Chapter Text
Jisung felt the bed dip and cracked one eye open. He watched the back of… someone?... bob in and out of his fuzzy line of sight as they grabbed for clothes strewn on the floor, he guessed. He could smell something being fried and his stomach gurgled unpleasantly.
The door clicked softly shut.
He laid there for a moment trying to remember what happened and came up blank, which was usual for him at a likely worrisome rate. Oh well. Jisung got up and searched for his underwear from last night. He didn’t see them, but there was a pair of wine-colored boxer briefs he didn’t recognize that made a nice replacement.
He padded into the kitchen, where Chan was standing at the stove in Jisung’s missing underwear—Pac Man boxers—frying up eggs. Slowdive played lowly from Chan’s phone plugged next to the toaster.
“Where’d… uh.”
“Hyunjin.”
“Sure. He not sticking around for breakfast?”
Chan shrugged, accepting the kiss Jisung landed haphazardly on his cheek as he reached for the coffee pot. “I guess not, he left in kind of a hurry. That’s from yesterday,” he said right as Jisung took a big mouthful from the mug he’d just poured. Without missing a beat, Jisung turned and spit the cold, gross coffee into the kitchen sink, then reached for the Dunkin on top of the fridge. He got the coffee pot going with a fresh batch then snuggled into Chan’s bare back, tucking into the warmth there and just existing for a few moments, floating on the edge of consciousness. “Hey. You okay?”
“Mmm. Yeah.”
“Just checking. Oh, Jeongin called earlier.” Jisung grunted at the rumble he could feel as Chan spoke. “That’s what woke me up, actually. Said he needed to talk to us about something.”
Jisung furrowed his brow. “Really? That’s weird. He better not be backing out on us with the tour just two weeks away.”
--
That’s exactly what he was doing. The little fucker.
“What can I do? Mom said no.” Jeongin’s braces made him slur every other word, and Jisung would be pissed as hell right now if he didn’t find it so fucking cute. “She only agreed that I could be in the band if I kept my grades up, and I barely scraped by with C’s this year.” Jeongin had the grace to look bummed about it, at least. “I wish there were a way I could go, but she’s signed me up for tutoring at the center until mid-August. I’m sorry, guys.”
Jisung wiped his hands down his face, groaning out his frustration. Chan, more diplomatic, patted Jeongin on the back and told him they would find someone, it was okay. It was not okay, but telling Jeongin that would solve nothing, Jisung, so don’t make him feel worse about it than he already does.
Jisung waited until they were back in Chan’s burnt orange ‘00 GMC Savana with one blue door that doubled as their tour vehicle. He punched at the dashboard until Chan fished out an oversized Komajiro plushie left in the back of the van from the last time they went to Castles, and then Jisung pummeled the stuffing out of it instead. “Fuck! What are we going to do?!”
Chan stared out the cracked windshield, eyes unseeing, lost in thought. “I guess we could put out a Craigslist ad. Do people still do that?” he asked, defeated. “We could always ask around, see if anyone we know is willing to pinch-hit for the tour. I mean, none of our songs are THAT complicated.” The look on Chan’s face told that even he didn’t believe what he was saying. “Know any out-of-work drummers?”
Jisung shook his head slowly. “No, I don’t th—” He snapped his mouth shut. No.
“What? Sung, what? Do you know someone?” Goddammit, why did Chan have to do the thing with his voice where it got higher the more excited he got? Because this was not a thing to get excited over, because this was NOT going to HAPPEN.
“No?” Jisung said, but his voice betrayed him, lilting at the end. GodDAMmit, shit, fuck, fuck, piss. “Okay, I know, like, one dude, but—”
“You do? Sung, that’s GREAT. Do you have his number? Or his insta? Let’s contact him now—”
“Chan, it’s not going to happen. This dude is a major prick. And he might not even be available. And did I mention he’s a major prick? I mean, major. Do we want to be stuck with an asshole for two whole weeks?”
Chan, saintly Chan. Surely, he would understand. “Jisung, we might not have a choice. I can still put out an ad, but if we have someone that can start learning the songs sooner rather than later, that would be ideal.”
Jisung appreciated a lot of things about Chan, but the thing he probably appreciated least was his ability to break down every argument Jisung ever had using logic and common sense. He rolled his eyes up to the roof of the van and silently told the stain shaped like Spongebob that he could do this, he could get through this. Spongebob Stain, regrettably, offered nothing. “Fine,” he grumbled through clenched teeth. “But I’m sending you his info. I’m not talking to him unless I have to.”
“Jesus, is he that bad?” Chan barked out a sudden laugh, “Or did you hook up with him or something?”
Jisung stared out the window. Sonic had buy 1 get 1 free on cherry limeades.
“Oh, fuck, you did. Christ, Jisung. You have got to stop fucking everything that moves and then getting emo about it.”
Jisung swerved his head so fast he felt his neck crack. “Are you calling me a slut?”
“No, I'm calling you a fucking emo, which is way worse, asshole.” For a handful of moments, it was quiet in the van save for the 80s pop playlist Chan had landed on in a fit of, Jisung didn’t know, nostalgia? For a decade he wasn't even alive for?
Every time I think of you
I feel shot right through with a bolt of blue
It's no problem of mine
But it's a problem I find
Living a life that I can't leave behind
“When?” Chan asked quietly.
Jisung blew out a breath that ruffled his bangs. “Last summer.”
Chan nodded. “Right before we…”
“Yeah.”
“Oh shit.” Chan snapped his fingers. “He was the one who—”
“Yes, okay?”
“Fuck, okay. We can find somebody else.”
--
There was nobody else.
“We could rent a drum machine?”
“Is this Nick and Norah? Should we change our name to Fistful of Assholes? No, and also, fuck you,” Jisung said heatedly, agitated like a cat backed into a corner. He pulled out his phone and opened his contact list, swiping onto a name that was just the stop sign emoji fifteen times.
He tapped out a message and hit send before Chan could notice. Before he could stop him. Before Jisung could stop himself.
hi.
There. He closed his phone and pressed his head against the car seat headrest, squeezing his eyes shut. It was done.
--
They were at Rich Man when Jisung got the reply. He felt his phone vibrate against his thigh just after he’d finished his second somaek. He was at that stage of buzzed where everybody was a friend, man, like, you don’t even know. Jisung struggled with his phone, finally wrenching it out of his skinny jeans and squinting at the screen. His lockscreen—him and Chan and Jeongin, a photo from the one and only shoot they’d done for their SoundCloud page—stared back at him, along with fifteen stop sign emojis and underneath, across Chan’s face: hi. long time no text
Of course the bastard would point out something obvious like that. Jisung stuck his tongue out at the screen and swiped it open. He blinked kind of slowly, oooh he was starting to feel good, and debated what his reply should be. At least the dude hadn’t sent an obnoxious who dis? so it had to count for something that he’d kept Jisung’s number.
“Sung!”
Chan was further along than Jisung on the grand road to getting shitfaced, if his happy-as-fuck grin was anything to go by. He knocked into Jisung, having been going for a hug, and Jisung ended up sending a string of gibberish as his next text. “Shit,” he swore, hurriedly typing out another reply before Stop Sign could respond to that one.
yup. you still play the drums? wanna be in a band?
Chan shouted in Jisung’s ear that oh my god, this is his favorite song, come dance, Sungie! Come dance! but Jisung was laser focused on his phone. He felt Chan eventually wander off, but not before landing a wet kiss somewhere around Jisung’s temple, mostly catching his hair.
almost a year of radio silence and this is what you send me?
“Because you’re an ASSHOLE,” Jisung growled out loud, but what he typed in response was
desperate times and all that. so do you still play or should I move along?
“Douchebag,” he added under his breath.
--
In the end, they made plans to meet up the next day at Soma on Walter Ave. It was neutralish ground, close to the university but still only a ten-minute walk from Chan and Jisung’s apartment. Jisung made Chan clean the paint out from underneath his fingernails and put on a shirt with sleeves. Chan teased Jisung the whole walk about it.
“I just don't get it. If he's such a dick, then why do you care?” He thanked the old lady who ran the mom and pop shake stand as she handed over his banana chia smoothie.
“Why do you always buy a drink here when we're headed to a place that literally makes their livelihood off selling drinks?”
Chan shrugged, straw between his lips. “I like these better. Besides, you picked the place.” His red, scabbed elbow from a stage diving incident butted against Jisung's arm. “Way to deflect, by the way. I'll let you have this one.”
