Standing in the entrance way to the nursery, Sehun was struck with the overwhelming sense that it was too yellow. It was the first time he’d felt that way, the first time he’d found the white curtains with yellow embroidered suns offensive. He wanted to rip up all of the beige colored, almost off yellow carpet, to destroy the rocking chair with the yellow cushion, and utterly slash to pieces the wallpaper that depicted a familiar Pooh bear on his never ending quest for honey.

It was too yellow.

It was too bright.

The gentle ticking from the far wall drew Sehun’s attention away from the brightness of the room for just a second, reminding him that it was half past ten, which meant he was late. He wanted to laugh at the notion of being late getting to the church. It wasn’t as if they could start without him.

He reached out a shaking hand to run across the smooth wood of the crib. It was a dark oak, full of blemishes and spirals that made it look charming in an almost rustic way, and of all the things Sehun hated in the room, the crib was the only thing spared from his wrath. He could still remember seeing it in pieces, in need of sanding, freshly cut and primed for the first coat of lacer. Sehun had seen the crib before it had been a crib, as gentle, worn, capable hands molded it in to the bed that would protect their child through the night.

The bedding inside, however, had to go.

Sehun reached down for the white sheets and ripped them up easily, tossing over his shoulder a yellow pillow, tiny stuffed animals, and even the more decorative parts of the crib that were meant to be taken off before any baby ever went to sleep in it. It all was thrown to the side carelessly, kicked to a pile on the ground, leaving only the barest of mattress underneath.

Next came the tiny dresser against the far wall, underneath the window with the atrocious curtains.

He pulled roughly at the handles on the dresser, chipping deliberately at the paint that was a recent addition, the aftermath of Sehun’s last short vacation from work. And then he was overturning the contents inside, scattering the ground with baby sized socks, shirts, dresses and an endless stream of ribbons.

Sehun really hated the ribbons.

It hadn’t even been his idea to learn the gender of the baby. He’d wanted to wait out of caution, especially considering the bad fortune Sehun’s sisters had had in particular with unstable and unsustainable pregnancies. But then Sehun had heard the heartbeat, and he’d seen the fetal movement, and there’d been tears and pleading and just like that Sehun had learned he’d have a daughter.

A precious, beautiful, wonderful daughter.

It had simultaneously thrilled and terrified him, the idea that he would have a baby girl in his life, who would likely become his everything.

The ribbons had come in earnest after that, in all colors, sizes and even shapes. By the second trimester they’d had enough ribbons to keep their daughter stocked in decorative headgear likely until she hit high school.

Maybe a little part of Sehun had been thankful. After all, he didn’t really know much about girls, despite having three sisters, no matter how willing he was to learn. And he was more excited about getting to take his girl to swim lessons and Jamboree, than eventual bra shopping. Let others buy her the girly stuff, he’d told himself, and he’d laughed off the fact that the ribbons kept coming in.

A voice cleared behind him.

In response Sehun swiped viciously at the nearby lamp atop the dresser. It cracked loudly as it hit the carpet, and it was one less thing that was bright and happy about the room.

“Sehun.”

Sehun paused, shoulders tensed.

Silence slipped through the air, terrible and horrible and stale.

And then finally, finally, the voice said once more, “If you keep this up, you’ll regret it in the end.”

The words stunned Sehun a bit. They weren’t what he’d been expecting in the least bit. He’d thought there’d be admonishment heading his way, or some proper chastising. Not words that sounded like a warning.

“I think,” he ground out in response, feeling flippant and soulless, “I can do whatever I want in here.”

As if to prove his point, he gave a nearby bookshelf a severe kick. It was the tiny kind of bookshelf that was meant to be tucked into the corner, filled with books that only a toddler would begin to grasp. And indeed when Sehun’s foot connected, picture books and baby soft toys came crashing down, scattering across the floor. Sehun stepped pointedly on a nearby duck that had dared to come too close to him.

“We’re running late,” the voice said again, and Sehun knew what he’d find if he turned. He knew he’d see his brother-in-law framed in the doorway, a carefully constructed look of patience and understanding on his face.

