True to his word, Ethan squishes Jiyong within an inch of his life the moment he enters the cafe. And then again, a few minutes later.

He knew it was coming, but what he never could have accounted for, was the strange, buoyant pressure against his ribs. Like he felt the first time he saw the ocean when he was five. Or when his mother used to smile at him, the few times she actually saw Jiyong instead of his father.

It follows him throughout the day, even after he walks home that evening and steps into the quiet stillness of the apartment. Jiyong knows better than to believe that he’ll feel the same when he wakes up.

Against habit, he hopes for it anyway.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Wednesday evening Jiyong finds himself standing outside of Zahra’s building a few blocks away from the cafe. It’s a street he’s walked down countless times in the last month, and as he stares up at the old brownstone, he wonders how often their paths almost crossed before the night of Seunghyun’s party. Not that he would’ve known who she was or had the balls to approach a total stranger. Jiyong barely has the balls to climb the steps and ring the buzzer, unsure of himself in a way he wishes he wasn’t.

For most of his life, it was always other people who forced their version of friendship on him, even when he didn’t know what to do with it. He only played along because he thought that’s what he was supposed to do. He thought that if he went to parties and didn’t say no whenever someone texted him, that none of them would figure out how deficient he was.

Jiyong realizes this isn’t high school or college and that he actually wants to be friends with Zahra. It’s exactly why he’s afraid of not doing it right, which is both stupid and human. He just has to come to terms with the fact that it’s okay to be those things in the fifteen seconds it takes Zahra to buzz him in.

“Hey,” she grins when she opens the door.

“Hey,” Jiyong replies, hands stuffed in the pockets of his hoodie.

She seems less intimidating now—drowning in oversized sweats and a ratty t-shirt, her face free of makeup, hair caught in a messy bun. Like she’s more of a person and less of an idea.

That doesn’t stop him from freezing up, though, and both of them stand there staring at each other as if they’ve forgotten how this works. Then Zahra laughs and the sound is equal parts anxious and familiar. Or maybe it’s just the anxiety that’s familiar.

“Sorry. I guess I should warn you that I’m really awkward when alcohol isn’t involved.”

He shrugs. “Me too.”

“Great,” she laughs again, moving aside to let him in. “This shouldn’t be painful at all.”

Jiyong smiles and glances around the apartment. It’s nice. Cluttered like Seunghyun’s, but not as random. Lived in, like Seunghyun's. Full of all the small details that make up a life. He notices that the affinity for purple extends beyond Zahra's hair, seeing it in the pillows on the couch and the curtains hanging from the big bay windows. Fridge magnets, bowls in the drying rack, a poster in the hallway. Even though he doesn't really know her, this particular detail doesn't surprise him.

“Do you have a roommate?” Jiyong asks, noticing the second bedroom.

Zahra nods. “Yeah, she’s at work right now. You met her at the party–Katherine?”

“Oh. Yeah.” He remembers the Escher-inspired tattoos and her dry humor. “I liked her.”

“She’s a doll,” Zahra replies. “Especially because she puts up with me.”

His mouth twitches.

“You can’t be that awful.”

“You’re about to find out,” she sing-songs, nudging him further into the living room.

This makes Jiyong laugh and some of his apprehension melts away as they both sit on the couch, Zahra tucking her legs up and turning to face him. He thinks he could probably count the number of conversations he’s started on one hand and have fingers left over. For whatever reason, that doesn’t seem as insurmountable as it usually does.

“So.”

She flashes him a timid smirk. “So.”

“I’m gonna be totally honest, I have no idea what to say right now,” Jiyong confesses.

“Me either,” Zahra chuckles.

“Maybe we should get drunk,” he suggests. “That seemed to work last time.”

Zahra’s laughter expands, filling the room.

“Y'know, I think we still have some beers in the fridge,” she mutters absently, already crawling off the couch.

Jiyong watches her go and smiles when he eventually hears the clink of glass bottles, relieved that he’s not the only one who needs liquid courage just to step outside his own head. Zahra returns and plops down next to him, handing him a beer, humor still dancing in her dark eyes.

“Cheers,” she says, tapping their bottles together.

They both take long, slow sips. His attention wanders. The silence doesn’t feel all that uncomfortable and he wonders if that’s Zahra or just him.

“I like your apartment, by the way. It feels like you,” Jiyong says after a few minutes.

Zahra beams sweetly. “Aww, thanks.”

“I still don’t have a couch.”

“Seriously?” she asks, eyebrows lifting. “Where do you sit?”

“The floor. Sometimes on the kitchen counter.” He rubs his thumb against the condensation on the glass. “I haven’t even really unpacked.”

Shrugging, Zahra gives him a sympathetic look. “Some things take longer than others, right?”

“Yeah, maybe,” he laughs slightly.

Jiyong drinks from his bottle and can tell his mouth is seconds away from running off on him. It could be because he never gets to talk about himself with someone who might understand. Years of pent up words lying in wait for the right person to appreciate them. He sighs and takes another sip, not sure he’s brave enough yet to start letting some of them out.

They both go quiet again, eyes meeting and drifting away and meeting again. Jiyong forgot how weird this could be. He hasn’t done it in forever and Seunghyun doesn’t count, because Seunghyun is an anomaly.

“Um…” Zahra starts, picking at the label on her beer. “Do you wanna watch something? Or we could play Mario Kart. Nothing says eternal friendship quite like aggressively ramming each other off of Rainbow Road.”

