The next morning, Sehun is rudely awakened by Tao and Yifan standing behind the door when he finally answers after five solid minutes of ceaseless buzzing.

 

“Someone better be dying or something,” he snarls right off the bat. It’s far too early for brightly shining, grinning faces.

 

 “Of course you forgot,” Tao grumbles, while Yifan snickers behind him and says, “I told you he would.”

 

Sehun is still shooting daggers at them because he’s already up when the sun barely is, and he honestly doesn’t know what’s going on.

 

“Get dressed, maknae—we’re going for a jog.”

 

A jog. Right. Maybe he does vaguely remember agreeing to something like that last weekend. But now his head hurts and his arms are sore, and he tells them so with as miserable a face as he can pull. Yifan archs an eyebrow at him.

 

“Nice try. You don’t jog with your arms. Get dressed.”

 

He doesn’t sound like he’s taking no for an answer.

 

 

*

 

 

“I hear he’s from Busan,” says Tao offhandedly.

 

Sehun’s shoe scuffs a bit too hard on the concrete that he almost trips.

 

“Busan?”

 

No wonder. That’s a long way to teleport.

 

“I didn’t catch an accent, though?”

 

Tao shrugs. “Maybe he’s not originally from there either, I don't know.”

 

Yifan’s a good distance ahead by now. He knows Tao is falling behind on purpose to keep him company because there's no way a Wushu master is this slow. Sehun's gasping for air while his companion doesn’t even break a sweat. Damn athletes.

 

Sehun cuts his pace down to a regular walk. He nudges Tao with his elbow. “Hey, you can go catch up to Yifan-hyung if you want. I’m good,” he says.

 

“Are you sure?”

 

Sehun nods, standing still now, hands on his hips as he tries to catch his breath.

 

“Well, okay. But hey, don’t forget the housewarming tonight!”

 

Sehun almost asks, ‘what housewarming?’ Then he remembers the group message from Lu Han that says:

 

 

“Pot luck. Great,” he mutters under his breath.

 

He wonders if instant kimchi ramen will do, because that’s really all he has in his kitchen—all the while ignoring the prickling wave of something that begins to assault his stomach at the thought of seeing Kim Jongin again. Maybe he’s just hungry.

 

 

With Tao and Yifan out of sight, escape is very much feasible now. Sehun doesn’t turn around, though. He rarely goes out like this. And now that he has, he figures he might as well make the most of it.

 

Taking a leisurely walk down the same pathway that Tao and Yifan disappeared to, he relishes the peace and quiet. The sun is up and the breeze is refreshing. He sees traces of spring, greens and bright colors, at every turn. It’s actually very nice. Nothing but rustling leaves interrupt the silence—and also the tog! of a ball hitting something hard. Probably a shoe.

 

Sehun stops. He has no idea where he is, just standing in a clear path by a cluster of trees and stone walls. He hears a grunt, a ball bouncing against metal, then the faintest cry of exasperation. The sound is coming from ahead, a little off the pathway. Threading his way through spaces between a bunch of trees and shrubs, he sees a vast clearing not at all far from the actual path. He makes a beeline for it, spots one goalpost as he comes closer, and then another—just right next to Jongin. He’s bouncing a soccer ball on top of his head.

 

Sehun freezes on the spot but Jongin immediately detects his presence anyway. He lets the ball fall to the ground as he turns sharply, alert. The moment he sees Sehun, his shoulders visibly relax, eyes growing wide, surprised—not in a bad way, though, if the shy, lopsided smile on his face is anything to go by.

 

Sehun swallows nervously.

 

There’s no cap or shadows over his face this time. Just dark hair that glistens under the sunlight and long-ish fringe sparsely fanned out over his eyes. It seems like it will be soft to the touch despite looking a fluffy, tousled mess, and Sehun doesn’t know how, but he just makes it work. And his skin is flawless and the golden color of sweet caramel and—

 

“Hey,” says Jongin, somewhat tentative.

 

Sehun blinks out of the daze, tries not to stammer but fails miserably. “H-Hi.”

 

If Jongin finds him lame, he doesn’t show it. The tips of Sehun’s ears are burning, and OH GOD, he really hopes Jongin doesn’t find him lame.

 

If anything, though, Jongin appears to draw some kind of comfort in knowing that Sehun’s probably as awkward as he is, if not more. His smile grows wider, reaching all the way to his eyes.

 

Sehun’s chest aches.

 

“We haven’t been properly introduced yet. I’m Jongin. It’s nice to meet you.” He takes a couple steps closer, bending slightly at the waist as he politely extends a hand. Sehun meets him halfway.

 

“I’m Sehun.” Jongin’s hand is soft and warm and Sehun can only hope that his isn’t all clammy and gross.

 

“Um. Listen. Thanks for the muffin—and I’m sorry about last night. You practically had to carry me to my room.”

 

“It’s fine. Nothing I haven’t done before,” he adds then immediately splutters when Jongin’s eyebrows shoot up.

 

“NO! I mean, I’ve had to bring Chanyeol to bed a couple of—but not like that—he gets drunk sometimes so I take him home. His home. I take him to bed—because he’s so smashed he’s passed out, not to... ew. I’ll stop talking.” He croaks, face scrunched, flaming crimson all the way down to his neck.

 

He knew he was doomed the moment he opened his mouth, to be honest. He really could have stopped at ‘It’s fine,’ but of course he had to dig himself into a deeper hole. He’s an overachiever like that.

