The more Jiyong thinks about it, the more he comes to accept the fact that everyone, by default, goes through the early chapters of their lives without reference. Without personal history to inform those future histories-in-the-making. He's not an outlier, he knows that. Even at the ripe old age of twenty-six. Jiyong just wishes that he had some actual points or frames or whatever for this whole “being in a relationship” thing, because it's a completely new location on the map for him, and to be totally honest, he feels a little more lost than usual.

Which he should be used to, right? Considering how much he actively tries to emulate that particular emotion.

Sighing, Jiyong cuts through the tape on the closest box and pulls out a book he doesn't remember buying let alone reading, and puts it on the shelf anyway.

It's not even that he's upset or anything. He's unpacking for 's sake, this might as well be his version of catatonic with joy. It's just that there's been an obvious shift into a state of mind he's never inhabited before. Someplace Jiyong can't really be comfortable yet, since his toes are still the only thing that's wet.

And he worries about jinxing it. Worries that he'll never be able to change enough to make it work. Worries Seunghyun will get frustrated and give up and walk away, because his brain is still, mostly, a gigantic .

Jiyong frowns, shoving another book onto the shelf. He doesn't need this . Doesn't want this . He scrubs both hands over his face and breathes in through his nose.

“Just focus on the books,” Jiyong mumbles to himself.

There aren't that many. Four small boxes out of seven. He manages to find a home for all of them, even if that home is on top of the bookshelf instead of inside it. The sense of accomplishment sits awkwardly on his shoulders as he breaks down the cardboard and goes to store them in the closet by the front door. Only three left now, full of god knows what. Jiyong's not really in the mood to deal with it and he stands there in the foyer, staring at the new spaces in the living room, unsure of what it is he's feeling. Whatever it is, it's not bad. There's no evidence of the itch. No urge to flee the scene. Jiyong fishes his phone out of his pocket and takes a picture, texting it to Seunghyun.

Seunghyun

[Sent: Nov 23 6:03PM]

Who are you and what have

you done with my boyfriend??

????????????????

[Sent: Nov 23 6:04PM]

yes, you're hilarious

Seunghyun

[Sent: Nov 23 6:04PM]

:D

Seunghyun

[Sent Nov 23 6:04PM]

You're not freaking out, are

you?

[Sent: Nov 23 6:05PM]

no, i'm fine

[Sent: Nov 23 6:05PM]

i feel okay. weirdly enough

Seunghyun

[Sent Nov 23 6:05PM]

Wish I didn't have to work

for another 6 hours. I'd

help you celebrate ;p

Seunghyun

[Sent Nov 23 6:06PM]

If you know what I mean

;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;)

Jiyong shakes his head, smiling.

[Sent: Nov 23 6:06PM]

maybe if you used a few more

winky faces, i'd figure it out

Seunghyun

[Sent: Nov 23 6:07PM]

;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;)

;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;)

;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;)

He laughs outright and it's pretty close to effortless, chest feeling tight with fondness instead of anxiety or nerves. But that's more Seunghyun's doing than it is him. He's so much in transition that he doesn't know what he really is most of the time. Moderately okay, maybe. Better than he was with a penchant for backsliding. Occasionally something approximating happy.

Is that progress? Probably, yeah.

Jiyong tries to internalize that and make it stick, wandering over to the fridge. There's leftover mac and cheese that didn't come from a box, because Seunghyun prepared it the other night with the sole purpose of ensuring Jiyong didn't die of starvation while he was at work.

“Where would I be without you?” he asks the relative silence of the kitchen, grabbing the container and a clean pot on his way to the stove.

He's not actually that helpless. But Seunghyun likes to take care of him and Jiyong likes that he likes it. Which is a lot, admitting it to himself. As is admitting that he wants to reciprocate, if he can. He's just not sure he knows how. It's one of the reasons he feels so lost.

Stirring the noodles with one hand, Jiyong checks the time on his phone with the other, realizing it's only been five minutes. He never thought he'd be the cliché—counting the hours until he could see someone again, thinking about them every second he's not thinking about something else. It's almost embarrassing. Except that with Seunghyun around, it's easier to be whatever he is and not hate himself for it. Or feel weird when he doesn't, which is starting to happen a lot more often.

“, maybe I really am a pod person,” Jiyong mutters.

Somewhere, off in the distance, he's pretty sure he can hear Ethan whooping in triumph.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

In the spirit of keeping a good thing going, Jiyong takes another brave step outside of his comfort zone on day fifty-nine. For the average person, wading blindly into the murky depths of socializing in public isn't usually a big deal. For him it's a little different. Especially because it's Thanksgiving weekend. At night. In a bar. Seunghyun's bar, specifically. The one with the crazy old guy who thinks he's from another planet and a bunch of judgmental hipsters. It seemed like a good idea at the time—Jiyong had already been out for a walk for the sake of walking, head in a decent place, vulnerable to impulse. But he forgot it was Friday and didn't think about how crowded it might be. How chaotic and loud with all the voices trying to be heard above the music spewing from the jukebox.

