the copenhagen effect - otheredghost (2024)

Want and lust are woefully painful things to figure out when you're still learning the ins and outs of what it means to be a functioning human being. And then there's the tang of morality. Of what ifs and why nots.

Why is masturbation a sin? How will the presence, or lack thereof, of sexual needs defy someone’s entire life? Does watching tentacle p*rn make you a p*rn obsessed creep, or does it make you a curious human with kinks tailored to him by some otherworldly eldritch creature with a very bad sense of humor? Questions questions.

“Jisungie, come here darling!”

A faunlet on wobbly legs slides across the hallway tiles, barrelling shoulder first into the open kitchen door. A chunk of it, above the handle, is already chipped and messily done over from past accidents. And if you stare from a very specific angle - and if the light pours in just right, you can see a thin line cracking the glass of the door right down the middle.

Brown, curly haired, bug eyed and skinny little guy - hisses and reaches down to pull one of his socks back up his leg, the worn cotton of it scratching at his sensitive bruised skin. There are rug burns, skateboarding accidents and random little places he'd accidentally picked at or scratched in his boredom, covering his legs from thigh to Achilles' heel. Legs that look out of place, almost, bandaged all over with pokemon band-aids, a little too thin, a little too unsteady.

“Jisungie.” His mother always uses that thick tone of voice with him, old with age, suspiciously soft and always so impatient by the end of the sentence. She's the embodiment of a Karen on her best days, nevermind the days he’d rather not think about.

“Hello..?”

Jisung freezes, looking up to see his disgruntled mother, as well as four other people - watching him. Four strangers, to be precise, sitting at their dining table and giving him awkward little smiles, while he stands there, bent over, with one sock falling off and a week-old stained anime shirt on his person.

The open window lets in the warm summer breeze and suddenly he feels too self-aware of his lack of clothes.

His poor mother winces and places her hands on the table, forcing a sweet smile onto her wrinkled face. The way her eyes sink into his, with purpose, makes his heart rate quicken. “Go change, and then come back. There are a few people I want you to meet.”

Say no more. Jisung is stumbling away before his mother can say anything else, embarrassed out of his wits. He’s red as he changes into cleaner clothes; red as he brushes his hair; and red as he makes his way back into the kitchen, already sweating.

Knobby knees knock into each other as he, once again, faces the strangers, tiptoeing to the only other empty seat at the table. His mother squeezes one of his thighs, a little meanly, probably adding another bruise to his collection, before side eyeing him with one of her ‘behave’ smiles. Jisung's back goes ramrod straight.

“Ah! Jisungie, this is Seo Jaehwan. I spoke a lot about him, didn't I?” No, you haven't. He wants to say, but remains mute in the curious shadow of four other glinting pairs of eyes. If he f*cks up in front of his mother's friends it's over for him. “And these are his sons, Changbin and Jungkwon. As well as Jungkwon's girlfriend, Mirae.”

He looks over each of them briefly, nodding and smiling politely, not really registering any of their names or faces, mostly just to appease his mother. Jisung has always been a nervous wreck, and he continues that feeble existence by bowing so fast and so deeply he hits the edge of their thick mahogany table with his forehead, the bang reverberating throughout the house.

“Oh-!”

“For Christ's sake Jisung-”

A pair of hands nearest to him reach out and cup his face, lifting it up. The man, Jungkwon, was it? , eyes his forehead with a kind concern, turning him away from his mother while Jisung tries getting his senses back. “Are you alright kid?”

Jisung zones out, a little starstruck. Jungkwon has tattoos peeking from under his collar and sleeves, a mane of healthy long dark hair pinned back into a half-bun, and most curious of all - a beard. A beard. Jisung has never, in all his eighteen years of life, grown anything that could be considered a beard. Even the hair on his legs refuses to cooperate. The devil on his shoulder slowly slides a pair of pink-tinted glasses on his eyes.

“My apologies, he's a little clumsy, our Jisungie.”

Jisung just nods, placating his mother and her tightly clenched fists. Changbin, who seems closest to his age, looks a little lost and uncomfortable, tapping on a glass of water. The light seeps through the blinds behind him, a little too harsh on the eyes, and Jisung's pulse echoes in his ears as he frowns.

“Jisungie here is eighteen.”

He perks up, albeit a little drowsy, having forgotten to tune back into the conversation. Changbin, from across the table, also perks up.

“Wait, really? I'm nineteen!”

With excitement unlike he'd ever seen from her before, his mother smiles, making her eyes shine. “That is perfect ! You two can become the best of friends then!”

Jisung leans away from the table, sliding down his chair and slouching. The urge to throw up tickles its way up his stomach, nor here nor there. When he looks up, Changbin's still smiling. Maybe the older one doesn't find this whole thing as humiliating as Jisung does.

“That sounds nice. I've always wanted a younger brother.”

Jisung blinks a few times, before looking down at the roughed up edges of their mahogany table. What. Younger what?

“Well, that settles it then. I'm very happy to see everyone here getting along. It means the world to me and Jaehwan.” She smiles again, like the washed-up daughter of a retired politician that she is, and settles her hands in Jaehwan's. And suddenly everything clicks.

That was six years ago, before things got much, much , more complicated.

“What next? If he's gonna shave his head are you gonna do it too?”

Jisung huffs and tries to bodily push Changbin out of his room, hissing little curses through his teeth when the mountain of a man refuses to move. He whines, kneeing the older in the nuts.

Changbin bends one of Jisung's arms behind his back, applying enough pressure to hurt and Jisung yelps, waving the metaphorical white flag while tapping the other’s side hastily. After about fifty apologies, he lets go. And Jisung all but collapses on the bed, face first in a pile of clean unfolded clothes.

“You know he wouldn’t. And get out!”

“Nuh uh.”

Jisung grabs one of the empty monster cans lying around on the bed, just outside the range of his sleeping space, and chucks it in Changbin’s general direction. The man, the beast, catches it and crunches it into a tiny ball. He’s become so buff it’s almost grotesque.

“So?”

Jisung rolls over, staring at the ceiling and the one boiled spaghetto that's stuck to it three years ago and just never came back down. His future stares him straight in the eyes.

“So what? What do you want me to say Bin? You're making up little theories in your head. I don't know what else to tell you.”

His step-brother-slash-best-friend just huffs and sits in Jisung’s old rickety gaming chair, squeaky and shaky. Changbin holds onto the edge of the table, looking a little unsure in the chair's ability to hold him up. “What I think is that you're blissfully and willfully blind to your own emotions because the truth is not to your liking.”

Jisungs's head shoots up and he levels the guy with a mean pout. “Since when were you a psychic?”

Changbin finds a piece of gum stuck to one of the chair’s armrests and gags. “A psychologist..?”

Changbin lets him do his breathing exercises in peace, gently rubbing one of his arms. His skin feels warm against Jisung's colder one.

The older one is avoiding his eyes. “No.”

A sigh. “I'm just saying. You could talk to them and maybe you can move in for a little bit? You know our pops are pretty much just waiting for you to move out before they sell the house, right? They're delusional and already making plans to retire to Jeju.”

Jisung stabs a piece of egg roll and slurps his noodles aggressively.

