Another Version of the Truth

by hexagram

Summary:

The corruption of one for the salvation of the other.

Notes:

so not sure if anyone is into this pairing or has even thought of it but... please allow me to convince you.

this idea possessed me and i had to make it happen.

special thank you to my main enablers mada (aka queen of carving out specific ao3 tag niches) and my changkyun thinker in crime sleepingpowder and the rest of johnyong twt squad for hyping this idea haha

 

title song

 here's a spotify playlist a kind reader made to set the vibe! tysm

enjoy!

Chapter 1: First

Taeyong believes it is the ultimate truth of the world he lives in that it is balanced in a perfect equilibrium. You give it kindness, and it returns it. When kindness is given to you, you must maintain the balance by giving back.

It’s really the only way to control his fate beyond the divine plan.

Everything in his life seems to fall into place according to the plan, his own, his family’s and beyond. He grows up in a humble home with his humble parents that work diligently while he studies. They are parents that love him freely, that wake him with the sun every Sunday morning to go to church and practice their faith.

The kindness he has received from everything around him Taeyong wants to return, and he wants to do it out there in the world. If he can balance that equilibrium and give them back gratefully, then he accomplishes his part. But now he feels like he is taking his parents’ kindness and simply not knowing what to do with it when he still cannot decide on a career, going through the whole college experience with motivation at half-capacity.

Because not only has his life been secure, it has also been completely guided. And with being guided it doesn’t require input on his part, no chances to take risks. Now when given the first real chance to make a future for himself in deciding his career, Taeyong stands stumped at the fork in the road. Who does he really want to be and how is he supposed to know?

Regardless, most of the karma in his uneventful life seems to weigh out, and Taeyong truly believes that’s how the world works.

Because if that’s not how it works, how else is he supposed to make sense of it?

His control on his fate slips him this Monday morning as he’s running through the campus quad to the intimidatingly tall history department building, standing red bricked so far away when he is already running ten minutes late. His knees almost give out when he remembers how many sets of stairs there are still left to climb.

At the fourth staircase he stops at the last step, doubling over to catch his breath and get himself together to arrive looking less like he just ran a marathon. He takes one, two, a few more breaths, and with someone climbing up behind him the last breath is an intake full of the scent of cigarette smoke.

He turns to see the source is his classmate—Im Changkyun. This guy Taeyong only sees when he shows up late to class and trots to the back of the classroom like he woke up within ten minutes of the start of the lecture. He doesn’t stop in his way and brushes past Taeyong’s shoulder as he passes him from the stairs to the lecture hall. Taeyong tries not to stumble from the unexpected impact but doesn’t give himself enough time to get irritated because he’s still unforgivably late for class.

Taeyong catches up to him and they file into the room one after another, though it’s hard to look inconspicuous when they're the last two students in a class of thirty. This is the intimacy of small class sizes that only small colleges like this one could pull off.

“Usually I’d let this go, but this behavior is too consistent,” the professor looks directly at Changkyun, who only pauses tight-lipped and slumped with his backpack hanging over his shoulder. At his silence the professor turns to Taeyong, who’s frozen in his place like a deer in headlights. “Taeyong, you’re fine. Just don’t make it a habit.”

Taeyong bows deeply and nods. “I apologize.”

“Please sit,” the professor points to the general area of desks in front of him. “You may as well sit together since you’re now paired up.”

Taeyong’s jaw drops and he looks over at his new partner, who doesn’t spare him a glance as he makes his way to the desk, pulling the chair out. His dark fringe hangs over and covers his eyes—Taeyong never really stopped to notice before how it descended down to his neck, now tucked behind his ears showing a hint of sharp cheekbones.

“This project will be half of your final grade and you will work on it for the next month,” the professor hands each of them a packet of paper, which Taeyong takes with a nod as he takes his seat. “It will consist of a written and a verbal presentation on a historical war of your choice, from any time period. Please find the details on the handout.”

Taeyong immediately takes the stapled packet and begins leafing through the pages, dividing his attention between reading the assignment and listening to the rest of the professor's explanation. He catches details of both enough to start thinking of topics and planning out the project all in his head—then remembers he's been doomed to a partner.

The classroom fills with noise of all the pairs , easily diving into conversation with each other as they begin discussing the assignment. Taeyong turns to Changkyun and gets the feeling that it might not be as easy for them.

“So, uh—” he begins. “I’m Taeyong.”

Though Taeyong already knows Changkyun’s name, he is not perfectly sure if it’s true the other way around. But the look the other man gives him makes him feel like a total idiot—especially when he replies.

“Yeah, I know.”