For about ten very uncomfortable seconds, he hovers in fight or flight mode, wondering what the hell he was thinking. Then Seunghyun pops out from the back room behind the bar, a towel thrown over one shoulder and cotton candy hair in adorable disarray. Jiyong's heart pauses just long enough in its panic to trip over itself at the sight of him. He watches dumbly as Seunghyun sets down a crate of glasses, wipes his hands off on the towel, and moves to say something to his coworker. That's when Seunghyun's eyes look past the other bartender and land on Jiyong's probably hilariously conflicted face.

“Hey!”

He sees the exclamation more than hears it, but it doesn't take much to imagine the way it sounded coming out of Seunghyun's mouth. Surprised. Excited. Happy.

Jiyong awkwardly lifts his hand in a wave just as Seunghyun bounds over to him like the Cocker Spaniel that he is.

“What are you doing here?” he not-quite-shouts, all grins as he cups Jiyong's cheeks in his enormous hands. “Why didn't you tell me you were coming?”

“I was in the neighborhood.”

“, your face is so cold,” Seunghyun chuckles, leaning close and squishing said cold face until Jiyong's lips pucker like a fish.

He rolls his eyes—thinks he's probably blushing, but it's hard to tell since his cheeks are pretty much frozen solid.

“Come sit down, it's my turn to make you a drink.”

Seunghyun lets his hands drop, tugging on Jiyong's jacket. Jiyong follows him through the press of bodies and refuses to give in to the erratic skipping of his heartbeat when the noise reaches a brief crescendo. It almost drowns out the static in his head, but then Seunghyun is pushing him gently onto a stool at the far end of the bar counter. Then Seunghyun is smiling at him from the other side, affection written plainly in every crease and crinkle. Jiyong stares at his dimples and forgets about everyone else.

Well. Tries to.

“So's this the famous boyfriend I've heard so much about?” the other woman behind the bar asks with a soft twang in her voice, working on drying off some pint glasses. She's older—hair curling in wild salt and pepper tendrils from the ponytail thrown over her shoulder. Jiyong can see the crow's feet at the corners of her eyes. The hints of inked lines dipping below the sleeves of her worn t-shirt.

Seunghyun's smile falters. “Val, this is Jiyong. Jiyong, Val. My boss.”

“Nice to meet you,” Jiyong offers.

“Likewise,” Val replies with a smirk. “Though this one here talks about you so much, I feel like I already have.”

The expression on Seunghyun's face speaks of the deepest betrayal. “Really?” he demands, arms flailing. “Just like that.”

Val tilts her head back and barks out a throaty laugh.

“What? It's the damn truth.”

“Ignore her,” Seunghyun pleads as he slumps forward on the counter. “What can I get you?”

Except Jiyong doesn't know how to answer, because he's marveling at their easy camaraderie. Like Ethan. Like Zahra. Like anyone, apparently, once Seunghyun can trust them with pieces of himself. He looks at Seunghyun looking at him and realizes that he's still jealous. He probably shouldn't be, because he is who he is and he's been doing a hell of a lot better, but...

There's always that fleeting moment when he thinks it would be infinitely easier to be someone else.

“You talk about me?” Jiyong asks, unable to help himself.

Seunghyun frowns at him slightly.

“It's kind of hard not to?”

Words he never thought he'd hear come out of anyone's mouth. “I'm surprised you even have anything to say,” Jiyong says with a self-deprecating huff.

“Excuse you,” Seunghyun balks, brows raised so high, it's a miracle they don't fly off his face. “I could talk myself hoarse before I ran out of things to say about you.”

He laughs, ducking his head and wishing he'd asked for a drink first, needing something to do with his hands besides wedge them into his armpits defensively.

“I find that hard to believe.”

Seunghyun scoffs. “I can't believe you. Are you issuing an official challenge?”

“Maybe.” Jiyong smirks.

“We'll discuss this later,” Seunghyun tells him, pointing threateningly before reaching out to poke him in the forehead. “C'mon, drink. What do you want?”

“I dunno. You decide, since you seem to know me so well,” he quips, rubbing at the sore spot.

Seunghyun nods and pushes away from the bar, smile sharp. “I see how it is.”

He laughs again, mostly to himself, and watches as Seunghyun begins to drift around behind the bar.

Everything about this is still so weird. No matter how well he may or may not be doing at any given moment. It's really not even that he doesn't believe Seunghyun, because if anyone could find a way to talk about Jiyong until they lost their voice, it would be the idiot standing in front of him. It's more that they can joke about like this in the first place. That he's at a point where he can criticize and make fun of himself in the same breath. That he found someone who can call him out on it, then mercilessly immediately after, because Seunghyun knows exactly what it's like. Doubting yourself right down to the marrow.

