Just when everyone thinks that the worst of winter is over, the most unforgiving cold spell, marked by brief surges of hail and snowstorm, ushers in February. It’s like a last hurrah before the vernal equinox rolls in to signal the turning of seasons.

 

Sehun's lease on the apartment in Nakwon-dong lapses by the second week. After a load of prodding and, loath as he may be to admit, sound reasoning from Chanyeol, he decides to forego renewing his contract in favor of signing a new one with Lu Han.

 

He moves in early afternoon on a Thursday, partly because it's the warmest day they've had in two weeks—granted it's still subzero, but minus four is still better than minus fourteen—and partly because Thursday is a workday. He has no idea what kind of people his new neighbors are. He knows can't avoid the curious stares and awkward introductions forever, but he can, maybe, stall a little. Or at least he can try.

 

For a second he considers calling Chanyeol to ask if he can get a ride, but then it's not like he’s got a ton of stuff to move out anyway. Most of his uncle’s belongings had been removed from the apartment, donated, sold, or simply discarded, when it became clear that he won’t get to use them anymore. All he has left now is enough to fit in a backpack, an expandable carry-on duffel bag, and one large hard-shell spinner suitcase. Nothing he can’t lug around on his own.

 

His new landlord, bundled up in a thick plaid coat, scarf coiled loosely around his neck, is waiting by the entrance to the building when the cab pulls into the parking area. He looks like a little boy next to the giant standing beside him with thick, ominous eyebrows peeking out above black framed Ray-Bans. He’s never seen this guy before.

 

 

Like a knee-jerk reaction, Sehun’s gut falls at the prospect of having to socialize so soon. Which is ridiculous because he knows that they’re all Hybrids out here. He’s got nothing to be afraid of. He repeats this like a mantra in his head as he hands over a T-money card to the cab driver.

 

Emerging from the white Sedan, he looks up and catches bright doe eyes disappear into crinkled semicircles, giving away the wide grin smothered under layers of wool. And then Sehun chances a gander at the stranger. He can’t see the man’s eyes but his mouth is pulled up to an uneven, tightlipped curve.

 

Sehun gives a small bow, because it’s the polite thing to do, and then quickly gathers his things before either of the two could make a move to help.

 

“Yo, yo! You made it,” Lu Han greets loudly, tugging at his scarf to pull the bunched up noose lower so that it doesn’t muffle his voice.

 

“Yeah,” mumbles Sehun, guarded, as he hitches the duffel bag higher across his clavicle while his other hand clutches the handle of the suitcase. It trundles behind him as he reluctantly steps closer.

 

“This is Wu Yifan,” Luhan says, tilting up his chin in the other man’s direction. “He lives two doors down from you.”

 

The name rings a bell. Sehun’s brain clambers for recollection, mouth forming an ‘o’ when the search gets a hit.

 

 

Up close he’s even taller. It catches Sehun off guard. He accepts the gigantic hand offered to him nonetheless, and it pretty much engulfs his pasty, bony fingers. The man’s grip is firm, self-assured, and he suddenly feels so small even though he’s only maybe a couple of inches shorter.

 

“Hey, listen,” Lu Han begins, words rushed. “I’m running really late so Yifan here will have to help you settle in. That okay?”

 

Sehun tries not to pout, not to panic and whine ‘nooooooo’, because that’s rude as and he’s not a petulant three-year-old being dropped off at daycare against his will.

 

“Uhh—sure?” He releases the suitcase to fiddle with the straps of his backpack.

 

“Great!” Lu Han claps him on the shoulder then jogs towards a Bugatti parked just by the side of the low-rise building. It’s not a proper parking space. It’s like he just left it there for easy access, so that he can take off just as soon as he’s sure that Sehun didn’t get lost or anything.

 

“I’ll see you two tonight! Everyone’s psyched to meet you, Sehunnie. Be ready by 6 P.M.” Lu Han throws them a quick wave before disappearing into the vehicle.

 

 

“Alright,” a voice pipes up beside him before he can fully digest what Lu Han just said and evaluate the implications of it.

 

With the glasses on, Yifan’s whole appearance comes off intimidating. And now, sans the glasses, Yifan is... well, still intimidating. Apparently the severe eyebrows come with a set of piercing dark eyes that make him seem like either a tortured artist or head of the mafia.

 

“Come on, let’s get you inside,” comes a deep, rumbling bass. Perhaps as deep as Chanyeol’s, minus the booming volume and just slightly lacking the same ragged edges, but he can see how they can be friends.

 

Yifan takes the suitcase and hauls it into the lobby before Sehun can protest.

 

“I’m going to take the stairs, if you don’t mind,” he says, stopping in front of the fire exit door. “You can take the elevator up to the third floor though, if you want. I’ll just meet you there.”

 

“That’s okay. I’m fine with the stairs,” Sehun lightly shrugs. “But my luggage is, uh, heavy. Are you sure... third floor is a bit...?”

 

Yifan waves away his misgivings with a smirk. “Don’t worry about it.”

 

As Sehun follows suit, he wonders if the man is claustrophobic, hence the semblant aversion towards elevators. Or maybe it’s something he does for health reasons? A cardio exercise of sorts? He doesn’t dare ask for fear of overstepping bounds that he doesn’t even know exist. He really used to be a lot less uptight around new acquaintances, a lot more confident with initiating small talk. He’s just not used to people in general anymore.

 

Sehun watches his own shoes the entire time. It takes six flights of stairs to get to the third level. He’s not sure how far they’ve gone, probably just two or three flights, but his poor lungs’ miserable cries make it feel like ten. Heaving as he grips his backpack tighter, he glances up to check how Yifan is faring. He’s ready to help, knowing that his suitcase weighs over twice as much as everything attached to his torso at the moment. But Yifan is perfectly fine.

 

Normal, steady breathing. Arms and shoulders relaxed. Not a single sign of strain on his neck or back.

 

And that’s when he notices, with a wide-eyed jolt, that Yifan’s feet and the rubber wheels of his suitcase are moving up, but not touching the ground.

 

 

At that moment Sehun’s lucky he doesn’t lose his balance. He vaguely registers someone talking over the fog that temporarily clouds his brain.

 

“Huh?”

 

Yifan’s eyes are already on him when he looks up. He’s probably noticed his struggle and takes pity because he suddenly stops moving, effectively making Sehun pause too. And the next thing he knows a significant weight is lifting off of him. He doesn’t even try to put up a fight; just watches Yifan swing the duffel bag onto his own shoulder. And then they’re climbing again. Or floating, in Yifan’s case.