Only Sehun hadn’t been the only one at the hospital when the news had come in. Sehun had stood there while his brother-in-law, Suho, crashed to his knees, holding his mother’s hand like a child, begging and pleading for her to tell him that the doctor was wrong, that his little brother wasn’t dead, and that neither was the baby.

At the memory, Sehun ripped at a hanging tapestry, something his mother had sewn for the baby the second she’d found out it was going to be a girl. Sehun had three sisters, with him being the youngest, and still he was the first to give her a grandchild. It was possible she’d been more excited than him in the beginning, though certainly not more devastated by the end.

“I don’t think they can start without me.”

His heart was starting to beat faster, the anger in him rising, and all he could see was yellow everywhere. Yellow on the walls. Yellow on the carpet. Yellow in the toys and clothes and the figurines that had been purposely chosen for display, even though the baby had been expected to sleep in a cot in the master bedroom for a good three or four months before even seeing the nursery.

Yellow, the color that Sehun had compromised to, after months of gender color debates, theme arguments, and finally one tearful reminder that it didn’t matter what the nursery looked like, only who was intended for it.

Carefully Suho moved into his periphery, dressed in a perfectly formal black suit, looking pale and painfully young. He told Sehun, “We need to leave for the church. I don’t … I can’t understand what you’re doing in here, or how you think this will make you feel better, but we need to go.”

Sehun gave a dry chuckle. “You think this makes me feel better?” It didn’t even come close to the word better, but it did make him feel, if only for a brief second, like the world wasn’t going to fall out from under him, and he was going to keep breathing. Whether he liked it or not.

“My parents are waiting,” Suho added, and if that wasn’t a dirty, underhanded tactic, Sehun didn’t know what was.

In the beginning Suho had hated him. Suho had done everything in his power to run Sehun off, thinking him a flirtatious but not particularly sturdy partner. Suho had tried intimidation, bribery, and downright threatening him, but Sehun had persevered, absolutely certain he’d found the person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. But Suho’s parents had been different. They’d liked him almost from the start, thought him youthful and ambitious, and though not without his flaws, fully capable of giving his heart and soul to their youngest.

“Your parents are there as well.”

Sehun’s parents, he cared slightly less for, other than the fact that it wasn’t lost on him the death of his husband and child was what had taken to get them in the same room for the first time in almost a decade.

Bowing forward, Sehun rested his arms on the dresser in front of him, pressing his forehead against the coolness of the wood. He had to go. He knew he had to go. But it was so … final. If he went everything would truly be over and done.

“We have to do this one last thing,” Suho said kindly, laying a hand on Sehun’s shoulder. “It … goddamn it , but we have to.”

When Sehun turned fully towards him, struck by the cracks in Suho’s normally strong voice, he was surprised to see a staggeringly different picture than what he’d imagined. Instead of necessary perseverance on Suho’s face, Sehun saw nothing but raw sorrow. Sehun saw the face of a man who’s just lost his younger brother and niece, the two people who mattered the most to him in the world.

And suddenly Sehun realized he wasn’t the only one who’d carried around ultrasound pictures in his wallet.

“I’m not sure,” Sehun started, leaning an elbow more heavily on the dresser as his knees turned to jelly, “that I can make it on my own.”

Suho’s shoulders heaved as he took a deep breath. Then he reached out for Sehun, tugging him into a breathless hug, promising him, “I’ll help you make it.”

Suho nearly carried him the whole way to the car.

Everyone was already inside the church when they arrived, likely seated as patiently as possible, murmuring to each other about his absence and their understanding of why it must be so difficult for him. And in true form, Suho let Sehun sit in the car for minutes after they arrived, not saying a word, and hardly moving.

The truth was, Sehun wasn’t religious in the slightest. His mom had dragged him to church a few times as a child, but the older he’d gotten, the more ridiculous it had seemed. To him, the bible was just something of fantasy, made up of riddles and anecdotes and all the things that Sehun, who was more practical than not, found childish. He much preferred science and logic to religion, and hardly had time to entertain Christianity or Buddhism.

