••••••••

            It takes a couple more weeks to convince Luhan of the necessity of going to his dorm. He’s started wearing all of Sehun’s hoodies and sweatpants, lounging around the house with his hands in the pockets. Whenever he ventures out with Sehun into the outside world, he wears shower shoes or Sehun’s powder blue old man slippers, shrugging when Sehun gives him looks of disapproval. Sehun swears he’s started using his toothbrush because there’s no way his teeth can stay that immaculate with only the smooth node of his pointer finger, especially after drinking as much coffee as he does. Luhan also admits that he’s been flying blind in his classes because all of his textbooks are back in his room.

            Sehun walks in on Luhan one day washing his underwear in the sink again, only this time, it’s the kitchen sink, and he’s completely save for a pair of Sehun’s boxers. That’s about the time that Sehun decides that force is necessary.

            Luhan doesn’t protest when Sehun arrives home and doesn’t even change out of his work clothes before announcing that today’s the day, get up and stop being a bum, soldier. He doesn’t protest when Sehun pulls him off the couch by the wrist and throws him a pair of real person shoes, or when Sehun confiscates his half-full coffee cup (probably his third of the hour) and tosses it in the sink. Sehun expects more lip than he gets, so when Luhan buckles himself into the seat obediently and smiles at Sehun, he regards him warily. “I thought you were scared of going on this trip,” he asks.

            Luhan thinks for a bit, wrinkling his nose. “No,” he finally says, meeting Sehun’s eyes. “I think I’d only be scared if you weren’t there.”

            There’s something way too familiar about that line.

            Déjà vu can be pretty weird sometimes, Sehun thinks as he pulls back out onto the road and Luhan begins a story.

            Luhan drifts between periods of cheerful wakefulness and introspective silence, staring out the window with hooded eyes. Sehun nudges him during those times, and he responds immediately to the touch, smiling again and launching into some topic that’s probably unrelated to what he was thinking two seconds prior. This is how Sehun keeps him distracted, and even though he’s fairly sure it’s not the most effective way of helping, it’s the best he can think of. Luhan appreciates it, anyways; by the time they arrive, he’s curled in a ball, but he looks a lot happier, at least. He glances at Sehun every minute or so, as if confirming he’s still there, that they’re still in this together and he isn’t going to get left behind like he did that night. Sehun meets his eyes when he’s properly parked, and Luhan’s pupils dilate as if trying to take in all the light around Sehun’s face.

            Luhan’s fingers twitch towards him before retracting just as swiftly. Sehun gets out of the car before they have the chance to change their mind.

            Luhan hops out of the car directly afterwards with his normal amount of tired energy, mouth running a thousand miles an hour and eyelids drooping as if ready to close at any minute, but the second they get into his dorm’s looming shadow, he cowers and freezes in his steps. He peers up at the immaculate stone walls, round eyes crossing, and it’s almost as if he’s curled into a ball standing up because he visibly shrinks at the sight of it. Sehun stops a few paces ahead of him, turning back when he realizes Luhan is no longer following him.

            “I don’t want to go anymore,” Luhan says. His voice sounds like a fist tapping on an empty pot – hollow, and echoing in Sehun’s head. “I changed my mind. I can live off what’s in your apartment. I’ll wash the clothes I have on, and I’ll pay you for the detergent later, I’ve got enough money saved up to last another month—”

            “Luhan,” Sehun stops him, and he feels a strange jolt go through him at the taste of his name. Luhan quiets, giving his attention to Sehun, but he still looks alarmed. “There’s no way I’m letting you go another month wearing my intimates.”

            “It was one time,” Luhan groans in response. “I didn’t even know they were yours.”

            “Who else would they belong to? The brief gnomes?”

            And Luhan snickers at that, but he still backsteps until he’s back in the sun. Sehun sighs and follows close behind. “You’ve… We’ve got to do this eventually. We’re already here. Why are you still worried?”

            Luhan scratches at his arm. “I just…am.”

            “Why?” Sehun persists. Luhan is white as bedroom sheets. He presses his lips into a thin line, seeming to toy with the notion of speaking, before finally opening his mouth.