This is just part of the college experience, Taeyong tries to convince himself, that it’s all supposed to be kind of miserable, right? That you're supposed to have to deal with people that make you want to peel off your skin.

“Changkyun,” his partner eventually adds. It’s immediately evident that he’s not a man of many words, leaning back into his seat with hands tucked into his jean pockets. Meanwhile, Taeyong pulls out a spiral notebook and a pen, then shakes his flannel off his shoulders, airing himself out after the sprint to class that left him damp with sweat.

“Okay, let’s just get to the assignment,” he says, jotting down the date on top of his page just so he doesn’t have to make eye contact with Changkyun. “Do you have any preference for which war?”

He looks up expecting Changkyun to be staring off into space, up into the ceiling, on the professor—anywhere but right at his sternum. Taeyong’s hand comes up right where he’s looking to feel his gold cross hanging there, having slipped out from under his tank top.

“Hm,” is all Changkyun gives, nonchalantly leading his gaze up to Taeyong's face. He notices for the first time that the corners of Changkyun’s eyes are smeared with a hint of black, like he was too careless washing off eyeshadow the night before.

The more he sits quiet the more Taeyong realizes he’s completely doomed—that from now on, he’s completely alone on this project because his partner seems completely indifferent and is giving him absolutely nothing. If he wasn’t sitting at the front of the class, all silver rings and hoops and the tattoo that stretches to his shoulders out of his muscle tee, he may as well not be there at all.

Just when Taeyong’s last drop of hope leaves him, his partner speaks up.

“How about the Crusades?” Changkyun says, the look on his face more innocent, lips in a slightly noticeable pout. Taeyong feels a playfulness from him but he cannot figure out what it’s about, but it still makes him sort of self-conscious, like he's being left out of some joke.

Seems like his good karma has run out and he was going to go mad figuring out why.

“Sure,” Taeyong says. “That sounds good."

He jots the topic down at the top of the page and begins bullet-pointing everything that must be done, talking through some points in a low hum right under his nose. When he checks over the list, feeling satisfied with how he divided up the work, he turns to Changkyun to relay him the tasks, holding out for him his copy of the page.

Maybe he's already being too hopeful by giving him any tasks at all, but he's a good devout, and in his religion, one maintains hope in others.

Again he meets Changkyun's eyes but this time they're looking over small details of his face, jumping from point to point in the smallest noticeable movements. Taeyong grows shy the longer he stays there, having Changkyun’s gaze pick him apart like that. Really, who looks at people like that?

“Is your hair color naturally black?” Changkyun suddenly asks, and Taeyong thinks how his voice is so deep it makes it sound quiet and so much lower than all the others, like everything is said in secret.

“Yeah,” Taeyong grimaces, wondering if he somehow very obviously messed up bleaching his hair, though by now he should be a professional at it.

“I can see your roots.”

Taeyong’s frown deepens—how rude is this guy, really? He’s about to retort with something, most likely make a fool of himself and stumble over every word, but Changkyun pulls his hands out of his pockets and leans over when he speaks.

“You make it work though,” he takes a pen out of the front pocket of his backpack and takes Taeyong’s notebook, sliding it toward himself. He scribbles down a series of numbers in very questionable handwriting, handing the page back to Taeyong. Then, he moves to take his half of the assignment written by Taeyong and folds the list until it fits into his pocket, getting up with a toss of his backpack over his shoulder.

“I’ll have it done,” he says, slipping through the narrow gap between the desks on his way out right as the professor dismisses the rest of the class.

⤱

It takes Taeyong over two weeks to gather enough courage to text Changkyun for an update on their project, even though they see each other in class twice a week. Well, Taeyong was sure he was seeing Changkyun, but he's nearly certain it's not the same the other way around.

Even then, seeing him in person each time makes it all worse because it reminds him how untouchable, how distant Changkyun is, like there’s an omnipresent cloud of smoke over him, a fortress so strong like it’s intentional. And yeah, it made him incredibly intimidating to talk to.

But the ball was in Taeyong’s court since he was the one with Changkyun's phone number. And he curses the world for laying that on his shoulders—curses his partner for handing him that responsibility, making Taeyong feel like he’s being tested, either by him or a power more divine.

 

me [4:16 pm]
Hi, it’s Taeyong. I was thinking we should meet to touch base on the history class project. Let me know when is a good time for you!

 

Taeyong waits two weekdays and a weekend for a response before he realizes he’s being ghosted. Which gives him even more time to stare at the message he wrote and second guess every word—should he have looked up a synonym? Used a smiley face? Changkyun doesn’t seem like an emoji type of guy—but, then again, he doesn't know him that well. He doesn't really know him at all.

