Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The text arrives at 2:47 AM. That should’ve been Keeho’s first clue.

jiung
are u free tomorrow
can we meet at like 4pm

For whatever reason, Keeho’s first instinct is to lie. Say he’s busy, make up an excuse. But he is free tomorrow, and he can meet with Jiung at 4PM. He could just say that. But his second instinct, the one that always gets him in trouble, is to push things a bit, see how they react.

me
awww you miss me that much?

jiung
myeong-do cafe? 4pm

me
sure
can i ask why

It takes almost half an hour for Keeho to accept that he’s not going to get a reason tonight, much less through text. Jiung is probably fast asleep now, dead to the world the way he always is when his head hits the pillow. Lately, he’s been complaining about work, about time, about how there’s never enough of it. No one’s asking him to juggle a full-time job, volunteering at an animal shelter, maintaining friendships, and a new relationship. He tries anyway.

Keeho could never. His part-time job is enough for now, and when it stops being enough he’ll think of the next step. He yawns. The next step right now might be actually getting some sleep.

He takes a screenshot of his conversation with Jiung and sends it to one of his many group chats. Shota is online, and so is Jongseob. Keeho isn’t that surprised.

me
[image sent]
just in case you guys find my dead body tomorrow

Jiung is already there when Keeho arrives twenty minutes late. It’s fashionable, he tells himself. He takes a moment to observe Jiung before he approaches the table and breaks his little bubble. There’s coffee on the table, Jiung’s phone face down beside it, and a small notebook. The book in Jiung’s hands isn’t enough, apparently. He needs options.

Keeho knows it’s not a performance. He doesn’t know if that makes it better or worse.

He walks up to the counter and orders. It’s while he’s waiting for his coffee that he notices it. A gleam of plastic over skin, just peeking out from Jiung’s left sleeve. A new tattoo, most probably.

There goes Keeho’s second clue. Something is very, very wrong.

Coffee in hand, shield and attitude ready, Keeho slides smoothly into the armchair across from Jiung. He almost hears the little bubble pop.

“You’re late,” Jiung looks up from his book but doesn’t close it yet.

Keeho sips from his coffee. Loudly, straw flat between his grinning lips.

“You got a new tattoo?”

Jiung glances at his own sleeve, shifts his arm. Ink peeks beneath the plastic. Vines, maybe. Leaves and branches winding around his forearm.

“Yes,” he focuses on Keeho this time.

See, this is why Keeho can’t seem to relax around Jiung. Or, well, let’s just say that he doesn’t find it easy to do so. It always requires some extra effort, a barrier between them, something Keeho has to either climb or hide behind. Jiung studies him almost like he was studying his book earlier, taking notes, calculating. Keeho sees it in his eyes, feels the urge to take the imaginary pen away from his hands.

“Did it hurt?”

“Obviously,” Jiung closes his book now, sets it up on the table near his phone. “I need to— wait, how are you?”

“How am I? We saw each other like, four days ago.”

“So? A lot can happen in four days.”

“Yeah, but you’re only asking me because you want something, so you’re trying to score some friendship points,” Keeho leans back in his seat. “Am I wrong?”

“Friendship points?” Jiung repeats.

“I keep a scoreboard at home,” Keeho doubles down. He doesn’t, but he well could. “Shota is winning, then there’s Intak, and Taeyang. You and Jongseob are currently competing for last place.”

“How the fuck am I tied with Jongseob for last place? All he does is torture you.”

“And you don’t?”

“Not on purpose, no.”

Keeho sips his coffee once again. It’s harder to swallow under Jiung’s scrutiny. Those eyes. They’re always hiding something.

“I’m fine. They told me on Friday that they might add more classes for the spring course, so I might work more hours. Terrible for my mental health, but pretty good for my wallet. These overpriced coffees aren’t gonna pay for themselves.”

“More hours is good. Vocal lessons?” Jiung asks.

Keeho nods.

“Still with kids?”

Another nod.

“I don’t know how you do it. I couldn’t have that patience.”

“I don’t know,” Keeho lies. Jiung definitely wouldn’t have the patience to work with kids, especially when you’re spending hours trying to get them to focus on learning music pitches. “I’m assuming it’s the same as working with small animals. Neither can be reasoned with.”