 

“—Park Chanyeol? Big, saucer eyes, Yoda-ears, ten thousand teeth?”

 

“Oh,” Sehun mutters, panting. They finally reach the right floor and he in a lungful of air in celebration.

 

“Right. Yeah, Chanyeol-hyung. I know him.”

 

“I’m assuming you’ve been to his place, yeah?”

 

Sehun nods, following the man as he actually uses his feet to round a corner.

 

The hallway is wide. Not as long as the one in his old apartment but a hell of a lot more spacious for sure. Soft, warm lighting reflects off of engineered oak hardwood flooring. Walls are a pale, gray-ish, taupe with white cornice and eggshell ceiling. Not at all shabby, Sehun notes. Quite elegant, actually.  He can’t say it’s entirely unexpected given that Chanyeol’s building looks about the same, except for the colors and lighting fixture.

 

And so he isn’t so surprised either when Yifan says: “The apartments here look more or less similar to that.”

 

They stop in front of a door with brass plates that read 303. There are only three units on each floor, and this appears to be the last one here. The cover of the electronic lock slides up, prompting a digital keypad on the touchscreen. Yifan keys in the PIN. The lock beeps, and then he’s pushing the door open.

 

Stepping inside his new flat feels a lot like stepping into Chanyeol’s, except this one is so much better because it’s his. He stands behind the couch, his eyes unblinking as they sweep across his surroundings. He makes a mental note to thank his best friend later for being a pain in the and bugging him to sign that lease.

 

He can hear Yifan puttering behind him, a drawer dragging open, a click of a pen, paper shuffling. Curious, he turns to see what the other man is up to, but then his gaze suddenly lands on the kitchen and he freezes. Eyes blown wide, he completely fails to curb a gasp.

 

Held up by a long string hanging on the overhead cupboards is a handwritten banner that says:

 

WELCOME!!! \(^_^)/

 

And on the granite countertop that borders the kitchen he finds a small, hot bowl of rice, kimchi jiggae, a plate of buffalo wings, and a box of chocolate chip muffin.

 

His jaw drops as his insides flap about, tumbling and turning, before promptly melting into a gross, gooey puddle of warm feelings.

 

“Why—who—” This is the silliest, cutest welcome he’s ever gotten and he’s not sure what to do with himself.

 

“The rice is from Lu Han’s trusty rice cooker and the buffalo wings are from Chanyeol.”

 

Sehun turns to Yifan who is holding a notepad in one hand and a pen in the other.

 

“He obviously doesn’t live here, but he says he feels responsible for your fate, since he did talk you into buying into Lu Han’s stupid tactics. The kimchi jiggae is Yixing and Jongdae’s—well, Yixing was the one who made it and Jongdae actually only supplied the recipe, but he’ll zap me if I don’t give him credit for the end product, so. Yeah. And the muffin is from Minseok. The banner is a joint effort between me and Zitao. I bought the materials and he did all the writing. The smiley face is my masterpiece, though.”

 

This is all gibberish to Sehun’s ears and it must show on his face because now Yifan is laughing behind his huge hand. He steps closer, just enough to give Sehun’s hair a quick ruffle. Like they’re close. Which they’re not, clearly, seeing as they’ve only just met. But strange enough, Sehun doesn’t mind.

 

“You’ll meet everybody later, don’t worry.” Yifan smiles, all gums and teeth, and all of a sudden he doesn’t seem so scary anymore.

 

“I noted down the password to your door lock,” he says as he sets the notepad and pen down by the base of the lamp on the end table. “I included resetting instructions just in case you’re not familiar with this one. The Wi-Fi password is there too.”

 

Sehun is still a bit too dazed to react properly so all he does in response is nod.

 

“Well, I’ll leave you to it then. I have basketball training to facilitate in about an hour. It’s nice to meet you, Sehun.”

 

Yifan is already by the door when Sehun regains full function of his faculties. “Yifan... hyung?” He falters, just slightly. “I can—I can call you that, right?”

 

“Sure,” the man casually shrugs. “I mean, I was born the same year as Lu Han and Minseok, so that does make me hyung to you.”

 

“Right. Thank you.” Sehun clears his throat. “For the... smiley. And, uh, for helping me with my things.”

 

Yifan chuckles, looking utterly amused. Sehun should probably be a little offended that the man finds his awkwardness entertaining, but he takes it in stride. His spirit is going to be difficult to dampen today.

 

“No problem. I’ll see you tonight. 6 P.M., don’t forget.”

 

The door beeps as it closes and only then does Sehun realize that he forgot to ask Yifan what exactly will happen at 6 P.M.

 

 

 

Sehun every plate clean and finishes doing the dishes before taking a tour around his new apartment.

 

His old flat could probably fit in the combined space of the living room and the dining. There are two bedrooms but only one has a queen-size bed, which is fine. There’s a desk in the other room and it’s perfect because Sehun did plan to turn it into an office anyway. The bathroom has a tub and a separate shower stall whereas the one in his old flat was so small he could hardly go about taking a bath without stubbing his toe or knee or elbow on the tiles.

 

Unlike Chanyeol, what he has installed in his kitchen is an induction stove instead of a gas stove. Which is also fine. He can’t be picky when his activities in the kitchen are more or less limited to boiling water and cooking rice. He makes eggs too, sometimes. And hotdogs. Nothing remotely fancy.

 

Everything considered, anyone would fully expect the rent to cost a pretty penny. It is slightly higher than what he used to pay at his old apartment, but for what he’s getting for that amount, this might as well be charity rather than an actual business. Then again, maybe that’s the point. Lu Han probably doesn’t need the money anyway.

 

Sehun decides he might as well start to unpack. He begins by hooking up his all-in-one PC in the second room and testing the Wi-Fi with it. And then he moves on to sorting clothes, which doesn’t take him very long to do since he doesn’t have too many to begin with.

 

It’s past three in the afternoon when Sehun slides the eighth and last book into the shelf adjacent to the work table. He brushes off his hands and for a moment he just stands there, going through the spine of each one.  He doesn’t remember reading all of them, to be honest. He’s not even sure if they’re all his, but he keeps them just in case.

 

There’s a particular book, third from the leftmost, that catches his eye. He reaches up, fingers carefully skating along the textured material. It’s a brown leather sleeve, nothing written on the spine. He most definitely doesn’t recall ever reading this one. Curious, he takes it out. He flips to a random page and sees... handwriting. Lots of it. Handwriting that he doesn’t recognize. Until he starts to read.

