Being invited to a Lee Joon party is an honor.

          Within the rich and swanky, there are rich and swanky and then there are richer and swankier and then there are the richest and swankiest, and the Lee family is about as rich and swanky as you can get before you reach ruler of all of Asia and maybe the world.

          Whether it’s because Lee Joon is an amazing party without having to bring things into his party that can get him accosted by the police, or whether Lee Joon is just a magical being because of his ridiculous attractiveness, Lee Joon throws parties that make you want to kill yourself right in the middle of it because nothing in life after this can ever compare and you want to end while the spectacular is still happening.

          Junhyung knows it’s an honor, but that doesn’t mean he has to appreciate it because while other students at their school (and some from neighboring schools) sometimes have actual grudge matches over invitations (after personal one-to-one invites, Joon makes a set number of concrete invitations and more or less sets them loose at school for people to fight over because he thinks that freedom is the best policy until someone has to go to the nurse because of a black eye), the people who are actually lucky enough to have Joon personally invite them (if personally inviting them means assaulting them in the middle of the hallways being unjustly happy) usually don’t want to come at all.

          Junhyung is one of those lucky people

          And he doesn’t want to be here at all.

          Neither do Doojoon and Yoseob and Yonghwa and Kikwang and Dongwoon and Cheondoong, and yet all of them are present and not as miserable as Junhyung because Doojoon and Yoseob are making out on one of the couches, Kikwang and Dongwoon are doing their usual denying dance of stupidity about how they want to make out on a couch, and Cheondoong is just Cheondoong—and being attacked by Mir somewhere near the drinks tables.

           It’s not that Junhyung likes living under rocks and being a hermit. In all honesty, he normally doesn’t mind Joon’s parties. He doesn’t particularly like having his eardrums potentially prematurely damaged, or being surrounded by first year girls who are all vying to get his phone number by the end of the night and who are all more than willing to lift their skirts for it. He doesn’t like any of that, not really, but he doesn’t mind because Joon, no matter how retarded, is still his friend and Junhyung is still a teenager and no teenager wants to be a hermit.

          But Jang Hyunseung is Joon’s friend too, and apparently does not want to be a hermit either because Hyunseung is here, and at the current moment, just a few feet away from Junhyung—barely any people separating them. He’s talking and laughing near the couch with Doojoon, who’s somehow managed to dislodge his face from Yoseob’s long enough to make coherent conversation.

          Junhyung knows that with the way things are between them, he should be thinking sad, sad, sad thoughts. He should be in deep depression and reflection and thinking about how much he’s messed up, about all the mistakes he’s made, about how if he hadn’t made them then Hyunseung would be here beside him and not ten feet away ignoring him. He knows that he should be thinking seriously and solemnly. He knows that the last thing he should be thinking about is how hot Hyunseung looks tonight.

          The last thing he should be thinking about is how soft, how airy, and touchable Hyunseung’s hair looks lying over his eyes. Junhyung definitely shouldn’t be thinking about how Hyunseung’s eyes look dark and bright and endless ringed with eyeliner. He shouldn’t be thinking about how Hyunseung’s jeans look like they were sewed onto him, how long his legs look, how tight and low they are on his waist, how much Junhyung wants to slip his hand into the back pocket, how when Hyunseung bends over to whisper something in Doojoon’s ear there’s that flash of skin and briefs’ waistband.

          Junhyung thinks that maybe this is what it feels like to be Kim Jonghyun.

          Kim Jonghyun, who, ironically enough according to Junhyung’s corresponding thoughts, is currently on the dance floor sandwiched in between cheerleaders Jung Jessica and Im Yoona. Nearby, Junhyung spots some of the ’91 line watching stonily and he can’t help but smile a little. Right now, Jonghyun is grinding with two cheerleaders, but that’s probably because Kim Kibum hasn’t arrived yet.

          Junhyung is about to return to staring at Hyunseung and wallow in his self-pity when he’s thrown forward a meter or so by an astoundingly strong and stupid force that appears on his back.

          “Yes,” Joon says triumphantly, arms around Junhyung’s neck. “You came.”

          Junhyung shoves him off and turns to face him. “Well—I said I would.”

          When you wear a uniform every day, seeing your fellow students out of uniform is a novelty—it’s always a different impression that’s tossed at you each time, a different reminder of that fellow student’s character because that comes out inevitably in reflection when someone dresses. With Joon, Junhyung’s always reminded of how ridiculously attractive he really is. Not just in the way his face is, or his body, but just the way he carries himself—carefully careless and carelessly confident.

