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Renjun doesn’t get this.
He doesn’t get any of this.
Well. He gets it, but not in an easy way. But then again, there are some things about Chenle that have never been easy.
There are bright parts of him. Warm parts. His laughter, his jokes. The way, at the end of the day, he’ll always save at least one dumpling for Renjun, even when Renjun said he didn’t want any. The way he’ll indulge Renjun when he wants to hold hands, when it’s just the two of them sitting on the couch, and no-one else is around to see the moments of weakness. How sometimes Renjun looks at him and sees the child who sat beside him and hurriedly told him he was Chinese, and he was happy they were going to debut together, and Renjun had turned his nose up at first, because it had seemed that Zhong Chenle had bought his way into a group Renjun had worked his blood sweat and tears to get into.
Two weeks later Chenle was lying on the floor, panting, his knees a mottled mess of bruises, his face flushed bright red, and when he’d looked up at Renjun under a curtain of dark hair, Renjun had seen a fierceness burning in those eyes.
(He’d seen something dark, too. Something that shifts and eddies, a sea monster in his periphery, a shadow shimmering under the water. Sometimes it speaks to Renjun. Its voice is Chenle’s. Its voice invites him to drown.)
Chenle gets home at two am. More often than not, Renjun has been staying over at his house. He likes spending time with Chenle. Donghyuck will come over sometimes and the two of them will trade stories, glancing over at where Chenle is sitting on the couch playing games on his phone. Kun comes over too, and Renjun likes Kun. Kun likes Chenle more than him, of course: same thing as always. That thing about how parents swear they don’t have favourite children, but they do.
Everyone knows Chenle is Kun’s favourite.
(Kun is not Chenle’s father. Not even close. There is something about their relationship Renjun can’t pinpoint, and it causes friction like swallowing soap suds. Scrubbing Renjun’s throat clean, burning him, catching on the sensitive skin. Renjun does not examine this, either.)
Neither Donghyuck nor Kun are here tonight, but Renjun still is, asleep in the spare bed that used to belong to Chenle’s aunt, reading on his phone when he hears laughter in the kitchen. Not Chenle’s cackling laughter, but a bright hiccuping giggle, and then voices.
Chenle, soft and low. He’s speaking Mandarin, and when the other person speaks it takes Renjun a second to place his accent. An aching familiarity, the chill of home, and something pangs in Renjun’s stomach. He hasn’t been to Jilin in so long, and yet he feels like he could reach out and touch, and —
Minghao laughs, again. Chenle hushes him. The conversation is broken into tiny fragments, not enough to discern, only to imagine. Renjun scrambling to assemble it as he swings his feet out from under the blankets, the dull February chill mitigated by the ondol Chenle always leaves a little too low. Goosebumps spring up on Renjun’s bare skin, and he’s about to touch the floor, ready to say hello to Minghao, before there’s a thud, and then he hears another noise that gives him pause.
Renjun’s heart catches in his throat, and he knows he should go back to bed now, but this is like a disaster he cannot back away from. He’s frozen, and he strains his ears, morbid curiosity, holding his hand over the flame. Another thud — Minghao cursing when something plastic hits the floor.
“It’s fine,” Chenle says.
Silence. Renjun’s breath is so loud in his ears he thinks he might have deafened himself, and maybe he’d just been hearing things — a trick, like when you hope for the worst and find joy in the relief — then someone moans.
Holy fuck .
Another thud of a house-slipper on the bare floor, hurried footsteps down the hall. Minghao laughs, softer now, a feather on fresh snow. They’re right outside Renjun’s door, and Chenle’s voice comes through, low and sure.
“He’s asleep.”
Renjun doesn’t move. His feet are still sticking out of the covers, and he’s not sitting in any comfortable position, but he’s completely frozen, caught like a rabbit in a trap as he listens to the wet smack of their kisses.
“C’mon,” Chenle says. Renjun has never heard his voice like this. Low and sultry, and Renjun feels something sickening curl in his gut. A flash of heat. “Hurry up. You can’t stay.”
“You’re a bad host,” Minghao says. There’s a wry amusement in his voice. Teasing, almost.
“You love it.”
The door of Chenle’s room opens, but it doesn’t shut.