Jiyong chews on his lip. That might be a little dramatic. Still true.

“So, Jiyong, you gonna come to our open mic night in a couple weeks?” Val asks, interrupting his thoughts. “Our shining star'll be performing for the first time in quite a while.”

“You're worse than Ethan, you know that?” Seunghyun tosses over his shoulder.

“C'mon, let an old woman have her fun.”

She flicks her towel out to hit Seunghyun's back, making him rumble with laughter.

“I didn't know there was one coming up,” Jiyong says.

“For the record, I had every intention of asking you.” Seunghyun gives him a brief, but meaningful, look as he puts the finishing touches on his creation. “I'm just...nervous.”

Val snorts. “Hush, you'll be fine. You always steal the show.”

“No pressure, or anything,” Seunghyun sighs.

A curved tumbler of dark liquid appears in front of him, complete with a sprig of lavender leaning against the rim. Jiyong's lips twitch and he lifts the glass to take a sip, Seunghyun watching him carefully as he does. But he's not a very good actor, at least not when it comes to a certain pink-haired poet, and he couldn't have hid his surprise even if he'd wanted to—tastebuds assaulted by something both smoky and sweet. He smiles wider. Seunghyun grins in bashful triumph.

Then Val steps into their bubble once again, placing a hand on Seunghyun's arm.

“Why don't you take a few minutes, sweetheart. I can handle the bar.”

Right. The bar. Full of noisy strangers Jiyong had momentarily forgotten about. A wave of self-consciousness hits him as Seunghyun rounds the counter to sit beside him. He turns and glances at the crowded room over his shoulder, but Seunghyun's fingers splay out over his thigh, bringing him back before the panic can even think to resurface.

“How is it?” Seunghyun asks, leaning closer still.

“Good. Weird.” Jiyong takes another small sip and rolls the strange combination of flavors over his tongue. “What's in it?”

“Earl grey tea, gin, bit of honey and lemon.”

“I like it,” he decides. “I guess you do know me pretty well after all.”

The alcohol burns warm in his stomach. But it's no match for the softness in Seunghyun's eyes when he drops his head into his hand and starts dragging lazy circles against Jiyong's leg. Few things are. He breathes in slowly, the blend of music and chatter now a constant reminder that they're not actually alone. Jiyong breathes out and tells himself that it doesn't matter.

“I wasn't trying to keep secrets from you, by the way,” Seunghyun says, close enough now that he doesn't have to raise his voice to be heard. “I've just been having a hard time with this, uh, this new piece.”

“Can I help?” Jiyong asks. Seunghyun gives him a wry smile and drops his gaze to the small space between them.

“It was supposed to be a gift.”

Oh.

He swallows around the sudden tightness in his throat. “Y-You can still talk to me about it,” he offers, not allowing his brain to fixate on the reality of Seunghyun writing something for him. “Even if it's just vague ranting. Or whatever.”

Seunghyun nods and looks up again. “Okay.”

Already, Jiyong knows that as soon as he's given a moment to let his thoughts take over, that he'll have to talk himself down from freaking out about it. The gacha toys were one thing. The meals and Seunghyun's unwavering and selfless presence another. This? This is something he can't even begin to acknowledge, so he doesn't. He just desperately finds a way to change the subject and ignores the all too familiar sensation occupying his chest.

“What time are we going over to Ethan's tomorrow, anyway?” He downs the rest of his drink in the hopes it smothers his customary urge to bolt.

“I think he said any time after five was cool.”

Jiyong nods now. He's really barreling through this non-existent checklist of firsts, isn't he. Though, honestly, he never imagined he'd be crossing off Thanksgiving, of all things. Seunghyun squeezes his thigh a little and Jiyong smiles.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Seunghyun asks, like he doesn't already know.

Lifting a shoulder, he sets his glass down, leaning on the counter and bringing himself further into Seunghyun's space. “They're not worth that much.”

Dark, amused eyes travel over his face. Jiyong tries not to shy away from the blatant admiration.

“Wouldn't ask if I didn't wanna know,” Seunghyun replies.

He huffs out a dry laugh. He should've seen that one coming, really. Jiyong takes another breath.

“I'm trying not to think about the fact that you're writing something for me,” he says, easy with his honesty for once. “And, in doing so, have started to psych myself out about tomorrow. On top of the fact that I'm sitting in a crowded bar on a Friday night.”

Seunghyun winces.

“Sorry.”

But Jiyong just squints at him. “Shut up,” he sighs, stealing Seunghyun's hand to hold it in both of his own. “It is what it is. I'm fine and you're an , business as usual.”

