ‘cause men are dogs.”

That shocks a laugh out of him; at least it wasn’t a thinly veiled jab.

He’s smiling when he says, “I’ve been reflecting and focusing on myself, so it hasn’t all been bad.” She likes the answer, and if anyone else alludes to Haechan throughout the rest of the night, Jaemin takes it in stride and doesn’t let it shake him at all.

The pilot episode turns out better than expected. He was doubtful, but it seems now that this was a step in the right direction to help reboot his career. The cast goes out for drinks afterwards, and Jaemin has such a fun time that he wishes he’d tried to cherish it all a little bit earlier. But he’s feeling grateful now, and that’s all that matters.

He goes on another early morning run the next day. When he gets back, Renjun’s waiting at his doorstep.

Jaemin makes tea for both of them, and they sit out on the patio. Renjun starts by apologizing, but Jaemin stops him.

“I think I needed to hear that. It hurts, but…it’s not your fault. I’m letting my life pass me by and I don’t want that,” Jaemin says.

Renjun bites his lip. “I promise I wasn’t trying to imply that you were pitying yourself, I don’t think that at all. And I shouldn’t have brought up Donghyuck that way—it was cruel. You’ve been dealing with all of this way better than I would’ve. If I were you, I’d hate him. So much.”

“I probably should hate him, but I don’t,” Jaemin laughs bitterly. He looks at his hands. “I think he might hate me.”

“He doesn’t!” Renjun says quickly. “It’s just complicated, for both of you. Which is why I shouldn’t have put it entirely on you to try to patch things up when it’s up to him to try, too. I’m really sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Jaemin says, watching clumps of wispy clouds float by. The world’s still turning. “We’ll figure it out eventually. If not before, then at Chenle and Jisung’s wedding. And hopefully by then, I’ll be ready.”

Renjun clasps Jaemin’s hand. “You will.”

AUGUST, TWO YEARS AND TEN MONTHS BEFORE

LOS ANGELES

“Oh my god, what is that?” Donghyuck shouted from upstairs.

Jaemin’s hands faltered on the keys. The sudden, harsh dissonance scared Lucy away from her spot at Jaemin’s feet. She disappeared behind the couch with a comical Meow!, and before he could ask what was wrong, Donghyuck materialized next to him.

“Play that again.” 

Jaemin furrowed his brows. Donghyuck nodded insistently, scooching onto the bench next to him.

He obliged, playing a short refrain he’d come up with after messing around on the piano after dinner. It was slow, a little melancholic, and needed a few more tweaks. But as Donghyuck tucked his chin onto Jaemin’s shoulder, he found himself finishing the phrase with ease.

“I love it,” Donghyuck said. “Can I grab my guitar? I think I have an idea.” 

They spent the next hour building a song Jaemin would later dub as ‘Chocolate.’ Jaemin playing his refrain, Donghyuck strumming along on his guitar and humming a quiet melody. The lyrics were simple and sweet, twinged with a little bit of regret.

Jaemin drank in the pleasant sound of Donghyuck’s voice—raw honey ringing throughout the living room, drawing Lucy out of her hiding spot. When they had the first (rough) draft successfully recorded on their phones, Donghyuck squealed. He pulled Jaemin into a hug and spun them around in a circle, jumping up and down until Jaemin grew dizzy.

“That was the most fun I’ve ever had,” Donghyuck exhaled. His smile was devastating as always; Jaemin could never get tired of being on the receiving end of it.

“Me too,” Jaemin said, pressing his forehead to Donghyuck’s.

“I like writing songs with you. We should do this more often.”

“I’ll do anything you want me to do,” he replied, truthful as ever.

Donghyuck scrunched his nose. “So cheesy.”

“You love it,” he said and pressed a chaste kiss to Donghyuck’s lips. 

“I do.” Donghyuck melted into his embrace. Jaemin wondered how he could have gotten so lucky.

FEBRUARY, EIGHT MONTHS AFTER

LOS ANGELES

Jaemin spends the next week looking at potential new projects with his agent. All he knows is that he wants to find a script that speaks to him, regardless of how serious of an actor it might make him seem. 

He just so happens to land on a psychological thriller attached to an insanely prolific director. The supporting lead role is the villain in very subtle ways—a sort of character Jaemin’s never played before, and a challenge he wants for himself. It’s already clear that the film will be huge, so he knows he has to give it his all for the remainder of the month if he wants the lead role.

