Junhyung coughs.

Hyunseung stares.

“Oppa,” Geurim says happily, “Junhyungie-oppa was in the front and he says he wants to talk to you.” She bounces up and down excitedly, letting go of Junhyung’s hand and running over to throw her arms around Hyunseung’s waist—the highest part of him she can reach.

Hyunseung continues to bore into Junhyung in utter surprise. “Um,” he says, as Geurim starts doing what looks like a tribal-rain-dance around her brother’s legs.

Junhyung coughs again, and stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Hi,” he says.

“Hey,” Hyunseung says back, starting to look confused. “So—um—“

“I came here with Joonie-hyung,” Junhyung feels he has to explain so Hyunseung doesn’t think he’s stalking him or something because they both know that the last place Junhyung ever would be found dead in on a Saturday morning is a rich-and-swanky party planning store.

“Oh,” Hyunseung’s eyes dart towards the left for a moment and then back to Junhyung’s face, “yeah, I know. I saw him run to the bathroom a few seconds ago.”

“You guys talked?” Junhyung asks.

“No, he was texting me last night,” Hyunseung rolls his eyes, “about taking you to pick out stuff for your party so I told him that he might as well take you here so I can tell the employees to let you guys ahead of the sign-in and reservations.”

Geurim is making bunny ears with her fingers and pulling-her-eye-socket faces from behind Hyunseung’s right leg. Junhyung can’t help but snort a laugh and Hyunseung blinks and looks down. “Geurim-ah,” Hyunseung says, exasperated. “Go play somewhere else for a while—ten minutes, okay?”

“I want to pick out paint,” she whines. “You promised.”

“We will,” Hyunseung says, “in ten minutes.”

“Fine,” she pouts. “But I get three shades of purple and not two because you made me wait, okay?”

“How about I get you four shades of purple and you give me fifteen minutes?” Hyunseung asks, pinching her cheek. She scowls. He raises his eyebrows.

She kicks his ankle and folds her little arms. “Junhyungie-oppa is nicer than you,” she says in a high voice and then flounces away, pigtails bouncing.

Hyunseung looks extremely amused watching her leave and the expression on his face when he turns back to Junhyung looks infinitely less blank. The expression on his face is light and open and a slight curve to his lips and his hands are resting in the pockets of his sweats and Junhyung doesn’t know if he should apologize now or not bring the last incident up at all or just keep talking or say that he has to go or talk about Geurim or—

“Excited?” Hyunseung asks, raising his eyebrows.

Junhyung blinks. “What?”

“For your party,” Hyunseung clarifies, eyes sparkling because Junhyung knows that Hyunseung knows exactly what Junhyung thinks of Joon’s parties.

Junhyung snorts. “Completely,” he says dryly and Hyunseung grins.

“You’ll have fun,” Hyunseung says, shrugging. “Joonie-hyung knows that it’s your birthday—he’s not going to do anything he thinks is going to make you kill a baby.”

“I don’t,” Junhyung sputters, “I don’t kill babies.”

Hyunseung laughs. “So what do you kill?”

“Yah—shut up,” Junhyung says, unable to stop the grin on his face because he can’t believe that this is happening. He can’t believe that Hyunseung isn’t angry—can’t believe that they are talking like they haven’t talked in almost a year. He can’t believe that Hyunseung is laughing—can’t believe that Hyunseung is teasing him, can’t believe that Hyunseung is smiling.

He can’t believe any of this because he knows that if he believes this it’ll make it true and he doesn’t want it to be true.

If it becomes true, that means that they’ll solve whatever problems they had before and become friends.

And Junhyung doesn’t want them to be friends.

“Only because you’re the almost-birthday-boy,” Hyunseung says playfully, tilting his head to the side. He bites his lip thoughtfully and Junhyung blinks.

“What?”

“What do you want for your birthday?” Hyunseung asks with a small smile.