He snorts. “I haven’t played in a really long time.”

“That’s okay. I’ll go easy on you the first round,” she promises, winking, which makes him think “going easy” actually means “annihilate”.

He’s not off by much. But Jiyong admits that he likes the way Zahra cackles whenever she sends him flying over the edge of the track. Half the time he does it to himself, still getting used to the old N64 controller. He tries not to resent the fact that he rarely had the chance to play with anyone growing up. His mom didn’t allow video games. Maybe that’s where everything went wrong.

“You’re surprisingly bad at Mario Kart,” she says, about an hour later. Jiyong’s barely won a couple races.

“Not all boys are created equal,” he answers dryly.

Zahra laughs and pops the cap off of another beer. “I wanted to be a boy when I was little, actually,” she admits, taking a swig before starting their next race. “My older brothers always made it seem so much better, because they were funny and cool and smart and good at everything. But then I started beating all their high game scores and it didn’t matter anymore.”

“Bet they loved that,” Jiyong chuckles.

She nods in his periphery, shooting him a quick grin.

“I think I was on their list for like, a month or something. They wouldn’t even talk to me.”

“Ouch.”

“It’s fine, we joke about it now. But they still think I’m a freak.”

Jiyong attempts to pass her on the track and fails when he hits one of those stupid banana peels and spins out of control.

“How does that make you a freak?”

“I dunno, because I don’t fit inside the official girl box, I guess,” Zahra answers. “I’ve always been the weird one.”

He has no idea what it’s like to have siblings. He does, however, know too much about boxes and what it’s like to be “the weird one”.

“So you never played this when you were a kid?” she asks, lapping him a second time and grinning when Jiyong elbows her gently.

“My mom wouldn’t buy me a console and I didn’t have a lot of friends.”

Zahra’s mouth curves down at the corners, thick eyebrows furrowing. “What did you do for fun, then?”

“Read. Go for walks.”

“I think we may have been the most boring kids on the planet,” she muses.

“Yeah,” Jiyong agrees, smiling again. “You had video games, at least.”

“True, true,” Zahra sighs, finally zipping past him to the finish line and winning first place for the zillionth time.

He sinks further into the couch, head lolling against the cushions. The victory lap music fills their silence while they both sit there and take long sips from their bottles. Jiyong’s tongue wants to run away from him again. He decides that’s probably okay now, words coming soft and slow as he pieces his thoughts together.

“It’s just kind of strange. Getting this far and trying to remember if I ever felt normal. Or everyone else’s normal, whatever. I don’t even know what that means.”

Zahra nods in agreement beside him. “It’s pretty stupid, isn’t it.”

“Incredibly stupid.”

“Most people are sorta messed up, though. Even if they don’t want to admit it,” she sighs, propping an elbow up on the back of the couch as she turns to face him. “We just don’t hide it the same way they do.”

Jiyong manages a faint smile. In an ideal world, there wouldn’t be any pretending, because it wouldn’t matter and no one would care. “I wish they wouldn’t.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

They finish their beers and before Zahra can ask if he wants another, his brain sparks with a new question. An old question, actually, one he always wants to hear the answer to. Because underneath it all, he thinks he just needs to know that he’s not alone in this.

“Can I ask you something?” he says, glancing over at her. Zahra sets her bottle down and nods again. “Are you happy?”

“Sometimes,” she replies easily. “Well, most of the time. It was worse in college,” she adds, laughing gently as she tilts her head and asks, “Are you?”

“Not exactly,” Jiyong admits. He fumbles with the bottle, mouth moving all on its own. “I think I could be, maybe. If I figure out how.”

For some reason, saying it out loud makes him believe it more. Like he can’t take it back and pretend he never had the thought in the first place. He probably would’ve, too, but there’s a witness now.

Zahra looks like she wants to comment, but he keeps asking questions, wants to keep moving forward.

“What happened in college?”

The furrow in her brow disappears and she lights up. “Seunghyun happened, I guess,” Zahra tells him, gaze wandering as she thinks. “He helped me realize that it was okay to not have answers and make my own version of happiness anyway. It doesn’t always work, but if it was easy, it wouldn’t be worth it, y’know?”

“Of course he did,” Jiyong mutters. “Who died and made him an official life coach, anyway?”

“You should ask him, not me.”

“I will,” he replies. “I mean-- I want to, I’ve been wanting to.”

The expression on her face shifts from amused to sly.

“You’re really sweet on him, aren’t you?” she asks and Jiyong scoffs. “You are, don’t even play, dude. I saw the way you looked at each other, it was like watching a hipster romance novel unfold in front of my eyes.”

He tips his head back against the cushions, almost losing it at that mental image. She’s probably not wrong.

“So what if I am?” he huffs, grinning. His cheeks are definitely on fire.

Zahra gives him another one of her coffee-warm smiles.

“I’d say that feeling is as good a place to start as any. Wouldn’t you?”

Staring down at his lap, Jiyong entertains the idea of feigning ignorance. Though what would be the point, when he can’t even come up with a valid reason to disagree?

She reaches over to squeeze his arm, like she knows he can’t argue, and rises from the couch without another word, collecting their empty bottles. Jiyong continues to stare at nothing. He can’t stop trying to piece together how the hell any of this happened in the first place. 