The front of the coffee shop was mostly glass, reflecting the late afternoon sun almost garishly, making Jisung squint. The parking lot was full, but not of any overly pretentious cars. He couldn't see anything inside and that had his heart kicking up a few notches. Chan linked their pinkies and smiled over at Jisung, and that was enough. He took a breath, pulled the door open.
It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust, more to scan the room. Maybe he wasn't here yet. Jisung’s eyes finally landed on a set of shoulders that seemed broader than the last time he'd seen them, faced away from them, and took a breath. It was shakier than he thought it’d be.
“Changbin?”
--
They met on a sticky July night at Castles, the arcade machines as ancient as the faux-stone façade of the storefront. Jisung’s mouth was stained red from the Icee currently melting on the Magic Sword cabinet that hadn’t worked for as long as Jisung had been going there. Changbin’s was blue. He was newly out, but only to his sister. Jisung liked the way Changbin would slouch back as they talked, the way he bit his bottom lip when he thought Jisung wasn’t watching him stare at his mouth. The way their shoulders bumped as Jisung kicked his ass at Dig Dug II. Jisung went home that night with a purple mouth and a new contact in his phone titled with the kiss mark emoji.
--
Changbin lay on his back, the smoke billowing lazily out of his mouth. Jisung, already feeling it, thought he looked like the dorkiest dragon he’d ever seen. The smirk only confirmed the theory.
They were hanging out in Jisung’s postage stamp of a bedroom, staring up at the anime posters he’d tacked up the summer before he turned thirteen but he felt still represented him. Some things were for life, man.
Jisung leaned across and palmed Changbin’s chest, kissing him languidly. Changbin opened up for him beautifully, Jisung pulling off his beanie and brushing Changbin’s bangs from his eyes as their tongues met. He made encouraging noises at the hands hesitantly gripping his shoulder and lower back, respectively, and moved until his hips were seated against the cradle of Changbin’s. The slow grind he began had Changbin popping off of his mouth, turning and gasping for air. “Ji, I've never.”
“It’s okay, baby, I've got you,” Jisung assuaged, trading nickname for nickname, thumb brushing the line of spit on the side of Changbin’s lips. Changbin immediately sucked the thumb into his mouth and Jisung smiled. “We don't have to do anything you don't want to.”
“That sounds like a line,” Jisung laughed at that, tucking his face into the neck of Changbin’s shirt, “but, um, it's not that I don't want to do anything. I just might be shit at it.”
Jisung touched his fingertip to the hooked slope of Changbin’s nose, tapping it lightly. “There are things I've had plenty of practice with that I'm still shit at. Doesn’t stop me.”
--
The first time Jisung saw Changbin’s bedroom—more like whole basement, located in his parents’ three-story in Ridgemead—his eyes were drawn to the bright yellow Yamaha drumkit sitting in the corner. “Wow, you play?” he asked, immediately going over and running fingertips over a cymbal.
“No, it’s just a really expensive paperweight,” Changbin replied with a smirk.
“Hey, it’s a valid question, rich boy.”
“Mmm, yeah, I play.”
“This is so cool; we should start a band or something. We could call ourselves The Hookups,” he grinned, flipping Changbin off from where he sat behind the drum set.
Changbin pulled off his shirt, flung it at Jisung, and lit a joint. “Or you could come smoke this with me while I blow you.”
“Oh, how the mighty have fallen. You kiss your mother with that mouth?”
“No, but I bite your ass with it.”
--
They were in Changbin’s car again, making out like high school juniors in heat. Jisung had his legs wrapped around Changbin, their flies open, lazily jerking them both off with no real goal in mind, just enjoying each other in the weed smoke haze surrounding them. He thrilled at the deep, illegal tint of Changbin’s modified ‘97 NSX, the way they just barely fit together in the orange bucket seat, Jisung having to squat over Changbin to get his dick inside of him. The way the windows fogged so easily, the sloped hardtop of the roof making him bend his neck in an unnatural angle, but damn if it didn’t make for the best mid-fuck makeouts. The way Jisung’s elbow would sometimes hit the ancient Japanese nav system, causing it to blurt at them in a language neither of them understood.
They went way too fast, from introduction to stuck inside each other’s pocket within a matter of weeks. It was burning too bright, too high, no way it could possibly sustain, but Jisung was on the cusp of twenty and just didn’t fucking care. Changbin was the realest thing he had in his life and he was going to hold on with both hands. It was how he did everything, and though nothing else had worked out for him that way, it didn’t stop him from keeping Changbin as close as he could get him. Who needed to breathe when Changbin claimed Jisung was his lungs anyway?
“You,” Jisung began, but got lost in Changbin’s mouth once more.
“Me?” Changbin chuckled, hands hot and branding underneath Jisung's shirt, cupping his shoulder blades as if they were angel wings and then tracing his ribs, thumbing his nipples. “No, you,” he countered against the thin skin of Jisung's throat, already littered with bruises.
“Okay, then. Us.” Fingers tangled; knuckles kissed.
“Us.”
--
It was Changbin’s twenty-first birthday, a sticky August night and the moths were having a rave around the only working streetlight in the abandoned parking lot they’d decided to hole up in. The edibles that had been part of Changbin’s birthday gift were well in their system by that point, and Jisung was having a great time watching Changbin twirling around the cracked pavement, singing from the music streaming on Jisung’s phone at the top of his lungs. Some sort of vintage girl power playlist Changbin’s sister had turned him onto. Sleep to Dream, if he could trust the title on the screen.
“C’mere,” he beckoned, a cigarette clenched between his lips. Changbin swung his hips Jisung’s way, who scooped him close and indulged in the need to kiss this small mouth with such bee-stung lips.
Changbin grimaced, pulling away. “You know I hate kissing you when you’ve been smoking.”
“Oh, like you taste any better after you've smoked a j,” Jisung replied, putting the cig out with his shoe and leaning into the window of Changbin’s ridiculous car, going on tiptoe to reach the center console. He felt Changbin’s hands slip around his waist to keep him steady. “You’re the most demanding hook-up I’ve ever had, you know that?” he mumbled as he rummaged for and found a piece of gum, popping it in his mouth and throwing the wrapper at Changbin after he straightened. “There, better? You big baby?”
Changbin pouted. “It’s my birthday, you’re not allowed to be mean to me today.”
“Says who?” Jisung pulled Changbin close for a slow dance, swaying side to side as if they were at junior prom.
“Says me.” Changbin pouted, hands on Jisung’s lower back and oops, that was it. Jisung tripped headlong into feelings. He sucked the pout from Changbin’s mouth, letting his bottom lip go with an audible noise. Changbin pulled back and grinned, chewing on Jisung’s gum.
“Happy birthday, baby.”
--
Jisung opened the door leading to the basement carefully, pointlessly as Changbin pulled him the rest of the way inside with an impatient kiss. He laughed into Changbin’s mouth and held him away just long enough to catch a breath, sobering when he saw the intensity in Changbin’s gaze. “Hey, what’s up? What’s so urgent you had me breaking and entering? This sneaking around stuff is weird, we’re both adults. Why do your parents even care?”
“Ji, do you want to keep asking me inane questions all night or do you want to ride my tongue? Because I’d much rather have you ride my tongue,” Changbin snapped back, pawing at Jisung’s jacket. Jisung stopped him with hands on Changbin’s forearms, peering at him for a long, searching moment. Changbin was wild, desperate, hair a mess, agitation and anxiety clear on his face. But Jisung didn’t know what to do with all that. So instead of dealing with any of it, he pulled Changbin to him. Said okay. Let him fuck out whatever he was feeling.
It wasn’t sex, whatever they were doing. Changbin pampered him for what felt like hours. When they finally did fuck, Changbin held Jisung to him, face anchored in Jisung’s neck, thrusting into him in long, deep strokes. Jisung let him cling, clung back, confused but so into it. He didn’t want it to stop. Ever. He wanted to exist there, in the moment, never disconnect from Changbin even once. He wiped at his face with the edge of his palm, shaky, overwhelmed as it came back wet. Feeling sick and cured all at once. “Fuck, Changbin, I—” he moaned when he came.
In the morning, Jisung woke to Changbin shaking him gently on the shoulder. “Hey,” he smiled, so warm, but it didn’t last.
“I’m leaving,” said Changbin.
“I’m studying abroad in China,” said Changbin.
“My flight is in three hours,” said Changbin.
“I didn't know how to tell you,” said Changbin.
“I’m sorry,” said Changbin.
“I love you,” said Changbin.