          Lee Joon is already attractive enough in the uniform that hides how tall he is, hides his body—during school days when everyone is too tired to look good, too tired to pay attention to appearances, too tired to try to hide the eye-bags they’ve accumulated, Joon is still attractive enough to cause half the school’s female population to team up together and collide into him just for a chance to make physical contact with him.

          At his parties, when he’s at his happiest, at his most energetic, at his liveliest (although when Lee Joon isn’t lively, Junhyung has no idea), dressed in fitting jeans that demonstrate exactly how long his legs are, shirts and jackets that showcase how many days and hours he spends in the weight room after school, then Junhyung is surprised that Joon even manages to fight his way through the throng of girls to get to the bathroom—let alone Junhyung.

          Joon also usually gets attacked on all sides when he approaches the dance floor because in most of the female population’s eyes, grinding with Lee Joon for one night is equal to eleven years of marriage.

          “And I had every bit of faith that you’d show,” Joon says, pointing confidently in the air.

          Junhyung blinks. “No you didn’t,” he says.

          “What—I—Junhyung-ah—no—of course I did—just—I mean—well—I did—you—no trust—Junhyung-ah,” Joon says, hurt.

          Junhyung stares. “Right,” he responds after a moment spent thinking of how to react.

          Joon beams. “Right,” he repeats after Junhyung. “So,” he goes on briskly, clamping down one hand on Junhyung’s shoulder, “I need you to do me a favor.”

          Junhyung thinks that maybe he really should have stayed home and worked on getting to level thirteen, in his boxer shorts, complete with a bowl of ice cream at his side. “What?” he asks flatly.

          “I need you to get me some more toilet paper,” Joon says brightly.

          Junhyung resists the urge to hit him. “Why? Why can’t you get some more toilet paper? Why do I even know you?”

          Joon laughs and Junhyung thinks that he clearly doesn’t know how much danger his life is in right now. “Because I have to host,” he says, still beaming so bright that Junhyung really thinks he needs to squint around Joon otherwise he’ll have damaged eyesight. “And if I’m gone, people will start to miss me.”

          Junhyung stares. “So they won’t miss me?”

          Joon looks confused. “I,” he says puzzled, “am ridiculously attractive.”

          “Oh my God,” Junhyung says.

          “The cupboard’s over there,” Joon says briskly, one hand pointing towards the underside of the vast, twirling staircase that leads up to the second floor of the Lee house, and the other hand on Junhyung’s shoulder, guiding him to an obscure door embedded into the wall.

          “Hyung,” Junhyung says, “if you’re going to frog-march me like this, I don’t get why you can’t just get it yourself.”

          “I don’t know where it is,” Joon complains. “I’m just telling you where you can find it, but I don’t know where it is in the closet. You’re going to have to mess around to find it—just make sure to put everything back or else our maid’s going to hit me with her broom again.”

          “Is that why you lost all of your IQ points?” Junhyung asks sarcastically.

          Joon kicks him in the leg.

          Or rather—he tries to kick him in the leg and misses so he hits a female bystander instead.

          “Ow,” she shrieks and turns incredulously to glare at him.

          “—I’m sorry!” Joon says quickly, keeping one hand on Junhyung’s collar and the other straight at his side to bow repeatedly. “I’m sorry—I’m really, really sorry—just—I—not aiming—misdirection—you—yeah—just—sorry.”

          The girl rolls her eyes angrily and turns back to the boy she was talking to.

          “Finally,” Junhyung says once they are out of earshot, “someone who doesn’t appreciate your ridiculous attractiveness.”

          “Oh, shut up,” Joon says, stopping once they are in front of the closet.

          Junhyung stops, too.

          They look at each other.

          “What?” Junhyung says.

          “Well—go on,” Joon jerks his head indicatively toward the door.

          Junhyung gives him an odd look as he reaches forward to turn the doorknob open. The inside of the closet is pitch black and he can’t tell how big or deep it is. “Joonie-hyung,” he starts to ask, “Is there a light that I—“

          And then he lurches forward and falls on his knees because from the hardness on his back, Joon just kicked him into the closet.

          And from the slam of the door and the following click, Joon has just locked him in the closet.

          For a long stretch, Junhyung simply stares blankly at the direction of the door in the pitch blackness—partially out of shock and partially out of disbelief at how Joon must actually be insane because he doesn’t understand why this is happening and part of him doesn’t even believe that this is happening because it doesn’t make sense and just feels like Lee Joon has finally jumped over the border.

