Inspired by that awkward of awkward exchanges on Night Night Radio.

The key lock almost sticks again, when Sicheng tries to open the door. He grunts, shakes the knob, and gives the door a final shove. It creaks open wearily, pale yellow light from the hallway spilling into the dark front room of the apartment he shares with Taeil.

“Taeil?” he whispers.

There’s no reply but the hum of a TV set, volume on low.

Sicheng sighs but he closes the door softly behind him, toes off his shoes, and dumps his backpack on the floor. His jacket he tries hanging on the rack. It’s overcrowded with various outer garments, half of which Sicheng can’t remember if they belong to him or to Taeil. The jacket falls to the floor. Sicheng ignores it, sighing once again. He tiptoes into the living room, and sure enough, Taeil is asleep on the couch, head dipped back like he passed out right where sat. On the the television is a drama Sicheng vaguely remembers trying to watch when it started airing a month ago. Like most, he gave it up after half an episode. It’s bad enough he’s been here a year and is still struggling with his Korean; he doesn’t need to stress himself out when he goes home now too.

“Taeil?” he says again, nudging the other’s foot gently with his socked toe.

Taeil barely stirs. His mouth is half open in that unattractive way Sicheng is most exasperated by.

It’s been two months since he moved in. The official story is that they’re roommates. Nobody, none of friends, knew that more than that, they’ve been sharing a bed all this time. Nobody, that is, until last night.

It’s been twenty-four hours almost and Sicheng is a still a little bitter. No, make that a lot bitter. He has so many words to say to Taeil and most of them are scrambled in his brain, stuck in this glop of bitter distaste. Last night he could have screamed. Tonight he’d be satisfied with anything.

“Taeil. Wake up, please?”

His boyfriend—Sicheng supposes he can still call him that—finally sits up. Taeil does so with another unattractive yawn, eyes acclimating to the semi darkness. He looks a little stunned to see Sicheng standing before him.

“What’s up, oh. You’re back.”

His words come across nonchalant. Sicheng though can see beneath that. He’s gotten really good at reading moods. Especially Taeil’s moods. And this one says flustered, worried, upset. Guilt-ridden.

“Yes. Where else am I to sleep tonight?”

Taeil meets his eyes and flushes, bottom lip caught between his teeth. He doesn’t answer, and Sicheng is just so, so sleepy. He starts to walk away, but Taeil quickly grasps for his hand. Sicheng tugs once, uselessly, before swirling his head down to look at him. He’s got no fight in him, but Taeil looks so penitent.

“Sicheng,” he starts to starts to say.

Sicheng shakes his hand loose and finally does move away.

“Sicheng, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean-”

“I don’t want to talk about it. It’s fine.” He heads down the hall towards their bedroom. Taeil is already off the couch and following him.

“But, please. I didn’t meant to let it slip out. I know I promised you. It’s all my fault. I-”

“I said, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“But.”

He stops in the doorway, pausing only to reiterate loudly, “I don’t want to talk! I’m tired. My head hurts. I want to sleep.”

There’s a thought in his head that betrays him. He does want to talk. He’s always wanted to talk. He wants to talk and be heard, communicate and being understood. He’s lived an entire year with a truncated vocabulary and the pressure of a vast, vapid language which is killing him. Taeil ought to know that. He probably knows it best. He’s the one doing all the hand-holding, being Sicheng’s mouth, his ears, his primary translator. Isn’t he sick of it now? Shouldn’t Sicheng have gotten better with all this by now?

He’d accuse Taeil of this if he really believed it. Of course though he doesn’t.

Taeil catches him in the doorway where Sicheng can’t bring himself to move from. He grips the doorframe, twisting his frown into something he hopes isn’t self-pity, and waits for Taeil to come to him.

It starts with a touch to his waist, the most hesitant of brushes. Then, certain Sicheng isn’t going to run away, the touch deepens. Taeil holds his waist in one hand, right where the folds of his shirt are coming undone from his jeans. Nothing else happens until Taeil fits his chin into the curve of the other side of his neck.

