Rain and wind whipped against Junkyu’s windows, but he stared outside, unblinking, seemingly lost in a different world. If anything, the pattering sound of the rain provided a soothing background to his growing feeling of melancholy. Which was silly considering he was, at the moment, at a company of. . . a guest. 

Junkyu looked at the man sleeping beside him and experienced—he must have spaced out for so long that it came almost as a shock—a slight nostalgia. He couldn’t remember when was the last time he had seen Jihoon at this peaceful state, his face a painting of childlike innocence. Junkyu blinked and looked away.

He knew that if he stared long enough, Jihoon would sense it, as he had always had, like it was a secret energy that could be passed simply through the eyes, and Jihoon would wake up and find Junkyu watching him. Jihoon had always loved it, but Junkyu personally never liked being watched over while he was asleep, not even if it was Jihoon. 

Junkyu got to his feet and walked up to the kitchenette to check on his chicken soup. It had always helped with Jihoon’s hangover. There were ready-to-cook sorts now, of course, and Junkyu could have simply bought one from the convenience store across his apartment, but he had chosen to make one himself because he had wanted to have an excuse to be busy in case Jihoon woke up earlier and decided to put up a show filled with apologies and stupid promises. A continuation of last night’s.

Junkyu had had enough of all the drama. He had too much emotional baggage and all he really wanted right now was to just crawl in his bed and sleep. But obviously, with Jihoon around, that wasn’t happening anytime soon. 

On the bright side though, he felt relieved. What could have possibly turned his week sourly had at least been mitigated by Jihoon’s reckless drinking and his nerve to bang on Junkyu’s door in the small hours of the night.

A blessing in ing disguise.

At least now he wouldn’t have to swim the whole week and the week to follow through self-blame caused by the fact that while Junkyu was debating his feelings and enduring regret and guilt, Jihoon had been keeping himself busy. And at least Junkyu wouldn’t have to rack his mind on the fact that in spite of the uncertainties this relationship constituted he had loyally devoted his time and effort to Jihoon, Jihoon, in the ready, had other. . . options. 

“Kyu?”

Junkyu jumped. Thinking quickly, he swallowed, giving the soup one last stir, before turning. He walked out of the kitchenette with an impersonal look, almost boring. 

“You’re awake,” he said and felt dumb. He was almost sure he’d lost his poise until he saw a disoriented Jihoon sitting up, wrapped up in a thick blanket, his hair tousled from sleep, and his eyes so puffy he looked like he had just been in a brawl. Junkyu tried hard to suppress a smile. 

Jihoon was not meeting Junkyu’s eyes. And Junkyu softened at the sight. Jihoon must have probably realized by now what he had done last night and how he had come to be in Junkyu’s apartment in the first place. After all, he hadn’t been blindly drunk as he had. . . acted . In fact Junkyu suspected that it was only to cover up his embarrassment because Jihoon did that all the time. He had this exaggerated way of talking or moving when he was about to get personal. But Junkyu knew, too, that Jihoon was smart and had as much self-control, so Junkyu knew that despite last night’s outburst, Jihoon had still had enough sense to have remembered what had happened.

“How are you feeling?” Junkyu asked.

At this Jihoon cast a quick glance at Junkyu, smiling feebly, then ruffled his hair. “Fine, I guess,” he said, which, obviously, was a lie. Then, evidently forcing himself to look Junkyu in the eye, he added, “Sorry for. . . bothering you.” 

“I have chicken soup,” said Junkyu, “if you’re feeling famished.”

Junkyu watched as Jihoon’s Adam's apple bob in his throat. “Actually, can I. . .” Jihoon gulped again, “can I have some water, Kyu?”

Junkyu, who had expected this, pointed at the glass of water on the bedside table. Jihoon, who saw it, embarrassedly reached for it with his right hand, making the blanket slide gently from his shoulder, revealing half of his ness. 

Junkyu averted his eyes. Jihoon had definitely beefed up, and it showed in his body. When Junkyu had undressed him last night, he was too furious to actually take notice. 

Without even realizing it, Junkyu looked again, letting his eyes roam freely on Jihoon’s improved physique. Then he caught Jihoon’s eye peering over the glass water, which the latter chugged hungrily. Junkyu looked on, willing to contest, because he didn’t want to appear guilty of having just been caught red handed. 

Jihoon capitulated, putting the glass back on the small table. 

“Chicken soup?” said Junkyu. 

Jihoon, with a rather dramatic effect, looked up and smiled at Junkyu, caressing his exposed chest. Junkyu almost rolled his eyes before turning, all while trying to deny to his body that whatever Jihoon just did worked and was now ingrained in Junkyu’s mind.

When Junkyu returned with the chicken soup and a cup of coffee, Jihoon was already sitting by the edge of the bed, topless, trying to put on his discarded shirt, which Junkyu remembered with regret he had thrown on the floor beside Jihoon’s shoes.

“That reeks of alcohol and sweat, you know,” Junkyu said, stopping Jihoon as he put down the tray on the table by the window. 

Jihoon, looking up, stopped.

“I’ll get you a new one,” said Junkyu, walking up to his small closet, “you have clothes here.”

Junkyu handed a long-sleeved yellow shirt. Jihoon took it but did not put it on. He stood up and walked to the table, sat down and started on the chicken soup. He finished it in no time without even stopping. 

“There’s more in the pan,” said Junkyu.

Jihoon nodded and got up, taking a sip of his coffee before walking up to the kitchenette. Meanwhile, Junkyu walked to the bed and was just about to pick up Jihoon’s old shirt when the reality of the situation and flashbacks of the events that had led them both here in the first place started creeping back, hitting Junkyu like cold ice.

They had all happened just last night: the meeting, the walk, the present. . . the mystery girlfriend. Yet, probably because Junkyu had been up for twenty-four hours now, it all seemed to be days ago. 

He had gone straight to his apartment last night, having hailed a cab as soon as he’d walked away from Jihoon. Before he’d gotten in, he could still hear Jihoon calling, gesticulating for him to wait. Junkyu had turned a deaf ear and bade the driver to go, who had seemed to have caught Jihoon’s gesticulating and had asked Junkyu if he was with him. The cab had zoomed past Jihoon’s girlfriend’s car, with Junkyu not even sparing a glance at Jihoon who had stepped out of the curb and away from his girlfriend’s car to try and stop the cab.

Junkyu snapped out of his thoughts when he heard Jihoon’s light footsteps. Junkyu turned to see a smiling Jihoon, bowl in hand and a spoon in his mouth.

“Feeling better now?” said Junkyu as he looked away, detached.

He heard Jihoon mumble an Mmm ,