Junhyung wants them not to be friends. Junhyung wants to be able to hold and kiss and hug and touch and have with Hyunseung. Junhyung wants to be able to tease and play soccer with and argue and study and talk and talk and talk and look at and stay forever with Hyunseung. Junhyung wants to have Hyunseung back and tell him that he’s sorry. Junhyung wants to be able to go over to Hyunseung’s house everyday and not lie to Geurim about exactly how much he misses her oppa too.

“Nothing, really,” Junhyung shrugs. He forces a casual grin. “Whatever you want to get me, but it doesn’t really matter.”

Hyunseung makes a sound at the back of his throat. “That’s what everyone always says,” he snorts. “But really, they actually want something and just don’t want to say it.”

Junhyung laughs. “I’m serious, Hyunseung-ah, I don’t want anything.”

“Liar,” Hyunseung shoots back, smiling quietly. “Come on,” he almost whines, “tell me. Whatever you want—I’ll get it for you.”

Liar.

Hyunseung is the liar.

Hyunseung is the liar because if Junhyung told him what he really wanted for his birthday, he couldn’t get it for Junhyung.

Then again—

Hyunseung is only a liar because Junhyung is a bastard.

“It’s fine,” Junhyung says, shaking his head, “you don’t have to.” He returns the smile as best he can except Hyunseung doesn’t seem to be smiling as easily anymore either. The other boy looks like Junhyung’s just hit him in the stomach—his eyes are slightly surprised, slightly sad, slightly confused, slightly hurt, but mostly just resigned, and Junhyung doesn’t understand.

But then the smile comes back—

It comes back but Junhyung wishes that it hadn’t because it’s a smile that he hasn’t seen the likes of since that one, terrible, terrible day a year ago when Junhyung said those terrible, terrible words that he’s regretted ever since because those words formed the biggest lie he’s ever told and probably will ever tell.

“Okay,” Hyunseung says and his voice is just a little bit hoarse. “I won’t.”

Junhyung is, once again, only able to watch him walk away and disappear into a storage room, surrounded by employees and out of sight. He watches and watches even when he can’t see Hyunseung anymore—he still watches even when employees bump into him and try to guide him back to the front of the store. He remains frozen in spot and most likely would have never moved if it weren’t for Joon’s hand coming down on his shoulder and Joon’s voice saying, “You should’ve went after him.”

He turns his head slowly at the track athlete.

Joon’s expression makes it clear that running into Hyunseung, running into Geurim, was in no way a coincidence and that Junhyung had once again ed up a chance to make things up.

“I know,” Junhyung says, because there’s nothing else to say.

“So why didn’t you?” Joon asks quietly.

Junhyung looks away.

“Junhyung-ah,” Joon says.

“I want to go after him,” Junhyung murmurs, “I’ve always wanted to go after him.” He looks up at Joon who meets his eyes, worried and concerned. “But I don’t think I’m enough for him.”

Even when the party venue isn’t his house, even when it’s not technically his party, a Lee Joon party still carries the distinguishable signature of making you want to just rub the skin off of your face from the level of spectacular that it reaches. Then again, maybe the fact that the party venue is at a club rather than his house, that it’s the eighteenth birthday party of one of his best dongsaengs, perhaps that makes it even more spectacular and rubbing-your-face-worthy.

Either way, Dongwoon still doesn’t feel as honored as he thinks he should to be one of the very few first years at a party otherwise filled with approximately a hundred third years that Yong Junhyung might or might not have ever spoken to, exchanged two-second glances with, or perhaps had his pencil picked up by during a class. He doesn’t feel as honored, and he’s sure that Mir, Jinwoon, and Kibum don’t feel very honored either.

Mir, most likely, because he’s always invited to Joon’s parties due to being on the track team. Jinwoon, most likely, because at the current moment, he’s too busy morosely watching Nicole on the dance floor surrounded by five or more third year boys. And Kibum, most likely, because Kibum never feels honored about anything and because at the current moment, he has Kim Jonghyun wrapped around his pinky.

