Jonghyun likes waking up in the morning with Kibum next to him.

          It’s not something that happens often—only happens when Jonghyun goes to Kibum’s house (something Kibum doesn’t seem to like Jonghyun doing) or on the rare, rare, rare occasion that Jonghyun wakes up in the middle of the night and stops Kibum or on the even rarer, nearly never, occasion that Kibum is just too exhausted to leave right away. It doesn’t happen often, so when it does—it’s nice. He thinks it’d be even nicer, though, if he didn’t always have to wonder if Kibum will be there or not the next morning.

          He also wonders if maybe he should more often play this vulnerable-emotional-interior-thing that girls seem to like and even though Kibum doesn’t exactly seem to like it per se, it seems to soften Kibum up enough to let Jonghyun stay over. Not that Jonghyun was playing it up last night (he wishes he was though because he doesn’t even want to think about having to face his parents now after he ran out), but it’s really not a common thing for Kibum to let Jonghyun in like that. Or at least—Kibum makes sure to let Jonghyun know loud and clear that it’s only because Jonghyun is upset.

          Jonghyun huffs a sigh, tearing his eyes away from the ceiling and turning to his side. He faces Kibum, gazes at the first year’s sleeping face—eyelashes against his high cheekbones, hair sprawled against the pillow (strands sticking up near the back of his neck), breathing soft and steady (Jonghyun can feel it flutter against his own face at this proximity) through parted lips. The older boy places his hand on the edge of Kibum’s pillow, fingertips hooking against the excess cloth of the pillowcase.

          He wonders if it would freak Kibum out if the younger boy woke up to Jonghyun touching his face. They didn’t have last night, and Kibum doesn’t really seem to like Jonghyun touching him—even when they’re flirting—when they aren’t about to have or have already had . It’s not that Jonghyun doesn’t get the idea—it’s not like he’s forgotten why they have this entire situation around themselves. He can remember word for word exactly how Kibum phrased it and exactly how Kibum says it has to always be (or it can’t be at all).

          When we’re not having , we’re friends, hyung—you can’t do anything to me that you wouldn’t do to a friend, ‘kay?

          It was said with a smile and a coy tilt of the head, a quirk of pink kiss-swollen lips, and dancing eyes that made Jonghyun’s heart thud a little bit faster than he knew it ever should. It was said right after the first time he and Kibum had . It was said in a tone that, despite Kibum’s light expression, Jonghyun knew meant Kibum was serious about this—Kibum meant it and if Jonghyun even toed the line that Kibum had drawn, everything would end.

          And Jonghyun thinks all of this personally —it wasn’t so bad at first, but looking back on it, it’s probably the iest -buddy contract that Jonghyun’s ever signed (which even more because it’s the only -buddy contract that he’s signed). Someone smarter like Doojoon or Junhyung probably would’ve read the contract a little more closely and inserted some sort of clause that allowed room for changes. Like—lots of changes. Like changes that would adjust to the fact that Jonghyun wants to do things for Kibum that the older boy would never do for just a friend.

          Like the fact that Jonghyun is pretty sure he doesn’t just want to be friends with Kibum anymore.

          He’s pretty sure about it by now, but there’s nothing really productive coming from this tastic revelation because he can’t do anything about it. It’s just going to sit there, possibly for all eternity (which would be however long Jonghyun lives), collecting dust on the metaphorical shelf of the second year’s heart. Personally, Jonghyun thinks it’s considerably depressing. And he wishes it wouldn’t be that depressing because depressing things like this only lead to looking like Yong-Junhyung-sized-rainclouds as the end result.

          And that even worse.

          Kibum’s lips start to quirk and his eyelids begin to tremble as he stirs and Jonghyun hastily slides a few inches away, putting space in between them because the last time Kibum had let him stay the night through until morning, Jonghyun had gotten at least a ten-minute-earful of how, if Kibum was sleeping with Jinwoon or Dongwoon or Jaejin or Nicole, none of them would have their arms around him like that so Jonghyun had better not either.

          It’s things like that that scare Jonghyun (because what if Kibum gets angry at the overstepped boundaries and puts up a brick wall instead?).