“Jisung.. This cannot happen again. Our parents are out traveling the world and neither I, nor Jungkwon, live here anymore. If you fall into another depressive episode there's no one to look after you, check on you. I can't live peacefully knowing that.”

Jisung swallows his food and drowns the last bite with half a can of pepsi, still glaring down into his bowl.

They finish eating in silence. A few rays of the dying sun scatter his room in a warm light, highlighting the dust floating around. God. He hates when Changbin makes sense.

“What type of help do they need anyways?”

Changbin perks up, sneaking little hopeful glances at him while he scrolls through his phone. “Oh! Mirae said they needed help with chores and reno stuff. You're not me and Jungkwon, you can do almost everything house-related, so I immediately thought of you. They're both very busy and haven't even unpacked their sh*t yet.”

He crosses his legs and arches his back, cracking it with a groan. All that bed rotting has finally caught up to him. The room is in a decent condition, but it's dark and messy and full of trash and things Jisung cannot make himself throw away. Something something attachment issues.

“I can talk to Jungkwon for you if you want.”

He finally caves in, sighing and letting himself fall back into his usual slouch. It's like what he always does; goes back to things that do not benefit him in any way, even if they hurt and will hurt him in the future, all because they're familiar.

“Okay.”

Turns out, half of the things he owns - he doesn't even really like, or need. His attachment ends as soon as he starts going through them and thinking their worth through. After a thorough clean all he has left is, not much. A meager three large boxes stand before him, with another two smaller ones in his arms. And that's it. That's everything he'd gathered in his twenty four years of life. It's a little humbling.

“So, how are we feeling today?”

Jisung nearly drops his boxes, scared shirtless. Mirae stands in front of him, slightly to the right, covered by the boxes and the sun. He squints and attempts an awkward little smile while Changbin and her hug.

“Sweating through my third set of clothes, currently. And I think Jisung's about to faint.”

Mirae frowns and clicks her tongue, picking up one of the bigger boxes like it's nothing, and ushering them inside. It's frightening how strong and well-defined her back is. Changbin seems to think so too.

“Mirae, what the hell? Since when were you so buff?”

She laughs, a sharp loud sound that startles Jisung and makes him bump into a doorway. He grunts and the other two turn to look at him, concerned.

“I'm okay!”

Their house is big, smaller than Jaehwan’s, but much bigger than the one he’d lived in with his mother growing up. It's less flashy, with none of the fake European old money style to it that permeated every inch of Jaehwan's. A style he and his mother share a deep love for, seemingly. Jisung's more of a fusion lover, and this house hits the spot. It's very japandi, with light creamy woods and sleek simple interior, but there are elements of its residents' personalities scattered throughout the house, off-setting the emptiness of its original style. It'll look gorgeous once they finish it up and make it their own.

It's a simple layout, a hallway with a spiral staircase that goes up to a second floor, and down to a daylight basem*nt. The house sits on a hill, in the outskirts of the city, overlooking forested mountains and a lake. It's gorgeous.

He struggles a little up the staircase, knees going a little weak the higher up he goes. Height was never one of his strengths.

“And this will be your room! It's the furthest away from the stairs and doesn't have a connecting bathroom, but we thought you'd love having your space away from everyone else. More intimate.”

It's the last door in the hallway, right ahead, and Jisung already loves how lonely it looks, far away from all the other doors. The room itself is decently sized, big enough for what little stuff he owns, with a quaint little balcony attached to it that overlooks the views and the fenced in backyard.

It needs a lick of paint, some decorations and textures, but it's bright and airy and Jisung already feels like he can breathe easier, like he could, maybe, breathe easier in the future as well.

“Thank you. It's lovely. I know I've said it already but I'm really..-”

Mirae slaps a hand down on his shoulder, friendly, her smile a little forced. She doesn't do well with pleasantries and compliments, a straight-to-the-point iron fisted kind of woman.

“You're good. We're planning to paint some stuff, feel free to choose your own color and spice things up in here. And don't worry about anything, even if you do move out, this'll just stay a guest bedroom. So go wild.”

Thanking her, he shuffles around awkwardly while Changbin brings in the last of his boxes, gasping for air. “Why is it so f*cking hot already? It went from middle of winter to thirty degrees Celsius outside in the span of like two weeks.”

Jisung sits on the edge of the bed, bouncing a little, his feet barely reaching the ground. He loves that it's high off the floor and that the frame is a solid black metal artwork of swirls and other rounded shapes. “I could get used to this.”

Changbin regards him with squinted eyes and a sleazy smile. “You better. I'm not helping you move again. You'll have to ask Jungkwon. Your favorite man..~”

Jisung's thighs lock up and he immediately shushes the other, eyeing the still open door of his new room. “Will you shut the f*ck up?”

Laying on the cold floor, Changbin chuckles.

It's irritating, the way he knows exactly what to say to put Jisung on edge. It's cruel, but he also gets it, because if the roles were reversed he would've never shut up about any of this.

“You're basically living in a ‘why en’ world right now.”

“A what?”

Changbin lifts his arms up and makes shapes with his fingers. “Y slash N. Fanfiction protagonist, Han Jisung.”

Jisung grabs a pillow and gives homicide an attempt.

Living with a (nearly) married couple isn't as different as he thought it'd be. Of course, it's miles ahead of what his life was like living with Jaehwan, or even his mom before the other side of the family came to be. She'd always been a perfectionist, or that's what she used to call it. He's pretty sure it was OCD or something of the sorts. And he'd always ended up on the short end of her coping mechanisms.

So now, at twenty four, he's a fully functioning human being when it comes to every little facet of life, except socializing. He can cook, clean, sew, fix things, do quick basic math and recite a few verses of the bible and other more known secular books. And yet, the horror of talking to a living, breathing human is almost always bearing down on him, a quite literal pressing matter that's only getting worse with age.

Chan doesn't wait for a proper response, waving goodbye on his way out. Jisung slips the piece of paper into one of his pockets. Who knows.

“Hey Sung, Mirae’s working late again today. I'm gonna order something. What do you want? I was thinking pizza.”

“Actually. I think I'll cook today. I took out some chicken earlier and it's probably fully thawed by now. I'll just go shower and get to it.”

Jungkwon walks around the corner, looking bewildered. “You can cook?!”

Jisung just nods and squeezes past him and opens the dishwasher, fanning away the wave of steam coming out of it. His skin senses the presence behind his back before he does. Two hands gently touch his sides, light as a feather, and push him away from the dishwasher.

“It's okay, I got this. Go shower and rest for a bit. You did so much today already. The house looks amazing.”

All he can do is putter away, cheeks red, and pretend that the words and voice of the one person he'd most likely listen to before sleep if given a choice - don't fluster him. Maybe he's bad at it, because Jungkwon smiles in that fond way, eyes almost disappearing.

“Okay. And thank you. It's the least I can do. I'll, uhh, be right back.”

The stairs have never been as steep as they are now, and Jisung stumbles a few times up the curvature of them, shaking in the knees.

Think of Mirae, think of her and of her muscles and the way she could beat you to a pulp. Jisung nods to himself, as he gathers a change of clothes, thinking of what was appropriate enough to wear when you're cooking for your step-brother crush.

What is he doing.