And Jaejin probably wouldn’t feel honored either if he wasn’t held back from going to this party because of the flu he caught from Yonghwa who caught it from Seohyun and all three of the involved are still sick and not present tonight and Dongwoon knows that Yonghwa will probably get sputtered on by Joon come the school week.

Dongwoon doesn’t feel honored at all being one of the only first years at this party, but the little man inside of him feels more than honored at being able to watch Kikwang on the dance floor surrounded by girls, surrounded by boys, and moving in ways that are more at odds than ever with the childlike smile that curves all the way to his eyes. And it’s just want the little man inside of him needs when Nicole starts gravitating towards the second year and they start dancing together because Dongwoon knows Nicole can dance and he knows that Kikwang can dance and when they do it together it just creates a whole new set of problems.

“I hate my life,” Jinwoon says glumly from beside him.

Dongwoon looks at him, somewhat amused. “Just go dance with her.”

“Right, that makes sense,” Jinwoon says sarcastically. “I’ll just go up to her and Kikwang-hyung and ask if I can please interrupt their having-dry--on-the-dance-floor like they do in seventeen-seventy-two.”

Now it’s Dongwoon’s turn to frown—and the little man’s turn to glare pointedly at Jinwoon for his choice of words. “They aren’t having dry ,” Dongwoon says.

Jinwoon snorts. “I’m not happy about this either, you know. It’d make more sense if you were the one who stopped it and danced with Kikwang-hyung.”

At the mental imagery of Dongwoon sliding behind Kikwang, of Dongwoon’s hands pulling Kikwang away from Nicole, of Dongwoon’s fingers digging into the skin just above Kikwang’s waistband, of Dongwoon’s palms brushing up beneath Kikwang’s shirt, the little man reaches for the party streamers.

“No it wouldn’t,” Dongwoon says and slaps the little man’s hands away from the streamers.

“Dude,” Jinwoon says, snorting, “he likes you. You’re the only one who doesn’t seem to be able to understand that he likes you back.”

“I’m the only one who seems to be able to understand that he’s my hyung so of course he likes me,” Dongwoon says for what feels like the thirty-seventh time.

“Oh my God,” Jinwoon rolls his eyes. “Kibummie is right—you are actually stupid.”

Once again, Dongwoon feels this is uncalled for. “No, I’m not,” he says, offended.

“Yes, you are,” Kibum says, falling against the countertop and hoisting himself up on a stool. His cheeks are flushed, his hair messy, his clothes pulled askew, and his eyes sparkling. “You’re really, unbelievably stupid.”

“Did you just get ed?” Jinwoon asks unhappily.

Kibum gives him a look. “Just because you can’t get any doesn’t mean that the rest of us are going celibate, too.”

Jinwoon’s mouth falls open and Dongwoon covers his own face with a hand, shoulders heaving up and down from laughter. When Dongwoon manages to look up at Jinwoon and not burst out laughing again, the taller boy’s mouth is still gaping like a fish and Kibum is still watching the dance floor proceedings coolly. “I—I—I can get some if I want to,” Jinwoon says, hurt.

Kibum raises an eyebrow. “So you don’t want to get any?”

“I hate you so much,” Jinwoon says.

“I love you so much,” Dongwoon grins and Kibum high fives him.

Kibum nods towards the dance floor. “Kikwang-hyung’s taking a break.”

The little man immediately snaps to attention, telescope whipped out and at the ready. Dongwoon catches Kikwang laughing with his eyes in full smiling blast at Nicole as she bows, probably to thank him as a dongsaeng for dancing. Kikwang is waving her off as she moves on to dance with someone else, and he goes off to the other side of the dance floor—the countertop of drinks extended like a perimeter around the club and Kikwang goes to the far end, talking with Hongki-and-Jonghun, and Jonghyun.

“He’s a good dancer,” Kibum says casually.