 

 

 

 

Hands trembling, Sehun shuts the book—diary—prompting an explosion of tiny motes of dust. He quickly shoves it back where it came from. Breathing erratically, he scurries out of the office and stomps to the bedroom. The door closes behind him with a loud bang, his fingers clenching and unclenching at his sides. A phantom whisper niggles in his ear telling him to go back and get it, read it from end to end. And maybe he will. But not today.

 

The suitcase is carefully stowed away in the closet before Sehun heeds the bed’s beckoning call. He collapses stomach-first on the cushion—a hundred times more comfortable than his old one. Sehun sighs, relishing the feeling of feather-soft duvet molding into every curve of his body. This has been his first good day in a really long time. He doesn’t want to ruin this.

 

 

 

*

 

 

“Sehunah!”

 

Incessant buzzing pierces through the sleepy haze.

 

“Oh Sehun!!”

 

A groan drags out from under a pillow.

 

“Oh Sehun, open up!!”

 

Sehun doesn’t budge. But then his phone goes on a jarring, vibrating spree against his cheek and it goddamn tickles.

 

“Ahh! What the hell—” eyes squeezed tight, he flaps about heavily, one hand blindly groping his own for the offending piece of metal.

 

“What?” He doesn’t even bother to check the ID.

 

“Why are you in bed?” Chanyeol-hyung. Of course. “It’s quarter to six!”

 

He would resort to flat-out denial but he sees no point when his voice is so thick with sleep he’s slurring his words.

 

“So?” Sehun rolls on his side, stretching like a cat.

 

“SO you have fifteen minutes to get ready. Open the door.”

 

“.....why?”

 

“Just! Open! The door!”

 

The second Sehun does open the door, he’s immediately flipped over a shoulder like a sack of rice and manhandled into the bathroom.

 

“WHAT THE ARE YOU DOING HYUNG PUT ME DOWN!!”

 

“You were specifically told 6 P.M., you unpunctual noodle!! I knew this was gonna happen!”

 

In his defense, he fell asleep by accident because how could you not with a bed like that? It’s totally the bed’s fault.

 

Chanyeol throws him a menacing, “If you’re not done in five minutes, I swear, I’m dragging you out , kicking and screaming, so help me,” and then shuts the door in his face. Sehun jumps back on reflex, taking his nose to safety in the nick of time. He stares incredulously at the closed door, jaw hanging open.

 

“! You almost broke my nose!”

 

“Kid, I’ll break it for real if I don’t hear the shower running in the next ten seconds!” Chanyeol bellows from far away, tone sharp, ripe with foreboding.

 

Sehun slumps into himself, sniffling indignantly. “Rude.”

 

He’s still sulking, but he knows better than to test Chanyeol’s patience. He can only take being deprived of his best friend’s glorious food for so long. What if he goes to eat at Chanyeol’s restaurant and Chanyeol actually makes him pay?

 

Sighing loudly, like a waspish ten-year-old who got a chiding from his big brother, Sehun resignedly turns around and stomps toward the shower stall.

 

 

*

 

 

Lu Han’s penthouse is massive.

 

Sehun hears the lot before he sees it, before the door even opens, and he balks. He might have bolted if not for Chanyeol standing directly behind him, bodily obstructing his escape route. When Lu Han waves them in, Chanyeol is the one who announces their entrance with a big, hearty, “HEHEYYY!!”

 

Lu Han then takes his shoulder in a steady grip, as if to make sure that he doesn’t run, and says, “Everyone, meet Oh Sehun!”

 

Oh, God, Sehun sobs inwardly, fidgeting under the attention even while he bends at the waist to give a courteous bow.

 

He gulps, his shoulders stiff, gaze aimlessly roving about like a lost child. More heads turn and a couple of people get up from their seats. He all but cowers like a prey. What makes matters worse is that Chanyeol leaves him the moment he spots Baekhyun and Minseok in the middle of a fierce air hockey battle. He’s stumped for a second because as far as he knows, Baekhyun’s not from this neighborhood. On second thought, he might as well be given that Chanyeol’s bachelor pad is practically his second home with how often he comes to raid the man’s kitchen and abuse his comfy sofa.

 

Sehun makes a small, frustrated noise in the back of his throat as he helplessly watches the tall man prance away.

 

 

“Hey,” a gentle voice pipes up behind him. Sehun turns to find jet black hair, kind, russet eyes, and a dented cheek.

 

“I’m Yixing,” he says, smiling wider. “I’m a healer. And a biochemist. It’s nice to meet you, Sehun!”

 

Sehun blinks. A healer. And the fact just slides off his tongue like it’s nothing.

 

His mind flashes back to a news article he read about a month ago on a string of abductions that involved extremely rare Hybrids like Yixing. The formula to foolproof healing and extended youth remains elusive, and the search for it has put healers in danger for the longest time; even forced some of the known ones into hiding. Well, going by how Yixing so easily exposed himself, he’s obviously not hiding. Then again, if he’s friends with Lu Han, which he obviously is, then that would explain a lot.

 

Sehun remains stationary long enough that Yixing’s smile begins to falter, head tilting slightly in concern. Sehun splutters.

 

“O-oh, yeah, kimchi jiggae—I mean, hi. Yixing-hyung. I mean, Yixing-sshi. Hyung. I’m Oh Sehun—but you already know that. Um. Hello. It’s nice to meet you, too.” He barely manages to get the last part out in a semi-whisper.

 

Yixing laughs through his nose, clearly very amused, and Sehun flushes in embarrassment even while he gives the extended hand a weak shake. Luckily Yixing is magnanimous enough to not capitalize on Sehun’s lameness.

 

“Did you like the kimchi jiggae?” He asks amiably. Sehun doesn’t quite trust himself to speak yet so he opts to just nod in response. Yixing’s face lights up in an instant.

 

“Thanks to my recipe, right?” chimes in a man with a wide, kittenish grin curling at the corners, as he loosely flings an arm across Yixing’s shoulders.

 

Sehun’s eyes widen. He knows this guy. Kim Jongdae, Up Rising’s front man. He’s seen the indie band featured on some online articles and even likes (loves, to be completely honest) their music. Though to call himself a fanboy would be a bit if a stretch, not to mention bruising to his manly ego. Oh Sehun is nobody’s fanboy. Maybe except Up Rising’s and Justin Bieber’s, but he’s taking that bit of information to the grave.