But...maybe it’s not a puzzle he’s meant to solve.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

On the forty-fourth day, Seunghyun helps Jiyong look for a couch at one of the second hand furniture stores in their neighborhood, and the entire time, he can’t get Zahra’s words out of his head. He’s pretty sure he’s never been this hyper-aware of anything ever. The problem, is that awareness doesn’t actually change his inability to deal with it. With knowing just how much the flutter in his stomach whenever Seunghyun so much as blinks is reciprocated. That should make it easier, but it really doesn’t. Because Jiyong is always standing in his own way.

“What about this one?” Seunghyun asks, pointing at a deep green couch that looks like it might eat him and then spit him out into another plane of existence if he sat in it.

“I think if anything fell between the cushions, it would be lost forever. Including me.”

Seunghyun giggles. “We can’t have that.”

Jiyong can’t not smile at the bright sound and he wonders how obvious he’s being. Based on how often he has to endure the sight of those dimples, he’d say “super”.

“Okay, what about this one over here?” Seunghyun tries again, tugging him towards a boxy gray number with tattered, yellow throw pillows.

He shakes his head.

“Too modern.”

“I wasn’t aware you cared this much about interior decorating,” Seunghyun teases.

“I don’t,” Jiyong replies, smirking. “But I’m experimenting with participating in my own life.”

Seunghyun’s smile droops a little bit. He didn’t mean for that to seem so depressing, he was just being honest. Jiyong nudges into him with his elbow and wants to roll his eyes, but Seunghyun surprises him by tossing an arm over his shoulders.

“C’mon, we’re gonna find you the perfect couch.”

He does roll his eyes now, letting Seunghyun drag him on to the next one. They probably end up sitting on all fifteen couches at least once and half an hour later, Jiyong finally comes to a decision.

“This is it,” he announces.

“You're absolutely positive?” Seunghyun asks, quirking an eyebrow. “A couch is serious business. It's basically the centerpiece of your life.”

Jiyong laughs and runs his fingers over the faded, red upholstery, focusing on the softness of the material instead of how close they’re sitting–arms and legs squished against one another.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” he says.

Seunghyun nods. “Just checking.” And then, “Do you have a laptop?”

“Yeah, why?” Jiyong turns to look at him.

“I figured we could watch a movie or something to christen the couch after they deliver it tomorrow.”

The flutter fills his stomach to capacity, but he thinks he might be learning to enjoy the sensation, no matter how terrifying it always is.

“Okay.”

Biting down on a smile, Seunghyun narrows his eyes. “You’re not just humoring me, right? Because you’re allowed to say no.”

“No, I want to,” Jiyong insists. “You don’t have to over-analyze everything I say. I’ve never lied to you.”

“I’m–” Seunghyun leans into him slightly and ducks his head. “I know. Sorry.”

It takes a second, but Jiyong realizes something then, because Seunghyun is normally so confident it’s easy to forget he doesn’t always feel that way. Easy to forget that he struggles, too. They only ever talked about it that one time, which makes him wonder how many times Seunghyun has hidden behind his exuberance since then. Jiyong still doesn’t like the idea of Seunghyun being sad or unsure of himself, and he certainly doesn’t want to be the reason Seunghyun falters, especially when he has no reason to.

Zahra’s words from yesterday scroll through his mind like never-ending ticker tape. He stares at Seunghyun’s hand where it’s resting on his knee, heart beating erratically when he questions whether or not he really has the guts to do this. Whether or not he's ready.

Jiyong closes his eyes for a moment and inhales slowly. He picked out a damn couch. He can do anything.

“In case you haven’t noticed,” Jiyong starts, voice echoing weirdly in his ears as blood rushes everywhere. He lifts his own hand and takes Seunghyun’s, fitting their fingers together, feeling brave and delirious and maybe like he might puke. “I like spending time with you.”

Seunghyun squeezes his hand. Jiyong looks up.

“I’d be a little concerned at this point if you didn’t,” Seunghyun jokes, but the reappearance of his dimples betrays exactly how happy he is.

Jiyong’s beginning to think he might know something about that after all.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Friday evening after the delivery men are gone, Jiyong leans against the wall in the living room and stares at the couch, adjusting to a new shape occupying his space. It seems odd, the way it’s facing the jumble of unpacked boxes. So he moves it around to face the windows instead and then plops down in the middle.

Sunset paints the gray sky a dull peach. Jiyong watches the colors change until all that’s left are the city lights bouncing orange off of the muddy clouds.

He sighs, feeling drained from getting up early for work and trying to care more than he usually does. Because he’d like to care. He’d like to be better and not feel empty when he wakes up in the morning, but knowing what’s broken doesn’t mean he knows how to fix it. If he knew, he probably would’ve done something about it a long time ago.

What Jiyong does know, is that he doesn’t want that responsibility to be anyone else’s but his. As much as he’d like Seunghyun or Ethan or Zahra to be the mystical missing link he’s never been able to find, he also knows that’s unrealistic. And incredibly unfair, both to himself and them.

Flopping over onto his side, he presses his cheek against the softness of the couch cushion, wondering why this is so hard. Every good day Jiyong has never seems to matter when there are a hundred other bad days reminding him that nothing has changed. He wants change. He wants to figure out the magic trick that will let him keep the feeling he gets when someone makes him laugh. Or the way he felt when he held Seunghyun’s hand—which sounds so ing stupid in his head, but he still means it.

Jiyong lays there in the almost dark for what might be forever. Then his phone vibrates and he learns it’s only been forty-five minutes. He would’ve preferred eternity.