“Yeah,” Dongwoon agrees without really listening because the little man is trying to position the telescope so that it catches the full picture of Kikwang talking and laughing with Hongki and then Jonghyun leaning in across Jonghun to add a comment that makes Kikwang roll his eyes and smile his perfect smile and—

“He’s a good grinder,” Kibum says.

Dongwoon whips around so fast that his elbow hits Jinwoon in the stomach. He ignores Jinwoon’s sound of pain and stares at Kibum. “What?” he asks, as the little man puts plugs into his ears and sings the alphabet backwards. “What?”

“Jonghyun can’t dance for ,” Kibum says, amused, “so I danced with Kikwang-hyung for a few songs before ‘Cole got here.”

“,” Jinwoon directs at Kibum, with one hand nursing the bruise that’s probably forming from Dongwoon’s elbow.

“Prude,” Kibum retaliates.

Jinwoon looks insulted. “I like ,” he says defensively.

“You can’t like something you’ve never had before,” Kibum says and very closely dodges the ice cube Jinwoon tries to stuff down the swimmer’s shirt. He swerves around and hides behind Dongwoon as Jinwoon tries to get better leverage.

“Why did you have to grind on him?” Dongwoon asks gloomily as Jinwoon moves left and right and left again and Kibum flips the basketball player off as he uses Dongwoon as a shield.

“I didn’t,” Kibum says, slightly breathless from laughing with Jinwoon as they dodge and lunge at each other around Dongwoon, who continues to be discontent and stationary about all of this, “He grinded on me.”

The little man’s chin touches the ground and Dongwoon wants to hit Kibum because now his pants feel a little too tight and the air in the room feels a little too hot despite it being the middle of December. “Why is it,” Dongwoon starts, catching Kibum and Jinwoon by their shirts and putting them back into place, “that whenever you talk about Kikwang-hyung with me, I always end up getting hard?”

Kibum looks like he is about to laugh when Jinwoon suddenly aims his finger at Dongwoon’s nose. “He’s never had either,” Jinwoon says irritably, “but how come you never make fun of him?”

Kibum blinks and looks at Jinwoon like he’s stupid. “Because Dongwoonie is going to have soon,” he explains.

“So will I,” Jinwoon sputters.

Dongwoon frowns. “I’m not going to have soon.”

The little man snorts and Dongwoon punches him in the nose.

“I,” Kibum says with the air of a martyr about to have the pyre lit up, “am surrounded by stupid.”

Kikwang supposes he should have suspected something when Jonghyun started talking to him because Jonghyun almost never talks to him outside of school. He probably also should have suspected something when Hongki and Jonghun start talking to him because Hongki and Jonghun are usually seen mouth-to-mouth every chance they get. He supposes he should have suspected something when Jonghyun not only started talking to him, but started talking to him by asking if Kikwang has any, extremely, unusually violent automatic reflexes when assaulted.

And he most likely should have suspected something when Jonghyun gives him a wide grin after Kikwang tells the other boy that no, Kikwang doesn’t have any automatic violent reflexes at all, what the .

But the time for suspicions is long and gone because now Jonghyun has Kikwang’s hands pinned to the countertop, with Hongki and Jonghun trapping either side of him. One of Jonghyun’s hands is cupping the side of Kikwang’s face and the swimmer says, smiling excitedly, “You’ll thank me and Kibum one day for this.”

And then Jonghyun kisses him.

Okay.

Okay, so—

To be fair—

Kibum didn’t think that Dongwoon would punch Jonghyun.

And if that thought did cross Kibum’s mind, it was definitely accompanied with the assurance that Jinwoon or Mir would come in and hold Dongwoon back before he actually got close to Jonghyun. But apparently just because Dongwoon is alert and intelligent and strong enough to have held Jinwoon and Mir back single-handedly that one time doesn’t automatically mean that Mir and Jinwoon’s combined Neanderthal thought-processes is enough to do the same for Dongwoon.