He knows that a truly pious man would be more forgiving, work harder to repress the natural human impatience. But Taeyong felt his faith trickle away from him when he considers confronting his partner after class the next day.

His pen taps nervously on his paper when he waits for the professor to dismiss the class. As soon as the signal is given, he shoves his things into his bag and turns around to the man of interest sitting in the back of the class—never really in a hurry to go anywhere, it seems.

“Is there a reason you haven’t responded to me?” Taeyong blurts out, realizing too late that he’s not being really eloquent about it, let alone gentle.

Changkyun reacts with a delay, looking up at Taeyong from where he’s sitting.

“What do you mean?” he asks, each word as monotone as the last.

“I texted you?” Taeyong says, and as he speaks the doubt starts settling in. This is why he hates confrontation—he cowers and quits way too easily.

Changkyun expression does not indicate any familiarity with what Taeyong is talking about—he just shrugs and gets up, pulling his bag onto his shoulder. The side cut of his shirt is obscenely low, his bare arms with the sides of his ribcage on display. Taeyong knows he’s spending too much time looking but, in his defense, how is he not supposed to when skin is usually meant to be hidden?

To redirect his attention, he pulls out his phone to show the text, holding it out in front of Changkyun’s face. The man has a soft of annoyed grimace when he grabs Taeyong’s hand to steady it as he reads.

“That’s supposed to be a one, not a seven,” he says.

With his heart already pumping blood into his ear drums he yanks his phone back, reading over the recipient's number. The very last digit of the sequence a seven—like Taeyong copied from how Changkyun wrote it weeks prior.

Taeyong’s jaw clenches when he cannot find a response. Eventually, he blurts out. “Well, you have terrible handwriting.”

Changkyun has the audacity to smirk at that, narrowed eyes mocking him as Taeyong continues to stand there awkwardly.

“I have time now,” Changkyun says, sitting back down and letting his bag fall onto the floor next to him. Taeyong glances around, watching the backs of people as they all file out of the room, the professor being among them, probably because this is the class right before lunch time.

He turns back to Changkyun and also takes a seat, accepting the challenge that only he was giving himself.

“So, looking at this again I realized doing every war of the Crusades might be a little excessive, so maybe we should focus more on the cause, initiation and in-depth look of the major ones,” Taeyong says all this while he pulls out his written list, marked and re-written all over. When he looks back at his partner, he’s met with the same expression, so masterfully deliberate but uninterested at the same time.

“Are you listening to me?” Taeyong says, which makes Changkyun grin, one corner of his mouth pulling wide enough to form a dimple in his cheek. His jawline and cheekbones are so cut to the point of hollowing in that Taeyong didn’t realize he had enough fullness there for a dimple to even be able to form.

He nods before saying. “I finished my part, just need to send it to you.”

Taeyong pauses and so does his writing hand. “Great, so I uh-,” he stumbles over himself again after Changkyun throws this conversation off the rails that Taeyong saw it going. “I’ll incorporate it into the written part if you can work on the slides for the presentation.”

Changkyun gives an uncommitted shrug, his mouth pursing. His bottom lip seems darker than his top one, and when he speaks the color fades the deeper it goes to his inner lip.

“Is that an even split?” Changkyun asks, getting Taeyong to look away from his mouth.

Taeyong tries not to be too surprised at his concern. “Yeah, it’s- it’s fine. I need something to do when I’m at my parents’ on the weekends anyway.”

Very cool of him, Taeyong immediately thinks as he unnecessarily overshares. First of all, why would his partner care? Second of all, why would he out himself like this—that yeah, he’s home pretty much every weekend because he doesn’t party, doesn’t have many friends, and might as well make the two hour drive to hang out with them.

“Can’t miss Sunday service?” Changkyun asks and though the look in his eyes doesn’t mock him it's still equally calculating. For a moment Taeyong wonders if that’s why Changkyun proposed that topic for their class project but figures it’s too late to think about that now.

Changkyun’s question still hangs in the air unanswered. “Just nothing better to do, I guess”

He realizes how pathetic he sounds, but it’s the truth, and it’s not in his values to lie.

His partner doesn’t respond again and again this silence makes Taeyong nervous—it makes him feel exposed, like he has to cover it with something otherwise all his inner thoughts will start getting pulled out of him just to fill the space.

“Anyway, I know this is a filler class for most of us, but I still would like to get a good grade,” Taeyong rambles on as the end of his pen keeps pattering on the scribbled paper. “So, if you’d prefer me to just take over I’d rather know now, no offense.”

He swallows nervously before continuing. “Although…you kind of don’t seem like you’re going to.”

Changkyun lets him ramble on but his grin just grows wider.