This achieves the desired effect of drawing out Seunghyun's deep, rolling laughter. The blinding grin, dimples enthusiastically on display. Jiyong wonders if any part of this will ever seem real.

“Can you stay?” Seunghyun asks. He threads his fingers in between Jiyong's. “I don't have to close tonight, so I'm off in about an hour, and we can walk home together.”

We can walk home together. The need to laugh feels a bit like it might edge into hysteria if he let it.

“Yeah. I'll stay.”

“Awesome. I should get back.”

Seunghyun squeezes his fingers but doesn't let go, already halfway off the stool, like his body and his brain had two different ideas and didn't consult each other first. The result is Seunghyun's face hovering a few inches from his own and Jiyong is only capable of dealing with so much at once.

“I know I'm kind of putting you on the spot, because we've never really talked about it, but...” Seunghyun pauses, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “What are your feelings on flagrant, public displays of affection?”

His own mouth begins to twitch in response, since astonishment isn't exactly at the forefront of things Jiyong is feeling right now. Undeserving is probably right there at the top. The good kind of overwhelmed coming in at a close second.

“If this is another way of asking whether or not you can kiss me, the answer hasn't changed,” he breathes.

Despite the explicit permission, Seunghyun still takes his sweet- time. It brings a flush back to his cheeks and invites the flutter to expand beyond its usual capacity, because even though Jiyong knows why, it only seems to make it that much worse. He also knows he could easily do something about the negligible amount of space between them himself. He could, but he doesn't. Jiyong's pretty sure Seunghyun gets off on the anticipation written all over his face.

Slowly, the fingers of Seunghyun's free hand lift to his jaw and slide around to the back of his neck. The bar sounds fade from his awareness, the beating of his own heart in his ears too loud. Seconds before Seunghyun closes the gap, Jiyong mentally declares his boyfriend the ing worst, and then thinks nothing at all, because there are soft lips pressing against his and it's...

It's really nice.

A bubble of amusement floats up from his lungs. Seunghyun grins as he pulls back, eyes crinkling in that overly fond way of his.

“Thank you.”

Jiyong's eyebrows knit together. “For?”

But Seunghyun shakes his head. “Just thank you,” he answers.

Then Seunghyun slips away to step behind the bar, leaving Jiyong feeling like his body is too small again. Too small for the creeping warmth filling all of his empty spaces and then some. Too small for the laughter still hanging around in his throat. He inhales, catches Seunghyun's gaze, and loses it.

“What's so funny?” Seunghyun asks, grinning through his confusion while he reaches for Jiyong's empty glass to clean it out.

“Nothing,” he giggles and sighs. Jiyong fans at his too-hot face and wonders if he's going to cycle through every conceivable human emotion tonight. “You're welcome.”

This elicits a pleased snort from Seunghyun, which only makes him start laughing harder. Strangers are probably looking at him like he's crazy. Or maybe no one's paying him any attention at all. Either way, he can't really bring himself to care much at the moment, enjoying the giddy weightlessness of what the part of him that isn't an is still calling happiness.

“Am I gonna have to cut you off after one drink, Kwon?” Seunghyun teases, quirking a skeptical eyebrow at him, clearly trying to contain his own amusement.

“No, no. I swear I'm fine, just—“ Jiyong shoves a hand through his hair and takes another deep breath. His mouth won't stop curling. “I'm glad I decided to swing by. That's all.”

It's not all, but it'll have to do. He doesn't even know how to articulate what he's feeling to himself let alone anyone else. Seunghyun would probably understand anyway, and Jiyong thinks he probably still does, considering the sappy expression he's currently on the receiving end of.

“Me, too,” Seunghyun agrees.

“Make less eyes and more drinks, Seunghyun, or I'm puttin' you on closing shift,” Val interrupts gruffly, shuffling past him to get a bottle from one of the far shelves. “Alone,” she adds as a warning.

It's kind of hilarious—the panic that flickers over Seunghyun's face when he straightens and gives Val a rigid salute.

“Yes, ma'am.”

She smirks. “That's what I like to hear.”

Jiyong chuckles as Seunghyun slinks off like a scolded child. He watches him work for a few minutes. Watches the ease with which Seunghyun draws others into his orbit, even only temporarily. The ease with which he moves behind the bar, reaching for bottles and glasses without much of a thought, always aware of Val's position in relation to his own. It's like they're dancing. The choreographies that create themselves once you stop trying to do something and just do it. Jiyong knows he's nowhere near that level at the cafe, but seeing Seunghyun like this makes him want to be.

Dragging his finger through leftover condensation on the worn, wooden counter, he finds himself smiling again. Tomorrow might be hard. So could the next day, and the day after that. In fact, they probably will be, but the difference now, is that he thinks he's okay with that.

