Friday evening, The Black Cat Cafe hums with low-level activity, only a handful of occupied chairs and the intermittent walk in. Jiyong doesn’t mind. Mostly because it gives Ethan an excuse to talk to him instead of order him around, which should mean that hell is about freeze over—choosing conversation over silence. But this feels more like the result of boredom than a discussion.

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Red,” Jiyong answers and Ethan arches an eyebrow at him from his perch on the counter.

“Favorite food?”

“Don’t have one.”

“Favorite song,” Ethan tries.

He shrugs, scrunching up his face as he his hip against the register. “I don’t have one of those, either. But “Rock ‘N’ Roll Suicide” by David Bowie comes close.”

Crossing his arms, Ethan nods once and keeps staring him down, like every answer he gives is life or death.

“Movie?”

“The Fifth Element,” Jiyong replies easily.

“Ice cream flavor,” Ethan prompts.

“Is there a reason you’ve transformed into a walking, talking personality quiz?” he asks.

Both of Ethan’s eyebrows raise, defensive. “A guy can’t be curious?”

“Because having a preference for chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream really says a lot about the inner workings of my psyche,” Jiyong replies flatly.

Ethan chuckles and sighs.

“Well, if you’d said bubblegum, I probably would’ve fired you.”

“He’s not kidding,” Becca calls from the storeroom.

Jiyong smiles, but before he can say anything else, the front door opens and a deep, familiar voice travels through the cafe.

“Greetings, friends!”

“Sylvia!” Ethan cheers, throwing his hands up in celebration.

Throaty laughter erupts behind him. Jiyong turns. At this point he should be used to the way Seunghyun’s entire being explodes when he grins, but every time, it’s kind of like having the sun come down from the sky to punch him right in the face. The thing is, at this point, he should also probably start admitting to himself that he likes being punched in the face.

Seunghyun leans on the opposite side of the counter and Jiyong smiles again, because those explosions are often contagious.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” Seunghyun replies softly, eyes crinkling. “How are you?”

“All right,” he answers. “You?”

“As of this exact moment, pretty fantastic,” Seunghyun says.

Maybe it’s just the heat blasting from the vents that’s making him feel fuzzy. Maybe it’s just his imagination that the cafe noises seem more distant now. And maybe it’s the way Seunghyun is looking at him—a low burning candle flame, more heat than light.

Jiyong blushes regardless of the reason and he’s glad he doesn’t have a chance to say anything else, Ethan choosing that moment to crash into his space. With his puppy dog exuberance and inherent need to be obnoxious. Jiyong’s heart doesn’t jolt anymore, but the arm flung around his shoulders is still taking some getting used to.

“Shouldn’t you be at home, replacing the entire contents of your apartment with booze?” Ethan asks and Seunghyun snorts.

“Did that earlier.”

“Snacks?” Ethan inquires further.

“Jackie’s on snacks,” Seunghyun answers.

“Snacky Jackie, got it.” Sliding away from Jiyong, Ethan goes to retrieve his coffee cup. “Is she bringing her douchebag boyfriend again?”

“I don’t know, I don’t think they’re dating anymore?”

“Thank christ,” Ethan groans into the ceramic mug.

Seunghyun laughs, then squints down at Jiyong. “See? Not everyone is awesome,” he says, reaching over to nudge him slightly.

Jiyong’s mouth quirks and he ducks his head, letting out an amused huff.

“Are you still undecided about coming by later?”

“No.” He looks up. “I’ll make an appearance.”

“Cool,” Seunghyun answers, nodding.

The casual expression on Seunghyun’s face would be more believable if his eyes weren’t broadcasting his elation like tiny, brown beacons. Jiyong isn’t used to that, either—being the inspiration for someone else’s light. But he’s working on that, too.

“So,” Ethan pops their bubble a second time. Probably on purpose. “Coffee, no coffee…”

“Did you teach him?” Seunghyun asks, pointing at Jiyong.

Ethan scoffs. “Duh, man,” he replies, turning towards Jiyong and offering his best -eating grin. “Go on little bird, spread your wings.”

He rolls his eyes. Ethan’s bell-laughter tinkles after him, but he tunes out whatever conversation the two of them ease into, more interested in finding the right beans for the job.

Because of course Seunghyun’s usual isn’t just a normal, single brewed cup with a pump of toffee flavored syrup. That would be too easy. No, this had to concoct a drink that was a delicate blend of three origin coffees—Sumatran, Peruvian, and one from a private estate in Puerto Rico that Ethan special orders for “valued customers”. Jiyong thinks Ethan spoils his friends. But Jiyong also thinks that if anyone deserves to be spoiled, it’s Seunghyun. Even though he would never admit it and this drink still makes Seunghyun an .

“You’re being watched,” Becca says, standing next to him at the counter while he measures out beans to grind.

“By Tweedle Dee or Tweedle Dum?” Jiyong asks.

She laughs and hands him fresh filters. “Which is which?”

“Take a wild guess.”

“Well, they’re both watching now, but Tweedle Dee’s the only one with the dopey grin.”

He can see her smirking from the corner of his eye while he works.

“I’m glad you knew Tweedle Dum was Ethan,” Jiyong tells her, instead of commenting.

“Pretty sure even Ethan knows Tweedle Dum is Ethan,” Becca retorts and he smiles, taking the pour-over cone when she offers it, relieved that she doesn’t keep teasing him about dopey grins and who they belong to.

Jiyong folds the filter along the seam, sets it in the brewing cone, doesn’t listen to the animated sound of Seunghyun’s words as he falls into his own rhythm.

“You coming to the party later?” Becca asks a few minutes later, observing as he brews the second coffee.

He nods and focuses on pouring the hot water in tight, concentric circles. “Yeah.”

“Tweedle Dee must be very pleased.”

“I live downstairs, it’s not like we never see each other,” Jiyong mutters.

Ethan bursts into cackles behind them, accompanied by Seunghyun’s dorky, hiccupped chuckling. Becca tilts her head and raises a pointed eyebrow.