Seunghyun

[Sent: Nov 11 6:32PM]

I should be home around 10.

Is that cool?

[Sent: Nov 11 6:33PM]

yeah, it’s fine. i don’t work until

3 tomorrow

Seunghyun

[Sent: Nov 11 6:35PM]

Awesome :)

He drops his phone on the floor and rolls over onto his back. Now he needs to find something to do for the next three and a half hours. Jiyong has no idea when doing nothing became such a drag, but he doesn’t like it. Walking is always an option. Except, for the first time in almost a year, he can’t muster the motivation to even do that.

This is bad. This is worse than usual. Jiyong flings an arm over his face and inhales so deep his lungs should pop. He lets it out slow and then does it again.

Why is he like this? Why can’t he just be okay—not silently losing his thinking about what everyone would say if they knew how useless he really was? How cowardly. Because he is. He’s worthless. Jiyong can’t claim any special skills, he’s not more or less intelligent than most people; he has no drive, no aspirations, no future worth dreaming about. So he likes music, big deal. Everyone likes music. So he can make coffee and not screw it up most of the time. Is he going to be a barista for the rest of his life? Is he going to stay here in this apartment, running in place while everyone else runs past him? That’s how it should be, right. He’s not cut out for all this , he’d only be a wrench in the gears. Most days, he already feels like he is, anyway.

Hot tears roll into the hair at his temples and trickle down over his ears. Jiyong’s whole body jumps when he draws in a stuttered breath. He doesn’t even know why he’s crying. He doesn’t know why he’s sad, because these thoughts are nothing new, it’s just that there’s an ache in his chest like he misses something. But Jiyong doesn’t have an answer for that one, either.

He lowers his arm and stares at the ceiling, listening to the radiator clank in the corner. That escalated quickly, he thinks. “God, what the hell is wrong with me?”

Jiyong lifts his hands to wipe at his eyes, then hauls himself off the couch and into the bathroom to splash cold water on his face. Then he goes into the bedroom to find his laptop before curling up at the end of the couch. He squints against the brightness of the screen, clicking on his music player. A few seconds later the opening acoustic strains of “Rock ‘N’ Roll Suicide” filter out of the crappy speakers. Jiyong still turns the volume all the way up.

Leaning back against the arm of the couch, he shuts his eyes, forgetting everything except for Bowie’s voice and the steady build of the music—the way all the other instruments thread themselves into the composition so effortlessly, the way he goes from quiet and scratchy to wailing with everything he’s got. It doesn’t matter that Jiyong’s heard the song a million times—spent so many nights like this one listening to it on repeat for hours. It always hits him exactly how he needs it to, right as the chorus kicks in, Ziggy Stardust telling him he’s not alone.

Jiyong blinks away fresh tears when the sting becomes too much. He loops the song over and over again, letting the words sink into him until he can almost believe what he’s hearing. You’re not alone...you’re wonderful.

You’re wonderful.

He hopes he can say that to himself one day and know in his bones that it's true.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Knuckles tapping against glass startle him from his trance. Jiyong stops the music and pushes his laptop aside, going to open the window. Seunghyun climbs inside and brings all the frigid November air with him.

“Have you been sitting in the dark this whole time?”

Jiyong closes the window and offers a vague shrug. “Yeah.”

In the laptop’s pale glow, he can see the smile on Seunghyun’s face fall. Which means Seunghyun can probably see Jiyong’s total lack of expression.

Setting his messenger bag on the floor, Seunghyun steps closer and tentatively rests his hands on Jiyong’s shoulders. “Are you okay?”

He shivers. Seunghyun’s fingers are freezing.

“Not really,” he answers.

Seunghyun chews on his lip for a moment before speaking. “I can leave, if you want. I don’t–”

“No.” Jiyong shakes his head, reaching up to take Seunghyun’s wrist. “Stay. Please.”

Because he knows when he needs to be alone and this is definitely not one of those times. Something, he realizes, that he didn’t have much control of in the past—always picking solitude over seeking someone out, because the people he’d surrounded himself with didn’t understand. Had he done that on purpose? A subconscious defense mechanism, because he was worried maybe someone would understand.

Jiyong’s throat tightens. That had never occurred to him, now that he’s spoiled for choice.

This soft, almost sad, smile tugs at Seunghyun’s mouth like he gets it, because it seems like he always does, and then Jiyong is being brought in for a hug. He curls his arms around Seunghyun’s waist without hesitation, burrowing into the material of his jacket even though it’s cold. It makes him feel like a touch-starved animal. Like he has to make up for every hug he never got, despite still being a little freaked out by all the affection.

“Can I ask why you’re not okay?” Seunghyun says.

Jiyong sighs. “It’s just been a bad day.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault,” he huffs, smiling. “But if it makes you feel any better, you’re already helping.”

Seunghyun holds him closer and Jiyong gives himself permission to take what he needs from it, preemptively ignoring the voice in the back of his head that would tell him he didn’t deserve it.

When they pull apart, Seunghyun brightens, his hand ruffling through Jiyong’s hair to scratch lightly at his scalp. “I love what you’ve done with the place, by the way.”

“Funny,” he drawls, shoving him away.

“What’s in all those boxes?” Seunghyun asks as he moves towards the couch, taking his jacket off before dropping onto the cushions.

“Books. Random crap. I wasn’t really paying attention when I packed,” Jiyong replies, sitting beside him. He doesn’t feel like talking about that right now. “How was the bar?”