He inhales, catches Seunghyun's gaze, and feels grateful.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

When Jiyong was growing up, he always used to wonder what the big deal was about holidays. He'd barely celebrated his own birthday, let alone anything else. Didn't have enough friends to wonder why his non-participatory family of two might've been strange. Jiyong's dad left before he was old enough to miss him, his mom's side was scattered and too far away. Not to mention, she was in her own world most of the time. Probably didn't even register the days that were passing her by. Not in any meaningful capacity, anyway.

So this friends getting together and cooking together and keeping their respective family traditions alive thing is kind of beyond him. Kind of intimidating, kind of something that makes him feel wrong, because it's yet another thing he's missing. Which he knows is stupid. He went over this last night, he is who he is. And he is who he is because of the things he's missing. Still. It's yet another social experience he's never had before and Jiyong has only just gotten his sea legs. Or whatever.

Or whatever.

Then why does he suddenly feel like he's never been on a boat before in his life? Which he hasn't, actually, but for the sake of the metaphor, he's ignoring that small detail. Jiyong shoves a hand into his hair and continues to pace Seunghyun's kitchen, the smell of freshly baked cookies doing nothing to calm this jittery, anxious energy he can't shake.

“We don't have to go, you know,” Seunghyun offers, rummaging through a cabinet to find some tupperware containers.

He sighs.

“If I let myself believe I never had to do anything, Seunghyun, I probably wouldn't even be here right now.”

Abruptly, the rummaging stops. Seunghyun stands and catches him mid-pace, arms wrapping around his waist from behind, holding him still. It should feel stifling, but it doesn't. Jiyong breathes in slow; lets himself sink back into the solid warmth.

“What can I do?” Seunghyun asks, barely more than a whisper in his ear.

“This,” he answers without hesitation. “This is good.”

Seunghyun huffs gently in amusement and holds him a bit tighter. Jiyong lets his own arms rest over Seunghyun's. It shouldn't be so hard, he thinks. And yet it seems like his brain is constantly and gleefully setting traps for him to fall into.

“Tell me what you're afraid of,” Seunghyun says.

He rolls the question around for a moment and comes up short, frowning.

“I don't know.”

A thoughtful hum resonates in Seunghyun's chest. “Could it be, that you're so used to avoiding or running away from the things that make you uncomfortable, that it's more habit than actual fear?”

“Sounds like you're speaking from experience.”

“I am.”

Of course. Jiyong shoves aside the part of him that wants to resist this just because it's easier than taking a closer look.

“I think that probably has a lot to do with it, yeah,” he admits quietly.

“Could it also be—” Seunghyun starts and stops as he squeezes Jiyong tighter still. “Could it also be that maybe you're afraid to be given love?”

His eyes widen a little, not expecting them to dig in any deeper than they already had. It strikes a dissonant chord in him, regardless, and now he's wondering if Seunghyun chose to hug him from behind on purpose. With the intent to bring them here.

“Wow,“ he blurts.

Immediately, Seunghyun backpedals and Jiyong doesn't need to see him to guess how hard he's wincing.

“, sorry. That was too far, I'm—“

“No,” Jiyong cuts him off before he can't, holding Seunghyun in place so he doesn't pull away. That's the last thing he wants, even though his thoughts are kind of all over the ing place, because that question is so loaded he has no idea where to start. But— but he can't deny its validity. “It's fine. You're um...” He sighs again, feeling too small. Always too small. “You're not wrong.”

This is a consequence of being known, he understands that. If it was anyone other than Seunghyun, Jiyong probably wouldn't even be having this conversation. And he needs to be pushed. Desperately. The tiny nudges he gives himself will never be enough.

Dropping his chin to the curve of Jiyong's shoulder, glasses digging awkwardly into Jiyong's skin, Seunghyun exhales heavily. “I wish I was.”

“You wouldn't have bothered if you didn't already know.” Jiyong lets out a slight laugh. “You always know.”

“Not always.”

“Fine. Most of the time.”

Seunghyun turns to smile against his neck. “Only because I see so much of myself in you.”

It's both comforting and depressing to hear that. Jiyong leans more of his weight back into Seunghyun, admittedly enjoying the physical support as much as the emotional. He's lucky. But he also still feels undeserving, which kind of drives the whole point home, doesn't it.

“Did you struggle with it?” he asks, voice quiet. Tentative. “Being loved.”

“Yeah. Still do.”

Jiyong's throat tightens and he bites into his lower lip to keep himself from saying something stupid.

“What, um,” he pauses to breathe. “What do you do to get over it?”

“Remind myself that I have worth,” Seunghyun responds.

Ah yes, his favorite pastime. Jiyong huffs. “Sounds easy.”

“Mmm.” Seunghyun's mouth curves against his neck again. “A piece of cake.”

“I might have to save that one for another day.”

“As long as you don't forget entirely.”