 

Sehun’s just waiting for the ground to open up and gulp him down. His old, wrung-out Nikes have never seemed so interesting before. Not quite as interesting as the sound of sheer delight in Jongin’s laughter, though.

 

Cheeks still flushed, Sehun glances up reluctantly to find the teleporter’s head lolled back, eyes bowed into mirthful half crescents as he indulges in a good laugh. It almost makes the humiliation worth it.

 

He thinks he catches a quiet, “you’re cute,” somewhere there, and he blinks. That can’t be right. He’s ready to chalk it up to him projecting, but then Jongin’s kind of blushing now, too. Or maybe he really is projecting and Jongin’s just been under the sun a little too long.

 

“Do you wanna play?” Jongin asks, nudging the ball toward him.

 

Sehun deftly catches it under his foot, somewhat ambivalent as he considers his answer.

 

“I haven’t played in a while, though. I don’t... think I remember the rules?” Except he does. But his football skills are rusty now, at best—not that he was ever exceptionally skillful at it to begin with. And he’s not sure he’s keen on embarrassing himself any more than he already has.

 

“No rules, then,” suggests Jongin eagerly.

 

“What do you mean, ‘no rules’?” Sehun’s lightly juggling the ball back and forth between each foot now, just to distract himself mostly.

 

Jongin shrugs.

 

“You know, like—” and then he's gone from his spot, leaving a static-like break in the air. He pops back out instantly, this time right inside Sehun’s personal space.

 

Sehun yelps, totally caught off guard. He scuttles backward, leaving the ball wide open for a steal, which Jongin gladly takes.

 

Once he’s able to recover his bearings, Sehun gapes at the other Hybrid, shell-shocked. Meanwhile, Jongin smirks as he toes the ball into motion then points his heel down, letting the ball roll onto his foot. He holds it there for a couple of beats and then expertly flicks it over his head. He tucks it under his foot as it bounces on the ground.

 

Sehun scoffs. Show off.

 

Normally Sehun would be in a panic by now—two Red Flag Hybrids, active and out in the open—but oddly enough, he’s honestly not. What concerns him more is the fact that he just got unfairly one-upped back there and Jongin’s looking really smug about it right now.

 

“I see how it is,” drawls Sehun, slightly miffed. He reads the clear challenge in Jongin’s eyes and it sparks something in him that he hasn’t felt in a long time. He doesn’t give it a second thought. Or even a first.

 

Leaves rustle around them as the wind begins to pick up. Sehun returns the sly smile, eyes narrowing with intent, and breathes, “You’re on.”

 

 

 

 

Nobody comes out a victor—not because no goals were made, but because they were too busy having fun outsmarting each other to actually keep score.

 

“I hear you’re from Busan?” Sehun asks, breaking the silence, as they lie side by side on the grass, exhausted, sweaty, and out of breath.

 

Sehun’s a bit more drained than Jongin is, mainly because he’s still not used to being active. On the other hand, by nature teleportation expends more energy than wielding something, as it directly involves every single cell of the body. The fact that Jongin isn’t unconscious by now means that he probably does it on a regular basis.

 

“Nah. I just had to stay there for a few of months for a project. I was supposed to leave a week earlier but then Lu Han offered me a job on Lee Taemin’s comeback.”

 

“But did you really teleport from Busan last night?”

 

“Had to. The video shoot took longer than planned and the Express wasn’t running anymore by time it wrapped up.”

 

The Busan-Seoul Express significantly cuts the travel time to forty-five minutes. Taking the KTX, of course, is still an option but takes almost two hours longer.

 

So you teleported? What if there were customers when you popped in? Sehun doesn’t actually voice this out because he is aware that it was past midnight, way past closing time, when Jongin appeared in the café—a fact which invalidates that argument.

 

Also, Lu Han probably told him that someone would be waiting for him there. Jongin may not have been careless, but Sehun still thinks it was a stupid idea. He doesn’t tell him that either.

 

“You think it’s stupid of me to be teleporting at all, don’t you?”

 

Sehun startles at the question. His mouth opens and closes, soundless. He wonders what he should say to that—how to apologize, if he should even apologize at all—but then Jongin’s sniggering beside him.

 

“So do I,” he says quietly, sober, surprising Sehun. “But it’s what I am—I’m a Red Flag Hybrid. I can’t change that.”

 

What Sehun hears in his tone is not so much acceptance as resignation. It sounds a lot like the voice in his own head. But while Sehun chooses to retreat into a safe corner, Jongin seems to be the type who pushes the limits. He can see how he and Lu Han can get along.

 

“Please. I’m not that crazy. Lu Han-hyung’s in a league of his own,” Jongin snorts. Sehun doesn’t realize until then that he actually said that one out loud.

 

Sehun relaxes. “No lie there,” he agrees. “,” he grunts suddenly. He props himself up on one elbow so that he can stare down at a baffled Jongin.

 

 “Seriously, are you sure you’re not telepathic?”

 

Jongin’s eyes widen a fraction, amused. And then he’s cracking up. Loath as Sehun may be to admit, it’s one of the most adorable things he’s ever seen.

 

“I already answered that. You’re just... easier to read than you think,” Jongin smirks.

 

Sehun resents that, but he takes no real offense.

 

“I am not. Shut up,” he bites back even as he lies back down with a smile of his own.