 

“You’re welcome, by the way,” chirps the singer, reaching up with a gloved hand to pat Sehun’s head.

 

“Oh, shut the up, Kim Jongdae, you Googled that recipe!” Baekhyun snaps from where the Chanyeol vs. Yifan Air Hockey War is being waged. He stands by the wall, a notepad in one hand and a pen in the other. It looks like he’s the one keeping score.

 

Denying Jongdae a chance to retaliate, Baekhyun turns to Sehun and breaks into a big smile, arms flailing. “Hi, Sehunah!”

 

“SCORE!!!” Chanyeol lets out a cry of triumph and tugs at Baekhyun frantically before Sehun could say hi back.

 

“Ten points! I win! Baek, did you see?!”

 

“No, I was saying hello to Sehunnie. And if I don’t see it, it doesn’t count,” he deadpans.

 

Chanyeol’s eyes nearly pop out, voice soaring multiple octaves. “But the puck is right here—“ He pointedly waves the mullet toward the slot over his side of the table, but Baekhyun is unimpressed.

 

“How do I know you didn’t put it there while I wasn’t looking?”

 

“But—but—you—Yifan-hyung, tell him!”

 

Chanyeol is absolutely desperate while Yifan just looks like he’s fighting down a grin. He gives a nonchalant shrug.

 

“Hey, if the referee says it doesn’t count...”

 

Sehun chuckles to himself as Chanyeol points an accusing finger at them both, yelling, “You are terrible people! Why are you my friends?!”

 

“Look, it smiles,” someone coos beside him. Then suddenly a gloved finger pokes his cheek and he jumps a mile high. The man with a kittenish grin laughs while Sehun ducks his head, ears flaming.

 

“Relax, kiddo.”

 

Sehun tries not to flinch when a light, playful punch lands on his chest.

 

“I’m Jongdae. You make a cuter maknae than Tao. I like you already.”

 

“I heard that!” A tall blond with kohl-lined eyes and a haughty jut of his chin shouts from the buffet table, which prompts a bark of laughter from both Jongdae and Yixing.

 

Sehun already knows Zitao, who thanks him for getting the 'annoying burden of maknae-hood' off his back. And then Minseok comes up to him right then to introduce him to Do Kyungsoo, the pastry maker and basically the one who deserves his unending worship for producing the best chocolate chip muffin to ever grace his palate.

 

The rest, he’s already met before and this slightly eases up the tension coiling in his stomach. In the spirit of full disclosure, one by one people start telling Sehun what kind of Hybrid they are over dinner. Kyungsoo, the one with elemental aptitude for earth; Junmyeon, water; Minseok, frost. Even so, nobody pressures him into divulging anything about himself. A fact that he appreciates, although he doubts that Lu Han hasn’t told them already. He figures that perhaps they’re doing this in a bid to get him to stop nervously fiddling with his wool sweater, for one. He can't help it. A part of him keeps expecting something horrible to happen because it seems like there's always, always a surprise waiting at every turn. Most of the time, a bad one. Especially just when he's starting to have a good time.

 

It still feels a little odd, though. He's never been around this many Hybrids before, and never another Red Flag until he met Lu Han. And now he knows another one—Zitao, who’s apparently a chronokinetic. Sehun's not sure what kind of expression his face is making exactly, but he must seem pretty amazed judging by the way Tao is preening. He looks like he's about to go and milk it some more when Baekhyun interrupts with a snort.

 

"Don't look so smug now, my dear panda. It's not like you can go longer than three seconds without your nose bleeding."

 

It's apparently true because Tao doesn’t refute it. He just squawks indignantly and throws a badly aimed kick at Baekhyun’s leg in response, which the older manages to dodge at the last possible moment. They bicker back and forth like that throughout the meal. Kyungsoo somehow gets roped in, but Baekhyun is quick to backpedal the second the other man pins him with a very dark look that promises pain and suffering in the form of a crippling headlock, or a mean uppercut, or both. Meanwhile, Junmyeon goes from being a responsible adult who promotes peace and harmony by breaking up the kids’ fight, to a tired, old man who looks just about ready to give up on mankind.

 

In the middle of it all, Sehun finds himself laughing along. It’s strange, but not bad. Not bad at all.

 

 

 

Hours later, Lu Han announces that he’s going to allow just one choice of liquor, because a room full of piss drunk Hybrids spells the perfect disaster. Minseok brings out a bucket of beer bottles, the tin frosted around the area wrapped in his hands. General consensus states that beer is still best served cold no matter the season, and who needs ice when Minseok is around?

 

Luhan begins to move the fire pit from indoors to the veranda without lifting a finger. Chanyeol starts up the flames while Baekhyun conjures tiny glowing balls of light that flit around like fireflies from the palm of his hand. Nobody bats an eye. Sehun watches this all with bated breath, half-expecting the wailing sirens any minute now because surely there must be a law against having this many active Hybrids in one place. But maybe he's just paranoid.

 

 

 

 

Everyone steps out, except for Sehun who lingers by the glass doors a little longer.

 

Hands snug in pockets, he leans his weight against the silver frame while quietly watching as the older guys try to set up the makeshift bonfire. It’s taking a while. They hardly get anything done in between playfully shoving and chasing each other around like children. Peals of laughter ring loud into the night as Tao and Chanyeol start trying to catch the ‘fireflies’ with their hands. The sky is a flat blackness with nothing to illuminate it tonight, but Baekhyun’s balls of light make it seem like the stars just made a trip down to earth, on Lu Han’s penthouse’s veranda, to play tag with these silly grown men.

 

Something searing suddenly creeps into Sehun’s chest, and the small smile falls away even before he realizes that it’s there. It lashes like a whip and takes his heart in a chokehold of fear. He's part of this now and it feels like it can only go either one of two ways: he ends up destroying something here or something else brings all of them down.

 

“Hey,” someone elbows him on the side and he jolts.

 

“God, Sehun, you really need to relax,” Yifan says with a light laugh.

 

“Sorry,” he mumbles sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t really... this—” he makes broad gestures with his hand to encompass all aspects of this little—or not-so-little; there’s eleven of them after all—party. “I’m not used to it anymore. I don’t make new friends.”

 

He hesitates along that last bit, worried for a second that he might have inadvertently painted himself as a flaky misanthrope. Which, to be honest, is probably true when he’s around most people. But maybe not here. Maybe this is different. That’s not how he wants to be here.

 

“Hm,” Yifan hums. “It looks like Jongdae liked you right away, though. I’d take that as a good sign.”