Jaehyuk had been different. Jae had been …

Sehun had agreed to a church wedding because Jae had wanted it so badly. Jae, who was bright and optimistic and happy almost all the time, found comfort and warmth in the stories that Sehun found juvenile. He found acceptance and reassurance in the services he’d attend at least once a week, and for Jae, being religious had been important to him on a level that Sehun had struggled to understand.

So naturally it only made sense that Jae’s funeral would be held in a church.

“Ready to go in?”

Sehun pressed a hand against the window, gazing up at the huge white building. Inside was the body of his husband. Inside was the body of his child. Inside were crying family members, the pastor who’d married them, and probably the whole of their wedding party. Sehun’s coworkers would be in there, his friends, and probably a good deal of students from the school that Jae had taught at. There’d be hundreds of people, all packed in, and they were waiting for Sehun to be ready.

He’d never be ready, but he said anyway, “I think I have to make this walk on my own.” Then he got out of the car, his black tie feeling like a noose around his neck, and made the short journey up to the double doors that no less than two years ago he and Jae had burst through after reciting their marriage vows.

He could feel them all starring at him as he walked as quick as he could manage down the long isle way, towards his mother who had saved him a seat in the front, and his eldest sister who was weeping openly.

He sat.

He listened.

He did not cry.

There were two caskets, a choice which Sehun had had no hand in. In fact he’d had nothing at all to do with the funeral. But it wasn’t as if he’d been slighted. Almost all of him that had mattered had died with Jae and their baby. Getting out of bed now was enough of a challenge on most days. Planning a funeral seemed an impossible test.

But two caskets? It was something that filled him with disgust, maybe even offense. Jae had wanted their baby more than anyone had ever wanted a baby. Jae had loved their baby since before conception, and had done absolutely everything right from the very moment. He hadn’t so much as touched a drop of alcohol, he’d gone to all of his classes, he’d eaten right, taken his vitamins, and been the best protection for their baby humanly possible. He’d fought until the end to protect their baby.

He shouldn’t have been buried separately from the baby.

Quietly from behind Sehun, Suho leaned forward and asked, “Do you want to say something?” The pastor spoke first, but his eulogy was thankfully short, and now family members and close friends were trading off at the front, sharing their favorite stories and memories.

Did he want to say something?

Sehun’s hands fisted the material of his pants. He wanted to scream and shout and be furious with the world. He wanted answers. He wanted justice. He wanted things to be different and to be practicing more hospital labor drills with packed suitcases and backup sets of car keys. That’s what he wanted. He wanted his husband back, with his impossibly bright smile and kind eyes and warm touches. He wanted his baby girl.

He did not want to speak.

And so the hours dragged by. For too long Sehun held his mother’s hand and watched the clock on the far side of the room. Speaker after speaker came and went, and Sehun found himself drifting, remembering the look on Jae’s face when Sehun had proposed, and the moment they’d found out they were going to be parents.

Their girl, she’d been a surprise, but not an unwanted one.

As Suho climbed the small set of stairs towards the speaking podium, Sehun’s eyes locked on the tiny, horrifically small casket that his daughter’s body was encased in. It seemed a cruel joke that something so small would exist, or that there’d be a need for it.

It seemed even crueler that in a short while she’d be lowered into the cold, unforgiving earth and smothered with dirt. Family members and well wishers would lay flowers on the headstone that was already in place at the local cemetery, but no matter what, she’d be alone when everyone left.

If anything Sehun thought he should have fought everyone on that.

“Sehun?”

A light touch to his elbow brought him out of this thoughts and it was only then that he realized everyone was standing for a final prayer. He clambered awkwardly to his feet, his mother’s arms around him as she cried louder and louder, and he closed his eyes out of respect as the prayer began.

As afraid as Sehun had been to attend the funeral, he was even more afraid for when it was over.

The pallbearers took the coffins just after that and Sehun sat down hard, feeling the people stream past him, following the coffins traditionally towards the Hearst that would take them directly to the cemetery to be buried. Sehun did not go, instead he sat there, legs splayed out in front of him, struggling to breath normally.