“Don’t worry yourself,” he finally says, and by now Taeyong notices that every time he speaks it gives him goosebumps. Something about how intensely Changkyun is looking at him makes him nervous, shifting into something else.

“You seem tired,” Changkyun says.

With that Taeyong feels fully scrutinized, pausing to wonder if his partner really knows what he’s talking about, and why they're suddenly talking about him when they need to talk about the project.

“I didn’t sleep well,” Taeyong says before he can stop himself, Changkyun’s dark eyes begging the truth out of him.

With those words just hanging in the quiet between them again, Changkyun snaps the tension of the moment when he pulls out his buzzing phone out of his pocket—breaking their eye contact and ultimately releasing Taeyong. He gets up from his desk, evidently cutting this meeting short as he takes a single last look at Taeyong.

“Be sure to text the right number next time.”

⤱

Once Taeyong finally texts the correct number, he is pleasantly surprised to receive a response. He doesn’t know why he set the bar of expectations for Changkyun so low to the floor, and maybe there are his own series of prejudices that he needs to unpack, but for the time being he’s just happy to not take on the burden of the entire project.

They exchange emails to be able to exchange their parts and Changkyun is at least courteous enough to send replies to everything Taeyong sends, even if they’re one-worded and uncapitalized. Taeyong has really never met someone so apathetic in his life—but it strangely makes him happy because that means that his own apathy to certain points of his life is at least not that bad.

He lives a life of contradiction when he calls his undecidedness about the future apathy when it is really a result of too much anxiety about the uncertain. In all honesty he almost wishes to be as uncaring toward the world as Changkyun seems to be, and maybe Taeyong’s entire issue with him is as simple as jealousy.

Because when he says he doesn’t care, it’s what he wishes to feel when he’s lying awake at night under the weight of all his uncertainty and guilt. Usually by the fourth day of the week Taeyong is exhausted enough from his sleepless nights that his body just physically begins shutting down, but this week is different.

Laying on his side he looks out through his dorm window at the moon, so full and bright in the dark blue sky, his one most consistent companion night after night.

Suddenly, his phone buzzes under his pillow.

He pulls it out and takes a moment to stare at the caller’s name. Surely there’s no logical reason for his world history project partner to be calling him up two hours past midnight. With his heart beating hard against his ribcage, he picks up.

“Hello?” even in his greeting he’s uncertain.

”Beautiful, I don’t think I can make it- uh- tonight.

A pause with the noise of the crowd in the background.

”Some shit went down and- You get it, right?”

Taeyong doesn’t get it, doesn’t know what’s going on, and absolutely cannot think of the right response. All the knows is Changkyun’s words slur together into a barely coherent stream, his characteristically low voice coming out mumbled through the phone.

“It’s Taeyong,” he says awkwardly, rolling over in his bed and sitting up as he listens to more shuffling on the other end.

”Taeyong? Why—"

There’s a sound of scratching along the mic mixed with static before Changkyun’s voice comes back.

”Fuck, sorry about that.”

Taeyong listens, tensing up as the noise on the other end quiets down and it's only Changkyun's breaths.

”I hope I didn’t wake you.”

When he says that all Taeyong can wonder is why the other man still hasn’t hung up yet.

"It’s alright, I couldn’t sleep,” he says, pulling his knees up to his chest. He doesn’t know where this conversation could possibly go but he’s too curious to not keep up with it now.

”I wish I could help. I bet I could.” The words come so fast that Taeyong barely has time to really register them before Changkyun continues. "”Shit, probably shouldn’t have said that. Just forget about this.”

And Taeyong doesn’t even get a chance to respond before the call cuts off with a long beep hanging on the line. He pulls his phone away from his ear and just stares at it, the tightness in his chest ready to suffocate him. But he's also warm, flushing all the way from his face down his torso and between his thighs, and swallows hard when he realizes he cannot stop looping those words in his head.

He falls back down on his bed, the coolness of his sheets barely helping to chase his feelings away. Now he lays in the darkness for the rest of the night with a weight made heavier by these new feelings tying it down.

⤱

To say that Taeyong was nervous to see Changkyun in class again would be an understatement, so the first history class after the night call is sufficiently terrifying. Somehow they manage to avoid direct any eye contact, at least Taeyong does his best from his side to not notice Changkyun stumbling late into class again, keeping his eyes ahead to the front of the classroom.

He works diligently, even harder so as he runs from the unresolved thoughts of that night, the words lingering in the back of his head. These words and what they have catalyzed became something that he hopes to never have to face and unpack. He studies harder, goes home earlier for the weekend, and mouths the verses at Sunday service with the choir as the words echo through the church.