 

Sehun peers at him curiously. The taller man steps away a bit, allowing his weight to fall against the opposite side of the door frame.

 

“It doesn’t seem like it anymore, but when he first came here he was just as skittish as you are right now. Wouldn’t talk. Just shrinks into himself. Wouldn’t let anybody near him. Wouldn’t touch anybody.”

 

“Really...” Sehun is honestly surprised. From what he’s seen over the last few hours, he could easily peg the man for an affectionate lump of unending energy, who’s also slightly clingy, but not in a bad way.

 

Glancing outside, he easily spots Jongdae. He has one arm curled around Yixing’s waist, head thrown back mid-laugh, possibly over something the healer said. Nothing about what he’s seeing fits Yifan’s description. Sehun’s brain goes back to dinner and that’s when it dawns on him that Jongdae hasn’t actually mentioned what kind of Hybrid he is.

 

“What does he...” he trails off, unsure if he’s allowed to know at all when Jongdae didn’t even volunteer the information himself.

 

“He can summon lightning,” Yifan says it, anyway. “He has high-voltage sparks shooting out from his fingertips and sometimes he can’t control it. He can electrocute someone without meaning to just by touching them.”

 

Sehun blinks.

 

 

He’s seen Jongdae on posters and online photos and such, and before tonight he thought that the gloves were sort of a branding mechanism. A trademark-look thing. Something to the effect of those rhinestone-studded ones that Michael Jackson is known for, perhaps to pay homage to the King of Pop, except that Jongdae doesn’t really dance, as far as he knows.

 

“See, you learn control through practice. But you need someone else there to reel you back in when you’re starting to spin out of control. A coach of sorts. We couldn’t be that for Jongdae. Something like what he has... it’s too dangerous even for us,” he says, and Sehun senses a wave of regret rolling off of him.

 

“Well, maybe except for Yixing but only because he heals fast. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t get hurt—just that he doesn’t sustain any serious injuries from it easily. Jongdae always hated it, but he does need the help. Yixing wouldn’t take no for an answer anyway.” He pauses, takes a long breath. “Personally, I think Jongdae’s doing so well that he doesn’t need the gloves anymore. But I guess he’s just, I don’t know, too scared of hurting someone accidentally.”

 

Sehun swallows thickly. Having an ability that could potentially hurt, even kill, people is something he understands more than he can explain.

 

He quietly watches as flames around the lava rocks. Minseok, Junmyeon, and Lu Han begin rearranging chairs around the fire pit, the rest following suit. Kyungsoo advances on a cowering Chanyeol for flinging the smaller man’s hoodie over his head. A laughing Baekhyun pulls Tao up from where he tripped over his own feet and then helps him brush down the back of his thick parka. Because beneath all of that brattiness and sass, truth is he’s actually a pretty good hyung.

 

Every single one of them appears unremarkable, basic, normal—and yet, essentially, they can all be human weapons one way or another. If they train—really train—for maybe forty or fifty years, gain complete mastery of their abilities, and grow strong enough to no longer be hindered by the limitations set by the human body, Sehun and Junmyeon together can obliterate every single piece of land from the face of the earth. Lu Han can get access to all government and military intel and bring down governments, even start a war. Jongdae can trigger a worldwide blackout. Kyungsoo can activate all volcanoes, split the earth in half. And that’s not all of them yet.

 

Sure, it’s a stretch, but they’re a ing dangerous lot, and every single one of them is a target. Having all of them in one place like this makes them a little too vulnerable, doesn’t it? Practically like hitting eleven birds with one stone. It’s just a matter of which side destroys the other first.

 

Sehun exhales loudly, suddenly frustrated for no real, tangible reason.

 

“I know I signed up for this, but this is nuts!” He turns to Yifan who looks surprised at the outburst. He feels metal digging into his sweater when he leans back on the door frame. “I don’t get it—why would anybody want all of us together under one roof? We’re like a time bomb.”

 

Yifan’s lips press together as a thoughtful look settles in his eyes. “I think,” he begins slowly, like he understands that the question deserves a carefully considered answer.

 

“I think Lu Han’s trying to gather help just as much as he’s trying to give it. You won’t find government cameras here. No other neighbors; just us. This is somewhere we can call our turf, where it’s safe to practice. Safe to just be, you know?”

 

Sehun looks down at his socked feet. His toes would be frozen by now if not for Lu Han’s heated flooring. He can’t really say that he does know because until today, this was something he didn’t think he was missing. Something he could want. He never entertained the thought of ‘practicing’ his ability, of getting better control of it. He thought isolation from people was the only solution.

 

But he has to admit that this doesn’t seem so bad either.

 

“Yifan-hyung, can I ask you something?”

 

“Go ahead.”

 

The younger chews on his lower lip, hesitating for just a moment, but he’s feeling a little brave now so he goes for it.

 

“Why is it that you’re tagged? I noticed that Lu Han, Yixing, and Tao are not. You’re an immigrant just like them, aren’t you?”

 

Yifan stops short, expression turning a tad cold as he looks away. Sehun panics—

 

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t tagged when we immigrated, not until high school,” Yifan answers calmly before Sehun can take the question back and voice the string of apologies at the tip of his tongue.

 

“I was on the basketball team. My mom wasn’t really for it because it was so easy to get caught, but basketball was all I ever wanted to do ever since I first learned how to dribble a ball. Then my senior year, I was open for a jumper. I took it and... forgot that I had to come back down, I guess,” he laughs lightly, ruefully.

 

“So I was tagged with the ability of flight and went from being MVP three years in a row to becoming ineligible for any league anywhere. I begged, I don’t even know how many times, but the bottom line was that they believed having me on any team would be unfair advantage. Going pro was immediately out of the question. Coaching was the next best thing so I grabbed it. It’s the closest I could get.”

 

Sehun’s mouth falls open, as though he’s about to say something, but ends up just worrying his lower lip again. There’s really nothing he can say to that. Unlike Red Flag Hybrids like Lu Han and himself, even ‘regular’ Hybrids of Chanyeol’s sort, Yifan’s ability is relatively harmless, and yet...

 

Yifan in a breath then blows it all out in a foggy puff of air. His shoulders go slack, all tension sliding right off, while his hands slip into his coat.

 

“We’re dealt a bad hand,” he scrunches his nose in mock disgust and Sehun can't help but chuckle at the ugly face he’s making. “There’s really no need to make it worse." He shrugs, lighthearted.