Sinking down against the back of the couch, Seunghyun releases a heavy breath.

“Some walked out on his tab. Other than that it was business as usual.”

“.”

“It’s all right,” Seunghyun smiles up at him. “I was angry for about ten minutes, but it’s not the end of the world.”

It’s not the end of the world. Jiyong isn’t surprised, he’s just jealous that everything is so easy for Seunghyun, like he doesn’t even have to think about it, because his world always makes sense.

“How do you do that?” Jiyong asks, watching Seunghyun’s face in the dim glow. “Just let everything slide off of you like it’s nothing.”

“Because it’s exhausting, letting everything get under your skin. What’s the use of being pissed or upset when there are better ways to expend my energy?”

Seunghyun watches back and it’s Jiyong who looks away first, tugging on the hem of his hoodie. It’s starting to fray.

“Easier said than done,” he replies.

“Yeah, but trying is always worth it,” Seunghyun says quietly. His hand settles on Jiyong’s knee to give it a gentle squeeze. “Might be easier than you think.”

Jiyong leans into him. “Such a wise, old man.”

Seunghyun snorts with laughter and digs his fingers into Jiyong’s leg, making him yelp and squirm.

“Oh my god, are you ticklish?”

“No,” Jiyong blurts.

“You’re lying. I thought you said you’d never lie to me,” Seunghyun grins, hand still resting on his knee.

He tries not to smile and fails.

“I said hadn’t, not that I wouldn’t.”

“I see how it is.”

The longer Seunghyun stares at him with all that fondness written in the lines of his face, the more the flutter swells, and Jiyong has to duck his head. “Are we watching a movie or what?”

“We are,” Seunghyun answers, patting Jiyong’s leg as he gets up from the couch. “I brought The Princess Bride, I hope that’s okay.”

“Yeah, of cour--” But Seunghyun stops him when he starts to get up, too.

“Ah-ah, stay exactly where you are. I got this.”

Jiyong scoffs and flops backwards onto the cushions. “As you wish.”

A peal of deep, delighted laughter fills the living room. He thinks it might be his favorite sound.

Grabbing one of the taller boxes, Seunghyun sets it up in front of the couch, placing Jiyong’s computer on top of it.

“Power cord?”

“Bedroom. On the floor next to my suitcase.”

The light flicks on, casting yellow against blue. Seunghyun pauses in the doorway and grins, pointing at the wall.

“You kept my stupid dinosaur drawing.”

“Of course I did,” Jiyong says, bringing his knees up to his chest, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “Like I was gonna throw that masterpiece away.”

Seunghyun laughs again, going to plug the laptop in, and then crouches to rummage through his messenger bag. Jiyong wonders why this is equal parts nice and bizarre. Maybe it’s because they’re occupying that nebulous state between friends and something else. Maybe it’s all in his head. Based on experience, the latter is more likely.

“I also brought candy and popcorn,” Seunghyun mentions.

“Were you a boy scout as a kid?” Jiyong teases dryly.

“No.” Seunghyun flashes him another grin, unloading a bag of peanut M&Ms and some Sour Patch Kids. “I just have this habit of planning too much when I’m nervous about something.”

He frowns. “Why would you be nervous?”

Seunghyun doesn’t answer immediately—piling the bag of popcorn kernels on top of the rest, zipping his bag closed, raking a hand through his hair.

“Because,” Seunghyun begins, eyes devoid of humor when he looks up. “I like you an insane amount and I’m always afraid I’m gonna push you too far outside of your comfort zone.”

Jiyong isn’t sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t that. He appreciates the sentiment, though. No one’s really taken his comfort level into consideration before.

“Why you like me at all is a mystery,” Jiyong can’t stop himself from saying.

It’s a thought that’s been festering in his brain for too long and he’s just glad he found the opportunity to let it out. Seunghyun doesn’t seem to agree, judging by the distressed slope of his eyebrows. The narrow twist of his mouth and the way he rises to sit on the couch, pressing his shoulder into Jiyong’s like he’s got something to prove.

“So, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about this, but the timing was never right.” Seunghyun turns and gives him a lopsided smile. “That, and I figured you probably weren’t ready to have this conversation. Because while I may not know exactly what you’re going through, I’ve definitely been where you are.”

Jiyong shifts, not sure how to respond to that. So he waits, and eventually Seunghyun continues, appearing unsure of himself in a way Jiyong's never seen before.

“I was younger than you. Fourteen and angry and the most alone I think I’ve ever been in my life. It’s kind of crippling, feeling that lost, isn't it? Desperately wanting to find hope in something while simultaneously making sure you never do, since you’re never gonna be good enough.”

He hugs his legs a little tighter, still wanting to believe that’s not true. That Seunghyun was never sad and lonely, because if anyone deserves to never know what that feels like, it’s him. Then again, maybe Seunghyun wouldn’t be the same now if he hadn’t.

“How did you get over it?” Jiyong asks.

“Growing up. Realizing my parents weren’t the enemy. A ton of counseling. And finding some friends who didn’t care how weird I was, because they were weird, too,” Seunghyun explains, laughing a bit ruefully. “Honestly, I think learning to like myself was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But it’s sort of a lifelong process. You never stop learning, because we never stop changing.”

It’s instinct to disagree. He would argue that he’s been stagnant since the day he was born.