A snort, and a lingering smile. Keeho high-fives himself mentally. Making Jiung laugh is somehow both easy and extremely hard.

“Did I score my friendship points alright?” he suddenly asks.

Now is Keeho’s turn to laugh.

“What do you need?” Keeho’s voice softens, unfamiliar warmth creeping in. He pulls it back. “Is it my kidney? Fashion advice?”

“Fuck you,” Jiung’s still smiling, but then his smile falters. It disappears completely with his next words. “Taehyun and I broke up.”

The air shifts.

Keeho blinks. He’d met Taehyun a handful of times. He was quiet, nice enough. The kind of person who seemed stable, which is probably why Jiung dated him in the first place.

“Wait. What? When?”

“On Thursday.”

Thursday. Three days ago.

“What? Who broke up with who?”

“It was mutual.”

“That just means he dumped you.”

“It was a mutual dumping.”

“It wasn’t, cut the crap,” Keeho leans forward. “He totally dumped you. Why?”

Jiung’s expression goes hard.

“I guess I’m hard to like,” he says, words landing wrong. They’re too casual.

“And he didn’t reach that conclusion in what, four months?”

“Six.”

“Well, shit. Are you okay?”

“Are you trying to score friendship points now?”

“No, I’m genuinely worried. I’m a really good friend.”

That earns a reaction. Visceral, maybe, judging by the way Jiung’s eyes narrow, like he’s actually weighing their friendship. After a moment his shoulders relax, slumping a bit.

“I’m fine,” he sighs. “I didn’t even like him that much. It was just... convenient, I guess. But I didn’t expect it, so it…” he falters.

“Stings?” Keeho offers. He gets it.

“Yeah,” Jiung admits. “A bit.”

He lifts his mug and drinks, slow and deliberate. Too slow. The kind of sip you take when you need a pause but don’t want to ask for one. Keeho lets it happen. He doesn’t rush him. He doesn’t fill the space. Jiung said he was fine, and Keeho believes him. It’s not Jiung’s first breakup, though it might’ve been his longest relationship since high school.

Keeho’s memory is, well, horrible. He can’t remember Jiung ever falling apart over anyone. There are no drunken voice notes and dramatic declarations, like Intak’s. No frantic rebounds either, like Taeyang’s. Just a few calm sentences, a status change, life continuing as usual.

Like this.

Keeho’s eyes drift to the notebook, quietly sitting between them. He wonders if anything is written inside. Names crossed out. Black ink fresh, just like on Jiung’s shoulders.

Jiung sets the mug down.

“You were right earlier,” he says.

“About?”

“I do need a favour.”

Keeho exhales through his nose, feigning annoyance.

“Yes, I’ll do it,” he says. “I’ll help you bury the body. But if the police show up, I’m selling you out immediately.”

Jiung huffs, the corner of his mouth lifting. Not quite a smile. But closer than he was a minute ago.

“I, you see…” Jiung cuts himself off. “The thing is…” He tries again, unsuccessfully. He blinks once, twice, then looks away, out the window. He stares at it like the words he needs will magically appear engraved in the glass. “Basically, uh…”

“Jesus. Just spit it out.”

So Jiung does.

“Taehyun hates you.”

Not what Keeho was expecting. Like, at all.

“What the fuck?”

“Or, well, maybe hate is a strong word. He didn’t like you, that’s for sure.”

Keeho’s mouth hangs open. He’s not offended, but he’s also not not offended. He would’ve had to give a fuck about Taehyun for the words to have any real impact, and he doesn’t. Taehyun is, was, only Jiung’s perfectly boring boyfriend.

“Okay. Why?”

“He said you were annoying. That you wouldn’t shut up. If I remember correctly, the words he used were self-centred asshole. Or something like that.”

There it is again, that casual tone. The one Jiung uses when he’s just passing along information, nothing more. No feelings attached. He’s had years to perfect it. Keeho doesn’t buy it for a second.

“Your boyfriend called me a self-centred asshole and you didn’t break up with him?”

“It was like, once. Maybe twice.”

“I’d say once is enough.”

Jiung slumps back against his seat. “We fought about it, okay? And then you never came up again. But yeah, in case you didn’t notice when we all hung out, he didn’t like you that much.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because, he said some… other things. When we broke up. He’s the asshole, let me tell you that.”

“What did he say?”