 

 

*

 

 

They head back home after Jongin gets a call from Lu Han saying that a truck has arrived for him.

 

Instead of letting the two movers into the building, Lu Han asks them to leave the boxes in the lobby.  They’re more than happy to oblige, no questions asked. This means less work for them after all. Meanwhile, Sehun gapes at his landlord in utter disbelief as he thanks the two burly men for their service after they haul the last box in. Some of these are pretty huge and right now there's only Lu Han and Sehun to help Jongin take everything up to his apartment.

 

As soon as the truck is out of sight, one by one the boxes begin to jerk into motion. They glide across the polished floor to form a straight line, like obedient children on a field trip, while Sehun stares, motionless.

 

“You worry too much, Sehunah.” The older sing-songs, jumping in behind the queue as it makes a beeline for the lift. It’s a tight fit inside even with just Lu Han there. “Take the other one. I’ll meet you guys on the second floor!” He nods at them as the door closes.

 

Sehun shakes his head. “I keep forgetting he can do that. As if the telepathy isn’t bad enough.”

 

The other elevator dings. Jongin chuckles as he follows Sehun in. “It’s cool, though, isn’t it?”

 

It kind of is, to be honest. But Sehun just shrugs noncommittally because it’ll be a cold day in hell before he willingly acknowledges Lu Han’s coolness.

 

 

 

The boxes are temporarily stacked in the second room to keep them out of the way. The housewarming is not for a few more hours, so Jongin figures he might as well start arranging his stuff.

 

“If I help you unpack, would it be okay if I don’t contribute to the potluck tonight? Unless you want instant kimchi ramen?”

 

Lu Han emits a derisive snort from a corner of the room, which Sehun pointedly ignores. He’s only half-joking. It’s shameless, but far from the most embarrassing thing he’s said or done around Jongin at this point. It doesn’t even bother him that Jongin’s blinking at him like he’s the oddest person alive. Sehun keeps a straight face while the teleporter looks like he’s biting back a laugh.

 

“You’re not allowed to my party without chicken, Oh Sehun,” he says mock-sternly.

 

Sehun pretends to dramatically huff in exasperation, but still makes a mental note to phone his favorite chicken delivery later.

 

 

 

Not even thirty minutes in, the first thing that Sehun deduces, as he sifts through three boxes full of books, is that Jongin is a voracious reader. He almost feels ashamed about the measly eight he has sitting in his own bookshelf.

 

But what he doesn’t expect is the teleporter’s apparent interest in the theory of foresight—in seers. Sehun takes one particular book in his hand, fixating at the deep amber hardcover with debossed gold lettering. A book on premonitions.

 

It’s Lu Han who makes a comment about it first.

 

“Interesting,” the telepath muses aloud. Sehun feels the book slipping from his loose grip when Lu Han takes it, but he’s not quick enough to react.

 

Lu Han flips the book over in his hand as he casually inquires, “You believe in premonitions, Jongin?”

 

Sehun watches him closely, waiting.

 

“I don’t know,” Jongin says nonchalantly, making no pause in carefully shelving books, two at a time. “I find it fascinating is all.”

 

“Sure, but we all know seers are a myth,” he says, inching closer to sling an arm around Sehun’s shoulder. “Right, Sehunnie?”

 

Sehun's throat is parched. He stares stiffly at the older’s meaningful smile and finds that he can’t answer.

 

“Well,” breathes Jongin. “The likes of us started as myths at one point. How do we know for sure that seers don’t exist?”

 

The telepath nods.

 

“Touché,” he concedes, patting Sehun’s shoulders twice before untangling himself to resume unpacking the rest of the books.

 

Sehun is still reeling, winded all of a sudden. It shouldn’t come as a shock that Lu Han knows. Even though Sehun’s never breathed a word about it to anyone, except maybe to Chanyeol. He sees no point when he’s not even sure if—

 

He closes his eyes for a second, takes a calming breath.

 

No point, he thinks and decides to let it roll off his back.

 

 

*

 

 

It’s rather surprising to see that the new guy doesn’t seem to be new to anyone else.

 

Not so much in Jongdae’s case, considering that he and Jongin work with Lu Han. Or Yixing because he’s Lu Han’s best friend and Jongdae’s boyfriend. As for the rest, Sehun doesn’t really know, but it sure looks like they’ve all met each other at least once before.

 

The bigger surprise comes when Kyungsoo rolls out a huge cake with an inscription that says: ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SEHUNAH!’

 

It’s only a week away now so why not hit two birds with one stone—or at least that’s what Lu Han says as he pulls Sehun up from the couch and pushes him toward his cake. He incites a few laughs when he almost blows the entire thing off the table instead of just the candles. And then it occurs to him that this basically means that Jongin had made him order chicken for his own surprise birthday party.  Sehun spots the crafty bastard standing by the counter with a chicken in hand—probably his second now. Or third—who knows?

 

Jongin cheekily waves the drumstick at him and laughs when Sehun narrows his eyes darkly in a silent, “I am on to you, you punk.”

 

 

 

Later, Chanyeol dumps his gangly self next to Sehun on the couch, all the while precariously balancing a paper plate of japchae on one hand. Sehun emits a small squeak when the sudden shift almost makes him drop his slice of cake and he gives Chanyeol a chastising strike on the arm for it.