“That right there?” she says, jerking her chin. “That wasn’t a common occurrence until a month ago. You make that kid light up like every day is Christmas morning.” Becca leans in even closer. “And if I’m not mistaken, you’ve been pretty damn luminous yourself.”

“Luminous, huh?” Jiyong casts her a wry glance. His grip falters slightly as he pours, but the rest of his teetering remains internal.

“Comparatively speaking.”

He snorts. “That wouldn’t take much.”

Sighing, Becca pokes him in the ribs. “It’s still nice to see you have facial expressions,” she insists.

Just to spite her, Jiyong keeps his expression neutral and sets the kettle down, gently stirring the remaining liquid with a spoon. She exhales a laugh.

“Very funny.”

Jiyong cracks another smile and Becca shakes her head, leaving him to go help a new customer. He peers at the flat layer of wet coffee grounds, vaguely proud of himself for doing well twice in a row. In the background, Ethan and Seunghyun start giggling again, and he uses the brief moment of almost solitude to, as Seunghyun put it, quietly lose his .

In a good way, more than a bad way. Because he’s only been working here for two weeks. Because he’s constantly bewildered by the way some people accept new bodies into their lives, like making friends is as simple as a handshake or a hello. Jiyong used to know how to do that. Or fake it, at least.

This is different.

Discarding the used filter, he pours the second coffee, rinses the brewing cone and the range server, and starts over. He listens now. To the low tones of a conversation he can’t actually hear—to the cadence of their voices and Becca’s ringing amusement as she trades small talk with someone she’s never met before. Jiyong thinks about how quickly things can change. And about connections, the way they mean different things to different people. The ability others have to feel affection for things unknown.

By the time he’s finished brewing all three coffees, his head is too full. Maybe he’ll go for a walk instead of going straight back to the apartment. Maybe Ethan will let him take another break, just to loop around the block and find some order.

Jiyong slides the takeaway cup into a sleeve and wanders over to the end of the counter. He sets the coffee down before Seunghyun’s sunrise face can make him wobble and pushes his fingers through his hair, still feeling like he's too many things.

“If we weren’t friends, I’d hate you on principle for coming up with this.”

Seunghyun beams. “It’s his fault.”

“How is it my fault?” Ethan demands.

“You’re the one who wanted to experiment.”

“It’s my job to experiment,” Ethan argues, narrowing his eyes. “You just wanted the free coffee whenever I ed up.”

“Which is how this magic happened. And I regret absolutely nothing,” Seunghyun says. He drinks from the cup, dimples curved into his cheeks on either side, and Jiyong watches. Half out of nerves and half due to a deep-seated sense of masochism.

Seunghyun lowers the coffee, his lips.

“It’s perfect. Thank you.”

Jiyong releases the breath he was holding and an unsteady laugh sneaks out beside it.

“You’re welcome.”

Then Ethan squeezes his shoulder, like he always does whenever he thinks Jiyong needs assurance. “Well done,” he says, the loud and obnoxious replaced by gentle and genuine, followed by the older man’s hand scratching at the back of Jiyong’s head.

Across from him, Seunghyun glows on his behalf. Next to him, Ethan radiates pride. When he goes to clean his workspace, Becca tosses him an enthusiastic thumbs up from the other end of the counter.

Too full, Jiyong thinks, was an inadequate choice of words.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The repetitive movement of his feet do very little to alter how he feels. If anything, he feels like he always does. Like nothing. And he wishes that wasn’t such an easy skin to slip back into when there are good things happening all around him. When he has reasons to be happy, or something approaching happy. He just can’t figure out how to make it stick.

Jiyong threads himself into the constant motion of the city, trying to find that order. His chest seems tight and the flutter is there, but it’s the kind of flutter he knows is born of anxiety and not restlessness. Because he’s nervous about the party. About the way his body and his mouth remember how to act, when the rest of him is clueless and awkward and lost. Jiyong has never understood why it’s so easy to pretend. To say the things other people want to hear even though he hates himself for doing it. With Seunghyun and Ethan and Becca, it’s not easy, but he’s okay with it now. He knows how to navigate that and he’s even getting better at navigating shallow interactions with strangers. It’s just that those strangers leave after a few minutes and Jiyong still isn’t used to conversations being actual conversations.

Pausing at an intersection, he tucks his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and looks up. Dim twilight pushes against the outlines of the buildings—against the orange streetlamps and the sea of glaring headlights. Jiyong inhales and then exhales. The signal changes. He stares down at the pavement and watches his feet fall in and out of sync with the other feet crowding the sidewalk.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

When Jiyong gets back to the apartment, there are already multiple pairs of footsteps creaking across the floorboards upstairs. Music blaring loud enough that it pulses in the walls and doesn’t let him forget that he’s supposed to go up there at some point. He picks out the sounds of laughter over synth-heavy indie pop he’s probably heard before, wondering why he always makes this so hard for himself. Or why it’s even hard at all.

Head falling to rest on his drawn up knees, Jiyong checks his phone in the dark of the living room, squinting against the brightness.

Seunghyun

[Sent: Nov 4 9:13PM]

Are you home? I came down

to look, but it was dark.

Seunghyun

[Sent: Nov 4 10:37PM]

If you’re not actually up for

this, it’s cool.

Seunghyun

[Sent: Nov 4 10:37PM]

Just let me know, otherwise

I’m gonna worry about you

all night.

He smiles. It’s not that he isn’t. It’s that seeing Seunghyun might not compensate for how much this is inevitably going to . Except Jiyong would be lying if he told himself it wasn’t worth it. Even for just a little bit.

[Sent: Nov 4 10:45PM]

i’ll be up in a min. call off the

search party

Seunghyun

[Sent: Nov 4 10:46PM]

Yesssss :D

The flutter does that thing where it turns into a tiny, compact hurricane the second he opens the living room window and hears voices swimming in the night air above him. Jiyong climbs out onto the fire escape, closes the window behind him, starts putting one foot in front of the other. Seunghyun’s apartment is warm and alive and he forces himself not to retreat at the sight of so many unfamiliar faces.