“Not your business.”

“You’re literally making it my business,” Keeho whines.

Jiung pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes closing. “This is a bad idea.”

“What is?” Keeho presses. They’ve been circling each other for a while now, and he still doesn’t have an answer as to why Jiung texted him at almost three in the morning, asking to meet. If he wanted emotional support, Keeho wouldn’t be sitting here. It would be Intak across from him, listening, offering that soft, understanding smile. And if there were an actual body to bury, well. It wouldn’t be Keeho either. It’d be Taeyang.

So why him?

“Jiung—”

“I want to get back at him,” Jiung says, exhaling hard. “For some of the things he said,” He hesitates, then keeps going. “And since, you know, he hates you, I was thinking maybe you’d come with me to Shota’s showcase this weekend? He’ll be there. Yeonjun’s participating too.”

Keeho stares at him.

“I was already going to Shota’s showcase,” he says slowly. “We made plans.”

“I know, dumbass,” Jiung replies. “I’m asking you to come with me.”

“As in…”

Jiung finally looks at him again, expression unreadable. “Yeah. As in with me. Like, I don’t know, be all over me for one night. It’s not going to kill you.”

Keeho thinks it might.

“That’s messy,” he blurts almost immediately. Then, as his mind catches up, the idea of being all over Jiung for just one night sends a shiver running through every cell in his body. “And also, ew. Be all over you?”

“Ew, not like that!” Jiung kicks him under the table. He pauses, takes in his own words, then buries his face in his hands. The suffering is obvious. “But yes. Like that. Not for real, of course.”

“Of course,” Keeho repeats, voice flat, though his heart picks up.

“It’ll piss Taehyun off. And it’s just for, what, a couple of hours? Should be easy.”

Keeho studies him for a moment. Easy isn’t the word he’d use. Fun? Maybe. Entertaining? Definitely. Petty as hell, but that’s just Jiung. Like when he got Jiung’s text, he looks up for an excuse. Not that he really needs one. Jiung wouldn’t insist if he said no.

“Sure,” Keeho says finally. “Why not?”

It hits Keeho a couple of days later that it’s going to be a disaster. He has yet to decide if that makes him excited or terrified.

me
one question

jiung
??

me
regarding our fake situationship

jiung
do not call it that

me
u said to be all over you that night but
well
what does it mean 😳

jiung
it means exactly that

me
u don’t know either do u

jiung
just idk
be by my side

me
that’s boooooooring
and also intak’s job

jiung
yeah well taehyun doesn’t hate intak
because he’s lovely

me
and i’m not lovely

jiung
do you really want me to answer that

me
😭😭😭😭
so can i touch u

jiung
define touch

me
will u bite my hand off if i slide my arm over your shoulders

jiung
that’s fine

me
will u stab me if i grab your waist then

jiung
that’s fine too
what’s with all the violent tendencies

me
idk u scare me sometimes

jiung
😫😫😫

me
but it’s good i like it dw
so shoulders ok, waist ok
what if i kiss u

jiung
where

me
damn
on your fucking forehead
like i’m your grandpa and i’m putting u to sleep

jiung
this is such a bad idea

me
can’t back out now 🕺🕺🕺

jiung
but i can?
let’s just not do it

me
noooooooo
come on
he called me a self centered asshole and u know
i might be self centered 🥴 but i’m not an asshole 🙅
so now i wanna mess with him a bit too

jiung
ughhh
fine

me
😍😍😍
so
kissing?

jiung
no

me
not even a peck?
come on
taehyun is not gonna believe a half assed performance

jiung
you’re right
mmm

me
😇😇😇

jiung
you can try your luck i guess

It’s a disaster, and honestly? Keeho should’ve seen it coming.

The showcase went fine. They got there late, his fault, but they caught Shota’s group and cheered in all the right moments. Then, like clockwork, everyone ended up at the club. The same one they always go to after these things.

It’s routine. Dancers celebrating, friends tagging along, the music too loud, the room too hot. Taehyun is there.

Keeho knew he would be. Jiung knew it too. That was the whole fucking point.

Except Jiung looks like he’s about to combust.

He’s way too tense. Shoulders up, arms crossed, jaw tight. Not even pretending to look relaxed. He keeps scanning the room, and Keeho can’t tell if he’s looking for Taehyun or trying to find the nearest exit.