There was no going back now. There was no pretending. Jae and their baby were gone.

“I take it you don’t want to go,” a deep voice rumbled from the side, and soon Sehun’s longtime friend Kai was sliding next to him on the pew. The dance instructor looked absolutely out of place in his high collared white dress shirt, his black jacket nearly crumpled into a ball in his hands.

Just behind Kai Sehun could see Chanyeol, watching with tentative eyes, and D.O. even further back fingers rucking up his hair in a nervous tick that said he’d been emotionally exhausted by the funeral. But it was Baekhyun on Sehun’s other side, holding out a water bottle for him, who looked the most devastated of the group.

Of course he was devastated. Jae and Baekhyun had known each other since primary school, taking their teaching exams at exactly the same time, and had been hired miraculously at the same academy. Sehun had had to woo Baekhyun, in a manner of speaking, before he could even begin to make a move on Jae. Baekhyun had lost a brother the same as Suho, blood related or not.

“No,” Sehun said, fingers sliding against the precipitation on the water bottle, “I don’t ing want to go see them put my family in the ground.”

He got up then, putting the unopened bottle down where he’d been sitting.

“Sehun?” Kai asked, eyebrows high.

Sehun pulled roughly at his tie, loosening it until it hung down around his neck sloppily. “I need to talk a walk. I need some air.”

Kai got to his feet as well. “I don’t think you should be alone right now.”

Sehun gave him an acidic look. “I’m going to be alone for the rest of my life.” He pulled again at his tie until it came undone and hung limply around his neck. “Just give me some space, guys.”

He was trying his absolute best, which he almost though he deserved a medal for considering how little he cared about anything at all now, not to hurt the people surrounding him. They’d loved Jae too. Their love had been a different kind, but they’d loved him all the same. Baekhyun had been his best friend. Chanyeol used to take him karaoke singing every Wednesday night. Kai had given them the dance lessons that they’d used for their wedding, and D.O. was still the only person who’d ever been able to teach Jae to swim without him panicking. They were family. These men were family, and they didn’t deserve him being an .

“I’m not going to go walk into traffic,” Sehun said, trying to reassure the concerned faces in front of him. “I’m going to work on Monday. There’s a deadline coming up that I committed to, and I won’t let the team down.”

It was particularly Chanyeol, who worked with Sehun, who looked the most uncertain and said, “You don’t have to come back to work so soon. Sehun, I know our divisional manager gave you additional time off, all things considered. I don’t think you should come back just yet.”

“Don’t think I have my head on straight?” Sehun accused, but he tried to keep any kind of betrayal from his face. “Chanyeol, I need my work right now. It’s the only thing I have left.”

Chanyeol gave a shaky nod. “At least let me drive you on Monday. We’ll get lunch together, and go out drinking afterwards.”

Sehun forced himself to say, “Okay.” Now if only they’d let him have his space.

The funeral ended, at least the more formal aspect of it, just before two. And for the next six hours, Sehun walked. He walked Seoul what felt like a million times over, only deliberately avoiding the cemetery. His feet, pinched by his dress shoes, started screaming in protest only an hour in, but still Sehun kept walking.

The sun was on the horizon, just one more yellow thing to crawl under his skin, when he realized where his walking had taken him.

He was frozen at the realization, and stranded as his feet refused to move him even an inch.

He must have stood there for at least another hour, blocking the flow of traffic on the sidewalk, looking more than a little odd, feeling as though he might waste away at any moment.

A car honked suddenly, closer than expected and unlike the sounds that came from the nearby lanes of traffic. It honked again and Sehun startled, turning to see a familiar Honda and the gesturing man inside.

Finally Sehun’s feet let him move, if only to allow him to crawl inside the Honda that he’d spent countless teenage years in.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” Chen demanded, gripping the wheel tightly as he merged back into traffic. “Here, Sehun? Of all places, you wanted to come here?”

Chen sounded so angry, and Sehun felt so defeated.