 

“So,” Chanyeol begins, trying to play at casual, but Sehun knows him well enough to see right through it. “How are you finding Jongin so far? I heard you blew him away on the first meeting.” He chuckles at his own pun, peering at the younger’s face with rapt interest.

 

“You are so lame,” groans Sehun. And yet he can’t stop the rush of blood to his face.

 

“Really, though, how long has it been—a day? I haven't seen you hit it off so easily with anyone in a long time. Since me, actually, and that's just because I fed you.”

 

Sehun would argue but there’s really no lie there. He attempts to stall by shoving a forkfull of cake in his mouth.

 

How is he finding Kim Jongin so far? Cute. Funny. Smart. Bold. y as .

 

A neutral, “He’s all right,” is what he answers instead. Despite how cool and unaffected he tries to sound, at the back of his mind he knows that he’s as transparent to Chanyeol as Chanyeol is to him.

 

"You know, Jongin goes to Jongdae's gigs with us sometimes. That’s where I met him, actually.”

 

Chocolate-laden prongs stop en route to Sehun’s mouth. From the corner of his eye he can see Chanyeol twirling glass noodles around metal chopsticks.

 

“Now he’s gonna have to go every week.” Obnoxious slurping noises and a shrug. “I’m just saying."

 

Sehun’s not really looking at Chanyeol but he still wants to wipe off the smug, knowing grin that he knows the man is wearing on his face right now.

 

 

*

 

 

Sehun stirs awake with a pounding headache, brightness stubbornly rapping on his eyelids. He emits a weak groan as he hazily registers a dull pain in his shoulder, possibly from lying on his side too long, and a blanket of comfortable warmth wrapped around his body.

 

He lets his lashes flutter open and immediately regrets it when pinpricks of light begin to sting his eyes. Instinctively, he moves to shield his face with his hand, and stops short when he finds that he can't move his arm. He tries to stretch out his leg, but it turns out he can't do that either.

 

For a split second he suspects paralysis or abduction or something really horrible along those lines. Terrified, he in a breath, eyes blinking wide open, and the first thing he sees is smooth, golden caramel collar bones.

 

 

And then it hits him all at once—

 

There is a hand draped over him, pinning his limbs down, while a pair of legs is holding his own hostage. His face is nuzzled in the hollow of a neck that smells like vanilla and spring and fabric conditioner. His one arm that's not sandwiched between two bodies hangs around a small waist, fingers splayed over the delicate dip of a smooth back, just right above the curve of an .

 

He’s half a second away from a full-blown panic attack because, what the literal why the am I cuddling with Jongin, when a shrill scream comes bouncing off the walls and, God, it feels like someone just bulldozed his skull.

 

Jongin jerks at the noise and accidentally kicks him in the shin. Sehun automatically yelps in pain, startling the jumpy dancer awake.

 

Jongin loses it. He thrashes about blindly, trying to hastily pull himself away only to get tangled with the sheets and Sehun's long appendages again until they both tumble over the edge of the bed.

 

Sehun lets out an undignified cry when his forehead connects with the hard floor.

 

 

With a strangled whine he carefully props himself up to a sitting position, all the while be the fact that he remembers absolutely nothing past his third—or was that fourth?—bomb shot. He has no idea what Baekhyun mixed in his drink or what he ate on the side with it, but if this nausea doesn’t let up he might just find out.

 

“A-Are you okay?”

 

Sehun’s head snaps up. Right. He didn't wake up alone. The reminder sets his face on fire even while he swallows down a sob.

 

Jongin’s clearly not doing any better. He’s leaning heavily against the side of the bed, with one hand holding his temple.

 

Whatever Sehun is going to say dies in his throat because Jongin is sitting in front of him, all hooded eyes, pale lips, and flawless, torso. He has his toned shoulders hunched forward in a lazy slouch, effectively flexing his abdomen and making the distinct outline of muscles pop out.

 

It takes effort but Sehun does manage to avert his gaze somehow.

 

Jongin doesn’t meet his eyes. He appears to be transfixed on something below Sehun’s face—and that’s when it dawns on him that he’s not wearing a shirt either. Flustered, Sehun jolts into motion, attempting to make a grab for anything to cover himself with, but skids to a halt when he realizes how silly that is. He’s a man, after all; they both are. Although Sehun swings both ways, he doesn’t know for sure if the dancer does, too. Whatever the case, Jongin doesn’t seem too bothered by his own state of undress, so why should Sehun be?

 

When he faces Jongin again, he spies a dusting of light pink over his cheeks as the teleporter ducks his head, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. Even with the hangover fogging his brain, Sehun finds this unexpected bashfulness terribly adorable.

 

Before either of them can say one more word, they hear another scream from outside the room. This time they’re sure it’s Lu Han. Alarmed, they pull on the first shirt they get their hands on and scramble out of the bedroom. They come to an abrupt stop mere steps away from the door.

 

Lu Han is standing in the middle of the living room, face white as a sheet.

 

The wall beside the front door is smashed through. Not entirely collapsed, but the cement now sports a hole as big as a fist and a whole lot of deep cracks. A few lightbulbs are bust. The base of the curtain is singed and peppered with small leaves and thin vines that crawl up to the pole.

 

The kitchen has it the worst.

 

The induction cooker is painted with soot, almost unrecognizable. The pipe is burst open but frozen at the gap. In fact, the whole kitchen floor is frozen over. Even so, the coldness seems to be concentrated in that side of the apartment. It's actually rather comfortable where Sehun is standing, stunned and way too hungover to register a proper reaction.