          “Deep in thought, hyung?” Kibum’s voice is sarcastic, even when only half-awake. The first year rubs his eyes and yawns, back arching beneath the blankets as he stretches. He sits up, leaning back against the headboard and glances down at Jonghyun (still lying down because he doesn’t want to sit up—if he sits up then Kibum will probably use that as leverage and make him leave). “Then again, you can’t be deep in something that doesn’t exist.”

          Jonghyun slaps Kibum’s thigh. “Extremely deep,” he says, sniffing, “So deep that I’m drowning, Kibum-ah.”

          The younger boy looks unimpressed. “You can swim.”

          “What if I broke my leg or something?” Jonghyun says, as Kibum brushes away a few strands of hair from the second year’s forehead with warm fingertips that make Jonghyun’s head light (dizzy?). “Would you save me?”

          Amusement slips into Kibum’s eyes. “What the , hyung?” he laughs, rolling his eyes. He pats Jonghyun’s cheek. “Bad dream or something?”

          Jonghyun blinks.

          Kibum smiles faintly and dips down, kissing Jonghyun on the lips—swift and then the first year is back up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and hopping to his feet. He stretches again, standing up with his arms over his head. “It’s okay, hyung,” he says playfully. “If inflating a raft is too much for your brain to handle, you can share mine.”

          Jonghyun wonders if he’d still be allowed on Kibum’s inflatable raft if the first year knew how Jonghyun really felt.

          Paper everywhere.

          There’s paper everywhere around him, surrounding him everywhere he can see—field trip forms—and while paper drowning him is nothing new (that’s what happens when you’re a teacher), he’s only been at this for a few years, and the papers that are endangering his life are usually papers that he needs to grade. Seungho shuffles a few of the regulation forms to the side and reaches for one of the information sheets instead—freshly printed out and handed to him by Byunghee at school.

          They’re room arrangements.

          Seungho frowns.

          He wonders if there’s some way to change them (despite the fact that he knows that these have been finalized without him, and until he’s gotten himself back into the good graces of  administration, he should probably just keep his mouth shut).

          “Hey.”

          Seungho turns at the voice, raising his eyebrows. “What’s up?”

          Junhyung leans against the door, hands in his pockets—the pockets of a pair of rather nice-looking black jeans, accompanied with an equally rather nice-looking shirt, and a nice-looking jacket, with the new shoes that Seungho had gotten Junhyung for his birthday. Seungho is about to ask why Junhyung is all dressed up, but Junhyung beats him to it, “What’re all the papers for?”

          “I’m a teacher,” Seungho says dryly. “I kind of, y’know, grade them.”

          “Shut up, hyung,” Junhyung grins. “Midterms just finished—there’s no way you’ve assigned anything that quickly yet.” He walks into the room and sits himself on the edge of Seungho’s bed.

          The teacher turns around in his chair, just that one sheet in his hands as he faces Junhyung. He his lips, catching the bottom one against his teeth as he looks down into his lap. “They’re the forms for the track team’s overnight workshop,” he says quietly, glancing up at Junhyung meaningfully.

          Junhyung blinks. “Oh—when’s that—next week?”

          Seungho nods.

          “That’s—good—right?” Junhyung says slowly, confused. He frowns.

          Seungho half smiles humorlessly. He holds up the sheet of paper to face Junhyung. “Byunghee’s rooming with Sanghyunnie and Cheolyongie. I have to room with Changsun.”

          “Joonie-hyung?” Junhyung’s voice is suddenly coated with understanding (apprehension?). He takes the paper out of Seungho’s hand and stares at it intently, silent for a moment. “I—like—I mean—hyung,” he says, “you know he wouldn’t do anything you don’t want him to.” Junhyung says that, but the tone of the third year’s voice doesn’t sound as certain as Seungho thinks Junhyung wants it to.

          Their eyes meet, and Junhyung immediately opens his mouth again. “Wait—I mean—”

          “I know,” Seungho says with that humorless smile again.

          And he does.

          He does know.

          He knows that Joon is Joon. Joon isn’t anyone else (warm and full of smiles and nice and funny and popular and just like him—they’re both so alike—but Seungho doesn’t want to think about him because Joon wouldn’t be like him—right?) and Seungho shouldn’t hold him to those standards. Seungho isn’t stupid—he knows that Insu’s parents wouldn’t just back off the way they did unless there was an outside influence and all the shifty glances Junhyung gives him mean something.