The silence that follows is a bit on the heavy side, charged with the words they aren't saying. The word they aren't saying, to each other. It would seem absolutely insane to Jiyong that he was even thinking it, if his entire body didn't feel like an emotional ing clown car.

Are they really already here, though? Jiyong closes his eyes and imagines life without his own personal solar flare, conjuring the alternative with far too much ease. Because it wasn't that long ago that he was wallowing in his own pointlessness. But doesn't that make where he's standing right now a more profound achievement? He draws in a shaky breath and honestly just tries not to cry. If he cries, he's going to start babbling about how much he loves Seunghyun and they're already running late.

Like he knows, because he always knows, Seunghyun shifts to press an achingly soft kiss to Jiyong's temple. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” I love you. “I think so.”

“We should probably get going.”

“Right.”

Jiyong breathes in and then out, Seunghyun squeezing him extra tight before drawing away. The absence of warmth and support is somewhat jarring, reality creeping in every time he's forced to remember he can't just hide in Seunghyun's arms forever.

I love you.

He can't stop thinking it now that he's given it permission to exist and he's still standing there in the middle of the kitchen when Seunghyun finishes packing the cookies and pulls on his jacket, offering Jiyong's coat up in invitation.

“You sure you're okay?” Seunghyun asks.

Jiyong nods as he goes to slip his coat on. He's fine. He's fantastic, not internally unraveling in slow motion or anything equally overblown and dramatic. I love you, I love you, I—

Long fingers tip his chin upward, forcing him to look at Seunghyun directly. It's kind of intense after only hearing him speak. Warm, brown eyes bore into his own. Jiyong's heart might be trying to claw its way out through his mouth.

“Embrace the choice to move, Jiyong,” Seunghyun tells him, not unkindly. “You do it every day.”

Holding Seunghyun's gaze, he takes another deep breath and tells himself he really has nothing to be afraid of. No reason to hide, despite wanting to shy away from the shaky fluttering in his wrists and his stomach. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't tired of running in the opposite direction of literally everything. Of feeling like doing nothing was always going to be the better option.

“Yeah.” Jiyong swallows thickly. “I know.”

I love you.

He takes Seunghyun's hand in his and holds fast.

“Thanks.”

“You're welcome,” Seunghyun smirks, dark eyes dancing.

I—

Jiyong drags them through the door before he can act on impulse. He can unpack this later, he's really good at it now, after all. And anyway, they're late. He's not running.

He's not.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“Hey, you were at Seunghyun's birthday party, right?”

Jiyong looks up from his phone, finding a tall boy with long, dark hair smiling down at him. They'd obviously met before. He presses his back more firmly against the wall of Ethan's apartment.

“Yeah.”

“I'm Alec.” Alec reaches out to shake his hand. “We only talked for, like, a few minutes I think.”

“Jiyong,” he returns, letting his hand drop limp at his side. “And yeah, something like that.”

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

“Dude, I know!” A stocky guy exclaims from further down the table. Most of them are sitting now, the warm smell of freshly cooked food filling the room. “I used to hate visiting my family for Passover, because it was boring as . But you bet your I was gonna be the first kid to find the ing matzah bread.”

“You had to look for bread?” Katherine, Zahra's roommate, asks, slouched in her chair and eyebrows raised.

“It's called the afikomen, which means dessert, but only because it's the last thing eaten during the seder. The leader hides it and the kids go hunt it down so the seder can conclude. We got rewards and , usually chocolate. I just liked winning,” stocky guy explains easily, wearing a box-like grin.

Another girl Jiyong doesn't know laughs to his right. “I see not much has changed.”

“ off,” stocky guy grumbles.

Katherine lets out a sigh. “The only reward I got for dealing with my family was awkward, wine-fueled stories from my Aunt Thea.”

“Oh, we had those, too,” stocky guy chuckles. “My Uncle was the worst.”

“Speaking of wine.”

The girl Jiyong doesn't know smirks as she reaches for one of the dark bottles sitting in the middle of the table and they all laugh. He manages a smile, holding up the door frame leading into the hallway now. Seunghyun's been in the kitchen with Ethan this whole time and Zahra couldn't find someone to cover her shift at work. He feels unmoored without something familiar to latch onto. Set adrift in the kind of way he's never liked. Jiyong realizes this is an opportunity and that he should probably take it, but he can't seem to muster the initiative. He's here isn't he. That's enough, right? Not everything has to be a grand gesture of personal growth.

One of Ethan's cackles floats out from the kitchen, followed by a rumbling amusement Jiyong would recognize anywhere.

He takes a sip from his glass and switches shoulders.

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

“Thanks for coming, everyone,” Ethan proclaims warmly from the head of the dining room table, arms spread wide. “I've been too busy to do this for a while, and it's really nice to focus on something other than work for a bit.”

Katherine snorts. “You're married to your job, don't lie, old man.”

“I'm also married to a good time.” Ethan hams it up, tipping matching finger guns in her general direction.