 

Lu Han’s rage reverberates through the four walls of the entire building as he bellows, “KIM MINSEOK YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE THE RESPONSIBLE ONE!!!”

 

 

 

They transfer to Lu Han’s penthouse after everyone has regained the ability to stand without getting the urge to hurl.

 

Sehun begins to vaguely remember Lu Han calling an ‘open bar’ after dinner and letting everyone drink whatever they want in the spirit of it being a double celebration and a Friday night.

 

After one too many bottles of hard drinks, Jongdae threw a high-voltage punch at the wall just for kicks. Chanyeol had gotten pissed that the cooker wouldn’t emit any flame and ended up accidentally setting it ablaze. The sprinkler wasn’t enough to kill the fire, so Junmyeon tried to get more water to flow and broke a pipe in the process. And then Minseok attempted to get the mild flooding under control by ‘freezing the damage better’. It was either Baekhyun or Chanyeol—probably Baekhyun—who proposed building an ice skating rink right in the kitchen, and with Minseok’s impaired judgment, he had thought it was a great idea.

 

And now here they are.

 

Unsurprisingly, it only takes ten minutes for Yixing’s system to completely recover. He has enough energy to restore only one other person to his normal state, so he drops an apologetic kiss on Jongdae’s forehead and then picks Kyungsoo as the more practical choice.

 

Together, they head out to the healer’s flat to get to work on some herbal concoction that’s supposed to work like magic on hangovers, while everyone else goes to claim the most comfortable surface or corner to curl into as they wait. They’ve decided to just stay in one place for easier distribution later. Most of them don’t quite remember their own PIN right now anyway.

 

Sehun trails after Chanyeol like a zombie. He goes straight to the sofa but Jongin is already there, so he plucks a pillow out from the side instead. He throws it to the ground and then plants his face on it as he prostrates himself on the floor. Sehun follows suit, lying supine using Chanyeol’s as his pillow.

 

“From this day forward, I am banning alcohol in this building,” Lu Han declares, reclining in his La-Z-Boy with one hand over his eyes.

 

Nobody’s feeling well enough to make a decent objection, but there is a strangled whine coming from under the coffee table, which suspiciously sounds a lot like Baekhyun. On the other hand, someone else—possibly Tao—grunts in agreement instead from somewhere in the direction of the pool table.

 

“Sorry, Jonginnie,” Lu Han says, voice rough and tongue still a bit too slippery with alcohol to enunciate words properly. “We’re gonna have to relocate you until your apartment’s livable again.”

 

“It’s fine,” comes the muffled reply. “But where?”

 

“Junmyeon and I will talk, have something arranged. He did destroy your water pipe.”

 

Sehun’s makeshift pillow vibrates as Chanyeol interjects. “Sehun’s got a spare a room.”

 

There’s a beat of complete stillness.

 

Sehun supposes this is his cue to bark out an opposition, or politely decline, or just say something. Everyone else has a spare room, too. Maybe except Yixing, but then again he and Jongdae probably share one room anyway. It’s a solid argument and all he has to do is open his mouth and say it. Instead, he goes completely stiff. The deepening grooves on his forehead are the only indication that he’s actually listening and not sleeping.

 

Lu Han’s La-Z-Boy creaks softly under his shifting weight.

 

The beat stretches into a longer, lingering, pregnant silence.

 

Sehun doesn’t need to look to know that there are sharp eyes watching him and his skin almost prickles under the heat.

 

Finally, someone breathes.

 

“It’s okay,” says Jongin, sounding a little bit more sober now. “I wouldn’t want to impose. I can just—”

 

“I don't mind.” Sehun hears his voice like it’s someone else talking and not him. “It’s just a room,” he adds, the impassive tone belying the fact that his pulse is racing so fast he’s feeling faint.

 

Sehun opens his eyes, just a tiny crack, and catches Lu Han’s eyebrows shoot so high up they disappear under his messy fringe. The telepath just stares at him for a moment. And then he slowly nods, face lighting up.

 

“It’s set, then,” he announces with a crooked grin while Chanyeol shakes with laughter.

 

The howl of pain that Sehun extracts by pinching the side of Chanyeol’s stomach is the sound of sweet revenge. Satisfied, he drags his gaze away, only to lock with Jongin's completely by accident. The dancer’s head is propped on crossed arms, lying across a pillow. He’s looking at Sehun with an expression that he can’t quite read. Sehun doesn’t break eye contact despite the things it’s doing to his heartbeat, because if this is a staring battle he’s not going to be the one to look away first.

 

Jongin seems puzzled at first, but a second later he's perking up, pupils dilating, as if he's finally catching on.

 

He archs a brow, eyes hooded. It makes him look menacing. Evil. Like he’s going to bite you then burn your entire village to the ground. A far cry from the slow-blinking man Sehun’s come to know, who's perpetually a nod away from falling asleep. The contrast is striking, but Sehun’s been told that he’s prone to exhibiting the same dichotomy. Unruffled in the slightest, he an eyebrow back.

 

This silent contest goes on for a while until Jongin's lips begin to quiver at the corners, and then his mask finally breaks. He chuckles quietly as he buries his face into the pillow in forfeit.

 

I win, Sehun thinks, preening with satisfaction.