I can do this and not be a mess for once.

No one notices when he climbs inside. The window was already open and Jiyong wonders if Seunghyun left it like that just for him. It’s a thought that only makes the flutter worse, but he swallows it down and follows the sound of Seunghyun’s deep baritone into the kitchen, ignoring the curious looks thrown his way.

“...then he tells me he’s a space pirate and that his crew left him here on earth a hundred years ago,” Seunghyun chuckles, leaning against his counter as he talks to the small group of friends clustered around him. “Apparently he’s been trying to get back to his home planet ever since. I swear to god, I am not making this up .”

The others laugh, too. Seunghyun grins and takes a sip of his beer, looking totally comfortable as the center of attention. The ball of light everyone orbits around, like a small galaxy of moths.

Jiyong feels his own lips quirk at the corners while he observes from the doorway. Even though a strange flare of envy fills the pit of his stomach at the same time.

“What did you say his name was?” a tall, blonde girl asks.

“Captain Crookshanks.”

“Isn’t that Hermione’s cat from Harry Potter?”

Seunghyun nods once. “Yes.”

They dissolve into more laughter, another girl blurting, “I seriously need to meet this guy.”

“He’s at Willow Street almost every night,” Seunghyun says. “Sits on the last stool at the bar, looks like Gandalf’s alcoholic twin brother. You can’t miss him.”

Jiyong snorts quietly, but Seunghyun still manages to hear it through the noise, because his head jerks to the side and suddenly Jiyong is on the receiving end of another atomic bomb. He attempts a real smile in return, even laughing a bit as Seunghyun maneuvers around his friends to get to him as quickly as possible.

“Hey,” Seunghyun greets, standing close.

“Hi,” Jiyong replies and immediately feels his cheeks go hot. Because for a split second he thought about hugging Seunghyun, which is an urge he’s not accustomed to having.

“Glad you made it.”

He lets out a huff. “It would’ve been ty if I stayed downstairs.”

Seunghyun shrugs, that brilliant grin still playing at the edges of his mouth. “I probably would’ve gotten over it. Eventually.”

Jiyong sighs.

“You up for some introductions?” Seunghyun asks and gestures with his beer bottle at the rest of the apartment. “I mean, you’re welcome to find a corner to hide in–”

Instinctively, Jiyong’s hand lifts to hit Seunghyun in the arm, cutting him off and making him chuckle. He doesn’t think about why this is significant.

“I’m fine,” he insists. “Lead the way.”

With a smile that’s too sweet, Seunghyun does—long fingers curling around Jiyong’s shoulder and that deep rumble at his back as he dives into the first house party experience he’s had since college.

The hardest part is always remembering names. But if he can associate each name with something concrete, it’s not as stressful. He learns that the tall blonde is Ashley. The second girl, Zahra, has purple streaks in her dark hair and a septum ring. The third is Katherine, her arms covered in sleeve tattoos that look like Escher’s tessellations. And Ben has this mole on his cheek that reminds him of Marilyn Monroe.

They all seem to be in their late twenties. All inked and pierced and dressed in carefully curated outfits. Animated faces, big laughs, an ease of being that Jiyong is pretty sure he could never fake, even if he wanted to. A knock at the door draws Seunghyun away and he tells himself he’s not nervous as all four turn to him with inquisitive eyes.

“So, when did you move in?” Ashley asks, sipping at her drink.

“A month ago.”

“Do you like it here?” Zahra asks next.

“Yeah,” Jiyong answers, glancing from face to face before ducking his head. “I think so.”

Zahra’s silver-ringed hand reaches out to rub his arm and his heart skips. “It’s okay, the first few months are always strange,” she says, dark red lips curling kindly. “You’re from a small town, right?”

He nods. Zahra uses the same hand to whack Ben in the chest.

“See? We’re not weird, you ,” she grins and Ben grimaces.

“How, um, how could you tell?” Jiyong asks.

Undeserved warmth emanates from her smile.

“I know a kindred crushed spirit when I see one. Suburbia leaves its mark on all of us.”

This draws a scoff of laughter from Ashley and Katherine and the three girls clink beer bottles in unspoken commiseration while Ben stands there shaking his head. Jiyong’s mouth twitches, the flutter twisting oddly in his stomach.

“I grew up in the big, bad urban jungle, which apparently means I’m incapable of understanding their pain,” Ben elaborates.

Ashley pinches his cheek and pouts. “You poor little city boy.”

The others laugh. Ben rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning. Jiyong looks across the lopsided circle at Zahra and finds himself wondering what she sees—her pretty face crinkling with friendliness, some silent moment exchanged between them that ends as soon as it began.

Then Katherine settles a hand at his back. “We need to get you a drink,” she states, shouting over them to the group of people still huddled near the front door, “Seunghyun, you’re a terrible host!”

“Excuse me?” Seunghyun almost squawks, working his way towards them. He’s wearing a headband with a little foam crown, pink hair pushed back, and Jiyong tries to stop thinking about how attractive his forehead is.

“Jiyong is boozeless, you’re not doing your job,” Katherine accuses.

Placing a palm over his chest, Seunghyun immediately drops to one knee right there in the middle of the kitchen. “I humbly beg your forgiveness,” he pleads and reaches out to take Jiyong’s hand in both of his.

For a moment, he’s not sure how to react, his pulse spiking at the contact. But Seunghyun’s eyes are soft, just like his fingers, and Jiyong thinks about the likelihood of spontaneous combustion instead.

“Is that your official birthday crown?” Zahra asks.

He frowns. Seunghyun winces.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jiyong asks, brow furrowing.

“I don’t like to make a big deal out of it?” Seunghyun answers, shrugging, still holding onto his hand. “And I definitely don’t want anyone buying me more . The party was this one’s idea.”

Zahra heaves a sigh.