“Would it kill you to at least look like you’re having a good time?” Keeho says.

“Huh?” Jiung’s eyes barely focus on him before darting around the room again. “Sorry, what did you say?”

“I said you look ugly,” Keeho lies, trying to prove something.

Jiung doesn’t even react. He keeps looking around, lips pressed together. Then his eyes widen slightly, and he takes a step back. Keeho follows his gaze and finds Taehyun at the end of it. He’s nursing a drink in his hand, leaning close to Choi Beomgyu, laughing.

“Okay,” Keeho sighs. “Okay,” he repeats, and takes Jiung’s hand in his.

“What the—”

Jiung’s question gets swallowed as Keeho pulls him toward the bar, weaving through the crowd until he finds an opening big enough for them to squeeze in side by side. A bartender appears in front of them almost immediately.

“Two shots,” Keeho says. “I don’t care what kind, as long as they’re sweet.”

“Two shots,” the bartender nods, turning to grab bottles.

“What are you doing?” Jiung’s frown hasn’t relaxed since they got here.

Keeho lifts his hand and taps Jiung’s forehead with his index finger, right between his eyebrows.

“I’m helping you. You’re way too tense. It’s honestly kind of sad.”

“I’m not tense,” Jiung tries to fight back, but he crumbles under Keeho’s stare. “Okay, maybe I am a bit. I have the right to be. My ex is right there.”

Jiung shifts slightly so he can watch Taehyun over Keeho’s shoulder. He thinks he’s being clever. He thinks Keeho doesn’t notice.

“You mentioned you didn’t like him that much,” Keeho points out, raising an eyebrow.

“I didn’t,” Jiung says, matter-of-fact. Then, much softer, he adds, “I also don’t like parties. You know that.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

Jiung snorts.

“Two Irish cream shots,” the bartender comes back, setting the two small glasses in front of them.

Jiung reaches for his phone, but Keeho gets there first.

Before Jiung can protest, Keeho slides one of the glasses into his hand. “You can pay for the next round.”

“Alright. Thank you,” Jiung curls his fingers around the glass, turning it once.

“Wait,” Keeho catches his wrist before he can down the shot. “Let’s play a game.”

“What game?”

It’s brilliant, really. It’ll take Jiung’s mind off Taehyun, and the alcohol will help him relax. If Keeho could pat himself on the back right now he would.

“We ask each other a question. You only get to drink if the answer’s satisfying enough.”

“So,” Jiung says, tapping the rim of his glass with a fingernail. “A made-up game.”

“All games are made up, babe.”

Jiung’s smile sneaks up on him, the biggest it’s been all night. He tries to suppress it, tries to look annoyed.

“Fine,” he says. “But I go first.”

“Be my guest,” Keeho leans back against the counter.

“Why don’t you have any tattoos?”

Keeho blinks. He squints at Jiung. “That’s your question?”

“Yes?”

“Change it. It’s boring.”

Jiung nudges his glass toward Keeho. “I’m going home,” he says, already turning his back to the bar.

Keeho catches him by the waist. “Okay, damn. I’ll answer,” he says. His hands linger only long enough to guide Jiung back into place. He clears his throat, and tries really hard not to dwell on how Jiung’s waist is apparently fucking tiny.

“Well?” Jiung prompts, not looking at Keeho.

“I guess I’ve never liked anything that much,” Keeho says. “Or if I did, it was always just for a moment, and then… yeah. I don’t know. Putting something on my skin forever feels like a lot.”

“Okay. You can drink.”

Keeho lifts the glass and downs it.

“My turn. How many tattoos do you have?”

“Oh, my question was boring, but this one isn’t?” Jiung narrows his eyes, then huffs a laugh.

“Exactly,” Keeho smiles. “You’re starting to get the game.”

Jiung shakes his head. He bumps Keeho ankle with his foot, not protesting when Keeho knocks his back just as lightly.

“With the new one I think I have… si— no. Seven.”

“Seven?” Keeho blinks. That doesn’t sound right. He’s been with Jiung at enough pools and beaches to recite the list of his tattoos by heart. “You have the butterflies, the moon, that thing on your ribs… the one on your back, and the new one. That’s five.”