Renjun hears the whole thing. The squeak of the bedsprings, the rattle as the frame hits the wall. Minghao’s muffled moans, and Renjun shoves a pillow over his head and screws his eyes shut, and he’s pretty sure he’s going to throw up, and his dick is so hard it almost hurts, but he doesn’t make his presence known. He doesn’t do anything. He just lies in bed and listens to Chenle fuck Minghao into the mattress, and when they’re done Minghao gets up and leaves. A few minutes later, Chenle goes to the bathroom. As he comes back down the hall his footsteps pause outside Renjun’s door, and there’s a flash of light from under the door frame — Chenle’s phone screen, probably.
Chenle doesn’t say anything. He just stays there for a few seconds longer, and then his door clicks shut.
"Why did you do that?" Renjun asks.
Chenle is sitting on the couch, under the picture of him and Mark, staring at his phone. He doesn't look up at Renjun when he answers.
"Do what?"
Renjun knows Chenle is perfectly aware of what Renjun is asking. He's pretty sure Chenle knows that Renjun knows he knows, too. It's a complex dance, one that ends with both their shoelaces tied together, usually. Complete and utter failure for the two of them.
Mutually assured destruction, if Chenle were to name it, but Renjun won't give him the right. He's long learned he can't give Chenle an inch, because he'll turn that into something to hold over his head for the rest of his life.
"What you did last night. I was awake."
"I know," Chenle says. He shrugs. "I saw you were active on WeChat."
Renjun's stomach does something strange at that. "Then why did you do it?"
"I'm an adult," Chenle says. "I'm allowed to have sex. You can't stop me."
"You knew I was awake."
"Maybe you should wear earplugs. It's my house."
Renjun bristles.
"I don't want to hear you having sex," Renjun says. "Fucking kick me out if you're going to bring a hook-up back. Especially Minghao . What the fuck, Chenle?"
Chenle snorts. "Are you jealous it took me less than a month to get into his pants when you've been trying for a year and half?"
White hot anger surges through Renjun, something that blinds him like a camera flash, illuminating the darkest recesses of his mind.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Renjun asks. He can still hear the sounds of Chenle's game coming out of his tinny cellphone speaker. "You could have literally anyone. There are girls lining up to fuck you. Boys too, I’m sure.” Renjun is aware of how much his voice is shaking, and that this is all playing into Chenle’s hand, but he spits the words out anyway. “Of course, you’re still playing that pretty little straight cosplay, aren’t you?”
“I think it looks good on me.” Chenle says. He's still not looking at Renjun, and Renjun wants to grasp his jaw and force him to meet his eyes. He only stops because he thinks that’s exactly what Chenle wants.
“I was thinking I'd fuck Mark next,” Chenle continues, tone bone dry. “What do you think? He likes me, doesn't he? Do you think I could get him over my knee, squirming? Moaning. Oppa."
“You’re disgusting,” Renjun says, and Chenle’s face twists into a sneer.
“Am I?”
“Talking about fucking our friends? I think you are. Why the fuck did you bring him back here when you knew I was awake?”
“I told you, it’s my house.”
“Fuck you, Chenle,” Renjun says. “I don’t want to fucking hear you having sex!”
“The door’s right there.”
“You knew I was here! I’m not waking up one of the managers in the middle of the night because you’re fucking horny!”
Chenle wrinkles his nose, but he doesn’t answer.
“Would you look at me?” Renjun says. His hands curl into fists at his sides, and he’s shaking so badly, trying to hold himself in, so close to grabbing Chenle and wrenching him up to face him. “Just fucking look at me and tell me what your problem is?”
(Two weeks ago, Kun had locked Chenle out of his room when Chenle had climbed on top of him and kissed him. Renjun still isn’t sure if the lock on the door had been for Kun’s benefit, or Chenle’s, but Kun hasn’t been around since then, and Chenle has taken to watching porn in the lounge with no headphones. Renjun will hear a litany of moans and come out to find Chenle half hard in his sweats watching some girl getting absolutely railed.)
(It’s always a girl. Renjun doesn’t examine it, and they don’t talk about this, either. Chenle has never kissed a girl. Chenle has kissed plenty of boys, but sometimes that’s all you can do when this is your life. Renjun knows that — despite the reckless show he puts on — beneath the perfect persona that Chenle is exceedingly careful. They only see what he wants. He doesn’t fuck girls back at the hotel, not like some of the others. He only fucks people he knows; people who have to hold this close to their chest, too. I give you my secret, you give me yours. We both go down together.)
(They’re always gone by morning. Chenle sleeps alone.