“Because you deserve to be celebrated and everyone loves an excuse to get drunk.”

Seunghyun laughs. “No one here has ever needed an excuse.”

When Zahra can’t argue that point, Seunghyun laughs harder and then lurches up from the floor, tugging Jiyong over to the fridge. Fingers get swapped out for an icy, glass bottle and Seunghyun’s eyebrows are already apologizing before he can get the word out.

“Sorry.”

Jiyong shakes his head. “It’s okay.”

“Yeah?” Seunghyun asks, looking skeptical as he closes the refrigerator.

“Yeah,” he assures. “But for the record, I wouldn’t have made a big deal.”

Seunghyun laughs again, quieter this time, and nods. “I know.”

The flutter starts turning into the itch the longer they stand there looking at each other and Jiyong has to make a conscious effort to ignore it. This is okay. He’s okay. He even manages another smile, taking the bottle opener and pretending the cap popping off doesn’t sound like the final nail in his coffin.

“C’mon,” Seunghyun says after Jiyong downs his first swig of beer. “Some friends from the bar just showed up and I think you’d really like them.”

He follows, because he wants to see how far he can push himself before saying “no”. Because he never does that and he’s tired of hiding, even though a large part of him would rather be downstairs right now.

It’s okay, he thinks. He’s been here before, he can do it again.

Seunghyun sticks to his side this time, his arm occasionally brushing against Jiyong’s, and Jiyong is relatively certain he’s doing it on purpose. Not that he minds. It’s easier to focus with Seunghyun there—to not feel bad about the fact that he isn't talking very much, because he’s afraid of what he’ll say if he does. Which he has no rational explanation for, since he isn’t actually afraid of being honest. First impressions just make Jiyong anxious. No one wants a total stranger dumping their baggage all over you somewhere between “hello” and “what kind of music do you listen to, man?”.

Three beers later, the talking thing isn’t as scary. He could attribute that to the alcohol, but it’s probably more that most of Seunghyun’s friends are absurdly nice. Of course they are, right? Jiyong would expect nothing less from the sun personified, and with every new person he meets, those tendrils of jealousy continue to grow. Because maybe he wants to know what that’s like. Being the thing others gravitate towards.

What surprises him, though, is learning that most of the people in this apartment are stumbling through life just as much as he is. Drowning in debt, working jobs they hate, trying to carve out their place in a world that will never make sense. And yet here—in the safety of this moment—they all smile like they couldn’t be happier.

Jiyong isn’t on the same level. But he might be able to want it bad enough one day.

After a while, Seunghyun stops chaperoning him around the room. Which is fine. Jiyong was thinking about leaving soon, anyway, and he leans against the wall next to Seunghyun’s bedroom door by himself. The apartment is warm with body heat and something he can’t describe, but he sees it written on every face as his eyes wander.

College was never like this. Or at least his version wasn’t. Jiyong wonders if it’s different because they’re all a little older, a little worse for wear, or if it’s because Seunghyun attracts the kind of people who are actually worth knowing. He realizes this makes him worth knowing by association and isn’t sure how he feels about that.

“Hey, you,” Zahra chirps, pushing through the crowd to slouch on the wall beside him. “Everything cool?”

Jiyong sighs. “I don’t know.”

She leans to the right and their shoulders press together. It could be the beer, but it doesn’t bother him.

“That’s okay.”

He nods, glancing over at her.

“What about you?”

“I’ve surpassed my party threshold, but I figure I’m overdue, since I never leave my apartment,” Zahra answers dryly and Jiyong smiles without hesitation.

There’s a pause. Someone changes the music, Daft Punk’s “One More Time” blasting from the speakers. His smile widens and Zahra laughs and even washed out by the noise, it sounds comforting. Hot coffee on a cold day. Or hot coffee on any day, really. Jiyong almost wishes he could hear it better, but then he’d be missing out on the impromptu dance party currently taking over the living room. The bass throbs in his chest and the flutter swells. Not in anxiety, just in fascination, because he’s pretty sure he’s never experienced this before.

It isn’t until Zahra starts shaking with amusement that he notices Seunghyun in the middle of everything, flailing around his living room like one of those inflatable tube men at a car dealership. Jiyong’s cheeks begin to hurt from smiling so much.

“God, what a ing dork,” Zahra wheezes, still cracking up.

“Yeah, he is,” Jiyong agrees. The music cuts into the breakdown, everyone singing along at the top of their lungs. Everyone infected by the intensity of Seunghyun’s energy. “But the world would be even more depressing without him in it.”

A few weeks ago, he might have shocked himself with that admission, even though he’s been thinking it for a while now. Seunghyun spots them against the wall when the beat picks up again and waves and Jiyong decides right then that he meant every word.

“How did you two meet, anyway?” he asks, holding his beer to his cheek in a futile attempt to calm the fire under his skin.

“School.” Zahra grins and wipes delicately at the corners of her eyes. “We were both poetry majors. Talk about perfectly useless degrees.”

Jiyong’s mouth quirks. “I dropped out my Junior year, so I understand.”

“What did you study?”

“General Liberal Arts.” He lifts his bottle in mock-salute. “Firmly in the category of useless degrees.”

“Doesn’t that just make you more well-rounded?” she asks.

“I always thought it meant I was indecisive,” he replies.

They exchange a brief look as the music fades and shifts into something more mellow, then inexplicably dissolve into giggles, like Jiyong just cracked the funniest joke ever. It leaves him light-headed—reminds him of the vampire teeth and then the diner and he swears he’s never laughed this much in his life. Never had to use someone else to hold himself up.

Zahra links their arms and leans into him as she sighs through another chuckle. Jiyong wonders if that’s all it takes. A shared moment of stupidity and suddenly you’re friends forever.

“He talks about you a lot, by the way,” Zahra mentions once she's caught her breath. “He was super nervous about tonight, because he was afraid you weren’t gonna enjoy yourself.”

“Crisis averted,” Jiyong says, blushing again, and she huffs out another laugh. He doesn’t know what to do with that information.