It’s rejuvenating to have a clear-cut goal lying ahead of him. He seeks advice from Chenle, who’s undoubtedly the better actor between the two of them. He runs through his lines with Jeno and forces the cats to listen to him perfect his British accent.

The evening before the fitting, Jaemin stares at the script until his eyes start to cross and decides it’s about time to call it quits, when an idea he’s had countless times before pops into his head.

Before he realizes it, he’s pulling out his laptop and typing Haechan and Mark Lee into the YouTube search bar.

There are countless results, from Mark mentioning Haechan during post-game interviews to Haechan dedicating a song to Mark at a recent performance, clips of Haechan cheering on the Maple Leafs, and so many more. 

The top video, however, is from January and has twenty million views: “Haechan and Mark Lee Take a Couple’s Quiz.”

He almost clicks on it and then wonders what the hell he’s doing. This could only end badly. And when it does, there would be no one to blame but himself. He’d have to be a masochist to deliberately watch his ex be sweet and couple-y with someone else for fifteen whole minutes.

But then the voice in Jaemin’s head tells him that some exposure therapy might be good. He’d done his very best to avoid Haechan and Mark Lee since November, yet they still appear everywhere against his will.

Part of Jaemin still has trouble believing they’re even together after all this time, but that can only mean he’s in for a rude awakening come Chenle and Jisung’s wedding. Which, all things considered, is an even better reason to watch—at least he’ll know what he’s in for.

Jaemin hits play.

He regrets it immediately, because seeing Donghyuck on his screen like this is surreal. Jaemin hasn’t seen him in the flesh since the day they broke up, but here he is, smiling and looking more stunning than ever, so tangible that Jaemin nearly forgets it isn’t the real thing. Mark is also extremely handsome, which Jaemin was marginally aware of. It’s hard to deny how attractive a couple they make together on screen.

The quiz questions start out innocuously, go-to karaoke songs and coffee orders. Jaemin considers it a win each time he answers Haechan’s questions correctly and it all starts to feel a little bit pathetic.

He notices that around Haechan, Mark laughs a lot. He giggles like a schoolgirl with a crush—Haechan basks in the attention and teases him ceaselessly. It almost feels over the top, but of course, Jaemin would think that. 

Eight minutes pass and it starts to become difficult to watch. He considers turning the video off to preserve his well-being while he still can, but then a particular exchange keeps his attention:

“What’s my favorite song to perform?” Haechan squints at Mark expectantly. “I’ve told you this one before.”

“Uhhhh,” Mark says, eyes flicking around the room. He sees Haechan pouting and shouts, “Wait, wait, I know this! It’s…uhh…‘Chocolate,’ right?”

“Good job honey,” Haechan pats Mark on the head like he’s a puppy, and Mark preens under the touch.

Stunned, Jaemin clicks off the video. 

He knows for a fact that Donghyuck had never included the song on any setlists while they were together; it must have been a post-breakup addition, which has to mean something. But to dwell on it would be risky, Jaemin knows, and he already dove headfirst into dangerous territory. He shuts down his laptop and goes to bed.

The next afternoon, Jaemin and Jeno check in for their fitting appointment at an upscale men’s clothier in Melrose Heights. The attendant takes their drink orders, leading them through the lobby to a smaller, private room, with racks and shelves lined with sleek suit jackets and various fabrics.

There’s someone already standing on the platform before the large ornate mirror on the wall. Jaemin’s heart drops into his stomach when he recognizes the face in the reflection. 

“Oh my god, Jeno, that’s Mark. Then does that mean—”

“...Jaemin?”

It’s a voice he could pick out anywhere in the world. His blood goes cold in an instant. 

Jaemin whirls around to see Donghyuck standing there and blinking at him in genuine surprise. He’s barefaced, dressed in a leather jacket with a t-shirt and jeans, hair dyed a warm honey brown. It looks new, probably in preparation for his collab with Taemin in true K-pop fashion. The color suits him so well that Jaemin could be convinced it was natural, but that’s just Donghyuck.

In a room that exudes luxury and elegance, Donghyuck is the most stunning sight of them all. Casual, effortless beauty. The kind that might disappear with a blink, so you keep your eyes pried open in hopes that it’ll stay; Jaemin knows the feeling too well, had gotten used to it after loving Donghyuck for so long.