Jungkwon doesn't care what he wears. Jungkwon is with Mirae, and Jisung is a guest in their house. That little reminder sobers him up enough to stop the little happy flutters in his chest. Right.

He showers quickly, getting rid of the sweat and cleaning product fumes that have stuck to him like glue. Once he's done, he smells like pineapple and berries. And if he takes little appreciative sniffs of himself on his walk down to the kitchen, that's his business.

Jungkwon is lounging in the living room, on one of their leather couches. Specifically the one right across the kitchen, facing it. His laptop is open and he wears a pair of chunky headphones around his neck, professional looking ones.

It feels criminal to see him like this, comfortable and open, wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt and still looking like the embodiment of cool and collected. A rogue thought skims through his head and he immediately turns away from the man, flushed red. This is no time to be thinking about gray sweatpants and dick prints.

Jisung pins the sides of his hair back with two kuririn clips, then puts on one of Mirae's unused aprons over his own oversized shirt and sweatpants. Jungkwon or not, he gets to work.

Chicken wraps. He'd decided on making them while he was showering. Easy and straightforward, nothing too complicated. The chicken is grilling and he's already washed, peeled and cut most of the needed vegetables.

“Need any help?”

Jisung finishes cutting the cabbage for a coleslaw salad and finally looks up, humming. “Mh? Not really, I'm almost done anyways.”

Jungkwon closes his laptop and sets his headphones down, and Jisung goes back to his salad before his eyes decide to betray him and fall down to the other's now empty lap. Focus.

“Are you sure? You've had a long day as it is, let me help.”

There's no way he can refuse again without looking like he's hiding something or like he's vehemently against spending time with the older man. Remembering their last talk makes him feel a little guilty. Here he is, available, with Jungkwon offering himself up to spending some time with him, and Jisung is trying to find ways to avoid him because what? His incestuous little mind won't shut the f*ck up.

“Okay. You can help, if you want to.”

He finally looks up and gives the older one a smile, getting one in return.

“Okay, what do I do?”

They're close, way too close. But this is not the time, so Jisung tries his best to set whatever stray thoughts he has floating around aside. He'll enjoy their little bonding moment. For as long as he can.

And that's how they spend the next thirty minutes, finishing up the salad, cutting the chicken into little bite sized pieces and grilling a few of the other raw vegetables.

They lay the lavash breads down on the counter and start making the wraps. He sneaks a peek at Jungkwon and tsks, comfortable enough to poke fun at him after getting used to his presence.

“If you fold it like that it'll fall apart when you grill it, old man.”

Jungkwon's head snaps up in surprise and he loses grip of his wrap, the thing unraveling and falling apart immediately. “Oh f*ck me.”

Jisung laughs, drowning the little voice in his head that keeps chanting ‘ yes please yes yes yes please please please’ over and over again. He tucks his own wrap carefully and places it face down in the already hot griddle pan. The sizzle makes satisfaction flow down his veins. He did that.

“Jisungie, help.”

Turning around faces him with an adorable sight. The man is giving him puppy eyes, one hand dripping with sauce, the other holding the poor remains of the lavash bread. And Jisung is especially weak. He is weak and there's a dilf in need for help.

“Wash your hands first, and wipe the counter or the next wrap will stick to it.” He guides the man through it, feeling a little powerful about it. It's exhilarating and the rush gets to his head. His own wraps turn out excellent, so he focuses on helping out the poor guy.

“Okay, dry ingredients first, then sauce. Good! When you wrap-.. What are you doing?! Don't just rawdog it, oh my god.”

Jisung hurries to Jungkwon's side, appalled at the way the man folds his wrap, and takes over, not even realizing the position he'd put himself in. Jungkwon's arms cage him in, on both sides, chest to back, while he fusses over the wrap, gently folding it. When he turns his head, he is right there. It's startling, and Jisung instinctually pushes himself back against the counter. “Oh!”

Jungkwon also seems to realize their proximity, blinking a few times before stepping back, his ears red. “I'm sorry! I'm so used to being all up in Mirae's space I didn't even notice.”

The red on his ears suits him so well, gives him a lively flush that makes him look younger. Jisung wishes he could thumb the soft cartilage, feel the piercings against his fingertips, maybe drag his fingers down to that beard. He still has dreams of it rubbing against his skin and leaving tender flesh behind. “No, it's okay. Sorry I got all up in your face like that. I just get passionate about certain things.”

Jungkwon laughs, scratching the back of his head. “It's cute. You looked almost angry folding it.”

He doesn't reply to that, blushing his way to the stove.

Once they're done cooking and getting rid of the mess, they sit down to eat. Jungkwon digs into his food like he hasn't eaten the entire day, and maybe he hasn't. Jisung frowns at the thought. “Tell me this isn't your first meal of the day.”

The man just grunts and waves him off with a shake of his head, eyes rolling back with a moan. Somebody's spirit leaves their body and it's Jisung's. The moan alone will be masturbation fodder for the rest of his bleak year.

“This is so f*cking good. Jisungie, you're a god.”

Crossing his legs helps very little to alleviate the sudden rush of blood downstairs, and if he was blessed in that department, it would've shown through his pants right about now. “Just eat.”

Jungkwon laughs and takes another bite, urging Jisung to do the same. So he eats, the only way he knows how to, cheeks filled to the brim and munching his way through it slowly. He zones out, as he usually does, looking at the wall in front of him with boba eyes, two hands carefully holding the wrap up to his face.

Ten minutes in and there’s a nagging feeling in the back of his head. It's too quiet. Jisung stops chewing and blinks until everything has clear lines again. When he looks to his right, Jungkwon is already watching him, chin propped up in one hand. There's a lazy smile on his face and a piece of carrot in his beard.

He swallows, squinting as he does, before sitting up from his slouch and facing the older one. “What-?”

“It's a little fascinating watching you eat. You eat like a little hamster. Kinda cute, and very messy. Come here.”

Jungkwon grabs a napkin and Jisung protests, huffing and turning his face away when the older comes closer. “Nuh uh! I'm big enough to wipe my own face!”

A hand grabs his chin and forces it to stay put, and something in Jisung's gut gives. Jungkwon hums and gently wipes his cheeks and mouth, thoroughly concentrating on the task. “Shh, hyung will do it. Can't believe you're still a messy baby at your big age.”

That something in his gut lurches and he lets out a shaky breath, fanning it across Jungkwon's fingers. They stall, pressing the napkin to his plump lower lip. The man is staring right into his eyes and Jisung can't look away. Something passes in the other's eyes that he cannot recognise and it frightens him. A fear so strong it paralyzes his body and makes him leak into his underwear.

“You also have-” Jisung reaches out and picks the little piece of carrot out of his beard, brushing the spot with the back of his hand.

The garage door hums to life, and the two of them jump away from each other. Mirae’s car is a familiar sound by now, and he listens to it as she parks it. Jungkwon turns his back on him. “I'll do the dishes, go rest Sung. You did a lot today.”

Jisung stands there for a few more seconds, gathering pieces of himself back into his lap and holding them dearly. He stands up, a little hastily, and nods to himself, taking the apron off and hanging it in its rightful place. Before he leaves he turns towards Jungkwon and offers him a warm little smile, innocent, expelling the weird atmosphere in the room. “Thank you for helping me today. I had fun.”