Jisung sat through it all, numb.
Jisung watched Changbin’s parents’ sensible Audi drive away from where he stood next to the bus stop down the road, Changbin’s dumb black denim coat that had that weird smell black denim always had wrapped around him.
He had to get home and take a shower and get the smell off of him.
--
Changbin texted him to let him know he arrived safely. Changbin texted him every day for a month. Jisung didn't respond. He wrote and deleted a hundred-page novel, unoriginal things like
i hate you
i miss you
fuck you
come back
but in the end left him on read.
--
“Changbin?”
That did not come from Jisung. He watched in horror as Shoulders got up, turned around and greeted Chan of all people. What in the fucking Twilight Zone was this shit?
“Chan! Hey, how've you been?” Changbin’s smile was radiant. His skin was tan. His hair was longer, grown out from the edgelord undercut. He had a half-sleeve that was only one tattoo a year ago. “I haven't seen you in a minute! What are you—” Because Jisung lived in a parody of actual life, Changbin caught sight of him right then, smile in freefall. Jisung watched his stupid eyebrows disappear into his ridiculous bangs. “Oh. Hi, Ji—” He imagined his voice cracking, right, no way Changbin was swallowing and trying again, “Jisung.” Weighted. What.
Jisung’s brain discarded all of that, tucked it away for later when he was alone, when he was safe, and instead folded his arms in front of himself, NOT defensively. He scoffed, loudly, focusing instead on, “Of fucking course you two know each other.”
Chan twigged immediately, taking a step back from Changbin, toward Jisung. An obvious distinction. “Oh, is this the guy?” A pause, tense, while Chan licked his bottom lip, considering. Measuring. Jisung was well acquainted with the look. A card slid into a pocket, a thought reserved for later. “Jisung, it's a college town, of course we know each other. I didn't know that you played drums, though?”
Changbin shifted from foot to foot. Nervous. He better damn well be, Jisung thought. “Yeah, been playing since middle school. Still have the same kit and everything. So, tell me about this band of yours. Your drummer up and quit?”
Jisung let Chan lead the conversation, interview, whatever in the holy fuck this shitshow was, and wallowed in the clammy way his whole body felt, like he was going into shock or something. He felt ill, and he didn’t want to be there, but he also didn’t want to say anything because he knew it would not end in the result he wanted, so he just stayed quiet. He couldn’t stay still, though, and immediately stole one of Changbin’s napkins and started shredding it. And then, the weirdness really started.
Chan noticed the nervous habit first. He reached out and put his hand over Jisung’s, quelling it, providing comfort.
Changbin noticed a split second later, and then--perhaps out of muscle memory, Jisung didn’t know--put his hand over top Chan’s. As if he had been reaching to calm Jisung, too. Everyone froze, eyes darting from face to face, breath held.
Changbin reacted first, drawing his hand away, his ears burning red. “I’m so sorry,” he mumbled. Jisung said nothing, his face burning.
“Anyway, so do you think you can do it?”
--
“I can’t do it. I can’t do it, Chan.”
“Okay, Sung, calm down. We’ll figure something else out.”
Five minutes later: “There is no one else. I’ll just have to figure it out and deal with it. Let’s bring him back in.”
Chan, who had never called to tell Changbin he was out, nodded his head. “Okay, Sung. Whatever you need to do. I’m here, man.”
--
The first practice lasted less than thirty minutes. Jisung knew because Chan showed him the stopwatch he’d set.
Originally, Changbin wanted to practice at his parents’ house, where his kit was still set up. It was where he was still living, because why move when you had the perfect setup anyway? It wasn’t like his parents noticed if he was there or not.
But Jisung just couldn’t do that. There was no way he could step foot inside that house without astral projecting back to That Day, and he was staunch in his decision. So Chan helped Changbin lug his kit to their rented rehearsal space, an old carpet store that had been out of business longer than Jisung had been alive. Jisung sat back at their apartment, fingernails bitten down to nothing, waiting for Chan to text that they were ready to begin.
When he got there, Jisung was not prepared for the sight before him. He knew this entire summer was shaping up to be full of things he would not know how to deal with, but that didn’t mean he was ready for any of it.
Changbin sat at his assembled drumkit, twirling one stick lazily. His posture was loose, easy, entire body pointed in interest toward Chan, who was not a foot away on a stool, acoustic in his lap. Jisung could practically see the warm, floaty feeling of a burgeoning friendship between them, and it made him want to put up a blockade. He didn't like seeing two very different, separate periods of his life coming together, it was like an itch on his skin. He wanted to wash it off and put things back where they were meant to go. Why did he ever think he'd be okay with this?
“Hey.” He didn’t think he’d have to announce his presence, but neither of them had turned his way when he walked in, even despite the rusty front door.
Chan swiveled toward him. “Jisung.” He smiled. “Ready to get started?”
“Yeah, let me just plug in.” Jisung tried his best not to let the weight of Changbin’s gaze—and the heavier weight of his not-gaze whenever his focus moved to Chan—bother him too much.
They worked well together, after Chan guided Changbin through the first song. Their stuff was simple enough to pick up on, verse chorus verse, and if Changbin did a few ad libs Jeongin never thought of, it wasn’t too deterring. If Changbin was behind him, Jisung didn’t have to think about him, and that worked well until he had to crash land back down to Earth after every song. Jisung assumed he would eventually become desensitized to seeing Changbin in his space again, but that wasn’t going to happen today.
“This is good stuff. You write all this together?” Changbin asked. Jisung could hear the incredulity in his tone, and it had his back stiffening.
“Yeah, I write the music, Sung does the lyrics, mostly,” Chan informed. Jisung tried to turn the stink eye he was giving Chan into a stretch as Changbin’s gaze diverted to him.
“I’d say I’m surprised that Jisung wrote the lyrics, but no, that sounds pretty on brand.” Like he wasn’t even there. He heard a rustling, saw Changbin pick up a few pieces of paper and arrange them. “I’ll look over these tonight and hopefully be ready for more by tomorrow afternoon.” Cold dread laced through him.
Jisung stalked over to Changbin and grabbed the sheet music from him abruptly. He rifled through the pages, scanning each one. He didn’t have to look far. “I’m pulling Slump from the list. You don’t have to learn this one.”
“Sung—”
“I wrote it, I can pull it.” Jisung stared Chan down, who held up his hands.
“Okay. Slump is off the set list.”
Jisung crumpled up the piece of paper and shoved it into his pocket.
--
The second practice went slightly more smoothly, and each practice after that subsequently was, well, not easier, really, but it stopped being a shock to Jisung's system whenever he'd walk into a room and Changbin was there.
“You got more ink,” Changbin commented quietly after the fourth practice, sitting around and sharing a six-pack of beer. Everything Changbin did now was quiet, like he was afraid of spooking Jisung. He didn’t like it, but he didn’t know what he would like better, so he left it alone.
“So did you,” Jisung remarked, subconsciously rubbing his hands over his own full sleeves. “And are those second holes new?” Jisung reached out without thought to touch Changbin’s ear, realized what he was doing and swerved to tug on his own ear instead. Changbin blushed, smiled, and Jisung let out a shaky breath. It was getting too easy to drop back to before. He moved over to Chan, already with an arm out for him, and tucked himself against his side.
“How’d you two meet?”
Jisung and Chan shared a look. “Uh, we—”
“We hooked up,” Jisung said abruptly. “We met at that one bar that used to be Ice Ale. You know the one?”
Changbin snapped his fingers. “Yeah, I think it’s called Charlie’s now?”
“Mmm, yeah, but it was Served when we met. Chan took me home and I sorta never left.” Jisung shrugged. Chan sent him a warm, Chan look. Jisung ignored it, instead messing with the laces of his boots. “He's a decent roomie.”
“Oh? I thought you two were…” Changbin didn’t finish.
“Jisung doesn't do relationships,” Chan quietly answered. Jisung avoided looking at anyone, attention on his tangled laces. His fingers felt as thick and dumb as hot dogs.
“I see,” was all Changbin offered. The weight of his gaze was a house fire against the side of Jisung’s face. He ducked it into the crook of Chan's arm and breathed in the familiar, needing it to ground himself.
--
Their final practice before the first show was even shorter than their first. They ran through their twenty-two minute set with no hiccups. Jeongin had even stopped by to meet his replacement, and Jisung stepped out to get a breath of fresh air when he thought no one would miss him.
He heard the crunch of shoes on loose pavement and took a drink of his Mountain Dew.
“Oh. I thought you were out here smoking.”