“I tried therapy. Meds didn’t help.” Jiyong fights the way his throat constricts and breathes in. “I just feel like nothing works.”

“Not even walking?” Seunghyun asks, completely serious.

He shakes his head. “It’s more of a coping mechanism. Something to keep me from unraveling.”

Seunghyun studies Jiyong’s face for a moment.

“Will you tell me about it?”

How? Jiyong almost says. He can’t remember ever having to put it into words for anyone other than his therapist in high school. He did try a few times, but gave up when he couldn't say it right or realized no one was actually listening, not in the way he needed them to. Seunghyun would listen. And maybe there doesn't have to be a right way to say it.

Unfolding his legs, Jiyong reaches for Seunghyun’s hand and pulls it into his lap, holding it in both of his. He’s uncomfortable for all of ten seconds, then starts to trace Seunghyun’s palm absently so he doesn’t have to look at him.

This doesn't have to be difficult, he knows. Jiyong just needs a moment to work up to it. Because it's important that he wants to. Important that Seunghyun is here and that he's asking and that Jiyong understands he can't hide forever. It's still a lot like pushing through a solid brick wall. Like he has to consciously take some of himself apart before he can offer up the pieces for inspection. Rubbing his thumb against the heel of Seunghyun's hand, he follows the curve all the way to his fingertips, telling himself it's okay. He can be brave.

“I feel...like I’m missing something,” he admits eventually, hesitant. Jiyong closes his eyes and takes another measured breath. “Like the part of me that’s supposed to give a isn’t there or it’s damaged or whatever, because I have to try really hard to actively care about anything. And sometimes that doesn't even work.”

“Has it always been like this?” Seunghyun asks softly.

He nods. “More or less.” Jiyong’s gaze travels over the lines in Seunghyun’s hand, following them with the tips of his fingers. “I’ve just never understood what the point was,” he adds. “Of life. Me. Anything.”

It’s a relief to say it---to hear himself say it. He feels marginally lighter for having done so, but the fear that the weight will always be there still lingers.

“I don’t think anyone understands,” Seunghyun replies after a long silence. “For me, it was more figuring out what was important and letting that be the point.”

Jiyong glances over at him. “So, what’s important to you?”

“Friends, family, my job, doing what I love. Same as most people.” Seunghyun’s fingers curl in around his. “You’re important, too.”

“Why?” he asks, even though he’s afraid of the answer.

“Because you’re the Bert to my Ernie,” Seunghyun says, lips twitching. “Because we speak the same language and I care about you and I don’t want you to feel alone like I did.” He sighs. “I don’t want anyone to feel like that.”

It’s a struggle not to fall into bad habits, Jiyong resisting the part of himself that wants to reject everything Seunghyun is saying. Which counts for something, doesn’t it? Resisting. He’s getting better at that. The part of Jiyong that isn’t an would like to think he’s getting better at other things, too, but right now he’s just fighting the urge to start crying again.

Tipping his head onto Seunghyun’s shoulder, he sniffs, only partially successful. “You should find a new planet to live on, you’re too good for this one.”

“Nah, I’m just right,” Seunghyun argues. “Everyone else needs to step up their game.”

Jiyong whuffs in amusement and disbelief, the latter growing tenfold when he feels Seunghyun’s mouth press against his hair. He tightens his grip on Seunghyun’s hand, those long fingers squeezing back, and it’s like his body is suddenly too small for what it’s carrying. Feelings and emotions he didn’t think he was capable of experiencing, and now they’re crowding into his chest all at once.

Turning, Jiyong lifts his head to look at Seunghyun, eyes searching for what he knows is already there—warmth, trust, certainty. Things he’s trying to wrap his head around being real, because he has no reference for this, no cornerstone to guide him. But Jiyong wants to make an effort. Even though he might not be any good at it.

“You’re also important to me,” he confesses, dropping his gaze back to their hands, heart pounding fiercely and a blush heating his face. “I don’t know why I feel so awkward, saying that, but it’s true.”

With his other hand, Seunghyun slides his fingers over Jiyong’s cheek, settling at the curve of his jaw. His stomach clenches, more heat prickling under his skin.

“Am I the exception, then?”

Jiyong laughs, smiling as he looks up again. “Amazingly enough.”

Seunghyun’s eyebrows raise in mock offense. “Excuse me?”

He laughs harder, impulse rushing in at the sight of those dimples when Seunghyun breaks, and then he’s breaking, too—swaying forward to press their mouths together.

The instant their lips touch, Jiyong’s insides implode and Seunghyun makes a pleased humming noise in the back of his throat, drawing him closer. It’s dizzying. Overwhelming in a really, really good way, especially when Seunghyun threads a hand into his hair to keep him there, his stomach immediately plummeting like it forgot what gravity was for.

This isn’t his first kiss, but Jiyong almost wishes it was, because the gentle movement of Seunghyun’s mouth is louder than all the words and that hits him so much harder than everything else.

When the flutter kicks into overdrive, he eases off slightly, resting his forehead against Seunghyun’s as he his lips, wanting to remember the details. The taste on his tongue, Seunghyun’s breath mingling with his, soft fingers the back of his neck. The way he feels a little crazy. Like the electric itch, but better. Nicer. Something he might actually enjoy feeling. The part of him that’s not an tells him it’s called happiness.

Seunghyun nudges at Jiyong’s nose, a wide smile threatening to eat his face. “Can we, um...” he pauses and clears his throat. “Can we do that again?”