 

But then the dancer raises his head and turns to him again, arms wrapping around the pillow. He settles back down, one side of his face pressed into the cushion, hair falling over his eyes. There’s a soft smile playing on his lips. Like gratitude. Or appreciation. Or just, I’m happy you said yes.

 

Sehun’s gut flips. He knows it has nothing to do with the hangover. This time, he’s the one who folds. He doesn’t even last five seconds. Sehun’s pulse pounds loud in his ears even after he turns away, lids screwed shut.

 

It occurs to him then that maybe, maybe, he doesn’t really mind losing to Jongin so much.

 

 

*

 

 

Besides moving his desk and book case to his room, things stay pretty much the same for Sehun during the first week.

 

Jongin moves in, but gets to sleep in his new room for only one night. Right the following morning, he and Lu Han leave for the Two Moons Ent. studio in the central business district in Busan. Lu Han spends more time at the headquarters in Seoul rather than at the second office, but he needs to be there when preparations are made for Lee Taemin’s comeback showcase. As it turns out, this also means that Jongin will be away for the rest of the week.

 

Something feels off about being alone in his own apartment, which is very odd considering that Sehun has been living by himself for years. But it's like it’s too... still. Like there’s a gaping chasm staring him in the face, demanding to be filled. Maybe it’s having another bed and another bookshelf in the apartment when there's no one to use them. Perhaps there’s something about it that amplifies the feeling of being alone. Or maybe he just, kind of, sort of, misses seeing Jongin a little. Or maybe not. Probably not.

 

 

For the first two days, Sehun starts making a habit of going for a run with Tao and Yifan in the morning. He keeps busy with work for the rest of the day so that he doesn't get a chance to dwell on things that he’d rather not think about.

 

On the third day, Chanyeol shows up at his doorstep, unannounced, and shoves a big box of pizza to his face. He doesn’t know why his best friend is suddenly here on a workday, but he doesn’t hate the company.

 

Sehun can feel Chanyeol observing him as he sets down two cans of apple cider on the table. He doesn’t say anything, though, just opens the box and makes a dive for the biggest slice with the most pepperoni on top. Normally Sehun will wrestle him for it. This time, he sits back and reaches for his drink instead. Hooking a finger on the tab, he pushes it up and takes a sip.

 

“You don’t want pizza?” Chanyeol garbles, brows knitting together in bewilderment even while his many teeth are clamped on the tapered end of a greasy slice.

 

“No, not really.”

 

An eyebrow archs upward as the chef opens his own drink and chases down his food with it. He eyes Sehun with pure judgment.

 

“Are you gonna be one of those couples who have permanent googly eyes around each other and can't bear to be apart for ten seconds without acting like the world is ending? Please tell me you're not because I believe I raised you better than that and it will offend me on a spiritual level if you prove me wrong.”

 

"Hyung, what are you even talking about?" Sehun stares at him like he’s speaking in an entirely different language.

 

Chanyeol clucks his tongue and fixes him with a look. “Jongin’s been gone three days, and you’re acting like a jilted boyfriend who won’t eat his perfectly good slice of pizza which, by the way, his awesome best friend raced over to deliver piping hot.”

 

“Okay, stop,” Sehun crosses his arms defensively. “You’re reaching. For your information, I just ate, literally, fifteen minutes ago. Yixing-hyung made dumplings. And for the nth time, Jongin and I are not a couple!”

 

Chanyeol’s eyebrow twitches comically. “That's not what it looked like during the housewarming.”

 

Sehun groans inwardly, face suddenly hot, as his traitorous brain backtracks against his will.

 

Soon after he’d sobered up, thanks to Yixing and Kyungsoo’s nasty but very effective herbal antidote, the events of the night before slowly came back to him in fuzzy bits with Chanyeol filling in the missing pieces.

 

Apparently Sehun’s bad luck in the spin the bottle game was unparalleled.

 

He started complaining about feeling too hot after his third shot bomb. By the fourth, he pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it away. Jongin volunteered to play black knight for him when he insisted on staying in the game even though he’s clearly had more than enough to drink. And then Sehun suddenly started complaining about feeling cold. Jongin was piss drunk at this point too. He took off his own shirt so that he could lend it to Sehun, but Sehun was so smashed he couldn’t even slip it on properly. Exasperated, he dragged Jongin to the bedroom because, “cuddles are nice and warm.” Hence, the state they woke up in.

 

Sehun has no clue if Jongin remembers any of that. They never really got around to talking about it before he left. Actually, he hopes they never have to.

 

Unfortunately, everyone else had been sober enough during all of it. Most of them generally stop at giving him weird, suggestive looks at the mention of Jongin’s name. Meanwhile, Baekhyun, being Baekhyun, goes the extra mile and keeps asking if he and Jongin had or even just kissed, to which he always emphatically replies in the negative despite the little tornado wreaking havoc in his chest. He doesn’t tell Baekhyun, but the absolute truth is that he has no idea what they did that night—if they did anything at all.

 

“We were drunk!” Sehun argues with a spike in his tone, peeved at having to repeat this over and over again because his best friend is a cocky bastard who won’t let anything go. “Look, we don’t even have each other's number.”

 

“I'm pretty sure he has yours,” says Chanyeol as he gathers up his pizza in both hands.

 

"I gave him your number the day he and Luhan-hyung left,” he explains when Sehun merely blinks at him, confused. “He said he forgot to ask you beforehand. And Lu Han-hyung doesn’t have it because... well, he doesn’t really need it.”