 

Sehun finds no bitterness there, no sadness or anger over being forced to settle for something other than his childhood dream. Not a sign that he doesn't love what he does right now. Maybe this is what acceptance looks like. He's seen the same look on his uncle whenever Sehun came to visit him, even up until the very last moment. Maybe one day he'll look in the mirror and find it there, too.

 

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Yifan sniffles. “Chanyeol and Baekhyun talk about you sometimes—or a lot, actually—and honestly it sounded like you’d be as big of a brat as they are.”

 

The flippant look in Yifan’s eyes tells Sehun that he’s just teasing. Normally he’d gurgle or shrink away or just laugh shyly, because that’s how he is with people he doesn’t trust. Instead, he smirks.

 

“Me? Of course not.” The playful look in his eyes belies the innocence in his tone. Yifan chortles and throws a light punch on his arm.

 

“Sehunah!”

 

They both turn to Chanyeol, perched on a stool by the fire pit.  “It’s freezing, help us out here!”

 

Sehun boldly archs an eyebrow and pointedly drones, “I’m not the one who makes fire, hyung”

 

“I know that, smartass, but we need a heater!” The man starts making big, vague gestures with both arms, splaying them in the air as he wriggles his eyebrows comically. Sehun gets it.

 

Why not just stay indoors then? He wants to retort, but doesn’t. He knows what Chanyeol is asking him to do and the hopeful, encouraging expression on his face is making Sehun’s stomach reflexively twist in panic. Once again, he knows his friend wouldn’t be surprised to hear a ‘no’, but...

 

Sehun slips on his boots and finally goes to join the group. With eyes narrowing in warning, he comes up to Chanyeol who is visibly shocked, yet thrilled.

 

“If we accidentally burn this building down to the ground, I will not be held liable,” he mutters through his teeth, to which Chanyeol replies with a roll of his big eyes.

 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say,” drawls the man, but there’s a ghost of a smile on his lips and excitement in his eyes. It quickly breaks, though, as Chanyeol turns serious, leaning forward to peer closely at Sehun’s face.

 

“Are you sure, though? You don’t really have to—”

 

Sehun takes a deep breath, rubbing his shaking hands together because it is ing freezing, and he is so ing tense. He doesn’t know why he’s doing this. Maybe because everyone’s been open and honest, and he feels like he ought to return the favor. Maybe because he knows he’s safe here, that he’s not alone after all.

 

Sehun swallows thickly, heart hammering in his chest as he turns to face the fire pit.

 

And then firmly he says, “Fire it up, hyung.”

 

A beat passes. A deep, rumbling chuckle, then Chanyeol’s holding up a palm to the flames. They immediately leap up higher. With a very careful flick of Sehun’s wrist the wind whistles in, bending the flame until it splits. The lower half calms and resumes dancing around the lava rocks as the other half thins out and fades, leaving behind only transparent heat.

 

The group erupts with ‘oooohh...’s as the hot air diffuses, creating a mirage whichever direction it sways. Slowly, a blanket of comfortable warmth begins to settle around the fire pit. It's not too hot that they need to peel off a layer, but just enough to keep frostbite at bay.

 

“That’s what I'm talking about!” Baekhyun cheers, tipping his bottle of beer in Sehun’s direction. “Thanks, maknae!”

 

“Hey, what about me??” Chanyeol whines, pouting dejectedly.

 

A heavy pat on Sehun’s shoulder snatches his attention from Baekhyun’s snappy response. His heart is still pounding, whole body slightly shaking from both emotional tension and physical effort, when he turns to find Lu Han standing beside him, smiling like a proud father, oddly enough.

 

“Welcome to the circus, Sehun,” he says quietly and Sehun can only smile back.

 

 

*

 

 

In a span of a month, Sehun goes from having a social circle that consists only of Chanyeol and Baekhyun, to readjusting the amount of time he allots for work on a daily basis because his days don't simply bleed into each other in a monotonous cycle anymore.

 

Tao’s always dragging him out to Minseok’s café just before it closes for a free late night snack, which the barista grumbles about but never denies them. Lu Han also constantly swings by unannounced just to bug the crap out of him. At the end of the day, he gets a good laugh out of it so he doesn't complain—or he doesn’t really mean it when he does.

 

Meanwhile, Yifan makes him play basketball with him on Wednesdays or whenever he feels like it, really, and Sehun agrees even though he at it because Yifan’s eyebrows are scary. Jongdae shows up at his door randomly sometimes to make him listen to new music that he’s working on. Sehun secretly looks forward to this, being a non-fanboy and all. His favorite, though, is Yixing, the hyung who especially dotes on him and calls him over every other day to have a taste of whatever he’s making in the kitchen.

 

In this same time frame, Sehun comes to learn a few things about his new neighbors.

 

One: That there really is no such thing as free lunch and that Lu Han’s inexpensive rent actually comes with a price: being commissioned to moonlight as kitchen staff at the café during hectic days, except without pay. Sehun almost drops his sandwich when Tao casually mentions this arrangement one day.

 

“You’re joking.”

 

Tao takes a long sip of his latte. He shakes his head gloomily. “I wish I was. You mean Lu Han-ge didn’t brief you on this at all?”

 

Color drains from Sehun’s face. A slew of objections begin to race in his mind and yet all that leaves his mouth is a sad, strangled noise that resembles that of a dying animal.

 

“Aw, come on—think of it as helping out a couple of friends!” Lu Han chirps, blatantly laughing in the face of Sehun’s impending meltdown. Minseok finishes locking up the shop front and goes to slide into the seat next to him.

 

“Don’t be mean,” intones the barista, mildly chastising.

 

Sehun blinks up at the newcomer with imploring eyes, genuinely grateful for the sympathy. Unlike Lu Han, at least Minseok has a heart.

 

“Minseok-hyung, I don’t really have to do it, right?”

 

The barista grins.

 

“Don’t be ridiculous. You can do closing,” he says. Tao and Lu Han immediately bray with laughter while Sehun glares.

 

This all turns out to be a mean, elaborate prank and they tell him so just when he’s practically on the verge of tears. Sehun wants to stab them all with his fork.

 

Since then, Lu Han has taken to taunting Sehun, telling him that he should start practicing how to balance a tray in each hand because “we might require your services soon—you never know.” Meanwhile, Sehun wonders how bad it would be if he smacked those trays on Lu Han’s face instead.

 

The takeaway here, really, is that his neighbors are a bunch of trolls.