Jungkwon's smile is sincere, even as he refuses to face Jisung with it. “Me too.”

“I'll leave you and Mirae to have some alone time. I'm off to try the pool.”

He changes into a thinner shirt, not a big fan of showing skin, and a pair of tight swimming briefs; grabs a towel and heads out, all on autopilot. On his way to the pool he says hi to Mirae, who's busy digging into her food. She throws a thumbs up and goes back to eating. Jungkwon doesn't look up from his phone.

The sliding doors are open to let the cooler evening air inside, and Jisung can see them both from where he is, even if they're far and the distance gives them decent privacy. He gets in the water and does a few laps, before deciding to just let himself up one of their pool toys and enjoy the last rays of the sun.

He floats like that for a good while, his legs on both sides of the toy, dipped in water, while he lays on his back. His shirt is sticking to his skin, with half of it ranked up to his ribs, but he couldn't care less. Today had gone by like a rough BDSM scene. A part of him needs a cigarette to come down from it.

Did he hallucinate? Is he truly so far gone that every single interaction with Jungkwon feels like an euphemism now? Why did Jungkwon look at him like that and why did the air between them change? He's not naive, but he's also not delusional. Option one, there's something going on between them, palpable, or option two - he has the horny delusions and he's down bad, down horrifically bad.

Jungkwon. Jungkwon.

Why did God have to make the world's most attractive man, by Jisung's very unbiased standards, and place him in front of him like a dangling piece of live bait, tempting him. Don't even get him started on the f*cking age gap thing.

He huffs and turns his head away from the setting sun, scratching at the soft skin of his stomach and unconsciously lifting his shirt higher up. When he opens his eyes, half hidden behind the arm he has thrown over his face, his breathing stops. Jungkwon and Mirae are still in the kitchen, with the latter fussing over something, arms waving around as she goes through the fridge. What makes him breathless is Jungkwon, who's leaning against one of the counters and looking straight at Jisung.

It's unnerving and makes his skin tingle, and he's sure that Jungkwon doesn't even know yet that Jisung has spotted him.

Is he looking at him out of boredom? Is he zoning out? Is it.. something else?

There's only one way to test it. Jisung stretches and carefully rolls around, laying face down on the squeaky and warm plastic. He's essentially straddling it, legs still in the water, laid fully on his stomach, head on top of his crossed arms. This pose shows off his curves the best; he'd perfected it in the mirror when trying to take nudes. It shows the deep arch of his back, his thin waist, and the perkiness of his ass.

In a moment of clarity he finds himself cringing, biting into his lower lip until it bleeds as punishment.

What am I even doing.. Spread out like a f*cking whor*.

He almost drops the act and paddles back to the edge of the pool with his tail between his legs, when movement catches the corner of his right eye. He can't see much like this, so he waits.

Jungkwon comes into view, in all his half naked glory. He's wearing nothing but a pair of shorts that go down to the middle of his thighs. “Mind if I join?”

Jisung’s thighs clench subtly around the toy and he shrugs, acting unbothered. Something something fluttering butterflies. “It's your pool. Why are you asking me that?”

The older man jumps into the water, far away so as not to splash Jisung. When he comes back up Jisung feels like he's in actual heat. The wet hair pushed back, the wet, thick muscles of his chest. Sinful to look at. And then there are his eyes.

“I don't know. You looked peaceful here by yourself.”

Jisung suckles on his bottom lip, soothing the bite, humming. He wants to ask him ‘then why are you here ’ but stays quiet instead. “Just enjoying the weather.”

The man hums and submerges himself underwater. He's a good swimmer, coming up for air less often than a normal person would, his form strong. Not for the first time in years Jisung wonders if maybe his childhood is the very reason he's so very attracted to this man; so much older than him, calm and soft-spoken, warm, radiant and secure. Maybe if his dad had stayed in the family he wouldn't be crushing on Seo Jungkwon right now, wouldn't have this innate need to bend under and over and please the older man any way he can.

But then there's also the vague feeling of something being not quite right with that theory. Many other older men have tried to get Jisung's attention, something about him calling out to them in particular. And none have succeeded in cementing themselves as well in his psyche as Jungkwon has.

There's a serene atmosphere cloaking the both of them and neither dare speak, too afraid to break it. Jisung leaves first, unable to look back to see if Jungkwon is watching him get out of the water. He cannot hope, and he cannot delude himself into feeling and hoping for things that he shouldn't. Mirae is real. Their relationship and future marriage - is real. Jisung won't be the very same thing that took his father away from his family.

“Goodnight hyungie.”

“Goodnight Sung.”

Jisung doesn't look back, fiddling with the towel thrown around his shoulders. Even as the red around his ears travels down in little pink blotches all over his shoulders and back.

His life seems to be made up of clichés and novel-worthy starter pack one-liners, because when he opens the door a couple of weeks later, he finds Chan there, again, with his ugly bag and cute smile.

“Hi! Jungkwon called me again, to check on the pool.”

Jisung's wearing one of his favorite aprons, sage green with a multitude of tiny creatures and flowers embroidered all over it. It flares out in a skirt-like manner, frilly, he shamelessly loves that too.

“Oh, he forgot to tell me. Sorry, come in!” He lets Chan inside, feeling eyes on his back all the way to the kitchen. He pushes the big doors open and nods to the pool. “Knock yourself out, I'll be here baking.”

Chan looks up at him in something like amazement and surprise, dimples out and grin pearly white. “You bake?”

Jisung nods and picks up a bowl with cookie dough. Chan ooh's and aah's and Jisung can't help himself, blushing all the way to the tip of his ears. He's an easy man to please; a little praise is enough to bend any and every one of his wills.

“Are you a professional baker? That already looks amazing.”

He quickly dips a spoon in the dough and passes it to Chan, to taste. “It's safe to eat, don't worry. And I'm not, um, a baker. I'm a freelance graphic designer. I just like cooking and things like that. I guess.”

Chan looks at him with a half smile, running his tongue over his lips. And it's not sensual, or at least not meant to be, but Chan is looking at him and Jisung is unable to hold his gaze for too long.

“Like cleaning? I remember the time you were cleaning.”

Jisung nods, taking the spoon back and throwing it into the sink for later. “Mhm.”

“Do the Seos pay you? Because if they do name the price. I want warm home cooked food too!”

Jisung laughs, eyebrows raising in surprise. The man is definitely confident, and not in a sleazy way. Even the way he stands screams ‘boy next door’. “Oh, well, if you do a good job with the pool I might give a few cookies away.”

Chan winks and grabs his bag, heading out into the backyard. “It's on.”

Jisung busies himself with finishing up the meat pies, while he waits for the cookies to bake. It's an easy job, cooking and baking, almost therapeutic. Minho calls him a perfect ‘malewife’ whenever he brings that up. Truthfully, he won't disagree.

And maybe, in-between slicing carrots and taking the cookies out of the oven, he steals a few glimpses of Chan’s bare upper body, glistening in the sun. Because why not, right? He's hurting no one, and the other seems to revel in the attention, judging by the flush on his chest and the way his eyes linger on Jisung whenever he catches him looking. Even as Jisung looks away first, embarrassed.

All growing boys need meat.