Taeil’s breath tickles him there, but so much of it is a comforting touch. Sicheng sighs deeply and the remainder of his bitterness melts away.

It was always a stupid whim of his anyways, to pretend to everyone else that they aren’t together. In his head he can list so many reasons. Out loud, almost none of them make sense.

“I’m sorry.” Taeil sneaks in one last apology.

Sicheng hums in response, grateful that’s all Taeil probably expects.

He removes himself from Taeil’s light hug to walk further into their room. He starts stripping, sweater, shirt. His belt and jeans, socks, just naturally and without desire to entice. Taeil’s gaze in the doorway is still tentative, but he watches Sicheng go for his pajamas before he enters the room himself and begins to match him.

“Did you eat dinner?” Taeil asks.

“Yes.”

“Oh. That’s good.”

Sicheng has to walk past him to get to the bathroom, but Taeil moves easily to accommodate. They take turns at the bathroom sink. Sicheng brushes his teeth while Taeil makes annoyed faces at himself in the mirror, frustrated with his complexion. Then they switch and it’s Sicheng’s turn to frown into the mirror. He applies a face cream, dropping the bottle cap when he’s done. They bump elbows in a bid to fetch the little plastic top first. Taeil wins and Sicheng allows him a small smile.

“Where’d you eat?” asks Taeil again. He’s running his hand through his bangs and letting them flop back towards his brow. Sicheng doesn’t mention the dark circles he sees under Taeil's eyes.

“At Yuta’s.”

“Ah.”

No mention that that’s where Sicheng spent the previous night being simultaneously aggrieved and comforted after the sudden, exasperating reveal of his and Taeil’s relationship. He remembers the mortification of it all now, without really feeling it. The burn of his cheeks whereas now they remain white as can be. Has it really been a whole day?

“He said no one was really surprised.” It’s the first anecdote Sicheng has felt like sharing with Taeil.

“Really? Oh.”

Not that Sicheng believes Yuta, not really. Since their little circle of friends came together a year ago and solidified, even well before Sicheng grew exasperated with Taeil’s half-hearted flirting and pinned him to a wall with the bravest kiss he’s ever given, Taeil has been unashamed with his fascination of all things Sicheng. They’re a friendly bunch, everyone. Almost everyone. And Taeil has always been so touchy. Easy to play it up as normative. Little taps on his hand, fingers tangling together, chin to shoulder. The back hugs, the side hugs, the actual hugs which Sicheng learned eventually weren’t so much to make Sicheng feel warm, but because Taeil is just actually that guy who needs to show his affection. He feeds off of it. And Sicheng laps it up, happily.

“Sicheng, my love! My love!”

Sicheng even smiles now, thinking back to last night. The beginning of the end of their little secret.

Doyoung’s half drunken explanation. “Ha! I asked Taeil once about his definition of love, and I said ‘The feelings you have for Sicheng are this kind of love. Do you admit it?!’”

And Taeil, precious Taeil after two and a half bottles of alcohol had admitted it, all of Sicheng’s frantic hand waving and denials be damned. He’d followed it up with a sloppy kiss to Sicheng’s neck and with the rise of Sicheng’s panic he hadn’t been able to push Taeil away. Not even after the second kiss to the side of his jaw.

He’d watched Yuta’s eyes widen in shock, Doyoung’s laughter freeze, Taeyong’s sudden blinking. Jaehyun tried to haul Taeil off, but he’d sunk in like a koala, and then all of a sudden, Ten’s voice, “Holy , are you two dating?!”

And just like that, that facade Sicheng had erected around their fledgling little romance shattered, and not him, not even Taeil could deny it fast enough. The truth had come out.

“It’s better this way, isn’t it?” Sicheng asks a sleepy Taeil after they’ve crawled into bed.

“Hmm?” Taeil mumbles, reaching for him under the blankets like always. “If you’re okay with it, it is.”

Sicheng smiles. “I think, maybe I am.”

Taeil hums again. Pulling him closer, he says, “Good.”