The first one had been the butterflies. Keeho remembers it clearly. Jiung hadn’t told anyone, business as usual, and then one day he took his shirt off at Intak’s pool and left them all speechless. Three butterflies, one of them dipping just under the hem of Jiung’s shorts. Delicate and pretty. Hot, if Keeho’s being honest.

Then Jiung kept doing it. Showing up with more and more ink. Keeho remembers staring more than once at the beach last summer, trying to make sense of the drawings, the different styles, the way they all seemed to belong on Jiung’s skin.

Still, last summer there were only five tattoos. Keeho’s sure of it.

“I still have seven,” Jiung says, smirking just a little.

“Wait,” Keeho frowns, “where are the other two?”

Jiung meets his eyes through his lashes. “That sounds like a question for another round, doesn’t it?”

Fake-flirting does, apparently, lead to fake-butterflies, Keeho realises. Not the ink type, the my stomach just did something stupid and traitorous kind. Keeho wishes he could blame the alcohol, like he usually does. One shot isn’t enough for that, though, so this time he’ll have to blame the crowd and the lights.

It’s not the fact that Jiung is too close. He doesn’t need to think about it any harder than that.

“Excuse me,” Jiung turns towards the bar, “can we get two more shots?”

The glasses are swiftly replaced, Jiung paying as they agreed earlier.

Keeho clears his throat. Not nervous. Deliberate. Uneasiness creeps within him the moment he’s not leading, so he grabs his glass and tips it toward Jiung, a small, claiming gesture.

“I’ll go first now,” he says. “Why did Taehyun break up with you?”

Jiung freezes, just for half a second. Not enough to be obvious, but Keeho catches it.

“That’s not fair,” Jiung exhales through his nose.

Keeho shrugs. “I didn’t say it had to be fair.”

Jiung stares into his glass. The club lights reflect in the liquid, fractured and unsteady.

“He said I don’t let people get close,” he concedes. “That I keep everyone at arm’s length. Even him.”

Keeho watches him, quiet. Jiung takes the shot without being told to.

“Okay, my turn,” Jiung says, exhaling. He doesn’t look at Keeho when he asks, “Do you like Taeyang?”

Keeho’s elbow slips.

It’s stupid. Just a bad angle, condensation slick under his skin. His weight shifts wrong and suddenly he’s tipping forward, shoulder knocking the bar, hand scrambling for something solid.

“Shit, fuck—”

He catches himself at the last second, palm slapping against the counter, face way closer to it than intended.

Jiung is staring at him.

“…Wow,” he says. Then he bursts out laughing.

Keeho straightens slowly, clears his throat like nothing just happened. “Okay. First of all, rude.”

“You almost kissed the counter,” Jiung wipes at the corner of his eye.

“Second of all, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Keeho continues, talking over him, “No, I don’t like Taeyang. Why would you even ask that?”

Jiung watches him, eyes narrowed.

“You keep flirting with him like, all the time.”

“Um, yeah? Because he hates it?”

He doesn’t hate it now, but he definitely hated it in the beginning. That’s usually how it goes. Keeho does something stupid on purpose, watches the reaction, adjusts. With Taeyang, it landed. He indulged it, made it easy, laughed, sometimes even made it even funnier.

And sure, Taeyang is hot. Keeho has eyes. He’s gay as fuck. He’s not trying to rewrite reality here.

Jiung huffs out a laugh.

“Got it. Everything is a joke to you.”

The words land wrong. Keeho almost says Not everything. It’s right there, sitting at the tip of his tongue. He swallows it. Because, well, it’s not exactly true, but it also kind of is? Not because he can’t be serious, he can, obviously. It’s just that Keeho knows when to go there, and when to stay exactly where he is.

This isn’t one of those moments. It never is, not in front of people.

Keeho drinks.

“Well, yeah,” he says, setting the glass down. He glances over Jiung’s shoulder, to where Taehyun should be. Still there. Still with Beomgyu, Yeonjun and Soobin now crowding in. Keeho looks a second longer than he means to, then scrunches his nose.

Surely Taehyun knows where all seven of Jiung’s tattoos are.

Keeho steps closer. Close enough to sell it. He braces one hand on the counter beside Jiung, boxing him in without actually touching him, leaving him room to move if he wants to.