“That’d be it!”

Jisung knocks over the knife he'd perched on the edge of the counter, and Chan’s fast reflexes save him from getting stabbed in the foot. He pulls him back and away from the counter.

“Holy sh*t. That was close. Are you alright?”

Jisung looks down at himself, all whole, no scratches or holes or anything, and nods. “Yeah. My heart is just racing like crazy.”

Chan’s hands stay around his waist as he moves him to the side, and Jisung definitely does not hallucinate the way they squeeze him before letting go. “You're a clumsy one, aren't you?” He asks as he bends over and picks up the knife, setting it down on the counter, not on the edge of it this time. Jisung is definitely not staring at his ass.

“I've always been. Sorry.”

The guy smiles at him, all warm. “Don't. It's cute. You're cute.”

Right. Of course.

Chan’s eyes don't leave him and it makes him fidget and reach for one of the cookies. “Here, try this.” He all but shoves it in Chan's hand, watching him eat it. There's tension in the room, between them, and Jisung doesn't know if it's because he's awkward and has tension with everybody, or if it's because Chan refuses to look away from him even as he eats.

“This is delicious. Makes sense, since you made it.”

God, why is he so embarrassing and why is it working on Jisung? He looks away and grabs a kitchen cloth, wiping down a few crumbs off the counter.

“How old are you? Sorry, I should've probably asked that a while ago.”

The implications of that sentence definitely don't get lost in translation.

“Twenty-four. You?”

Chan steps closer, watching him wipe the same spot twice. “Twenty-six. May I have a few cookies as payment for a job well-done?”

“Sure.”

A hand rests next to his and he stops wiping, clearing his throat as he turns around to dump the cloth in the sink and wash his hands. He bags a few of the cookies, and when he turns around Chan is much closer than he previously was.

Chan takes the little bag and places it carefully on the kitchen counter behind Jisung. “Tell me I've been getting my signals mixed and I'll apologize and leave immediately.”

Did he? Jisung might be awkward and a little socially inept but one thing he isn't - is stupid. If he didn't like Chan's attention he would've shut that down long ago. But he's a handsome dude, seemingly very interested in Jisung, and he has nice lips. And Jisung? He's young and horny and has a whole baggage of pent-up sexual energy dragging behind him.

“You haven't.”

Chan grabs him by the waist and lifts him up, muffling the little huff Jisung lets out with a kiss once the back of his thighs meet cold marble. His lips are just as plush as they look and he kisses like he's holding a fragile thing in his hands. It's endearing and makes Jisung feel like something more precious than a simple quickie.

Thick arms wrap around his legs and pull him closer to the edge. Jisung is no virgin, but he feels like one with how controlled Chan’s movements are. How precise he is with the way he kisses and licks into his mouth. It's attractive, dizzying.

“You taste so sweet. f*ck, your waist..”

Chan grips him again, running his hands over his sides, eyes blown wide. Another pull and they’re co*ck to co*ck. It's comical, the difference in sizes, because Chan is f*cking massive even at half mast, apparently. It bumps into Jisung's lower stomach and he’s rutting his hips against the other's with a breathy little noise.

The sound of the main door slamming shut all but douses him in cold water. Chan manages to step away and grab his bag while Jisung barely makes it off the counter when Jungkwon walks in. There's no reaction, no surprise or awkward little realizations. He just looks at Jisung and then at Chan. The smile on his face is purely professional. “You're done already! How fast. Let's talk, shall we?”

Jisung finishes cleaning up and then sees the bag of cookies laying there, untouched. He hurries over and manages to catch Chan right before he leaves. “Wait! You forgot- um. This. Here, take them. Have a nice day!”

Chan takes the cookies with a thanks and hurries out. Jungkwon closes the door and looks at Jisung, a curious and unfamiliar glint to his eyes. “Had fun?”

What.

“Huh?”

The older man takes his jacket off. “Baking?”

Oh right.

“Of course! Yeah. There's warm food on the stove by the way, that isn’t just cookies.” Jungkwon looks at him, and smiles, finally bringing a sense of relief to Jisung's poor heart.

“You're an angel. What did you make?”

Jisung flushes and laughs it off, skin prickling all over. He's glad the apron is long enough. “Meat pies, and a salad. Eat well, and let me know how it was.”

Jisung makes to leave when a hand wraps around the thin bone of his wrist, stopping him in his tracks. “Stay with me? Have you eaten yet?”

The hand around his wrist burns like a branding iron, shackling him even closer to the object of his desires and his insanity. But he's weak. And he wants so badly . Even if it's at arms’ length, sitting quietly and eating next to each other.

“I haven't, no. Do you want..?”

Jungkwon nods and gently tugs Jisung back to the kitchen. He lets go of his arm, and Jisung feels its loss deeply. The first proper skin-to-skin touch between them.

“So?”

Placing the paint roller in a little plastic pan, Jisung crouches and picks his phone up with his one, gloveless, clean hand. He takes Minho off the speakerphone and shoves his phone between his shoulder and ear.

“What do you mean ‘So'? Dude I need actual help. Can you pay attention for a minute? Beige or light brown?”

Minho grunts something on the other side of the call, the sound of pencils scratching against paper faint in the background. Ah. Makes sense.

“You're lucky I even picked up. Jinnie here won't even let me blink. I reached out to pick up the call and he threw an eraser at me. I could’ve been wounded!”

There's some shuffling and the sound of Minho's laugh filtering in. “Hyunjin said I should eat sh*t. How polite. He also said hi and beige.”

Jisung smiles, dipping the roller in dark blue. Painting seemed like a completely sane thing to pick up when you're alone and aching for something to do. “Tell Jinnie I said hi too. And thank you, at least one of you cares about the aesthetics of my room. I miss him, can't wait for you two to come visit me..~”

There's a short pause, Minho probably signing to Hyunjin everything he'd said, before Minho breaks it. “He misses you too. I'm putting in my two-week notice in like a month or so, and Jinnie is just waiting for that so he can notify his clients that he'll be taking time off from commissions. You'll see us soon enough.”

Something in him warms a little. He misses his friends; misses Minho and his deranged humor, misses Jinnie and his warm presence. Changbin is a great friend, don't get him wrong, but Jisung grew up with these two, grew into himself and learned things he wouldn't have otherwise, had he been alone.

Minho and Hyunjin live with Hyunjin's boyfriend in a tiny little apartment three hours away by plane. Too far away. Jisung curses the day his mother had decided to make that first move. And for what? To end up selling the house they’d moved in six years later and retire to Jeju of all places, across the damn world, as far away from their kids as possible.

No one's saying it outloud but it’s the one truth that brings the ‘kids’ closer. In all his years living in that house he can count on one hand the few times he'd spoken to Jaehwan or his mother for longer than five minutes.

“Can't wait. I'll talk to Jungkwon and Mirae about this, they have one other empty room. Minho can share my room with me. I'm sure they won't mind.”

There's a tongue click and Hyunjin's squeaky laughter. “Hyunjin says, and I quote, ‘Jisung would rather share beds with someone else’. He said it, not me!”

“f*ck off! And make sure to sign that very aggressively.”