Later, he wonders if it was just a figment of his imagination, but Jaemin swears he sees a flash of something in Donghyuck’s eyes. Regret, longing, a vulnerability that’s hard to place—he has no idea, but before Jaemin knows it, Donghyuck schools his face into something deceptively neutral.

“Donghyuck,” Jaemin says evenly, even while his rampant heartbeat roars loud enough for the whole room to hear. Jeno’s hand wraps around his forearm like Jaemin’s at risk of losing his footing. Donghyuck’s gaze follows the movement. “I didn’t know you would be here today.”

Donghyuck meets Jaemin’s eyes again. “Same. I guess this must be Chenle’s idea of a prank.” It’d be funny if there was any humor in his voice. He turns to Jeno with a small smile. “Nice to see you, Jeno. It’s been a while.”

“Yeah, you too,” Jeno nods politely. “How have you been?”

Just then, Mark calls out, “Hyuck, what do you think of—oh.” He glances past his shoulder at what must be a visibly uncomfortable situation and willingly bounds over. “Hello.”

It feels like a calculated hit as Donghyuck pulls Mark to his side and links their arms together. That’s when Jaemin notices a thin, golden band on Donghyuck’s finger where his engagement ring once was and instantly feels faint.

There’s no way, he thinks to himself, but when he frantically looks at Mark’s hands, they’re devoid of rings entirely.

“Babe, this is Jaemin, and this is Jeno,” Donghyuck says. 

Babe. The pet name sticks in Jaemin’s ears.

This time, the smile on Donghyuck’s face is obviously fake—it’s the close-lipped, customer-service one he gives when he’s too drained to dole out anything else. He wonders if Donghyuck knows that Jaemin is one of the only people in the world who can tell the difference. He wonders if Donghyuck can see right through Jaemin’s own niceties, his attempt at seeming coolly unaffected.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you guys! I’ve heard so much.” Mark immediately goes red, and Jaemin begrudgingly finds it cute when he scrambles to correct himself. “Uh—good things! Of course. Haha, sorry.”

Jeno laughs and says, “It’s nice to meet you, too, Mark.” His eyes are scrunched up sweetly, probably already taken by Mark’s innate charm. “That color looks nice on you.”

“Thanks,” Mark beams right back, running a palm over smooth, pale blue fabric. “Dude, I’m so excited for this wedding. I’ve never been to Tuscany before.”

“It’ll be amazing,” Jaemin responds out of courtesy, but he’s looking at Donghyuck. Something seems to pass between them again as Donghyuck stares right back. Recognition, maybe. 

“Right.” Donghyuck finally breaks eye contact to turn to Mark. Jaemin breathes at last, but another part of him wants Donghyuck to turn back so badly it’s dizzying. “So I think we’re done here, yeah? Go get changed and meet me in the lobby.” Mark nods and scurries off obediently. “We’ll get out of your hair now. Bye, Jaemin.” He leaves without another glance, and the whole thing is so bizarre that Jaemin is grateful for Jeno’s steadying grip.

The tailors arrive to take their measurements, which gives Jaemin time to sit with the flood of memories hitting him all at once: Donghyuck in their bed, in their kitchen, on the townhouse rooftop. Donghyuck babying Luke, playing guitar on the floor of the living room. Running his hands through Jaemin’s hair. Kissing his eyelids to wake him up. Pulling the plug, telling Jaemin it’s over and not seeing him out of the door.

Any progress Jaemin might have made over the past week feels futile in the face of Donghyuck himself; it’s the worst pain and the most powerful relief. It’s a promise that moving on is a pipe dream, because Jaemin saw Donghyuck on the arm of another man, cold and uninterested, and had to keep himself from blurting out I still love you.

Later that night, Jeno is over at Jaemin’s apartment:

“Mark, is uh—” Jeno cuts himself off on a moan as Jaemin pushes into him, nails digging into Jaemin’s back, “—kind of cute, don’t you think?”

Jaemin sinks his teeth into Jeno’s shoulder, finding a rhythm as he grips the side of the dresser and thrusts upwards into Jeno’s slick heat. “You could say that,” he mumbles into the skin there, sucking and biting until a bruise begins to take shape.

Jeno gives a breathy laugh. The sound is entirely too sweet for what they’re doing, frantically chasing relief after the discomfort of earlier that day. But then, Jeno puts his lips near Jaemin’s ear and says, “D’you think Mark fucks Donghyuck like this?”