          He knows Joon did something—doesn’t know what exactly, but he knows Joon did something.

          Seungho is thankful—grateful—but really—

          He’s not stupid.

          Moreover—he’s older than Joon. Seungho isn’t in high school anymore, and he can see what Joon probably thinks Seungho can’t. For someone like Seungho, for an adult who’s all too well-versed in being around teenagers, it’s far too easy to notice how what Joon feels towards Seungho isn’t the most appropriate thing a student should feel for a teacher.

          After all, it’s not like this is the first time.

          If anything, Seungho wants to prevent a repeat (he has to clench his teeth if he just remembers that kind of pain).

          Junhyung’s frown is deep, eyebrows furrowed together. “Hyung, if you know, then—”

          “What’s up with you looking all hot today?” Seungho says easily, grinning. “Going out?”

          Joon is a student.

          Joon is graduating at the end of this school year, but he’s still young, he’s still a student, and he’s one with a bright future—with infinite amounts of potential. He still has a clean slate in his hands, smiles that are as innocent and warm as they are blank at times, laughter that’s so sincere that Seungho doesn’t even want to think of seeing Joon frown. The good thing about high school—about teenagers—is that their feelings change. Their feelings change as rapidly as they are intense when they first develop, and the younger you are, the quicker wounds heal.

          Joon as so much potential—too bright of a future—and Seungho doesn’t want to get in the way of that.

          Junhyung’s eyes are surprised—right before his face eases into a smile. “Yeah.”

          This is the way it should be—Joon should be exactly the way Junhyung is now—the way Seungho catches Yoon Doojoon and Yang Yoseob in the hallways (when they think no teachers are there). Joon should be able to have relationships where he can go out on weekends, procrastinating his homework until Sunday night. Joon should be able to have relationships where he can kiss after school is over, hold hands beneath doorways, text during classes.

          Joon shouldn’t have relationships where he has to worry about age differences and legalities and hiding from his friends and family.

          “Who with?” Seungho asks.

          Junhyung shrugs, and the smile stretches. “A friend.”

          Dongwoon doesn’t even understand why he’s friends with Kim Kibum.

          “Because I’m awesome,” Kibum says through the screen of Dongwoon’s computer. In the background on Kibum’s end, Dongwoon can see Jonghyun () pacing back and forth eating a bag of chips. “And people who are less awesome than me are naturally attracted to my intensely high level of awesomeness.”

          Dongwoon stares incredulously. “If you’re so awesome—”

          “Look,” Kibum leans his face against his hand. “It’s not my fault you haven’t got laid yet. You had a chance—from what you told me, he was practically on top of you and there were bathroom stalls nearby—”

          “We were at school,” Dongwoon squeaks.

          Kibum merely looks at him, blinking. He frowns. “Wait—is that supposed to mean something?”

          “Oh my God,” Dongwoon says. “What the —I don’t want our first time to be in a ing bathroom stall.”

          Kibum snorts, rolling his eyes and leaning back in the chair so that Dongwoon finds out (to his horror) that Kibum is just as as Jonghyun. “s,” he says dismissively.

          Dongwoon thinks maybe he should just sign off and Skype someone with a soul.

          Jonghyun chooses this precise moment to walk up to the computer, wrapping his arms around Kibum’s chest and smiling into the camera. “Hi, Dongwoon-ah,” the second year says brightly.

          The soccer player sighs. “’Morning, Jonghyun-hyung.”

          He reminds himself that if he punches his laptop screen, nothing will actually happen to Jonghyun’s face and it’s not really Jonghyun’s fault that Dongwoon is going through all of these ity issues because Jonghyun probably didn’t understand the true implications of making Lee Kikwang have with Lee Joon—most likely because Jonghyun can’t understand the implications of anything as Jonghyun doesn’t know what an implication even is.

           Also, Dongwoon tries to ignore the fact that Jonghyun is now at Kibum’s house—something Kibum used to always assure Dongwoon and the rest of the ’91-line that happens close to never. (Honestly, Dongwoon doesn’t even really like the fact that Kikwang is friends with Jonghyun because what kind of a person would use a dongsaeng for ?)