The sound of footsteps coming up the stairs pulls him away from his two friends laughing and yapping in his ear. Jisung places the roller back down, grunting when his back cracks, and peers around the door, left open alongside the balcony one to air out the paint stench.

“Oh hi!!”

Mirae looks up from her phone and gives him a little smile, but it doesn't fully reach her eyes. It strikes him as weird. He's never seen her look this dejected, or disgruntled, before. It unsettles and worries him at the same time.

“Hey, Minho, I'll call you later okay? Tell Jinnie I love him.”

“What about me- ?”

Jisung hangs up and takes off his dirty paint-splattered apron and rubber slides, before walking up the hallway and stopping in front of the first door, right by the stairs. He knocks and waits.

“Come in.”

Pushing the door open he's met with darkness and a human looking lump under the sheets. Jisung sees the closed blinds and doesn't reach for the light. Something is wrong. “Mirae..?”

“Mh.”

He tiptoes quietly and takes a seat at the foot of the bed, not wanting to invade her personal space. “Are you okay?”

Mirae shuffles around, pulling herself up into a seating position. She blinks a few times, looking at Jisung with her thinking face. Jisung lets her gather her thoughts, looking around the room. From the collection of mangas tucked in the upper-most shelf of their bookshelf, to the framed picture of Mirae and Jungkwon sitting on one of their nightstands.

“Do you know how me and Jungkwon got together?”

That's not something he expected to be asked, the mention of the older man's name making him take a big breath in. Mirae's still watching him, with some sort of intent. “No..?”

She purses her lips and looks down at her hands, picking at her nails. “His father and my parents arranged a date for us. Something about us being too old to be single. We had fun, surprisingly, and then we just rolled with it.”

That's new information to him, new lore unlocked. He nods, to let her know he's still listening, and she nods back, eyes a little sad. “Well, we got closer along the way. It was easy. Jungkwon is an easy man to care for. But I don't think we've ever had that passion and yearning every romantic movie likes to depict, and I was fine with that. All I needed was loyalty, warmth and understanding.”

Loyalty. Loyalty.

Jisung struggles to keep eye contact.

“We'd promised each other the truth, no matter what happened and how horrible it was. And today? Today Jungkwon broke the engagement. We annulled the wedding.”

He can't stop himself from gasping, hands gripping his shorts tightly. It's like he can't control the sudden rush of emotions, from surprise to sadness, and worst of all, relief, from rushing to his muscles and stiffening them. “What? I'm so sorry, Mirae.” And despite all else, he means it. His little stupid crush crumbles in the face of their decade-long relationship.

Mirae looks at him, appraisingly, before she too, crumbles, slumping her shoulders inward, unlike her usual perfect posture. She rubs her face with a sigh. “There's nothing you need to be sorry about. I can't blame anyone but us. This relationship started becoming stale long ago, and we thought that marriage would bring it back to life, make it feel new and full again. But there's nothing to bring back, because we were never fully in love. I love him, and I know he loves me. But we're not in love, and the absence of that is slowly chipping away at our relationship.”

Mirae holds her breath and then lets out a laugh of disbelief. “What am I doing here? I'm sorry. I just dumped all of this on you.”

Jisung hums, shrugging. “I don't mind. And I'm sorry things aren't going well.”

Mirae shakes her head, smoothing the blanket covering her legs out. “I don't like what this relationship made of me. I've become bitter and jealous. I'm.. feeling things like hatred for people that do not deserve it and it makes me feel guilty.”

Jisung can relate, in a way. His relationship with his mother has essentially ruined every other parent-adjacent relationship for him. He doesn't talk to his cousins or aunts and uncles, just because his brain sees them as extensions of his mother. It's only thanks to his friends that he knows love and care. Before them, there was only bitterness and apathy. Jisung doesn't like that version of himself, aggressive, closed off, scared.

“I'm sorry, if I've ever come off as mean to you.” Jisung looks up, wide-eyed. Why would Mirae be sorry towards him?

“I've never felt like you were mean to me. You're a great host and a good friend, Mirae.”

Her eyes glaze over momentarily, and she looks down, as if embarrassed. “Yeah. Sorry I just. I forget how young you are. I know you're not naive but you're ignorant to many things that bother me, and sometimes I might've been too short or too cold with you when you needed someone close. We were supposed to become a family and I never really tried with you, out of stupid jealousy.”

Jealousy?

“What do you mean by that?” Jisung tilts his head to the side, frowning in confusion. What would she ever be jealous of when it comes to him, of all people?

Mirae gathers herself and sits up, properly. Her smile is fake around the edges but Jisung doesn't call her out on it. “Nothing. Sorry, slip of the tongue. I've been jealous in general, I think I was just projecting on others my own insecurities.”

“I see. You can talk to me, whenever you need someone, okay?”

Mirae smiles, much more genuine now, and leans over to ruffle his hair. “You're cute. And thank you.”

Memories are fascinating things, because you can always speak fondly of a memory, only to find out that other people remember the same thing in a vastly different way. So maybe their talk wasn't as warm and agreeable as Jisung had thought it was. Maybe there was something else, deeper, underlying all of Mirae's words.

Alas, he's wholly blindsided and unprepared for it when he comes home from a little outing with Changbin and sees suitcases piled in the front yard. There are voices, loud, shouting, coming from the house. Changbin parks the car and Jisung's on his feet before he kills the engine.

As soon as he opens the door he's met with the sight of Mirae crying and posturing to a visibly shaken up Jungkwon. He wants to run over and hug them, both. But he doesn't, knowing it'd be too inappropriate for the tension suffocating the room. Mirae sees him and turns away, wiping her face. She then turns back around, grabs her purse, and books it, her shoulder slamming into Jisung's.

He's frozen for a few long seconds, feeling Changbin gently move him to the side so he can go over to his brother. Jisung walks out the door and follows Mirae instead.

She's frantic as she carries her stuff to the car, and Jisung doesn't waste time standing there like a complete idiot, and helps her instead. She says nothing but her anger mellows out a bit. Once they're done she slams the trunk shut and turns to Jisung. And for some reason the disappointment in her voice is palpable.

“I'm sorry. For leaving not only him but you and Binnie as well. I'm sorry for not being able to do this.. I just can't-”, her voice caves in when she looks at him; then she looks away. Jisungs's saliva tastes acidic in his mouth. “I'm sorry Jisung.”

She leaves, and he has to quietly and awkwardly make his way back into the house, finding it empty. There are voices coming from the basem*nt so he avoids it at all costs, quietly climbing up the stairs to his room. He sends a text to Changbin, telling him that he's fine and that Mirae left, and another one to Chan, asking what he's up to.

The guy replies not even a minute later, asking to call, to which Jisung agrees.

They've been talking on and off, and the more they talk the more Jisung realizes that there's nothing more than platonic feelings and the brief weak moments of lust here and there. He'd forwarded Chan's number to Minho. That seems to be going well too.

They talk until Changbin comes knocking at the door, pushing it open with lethargic movements. Jisung says his goodbyes and ends the call, already dreading whatever Changbins's about to tell him.

“Hey, how are things looking?”

Changbin closes the door and lays face down next to Jisung. “Not good. Not good at all, Sung. They're taking time off, but you saw the suitcases. Mirae's not coming back soon, or at all.”