 

Phones are wasted on Lu Han, to be honest.

 

Sehun considers this information for a moment. His forehead creases as he bites down on his lower lip.

 

“Then why hasn’t he called?”

 

It slips out before he can think better of it. Regret instantly hits when he realizes belatedly that he just unwittingly handed Chanyeol more ammunition. Eyes shifting in panic, his brain quickly tries to think of a way to reverse the damage. But he knows it’s too late when he hears Chanyeol snorting around another bite of pizza.

 

There’s an odd mix of ‘I knew it,’ and ’I told you so,’ laced with a hint of delight and brotherly affection in the way Chanyeol shakes his head and smugly says, “You’re hopeless, kid.”

 

 

*

 

 

A full week later, Sehun finally gets a text message from Jongin. Not that he’s been waiting.

 

His phone buzzes on the night stand at exactly six in the morning. The little new mail icon completely falls off his radar at first, as he swipes a thumb across the touchscreen to make the noise stop. Stretching long arms over his head, he waddles into the bathroom to brush his teeth, and then splashes his face with water to ease the puffiness of his cheeks. Foregoing the toner, emulsion, and moisturizer, he takes a tube of tinted sunscreen and spreads just enough of it over his face and neck. The things he learns from Tao and Yifan.

 

Changing into sweatpants and a more decent shirt takes only five minutes more. By 6:45 AM on the dot, he hastily pulls on a jacket and snapback and then heads out to meet Tao and Yifan in the lobby. Stepping into the elevator, he takes his phone out to shoot them a text that he’s on his way down. That’s when he sees the message from an unknown number. He doesn’t immediately realize who the sender could be. But the moment he does, his breathing halts.

 

 

 

 

The time stamp reads 12 AM.

 

Sehun completely misses the ding of the elevator when it opens. He’s still staring at his phone when Tao jumps in to yank him out before the doors can close on him.

 

He fails to explain away the stupid smile that he has on his face for the rest of the afternoon. Luckily he can always conveniently chalk it up to the special occasion. Chanyeol doesn’t really buy it, but thankfully he lets it slide. Lu Han, on the other hand...

 

“Save it. I don’t have to be a telepath to know what’s got that gross look on your face,” he says, straight-faced, as he slips into the empty seat between Sehun and Minseok during lunch at Chanyeol’s restaurant.

 

Sehun pouts. “It’s my birthday; why are you so mean to me?”

 

Lu Han looks askance at him for a few beats, like he’s deliberating whether Sehun is worthy of even an ounce of his mercy, and then motions for the birthday boy to lean a bit closer.

 

“I’ll have you know,” he begins, tone impassive and modulated. “Jongin drafted that message yesterday morning and he had me proofread it like a hundred times until the very last second before he sent it. Like, seriously, he bugged me to wait up until midnight with him because he might fall asleep and miss it. But you didn’t hear any of that from me and you're welcome.”

 

Sehun leans back in his chair, unblinking. He’s not sure what kind of expression he has on right now but he’s pretty sure he must look really dumb because his face is beginning to hurt. Beside him, Lu Han chuckles as he slings an arm around Sehun’s shoulder.

 

"Happy birthday, maknae.”

 

 

 

 

After lunch, Sehun takes his phone out and finally types a reply.

 

 

 

 

 

Sehun doesn’t get a text back but, to his surprise, his chicken does arrive in time for late dinner. Or midnight snack, more like, considering that it’s only a little under twenty minutes before the clock strikes twelve.

 

It’s from a Kim Jongin, says the delivery man. Sehun figures as much. Except he was honestly only kidding when he mentioned the chicken. He didn’t expect him to follow through. It’s a really thoughtful gesture, but he can’t help feeling a little bad.

 

With the bucket of fried chicken in one hand, he takes his phone and stares at the screen, pondering whether he should shoot a message now or just wait until Jongin gets home. Sehun pockets his phone, ultimately coming to the conclusion that he wouldn’t want to bother him in case he’s already resting. He’s caused enough trouble for one day.

 

Sehun takes a peek under the lid as he pads over to the couch. That’s a lot of chicken for just one person. Too bad Up Rising’s got a gig tonight, which means he’s got no one to share with. To be fair, he knows that the guys didn’t want to leave him on the night of his birthday. They tried extra hard to get him to tag along tonight, but he just isn’t ready for that. Not yet, anyway.

 

Settling on the couch, he puts a pillow between his lap and the bucket to diffuse the blistering heat emanating from the base. He flips through channels for a minute and instantly perks up when he discovers that there’s a Spider-Man movie marathon happening on cable.

 

Just when he’s about to grab a chicken leg, he jumps to his feet when he hears the door rattle, like someone just plowed into it. He swings around, clutching the bucket to his chest—never mind that it’s scorching as —in time to catch the lock beep. The door bursts open and a short-winded Jongin pushes inside looking like he just ran a hundred miles.

 

“Oh, great! The chicken made it,” he pants, dropping his backpack right at the doorstep while he toes off his chucks.

 

Sehun blinks, totally nonplussed. He wonders for a moment if he’s only seeing things. But it can’t possibly be an apparition when Jongin’s making so much noise. He almost knocks over the coat rack in his hurry to put his shoes aside.