“I didn’t see you at the funeral,” Sehun said, sinking down in the worn seat. It was hard for him not to feel a certain fondness for the car every time he spotted it. He and Chen had driven all over South Korea in it as teenagers, getting into all kinds of messes, and having the best years of their life.

“I was there,” Chen grit out. “In the back. I didn’t think you needed me crowding you up there at the front. You had people lined up around the block for that.”

Sehun told him honestly, “You were probably the only person I wanted up there with me.”

Chen was his best friend. They’d been best friends from the second they’d been paired together in their freshmen biology class, Chen, an absolute academic superstar, and Sehun, more interested in doodling in the margins of his notebook. They’d been complete opposites, with next to nothing in common, but Chen had laughed at the jokes Sehun cracked, and Sehun had understood the way Chen explained their labs.

“How are you holding up?”

Sehun sighed, “I didn’t mean to go there. It just happened.”

Reaching into his pocket, Chen with drew his phone and tossed it at Sehun who caught it awkwardly. “Just so you know, I’ve been out here for hours, driving around mindlessly, ever since our friends started leaving messages on my phone about you being missing. They seemed to think you were going to …”

“Take the easy way out?” Sehun asked. And he supposed it was. Dying was easy. Living was proving to be the harder part. “No, Chen. I told those idiots I just wanted some air. I think I deserve some air, especially today. And I just mentioned I didn’t mean to end up where I did.” Sehun cut him a sharp look. “Did you know I’d go there?”

Chen risked a quick look to him before they were moving deeper into traffic. “Maybe you went subconsciously, but you know I don’t think you went there on purpose. I just thought I’d check to be sure. I just think … why are you torturing yourself like this?”

“Oh off,” Sehun snapped.

They drove on in silence for a moment until Chen asked, “Do you want me to take you back to your place?”

To the cold, sterile walls that would forever be empty? To the house that Sehun and Jae had pooled all of their savings, all of their parent’s savings, and even some of their friend’s savings, to pay for? All for their expanding family?

“There’s nothing for me there,” Sehun grumbled out. He’d spent the past few nights alone in the house, wandering the empty rooms, feeling more and more like the walls were closing in on him. It was too quiet and he absolutely hated it there.

Chen took them downtown, the sun even further gone now, and bright lights taking its place. “Then you’ll crash at my place tonight. Got it? You’ll stay with me every night until you want to go back, or until we figure something out.”

“Your girlfriend is going to love that,” Sehun pointed out.

Chen rolled his eyes. “Well, I loved you before I loved her, so she’ll deal. And my couch is amazingly comfortable, so don’t even think about saying no. You don’t get an option here, in case you were confused.”

“I want to sell it,” Sehun said suddenly. “I want to sell the house. I can’t stand it. I hate it.”

“It’s a pretty house,” Chen offered, voice a little tight. “And you got it for a steal.”

“Jae picked out the house,” Sehun bit out. “It’s his house. I can’t stay there.”

Without warning Chen pulled suddenly to the side. They were in a tow away zone, the car idling across the fire lane marked underneath them, but Chen didn’t seem to care for a second as he turned to Sehun and said, “I’m so damn sorry for you, Sehun.” Then they were hugging, Chen holding him in the kind of hug they’d shared at their graduation, the kind that was a little too tight but meant to say everything without words. “This is so unfair and I’m so mad for you having to deal with this.”

Slowly, like he was sinking into a bog, Sehun relaxed against Chen. “Thank you, Chen.” It seemed hardly believable, but his best friend’s simple words had actually helped, even if only in the slightest.

“You don’t want to go the cemetery? Not to pay your final respects?”

Sehun shook his head. “I did that at the hospital.” He’d gotten to sit with Jae’s body in the morgue for a couple of minuets, and hold his cold hand, and weep silently. He’d said his goodbye then, and also to the baby that had been ripped from Jae’s body in a desperate attempt to save her.

Chen threw the car back into first and eased off the clutch. “Then you know what we should do now, right?”

Sehun honestly wasn’t sure, he only knew Chen was the only person in almost a week who’d made him feel the slightest bit like he wasn’t drowning in an endless sea of pain and misery.