“I kind of hate parties, honestly.”

Jiyong arches an eyebrow. “Didn’t you organize this one?”

“Yep.” Zahra nods, giving him a lopsided smile. “But Seunghyun is worth suffering for.”

He can’t disagree, since that’s also why he’s here, and he gives her a lopsided smile of his own. Jiyong’s theories of Seunghyun being a celestial object are starting to seem way less ridiculous.

“Zahra!” a familiar voice shouts over the music, followed by Ethan himself. “So nice to see you outside of your cave.”

“Ha ha,” she replies flatly, but still goes in for a bear hug when Ethan holds his arms out.

“Where have you been hiding?” Jiyong asks.

“Just got here,” Ethan grins, reaching up to ruffle Jiyong’s hair. “Where’s birthday boy? I need to punch him in the arm twenty-eight times.”

Zahra and Jiyong both point at the other side of the room and Ethan rubs his hands together in barely restrained excitement as he turns around.

“Hey, Sylvia! Guess what?”

“,” Seunghyun blurts, panicked, already trying to run away. “You er, you promised!”

“I feel like we should’ve warned him first,” Jiyong mumbles and Zahra snorts.

More laughter echoes throughout the apartment when Seunghyun stumbles around his friends to escape Ethan’s clutches, but it’s not like the apartment is very big. They disappear into the kitchen, Seunghyun’s shouts of protest transforming into delirious cackles. He smiles again.

“So, how do you know Ethan?” Zahra asks.

Jiyong shrugs. “He’s my boss.”

Her eyes go wide and she shoves at his shoulder. “No way, you work at Black Cat? I’m totally coming by to harass you.”

“What happened to never leaving your apartment?”

“I’m making an exception,” Zahra retorts, pulling her phone from her back pocket. “What’s your number? We can hang out after work and be hermits together.”

She enters the password, hands it over, then immediately rakes her fingers through her long hair like this is a big deal. And it kind of is, because Jiyong stares down at the screen for a beat or two before doing anything. He taps the address book and remembers all the times he did this at bars and house parties and how it never meant anything. It was a courtesy. Like accepting friend requests on Facebook from people he knew he’d never see outside of lecture halls or the dorms.

Jiyong saves his contact info and hands it back. Zahra’s lips curl into the shyest smile as she sends him a text, the telltale vibrations going off in his own pocket. This feels like popping the cap off of the beer bottle. Another act of defiance against the apathy and the itch. He can’t say he’s upset about that.

“Text me this weekend and we’ll figure it out,” Zahra says, beaming now.

“Cool.” Jiyong breathes out an anxious laugh and the next thing he knows, she’s got her arms wrapped around him, catching him off-guard.

Eventually, he works past the alarm and his pounding heart to reciprocate. Zahra’s thumb rubs into the material of his hoodie, her chin hooked over his shoulder. Jiyong exhales and can’t not think about the last time someone hugged him.

Five years ago. The last day of classes. A cursory embrace from his roommate as he walked out of the dorms. His mom didn’t even touch him the night before he moved away.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

At two in the morning, Jiyong decides that he’s done pushing himself. Zahra went home shortly after hugging him, anyway, and he doesn’t really want to talk anymore. Unless it’s with Seunghyun, but even that feels like it might be too much.

He avoids saying goodbye, ignoring the curious glances thrown his way, because he’s never been good at that. Except he’s not alone when he climbs through the window onto the fire escape.

“How’s your arm?” Jiyong asks.

Seunghyun whirls around, broad smile stretching across his face. “Really sore,” he laughs. “But I got a few good punches in, too.”

Jiyong snorts. He’s sure Ethan deserved it.

“I think I’m gonna head down,” he says, uncomfortable now that he can hear his own voice so clearly, and stuffs his hands into the pouch of his hoodie.

Seunghyun’s smile wilts a little bit. “Okay.”

“I had a good time, though,” Jiyong continues. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, looking out at the sprawling city lights. “Thanks for inviting me.”

“Zahra’s pretty awesome, isn’t she?”

“Yeah,” he answers, lips twitching. “We exchanged numbers. We’re probably gonna do something next week.”

“Man, that makes me so happy,” Seunghyun gushes as he steps away from the railing. “Two of my favorite people hanging out is seriously the best feeling.”

Jiyong peers up at him, finding it difficult to make eye-contact when Seunghyun’s expression is so obviously fond. Fondness for him. He clears his throat, daring to push his luck.

“You really mean that?”

“Of course I do. You’re the Bert to my Ernie, bonds like that can’t be broken,” Seunghyun answers matter-of-factly.

If Jiyong was standing in front of anyone else, he’d have a hard time believing those words, but he’s not. He’s standing in front of Seunghyun—alien starchild from another dimension, who would rather lose a limb than be insincere.

A cold breeze whips through the alley then, making them both shiver, and Jiyong grins, because he doesn’t know what else to do. Doesn’t know how to express his gratitude or how much he wants what’s being offered, despite feeling ill-equipped to receive it. Maybe that’ll change. He hopes that it does.

Seunghyun stares at him for a moment, seeming to make his mind up about something as he takes another step closer, brows already raised in the question he hasn't asked yet.

“Can I make an official birthday request before you go?”

Jiyong's grin returns with a vengeance. “Sure.”

“Can I hug you?” Seunghyun asks.

And just like that, all of his internal organs feel like they're desperately trying to flee from the confines of his body. Jiyong breathes in and then out. He's not losing his , exactly, he's just processing. It should be disconcerting that this is happening twice in the same night, right? The only difference being that Seunghyun asked instead of acted and now Jiyong has bonus time to psych himself out.

“You can say no,” Seunghyun offers, already looking like he regrets opening his mouth in the first place.

“No, it's fine.” He rocks onto the balls of his feet, nervous. “You can-- You can hug me.”

“You're sure?”

Jiyong rolls his eyes. “Yes, Seunghyun.”