A block of ice slams into him and all he can do is grip the sheets in sheer embarrassment. Their conversation rings in his ears like a ghost of the past and he swallows. “Do you think it could be because of me?”

Changbin turns his head to him, watching Jisung with searching eyes. “Did you do anything that makes you think it might be?”

Jisung shrugs, frowning at the ceiling. This moment brings him a feeling of deja vu. “I didn't. But Mirae kept apologizing and when we spoke last time it seemed like she was looking for answers herself.”

Changbin stays quiet, mulling over things that maybe Jisung cannot see himself. “I have a theory and I'm not happy about it.”

“Hm?”

“Sung. Has anything weird been happening between you and Jungkwon?”

“Define weird.”

Changbin sits up and he does as well, rubbing his feet together to have an excuse not to look at the other.

“Jisung.”

When he looks up, Changbin's face already tells him he knows. “Nothing happened. I promise. There's just been a few weirdly tense moments, but I'm sure they're just my own delusions and sh*t. You know I would never get between Jungkwon and Mirae.”

Changbin looks at him, before he’s sighing and dragging a hand over his face. “Oh Sung.”

His hackles raise up and his feet get a little cold. The thrum of his blood almost drowns his own thoughts. “What?”

When Changbin looks at him, it's with resignation. “You didn't say ‘I would never get with Jungkwon’, you just said you'd never get with him while Mirae is in the picture.”

Humiliation tastes the best when it's served on a hot plate. This one is ice cold and it only makes the ache in his bones more prominent. “My crush and delusions have nothing to do with this. I didn't make Mirae leave.”

Tears prickle at his eyes and he feels like a cornered animal. Guilty. But also scared and confused.

“Sungie, no. I'm not blaming you. I just think your presence had to be one of the reasons,” Jisung's mouth drops open, hurt, but Changbin takes his hands in his own and squeezes them, “Hear me out first. I know they've been having relationship problems. Jungkwon used to call me every other day to whine about it. And then you moved in and the calls almost stopped. I thought nothing of it, then today happened. Jisung, what if Jungkwon also feels something for you? I'm not talking about full-fledged feelings, just something ? Anything that could've, maybe, changed the dynamics in their relationship? You didn't do anything wrong, but maybe you were one of the catalysts.”

Jisung doesn't have a response to that, and he still doesn't have it when Changbin has to go home, leaving him and his awful thoughts alone with a warm hug. Guilt latches onto him like a parasite and suckles away drop by drop through the night. He doesn't sleep. And neither does Jungkwon, judging by the light spilling from under his door. Jisung leaves the bathroom as quietly as he had entered it.

The morning is cold and empty. He's used to being alone in this house, but today it feels foreboding, like something has to happen for the sun to finally come out from behind the clouds. Jungkwon sits in the kitchen, brewing coffee, and Jisung says a brief good morning.

They don't talk, don't exchange smiles or jokes. Jungkwon doesn't even finish his coffee before leaving for work. Jisung spends the rest of the day doing menial chores and moping around. Talking to his friends helps for all of two hours before he realizes that Jungkwon hasn't come home yet.

Jisung stays up until midnight. Jungkwon comes home, at some point, cursing outside the main door and trying to unlock it unsuccessfully. He's loud enough to be heard from the second floor, which shakes Jisung awake. “Hyungie..?”

He's squinting under the bright porch light, stepping away to let the man stumble inside. He's drunk, reeking of beer. His jacket is open and he holds his keys the wrong way. Jisung sighs and locks the door, helping Jungkwon keep himself up while he takes off his shoes.

“You're so sweet to me, Jisungie.”

“Yeah. I know.”

He's heavy, weighing a bit above what Jisung would think is average. Might be the muscles. But he's still heavy to Jisung, who'd only ever lifted weights and nothing else. The staircase looks ominous.

“I'll need you to cooperate with me here. Okay? Hey, don't fall asleep- Hyung!”

Jungkwon startles awake and looks at him, leaning heavily on Jisung's left side. Suffocating.

“Jisungie.. there you are.”

Jisung feels like he'll burst into flames, or that his face will slide off in a painfully cartoonish manner.

They manage to climb the stairs, with little help from the older, and then Jisung gasps his way to the bedroom, dumping Jungkwon on the bed like a sack of forty-something year old potatoes. If this doesn't kill his crush then nothing else will.

He stands up and a hand grabs his wrist, familiar, touching the ghost of his branded skin. Jungkwon is looking at him with a deep longing and sadness, eyes cloudy. “Baby.. Why are you leaving?”

It's not Jisung he's thinking about. There's no way. Not when he's this drunk and his eyes barely open all the way through. Not ever.

“Shh. I'm not leaving. I won’t leave.”

Mirae's crying face pops up in his head and Jisung gently removes Jungkwon's fingers from around his wrist. He will not . To honor the promises he'd made to himself before moving in, he will not let himself get deluded, will not let himself become the reason Mirae left.

Jisung's weak. He will always be. But not tonight.

Jungkwon's fast asleep before Jisung even closes the door behind himself.

The morning after is a mess. Jungkwon's late for work, smelling of booze and looking unkempt. He tries talking to Jisung but a phone call from work forces him to cut it short. He hugs Jisung goodbye and leaves him standing in the hallway, disheveled and fragile. That hug keeps him afloat for the entire day.

Tiny little things change, much to Changbin's ire. He keeps asking about every little update and interaction between Jisung and Jungkwon. At first Jisung rolls his eyes, and then things start changing and he's not so sure anymore.

Jungkwon looks.. happier, despite what happened between him and Mirae. He always meets Jisung in the kitchen at the end of his work day with a smile and a fond gaze. It fills his chest with even more longing, staring down at the possibility of a future together, where Jungkwon comes home to him . But he doesn't dare dream too much. Guilt is still nibbling away at bits of himself every other night, burrowing deeper and deeper the more smiles he receives from Jungkwon.

Mirae calls him, three weeks into their new situationship. Asks him how he's doing. Apologizes again, and then, out of nowhere, asks him to take care of himself and Jungkwon. It marks Jisung in a way he's not ready for. He feels seen and not in a good way, skin flayed open for the winds to bite at.

Things change but they also don't. He carries on doing his chores, many more now with no help from Mirae and with Jungkwon always working. But he doesn't mind, it calms his thoughts and helps him feel useful. He doesn't even know when the house started feeling like his own.

“Need any help?”

Jisung yelps and grips one of the shelves of the bookshelf he’d been cleaning, wide eyes looking down at Jungkwon. “Don't do that ever again! I almost fell!”

The man laughs, opening his arms wide enough to have (maybe) caught Jisung in case he actually fell. “I would've caught you.”

Jisung huffs and finishes dusting the shelf. “No you wouldn't. I don't weigh as little as I look.”

“Bet?” There are hands gripping the ladder on both sides of his feet before Jungkwon starts shaking it. Jisung yelps again and his knees buckle a little. He starts climbing down, step by step, cursing Jungkwon through it all, much to the other's amusem*nt. Jisung's halfway down when his foot slips.

Jungkwon does catch him, his arms wrapped around Jisung's thighs, his face eye level with Jisung's heaving stomach. He's out of breath, heart pounding away as he stares down at the man. Jungkwon's broad smile slowly melts into something else, his eyes wider and arms tighter around his legs. They stare at each other and Jisung cannot help the way he flushes red.