So now the birthday boy looks like he is about to kill a baby, the party planner is yelling at the top of his lungs for someone to call an ambulance, Doojoon-and-Yoseob are hanging on each other trying not to laugh, Kikwang looks utterly bewildered, Jonghyun looks unconscious, Jinwoon and Mir are enthusiastically prodding Jonghyun’s face with hors d’oeuvres toothpicks, and Dongwoon has already bolted somewhere where no one can find him and right now, no one wants to be the person to find him anyway.

“I’ll,” Kikwang says awkwardly, “um—go and—um—find Dongwoonie.”

“Yeah,” Junhyung sighs, “go do that.”

Kikwang backs away, looking like he doesn’t really want to find Dongwoon right now either, and starts weaving through the masses, disappearing amongst the dancing and drinking and chatting.

“Is Jonghyunnie dead?” Joon asks in a small voice.

“Yes,” Yoseob says.

“No,” Doojoon says. “He’s probably just got a concussion.”

“So he is dead,” Joon says sadly.

“No,” Junhyung says waspishly, as Yoseob finally can’t take it anymore and collapses into laughter so intense that it almost looks painful—Doojoon ends up carting the goalie off to another part of the wraparound bar because apparently Jonghyun’s unconscious face doesn’t help in trying to calm the laughter down. “He’s not dead, so just go and dance with Seungho-hyung again before I give you a concussion.”

With that, he drags Joon off, disappearing like Kikwang, Doojoon, and Yoseob did into the crowds, through the dancing throng and into another part of the club.

Kibum turns back to his ’91-liners. “Could you stop?” he asks lazily. “If you ruin his face, there’s not much left.”

Jinwoon grins and Mir laughs. Each pulls one of Jonghyun’s arms over their shoulders and hoists him into a sitting position on one of the bar stools so that his back leans against the edge and he doesn’t tumble forward or backward or sideways to the floor. “You know,” Mir says fondly, “I like him better like this.”

“Yeah,” Jinwoon agrees fairly. “The only problem is that he’s still breathing.”

“No,” Kibum says, reaching over to the set-up trays and grabbing a few glasses of iced water. “The problem is that Dongwoon just punched out another ten or so IQ points off of him, so now he’s going to be even stupider than Joonie-hyung.” He grabs a napkin off of a nearby pile and fishes out the ice cubes, wrapping it inside the napkin and putting the makeshift compress on the corner of the blue and purple that’s beginning to bloom on Jonghyun’s cheek.

He glances up at Jinwoon and Mir. “You guys can go on ahead. I’ll call you again if I need someone to drag him out of here if he doesn’t wake up in the next few minutes.”

Jinwoon snorts. “He’s a lucky bastard.”

Kibum grins, as he holds up Jonghyun’s bangs and shifts the compress to his forehead. “Yeah—Dongwoon was holding back.”

“No,” Mir says, sounding amused and exasperated, hitting Kibum lightly on the shoulder. “He’s a lucky bastard to have you.”

Kibum rolls his eyes, wondering if he should start slapping Jonghyun’s cheeks now because while he knows that Dongwoon didn’t punch that hard, Jonghyun should at least be fluttering in and out right about now. “I’m the one who told him to kiss Kikwang-hyung,” he says. “So it’s not his fault Dongwoon socked him.”

“I’m thinking Dongwoon was thinking about more than just Kikwang-hyung when he punched Jonghyun-hyung,” Jinwoon says, his voice slightly quiet.

Most of the time, when Kibum is looking at Jonghyun’s face, he’s looking at closed eyelids and long eyelashes on high cheekbones. Most of the time he’s looking at a still, blank face and unmoving limbs and even breathing and a steady up-down of the shoulders while he breathes. Jonghyun being unconscious, being asleep, is nothing unfamiliar to Kibum.

He takes away the ice slowly, squeezing some of the liquid out of the napkin so it doesn’t drip too badly over the second year’s face. “Yeah,” he says quietly.