Jisung let his cheeks bulge out before swallowing. “Quit.”
“Oh, that-that's good, Jisung. Congrats.”
Jisung shrugged off the compliment and patted the concrete curb he was sitting on. “I know you like to feel tall, but you’re kind of looming over me right now.”
Changbin took the offer, sitting with a good foot of space between them. The summer was really ramping up by then, sweat dripping down backs and off noses. Jisung could feel his tank top starting to stick to him. He watched idly as a bug crawled over a dandelion growing through a crack in the blacktop.
“It’s my fault, isn’t it? That you swore off relationships.”
Jisung figured this would come up. “Like I’d give you that kinda credit.”
“It is, though. Jisung—” Changbin let out a loud breath, running his hands through his shaggy hair, making it stand up in weird places. “I can't stop thinking about what Chan said, the way you looked. Fuck—” He blew out a breath. “You know you were my first everything, right? Not just sex, but relationship, period. I was flying completely blind. I’m not saying this to excuse what I did. What I did was complete shit, and I’ll understand if you never forgive me for it. I’m just… trying to show you that I’m not that scared kid anymore. At least, not as much. If I can make it up to you, even partially, would you let me try?”
Jisung worked his mouth, biting his lower lip. He fiddled with the pop top to his soda can and didn’t respond, because he couldn’t. Changbin might have gotten there, ready to discuss their—whatever, but Jisung wasn’t sure he was there yet. He was doing all he could letting Changbin back into his space. So he shook his head and kept his mouth shut.
Changbin sighed. “Okay, fair. Can you at least let me know if you ever change your mind, even a little bit?”
After a long, tense moment, Jisung nodded. Changbin let out a breath. “It's all I can ask for. Thank you.”
They let the quiet overtake them, too lost in their own thoughts for small talk by then. Jisung watched Changbin scratch at a mosquito bite on his calf and did not feel endeared by it at all.
Chan and Jeongin came up. “We're headed over to the park to shoot some hoops. Wanna play two-on-two?”
“Sure,” Jisung said, getting up and brushing off his pants. “Dibs on Innie, though. I don't want either of you short-asses.”
--
Chan rattled the box of hair dye; Jisung eyed it distrustfully. “The last time you dyed my hair, I ended up looking like an orange.”
“And this time, you’ll look like a blueberry,” Changbin interjected, pointing at the color samples on the side of the box.
“I can be a cherry!” Chan said gleefully, grabbing the fire engine red hair dye off the top shelf.
“Or a pomegranate,” said Changbin.
“Or a murder victim,” muttered Jisung. Chan and Changbin turned to stare at him. “What? Here,” he pulled a box of purple down and shoved it at Changbin. “We can be a whole fucking fruit salad.”
Chan dumped the contents of the grocery bag into the kitchen sink and rummaged for some gloves and a tub of Vaseline they kept in their bathroom cabinet. “Ever dyed your hair before?” he asked Changbin, who was perched nervously on the toilet.
“Um, no, actually. Never really crossed my mind.”
“I can tell.” Chan stood in front of Changbin and ran a hand through his virgin hair before putting Vaseline all along his hair line. “It’s in way too good condition. I almost don’t want to ruin it.”
“This won’t ruin it, though. I promise. It’s got, like, argan oil or some shit, supposed to be good for your hair.”
Jisung opened the tube of semi-permanent dye. He squirted a glob into Chan’s palms, who gleefully rubbed his hands together, making grabby hands and monster noises. “Lemme at ‘em.”
Fifteen minutes later, all three of them were trying to be as careful as possible not to lean their heads on anything, lest they dye the entire apartment candy colors. Changbin was messing around on his phone, Jisung flipping through Chan’s vinyl collection. Chan got up from the couch and wandered into his bedroom. He didn’t come back out until Jisung had settled on a Plasmatics record; Chan sat next to Changbin and pulled out a vintage 60s cigarette case. “If you hung out with Jisung, I’m pretty sure I know the answer to this already, but it’s probably polite to ask, so—you smoke?” He pulled out a pre-rolled joint and patted his pockets for the lighter he always kept on his person.
“Oh, uh… no thanks,” Changbin smiled over at Chan, but it was the grimace kind of smile Jisung knew well. The kind that meant he was uncomfortable but wasn’t going to say a damn thing about it. Jisung knew why.
“Oh?”
“Let’s go smoke on the balcony, okay?” He glanced over at Changbin. “It’s a nice night, let’s enjoy it,” he added, not at all because that way Chan didn’t get curious and ask Changbin probing questions that would likely result in the discovery that Changbin got mad horny whenever he smoked weed. Even a contact high was enough to get him going.
Chan looked between them for a handful of seconds before shrugging, smile easy. “No worries.” He slapped a hand on Changbin’s thigh before getting up, touch lingering. Jisung saw the red tipping Changbin’s ears.
Changbin ended up staying over, sleeping on their violently floral couch that Chan’s parents had gifted him secondhand when they redid their living room. After handing off a questionably clean pillow and blanket, Jisung followed Chan into his room and shut the door, locking it. He dropped to his knees. “I saw that.” He pulled Chan’s zipper down, poked his hand inside and massaged him to full hardness inside his jeans. “You wanna fuck him.”
Chan ‘mmm’ed, hand lazily on Jisung’s new blue head, not guiding, not stopping, just there. “Maybe. He’s hot. But I won’t if you don’t want me to.”
“I never give a shit who you rail, Christopher, and I won’t start with him. Just not in front of me, okay? And as long as you admit I’m better.” Plus, Chan usually didn't let his hook-ups stick around, present company excluded. Sex was always the great derailer of friendships. He pulled out Chan’s dick and immediately tongued the head. Chan sighed. “I did teach him everything, though. He was a total virgin when we met. So there’s a lil something to keep you going.” He sank his mouth down.
“Fuck, Sung,” Chan moaned, as quietly as he could manage.
Jisung pulled off, cheeks popping back to full roundness. He grinned. “That is the goal.” After all, nobody’s hands spanned the width of Jisung’s thighs like Chan’s.
--
Changbin paced the room, his clunky Doc Martens loud and echoey against the particle board floor, and it was annoying the piss out of Jisung. It was before their first show as a unit, and goddamn Jisung didn't need this shit right now. They were in the tiny backstage area of the same bar Chan and Jisung always drank at, half an hour before they were meant to be onstage to kick off their tour. He took the string he was trying to restring his bass with out of his mouth and glanced up at Changbin, irritated. “Yo, can you not?”
Chan shot Jisung a Mom Look before intercepting Changbin, hand on his arm. “You alright there, buddy?”
Changbin drew in a shuddering breath, shaking his head. The shitty lighting in the room bounced off his purple lowlights, making him appear softer around the edges. “Never played a show before. I don’t think the middle school talent show counts.”
“Okay,” Chan smiled, sweet and calm, placating. Jisung rolled his eyes. “No big deal. We’ve all been there. What do you need?”
“He needs to sit the hell down is what he needs.”
“Jisung, that’s not really—”
“No, he’s right.” Changbin moved over to the only other non-questionable chair in the room, a beat-up leather armchair, and sat down, putting his head at his knees and taking deep breaths. “I need to just sit and focus. Thanks, Ji.”
Chan’s eyebrows were fixing to disappear right off his head, he looked so surprised.
Jisung stilled at the nickname, his mind time warping to the first time Changbin ever called him that, and felt his face warming. “U-um. You’re welcome.”
The first show started off as awkwardly as Jisung figured it would. Jeongin had gotten his mom to let him come, through a carefully crafted web of half-truths (and a couple outright lies), using Chan’s cousin’s ID (the same one Jisung always used) to get through the door. It was jarring to see him in the audience, throwing Jisung off his game for the first song or two. It took a simple nudge from Chan to get him back into it, however, and though Chan broke two strings on their last song, it was still a decent performance.
Chan pulled Changbin into a headlock as soon as they were finished, rubbing his knuckles into his scalp, grinning wide at the squawk Changbin let out. “You did amazing!”
Once they were off the stage, Chan was all Jisung’s, scooping him up in a twirl and pressing kisses against his lips, into his skin. Jisung caught a fleeting glance of Changbin over Chan’s head, and their eyes locked for the barest of seconds. Jisung wasn’t sure who looked away first.