The giddy laugh that rockets out of his mouth takes him by surprise and he crumples, ducking to hide his face in Seunghyun’s shoulder. “Jesus,” Jiyong chuckles. “You are such a nerd.”

“It’s polite to ask!” Seunghyun protests.

He inhales deeply in an attempt to compose himself, but he can’t stop laughing. Seunghyun lets go of Jiyong’s hand to curl both arms around him, his own amusement rumbling through his chest. He wants to hold onto this. He wants to wake up tomorrow full of something good. Jiyong leans away to look Seunghyun in the eye.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

“For what?” Seunghyun asks, brow furrowing.

Jiyong flashes him a brief grin, still embarrassed even though he shouldn’t be.

“For being here.”

Seunghyun’s dimples sink into his cheeks like wells of contentment.

“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

He huffs at that and shakes his head. “Are you always this ing cheesy?”

“Only for you,” Seunghyun replies sweetly, batting his eyelashes. Jiyong kisses him again and tells himself it’s just to wipe the stupid smirk off of his stupid face.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Too-bright sun rouses him from sleep the next morning—cheerfully barging through the window without invitation, reminding him that he should probably buy some curtains soon.

Jiyong rolls onto his side with a groan and blinks until the world comes into sharper focus. He stares at his suitcase in the corner spewing clothes and thinks about doing laundry. Getting a dresser wouldn’t kill him, either. Maybe even some hangers. Baby steps, Seunghyun’s voice repeats in his head, and Jiyong pushes himself up to sit.

Echoes of the night before resurface and replay on a loop as he rubs at the sleep behind his eyes. He sees the couch in the living room; remembers their conversation, the making out, them huddled together in front of his laptop until two in the morning, laughing. Jiyong’s everything instantly feels tangled up and he in a breath, letting it out slow. He’s not panicking. He’s–

He doesn’t know what he is, but he’s smiling, trying to scrub the heat from his skin.

Chin propped in his hand, Jiyong sighs again. The flutter nestles into his stomach alongside the messy knot of emotions that’s already there, and he wonders if he’ll ever feel things normally instead of in extremes.

Still, he thinks, closing his eyes and shamelessly recalling the way Seunghyun had kissed him. The way his lips moved, the lazy slide of his tongue. He’d take the molotov cocktail over the apathy any day.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“Dude, you’re freakin’ me out.”

Jiyong looks up from his phone, pausing in his reply to one of Seunghyun’s texts. “What?”

Ethan stops wiping down the counter, quirking a skeptical eyebrow, and gestures frantically at him with the rag in his hand. “You’ve been like, a ball of ing sunshine for the last three days and I can’t decide if you’re possessed, if you were turned into a pod person, or if you’ve been replaced by a robot.”

He snorts.

“Those are my choices?”

“Demons, aliens, and robots aren’t good enough for you?”

Jiyong’s lips twitch and he rolls his eyes. “I’m not a ball of sunshine,” he says flatly.

“You’re phosphorescent,” Ethan insists.

“You’re full of ,” he retorts.

Both of Ethan’s eyebrows crawl up towards his hairline.

“Is that any way to talk to your boss?”

“My shift ended half an hour ago, remember?” Jiyong comments, shrugging. “Now I’m just being rude to my friend.”

Ethan tilts his head to the side, eyes narrowed as he studies Jiyong’s face. “I think I’m gonna go with pod person,” he decides.

Jiyong huffs out a laugh, wandering away from the counter to pull a chair down off of the nearest table.

“And I’m still your boss!” Ethan calls after him.

“Uh-huh,” he says wryly.

That earns him a glare as the older man retreats into his office to finish closing up for the night. Jiyong sits, smirking to himself. They were going to walk back together, because Seunghyun had invited Ethan over after work. And him, technically. He still isn’t sure if he wants to hang out, but he won’t say no to the company, and that’s...different—not wanting to say no.

Jiyong might be starting to appreciate different.

Then his phone vibrates again and he realizes he hasn’t responded yet.

Seunghyun

[Sent: Nov 15 9:27PM]

At least let me feed you.

[Sent: Nov 15 9:28PM]

i’ll think about it

Seunghyun

[Sent: Nov 15 9:28PM]

I made cookies?

[Sent: Nov 15 9:29PM]

i hate you

Seunghyun

[Sent: Nov 15 9:29PM]

:D

Seunghyun

[Sent: Nov 15 9:29PM]

No you don’t <3

“You’re phosphorescing again,” Ethan sighs above him.

“Are you sure you should be using such big words?” he asks, deflecting out of habit. “Might strain something.”

“Little ,” Ethan chuckles. He hauls Jiyong up from the chair and sends him stumbling towards the doors.

Lights shut off; the heavy bolt of each lock slides home. It’s always strange when the place is quiet and dark and empty. Jiyong’s gotten used to the steady thrum.

“I’m serious though,” Ethan continues once they start walking, hands buried deep in his coat pockets. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile that much in a single shift before. It’s nice.”

Another smile tugs at his mouth in response.

“I’m trying.”

“I’m glad,” Ethan replies. “I’m sure Seunghyun is, too.”

Jiyong elbows him in the side, Ethan’s bell-laughter fogging the cold air.