The question makes Jaemin’s hip stutter, and Jeno whines at the sudden loss of friction. His words form a confusing, feverish coil of want in Jaemin’s lower belly.

He imagines Mark folding Donghyuck over a dresser, his hands on Donghyuck’s ass and squeezing his thighs. Donghyuck whimpering in Mark’s ears, begging for more and more, getting off on Mark’s cock alone, until both of them come in a hot, sticky mess. 

It’s shameful. It’s wrong. It sends jolts of desire through Jaemin’s veins until he’s grabbing Jeno’s waist and shifting them forward so that every buck of his hips brushes at Jeno’s prostate and threatens to unravel Jaemin entirely.

“Like this?” Jaemin rasps, mouthing at the sharp line of Jeno’s jaw.

“Yeah,” Jeno groans. He pulls Jaemin in for a sloppy kiss and says into his mouth, “Like that—fuck.”

Jeno’s orgasm comes first. Jaemin fucks him through it, until he comes so hard he swears he sees stars. He feels the humiliation creeping in as the high wears off, Jeno slumped over in his arms and an uncomfortable wetness between them. They don’t bring it up again.

MARCH, NINE MONTHS AFTER

LOS ANGELES

March arrives, bringing with it rainy days and early hints of spring. 

Jaemin doesn’t see Donghyuck again when he and Jeno pick up their pressed and tailored suits a week and a half later. And contrary to widespread speculation, Mark Lee and Haechan do not make their highly anticipated appearance at the Academy Awards. The Maple Leafs documentary wins an Oscar, but so does Chenle for his supporting role in an anti-historical comedy.

Mark Lee and Haechan do, however, show up to the Vanity Fair Oscars afterparty, which is almost more important than the awards themselves; after all, there’s a lot to celebrate. 

Jaemin learns of their presence only through whispers from other famous people, who apparently aren’t immune to the intrigue of celebrity couples. They’ve competed for the spot of America’s “royal couple” since the very public inception of their relationship—a love story for the ages, as a popular talk-show host drunkenly claims behind him—so perhaps the reaction is justified. 

All the fuss is tacky to Jaemin, but of course, he would feel that way; no matter how hard he tries, some part of him feels unendingly bitter.

It feels like everyone is staring at him as he sifts his way through the crowd, strobe lights washing familiar and strange faces alike in shades of blue and green. He and Jeno stick together when Chenle and Jisung disappear about an hour in. Renjun is nowhere to be found either. Most likely, all three of them are with Mark and Donghyuck, precariously splitting their time between groups while also keeping everyone apart like the great friends they are.

Sometimes, Jaemin hates that it has to be this way. He hates that their once tight circle has been cleaved into two. He’s half the reason the group won’t ever hang out together again, and yet his friends have gone through all the trouble in the world just to pretend like everything’s fine.

It also hurts to know that Jeno willingly severed his friendship with Donghyuck to be there for Jaemin. He wonders if Jeno ever resents him for taking him down with him, for needing him so much. He wonders whether Renjun had begged him to make up with Donghyuck on behalf of everyone else, all harboring frustration that things might never go back to how they were.

Jaemin feels it all too. He wishes it were that simple. And sometimes, he hopes that Donghyuck might extend the first olive branch, because Jaemin’s not sure he knows how.

He’s so in his head that he barely registers when Haechan takes the stage, until his gaze lands directly on Jaemin after narrowly avoiding each other all night. Haechan is sitting at the piano, sweat glistening on his collarbones, pale pink lips forming around words Jaemin can’t make out. He looks like a dream; maybe Jaemin is dreaming.

“This song is called ‘Chocolate,’” Haechan says. 

It’s like ice water to his burning hot skin.

Mark is at the bottom of the stage, smiling up at Haechan so hard his cheekbones might snap in half, but Haechan is looking at Jaemin. Like this is all a sick joke.

He downs the rest of his drink and flees to the bathroom. He doesn’t wait for Jeno.

Jaemin presses his forehead to the cool tile, hoping for some relief. A famous singer offers him a line of coke; he can barely muster up the willpower to politely refuse. The muffled sound of Haechan singing the lyrics they wrote together filters in from underneath the bathroom door. It makes Jaemin question why all of this is happening when he’s finally decided to move on. 