--
The first morning in a motel room with two queen beds, a chipped plastic No Smoking sign, and three young guys whose relationships to one another were as loosely defined as the ‘tea’ stuffed in the side pocket of Chan’s duffle was awkward… to say the very least. Jisung woke with Chan’s arm over his mouth, partially cutting off his airway. He was pretty certain it was his own snore that woke him out of the dead sleep he was in; he felt like he had been risen from the dead, sucking in air like he’d forgotten how.
He pushed Chan off him and rolled over, groaning. Changbin was slouched in the only chair in the room, nursing a bottle of Coke and watching something with his phone perched on his knees. Jisung squinted at him, then fumbled for his glasses, knocking them off the bedside table. “Fuck.” He dove to search for them, but another hand beat him there. Changbin held them out to Jisung wordlessly, bent in half and hovering over him. “Thanks,” Jisung mumbled, before escaping like a coward to the bathroom.
Pissing with morning wood was akin to trying to drown someone in a bathtub. You had to hold it down at the right angle, and if you did it wrong, you got everything around you sopping wet.
Coming out of the bathroom, Jisung heard Chan’s gravelly morning voice before he saw them; Chan had migrated to Changbin’s bed, where he could pick apart the cheese and cherry Danishes to his little goblin heart’s content. “I went and got breakfast for us,” Changbin said in explanation at Jisung’s cocked eyebrow. “I just grabbed a little of everything.” He pushed the plate at Jisung.
“Coffee only for him first thing,” said Chan, cheeks bulging. “Food in the morning makes him sick.”
“Oh, I didn’t know.” And it was true; staying over was something Jisung and Changbin had only ever done the one time, and it hadn’t gotten a chance to graduate to breakfast, that was for fucking sure. God, it was a wonder Jisung didn’t have PTSD from all the flashbacks he’d been having lately.
“S’cool. More for me,” Chan grinned, then bit the head off a slice of bacon.
“Anyway. What time is checkout again? We should probably get on the road as soon as we can.” Jisung fiddled with the coffee pot, one of those pod thingies he had always been too broke to figure out. When water started coming out of the bottom of it, he turned to the room at large. “Uh…”
“Here,” Changbin wiggled his fingers and said some words in Parseltongue to get the funky machine to start working the way it was supposed to. Or that’s what it looked like to Jisung, anyway. “Ta da,” he deadpanned, complete with jazz hands. “I’m amazing.”
“Wow, all this snarkiness is making me nostalgic,” Jisung popped off, feeling an odd sort of warmth in his gut that probably would have scared him if he could have defined it.
Changbin froze, then snorted. “Dibs on the shower.”
--
“You sold the Honda?”
Changbin ducked his head and squinted out the windshield, his mouth stained purple from the popsicle he’d just finished. It clashed oddly with the lowlights in his hair. Just like the rasp of his voice clashed oddly with the SZA Chan insisted on playing, until he started singing along. Jisung tried not to remember the last time he’d seen Changbin with a purple mouth. “Yeah. It got to be too much of a headache to maintain, so I sold it. I’m kind of between vehicles at the moment.”
“What was that Lexus you’ve been driving, then?” Chan asked, eyes in the rearview mirror.
“Oh,” Changbin’s mouth went slanted, rueful. “That’s my mom’s ride. She’s letting me use it until I figure out what I’m getting next. I saw this sweet Ducati for sale a while back, but I don’t know…”
“A fucking motorcycle?” Jisung scoffed. “You’ll kill yourself.”
“Okay, Mom.”
“Fuck your gendered stereotype, but seriously. Changbin, you trip over your own feet all the time. You dropped your birthday cake.” Jisung swiveled in his seat so he could face Changbin. “You’ll crash before you even get down the road. I’ve seen you drive; you won’t be any better just because the thing has two wheels instead of four. Do Not, Seo.”
“You know, I wasn’t really planning on getting one, but you might have convinced me, Han. I might just have to buy one to spite you.”
“You’re such a fucking troll—”
“You’re the one insulting my driving skills when you haven’t even seen me drive in over a year!”
“I’m sure I didn’t miss much!”
“Okay!” Chan swerved the van onto an off ramp, cutting off a semi that blared their horn. “Pee break, assholes. Jesus. You two need to take five from each other, and I need to take five from both of you.” He slammed on the brakes, parking rather abruptly (and diagonally) on the side of some random gas station, and practically jumped out of the van. “Let’s go!”
--
Changbin jerked back, muttered, “Shit.”
“What?”
Chan looked up from where he was bent over Changbin’s disassembled drum kit in the middle of a dusty, cracked parking lot. Changbin had been helping him rearrange their equipment in the back of the van for maximum efficiency, mostly because Jisung kept complaining about having to straddle Chan’s Orange amp during the long drives from town to town. Jisung, never a help in these kinds of situations, had fucked off to grab them all lunch. “Got a splinter,” Changbin admitted after a moment. “I don't think I can get it out.”
Chan stood up. “Here, let me see.” Changbin hopped down from the van and held his hand out, Chan taking it gingerly, squinting in the bright midday sun. “Oh, I see it. Hold still.”
Changbin held still as much as he could, backed up against the van like he was. Chan managed to pull the splinter out with just his fingernails, making Changbin sigh in relief. The bead of blood welled up immediately, bright red. “Thanks,” Changbin said.
And then Chan bent and sucked Changbin’s finger into his mouth.
It was instinctive. It was something a parent might do. Changbin’s reaction was anything but, however. His knees buckled. He just caught himself with his free hand against the hot metal of the van. He hooked his finger inside Chan’s mouth, and Chan boxed Changbin in with his legs. Then they were kissing.
Changbin made a sound that went straight to Chan's dick. Chan was open against him, their tongues touching, hands and fingers gripping at each other, hard.
Changbin pushed back, disconnecting their mouths. “I can't do this,” he panted.
“Why?”
“Jisung, I—”
“We hookup with people all the time. Jisung doesn’t care.” Changbin wilted, and Chan backed up, put space between them. He couldn't deny his gaze was locked on Changbin’s swollen lips, but that didn’t mean he missed the hurt flash in his eyes. “Oh. I get it. You’re not over him.”
Changbin made a wounded noise, ducking his head, knuckles white where he gripped the fabric of Chan’s shirt. “I just don’t want to hurt him again.”
“Hey, it’s okay. He already knows. I wouldn’t mess with Jisung like that, he’s my best friend.” Chan put one hand back on Changbin’s hip, moved close again. Leaned forward. Lips to ear. “But, if you want, I can help you get over him.”
Chan thought for a moment he was going to be pushed back. But then Changbin linked his fingers through Chan's beltloops, pulled their chests together. Their mouths hovered an inch from each other, Changbin’s breath hot against Chan’s skin. “Only if you promise I’m not ruining another thing for him.”
Chan’s mouth split in a grin as he held up two fingers. “Scout’s honor.” He then dug his thumb into the fucking plush as hell bottom lip he’d been having lots of inappropriate thoughts about. “I’m not planning on ruining a thing.”
--
Jisung woke up to a dry mouth and a weed-induced headache throbbing dully through the back of his head, nothing terrible but definitely making itself known. He heard a soft sound that he immediately recognized and slid his eyes open. His gaze landed first on the fuzzy, angry glare of the motel alarm clock—5:17—and then on the silhouette across the room, a bare four, maybe five feet from him.
He couldn’t tell who was who at first without his contacts. A body spread languidly; a head buried in a lap. A bobbing, and then Jisung saw, in outline because they forgot to close the blackout curtains, what was unmistakably Changbin pulling off Chan’s dick, his hand twisting around the shaft. Fuck, hadn’t he told Chan not to do it in front of him? Still, he had to admit he was surprised it had taken them this long.
The soft sound came again, and Jisung immediately identified it as one of Chan’s many and varied sex noises, a breathy moan that only happened when he was really worked up. A hand curled into the head in his lap, and Changbin took him down again. Chan made a sound like he wanted to moan but he knew he had to be quiet; a cut-off, stuttered breath. Jisung couldn’t really see his mouth from where he was laying on the other bed, but he knew from experience it would be parted just so, eyes almost closed, tracking. The air was charged, but not urgent, Changbin clearly in the mood to take his time. Jisung had a couple similar memories, and knew Chan was in for it.
He got out of bed and padded into the bathroom. He didn’t turn the light on because he knew he didn’t want to see what was plain on his face right then. Knowing Chan and Changbin were in there, what they were doing… Jisung licked his bottom lip and down beneath it all, past all the faded pain that had been trying to well back up to the surface, he wanted.
Coming back out, he saw two heads swivel his way. “Sungie, come here.” As if Jisung could ever resist that stretched-out hand. He put a knee on the bed and threaded fingers with Chan.