This shouldn't be such a production and yet here they are, playing metaphorical Jenga with each other's feelings because Jiyong is defective and Seunghyun is too nice.

Seunghyun laughs and nods and then moves in what seems like slow motion—his hands skimming the length of Jiyong’s arms before gently drawing him in. The way his body responds is almost automatic. Like he knows where he's supposed to fit, even though they’ve never been here.

Jiyong's heart pounds in his ears and he lets his eyes drift shut, some of the city noises and party sounds filtering through the panic. He breathes in and then out. Seunghyun holds him tighter. Jiyong lets himself soak in the heat of another body and the world doesn't even end.

“I’m glad you came,” Seunghyun says, adjusting his grip around Jiyong's shoulders. “I know we didn’t hang out that much tonight, but I, um...I still like knowing you’re around. I don’t know if that’s weird, I just–”

“It’s not weird,” Jiyong interrupts. He’d even admit that he felt the same if it didn’t feel dangerously like a declaration.

Something about the smile Seunghyun presses into his hair tells him he doesn’t have to.

“Awesome.”

Jiyong’s insides twist and clench, and maybe the world actually is ending, what with the substantial weight settling in his chest. The ache in his throat from tears he doesn't even want to acknowledge let alone shed. He pushes his face against Seunghyun’s collarbone and tries not to drown in the solid reality of him or the way he smells, because if he does, he’s pretty sure he’s never letting go.

“You’re really good at this,” Jiyong mumbles, blushing at himself before he even finishes getting the words out.

Seunghyun huffs in amusement. “No one’s ever complimented me on my hugging skills before.”

“They should,” he replies.

Of course, the minute Seunghyun starts rubbing slowly along his back, it’s all over—everything he’s been repressing just floating right to the surface like all it needed was a friendly, little shove. Jiyong takes in a ragged breath, eyebrows furrowed tight as he sniffles and wonders why he’s so useless. He can’t even keep it together for three ing hours.

“Whoa, hey.” Seunghyun eases away to look at him. “What’s wrong?”

Me, he wants to answer. But he doesn’t.

“Sorry,” Jiyong frowns, staring at the neckline of Seunghyun’s t-shirt and wiping at his nose. “It’s nothing.”

“Uh, clearly it's not if you're about to cry.”

“Really, it's stupid.” He sighs, because he knows Seunghyun isn't about to accept that as a valid answer. “I just...I haven't been hugged that much, okay? And tonight you and Zahra both did, so...” he trails off, gesturing lamely at his wet eyes.

Seunghyun is silent for so long that Jiyong has to look up, not expecting the expression on his face to be quite so pained. And definitely not expecting Seunghyun to lift his hands and cup Jiyong’s cheeks to wipe at the tears. Which, naturally, only inspires more to spill.

“I will hug the crap out of you whenever you want, just say the word,” Seunghyun vows, totally serious, but Jiyong can’t not laugh.

“Thank you,” he huffs, smiling, sniffling, sure it was intentional when Seunghyun smiles, too.

His throat still hurts, though, and the pressure in his chest says he’s probably going to have an actual breakdown if he doesn’t remove himself from this situation. Especially with the brunt of Seunghyun’s softness right there. In his eyes, his voice, the touch of his hands.

“I’m, um– I’m– I should go,” Jiyong stutters out. It takes a lot for him to step backwards, but he does. “Say goodnight to Becca and Ethan for me?”

“You're sure?” Seunghyun asks again. His eyebrows look conflicted. “I mean, I can come with you, if you want. Keep you company, so you don’t have to be alone.”

Not for the first time, Jiyong flirts with the idea that he’s been in a coma for the last five weeks.

“Seunghyun, it’s your birthday. Be with your friends,” he insists, trying to make his face do anything but telegraph how messed up he feels right now.

“But--”

Jiyong shakes his head. “I’ll text you.”

Sighing, Seunghyun deflates a little, nudging his glasses further up his nose and then striding forward. Jiyong barely gets to blink before there are hands on his neck and lips molding to his forehead.

“You’d better,” Seunghyun whispers against Jiyong’s skin.

The initial shock is so intense that he can’t move. Can hardly think. Seunghyun’s thumb the edge of his jaw and he has to stop himself from acting impulsively, fingers clenching and unfurling at his sides.

“Sorry, was that too much?” Seunghyun asks, pulling back.

Jiyong swallows thickly against the lump in his throat. “It’s fine.”

He reaches up, taking Seunghyun’s hands in his. Seunghyun flashes him a brief smile and he feels the twist in his stomach again as he squeezes once before letting go. Jiyong has no idea what else to say, so he says nothing. Thankfully, neither does Seunghyun, and he ducks his head, turning to walk down the fire escape stairs.

Inside the darkened apartment, music and muddled voices still filter through the floor. Jiyong tosses his phone onto the bed, kicks off his shoes, pretends his fingers aren’t shaking as he takes off his hoodie and his jeans and crawls under the covers.

in a huge, shuddery breath, he scrubs at his cheeks. The tears are there behind his eyes, just waiting for him to lose his resolve. For the dam to finally break. Lucky for them, that resolve crumbles the instant he checks his phone to find seven text messages.

13126073087

[Sent: Nov 5 1:36AM]

yo, it’s your girl zahra. we’re

bffs now, in case you didn’t

know, and your adorable

better text me back

Tweedle Dum

[Sent Nov 5 2:19AM]

Just a heads up. When you

come in for work, I’m gonna

hug you until you pass out.

Tweedle Dum

[Sent Nov 5 2:19AM]

And then hug you again

when you come to.

Becca

[Sent Nov 5 2:21AM]

Feel better, Jiyong :(

Seunghyun

[Sent Nov 5 2:21AM]

Ethan threatened to punch

my arm 28 more times if I

didn’t tell him what happened

I’m so sorry

Seunghyun

[Sent Nov 5 2:23AM]

Please love me

Seunghyun

[Sent Nov 5 2:23AM]

<3<3<3<3<3

Jiyong throws an arm over his face, like it’ll make it any easier to fall apart. He wishes he had more control. Wishes he didn’t feel so helpless whenever he can’t hold it in anymore. But more than any of that, he wishes he could see worth in himself and trust it the way they do.