 

 

Two: That despite Lu Han’s incessant goading, Jongdae and his band are perfectly fine staying independent. He actually favors being a vocal coach at Two Moons Entertainment over being a talent there himself. He has regular gigs with his band at a club in Hongdae called The Lost Planet where Up Rising plays twice every week. As tradition, the whole gang faithfully tries to be present for at least one of those two shows.

 

“Except for Yixing-hyung. He always goes to both gigs,” teases Chanyeol, complete with greasy eyebrow-wagging. The healer only ducks his head, hiding a shy smile behind a cup of tea, while Jongdae goes the more violent route and jumps out to strangle the gangly flame wielder’s long neck.

 

So far, they haven’t managed to convince Sehun to tag along to these gigs. Places like Hongdae and Myeongdong with narrow alleyways, a plethora of enormous signage, and way too many people are places he’d much rather avoid.

 

Surprisingly enough, Lu Han makes it a point to invite him, but never pushes it when he declines. Just looks at him with a strange understanding and says, “You know you’re gonna get past this one day, right?” He never quite knows what to answer to that but it doesn’t matter because Lu Han doesn’t look like he expects one.

 

 

Three: That the bizarre, ice-cold-chill-running-down-the-spine thing is cue that Lu Han is impinging on one’s thoughts. Apparently, there’s a way to do it without the telling signals, but that method drains far too much energy to be safe. It’s almost impossible to sustain without passing out for days or, in worst case scenarios, falling into a coma.

 

It’s Yifan who lets the cat out of the bag and he gets a swat on the back of the head for it.

 

“Ow! Hey, that hurts!”

 

Lu Han huffs with not a morsel of remorse as he grits, “He doesn’t get to know that until five more months!”

 

The telepath sulks like a kid robbed of treats while Sehun sniggers with thinly veiled delight. Now he knows how to catch Lu Han red-handed.

 

 

Four: That Baekhyun and Chanyeol’s genuine fear of getting locked in Kyungsoo’s chokehold is completely and utterly justified. This Sehun learns the hard way. He’s never dipping a finger in Kyungsoo’s bowl of raw brownies again.

 

 

Five: That Yixing and Jongdae are actually a married couple and everyone knows this except for them.

 

And so when a slip of the tongue unwittingly betrays the fact that Jongdae is planning to move into Yixing’s apartment, along with all the underlying implications of this development, no one is particularly surprised.

 

“ing finally! It only took you five hundred years, guys.” Baekhyun drones theatrically, for which he gets a pillow thrown at his face by a flustered Jongdae.

 

Sehun joins in on the hoots and whistles as Yixing laughs and brazenly pulls Jongdae against him. The singer is fiercely blushing now but doesn’t put up a fight when Yixing presses their lips together. When Jongdae’s hand comes up to cup the healer’s face, Sehun notices that he’s not wearing his gloves anymore.

 

 

*

 

 

“Okay, listen carefully, Sehunah.”

 

Minseok pushes Sehun onto a stool in the back of the shop. Bone-tired from spending most of the day working out a stubborn bug, he flops right down on the hard seat without protest.

 

He was called—or dragged, more like—to the café because Minho, the barista who’s on the last shift, apparently can’t stay until closing. Something about his fiancée ending the engagement if he isn’t home for dinner with her family—Sehun doesn’t eavesdrop beyond that. It’s also an Up Rising gig night, which means Sehun’s the only one who has nowhere to be tonight.

 

Now it’s ten minutes until the café closes, thirty minutes to the start of Up Rising’s set at The Lost Planet, and Minseok and Lu Han are about to leave Sehun to close up shop alone. Not the most ideal situation but he figures it could be worse.

 

A bunch of silver keys threaded in a Bambi keychain dangles in front of his face. Minseok picks them out one by one as he introduces each, for the third time.

 

“Pay attention,” Sehun automatically straightens his back at the command. “Security gate. Front door lock. Front door double lock. Back door. Back door double lock. Got it?”

 

“Got it.” It’s not like the keys aren’t labelled in color-coded stickers anyway.

 

“Great.” Minseok lets the keys drop on Sehun’s hand. “If anyone comes in, just say ‘sorry, we’re closed’. Turn them away nicely.”

 

“Okay, sure.”

 

“Don’t you just run and hide, okay!” The barista fixes him with a pointed look and Sehun gapes at him, almost offended. Of course, he knows that.

 

He would roll his eyes in annoyance, but this is Minseok. Cute, kind, kitty-eyed Minseok-hyung who pretends not to see when Sehun sneaks out a pastry or two from the pantry.

 

He draws a long-suffering sigh and mutters through his teeth, “Fine.”

 

The older pauses like he’s taking a second to tick boxes in his mental checklist until Lu Han calls out from the back door, reminding him of the time and the awful traffic at this hour. Sehun shuffles after the barista to see him and Lu Han out.

 

“Thanks for doing this, honestly. There’s a plate of muffins for you on the counter,” says Minseok as he steps over the threshold. Sehun easily perks up at the mention of food. “Don’t stay here too late.”

 

“Yes, dad,” drawls the maknae, which merits him a light punch in the stomach from a grinning, mock-indignant Minseok.

 

 

To Minho’s credit, Sehun can see that he managed to finish busing the tables before rushing out.

 

Taking a gander at the countertop, true enough, Sehun spots a plate of chocolate chip and blueberry muffins and a sliced panini there, along with a bottle of banana milk. Deciding that it’s better to get the chores out of the way, Sehun secures every lock and bolt first to keep any potential last-minute customers out. Then he goes on to flip the chairs onto tabletops so that he can mop down the floor.

 

He’s down to the last few swipes when he comes to an abrupt stop. His head suddenly feels too heavy. He has to squeeze his eyes shut against all the spinning while clammy hands come up to grip the edge of the nearest table to keep himself from tipping over. Shivers rake through his entire body. The worst lasts only about a second, but the aftershock lingers a while longer.

 

“Geez,” Sehun grunts, the heel of his hand digging in his temple. He knows exactly what just happened.

 

Damn it, Luhan-hyung! He slinks into a booth seat, though he can’t quite tell if it was voluntary or if his knees simply gave out.

 

Lu Han probably senses his current state because he seems genuinely contrite.

 

 

It’s weird that Sehun can actually catch a little of what the telepath is feeling—alarm, concern, regret—like he didn’t bother to get his guard all the way up at all. He has to admit that it’s rather heartwarming to think that Lu Han trusts him enough for that now. Then again it could also be just some sort of energy-saving strategy...