When it fades, the constant shift of the city around them provides a buffer to their silence that isn’t quite comfortable yet. He thinks they’re getting there. Jiyong wants to try, because he likes Ethan. Respects him as more than just his employer, even if he is, more often than not, an overgrown toddler. He has to admit he likes that too, though, since being an adult and being serious aren’t mutually exclusive. Jiyong kind of wishes someone had clued him in on that a bit earlier.

“Hey, Ethan?” he asks, and Ethan hums in acknowledgment. “How long have you been doing this?”

“Being awesome or making coffee?”

Jiyong makes a face. Ethan grins.

“I started the cafe about seven years ago, but I’ve been working with coffee since I was a Freshman in college. So, like, twenty years?” Ethan sighs, peering up at the nighttime haze. “, I’m old.”

“That’s a lot of time to dedicate to one thing,” he comments.

“Yeah,” Ethan agrees. “Guess I lucked out in that department.”

“Yeah.”

Jiyong sighs, too, staring hard at the cement under their feet. But then an arm lands on his shoulders and tugs him off balance.

“Could you sound a little more depressed, please?”

“Probably,” he answers, perhaps too quickly.

Ethan’s pace slows when they reach the next intersection, waiting for the signal to change. He squeezes Jiyong’s shoulder once and then lets go.

“If I ask what’s eating you, will you actually tell me this time?” Ethan asks and obviously means it.

That’s a good question, Jiyong thinks, even as he shrugs, shaking his head. “It’s nothing,” he says, watching the cars pass and wondering if he’s about to have another existential crisis. “Just feeling kind of pointless.”

For a moment, Ethan considers him intently, expression pensive.

“I thought seeing my gorgeous, bearded face every day was your new purpose in life.”

Jiyong stares back at him. “Can I vomit now, or…?”

Scoffing, Ethan shoves him gently and starts crossing the street and he has to jog to catch up. Neither of them say anything for a while, which is fine with him, because he’s a little upset it was this easy to bum himself out—all those insecurities and inadequacies just waiting for the right moment to strike. He should know better. He should. But he’s also tired of being so goddamn predictable.

“I don’t really have any sparkling words of wisdom to offer,” Ethan speaks up, voice almost somber. “Because I don’t have a damn clue what it’s like to lack direction. Something I totally took for granted, because it was different back when I graduated from college. I look around now, and all the kids I hire are up to their ears in debt. If they know what they wanna do, none of them are doing it.” He laughs slightly, but it’s not a happy sound. “Honestly, I think Seunghyun might be the only exception, except he’s been through some , so at least he appreciates how lucky he is. Not that I didn’t work my ing off to get where I am, I just always knew this is where I’d be one day.”

Jiyong glances at Ethan and then away, not sure how to respond at first. He's more touched that Ethan wanted to offer a solution to his problems, even though he feels like he’s unqualified. It’s usually the people who think they have all the answers telling him what to do, like they discovered the meaning of life, only it has nothing to do with actually being happy. He stays quiet until they reach the apartment building and even manages a real smile once they're standing in front of the entrance.

“I don’t need your words of wisdom,” Jiyong tells him finally, running frozen fingers through his hair. “You’ve already done more than most.”

Ethan’s face illuminates in slow motion. “Really?”

“Yeah.” He nods, oddly pleased by Ethan’s surprise. “And don’t feel bad about having it easy,” he adds as he finds his keys and goes to unlock the door. “Someone’s gotta keep the balance, right? If you’re not content doing what you love, then the rest of us are probably ed.”

“Lighten up, would you? Jesus,” Ethan huffs.

“I’m working on it.”

“Work harder.”

Jiyong rolls his eyes again and trudges forward, their footsteps echoing in the stairwell. When they reach his floor, he realizes he still hasn’t made up his mind, and he pauses on the landing.

Ethan stops at the bottom of the next flight, one hand on the railing. “You’re coming, right?”

He tosses a glance at the apartment door.

“I dunno.”

“Like you really wanna miss out on me and Seunghyun -talking each other for a couple hours straight,” Ethan smiles.

He’s not sure what he wants, but being alone isn’t high on the list. It’ll be good for him. Or at least it’ll keep him out of his own head for a while.

“I don’t think you should be mean to someone who just made cookies,” Jiyong says, turning towards the stairs.

“Holy , he did not,” Ethan practically gasps, and then he’s off like a shot, banging on Seunghyun’s door and calling him an evil bastard.

Laughter builds in his stomach as he follows, a grin tugging at his cheeks when he reaches the next floor. Seunghyun spots him from the doorway and Jiyong’s pulse skips and skitters against his skin. He hears music over their bickering—Billie Holiday’s “Summertime”. It’s still weird, being thought of. Being listened to and being remembered.

Jiyong steps into their space, Seunghyun’s hand sliding across his back and Ethan’s voice chattering away as they move inside. He thinks about family. He thinks about connection, person-shaped gears falling into place; the likelihood that he’s going to lose this, because nothing this good ever lasts for long.

Then there are lips pressing against his temple and a still-warm chocolate chip cookie appears in his fingers like magic. Jiyong grins again, taking a bite. He fails not to crack up at the ridiculous noises coming out of Ethan’s mouth as he devours his own cookie, Seunghyun’s arm curling around his waist to keep him upright. The moment itself is so insignificant that he shouldn’t even be noticing it, but he does—the feeling hitting him square in the chest like it’s telling him to pay attention. Look, it says. Look at this. Impermanent, trivial, yours.

His.

Jiyong wonders then, what would happen if he stopped trying to hold onto every detail as tight as he possibly could.