“Like tonight,” Keeho says, easy. “This is kind of a joke, isn’t it? You and me,” He tilts his head. “What do you think Taehyun’s gonna make of it? Looks like a quick, easy rebound.”

“Are you?” Jiung asks.

Keeho blinks. “Am I what?”

“Quick and easy.”

Oh.

Keeho snorts, recovering on instinct. “That sounds like a question for another round, doesn’t it?”

Jiung’s mouth curves. “Alright.”

When the third round arrives, Keeho downs his shot immediately. The burn is familiar, grounding. He’s not answering that question. Not tonight. Maybe not ever.

Jiung’s confusion is palpable. “We’re not asking questions this time?”

“This was just the warm-up,” Keeho tips his head towards the dance floor.

Jiung exhales, resigned already.

“You’re going to make me dance.”

“You looooove dancing,” Keeho exaggerates.

“By myself,” Jiung whines. “Or with Intak. In his studio. With the doors closed.”

There it is.

Jiung needs his borders drawn, his spaces defined. Give him four walls and a locked door and he’ll show you everything he’s got. Keeho’s the opposite. He doesn’t need the space to be his, he just makes it his. Chaos, crowds, uncertainty. He’ll find his footing, claim his corner, make everyone think it was his idea all along.

Keeho grins, already tugging him away from the bar. “Dancing one night at a club isn’t going to kill you. Come on.”

Well, fuck.

Rumour has it that three shots on an empty stomach do weird things to you. Rookie mistake. Keeho knows better than this, except apparently tonight he doesn’t.

He’s also learned that fake-flirting comes with fake-butterflies, and that fake-dancing is hard. So he just does it for real.

Jiung goes rigid the moment Keeho’s hands find his waist.

“This is weird,” Jiung says, arms hovering uselessly at his sides like he’s forgotten what to do with them. There’s a flush creeping up his neck that might be the alcohol, might be the heat, might be both.

“You’re weird,” Keeho pulls him closer, grinning. “This is a privilege. You should enjoy it.”

“Where do I put my hands?”

“On my shoulders.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re shorter.”

“Pft, barely,” Jiung’s fingers settle on Keeho’s shoulders anyway, hesitant and careful, like he’s touching something that might bite. Then, “Your hands are on my waist.”

Keeho’s thumbs press against the fabric of Jiung’s shirt, feeling the give of it, the warmth underneath.

Jiung is right, this is weird. Because Keeho isn’t thinking about getting his hands underneath, he’s not concerned about leaving bruises on fair skin. He’s thinking about butterflies, particularly the three that are guarding Jiung’s side, on his lower stomach.

Sure, Keeho’s seen them countless times, but his hands have never been this close for this long. Never lingered like this, deliberate and steady, with permission.

It’s not something Keeho thought he could do. Or even something he was allowed to do.

“You said it was okay.”

“It is,” A pause. Jiung’s eyes flicker down, then back up, slightly unfocused. “Your hands are big.”

“You know what else is b—” Keeho’s words die on his throat as Jiung grabs some of the hair at his nape pulls lightly. “Ah!”

“You know I did not mean it like that, asshole,” he tries to sound angry but it comes out kind of shy, kind of breathless, and Keeho files that information away. Ammunition for another day.

Shit. Keeho’s laughing. He can’t bring himself to be mad. Not when Jiung is looking at him like that, giggly in his arms, proud of the trick he just pulled. Delighted and a little mean.

“Should’ve prepared a safe word if I knew you were going to be like that.”

That earns him a slap on the arm before both of them burst out laughing. Good laughter, the kind that won’t make sense in the morning. Jiung shifts his arms on Keeho’s shoulders as he tries to find his footing, still shaking with it. They move even closer without meaning to, Keeho realises.

“Jesus,” Jiung exhales, shaking his head a bit. “All of this… Is he even looking?”

Right. Taehyun. The reason they’re doing this. The reason Keeho’s hands are on Jiung’s waist while Jiung’s nails absentmindedly scratch at Keeho’s nape. The reason they’re swaying to a song neither of them is actually listening to.

Keeho’s eyes dart around the room, scanning past faces he half-recognises, past bodies pressed too close together, until he finds Taehyun across the crowded floor. Who… is staring directly at them, expression tight, drink frozen halfway to his mouth.

Damn. This whole thing actually worked.

“He actually is.”