The tension at the suit shop, the golden ring on Donghyuck’s finger, the look he gave Jaemin just now. It has to mean something, but Jaemin no longer knows what goes on inside of Donghyuck’s head. He hasn’t been privy to that for a long time.

It feels like Donghyuck is punishing him for getting tangled up in dating rumors with Jeno when they were on the brink of reconciliation, not knowing that they weren’t true and never have been. Maybe he’s angry with Jaemin for walking out that day instead of crawling back and begging for forgiveness.

Or maybe this is Donghyuck’s way of suggesting that he wants Jaemin back. His fake smile back at the suit shop a secret cry for help, singing their song to say I still love you too.

There’s that dangerous line of thinking again. Jaemin can’t suppress it, no matter how badly he wants to.

So he splashes cold water on his face and tries to pull himself together. The DJ’s taken back over the stage; there’s no telling how long he’s been gone. He needs to find Jeno before he can worry him even further.

The bathroom door creaks open; Jaemin suspects that Jeno has found him first. But instead, Donghyuck walks in.

His eyes are bloodshot. A tear stain traces a perfect line down his cheek, face flushed under the fluorescent lights. Jaemin’s knees shake, nearly toppling over from his need to hold Donghyuck in his arms, but he doesn’t dare move an inch.

Donghyuck steps closer. He sways like he’s drunk, like he might fall into Jaemin’s arms anyway.

“Jaemin,” Donghyuck says, quiet and broken.

His heart splits all over again. For Donghyuck, whom Jaemin once knew so intimately. His mind, body, soul. Every bit and piece of him. The cadence of his footsteps on the stairs, the stubbornly straight piece of hair on the back of his head—remnants that Jaemin doesn’t know what to do with anymore. He has to pretend like he doesn’t know these things, like every part of him isn’t screaming to brush Donghyuck’s tears away with his thumb and take them back home.

Donghyuck takes another step. His fingers reach for Jaemin’s sleeve, the touch so light he might’ve imagined it. “I—”

The door swings open again. Jeno’s eyes widen as he spots them, Mark popping up in the doorway behind him seconds later. Jaemin jolts back like he’s been shocked. 

“Hyuck, there you are,” Mark says in relief, and the moment shatters. He looks between the three of them with a furrowed brow. “Everything okay in here?”

“Yeah,” Jaemin mumbles. Donghyuck is refusing to make eye contact, so whatever he was about to say was either unimportant or was meant for Jaemin’s ears only. It doesn’t matter; he wouldn’t be able to bear it regardless. “I was just leaving.”

He brushes past Donghyuck with his heart in his throat and follows Jeno out of the bathroom, the door slamming shut behind them. Just as Jaemin thinks he’s home free, Mark grabs his forearm.

“Can I talk to you privately?” Mark asks, eyebrows knit together in concern. Jaemin glances in disbelief at the spot where Mark’s fingers close around his skin, unsure if he should be threatened or not. Mark seems to get the hint and drops his hands to his sides. “Please?” 

“Okay,” Jaemin says slowly. He sends a reassuring look to Jeno, who looks just as wary as Jaemin feels. “I’ll be right back.”

He trails after Mark out onto the balcony. The night air is a cool reprieve from the stuffiness of hundreds of expensive bodies pressed up against one another. A deep inhale fills his lungs with his first proper breath in hours.

Beverly Hills stretches before him in an expanse of glittery buildings and palm trees swaying in the moonlight. The city moved on long ago—ignorant of the way Jaemin has been stuck in June for nine months now, consumed whole by something everyone else stopped caring about. 

There’s always been a part of him unwilling to let go, feet planted firmly to the ground, even when Jaemin has tried so hard to drag himself away.

If only he could blink tomorrow into existence. The opportunity to pick up the pieces and start over for the hundredth time. The chance to forget the misery on Donghyuck’s face, the words on the tip of his tongue that Jaemin would never get to hear.

“Are you okay?” Mark asks softly, reminding Jaemin that he isn’t alone. Mark’s eyes are big and rounded—decidedly nonthreatening. But there’s no way he dragged Jaemin out here to check up on him when Donghyuck was back inside on his own. “It seemed…intense in there.”

“I’m fine, thanks.” He’s not sure what Mark is playing at, beating around the bush like this. Jaemin is starting to feel exhausted. He gets straight to the point. “Look, whatever you think was going on in there with Donghyuck…you’ve got it wrong. We barely spoke. He approached me first, but nothing happened. He’s not the type to do that kind of thing anyway.” 