“I’m just gonna watch.”
Changbin’s eyes were heavy, measured, across Jisung’s skin, but Jisung made a point to keep his shoulders down, to act unaffected. Changbin bent his head again, going back to his worship. It was a worthy sight. Jisung settled next to Chan, cross-legged, his boxers stretched tight over his lap. Chan immediately found the gap, the flimsy button fly no match for his hand. Jisung’s eyes lowered, but didn’t close; the grip was too awkward to do much except reassure Chan. They both watched Changbin with slitted, sleepy eyes.
“Slower,” Jisung said. Changbin looked up, his cheeks hollowed. “You’ve got the right idea with the hand, but don’t forget about his balls. He fucking loves having his balls played with when he gets head.” Jisung pet down Chan’s pecs, stopped and tugged at a nipple ring. “You’re in for a treat, Channie. Binnie’s oral game is strong, if I remember correctly.”
“Shit,” Chan groaned. Changbin’s hair was truly messed up now, Chan’s fingers unrelenting. Changbin paused half a heartbeat before dutifully following Jisung’s instructions, both hands in play. Chan arched up, his hand sliding off Jisung’s dick to grip at his thigh instead. “You’re so mean, Sung.”
“I think you mean nice, Chan. Rougher,” he commanded Changbin, who immediately complied. “Have you fingered him yet?”
Changbin pulled off long enough to gasp, “no lube,” and Jisung had to physically stop himself from reacting to how raw and fucked-out he sounded. That. That was what got him fully hard in his shorts. Fuck.
“You’re both useless,” he breathed, mostly to throw them off the scent that he was into what was going on. Like his hardon wasn’t waving like an inflatable tube man in his boxers as he got off the bed. It took him a handful of seconds to find the lube he’d stuffed at the bottom of his duffel bag.
Instead of going back to Chan’s side, Jisung slid behind Changbin, who had pulled back and was sitting on his haunches, ass outlined too beautifully in gray basketball shorts. His shoulders were a tense line that Jisung could have set a drink down on. Draping himself across them like a silk shirt on a hanger, Jisung dangled the lube in front of Changbin. “Here. You won’t need more than a finger or two, he’s ridiculously sensitive.” Jisung paused, watching Chan splayed out in front of them both, shirt rucked up to under his armpits, the only piece of clothing on his body. Jisung could hear Changbin’s heavy breathing, could smell the cologne he still used after all this time, turned and saw the spit slicking his mouth and chin. Desire kept punching him hard in the stomach.
Changbin had Chan writhing underneath him in no time, two fingers in with his mouth rhythmic on Chan’s cock. Chan was a mess underneath him. Jisung watched, feigned detachment, his fingers threaded into Changbin’s silky hair, guiding his movements. It occurred to Jisung that tonight was the first time he’d touched Changbin in over a year. That didn’t scare him as much as he thought it would.
Chan came unhurriedly, with a sigh, a tapped warning to Changbin’s head that he didn’t heed. Jisung tightened his grip on Changbin’s hair and pulled him off just in time to watch Chan come all over Changbin’s chin, his throat and, on the downbeat, his own abdomen.
Jisung was so caught up in watching Chan that he almost forgot about Changbin. It wasn’t until he heard the strangled hiss next to him that he looked over. He still had a fistful of Changbin’s hair, still pulling him back rather roughly, and oh. Fuck. Jisung had forgotten.
Changbin’s breathing was labored, his glistening mouth open in a pant, lips puffy with abuse, gaze low-lidded and trained on Jisung. Jisung’s headache throbbed at the same time as the want that he’d purposefully kept at a low simmer boiled over.
He moved, but Chan was quicker, surging up and grabbing Changbin’s shirt by the neck. The kiss Jisung was inches from was atomic. He watched, dazed, then sat back. His cock was hard and angry inside his boxers, but he ignored it.
Before he could get maudlin about it, Chan was surging again, pulling Jisung to him and shoving his tongue down his throat. It should have been gross, the taste of come overwhelming, but Jisung sank into it. Lost in Chan, he only vaguely registered the bed dipping.
He found himself tangled around Chan the human octopus, who wrapped himself around Jisung as he jerked him to completion. Jisung added to the mess that was Chan’s stomach, and it was only then that he realized Changbin was nowhere to be found.
--
Their new normal began after that.
The venues started to blend together after a while. Every bar or club had no ceiling or was unfinished in some way as a cheap way to appear edgy. The gigs in old, probably condemned houses with giant holes in the floor stopped being memorable after the second one. Whether they played single bill or wedged between thirteen other bands, it all started to seem the same. Every backstage area seemed to be held together with band flyers, stickers, and graffiti as if it fed on such things. Every gym smelled like athlete’s foot powder. They were too small time to have any sort of crew so they set up and broke down themselves, and sold their own merch before and after shows out of a cardboard box that was getting more and more dilapidated as the tour went on. They eventually had to swap it out for a plastic bin Chan found on the side of a dumpster somewhere outside of Columbus. The money they made funneled right back into gas and cheap roadside diners and even cheaper motel rooms.
The motels stopped being distinct after the second one, the same horribly outdated mauve and taupe tones, the same scratchy, bleached sheets, the same cheese Danishes and metallic orange juice on their free ‘continental' breakfasts.
The heat was the same everywhere, the crowds the only distinct part to their day sometimes. They arrived, they checked in, they set up, they broke down, they drank, they smoked, they fucked, they collapsed. They got back up and did it all again the next day.
The only constant change were their shows—each crowd a different pulsating beast—and the way their equation worked out at night when they were finally alone.
Some nights Chan fucked Jisung. Others Changbin fucked Chan. Jisung was usually the one calling the shots, Chan the conduit. It became easy.
“My parents want me to go to graduate school.” Changbin threaded his hands in Chan's cherry hair, guided him lazily as he worked his mouth on his cock. “They were pissed when I said no.”
Jisung, who was lain back watching, took his hand off his own dick. “Oh? What are you gonna do then?”
Changbin bit his bottom lip, sucked it into his mouth. “I dunno. Get a job somewhere, move out on my own.” He moaned as Chan sucked at just his cockhead. “Live my life away from them for a while. Shit, I really want you to fuck me.”
“Yeah?”
Chan pulled off, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and looked to Jisung, who smirked. “That can be arranged.”
Soon Chan had Changbin laid out on his back, thighs framing him as he fucked into Changbin slowly. Changbin was gripping the top of the mattress for leverage, shoving back on Chan's cock, tongue just peeking out past his lips. “You look hot getting fucked,” Jisung commented, having moved closer so he could touch them both. Jisung lowered his mouth to Chan’s chest and tongued at one of his nipple piercings, knowing that would only make Chan fuck into Changbin harder. “You'd look hotter if I was riding you, though.”
Chan and Changbin froze. Jisung blanched when he realized what the fuck he’d just said. “I meant, you looked hotter when I rode you,” Jisung backtracked. “Everyone looks better by proxy with me.”
Chan pulled Jisung to him, kissed the top of his head. “I’m sure.” He bucked his hips, sliding easily into Changbin again, who watched them with a half-lidded stare, eyes tracking the way Jisung's arms were loosely wrapped around Chan. “Look how good he takes it, though. God, he feels amazing, Sung. Not as good as you, though.”
“’He’ is right fucking here and can hear everything you’re saying, assholes.”
“Yes, and ‘he’ is getting the fuck of his life and should be more grateful,” Jisung retorted, grabbing Changbin’s flopping dick for emphasis and digging a finger lightly into the tip. Changbin squeezed his eyes shut and tensed, spurting thick gobs of come across his belly and Jisung’s hand. Jisung smirked, satisfied. “Still got it.” He stuck his fingers in Chan’s mouth for cleanup. “My turn next.”
This was their new normal, yes, and it quickly became so routine for them that Jisung didn’t even realize he was sliding until he was already down the hill.
--
Jisung finished washing his hands and opened the door, running headlong into two guys on their way into the bathroom. “Oh, shit, sorry,” he mumbled, holding the door open for them.
“Hey, aren't you in that band that played tonight?” one of the guys asked.
Jisung opened his mouth to reply, but the dudes friend beat him to it. “You mean the band with the,” he giggled, “gay dudes in it? I think I saw them up by the register when we came in. One of them had their hands in the back pockets of the other guy’s jeans. Looked pretty cozy to me, if you know what I mean,” he added on in a flamboyant tone. They both ugly laughed. The first guy even had the audacity to wiggle his eyebrows. Jisung looked on, disgusted.