“Wait, for real?” Jiung perks up, trying to look over Keeho’s shoulder. Keeho tightens his grip, keeping him in place.

“He looks…” Keeho lets the sentence hang. Taehyun looks many things, none of them positive.

“Fuming? Repulsed?” Jiung’s laughs, a little unsteady.

“Yup, yup. He hates this, so much. It’s sad.”

“I can’t believe he dumped me,” Jiung says, scrunching his nose at the thought.

“Why did you even date him?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know…” Jiung closes his eyes for a moment, like he’ll find the answer to that question burned into his eyelids. When he opens them, Keeho sees him clearly trying to suppress a laugh, and failing spectacularly. “He… God, his kisses were so weird.”

“What?”

“He was such a bad kisser, I swear. He did this thing with his lips, like—” Jiung makes a gesture with his mouth that Keeho probably shouldn’t find as funny as he does. “Like he was suctioning—”

“Suctioning?” Keeho almost yells.

“It was. So bad,” Jiung dissolves into giggles again, his forehead dropping briefly against Keeho’s shoulder.

Keeho snorts. He can’t help it. The mental image is too much, and also, it’s nice to know that the guy whose perfect reputation precedes him is not only an asshole but also a bad kisser.

“Are you sure it was him and not you?”

Jiung huffs a laugh, the kind that comes from deep in his chest, surprised and genuine. Like the question is so ridiculous that it doesn’t even warrant a real answer. He pulls back to look at Keeho properly, eyes bright with amusement.

“What? What’s funny?” Keeho asks, though he’s smiling too now, caught up in it, feeling warm and reckless.

“I know how to kiss.”

The words land between them like a challenge.

Keeho raises his eyebrow, taunting, automatic. He doesn’t know why he does it, because he’s not trying to get Jiung to kiss him. He’s not. He knows his gesture can be read like that, knows exactly what it looks like, but that’s not what he wants.

Like, at all.

It’s just that, Jiung’s always so sure of himself. Acts like he’s got everything figured out, like he’s above all the mess everyone else makes. It’s infuriating. Keeho wants to call bullshit, wants to see what happens when Jiung actually has to back up his words.

That’s all this is.

“I’m not kissing you,” Jiung states, but he doesn’t move away.

“I don’t want you to kiss me,” Keeho replies, and it’s true. Mostly. He just wants to win whatever this is.

“Good,” Jiung voice drops, just a fraction. He’s determined. “Because I won’t.”

Good, Keeho thinks.

The next thing he knows is that Jiung is kissing him. Or maybe he’s kissing Jiung. The order of the factors does not alter the product.

With his eyes closed now, Keeho finds his only anchor in his own mind. He repeats it until it makes sense: these are Jiung’s lips against his own, Jiung’s fingers scratching his nape, tangled in his hair. It’s Jiung’s warm body pressed against his, his butterfly-kissed hips under Keeho’s hands, his tongue sliding past Keeho’s lower lip.

And it feels good. It feels electric.

It feels messy, because this is still Jiung and Keeho is sliding his hands all over his sides, his back, his lower back. He stops there, spreads his fingers wide, then moves to the sides again, tightening his grip until Jiung lets out a small sound that makes Keeho feel dizzy.

“Shit,” Jiung murmurs against his lips, then doesn’t waste a second before going back in.

They kiss, and kiss, and kiss, and kiss. Until the only option is to break apart and actually breathe. The red lights conceal the damage on their lips, the flush on their faces, but they can’t hide their dazed eyes. Keeho stares. Jiung stares back. It’s painfully clear that something has shifted and neither of them knows what to do about it.

Jiung takes the easy way out.

“I think he left,” Jiung says, looking in the direction where Taehyun and his friends were. He uses the same moment to slip out of Keeho’s arms, putting distance between them again. Back at arms’ length.

Keeho looks back as well. Not because he needs to confirm that Taehyun is gone, but because he needs to get Jiung out of his sight, even if it’s just for a few seconds.

Taehyun is gone.

And apparently, so is Keeho’s sanity.

“Okay, perfect. He bought it,” Keeho says, forcing his voice to sound steadier than he feels. His lips are still tingling. He ignores it.

“Yeah,” Jiung echoes, not quite meeting his eyes. “He totally bought it.”

jongseob
[video sent]
hey so what the fuck