            “I don’t want Minseok to see me,” he admits falteringly under his breath. “I don’t want him to give me that…that ‘I-kicked-a-puppy’ look.”

            “Luhan—” Sehun starts, but Luhan has already gotten going. He’s trembling and rubbing his hands together as if he’s trying to get warm, even as the sun beats down on his back, and his eyes are flickering from Sehun’s face to the dorm and back so fast that they almost look blurred. Sehun takes a step forward, but Luhan doesn’t seem to notice. He just keeps rattling off disconnected sentences, worry lines sinking deeper and deeper into his face.

            “I don’t want him to pity me. I don’t want him to stand there all awkward and say nothing. I don’t want him to try to defend himself or defend anyone else, and I don’t want him to act like nothing happened. I don’t want him to say that he’s sorry, or to say he’s not, either, and I don’t want him to expect an apology from me because I ed up, sure, but I’m not sorry about it.”

            “Luhan,” Sehun says again, because the more Luhan speaks, the more he shudders. He takes another step forward.

            “I don’t want to even be around him,” Luhan chokes out past precarious tears, “because nothing he says or does will make anything better at all. I don’t even want to exist. I don’t want—”

            He stops then, but only because Sehun has wrapped his arms around his stomach and is awkwardly shoving his face into his shoulder to make him quit talking. It takes Luhan a minute longer to really trail off, but when he does, he’s completely still. Sehun feels even gawkier than before, so he coughs and shrugs and holds the bends of his elbows out so they don’t touch Luhan’s sides, but he doesn’t let go. “You’re worrying again,” he manages when he can iron out something to say that doesn’t sound totally inane. “The whole point of me coming is so you won’t worry.”

            Luhan laughs, and it’s nails on chalkboard, but Sehun can hear the chiming of sleighbells underneath it. “Worry is like my second skin. I’m not a snake, Kyungsoo. I can’t just molt out of it.”

            Sehun pinches his arm. “I can pull it off for you, y’know,” he taunts, and Luhan breaks the embrace to swat at him. Sehun runs at first, but Luhan is faster than he is – he always has been. Sehun had hated tag when he was younger because when he was it, Luhan always lingered just far enough away, an arm’s length from his fingertips. Sehun finally chooses to stand his ground and block Luhan’s heavy palms from his face, grabbing his wrists and keeping them engaged at his sides.

            Luhan smiles and makes little noises of dissent at first, but after Sehun holds him motionless for long enough, his face falls into the same seriousness that he gets when news anchors announce murder victims. He locks onto Sehun’s eyes, and it reminds Sehun of video game missile launches. He wonders if Luhan sees a little red target on his face or if he always has that glint in his eyes when he looks at people.

            Luhan opens and closes his mouth to speak three times before he can get anything out. It’s like a thumbtack in Sehun’s heart when the only word he can manage is a name that’s not even his. “Kyungsoo.”

            “Yeah?” Sehun feels like it would be a good idea to release Luhan’s arms because Luhan is giving him a look that he hasn’t gotten in a long time, but he doesn’t. He feels like he should break eye contact, too, because he’s one hundred percent sure that every swirling emotion is being communicated in an electric line stemming from his line of vision to Luhan’s, but he doesn’t do that, either. Instead, he coughs. And then he shrugs. Because that’s what Sehun does when he can’t think at all.

            “If I… If I asked you to stay with me for a while, would you run away?”

            That’s the crash it takes to tailspin Sehun back into reality, and he lets go of Luhan in order to awkwardly scratch his neck and glance anywhere but at his face. “We just met,” he reminds him, knowing that’s not even remotely true.

            Luhan starts shaking a little again, so Sehun tethers himself back to his arm. Luhan smiles wanly at the pressure. “It just…doesn’t feel like it, is all.”

            Sehun shrugs. “I can give you that.” Then, before he can think about it, he manages, “I’ll never leave.”

            He tugs Luhan along without giving him the chance to respond, despite his dragging feet. Luhan catches up after a while, and Sehun forces himself to glance in his direction. He looks even more perplexed than before. Sehun isn’t sure what reaction he had intended to elicit, but that one doesn’t feel right.

            How many times do I have to talk before I finally say the right thing?