When they remembered he even existed, Jisung let the door go abruptly. “Ew, no, not me. Gay,” he agreed as homosexually as possible, before sashaying his way back to the front of the restaurant, looking for his bandmates.
He spied Changbin sitting at the counter next to the wall of windows. “Where’s Chan?”
“He forgot his wallet in the van.” Something must have been showing on Jisung’s face, because Changbin furrowed his eyebrows. “Why, what’s up?”
Jisung glanced over his shoulder; yep, he still had those homobigoted assholes’ undivided attention. “Just go along with me, okay?” he muttered, reaching for Changbin. He caught a glimpse of his surprised face a second before he squinched his eyes closed and kissed him.
For a hot second, Changbin was a statue underneath Jisung, but he got with the program quickly enough, pulling Jisung to him, kissing back as good as anything in Jisung’s memory. Changbin tasted like beer and Code Red Mountain Dew. It felt right in a way it hadn’t in a long time, but Jisung didn’t dare let himself get lost in it. Except—
“Guys?” Chan’s voice sounded as confused as it did hopeful.
Jisung pulled off Changbin, wincing, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He glanced over toward the bathrooms. “Oh, good, they’re gone.”
“They, who?” Chan asked, snapping Jisung’s attention back to them. He glanced over at Changbin, who looked dazed, lips a little red and puffy.
Jisung scowled. “These two assholes that were at our show. They were talking shit about you two, so I wanted to play with them a little.”
“Oh.” Jisung watched Changbin's gaze fall apart for half of a half of a second, then watched him piece it back together. “That's cool. I, uh, forgot something. Be right back.”
“Stop playing with him,” Chan growled, punching Jisung in the arm.
“Ow, fuck. I swear I wasn't! It would have been you if you weren't so goddamn forgetful. I had to teach those homophobic pricks a lesson.”
“And what lesson was that, tell me? That yes, all gay guys really will fuck right in front of their salad?”
Jisung shut his mouth, lips pressed into a thin line.
Chan didn’t let Jisung off the hook about anything, so why would he about this? “You still love him, Jisung.”
“I fucking don’t.” A lie, but one he was only beginning to realize himself.
“You’re lying to yourself,” Chan, the asshole, echoing his thoughts. He spread his arms wide. “I feel the love inside this Del Taco tonight.”
“I’m not, you’re delusional.”
“You need to tell him, Sung, because I guarantee he feels the same way. You deserve it. He deserves it. And to be honest, I deserve it.” Chan leaned back, running fingers through his hair on a sigh. “I’m just a little sick of watching you two dance around each other. I’ve never fucked around with two people who could care less if I’m even in the room. It's a new experience, to be sure,” he laughed, an edge of bitterness to his voice. “So, either confess to him, or fuck him, or drop it, because I’m getting kinda tired of being invisible.” Chan shook his head, face drawn. “I’m not hungry anymore. I’ll be in the van.”
Five minutes later, Jisung was sitting on one of the outside picnic tables, staring at the van, when Changbin came jogging up, a thin plastic bag in one hand. “Found a food truck a couple blocks down,” he explained, shaking the bag. “How does some Korean BBQ sound? I got a bulgogi bowl and some kimchi fried rice. Not exactly like Eomma used to make, but hey, it was also hella expensive, so you bet I’m going to eat it.”
Jisung couldn’t not smile up at Changbin, his enthusiasm infectious, and hopped down from the table. “Yeah, sounds good. Let’s take this back to the room. But um,” he tugged on Changbin’s free arm, holding him back a moment. “I’m sorry, for…”
“Oh, hey, no! I get it, I probably would have done the same thing.” Changbin’s smile was bright and forced, but Jisung didn’t know how to fix that, really. “C’mon,” he pulled Jisung along, hands intertwined. “I’m starving. Who knew waving sticks around and hitting things could make you so hungry all the time?”
“I think that’s just you,” Jisung replied, ducking his head. He knocked his shoulder against Changbin’s in thanks. He didn’t miss the blush.
Chan was grumpy all the way back to the motel, but when Changbin pulled out all his spoils of war, his bad mood seemed to lift. The food wasn’t half bad, if inauthentic, and Changbin had forgotten the utensils, so they had to eat with their fingers. It eventually turned into all three of them splayed across the single king bed, feeding each other strips of meat and handfuls of rice and cabbage.
And when Changbin pulled Chan to him in a deep kiss, Jisung couldn’t resist watching, his own hand unconsciously against his mouth, teeth against his knuckle. God, they looked so good together.
It was a long time before Changbin looked over at Jisung, long enough for clothing to already be gone. “Tell me what to do.”
Changbin’s rusty voice was low, pulling a shiver out of Jisung. He clenched his jaw, licked his bottom lip, and moved to sit next to them. “Go slow.”
Changbin nodded, pushing Chan’s thighs back until they were flush with his lower belly. Chan grabbed either leg, held them up dutifully, and Changbin licked a swath undoubtedly along his pucker, judging from the strained hiss Chan let out. Jisung spent a moment admiring the tendons in Chan’s neck before scooting forward for a better view of the action.
He met Changbin’s gaze unexpectedly, as if he’d been waiting for him, and Changbin sucked one of Chan’s balls in his mouth. Jisung echoed Chan’s groan.
Changbin’s shaggy bangs were bugging the crap out of him. Jisung pushed them up, grabbed a handful and pulled Changbin’s head up. He pushed forward, leaning over Chan with one hand on his abdomen, and stared, blatant, eyes locked, for a much longer moment than Jisung would ever admit to. “You’re a dickpunch, Seo,” Jisung said, no heat, and kissed him. He kept his grip tight, harsh, his kiss equal, and Changbin moaned into his mouth, breathily, oh fuck. This was dangerous. “Fuck him open with your tongue,” he growled, shoving Changbin back, letting go.
Jisung caught Chan’s eyes and frowned. He knew Chan had already forgiven him, he always did, even when Jisung didn't deserve it. That didn't stop him from shooting him a judgy glare that set Jisung's teeth on edge. “Suck my dick,” he ordered, unthreading his belt, sliding his pants down, knowing it was going to take more than that to get him off. Knowledge every person in the room already had. The realization had him trembling.
In the end, Jisung held Chan against him, his back to Jisung’s front, as Changbin fucked into him. Chan sang his pleasure in Jisung’s ear, the flush Jisung knew meant he was going through it prominent across his cheekbones, along the tips of his ears, down his neck, his chiseled chest. He kissed along what he could, whispering in his ear how good Chan was being, just the way Chan liked.
He couldn’t help but lock gazes with Changbin, the image of past Changbin fucking into Jisung superimposed atop present-day Changbin; the grip of his hands on thighs was so much the same Jisung could almost swear he could feel them on his skin, would look for bruises later. Would be disappointed when they weren’t there. All of him begged to get between them, bite and fight and kiss and fuck. He wanted to stake a claim he didn’t have on either of them. Wanted it so bad he could taste it.
“He’s beautiful, isn’t he? Spread out like this,” he offered Changbin instead.
Changbin took a long moment to answer, his hips never stuttering. Jisung thought briefly that he was going to pretend not to hear him, but then: “He is. You both are.”
Jisung flushed. “Fuck you.”
“I can’t,” a breath, “I’m fucking him.”
Chan keened, loudly, interrupting them, coming across his chest and stomach.
Changbin slowed his rhythm and Jisung held Chan until he was finished, limp and sated. He was vibrating, he felt like he was too big for his skin. He wanted. He needed. Chan’s hand on his was calming. “Sung.” A depth in his eyes Jisung could have drowned in. “Go.”
Changbin withdrew from Chan just in time to catch Jisung as he climbed over; their mouths smashed together. Changbin fumbled for the condom, pulled it off, and Jisung spat into his hand. He wasted no time grabbing both their dicks and jerking hard, fast. He relaxed against the fingers pushing between his cheeks. Changbin’s teeth found the tendon on his neck and Jisung let out those noises again, the same ones, the old ones. He squeezed his dumb, traitor eyes closed, lashes wet, and whimpered when Changbin came over his fingers. He wasn’t far behind.
Jisung didn’t know how he ended up there, but he came to in Chan’s arms, tears streaming down his face. He saw just enough of Changbin’s stricken face to know he’d messed up and turned into Chan’s chest, unable to stop. Fucking. Crying. “Shh,” Chan pressed kisses to Jisung’s temple, soothing.