          And when that dongsaeng is one of Dongwoon’s closest friends.

          “You really shouldn’t worry, y’know,” Jonghyun says lightly as if Dongwoon hadn’t almost pummeled the second year’s face inside-out just months ago. “Kikwangie likes you for you—right? Not for your bedroom skills.”

          Kibum frowns suddenly, glancing up at the second year. “That’s because Dongwoonie doesn’t have any,” he corrects, patting Jonghyun’s chest.

          Jonghyun abruptly rips out of the frame and from the sounds that are coming through Dongwoon’s earphones, the soccer player assumes it’s because the second year is probably too busy laughing at Dongwoon’s misery.

          “Seriously?” Kibum says with raised eyebrows, leaning forward. “I don’t even get why this is such a big deal to you anyway. I thought you guys were friends.”

          Dongwoon stares. “What—wait, ‘were’?”

          Kibum blinks. “Well, you guys still should be best friends, but it’s like, after you two started dating—I don’t know about him—but it’s like you aren’t his friend anymore.”

          Dongwoon frowns—ultimately confused. “What do you—”

          “You told him more stuff than you told me or the others,” Kibum says, shrugging. “You were like ing rolled up into a carpet together all the ing time since—like—birth—or preschool or whatever, and then all of a sudden, you guys kiss, start dating, and you act like Kikwangie-hyung is some hot blind date that you just met a month ago.” Kibum smiles a little. “Since when do you start telling me stuff that you don’t tell him?”

          Dongwoon stares again—frowns again.

          Only this time, not out of confusion.

          Yeah—it’s more out of the realization that Son Dongwoon has just spent about a month being completely stupid. And not in the sometimes-somewhat-endearing-Lee-Joon kind of way either.

          More like, the-potentially-disastrous-heartbreaking-Junhyung-and-Hyunseung way.

          Dongwoon doesn’t exactly know when it started—but it did. Somehow, somewhere along the way, he got so caught up in the fact that he’s now where he’s always dreamed to be—dating Kikwang—that he forgot that it’s Kikwang. Lee Kikwang—Kikwangie-hyung. Just because their labels changed—just because Dongwoon is no longer just Kikwang’s friend—just Kikwang’s dongsaeng—doesn’t mean that Kikwang is a different person. It doesn’t mean Dongwoon is a different person. The way to make Kikwang laugh is still the same, the way Kikwang makes Dongwoon laugh is still the same (it’s always been the same—from the playground to the soccer field to their bedrooms), and the way Dongwoon loves Kikwang is still the same.

          The only difference is that now Kikwang knows Dongwoon loves him (and Dongwoon knows Kikwang loves him).

          Before Kikwang is Dongwoon’s boyfriend—Kikwang will always be Dongwoon’s best friend. And best friends tell each other everything—no secrets.

          So maybe Dongwoon should start fixing that.

          Junhyung thinks that maybe this was a bad idea—that maybe there are better options with which he could’ve chosen in order to spend time with Hyunseung. Preferably options that don’t involve Junhyung being in such close proximity with Hyunseung, directly face-to-face, in a sparsely populated enclosed space. Because really, who does homework on a Saturday morning anyway? Moreover, who spends time in the library doing homework in order to hang out with a friend?

          “What?” Junhyung says, jolting as Hyunseung turns around his lab book towards Junhyung. “What?”

          Hyunseung blinks and points with the tip of his pencil towards a problem. “This one—did you get this part? I looked through the stuff at the beginning of the lab, but it only talks about how the females have to be s because they store the . Did it say why, though?”

          Junhyung honestly wishes he could answer—he wishes that he could answer, that he hadn’t just spent the last fifteen minutes completely not reading the pre-lab information. He wishes that he hadn’t just spent fifteen minutes staring at Hyunseung (the way Hyunseung quirks his pink lips in concentration, the way Hyunseung’s round eyes widen when he puts pieces of information together, the way Hyunseung’s hair falls into his eyes when he leans in towards the pages).

          “I—well,” Junhyung flips the pages in his own lab book. “I think it says so in the procedure.”