 

 

 

NEXT TIME, how about we use the phone??

 

Lu Han snorts, and something about how strongly it came through telepathically suggests that he might have done it for real.

 

 

Oh. The spike of dread in Sehun’s stomach quietens somewhat. I see you've managed to recruit another one; how Charles Xavier of you.

 

 

 

Sehun finds the wave of giddiness that thrums along the telepathic link amusing, but not surprising. It’s an automatic reaction that Lu Han has toward anything Marvel-related, really.

 

 

A telepathic gasp.

 

 

Sehun chuckles aloud.

 

 

That’s the first time Sehun hears the name Kim Jongin—the dance teacher and freelance choreographer whom Lu Han works with a lot, apparently.

 

I think you’re about the same age, is the last thing Sehun catches before Lu Han’s voice slips away. He reels a bit, head feeling a little lighter all of a sudden.

 

 

 

It’s almost midnight by the time every nook and surface is all clean and sparkly. He puts away the mop then switches some of the lights off, leaving just enough to prevent him from crashing into random things. He takes his food to a booth near the front so that he’ll hear if anyone calls out, or knocks, or gives the security gate a shake or something.

 

Sehun practically inhales the panini. After a short deliberation, he picks up the blueberry muffin instead of the chocolate chip one. Save the best for last. He’s taking the last bite when something starts to feel awfully strange around him. He pauses, brows scrunching together. There’s a quick, faint shift in the air—and then a flurry of black smoke suddenly springs from the same floor he just mopped.

 

Sehun lets out a very high-pitched, very embarrassing screech. He skids back on his until he hits the wall, flinging a hand in the air on pure instinct. A big lump of something wrapped in the dark smoke shrieks right back when a blast of strong wind sends it flying across the floor. It hits the side of the counter with a loud thud along with a small brown paper bag.

 

“Oww...” it sobs pathetically. By now the smoke has dissipated and Sehun gapes in horror when he sees that it is actually a person.

 

Sehun holds his breath.

 

 

“I think I cracked my skull...”

 

Sehun crawls out of the booth, quiet as a mouse. He takes slow, careful steps, all the while trying to peer at the stranger’s face. But the lighting’s bad, and he’s hunched in a funny angle, clutching his head with both hands, long legs sprawled on the floor.

 

“A-Are you Kim Jongin?”

 

The teleporter gingerly lifts his head. But even then the bill of his black cap casts a shadow over his eyes, hiding it from Sehun’s view. He notes the shapely mouth, though—full and slightly agape as he breathes heavily through it. Sehun’s stomach feels weird all of a sudden.

 

“You’re the wind wielder?” he asks back softly, gravel-voiced and calm. Like he hadn’t just carelessly materialized in the middle of a commercial establishment and possibly jeopardized his entire life—maybe even Sehun’s. It honestly ticks him off a little bit. Or a lot.

 

“I go by Oh Sehun, actually. And are you crazy, why would you telep—I mean, I’m sorry for... you know. Y-You startled me. Do you need help?” he backpedals fast and almost squeaks that last bit out.

 

He really doesn’t mean to sound so crabby, especially not on the first meeting. And he did accidentally throw the guy across the room, so...

 

The teleporter’s head is tilted back against the counter now, allowing Sehun a glimpse of heavy-lidded eyes—and they’re staring back at him, smiling. His mouth is curved up, one side higher than the other. Admittedly, it’s a rather attractive look on him but Sehun frowns because it’s like he’s missing a joke. What’s so funny?

 

“You’re funny,” drawls the man, clearly amused by who knows what. Sehun starts.

 

“Are you telepathic, too?” God, he really doesn’t need another one of those for a neighbor; Lu Han is already a handful.

 

“What?” The man looks confused even as he faintly laughs through his nose. “No, I’m—No. I just teleport. And to answer your first question—yes, I’m Kim Jongin.”

 

The teleporter—Jongin—pulls his legs up, bending at the knees, and plants both hands on the floor at his sides. Sehun sees the struggle in his shaking arms as he tries to push himself up. He doesn’t even manage to lift his off the ground. He breathes out, noisy and labored, as he wilts back into the counter, arms going limp.

 

That last... trip clearly took a lot out of him.

 

Sehun isn’t quite sure what to do so he says the first thing that comes to mind: “Have you had dinner? I have chocolate muffin.”

 

Jongin doesn’t budge, doesn’t make a move to look at him. He probably can’t move at all.

 

“No, thanks. I just... I need a... nap.”

 

Sehun panics for a second when Jongin looks like he’s serious about passing out on the café floor. Before he does, though, Sehun quickly crouches beside him and says, “You can take that nap in your own bed.  Come on, I’ll help you up.”

 

 

 

Knowing that Jongdae’s probably occupied, Sehun texts Yixing to ask for Jongdae’s PIN instead. Jongin is about seventy-five percent unconscious by the time they reach the right door. Jongdae’s previous apartment is directly below Sehun’s on the second floor. The building doesn’t have many units to begin with, so it’s almost impossible to get lost.

 

He can already feel the strain in his muscles as he carries most of Jongin’s weight straight to the bedroom.

 

This is familiar territory for him; he’s helped cart a wasted Chanyeol home a couple of times before after all. At least Jongin’s not a noisy, whining giraffe with limbs that are too long and awkward to contain without Sehun getting elbowed in the side or hit in the face.

 

Sehun leaves the bedroom door wide open. He moves around, the teleporter still latched to him, with help from the light streaming in from outside. Tossing the paper bag to the foot of the bed (who the heck moves into a new place with only a small brown paper bag?), Sehun grabs the comforter, haphazardly throwing it over to the other side. Jongin promptly flops face-down on the cushion.

 

Sehun is heaving from the effort as he stands there, hands on his hips. He really needs to start doing regular cardio exercises. For a moment he considers leaving the man like that, but that feels a little cruel. In the end, he concedes to his own conscience. He tugs Jongin’s boots off, ignoring the man’s weak attempt at protesting, and then helps him readjust so that his head is on the pillow while the rest of his body is warm under the quilt.

 

Soon enough, Sehun catches light snoring sounds. He should probably be annoyed, but he feels oddly accomplished instead. He knows he deserves that chocolate chip muffin for all that he’s done tonight, but for some reason he decides to leave the small box on Jongin’s bedside table.

 

A welcome gift, he reasons, though he really has no explanation for why he keeps thinking about the man’s mouth and how warm his body felt against his as he lies awake in bed later that night.