[Sent: Nov 5 2:40AM]

<3

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

On the thirty-ninth day, Jiyong wakes up feeling just as empty as he usually does. He showers, eats a bowl of cereal, and sits on the kitchen counter staring at the floor until he can’t handle being alone with his thoughts. Sometimes all he wants is to step outside of his own body for a little while. Hang it up in the closet or fold it away in a drawer to come back to later. But since that’s impossible, the only thing he can do is go for a walk.

Thankfully it’s Saturday and Saturdays are busy enough that he doesn’t have to go far in order to get lost. To place himself in the middle of a crowd and forget who he is. The problem, he learns, is that no matter how far he walks or how big the crowd, he can’t stop thinking about the night before.

Jiyong pauses at a three-way intersection and stands there on the Northernmost corner. He watches morning sun glide over car windshields as they take their turn at the light. He watches the streams of people flooding the crosswalks and wonders where they’re going, who they are, if they’re lost too and just better at coping. Jiyong wants to know why he can’t find the secret instruction manual everyone else seems to have been given at birth. Because he's pretty sure he's still missing something.

Then again, maybe they’re all missing something.

Pushing a hand through his hair, he sighs and turns to keep going when his pocket buzzes.

Seunghyun

[Sent Nov 5 11:48AM]

Hey! I knocked and you

didn’t answer, so I’m going

to assume that you’re not

home.

Seunghyun

[Sent Nov 5 11:48AM]

You’re not, right?

[Sent Nov 5 11:49AM]

you really think i’d hide

from you?

Seunghyun

[Sent Nov 5 11:49AM]

No

Seunghyun

[Sent Nov 5 11:49AM]

But everyone needs space

sometimes and I wouldn’t

hold it against you if you

did.

Jiyong stares down at his phone and laughs.

Seunghyun

[Sent Nov 5 11:50AM]

Anyway, I have to work a

double today, since I took

off last night. No rest for

the wicked :D

Seunghyun

[Sent Nov 5 11:50AM]

Just wanted to tell you that

I made too much pasta

and you should eat it later.

[Sent Nov 5 11:51AM]

you’re asking me to break

into your apartment for

pasta

Seunghyun

[Sent Nov 5 11:52AM]

It’s spaghetti carbonara, I

dunno if that changes

things.

Seunghyun

[Sent Nov 5 11:52AM]

Also the window’s not locked.

[Sent Nov 5 11:52AM]

i don’t even know what to

comment on first

Seunghyun

[Sent Nov 5 11:53AM]

Eat the damn pasta, Jiyong.

[Sent Nov 5 11:53AM]

okay, i’ll eat the pasta

Seunghyun

[Sent Nov 5 11:54AM]

Thank you

He shakes his head as he tucks his phone away and starts walking again. Maybe Seunghyun knows something he doesn’t. Because Seunghyun seems to exist in the same reality as everyone else and yet still operate by his own set of rules. Rules that obviously involve being equal parts bizarre and overwhelmingly sweet.

Jiyong pauses at another intersection, waiting for the light to change. He watches the cars and the people ducking in and out of busy shops, wondering if their lives would be different if they also had an alien for a neighbor. His mouth curves into a small smile. Maybe he could solve the world’s problems by bottling Seunghyun’s weirdness and transforming the rest of the population into starchildren. Instead of wars, there would be dance parties. Everyone would laugh more, smile more, care more about each other. Jiyong imagines celebrating International Soggy Waffle Day and can’t prevent a giggle from bubbling up in his lungs as he crosses the street. It gets worse when he decides the national anthem would probably be changed to the rubber ducky song, and he has to stop walking—leaning against the nearest brick wall as he vibrates with amusement.

Strangers give him odd looks when they pass. Jiyong can’t really blame them, since he feels pretty crazy right now, and he stares up at the pale blue sky, caught somewhere between delirious and heartsick. Because he realizes how thankful he is to be standing here, feeling anything at all.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Later that afternoon, Jiyong sits in the living room between two short box towers and stares out through the line of windows. He thinks about the last time he was this bored. Every minute spent inside the hardware store, his brain suggests, which sounds pretty accurate. He almost wishes he was working a shift at the cafe, but that level of desperation hasn’t been reached yet. So he sits. And he ignores the fact that the boxes on either side of him are full of books.

Not that he doesn’t like reading. Jiyong would just prefer to passively engage with the world today—a thought that reminds him what he has access to—and he pulls his phone out of his pocket.

[Sent: Nov 5 3:04PM]

can i watch one of your

movies?

Seunghyun

[Sent: Nov 5 3:08PM]

Yeah, of course.

Seunghyun

[Sent: Nov 5 3:08PM]

If you’re bored, you can

always come to Willow

Street and hang out.

Seunghyun

[Sent: Nov 5 3:09PM]

Cpt Crookshanks is already

here.

[Sent: Nov 5 3:10PM]

as fun as that sounds, i think

i’m better off not being with

people today

Seunghyun

[Sent: Nov 5 3:12PM]

Then by all means, go

upstairs and knock

yourself out. Mi casa es

su casa <3

Jiyong grins and rolls his eyes, telling himself he doesn’t care about the sudden influx of hearts in Seunghyun’s text messages. He doesn’t. What he does care about, though, is food, and he pushes up off the floor to head for the fire escape.

Despite being overrun by drunk hipsters and endless cans of beer mere hours ago, Seunghyun’s apartment is awe-inspiringly spotless. Did he even sleep last night? Who gets up early to clean and cook after partying until four in the goddamn morning? Aliens, obviously.