“Ji, I’m so sorry,” Changbin’s rust-colored voice was raw, scared. Jisung dully wondered what he was apologizing for.
“I’m okay,” he hiccupped, and unlaced himself from Chan. Kicking at the covers, Jisung stumbled to the bathroom and reached the toilet just in time. He honestly thought he threw up every single organ in his body, but he felt a little better after, just so, so tired.
Someone came behind him and laid a towel gently over his shoulders before wiping his mouth and picking him up. He was carried bridal style to the clean side of the bed and laid down. “Chan,” he whispered, voice gone for the time being. Big, worried brown eyes swam into his vision, framed by fire engine red hair. Their fingers entwined, and Chan pulled Jisung to him. Jisung was soothed by the vibrations in Chan’s chest as he hummed under his breath. He drifted off, lulled, safe and sound.
The next morning dawned bright and beautiful, and Jisung wanted to stab the sun. He peeled his face off the skin below it, grimacing at the drool coating the side of his mouth. Someone had put pants back on him. He sat up and regretted it, head in his hands before he was cradled against a solid, bare chest. “You doing okay?” Chan asked into his hair.
Jisung gave the question serious thought, then nodded, knocking against Chan. “Yeah, I think so. Just give me a minute.” Chan hummed, and cuddled him close for a while. Jisung pushed into the fingers scratching at his scalp and untangling his hair. Once the fuzzy edge of his headache started ebbing away, he sat up. “I’ll live.”
“You sure? You scared us last night. I didn’t realize we had pushed you so hard.”
Jisung shook his head, slowly and minutely. “You didn’t,” he told the turned-off TV, staring at their muddled reflection. “I freaked out, but you didn’t do anything I didn’t want.” He needed them both to know that. Jisung glanced around the room, brow furrowing when he didn’t immediately see Changbin. “Where—?”
Chan let out a long breath. “We thought it would be best if he wasn’t around when you woke up. Just in case things were, you know, bad. We honestly thought we had broken you or something, Jisung.”
“Pfft, what? Nooo…” Jisung joked but trailed off at the serious look on Chan’s face. “Okay, so it was a lot, alright? And maybe it was too much. But, Chan, I… I honestly wasn’t thinking about our past last night. Well, not the crappy parts, anyway. I think I just got overwhelmed.”
“You threw up.”
“I throw up when I’m nervous all the time, hi, have you met me? I used to vom before every show!”
“Sung, you don’t have to, like, put on a brave face or anything. And we can cancel the tour if you really need to. We can tell Changbin it’s not working, just say the word if this is too much for you.”
“NO.” Jisung ran his hands through his hair, exhaling. “That’s the last fucking thing I want. Look, maybe—” Jisung looked up at the popcorn ceiling. He could really use Spongebob Stain right then. “Maybe Changbin and I just need to talk some things out,” he grit out, finally. It was like ripping his own arm off.
Chan smiled, small, just a twitch of his lips. “There’s my Sungie.”
Jisung smiled back, but he was too anxious and couldn’t keep it. “So… where is he, Chan?”
“I can text him and let him know he can come back up?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, done.” Chan dropped his phone to the bed. There was a knock on the door a second later and Jisung scoffed.
“I thought you said he left.”
“I said he left the room,” Chan replied, opening the door.
Changbin stood on the other side, clad in Jisung’s old high school hoodie that looked way too snug on him, a sheepish look on his face. “I didn't want to go far, so I stayed in the hall. I was worried.”
Jisung rolled his eyes. Fucking Changbin. He honestly never thought this sun would ever rise again. “So I heard. Hi.”
“Hi.”
“I, um, should probably go, let you two… yeah.” Chan grabbed a shirt and some slides, patted his pockets for his things, and saluted them both. “You've got about an hour before checkout, please utilize the time wisely. Text if one of you murders the other, I'll help hide the body.”
“Jesus, Chan!”
“Will do!”
--
They didn’t talk at first.
Changbin came to sit on the edge of the bed, fingers pulling at a loose thread on the starchy sheets nervously. Jisung watched him, unsure of where to start.
Finally, Changbin took a breath. “You know Chan wants to be with you, right?” he stated more than asked, looking over at Jisung solemnly. “I think you two would be good for each other, if you just let him in all the way. He's already mostly there, I can see it, but if you just let him show you that he's worth the risk, I think he could make you really happy.”
This was not where Jisung expected the talk to go. Still. “I know.” Jisung was a little proud at the way Changbin’s eyes widened. “And he does make me happy. But I can’t be with him.” Jisung made sure he had Changbin’s undivided attention, because he was only going to say this once. “Because my dumb ass can’t get over you.”
Changbin looked like the walking wounded. “Jisung,” he said, his voice breaking apart.
“No, listen. You fucking hurt me. But the second I saw your face again, I knew, even if I fought it every step of the way. Which is why I can't just give Chan the chance he wants. Because I—fuck.” Jisung ran a hand through his hair, gripping at the ends. “Changbin, God. I'm such an idiot. But that's my reality. I can't change it.”
“Hey, hey,” Changbin scooted closer, grabbing Jisung’s hands and tucking them between his own. “First of all, you are not an idiot, you know I hate when you say shit like that.”
Jisung smiled, then turned and scooted back into Changbin, demanding cuddles. It was something he did with Chan all the time, but he couldn't remember ever doing it with Changbin before. Still, once Changbin stopped being so tense and let Jisung into his space, it was… nice. Really nice. Even if Changbin smelled a little bit like pickled cabbage. “You sound like Chan.”
“Well, that makes me happy. Ji, I—” Changbin swallowed. Jisung picked up one of his hands, started playing with his fingers. He liked the rumble of Changbin’s voice against his back, against his temple. The scratchy feel of Changbin’s unshaven chin. “Hearing you say that makes me happier than you’ll ever know. It’s what I dreamed about all the time. Ji, I never stopped loving you.”
Jisung knew, but it hit something inside him to hear it. Still. “Then why did you go away? Why didn’t you trust us?”
“I told you, I was stupid. Everyone kept telling me long-term relationships didn’t last, and that all we had was a summer fling. Hell, you yourself said that so many times, it became like a mantra in my head. There was so much I wanted to say to you, but I didn’t know how.” Changbin stared down at their hands, laced their fingers. “I didn’t think I could keep your attention.”
“Changbin, you’ve always had my attention.” Jisung gripped the covers, knuckles going white. “I wish I was better at shit like this.”
“Hey, it’s okay. Hey,” Changbin hugged Jisung close. “I know.” For a while they just sat like that, absorbed in each other. Then, Changbin chuckled. “Did you know? No, there’s no way you could’ve.” Jisung sat up and turned to look at Changbin, confused. The look on his face was rueful. “I went by your place—your old place—when I got back. I knocked and nobody answered. Went back a second time, same result. You hadn’t responded to any of my text messages. So I started mailing letters. Didn’t dawn on me you’d moved ‘til I got them all back. ‘No longer at this address’. So that’s when I finally gave up.”
“Bin…”
“I was so shocked when you texted out of the blue. I was for sure you’d blocked my number…” Jisung was caught by the expression on his face, and how much it looked the same as last summer, yet not.
Jisung leaned forward, hand out, and traced fingertips along Changbin’s jawline. “I’d really like to kiss you. But I’m going to ask this time.” Changbin’s mouth quirked. “Can I?”
Smiling, Changbin nodded.
Changbin turned his head just enough to catch Jisung’s mouth as he moved forward. It was soft, much softer than they’d ever been with each other before. It tasted awful but Jisung couldn’t have given two fucks. He tilted his head, bit at Changbin’s lower lip and within seconds they were clutching at each other, exhausted, ensnared, both brought back to the past and yet still firmly in the present. Changbin kissed Jisung like it was going out of print, the price of loving him so sky-high but he was willing, oh. He was so willing.
They didn’t break apart for a long time, intense but slow, patient, until Jisung heard a phone vibrate. Changbin pulled his phone out of his pocket and flicked through to the notifications. “It’s Chan.”
“Damn.” Jisung had forgotten about Chan. No, he hadn’t, but Chan had definitely been pushed to the back of his mind. “It must be time to head out.”
Changbin tapped out a quick reply, then slid his phone back in his pocket. “He’s on his way back up to help with the bags.”
They stared at each other for a long moment, both wondering what the next step was, before the door clicked open. Chan peeked his head in and his shoulders dropped in relief. “Oh, good. No bodies to bury. You guys okay?”
Jisung looked over at Changbin, one half of his mouth ticking up. “I guess he can stay.”