No-one else sees this. Except Renjun. Renjun is still there in the morning. He’s still here this morning, the air thick with the smell of the eggs Chenle had fried for breakfast. The greasy plate sits on the bench, rice grains stuck to the ceramic from the last meal it was used for.)
“I don’t have a problem,” Chenle says. He meets Renjun’s eyes, face perfectly neutral. “You sound like you have a problem.”
"You're such a fucking child," Renjun says, and Chenle is on his feet, abrupt, his demanour cracking open, panic flashing across his face.
For a second Renjun gains the upper hand, and god does it feel fucking good. Chenle always acts like he’s three steps ahead of Renjun, confidence gained by his recklessness. He has never bowed to him, but Renjun delights in stealing control, just for a second. He’ll always know Chenle’s weak points. He’ll always know how to get to him.
(Chenle will never hear it, but Renjun knows him. Chenle made a mistake when he was younger. He let Renjun in. He might have locked all the doors, but in doing so he locked Renjun inside , and now he can never rid himself of him.)
"I am not a child," Chenle says. "I'm a goddamn adult. You can't tell me what to do."
He stitches back up before Renjun can even respond, though the fault in his armour is there, and Renjun sinks his teeth in.
"When have you ever acted like an adult?"
Renjun is hyper aware of their size difference when Chenle crowds in on him. Chenle might be dainty in some places — thin waist, tiny ankles, chubby baby fingers — but there’s also a broadness to him. The way Renjun knows he has grown in so many ways from the boy on the practice room floor, that he is absolutely a man. Renjun couldn’t mistake him for anything else, just like he couldn’t mistake him for anyone else. There is no-one like Chenle.
"I'm not a child," Chenle says, voice quiet. He's so close that Renjun can pick out the individual acne scars on his cheeks, the little flecks and pockmarks not quite faded by time.
"You're not acting like it," Renjun says.
He can't read the shadow of Chenle's gaze, but there's a determined steel in it — like the last stand of a wounded soldier defending his home. His eyes rake Renjun’s face, then he cups Renjun’s soft dick through his pants and tilts his head to the side.
“Not even half hard?” he asks. Renjun doesn't shy away from his touch; if anything he shifts his hips into it, tempting fate. There is a challenge issued between the two of them, and Renjun knows this part of Chenle too. Chenle will always take what is offered. Chenle finds the limits. Renjun holds the lantern up to guide him.
“Like you could ever turn me on.”
"You weren't hard last night?" Chenle asks. "Sitting in your bed? You didn't touch yourself thinking about me fucking someone else?"
"You are fucking disgusting," Renjun says. He can feel all the blood in his body flowing south, Chenle's touch magnetic, his eyes darkening. Charcoal and ashes, like if he does this enough they might crush him down, turn him to brittle glass.
"Am I?" Chenle says. "Thought I was just a fucking kid? You're the one letting me touch your cock."
"I'm not letting you," Renjun says, hands pressed flat against the counter behind him.
Chenle raises an eyebrow and squeezes his cock. "I'm just imagining this?"
"Go fuck yourself."
Renjun reels and Chenle is still going. A mental tug of war, and Chenle spits on his palm then shoves it down Renjun's pants, wrapping a hand around him and jacking him to full hardness, his smirk growing wider.
“Tell me you’re jealous, Renjun,” Chenle says. “Tell me you’re jealous, and maybe I’ll fuck you. That’s what you want, isn’t it? You want my cock.”
Renjun screws his eyes shut. “No,” he says, and his voice shakes, and he can't find it in himself to move, to raise a hand, to shove Chenle away. He knows, truly, he doesn’t want to. He also knows he shouldn’t do this.
“You can admit it. We’re among friends.”
" No," Renjun repeats, and Chenle thumbs at the head of his cock, so hard it causes a sharp spike of pain to shoot through him.
"Brat," Chenle says. "You've always wanted me. Don't think I didn't see it."
"I don't know how anyone wants you," Renjun says, and he shouldn't be saying these words to his co-worker, but he also shouldn't be letting his co-worker jack him off in his kitchen. He shouldn’t do a lot of the things he does to Chenle, but Chenle has always broken out of any box Renjun tries to put him in.
"You can watch next time, if you'd like?"
"Get your hand off my dick," Renjun says, and Chenle smiles, saccharine sweet.
"Okay, gege."