            They make it up the elevator to the fourth floor where Luhan lives in silence. Minseok isn’t there when they arrive, and although Luhan is still a little tense, the entire atmosphere gets significantly more comfortable when they find that they’re alone. Luhan starts packing things up immediately, humming to himself while Sehun marches through the tiny flat.

            Sections of it are painstakingly neat. When Sehun peeks in the cupboard, he notices that there are several different types of teas, all sorted by flavor. The tabletops have been thoroughly dusted, and the silverware in their little drawers is so well-organized that Sehun briefly wonders if Kyungsoo has a second job as this dorm’s personal maid. The carpets still have marks from a vacuum, and there’s a bookshelf in the corner filled with volumes that are ordered from tallest to shortest.

            It takes a little bit of searching to notice the pockets of mess, but Sehun sees them, too, after a while. There are two laundry baskets in the bathroom, and although one of them is laden with tidily folded sweaters and colored shorts, the other is a haphazard mess of jeans and long-sleeved t-shirts spilling out over the top. There’s a buttmark permanently imbued on one half of the futon and a half-empty cup of soda on the nightstand next to it, and when Sehun searches cupboards on the other side of the small kitchen, he notes that they are stuffed with bags of chips and empty candy boxes that spill out when he goes to open them. In one corner, there are two different brands of water bottles – one whose plastic has been torn to shreds and another that has a neat rectangular hole cut at the top – and, in the other corner, next to a paper shredder, is a neglected pile of paper scraps in dire need of attention.

            When Luhan returns with two suitcases and a backpack full of things, Sehun is running a finger over the table holding the flat soda, only to find that it is covered with soot-colored dust. “Please tell me you’re the neat roommate,” Sehun grimaces, wiping his finger on the couch cushion.

            “Sadly, no,” Luhan grins, tossing a suitcase in Sehun’s direction. “But I promise to treat your apartment with respect. Scout’s honor.”

            “Maybe you should just sleep on the front porch. It’s more suited to feral beasts like you.”

            “Considering this is coming from the crowned king of bathroom hairballs, I think I am far more entitled to inside quarters than you are.”

            Sehun is about to say something back, probably suggesting that Luhan should bow down in the presence of royalty, when he’s suddenly aware of the sound of keys rustling against a locked door. He stops mid-word, ears perked to listen, and Luhan is about to ask him what his deal is when the door opens and his face pales into near-transparency. Sehun glances behind him to see a boy, short and chubby and dressed in khaki slacks that make him look more like a safari explorer than a college student. He tosses his keys on the couch and turns the corner before stopping mid-stride to take in the fact that there are people in his apartment. He reacts slowly – tensing first and rifling through his initial instincts for a proper action to take – before his eyes fall on Luhan and recognition etches itself across his face. Sehun watches the boy’s expression change from confusion to shock to guilt in the span of an instant, and he opens his mouth to speak but Luhan quickly shoves past him out into the hall. By the time Sehun can react and try to follow behind, he’s already gotten on an elevator and manually closed the doors.

            Sehun stares at Luhan’s roommate apologetically and coughs. “Well. This is awkward.”

            “Who are you?” Minseok says, and it’s wary and almost denunciatory. Sehun logically knows that he’s guarded because there’s a stranger in his room, but it makes the sudden temptation to punch him no less inviting. Sehun grits his teeth, trying to decide whether it’s Minseok or Luhan he should be interrogating.

            “I’m a friend,” he finally answers. “Of Luhan’s.”

            “I know all of Luhan’s friends. I don’t know you.”

            Sehun winces, but Minseok’s eyes don’t yield. Sehun narrows his own. “Well, I’m a better friend than the ones you know. I’m not the kind to leave him drunk and puking on the side of the road.”

            That seems to hit a nerve because Minseok’s demeanor falters, and the guilt that had splayed itself across his face before swiftly returns. “It’s not like that. It’s complicated.”

            “The fact that you’re not running after him to apologize says it all.” Sehun fumbles with the suitcases that Luhan has left him with, wishing he’d had the decency to take at least one bag before ditching him to face his tiny, angry roommate alone. “Not that you should do that, anyways. I don’t know what happened between you two, but Luhan doesn’t seem too keen on having you say anything to him right now.”