“Go deal with a wake full of people who are going to pretend to understand the pain I’m going through?” Sehun guessed. His mom, between her tears, had told him days earlier that she and Jae’s parents would be taking care of that aspect as well.

Chen shifted the car into second as they picked up speed. “ that,” Chen said, putting his turn signal on and swerving severely to the left. “We’re going to a bar. We’re going to get wasted.”

Chen was probably the best friend to have ever existed.

So still dressed in their funeral clothes, though when they peeled off their jackets and ties it wasn’t too hard to pass for someone who’d just dressed up for work a bit, they headed towards the best drinking spot in Seoul.

Okay, maybe it wasn’t the best spot per say, but Sehun and Chen had discovered it on the night they turned nineteen, both had their first kisses that night, and gotten to know the owners pretty well. It was a bar that was more modern than a lot of the others in the area, with karaoke rooms, a dancing floor, an open kitchen most of the night, and enough warm bodies to make Sehun forget himself.

“Here,” Chen said, having to shout over the loud voices and louder music as they stumbled their way through the doors and to a nearby booth. Chen handed him a long necked beer and additional bottle of something that looked suspiciously like soju.

Sehun wasted no time downing the soju, wincing at the taste, then following it with better tasting beer. He pressed back to Chen, “We need shots!” He wasn’t sure why they hadn’t had this idea before. Already he was feeling the slight buzz of the rush that wasn’t too far away, and it was dulling the memory of the funeral.

“Shots,” Chen agreed, and then they started drinking in earnest.

It must have been hours of it, though Sehun wasn’t sure, but steadily a collection of empty bottles built up at the table. Chen sunk lower and lower in his seat as his words began to slur together. And Sehun drank until he felt sick. Then he kept drinking. The high lights above him spun, the music hurt his ears and he wanted to press his forehead to the table and just pass out. Maybe, if he was lucky, he could drink himself to death.

“I hate this,” Chen mumbled, almost vertical on the booth’s seat, curled in on himself. “I hate that Jae is dead. I hate we had to burry him. I hate you lost the person you love. I hate you lost your daughter. I hate it all.”

Sehun polished off his last bottle of soju and leaned heavily against the table as he staggered his way to his feet. “Bathroom,” he grunted out. He couldn’t stay there a second more and listen to Chen say what Sehun felt.

Sehun took likely the longest pee of his life, pointedly did not wash his hands, and then was stumbling his way back to Chen when he saw him.

He saw Jae.

But not. That wasn’t possible. Jae had been cold and dead for days, and he was six feet underground now. It couldn’t be Jae that Sehun saw, but everything looked the same. The man in front of him, laughing drunkenly with a couple of friends was the same height, with the same colored hair, the same slender, beautiful fingers, and even the same complexion.

It wasn’t Jae, he told himself. It didn’t matter how much his drunken mind was trying to convince him that this was.

Then one of the man’s friends was pointing at him and the man who was not Jae, but bore a striking resemblance to him, was spinning around towards him. A look of pleased surprise blossomed on his quite beautiful face and then he was making his way towards Sehun.

“Sorry,” he said, the words a little awkward coming out, as if he wasn’t completely confident in them, “but I just lost a bet.” The man’s voice was soft but not feminine, and then Sehun stopped thinking all together.

Jae was kissing him.

No. He told himself again, this wasn’t Jae.

But if he closed his eyes and pretended, it was easy to trick himself into thinking it was Jae. Jae had kept his hair short but fashionably styled like this man, and it had been the same auburn color. Jae was almost this man’s exact height, which meant Sehun could put his hands on his shoulders and pull him in for a deeper kiss. And Jae had surely been as slender as whoever this man was. The only thing wrong was that there wasn’t the prominence and firmness of a baby pressed between them as they kissed deeply.

“Wow,” the man said, eyes glazed from alcohol as their lips slid together so easily it was almost as if they’d been doing it forever. “You’re a great kisser.” There was an accent to his words, something Sehun couldn’t pin down. But this man was a great kisser as well.