Jaemin winces as something flashes across Mark’s face. He probably shouldn’t be talking about Donghyuck like he still knows him, not in front of Donghyuck’s current boyfriend. It’s a bad look. 

Especially because of the way Donghyuck was looking at Jaemin—he would’ve folded instantly, and it would’ve been the easiest thing he’s ever done. Mark could never find out.

But for some reason, Mark just laughs. “Dude, I wasn’t thinking that at all. I trust Donghyuck completely. And I’m not here to like, threaten you or something. I just wanted to ask you if we could…get along. Be friendly and stuff, ‘cause—” Mark appears stunningly vulnerable as he starts to ramble, “—the situation’s, like, already kinda uncomfortable enough, y’know? And I don’t want there to be any animosity between us because I think you’re a nice guy, so maybe we can just try to—”

“You don’t hate me?” Jaemin interrupts, in disbelief all over again.

Mark should despise him. He should be sneering in Jaemin’s face, mocking him for being only the stepping stone to Donghyuck’s dream guy, because Jaemin was never going to be enough. But instead, Mark is the one extending the first olive branch. It’s baffling.

“No, why would I?” Mark scratches his neck. “We don’t have to be enemies just because you used to be with Donghyuck. It’s not like it’s written in the stars. People have free will, man.”

Jaemin swallows. “I guess I just wasn’t expecting it.”

“I get it. But we could try to be the exception, right? We don’t have to like, hang out all the time or whatever. I just—I saw the message you addressed to me in that interview from last month. That lady put you in a tough spot, but what you said was sweet. It seemed like you meant it, so I just thought we could…try to get along, despite everything.”

He seems embarrassed to be so truthful, as if he can’t quite help but spill his guts to his boyfriend’s ex-fiancé or anyone else who might listen. Like this is his natural state: bashful honesty and perpetual kindness. Jaemin’s starting to see the appeal.

He doesn’t respond immediately. Mark jumps to fill the silence. “Donghyuck, he…nevermind,” he shakes his head. “I’ve said my piece. What do you think?”

“I think you’re right,” Jaemin nods after a moment, watching how Mark’s eyes light up. “It’s awkward enough as is. I don’t think I’m ready to hang out or anything yet, but…we can be friendly. At least for the sake of the wedding.” And for Donghyuck, Jaemin wants to say. Perhaps it’s what Mark was hinting at, that maybe Donghyuck is just as unsure how to proceed as Jaemin is. “And for our friends,” he finishes.

“Whew, okay. I was nervous there for a second, but I knew you were chill,” Mark grins, bumping shoulders with Jaemin like they’re teammates. “Don’t be surprised if I give you a hug next time I see you.”

Jaemin lets out a surprised laugh. “Sounds good.” He gazes back over the railing and sees the shadows of a group of friends growing long and wispy behind them as they walk down the street. “I did mean what I said in the interview, by the way. You’re a great guy. I can see why Donghyuck likes you.”

“Thank you,” Mark smiles something small and shy. “I care about him a lot. That’s why it’s so important to me to be on good terms with everyone, especially you. I think you can understand.”

Jaemin thinks he does understand—that Donghyuck moving on doesn’t necessarily mean he no longer wants Jaemin in his life. Renjun tried to tell him as much.

But here is Mark: by all means, an outsider to the group, trying harder than anyone else to patch things up between them. It’s a testament to how much Mark loves Donghyuck, Jaemin’s aware. That hurts to acknowledge, but then again, it always does.

And it’ll hurt to have Donghyuck back in Jaemin’s life when Mark is there, too, but after seeing him twice in the span of less than two weeks, Jaemin realizes he’ll take Donghyuck however he can.

Friends again or forever at arm’s length. Jaemin will take anything.

“I do,” Jaemin agrees. He returns Mark’s smile. “I should go find Jeno. He’s an introvert, so he’s probably freaking out by now.”

“Yeah, okay,” Mark laughs. “Have a good night, Jaemin. Tell Jeno I said the same.”

Jaemin waves goodbye before ducking back inside, surprised to find the torment brewing in his gut eased by the fresh air and the conversation with Mark. Jeno pats his face like he’s searching for signs of hurt, but Jaemin is composed when he says, “Let’s go home.”