            “If you were his friend, he would have told you,” Minseok hisses in response, but it’s not nearly as intense as it was two minutes ago. When Sehun tries to march past him, bags piled on each other in an unstable, mountainous blob, Minseok grabs his shoulder with one firm hand. The luggage topples. His tone is suddenly pleading. “Wait.”

            Sehun shakes him off. “Why should I?”

            Minseok doesn’t bite his lip like Luhan does when he’s upset. He doesn’t shrug when he’s awkward, like Sehun. Minseok has no physically apparent tell. His face is smooth, his shoulders are even, and he stands as straight as a pole, puffing out his chest as if trying to make up for the height difference between them. What gives him away is the tremor of his voice – the way it peaks at a falsetto and settles back into a rumbling bass as he speaks. “Because I need to know that Luhan is going somewhere safe. And I need to know that he knows that he can come back, whenever he wants or needs to.”

            “You can trust me when I say he’s going to be in company leagues better than what he’s found for himself here.” Sehun restacks the suitcases that have gone erratic at the abrupt stop, trying to keep his voice level. “And I wouldn’t bet on that with the way you’ve proved the steadfastness of your friendship.”

            “I’m not saying I haven’t been a ty friend,” Minseok spits, and even though it’s obviously heated, Sehun thinks he sounds more distressed than anything else. Sehun stops just long enough to look at the kid, really look, and it’s then that Sehun notices all the layers. He notices the way his shirt is pressed, but the tail of it hangs out from where it’s supposed to be tucked, like he’s too exhausted to fix it. He notices that his shoes are scrubbed clean, but they’re falling apart, peeling away at the edges and ripping along the heel. He notices that his mostly-pressed slacks have untended wrinkles at the bottom, and he notices that the way his face is contorting is bringing out worry lines that are too deep to be new. He compares them to the ones that have carved themselves into Luhan’s face and shivers. It suddenly makes sense that they’re roommates, even with the stark organizational contrast.

            What really gets to him is how Minseok is eyeing him with distrust, but also desperation. Sehun thinks of the hungry looks that homeless people in the thick of Seoul’s downtown alleys give him when he walks past. It’s exactly the same.

            Minseok’s voice jumps three octaves as he continues. “I’ve been the worst kind of friend. I’ve been misunderstanding, and I’ve been uncommunicative, and I’ve been passive, and I know that. I know I should have handled this differently, but it was all just such a shock, I didn’t know how to react, and then he was getting thrown out before I could even say a word otherwise—”

            “What was a shock?” Sehun demands. “What should you have handled differently?”

            Minseok’s face darkens, and he takes a step farther inside his home, eyes downcast. “I think he should decide when to tell you. He has that right.” His tone falls to a low murmur, like a babbling brook turned down an interval. “I just don’t want him to think it’s his fault. I don’t want to leave this…this giant scar between us. I think I have that right, too.”

            Sehun wants to keep hold of his animosity. He wants to remember the look on Luhan’s face when he raced out of the room, to avenge the pain in the curve of his spine and the flayed skin of his bottom lip, but he’s just noticed the tears falling from behind Minseok’s turned back, and that’s all he can see anymore. There’s no curve in his spine, and his lips are as untouched as a newborn’s, but there’s pain in the stretch of his skin along white knuckles, and in the glint of fluorescent lights on his bared teeth, and in the wobble of his legs, as if they’re about to buckle. Sehun has never been good with feelings, but he’s always been good at trying, so he sets the luggage aside and pats Minseok’s shoulder with a flat palm. Minseok flinches. Sehun does, too. “I’ll… I’ll convince him to come back, eventually. I’ll tell him how sorry you are. Just give me time, okay? Jesus, stop crying. Go clean something if it’ll make you feel better.”

            Minseok gazes at him as if he’s been mildly jarred, but he nods apprehensively after Sehun coughs to fill the silence. “Okay. Okay, whatever, I can wait, just… Just make sure he’s okay. Always make sure he’s okay.”

            Sehun pats him again in confirmation, grabbing the heap of suitcases. As he leaves with Minseok’s shrewd eyes on his back and takes the same elevator Luhan had escaped in only fifteen minutes earlier, he wonders exactly how often Luhan is not okay.