          Hyunseung’s eyes (awfully beautiful) briefly scan the section Junhyung is referring to. “Oh,” he says lightly, the corners of his mouth turning upward infinitesimally at the comprehension. “Oh—okay. I’ll write that down later, then.” He glances up, hair falling this way and that like dark liquid. “What about my graph?” Hyunseung turns a page. “How does it look?”

          “Perfect,” Junhyung blurts without even looking at the graph (why would he look at a crisscross of lines and data when he can look at Hyunseung instead?).

          “What,” Hyunseung blinks, “really?” He looks down at the graph himself. “I think I need to change the scale on the y-axis. It’d look more proportionate like that, right? Easier to read?”

          “I—yeah,” is all Junhyung manages to say because this was such a bad idea—a terrible idea. He’s not getting any homework done, and Hyunseung probably thinks something along the lines of Junhyung not getting enough sleep thus resulting in incoherent blabber whenever Hyunseung wants a question answered.

          Hyunseung squints suddenly, eyebrows knitting together. He abruptly reaches out and starts fanning Junhyung’s face with his hand (Junhyung’s eyes stretch, alarmed). “Are you—like—hot or something? Take off your jacket maybe? Your face is really red, right now, and the heater in here’s kind of too warm anyway.”

          Sometimes—

          Sometimes Junhyung wonders how he ever got Hyunseung to fall in love with him the first time around.

          Hyunseung is the sort of beautiful that scares Junhyung—that Junhyung thinks is just frightening and intimidating in general. A wintery, frosty beautiful that draws Junhyung in because it’s just that beautiful—but the kind that Junhyung is scared to touch because he’s afraid that, just like ice, it’ll break or melt in his hands. He’s afraid to touch it because it might freeze him if he touches it for too long. Hyunseung’s always been that way to Junhyung—the sort of beautiful that freezes you upon first glance and melts you (warms you until you smolder and burn) once you get closer.

          Junhyung can’t help but think that he’s the one who has it the hardest (always has it the hardest). Yoseob is the sort of beautiful that’s warm and easy to touch at first glance—the kind that invites you in with soothing sunlight that seeps through your fingertips. Kikwang is the sort of beautiful that’s gentle and childlike—the kind that makes you forget about whatever intimidation you might feel because there’s the need to protect—to wrap your arms around him and shield him even though you might know he can take care of himself perfectly fine.

          Why does Junhyung have to be the one who’s given someone so beautiful, it freezes you right down to your core (to your heart)?

          So beautiful that it’s terrifying.

          It was already scary the first time around when Junhyung barely knew what was inside—this time around, it’s absolutely frightening because now Junhyung knows what’s inside and it’s just as horrendously beautiful as what’s on the outside (Junhyung now knows absolutely how unworthy he is and it’s terrifying).

          But it’s an admirable cause, right?

          It’s like a general going into a battle he knows he’s going to lose—at least it’s somewhat admirable, right? More admirable than admitting defeat. Either way, Junhyung’s troops are going to die whether he surrenders or goes on, so he might as well die trying. He might as well go as far as he can into that (beautifully—perfectly—indescribably) frozen tundra before he and his troops freeze to death.

          “Do you,” Junhyung twists his pencil in his hands as Hyunseung retracts his own hand and tilts his head at the sudden start, “want to—maybe—get coffee after this?”

          Hyunseung stares.

          Okay—so maybe the general should have at least planned a bit more thoroughly before going into his losing battle.

          “I—like—I mean—if you have time—I—too much homework—then—like,” Junhyung says quickly, “you don’t have to—it’s just—I—never mi—”

          Hyunseung smiles.

          Junhyung’s heart stutters.

          “Sure,” the older boy says.

          Usually, the second time around is supposed to be easier, right? Isn’t it? It’s supposed to be easier because you’ve already been with that person before—you already know what makes them laugh, what makes them irritated, their past, what they like, what they don’t like, the way they work, their little quirks and habits. It’s supposed to be easier the second time around because you’ve already done it once so you can apply all the mistakes you made the first time and do it even better the second time.

          Usually—anyway.

          And since when has Hyunseung ever been usual?

          Junhyung doesn’t even know how he managed it the first time around—he has no ing clue how to do it a second time.