Jiyong lingers by the windows feeling uncomfortable now that he’s here and Seunghyun isn’t. Now that he’s here with the reminder that he endured multiple social interactions with strangers and didn’t shrivel up and die as a result. It shouldn’t seem like such a monumental achievement, but it is, and he takes a deep breath. Holds it. Lets it out slow. Jiyong isn’t sure he can chalk the night up as a complete victory. He still hates himself for saying certain things and the way he acts when he’s trying too hard to be normal.

Sliding a hand down his face, he forces himself to stop thinking about it. That’s why he’s doing this, anyway—to not think, to disengage. Which would probably be a lot easier if he wasn’t in Seunghyun’s apartment.

It takes him a few minutes to find everything he needs in the kitchen. Then a few more to heat up some of the pasta in a pot on the stove. Jiyong looks at the table and remembers that conversation. Or, more accurately, the moment he reached over to steal Seunghyun’s arm. His skin prickles, memory flickering to Seunghyun holding his hand while kneeling on the floor. Seunghyun wrapped around him, Seunghyun kissing his forehead, fantasy stepping in to satisfy impulse. He closes his eyes and wonders what would’ve happened if he’d kissed Seunghyun the way he wanted to. Jiyong’s stomach swoops aggressively in answer.

The thing is that he can’t stop thinking about it, now that he’s started. Even when he puts on Jurassic Park and settles onto the couch—bowl of pasta in his lap, eyes on the TV, but mind embarrassingly distracted.

It gets worse when he swaps out Jurassic Park for The NeverEnding Story. Because the longer he’s there, the more comfortable he is, and with that comfort comes the undeniable truth of how much he wishes Seunghyun was sitting next to him. Jiyong isn’t used to pining. He’s still not used to wanting, or caring enough to want in the first place. Especially when it’s attainable and not just some unrealistic, abstract concept.

After The NeverEnding Story, he watches Guardians of the Galaxy. Then Empire Records and Die Hard, not ready to go back downstairs to be alone with only himself. At least up here, he can keep pretending that everything is hunky dory. That he’s not afraid of what’s already changing.

Really, Jiyong should go to bed, because he has work at eight and Seunghyun won’t be back until after two. But he doesn’t move, regardless of how many times the thought keeps popping into his head. He likes being on the couch. He likes this movie. He falls asleep around midnight, long before Bruce Willis can say “yippee-ki-yay, motherer” into his walkie-talkie.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The shrill melody of his phone alarm going off at six-thirty abruptly rips him from unconsciousness. Jiyong’s first instinct is to curl further into a ball and ignore it forever, but a low groan rumbles somewhere above him and he’s suddenly aware of how warm everything is. One, because there’s a thick blanket draped over his body, and two, he discovers upon cracking his eyes open.

When Jiyong turns his head, Seunghyun blinks slowly and offers a bleary smile. He chooses not to address the heavy arm lying on top of him, or the fact that he was holding said arm in both hands, and fumbles for his phone instead.

The alarm shuts off. His heart thuds between his ears, chasing away the fog with every beat. He can feel Seunghyun’s thigh against his back—the weight of fingers against his hip and the gentle movement of Seunghyun drawing breath. It’s startling, but not in the way Jiyong expects.

“Sorry,” he croaks.

Seunghyun stares at him, brow wrinkled.

“For what?”

“For falling asleep on your couch?” Jiyong says.

Chuckling, Seunghyun gives his hip a light squeeze. “Yes. I was so distraught, I had to sit down and fall asleep next to you.”

He rolls his eyes and pushes himself up onto his knees, more than a little embarrassed by how much space there is at the other end.

“I just didn’t mean to stay this long,” he explains, trying to rub the sleep from his face.

“You can stay whenever you want,” Seunghyun replies.

Jiyong lets his hands drop. Seunghyun looks back at him with a tiny smile playing at the edge of his mouth. It’s probably safer not to say out loud that if he actually stayed whenever he wanted, he might as well start making rent payments.

“Thanks.” Jiyong’s lips quirk. “I’d return the invitation, but your apartment has furniture.”

Seunghyun laughs louder. “We can change that.”

He nods, still feeling overheated, but for new reasons. Reasons that may or may not include admitting how caught up he really is in that “we”.

“Okay.”

The grin Jiyong receives is lazy and pleased and he smiles back. Then Seunghyun chews on his bottom lip and Jiyong has to duck his head to stop himself from listening to impulse again. It’s harder this time.

“Do you want some coffee? I can make a pot,” Seunghyun offers.

“It’s cool. I have to shower and get ready. I’ll just make something at the cafe,” he answers, climbing off of the couch. “You should go back to bed.”

Seunghyun groans as he stands, stretching his arms over his head. “You’re probably right,” he yawns.

Jiyong snorts.

“I’m definitely right.”

His gaze catches the sliver of skin between Seunghyun’s shirt and his jeans before it disappears. He’s almost positive the tattoo he saw there wasn’t a figment of his imagination, but Jiyong just clears his throat, forcing himself to focus on something safer.

“The, um, the pasta,” he says dumbly. “It was really good.”

Seunghyun smiles. “Glad you liked it.”

“You made too much on purpose, didn’t you?” Jiyong asks.

Scratching at the back of his cotton candy head, Seunghyun shrugs, eyes crinkling in shy amusement.

“Guilty as charged.”

He laughs quietly and the heat spreads, fitting into all of his emptiness.

Strangely, Jiyong doesn’t feel the itch for once. The flutter, however, seems to be a permanent fixture now, and when impulse knocks a third time, it explodes inside of his stomach like gentle fireworks. Because he decides, right then, that he doesn’t want to fight himself anymore. Not when it comes to this.

So Jiyong steps forward, noticing the way Seunghyun’s eyebrows lift in surprise as he wraps his arms around Seunghyun’s waist and pushes his face into his shoulder. He inhales, letting it out when Seunghyun hugs him back.

“Thank you,” he mumbles. Jiyong knows he can’t ever say that enough.

Seunghyun tightens his grip, breath hot on Jiyong’s scalp when he sighs into his hair and says, “You’re welcome.”

A very small part of his brain is starting to think their call and answer really means something else.