Kikwang thinks that Dongwoon needs to work on this whole running-away-and-hiding thing because the maknae kind of at it. If Dongwoon was trying to run-away-and-hide from a serial murderer instead of Lee Kikwang, then he probably would have been dead a while ago because he really isn’t that hard to find even though he’s so fast that if Kikwang actually tried to keep up with him instead of just settling for knowing where he was headed, the second year probably would be cramped on the floor.

He finds the first year on the rooftop of the club without much trouble, taking the emergency stairs near the entrance to the club’s unused and abandoned old stage. It’s one of Hyunseung’s family’s clubs, so the waiters and waitresses all recognize Kikwang and are more than happy to point him around the premises since this is a relatively new chain as opposed to the old ones Kikwang remembers playing with Hyunseung in while they were in middle school.

While Kikwang still thought he loved Hyunseung.

Dongwoon sits with his legs slid through the spaces between the bars of the railing that perimeters the rooftop. When Kikwang reaches a few feet behind him, he sees the younger boy’s shoes dangling over the edge and resting on a ledge that’s underneath the roof guard. Dongwoon’s hands are wrapped around the bars and his face is tipped up towards the black sky.

Kikwang takes a seat next to him, folding his legs Indian-style and leaning back on his palms, the cold cement prickling slightly at his skin. The winter air bites at his nose and cheeks, and ruffles at his hair. He’s glad that even though it got hot back in the club when he was dancing with Nicole and Kibum and Joon that he still didn’t take off his jacket because he thinks that they are going to be on this rooftop for a while.

“You know,” he starts after a few minutes of silence, “you really at hiding places, Dongwoon-ah. It’s easy to find you.” He glances at Dongwoon’s face.

A corner of the first year’s mouth tugs up a little. “You’re the only one who ever finds me, hyung. I’m actually really good at hiding.”

Kikwang blinks. “Really?”

Dongwoon nods, smiling now. “Really.”

“Oh.” Kikwang puts his legs up, holding his knees to his chest because the wind is starting to get a little more insistent.

Several more minutes pass in silence with Kikwang wondering how exactly he’s supposed to bring the subject to the surface without sounding like an assuming jackass about it all because he’s still not sure he even understands what’s going on and the only suspicion he has is one he doesn’t want to have because it’s a suspicion that requires a lot of hope on his part and, in the past, whenever he starts having this certain kind of hope it always ends with sleepless nights and hurting hearts.

“Dongwoon—“

“Hyung.”

Kikwang stares.

Dongwoon is no longer staring at the sky—he’s staring at his dangling feet, and Kikwang notices that his knuckles are white around the railing bars. “Hyung,” Dongwoon says, sounding nervous and unsure and hesitant and the tone of his voice makes Kikwang’s heart race because he’s not stupid and he doesn’t know if what he thinks is coming is coming and if it is he doesn’t know how he should respond or react because he’s scared because Dongwoon isn’t Hyunseung, isn’t a girl, isn’t someone that Kikwang can just heal over and forget if his heart is broken because if Dongwoon breaks his heart, Kikwang will never be able to put it back together.

Dongwoon is his closest, best dongsaeng.

Dongwoon is his closest, childhood, now, forever best friend.

And Kikwang doesn’t want to lose him just because he loves him.

He’d rather his feelings stay unrequited and be forever friends, than have them returned and be temporary lovers.

There’s no guarantee that they’ll be like Doojoon and Yoseob because he doesn’t want them to end up like Junhyung and Hyunseung.

“Dongwoon-ah,” Kikwang says quietly. “I like you, too.”

Love you

He can almost hear Dongwoon’s head whip towards his direction—can almost hear the first year’s eyes widen, can almost hear the prepared apologies and explanations that the maknae had prepared fly out of his mind. He doesn’t want to look up—doesn’t want to see Dongwoon’s expression because he knows it’s going to be hopeful and disbelieving and shocked and maybe even happy and incredulous and Kikwang doesn’t want to see any of that.

He doesn’t want to see any of that because who knows how long it’s going to last?