 

Sehun puts the bucket on the coffee table as he watches the other man produce a box and a gas lighter from the paper bag hanging on his forearm. Sprinting forward, Jongin takes out a chocolate chip muffin, letting the box fall to the ground in his haste. There’s a single candle planted on the center and he uses the gas lighter to ignite the wick.

 

Sehun laughs as Jongin belts out a fast-forward rendition of the happy birthday song while he steps closer, cradling the pastry in both hands.

 

“Hurry! It’s almost midnight!” Jongin bounces on his heels as he raises the muffin in front of the birthday boy’s face.

 

Sehun blows the candle, but not before throwing out a silent wish for this warm feeling that Jongin’s presence brings to last a long, long time.

 

 

 

Spider-Man marathon forgotten, they take the food to the dining table as Jongin proudly announces that he took the Express this time. But he did teleport from the station to the café. He had asked Minseok earlier to leave a muffin for him on a table. Then from there, he teleported to the lobby of the apartment to make sure that he makes it back before midnight.

 

“Why not just go straight here?” Sehun asks, pinching a piece of crunchy chicken skin and tossing it in his mouth.

 

“And risk getting thrown across the room again? No thanks.” Jongin scrunches his face and Sehun cackles.

 

They catch up over chicken and the chocolate chip muffin that Sehun insists on splitting between the two of them. Sehun finds that he enjoys listening to Jongin talk about dancing. He lights up like nothing else when he does.

 

Sehun himself used to dance when he was younger. His power over wind did not manifest until he was a senior in high school. A little late, but it didn’t bother him. It mostly stayed dormant then, anyway. By the time he was in college, it started to escalate. He would summon a light burst of wind by accident with a sudden wave of his hand. It happened in random and he couldn’t control it. Afraid of being caught and getting tagged, he decided to stop dancing and joining clubs altogether.

 

Once tagged, Red Flag Hybrids get injected with a tracking device of sorts that alerts authorities in the event of activity. He doesn’t want to live his life like that. He wonders how Jongin escapes it every time. Or maybe his control over his teleportation is just that good.

 

“Not really,” says the dancer in response when Sehun asks. “It takes a lot of effort for me, too.”

 

Jongin pauses, setting his third clean bone of chicken on the plate in front of him. He looks pensive for a moment. Like he’s trying to decide if it’s wise to uncover more of himself. If he can trust Sehun or not.

 

“So far I can only teleport to places I’ve already been,” he begins slowly, head kept low. Sehun can tell that it makes him feel uncomfortable, vulnerable talking about this. He’s about to tell him that he doesn’t have to keep talking when Jongin drags his gaze up and meets his.

 

“Mostly I have it under control,” he continues. “But sometimes, when I’m not... all there—overcome with some emotion or just too much desire to be somewhere else—I snap. I feel like it’s always a conscious effort to keep myself where I am. I have to want to be where I am. I guess that’s another thing I love about dancing. When I’m moving to the music I can allow myself to let go and feel as much as I can. And at that moment there’s really no other place I’d rather be.”

 

“I’d love to see you dance someday.” Sehun suddenly hears himself saying. He doesn’t take it back or try to make it out as a joke like he usually does when he makes an embarrassing slip, because he finds that he truly means it.

 

The smile that he’s rewarded with is a pretty nice bonus, too.

 

“I’d like that.”

 

 

Jongin ends up devouring more chicken than Sehun does, and Sehun sulks a little but lets him. In exchange, Jongin gives him three-fourths of the muffin instead of just half. It’s not a bad compromise.

 

When they’re finished, Sehun clears the table then brings the dirty dishes to the sink where Jongin is waiting.

 

“I thought you weren’t going to be back until tomorrow?” Sehun takes a gander at the wall clock and reads 1:10 A.M. “Or later?” He amends as he turns and leans his lower back against the edge of the countertop.

 

“So did I.” Jongin twists a lever to get the tap running, then playfully adds, “But hey, aren’t you happy I made it for your birthday?"

 

I’m just happy you’re here, Sehun thinks.

 

Jongin’s hands go still under the running water. He turns to Sehun after a beat, and only then does Sehun realize, with staggering mortification, that he didn’t exactly just think it.

 

“To wash the dishes, I mean,” his tongue races to append, putting full effort in trying keep the panic out of his voice.

 

From his peripheral he sees Jongin watching him, but he doesn’t dare look at his face, doesn’t dare move at all. Jongin shakes his head, giving a light chuckle as he goes back to the task at hand.

 

“You’re heartless, Oh Sehun.” Jongin mutters, but there’s no bite to his tone.

 

Sehun gathers the courage to glance the dancer’s way and finds the smile still on his lips. It doesn’t even dawn on him that he’s staring or that he’s smiling now, too, when suddenly he feels an elbow jab at his arm. He yelps, more out of surprise than pain, really, and instantly jerks away.

 

“What was that for?”

 

“You’re crowding me. Go wipe down the table or something.” Jongin grumbles without looking away from the plate that he’s rinsing.

 

Sehun spies a pinch of color blooming on Jongin’s face. His head makes the slightest dip, causing a few wayward strands to fall over his eyes. Sehun wonders if he does this out of habit whenever he gets embarrassed or shy. He barely notices his gaze sliding lower until it stops at Jongin’s mouth. He’s pouting now instead of smiling, but Sehun thinks it’s just as adorable.

 

“Fine,” he concedes, pushing away from the sink.

 

He might as well go before he does something incredibly dumb like maybe kiss Jongin’s adorable mouth.