          He sighs, and starts groping around—praying that he doesn’t trip over anything or bump into a wall because he really has no sense of how big this place is—for a light switch. He stretches his arms out and takes a few more steps to the right and then a few steps forward and then a few steps to the left—

          “Oh,” is forced out of Junhyung’s mouth, breathlessly and surprised when he bumps into a body. “Oh—what?”

          There’s no response for a moment—a long, long moment.

          But then—

          “Junhyung-ah?”

          And suddenly, it all makes a sort of terrible, horrible, awful sense to Junhyung.

          Joon is definitely not going insane.

          Joon is just a horrifically smart retard.

          Joon is a horrifically smart and evil retarded genius because when Junhyung finally manages to find the light switch, he finds himself in what appears to be a mini bedroom—the likes of which are a bit larger than Harry Potter’s cupboard beneath the stairs—locked and alone with Jang Hyunseung.

          As retarded as Joon is, Jonghyun can’t help but appreciate his friendship with the older boy at times, and this is certainly one of those times. Joon is a party and Jonghyun is glad Joon is a party because Jonghyun is a party too except he doesn’t want to do the work of planning the party because it’s work and when the hell has Jonghyun ever wanted to do that?

          So he’s thankful, especially at this moment, that Joon likes hard work and partying because otherwise Jonghyun would have to settle for crappy, half- parties instead of the humongous ones Joon throws for every occasion he can use and some that he can’t. Jonghyun has every general commercial holiday known to man on alert in his cell phone so he can tell Joon three weeks in advance. The party before this one was a Halloween party and Jonghyun didn’t insult Joon for the entire week after because Jessica came dressed up as Barbie.

          As Malibu Barbie.

          It doesn’t get much better than Malibu Barbie.

          Well—

          Okay—

          So—maybe Victoria’s Secret Barbie would have been better, but Jonghyun doesn’t want to be a picky person because no one likes picky people.

          “You really weren’t cold?” Jonghyun asks again, laughing as Jessica pushes at him playfully.

          “It wasn’t a real bikini,” she says, eyes insistently wide. “It was just like a suit with see-through stuff over it so it looked like a bikini. Do you think I’m a ?”

          They are on the couch and Jonghyun thinks he is making wonderful progress at cornering Jessica right up into the armrest—a few more inches to go before she either has to fall onto the floor or sidle up into his lap.

          He makes a sarcastic face. “No—of course not.”

          She raises her eyebrows, folding her tiny arms.

          He laughs. “I’m kidding—you’re not a .” He nudges her thigh with his. “Just really, really cute.”

          Jessica’s eyes roll. “You’re such a flirt,” she says, smiling slightly.

          “I’ve been told,” he retorts. He leans in a little closer and grins. “I like your dress, noona.”

          Jessica’s eyebrows go up again. “Oh, really?” she asks, sarcastically appraising. “Because Sooyeongie said it might be a little short.”

          “I think it’s the perfect length,” Jonghyun says with a straight face, and wide, innocent eyes.

          Jessica laughs into her hand, “Jonghyun-ah—oh my God.”

          “What?” Jonghyun grins, leaning in closer again. Jessica squeals and pushes at him with no real intentional strength behind it. His face brushes against her hair just briefly, and his fingers slide against her bare thigh as he leans forward a little bit more before tugging her back out of the corner of the sofa.

          Jessica tosses her hair back into place, laughing with him, slightly breathless. “I mean,” she says, teasingly serious, “I don’t know, Jonghyun-ah. You’re an entire year younger than me, and I’m graduating this year.”

          “I only like noonas, so if you weren’t older than me, it wouldn’t matter how hot you were, anyway,” Jonghyun says, sticking his tongue out.

          Jessica’s mouth drops open playfully. “Kim Jonghyun!” she says, her voice rising.

          “Jung Jessica!” he says back to her, and she hits his shoulder.

          “So you have that thing for older girls, huh?” she says, her lower lip sliding out thoughtfully.

          He shrugs. “I mean, it—“

          Jonghyun stares.

          Jessica blinks, and then turns around to follow his gaze.

          “Oh,” she says after a moment. “Are you looking at Kibum-ah?”

          “What?” Jonghyun says, alarmed.

          Jessica has a small smile on her face. “Kibum-ah and Nicole-shii just came in, didn’t they? He’s really hot, you know,” she says approvingly, her eyes sliding back to where Kibum stands, talking to Joon at the entrance hall.

          Yeah—Jonghyun definitely knows.