“Hear, hear!” stocky guy cheers. The others laugh.

“Enjoy the food, friends. Enjoy the company.” The grin on Ethan's face stretches to capacity. “Let's celebrate found family instead of the genocide of an entire culture.”

Multiple voices chorus an “amen” and then it's the clatter of ceramic and silverware—Seunghyun's foot nudging his from across the table. Jiyong nudges him back, but doesn't say anything.

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

“So what do you do?” a latecomer asks, sandwiched at the end of the table between him and Alec. Jiyong thinks he was at Seunghyun's party. Jae? He thinks it was Jae.

He chews slowly in the hopes to delay another wonderfully stimulating conversation.

“I work with Ethan. He's my boss.”

Jae's bright eyes widen, a smile tugging at the edges of his mouth. “Oh, cool.”

“You?”

“Trader Joe's and bartending with that idiot,” Jae laughs while gesturing to Seunghyun. “But I do some freelance illustration on the side when I can. The hustle isn't called the hustle for nothing, right?”

Jiyong nods; knows this is the part where he's supposed to sympathize. He shrugs instead. “I wouldn't really know.”

“No labors of love?”

“Not really.”

A knot starts to form between Jae's thick eyebrows.

“Something must interest you.”

Jiyong huffs quietly. “Must it?” he asks, sliding Jae an, admittedly, judgmental glance.

“Guess not,” Jae replies. He looks like he wants to argue. “Sounds like a sad life to me, though.”

“Good thing it's mine and not yours,” Jiyong counters.

Those bright eyes widen for a different reason now, an embarrassed blush coloring Jae's cheeks as he ducks his head and chuckles unevenly.

“Sorry.”

A sigh sits in his lungs, waiting.

“It's fine.”

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

“Yo, little bird. How's it going?” Ethan corners him in the living room. They haven't spoken one-on-one all night.

“Fine.”

“You know that's the most common lie ever told.”

Jiyong smiles at him slightly then turns back to the window. “You caught me.”

“What's up?”

“Not much. Just reaffirming my inability to hold meaningful conversations with people.”

Ethan scoffs. “What about me? We converse meaningfully all the time.”

“Stockholm syndrome,” Jiyong deadpans. Ethan punches him lightly in the arm.

“Funny.”

He lets a real smile crawl across his face now and the sigh leaks from his mouth, finally. “Connecting with people has never been part of my skillset,” Jiyong admits. Shouldn't it be obvious? “Even after the small talk. Maybe especially then.”

“Maybe. But you've connected with plenty of new people just fine, from where I'm standing. Becca, Zahra, myself, our beloved Sylvia,” Ethan says. “Numbers aren't everything, my friend. Quality over quantity.”

One of Ethan's large hands lands on his shoulder and squeezes. He nods. In defeat or agreement, he doesn't know yet.

“Yeah.”

“We're about to unleash the pies, by the way. So...” Ethan's hand slips away. He winks, tapping his own nose. “Stay sharp.”

Jiyong laughs a little. “Sure, Ethan.”

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

He's standing at the window again when a pair of long arms snake around him from behind.

“Are you burnt out yet?” Seunghyun asks into his hair.

Jiyong takes a moment to savor the contact, then turns around, and Seunghyun automatically reaches up to slide his palm against Jiyong's cheek. He savors that, too.

“Pretty close,” he says.

“We can leave soon, if you want.”

“You don't have to come with me.”

“I know.” Seunghyun leans in until their foreheads touch, a smirk toying with the corner of his lips. “But I've grown rather fond of sleeping with you.”

Jiyong laughs. “Okay.”

But then Seunghyun pulls back abruptly, eyebrows furrowed and raised.

“Unless you don't want me to go with you?”

“Really?” Jiyong asks, even raising an eyebrow of his own. He hopes it properly expresses how stupid he thinks Seunghyun is.

“I'm only like, ninety-five percent fluent in Jiyong, all right? That last five percent is super tricky,” Seunghyun explains, with all one-hundred and ten percent of his overwhelming sincerity.

The urge to roll his eyes is strong.

“Let me un-trick it for you,” Jiyong tells him instead, because he's not a mysterious puzzle, just a person. “I can't count the number of times I haven't really wanted to be around you, because there aren't any.”

Seunghyun tries to squint through the spotlight that is his face. “You'd let me know if there was, though.”

“Unlikely, but yes.”

“Good.”

He stares for a while, getting that surreal not-his-life feeling again as Seunghyun stares back. But it is. And he really did just say that, quite possibly out-cheesing Seunghyun for the first time ever. Jiyong would blush if he wasn't caught somewhere between social exhaustion and his own self-loathing.

“I'm gonna say goodnight to Ethan,” he says quietly. Seunghyun nods and steps back.