“Hyung.. let me down.”

“Oh! Sorry. Sorry, wait.” Jungkwon does the worst thing he could've done and relaxes the grip around his thighs, letting Jisung slide down his body and fall on his own feet with a huff. They both realize that Jungkwon's hands cup the underside of Jisung’s ass and move away from each other. Jisung's chest burns from where it touched the other's. He doesn't care that they're both still clothed, with pure intentions.

“I'm gonna go reheat dinner.”

Jungkwon nods, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Okay. Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

Hours later, in the thick of the night, he pretends he'll be absolved of all sins if his room is dark enough. This way, no spirit can see him touch himself to the memory of Jungkwon's hands lightly cupping his ass. The walls might have ears but they don't have eyes. He muffles himself, biting into the meat of his palm, jerking his hips against empty air and the ring of his fingers. Jungkwon’s hands. His eyes. The way he'd held him up and the way he'd looked up at Jisung.

He comes with a breathy whine, splashing the naked expanse of his stomach in white. Post-nut clarity hits only in the morning.

He promises himself to never do it again.

He does it again. Almost every single night. Unsatisfied with the fading memory of Jungkwon's hands. He needs them. He needs them.

His own are not enough anymore. They're not enough around his co*ck, nor are they enough for his hole. Every time he presses down on that bundle of nerves deep inside, all he can think about is that Jungkwon's longer fingers would do it much better; would reach deeper.

He finds himself thinking of the older's co*ck mid-stir, soup almost boiling over.

He catches himself daydreaming about Jungkwon's veiny hands, the way he twirls his pens while he thinks; the way he cups everything in his palms instead of simply grabbing it. Safe, secure.

Jisung is losing his mind. And none of his friends are helpful.

“Please, you're the last one I'm telling this to. All of my other friends are f*cking insane.”

Chan looks into the camera, double chin on full display as he sips on his pineapple juice box. “So let me get this straight. You're brothers but not really.”

“Uh huh.”

“You got the hots for him and he's available.”

“I mean. Yeah.”

“And there has been tension building between you two. Did I get that right?”

Jisung blinks, staring at a little bird perched on his balcony railing. “Pretty much.”

Chan moves his phone away from his face and props it up, laying on his stomach instead. Jisung eyes his chest appreciatively.

“Listen, I'm not the morality police. You're both adults, not really related, single from what I gather, and interested in each other.”

“Who said he is?”

Chan stares him down through the phone until Jisung looks away in embarrassment. “Okay. I get it. Stop that.”

“He almost shoved me out the door that one time we frolicked in the kitchen.”

Jisung groans, shoving his face in his pillow. “Why did you say it like that?”

Chan shrugs and slurps noisily until his juice is no more. “I'd say f*ck it. This thing will go nowhere if you two just keep dancing around each other. That tension will either make you f*ck it out or fight it out. So see to it.”

“You're so wordy.”

Chan's eye takes the entirety of his screen. “Dude I'm a f*cking psychology major? Of course I’m wordy!”

Jisung hums, crumpling up a piece of paper and throwing it at the ceiling. “Oh. Like a ghost whisperer?”

“Jisung?”

The piece of paper lands square on his face and he sits up, just now noticing Jungkwon standing in the doorway, knuckles raised to knock.

“Dude do you mean a psychic?? Hello? Jisung-?”

He ends the call and throws his phone to the side, eyeing Jungkwon awkwardly. “Sorry, I didn't hear you coming.”

Jungkwon looks at his phone, brows furrowed. “Right. Got home early and wanted to ask if you wanted to order out today?”

Jisung crosses his legs and smiles. “Yeah. Sure. What were you thinking?”

Jungkwon finally relaxes, body language changing immediately as he leans against the doorway, smiling at Jisung. “Mmm. There's an Italian restaurant that does delivery that just opened. Sounds nice?”

Jisung nods hard enough to dislodge one of his hair pins out, making it fly across the room. Jungkwon laughs, picks it up, and walks over to him. Jisung has to look up from where he's sitting, while Jungwon gently pins his hair back, away from his face. It doesn't go unnoticed by him the way the other's fingers rub Jisung's cheeks as they leave his face.

“I'll call you when it's here. Okay?”

They're almost whispering. Jungkwon is still too close, heat emanating from his body. And Jisung blooms, like a sunflower under the sun. “Okay.”

His poor, poor heart.

Their dinner starts well enough, like usual. Both he and Jungkwon gather around the coffee table like two little hungry rats, scarfing their pizza slices down and slurping pasta like no one's business, making a mess out of themselves. Jisung in particular.

“You can never stay clean while eating, can you?”

Jisung sees him reach for tissues and immediately starts whining, swallowing his food so he doesn't choke. He's merely manhandled back into facing Jungkwon and then the man cups his face and forces him to stay still. His life is full of deja vu’s.

“‘M not that messy hyung.” He pouts and scrunches his nose up, hating the rough feeling of dry paper on his skin. “Owie.”

Jungwon laughs, unfiltered, dropping the tissue down on the table. He's still holding Jisung's face. “Owie?”

Jisung nods, still pouting. He's playing with fire, but it's fun, being a brat, whining until he gets his way. “Hurts.”

Jungkwon's face changes, a small smile making its way in place of the goofy grin before it. “Yeah? Want hyung to kiss it better?”

There's a brief moment where Jisung's unfiltered thoughts break through before Jungkwon can take his own words back. And he would've, judging by the quick widening of his eyes and his open mouth.

“Yes. Kiss it better hyung.”

Time stands still. As does Jisung.

Jungkwon looks at him for a long stretched-out moment, an internal battle going behind those dark, beautiful eyes. Jisung pouts some more and breaks the tie, battle lost.

The kiss pressed against his cheek hurts in the best way. He finally feels that beard on himself, pressing gently into his soft skin like an imprint. Jungkwon's lips are warm, and the urge to angle his head down and catch them in a kiss is overwhelming.

“Better?”

Jisung blinks himself back to the present, noticing the lack of hand around his jaw and the distance between them. Jungkwon’s eyes are dark, though, watching Jisung like he's prey. It stirs the butterflies in his stomach into a frenzy.

Jisung nods.

They finish the night by cleaning up after themselves and bidding each other goodnight, but the tension is palpable. In quantum mechanics, there's a principle called the observer effect, which suggests that the act of observation can influence the behavior of particles or systems being observed. The tension is visible and tangible because for the first time since he'd moved in - it’s being perceived.

They part ways nevertheless.

Jisung's skin vibrates, unlike it has ever before. The shower he takes is long because he can't stop touching his own skin, rubbing his own waist and the soft underside of his asscheeks, gasping soft little breaths. If he imagines bigger and rougher hands doing it, the water washes those images down the drain. The late summer air feels ticklish, and holding the balcony door open, while he struggles to fall asleep, only serves as a reminder that it's not the wind's embrace he wants caressing his skin.

In another world, Jisung might be strong enough to fall asleep. But he isn't. The Jisung of here and now gets up, covers his naked skin in a pair of loose satin shorts and a thin worn-out t-shirt, and leaves all guilt and shame back in his room as he walks out into the hallway.