          He knows that Kibum likes to dress androgynously—likes to wear clothes that are decidedly masculine and vaguely feminine at the same time. Kibum’s body frame is the same way—his shoulders, the way he carries himself, the way he stands, it’s all firmly masculine but with the feminine question always in mind.

          Jonghyun has always liked the way a girl’s hips curve into tight jeans—tight waistbands of tighter pants. He likes being able to run his hands down the swell of her hips to her waist, likes being able to hold a tiny back in just one hand. He knows he likes all that, so it confounds him just a little when he excuses himself to Jessica—Jung Jessica, a third year cheerleader—and bounds right up to Kibum. He bounds right up to Kibum and kisses him full on the mouth, hands sneaking just underneath the bottom of the first year’s shirt to feel against a slightly jutting hipbone, to run his fingers along a boxer brief’s waistband, to feel all angles and no curves.

          He pulls away, settling his arms around Kibum’s waist; hands interlocked and firmly resting in the arch of the younger boy’s back. “You,” he says sternly, “are late.”

          Kibum’s eyebrows disappear into his bangs. “I am?”

          “Yeah,” Jonghyun says and kisses the other boy again. “You are, and now you have to make it up to me by sleeping over for the weekend because you kept me waiting and lonely.”

          Kibum laughs, his arms resting on Jonghyun’s shoulders. “ right,” he says. “From what I saw, you were getting it on with Jessica-noona.”

          “She’s as ridiculously able as Joonie-hyung is attractive,” Jonghyun says, grinning, “but not as much as you.”

          Kibum’s smile fades a little bit.

          Jonghyun blinks rapidly, taken aback.

          “Really?” Kibum says and there’s something wrong with the tone he’s using now, even though the smile’s been repaired.

          Jonghyun lets his arms fall away from the other boy, only keeping one hand holding Kibum’s, their interlocked fingers swinging next to their thighs. “Something wrong?” he asks gently.

          Kibum grins. “I mean—you’re IQ is lower than half your age, you’re a pig who keeps groping me, and your Napoleon complex applies to a lot more than just your height, but other than that, no—nothing’s wrong.”

          Jonghyun’s mouth drops open. “I—I—you—my is amazing,” he says defensively.

          Kibum holds up his free hand, and shrugs. “I never said anything about your .”

          “It’s amazing,” Jonghyun repeats sullenly.

          Kibum laughs and presses himself closer, eyes looking right into Jonghyun’s. “Prove it to me,” he whispers.

          Jonghyun hopes that Joon won’t mind having to change the sheets to his bed tonight.

          He and Kibum are going to need to borrow it for an hour or two.

          When Junhyung gets out of this closet, he thinks, the first thing he’s going to do is punch Joon in his ridiculously attractive face and then his ridiculously taut abs and then maybe his balls just because. And because he thinks that maybe there were others involved in this conspiracy, he should punch Doojoon to be safe too—he actually thinks that it’d be more useful to punch Yoseob except then Doojoon would get involved so it’d be smarter to punch Doojoon from the get-go.

          Because it was already hard enough having to watch Hyunseung from across a vast dance floor and a multitude of people, now Junhyung has to look at Hyunseung with no people between them, hardly any space between them and the room is so condensed that Junhyung can smell Hyunseung.

          And once again—despite the fact that Junhyung is currently supposed to be thinking sorrowful, tragically poetic thoughts about how he’s so close and yet so far, and he can only stare sadly at Hyunseung and never embrace him, never tell him how sorry he is—

          Despite the fact that that’s what Junhyung should be thinking, Romeo-and-Juliet-esque, he’s thinking more about how he really hopes that being so close to Hyunseung and being able to smell him won’t result in Junhyung getting hard, because the last thing he needs is for Hyunseung to see him because then Junhyung will be a pig just like Kim Jonghyun and Hyunseung will hate him even more.

          Not that Life already doesn’t, but yeah.

          At the present moment, Hyunseung is sitting on the bed pushed into one end of the tiny room, and Junhyung is sitting against the door at the other end. Because of course even after locking him in a room with Hyunseung, Life isn’t going to let any verbal exchange take place because Life despises Junhyung with all its might.

          Hyunseung is staring at his cell phone, and Junhyung has been doing the same for the past fifteen minutes—wondering if the others aren’t responding because they’re conspiring with Joon, too busy having , or can’t hear the sound of their phones because of the loud music. He supposes that Doojoon and Yoseob take the second option, Jonghyun the first and second options, and everyone else can just be taken with the third.