“I like you,” Kikwang whispers, staring so hard and unblinkingly at the cement floor in front of him that his eyes are starting to water, “but please don’t like me back.”

Love you too much

A pause.

“Why?”

          Kikwang hears the rustle of Dongwoon extracting his legs from the railing and the other boy’s shoes and legs come into the second year’s line of sight as he feels Dongwoon settling himself directly across from Kikwang before scooting closer until the tips of their feet are bumping into each other.

          “Because,” Kikwang says, his fingertips digging into his calves as he curls in on himself tighter and tighter, “you’re not supposed to like me back. I’m supposed to like someone and they’re never supposed to like me back and then I’m supposed to go to you and you’re supposed to comfort me and tell me that I’ll always have you because you’re my friend and that’s never going to change.”

          There’s a longer silence this time.

          There’s a longer silence, and then Kikwang sees Dongwoon’s hand reaching out towards him.

          Kikwang scrambles backward, glancing up in alarm at the sudden movement. He glances up at the sudden movement and then realizes too late that shouldn’t have because now he can see Dongwoon’s expression and—just—.

          because Dongwoon looks hurt and confused and confused but understanding and understanding but surprised and surprised by calm and hurt and hurt and sad like he wants to prove something to Kikwang and Kikwang knows what the other boy wants to prove to him but he can’t take that risk—he can’t take that risk because he doesn’t want to lose Dongwoon.

          “Hyung,” Dongwoon says softly, not moving any closer to Kikwang—simply continuing to sit, hands back in his lap. “Hyung, what if I told you that I do like you back? What if I told you that I like you back and I’ll still be your friend and I won’t ever let that change?”

          Kikwang feels his lungs closing up. “I won’t believe you,” he whispers.

          Scared

          “Why not?” Dongwoon asks, his lips barely opening.

          “You’ll stop liking me, and even if we’re still friends, it won’t be the same,” Kikwang says, and his lungs are constricting—they’re getting tighter and tighter and his heart is grating itself against his ribcage and the blood in his ears is rushing and—

          So scared

          Then—

          Dongwoon actually smiles.

          “Hyung,” he says with that smile that Kikwang can’t believe is on his face while Kikwang’s insides are being torn to pieces, “I’ve liked you longer than Doojoon-hyung and Yoseob-hyung have known each other.”

          Love you

          Kikwang blinks.

          And stares.

          “You—what—really?” Kikwang says and thinks he sounds horribly insensitive and bewildered right now because his insides have suddenly stopped themselves midway through self-destruction mode because of this sudden change in information processing.

          Dongwoon laughs a little, under his breath. “Yeah,” he shrugs sheepishly, “sad—I know.”

          Kikwang blinks again, still dubious about this all because he highly doubts he’s interesting enough to keep Son Dongwoon’s affections intact for that long when the younger boy hangs out with the likes of the ’91-line—filled with far more exciting people that Lee Kikwang. “Yeah,” he says, “it’s really sad. You’re such a social reject that you had to settle for liking me for like half a decade.”

          “Yah,” Dongwoon says loudly, kicking at Kikwang’s shoe, “Shut up, hyung. I know tons of hot people.”

          Kikwang laughs. “Then why do you like me?”

          Dongwoon grins and this time grabs Kikwang’s hand and pulls him in so quickly that Kikwang doesn’t even have time to register what really happened until he’s kneeling between Dongwoon’s bent legs, and his face is so close to the other boy’s that all there is in his line of sight is Dongwoon’s dark, dancing eyes. “’Cause,” Dongwoon says and Kikwang feels his warm breath mist over the second year’s own lips, “I guess I just think you’re hotter.”

          Kikwang has to snort—even with his heart beating at the speed of light, at the speed of a hummingbird’s wings, with the force of a battering ram, with the force of an atomic bomb. “Bite me,” he says, rolling his eyes playfully.

          Dongwoon smiles, “Maybe later.” His hand holds the side of Kikwang’s face, thumb brushing just over his cheekbone—

          And kisses him.