So for that moment, Sehun let himself pretend. He let himself cup the man’s cheek and pretend it was Jae’s as he kissed firmer and more wholly. He squeezed his eyes closed as the man’s hand caught at his waist just like Jae’s always had, and with the smell of the bar covering up the man’s cologne, Sehun fooled himself.

And it wasn’t enough. He and the man pawed at each other openly, likely obscenely, alcohol overriding both of their senses, some innate compatibility taking complete control.

Sehun kissed with ever fiber of his being, fingers sliding up into hair, soft lips urging him on, and the catcalls behind them falling away.

Sehun wasn’t sure how it happened. He wasn’t sure how the trickery had turned to need and lust and desire, but soon enough he was mumbling about a cab and wanting the man. And the man was kissing back his agreement, something almost primal sparking between them.

He’d never taken someone home from a bar. Before Jae he hadn’t been old enough for the activity, and afterward he hadn’t wanted anyone but Jae. But neither had he ever felt such a thing between himself and another person. Sehun had been drawn to Jae’s kindness and warmth and his downright lovability. This was completely different. There was fire here, and Sehun had to have it.

He had to burn away the pain of knowing he’d never have a steady partner again, or go to bed with the same person over and over again. He’d never have again what he’d had.

Somehow, maybe by the grace of the god Sehun hardly believed existed, he and the beautiful man ended up in the back of a cab. With Chen back at the bar, along with the man’s friends, Sehun mumbled out his address, tossed money at the cab driver and then pressed himself down against the man next to him, his fingers trailing over the smooth, soft skin.

“Your house?” the man asked as they stumbled their way up the driveway fifteen minutes later, Sehun clumsily punching in the security code with fingers that felt too fat and sausage shaped to manage it. “It’s so nice.” The man was listing dangerously to the side by the time Sehun got the door open, and Sehun wasted no time in hitching the man up and pressing him up against the hallway wall, attacking his mouth once more.

They pulled off their clothing right away, fingers and mouths everywhere, Sehun beyond all rational thought.

“I want you,” Sehun said, more falling with his companion on his bed than anything else. He wasn’t even sure how they’d gotten from the foyer to the bedroom, which was quite the walk with stairs involved. “I want you now.”

All skin and long lines, the man underneath him hooked an arm around the back of Sehun’s neck and responded, “I want you too.” He pushed his hips up against Sehun’s, creating wonderful friction.

Sehun let loose the rest of his control.

The man peppered kisses along Sehun’s neck, dragged his tongue against the stubble there, and all but begged, “Take me.”

In a haze of alcohol and lust, Sehun fumbled his way through an act that previously had meant so much to him, kicking at the sheets on the bed as he fought to get the proper leverage. He gathered the man up in his arms, pressed a sloppy kiss to his mouth, and then simply felt.

It was the most he’d felt in days.

In fact, no matter how much it pained him to admit it, it was the most alive he’d felt since his husband’s death. The best, too.

And when he was done, shuddering with his release, bringing the man with him, the man who’s name he didn’t even know, he was able to collapse down against the sheets Jae had personally picked out for them with the kind of release of tension he was starting to feel as if he’d needed. And Sehun, who was not an overly tactile person, gathered the man close to him, despite their sticky and soiled bodies, and requested, “Stay.”

He meant to say, just stay with me so I’m not alone, please, because I’m afraid to be alone.

The man laughed, stealing another kiss from an unsuspecting Sehun. “I don’t even know you.”

“Stay,” Sehun requested again, placing a hand on the man’s waist. “I’ll blow you in the morning if you do.”

Slender fingers pushed up at the nape of Sehun’s neck and the man said, big eyes almost doe like in their size, a beautiful brown almost amber color shining at Sehun, “You don’t have to promise that. I’ll stay.”

The more Sehun looked at the man’s eyes, the color too easy to make out with the full moon’s light shinning down on them from the high bay window across the room, the more Sehun thought they were probably the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“Okay,” Sehun said, feeling sleepy from the drinking and the and the emotional exhaustion of the day. “Just stay.”

The man’s eyes. Amber. Almost amber, with specks of brown and hazel and maybe even a little green. Amber.

Not Yellow.