          About ten more minutes—according to his phone, because Junhyung’s sense of time has been ed up after two minutes of being in this closet—pass, and Junhyung has finished twenty-three rounds of throwing rocks at little turtles moving in a vertical line across his phone’s screen, he decides that he has to open his mouth before he loses it and ends up mentally damaged like Joon.

          He knows that Hyunseung’s probably not going to respond, but that hardly matters because Hyunseung already hates him enough so Junhyung might as well talk to himself since that’ll at least keep him sane for another fifteen minutes. He figures that when the party ends they’ll be let out, much to the others’ disappointment of not getting any further because there is nowhere else to go after something has ended the way he and Hyunseung have.

          “It’s been almost forty-five minutes,” he says out loud, staring at his knees. “I Joonie-hyung’s forgotten, I’m going to punch him.”

          Silence.

          Junhyung sighs inwardly—he knows that he really should have killed even the tiniest hope that lingered, but it’s kind of unstoppable—the kind of hope that just insists on existing whether you consciously try to get rid of it or not. It’s the same way you can’t help what you think of because even if you’re trying not to think of it, you’re still thinking about it. He doesn’t even know what he was expecting, but at—

          “The party’s supposed to end in a while.”

          Junhyung’s head looks up so fast that he literally hears his neck crack.

          Hyunseung is leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees, phone in his hands. He’s looking back at Junhyung, too, eyes unreadable—his eyes are unreadable, but there is nothing hostile, nothing angry or irritated, in the way his features are arranged.

          “It—it—it is?” Junhyung says hoarsely.

          Hyunseung’s eyes are still undecipherable—are still deep—are still endless—still shine in the dim lighting—are still perfectly shaped like almonds—are still dark and rich—are still beautiful—are no longer Junhyung’s.

          “Yeah,” comes the quiet response.

          Junhyung nods unsteadily, nervously, and then stares back down at his phone again because it feels like he shouldn’t look at Hyunseung for too long—as though he shouldn’t look at something that beautiful for too long because it’ll break if he does—it’ll disappear and the magic will end, and he doesn’t want that to happen.

          Another few minutes pass and Junhyung continues to stare at his phone, not exactly knowing if he’s hoping that someone will respond to his texts and release them, or if he’s just watching the time go by. After the sound of Hyunseung’s voice directed at him after too long, the silence that follows is suffocating, and Junhyung wonders if Joon will mind if he just breaks the door down.

          “I—um—”

          Junhyung’s head snaps up again to stare at Hyunseung.

          “Um,” Hyunseung goes on, looking down at his own phone, “I brought your jacket back.”

          “Oh,” Junhyung says.

          “It’s not with me right now,” Hyunseung continues. “I—um—left it with Dongwoonie when Joonie-hyung came to get me.”

          “Oh,” Junhyung says again, not knowing what else he can say and not sure if he can come up with anything more intelligent-sounding when his heart feels like it’s being flattened against his ribcage until it can’t pump blood any longer.

          He just wishes Hyunseung would look at him.

          A moment.

          And then—

          “Can I,” Hyunseung begins quietly, eyes still in his lap, “ask you something?”

          Junhyung turns his phone around in his hands a few times. “Sure.”

          He watches the other boy’s face, Hyunseung’s mouth is open and his eyebrows are slightly knitted, deep in thought, perhaps over how to phrase his question. Hyunseung’s mouth closes and he swallows, and then glances up to meet Junhyung’s gaze, expression still impassive. “Why’d you do that?”

          Junhyung stares.

          “Your jacket,” Hyunseung says further. “Why’d you leave it for me?”

          Because Junhyung is still in love with Hyunseung. Because Junhyung never stopped loving Hyunseung. Because Junhyung is an idiot. Because Junhyung ed things up and has no idea what to do to make it better. Because Junhyung doesn’t care if Hyunseung doesn’t love him back. Because Junhyung just wants them to be friends again if nothing else. Because even though Junhyung knows he’s nothing compared to Jiyoung, he still can’t give up hope and he hates that because it hurts. Because even if Hyunseung hates him, doesn’t want him, can’t stand him, Junhyung still will do anything for him.

          “Because you looked cold,” Junhyung says softly.

          Hyunseung looks down again. “Oh,” he murmurs, “okay.”

          When they are finally let out, the party has long been over, and it’s just Joon, and the others staying back for the clean-up—which is mostly done by the maids anyway, but after Joon’s parties, they always end up sleeping over and sometimes hanging out the next morning. The one who opens the door is Doojoon, his hair sticking up in odd directions, and his clothes askew. The soccer captain’s cheeks are flushed and there are a few beads of sweat on his forehead and he has just-recently-ed all over his face.