Renjun's pretty sure he's never heard Chenle use an honorific with him in Mandarin. It curls in his guts like a snake coiling to strike, and when Chenle lets go of him it sinks its fangs in: poisonous. Lighting him up, and Renjun shudders.
“If that’s what you want,” Chenle continues. He doesn’t move. He just lets his hand rest loosely at his side, still staring at Renjun, still smiling, sweet and innocent. Still impossibly close, and Renjun does not balk.
“Is it what you want?” Chenle asks.
“Yes,” Renjun breathes. He’s dizzy, like he’s gulping down air at the top of a mountain, except the summit is doused in clouds. It’s storming, raindrops evaporating as they hit the lava of Chenle’s skin, and Renjun reaches out and touches a tentative fingertip against Chenle's throat, pressing against the lump of his Adam’s apple, feeling it shift when Chenle swallows.
His arm moves of his own accord, and Chenle’s cock is hot where he feels him out through the fabric of his sweatpants.
It’s a give and take. Tug of war, again. He gains ground. He loses it. Chenle swells beneath his touch.
“You want me,” Chenle purrs, and Renjun doesn’t know if he does. He only knows that he can’t stay away from Chenle. If it was anyone else they’d call it a slow motion disaster; except Chenle has never moved slow. He is not the bubble of the magma beneath the crust, he is the eruption, and Renjun is the lahar that burns everything away in his wake.
“I don’t,” Renjun says.
“Why are you touching me?”
“Why did you touch me?”
“Curiosity,” Chenle says. He presses his hips forward, rubbing against Renjun, trapping him against the counter. “I’ve always wondered, Renjun.”
“Wondered about?”
Chenle bites his bottom lip, and he doesn’t answer — not with anything but the quickening of his breath. “Touch me,” he rasps, and Renjun has to fight every part of his being from leaning into it, the sheer drag of Chenle's voice an iron grip around his lungs.
Renjun lets go of Chenle's dick and plants a hand flat on Chenle's chest. His sternum rises and falls below his palm, and then Renjun applies pressure, shoving him away.
It gains him little ground, but it's enough that he can slip out of the cage of Chenle's body. He takes two steps across the floor, pausing at the edge of the carpet and glancing back to where Chenle is rooted to the spot, chest heaving, face flushed deep red, a tent at the front of his pants.
They make eye contact. There is no sarcasm, no one upping, no sly looks. Just something that passes between them, and then Renjun turns away and walks to the guest room.
Renjun comes back out to the living room a few minutes later. It's exactly the same as it had been before — messy, lived in, dog hair on the couch, trinkets and relics stolen from various sets they'd recorded on. A slogan from one of Mark's fansites hangs from the treadmill none of them have ever used.
He'd expected it to be empty, but somehow he's not surprised that Chenle is sitting on the couch, sweatpants pushed down his thighs, touching himself. Renjun doesn't say anything, and the air in the room crackles; thick with ozone as he sits on the seat opposite Chenle. Renjun puts his headphones in, and Chenle stares at him, pushing his boxers a little further down and pulling his cock out completely, the stroke of his hand hypnotic.
He likes watching. Chenle looks good, and all Renjun can think is that his cock had been in his hand a few minutes earlier. He'd touched him, felt him. Hot and heavy, parts of him cracking open, a desperation that had sounded sweet when it was tangled with his voice.
He doesn't talk now, though Renjun thinks to taunt him, just to hear the way his voice might rasp. Just to see what would happen. He wonders what Chenle would do. Would he stop? Walk across the room and force Renjun to jerk him off instead? Would it break this delicate bubble they've woven, and would they both go back to pretending this had never happened?
Renjun always has questions about Chenle, and he's pretty sure even Chenle himself could never answer them. So he just watches, and when Chenle comes it's with a groan, eyes screwed shut.
He stands up and holds his hand out, and Renjun licks his load from his fingers.
"Get what you want?" Chenle asks, pressing his pointer against Renjun's tongue. His cum tastes bitter. Renjun is hard.
"No," Renjun says.
Chenle presses his fingers deeper into Renjun's mouth, stare tinged with the burnt edges of everything they've just done. He holds Renjun's gaze, then withdraws his hand and wipes the mess of spit and cum on Renjun's cheek.
"Brat," Chenle says.
"Don't fuck people while I'm here," Renjun warns.
Chenle regards him a second longer, then takes his hand away. He walks into the kitchen, and Renjun shuts his eyes.