Making his way towards the kitchen, following the sound of hearty, bell-laughter, Jiyong wonders if he'll ever get past this weird, nebulous place he seems to have found himself in.

Not great. Not terrible. Not happy. Not sad. He snatches bits of each at any given moment.

Maybe that's the way it's supposed to be. Maybe that’s the secret.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Zahra

[Sent Nov 27 8:21PM]

sorry i missed friendsgiving!!

Zahra

[Sent Nov 27 8:21PM]

things at work have just

been mega crazy. i hope

it wasn’t too horrible :(

[Sent Nov 27 8:25PM]

Not horrible

Zahra

[Sent Nov 27 8:26PM]

sooo convincing

[Sent Nov 27 8:26PM]

Really, it wasn’t

Zahra

[Sent Nov 27 8:27PM]

fine don’t tell me

Zahra

[Sent Nov 27 8:27PM]

i’ll squeeze it out of you

next weekend when i’m

no longer a slave to the

corporate machine

[Sent Nov 27 8:28PM]

I can’t wait

Zahra

[Sent Nov 27 8:29PM]

icu sarcastic sally

[Sent Nov 27 8:29PM]

;p

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Two days later, Jiyong’s general state of mind hasn’t changed much. He’s tired. Listless. Stuck in a holding pattern he is all too familiar with. The only difference is that Seunghyun seems to be in the same boat this time. Jiyong doesn’t know if he unwittingly passed it on, like some psychological cold, or if it was just overdue. Part of it is probably stress over the upcoming open mic night. Jiyong doesn’t have enough information to guess at anything else, and he has to admit that the flutter is more trepidation than anything else as he climbs up the fire escape stairs and slips in through the open window.

Because Seunghyun is so good at being a source of comfort for him that he’s afraid his own attempts won’t measure up.

“Seunghyun?” he calls into the empty living room.

“In here.”

The bedroom is dark when Jiyong nudges the door wider and steps inside. Faint light pushes through heavy curtains--enough to make out the lump of Seunghyun on the floor, huddled under a blanket and leaning against his bed. That bad, huh? He doesn’t know what he was expecting, though.

“Hey,” Jiyong greets quietly.

Seunghyun glances up at him, offering the barest hint of a wan smile. “Hey.”

It’s never really been awkward between them, but he can’t deny feeling it now as he lingers in the doorway wracking his brain for what to do. What to say. Jiyong tries to remember all the things he hates when he’s like this. The platitudes, the false sympathy. He can’t know what Seunghyun actually needs if Seunghyun doesn’t tell him, and that seems unlikely when Seunghyun is, basically, ignoring him.

“I, um--” Jiyong swears he’s five seconds from wringing his goddamn hands. “I can go? If you don’t actually want anyone around. I just thought I’d come check on you.”

Seunghyun had texted him about twenty minutes ago. It took that long to convince himself how stupid he was being.

“No, stay,” Seunghyun answers easily and pats the floor beside him.

A weird rush of relief passes through Jiyong. “Okay.”

He sits--close enough that they’re almost touching, but not. It’s actually kind of uncomfortable, having to curb his impulses now. He was just getting used to letting himself do whatever. Is this how Seunghyun felt before Jiyong gave him the green light? He wants to feel guilty, but knows that’s stupid, too.

“Do you have to work later?” Seunghyun asks, pulling him out of his head.

“I switched shifts.”

When Jiyong turns, Seunghyun is still looking at him. He takes it as a good sign.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to,” Jiyong says. “In case you didn’t want to be alone.”

There’s a moment, then, where his words hang between them and everything outside of this room seems very far away. Just the soft darkness, the sound of their breathing, the tugging in his chest from the way Seunghyun is staring. It’s different than the other times, because Jiyong is the one offering something. Jiyong is the one asking.

Seunghyun’s smile creeps onto his face slowly, far more real than the last one, and he tips closer, dropping his head to Jiyong’s shoulder.

“Thank you.”

Such a simple thing, those two words. And yet, for them, it always feels like it means so much more.

Jiyong doesn’t reply, because he doesn’t need to, just adjusts slightly, pressing his mouth to pastel pink and closing his eyes. Is this all it takes? he wonders. Or is it different every time? He’s been what he is for so long, he can’t speak from experience, since it rarely changes. Had rarely changed, his brain corrects him. Had rarely changed. He’s a little more inconsistent these days, he supposes.

Shifting, Seunghyun frees a hand from under the blanket and slides it into his. Jiyong breathes in, squeezing their fingers gently. When there’s a firm squeeze back, his heart squeezes with it, and he hopes, against all odds, that he’ll have a chance to learn all the ways Seunghyun might need him.

“Can I get you anything?” he asks a few minutes later, just to be sure.

“No.” Seunghyun gives a small shake of his head. “This is good.”

“Okay,” Jiyong says again. 

And it is.