          “Thanks, captain,” Junhyung says dryly, “for having while two of your teammates were locked in a closet.”

          Doojoon sputters. “I didn’t know you guys were locked in here.”

          “Yes you did,” Junhyung says, rolling his eyes as Hyunseung walks past them and toward Dongwoon and Kikwang. He adds in a quieter voice, “And nothing happened so it was pointless anyway.”

          “Did you guys talk?” Doojoon asks.

          “Yeah,” Junhyung replies, “like three words each about nothing.”

          The older boy sighs. “Whatever—it wasn’t my idea anyway so don’t to me about it. And don’t to Joonie-hyung about it either—he’s actually doing something unlike you.”

          Junhyung exhales in frustration. “When will you guys see that there’s nothing to do? If he doesn’t want me, then he doesn’t want me and locking us in rooms and pairing us together isn’t going to make anything better. It’ll just make him hate me more because tonight he wasted an entire party locked in a ing closet with me doing nothing.”

          “That’s not true,” Doojoon says quietly, just as Yoseob comes bounding down one of the staircases, looking rushed and just as tousled as Doojoon.

          Yoseob’s hair is all over the place as well, half of the buttons on his shirt undone, and the sleeves are rolled up to mismatching lengths. His jeans are slightly wrinkled and he only has one shoe tied. His cheeks are even redder than Doojoon’s and he’s holding a jacket in one hand. He stuffs it into Doojoon’s arms and says breathlessly, “You left that on the bed.” He briefly looks at Junhyung and then back to Doojoon. “And your fly is open.”

          “Crap,” Doojoon mutters absently and bends over to zip his pants.

          “The must have been amazing tonight,” Junhyung says sarcastically.

          “It was,” Yoseob says dismissively, “but what happened with you and—?”

          Junhyung sighs. “Nothing,” he says. “Nothing happened, and nothing’s ever going to happen so just forget about it.”

          Joon walks over to them then, facing Junhyung, and looking solemn and nervous—two expressions rarely ever seen on Joon. “Are you mad?” he asks apologetically.

          Junhyung pulls half of his mouth into a small smile. “No,” he says. “’M not. Nothing happened, but thanks for trying, hyung.”

          Joon’s eyes look sorry and sad, and Junhyung thinks that he really must be the worst if he’s even dragging his hyungs into his own messes and making them hurt over this. “I’m fine,” he insists, “really.”

          The track athlete doesn’t look convinced, but he moves on and asks, “Are you sleeping over?”

          Junhyung looks to Doojoon and Yoseob with raised eyebrows. “Are you guys—?”

          “My driver’s on his way,” Yoseob says as Doojoon snakes an arm around the younger boy’s waist. “We were going to stay, but we haven’t started the English yet.”

          “Yeah,” Junhyung says, turning to Joon. “I think I’ll just head home, too, hyung.”

          “Okay,” Joon says, still looking sorrier and sadder than Lee Joon should ever look.

          Junhyung is glad that Jonghyun arrives downstairs seconds after, throwing his arms around Joon and talking excitedly about what they should do tomorrow since the second year sleeping over is clearly a given. Lee Joon should always be animated and lively like that—Junhyung knows that he isn’t the only one who hates it when Joon is anything but retarded and laughing.

          He bids good night to Doojoon and Yoseob, tells Dongwoon and Kikwang that he’s leaving, and goes out of Joon’s house, jogging to the gates when a text on his phone alerts him that his ride is here and waiting.

          When Junhyung reaches the gates, he curses because he realizes that he forgot to get his jacket from Dongwoon when he said goodbye to the two maknaes. He supposes that he’ll have to wait till Monday to get it back unless they decide to hang out somewhere during the course of the weekend. Junhyung opens the passenger door and slides into the car—he thought about asking his driver, but he usually refrains from using his driver during the weekends.

          “Had fun?” Seungho asks.

          “No,” Junhyung snorts with a smile.

          “Not a good night, then?” Seungho tries again, nudging Junhyung in the arm, as he starts up the car.

          “I mean,” Junhyung says slowly, “it was interesting—but not fun.”

          Seungho blinks at him, slightly amused, through the darkness.

          Junhyung laughs and leans back in the seat. “Just go, hyung—I want to go home and sleep.”

          Seungho gives a small, vague smile and the car begins to move.