That life quickly wears him out, and his one friend notices Taeyong starting to burrow into himself. But it doesn’t take Ten a lot to convince Taeyong to drop studying for the night and come to the homecoming party with him. It’s nearing the second half of the semester, midterms have officially kicked his ass and he does not need another excuse. Even if it meant not going home that weekend to see his parents and missing church, they understood it to be another part of Taeyong’s “college experience.” What they don’t know won’t hurt them.

He dresses just modestly enough for the end of October: a loose blouse with a jacket over it. Though to him the lack of buttons on neckline of his shirt is already showing too much skin, he looks absolutely bundled up next to Ten in a completely sheer tank top. Taeyong loves and appreciates his friend for that though, because then all the attention is on him and not on Taeyong, who can slip out after one drink and escape unnoticed. His invisibility he starts to see as a superpower of sorts.

Ten hangs hooked on his arm as they’re both given drinks as soon as they arrive at the house. Well, closer to a mansion, a three-story home just on the edge of campus shared by multiple small-time fraternities of his college. Taeyong doesn't really know much about the politics of Greek life, but he knows to take the free things where they were given.

The deeper they go into the house the hazier the room gets, and there are two different music tracks playing on each end making the whole thing even more chaotic. He tips his solo cup until all its contents pour out into his mouth, looking around for a bin to trash it in. At some point he loses Ten somewhere on his search and now he’s left to fend for himself.

Of course, he barely recognizes anyone, his second year into being in college and still having very few close friends and only acquaintances he made in classes. Spending every weekend at home didn’t do him any good on the social front either, so he is left wandering between rooms with glimpses of somewhat recognizable faces.

He turns the corner into the kitchen, and the first thing he sees is Changkyun—he can recognize the pattern of his tattoos anywhere, the ink dominant over his shoulders and down to his arms. He's doubled over the countertop, arm hanging off into the sink. It’s turned upwards and for some reason Taeyong cannot look away from the tattoos snaking up the forearm and wrapping around his wrist, taking notice of how every other nail of the fingers of that hand is painted black.

There are people on either side of him and they’re either coughing or laughing or wheezing, but everyone is out of it, moving to the rhythm of their own realms. Taeyong didn’t expect this to be that kind of party and he tries not to judge, but he’s more confused than anything. Especially seeing Changkyun in the middle of it all.

He’s just about to turn on his heel and make his way back where he came from but becomes instantly paralyzed the moment Changkyun turns over his shoulder and notices him.

The air is heavy with noises and passing clouds of smoke. The people on either side of Changkyun writhe against each other—somewhat to the music booming on the other side of the wall, but they’re mostly trying to get rid of that simmering feeling from under their skin, their movements all sloppy and rushed.

Changkyun seems to move exceedingly slow from between them when he pushes off the counter and starts walking towards Taeyong. Surely he’s not going to walk directly to him, Taeyong thinks, not when he has spent the majority of his time here unnoticed, both at the party and at the school. Surely Changkyun will slow down or turn away or do anything to release Taeyong from the hold that his intimidating stare has on him.

His eyelids are heavy but his pupils are totally blown when he approaches, and without thinking Taeyong takes a few steps back as Changkyun crowds him in, right until he’s pressed up against the wall.

He doesn’t get a moment to think or gasp or move when a hand moves up to glide over his throat and take a hold of his jaw, fingers digging in to take his face in a solid grip, immobilizing him there. Then, Taeyong gets a glimpse of Changkyun’s eyes through his black fringe when he is kissed—hard and forceful, while the hold of the hand at his jaw keeps him claimed.

Though Taeyong cannot move his head he doesn’t even attempt to resist—not when Changkyun forces a knee between his legs and presses forward into his hips. Taeyong goes lightheaded, mind thrown completely out of orbit as he feels himself submit, trying to kiss back when Changkyun pulls on his lips and swipes at them with his tongue. Taeyong is sure with how close their hips are pressed that Changkyun can feel him getting hard, all the heat between them collecting there at their groins.

In an instant the lips are gone, leaving Taeyong’s mouth wet with spit and cold from the gust of wind from the open windows hitting it. He stands still, blinking back at Changkyun whose expression switches, his eyes still growing distant from the wilderness that was stirring there. Finally, his hand loosens its grip and drops away from Taeyong.

"Kyun, you got any—” a figure approaches them, a man with ginger hair and mochi cheeks, and pauses too late when they both turn to look at him. “Shit, my bad. But…you got any more? Think they’ll pay anything.”

Changkyun steps away and doesn’t give Taeyong any final sign of acknowledgement when he follows his friend down the hallway and into the basement, leaving him there panting against the wall, drops of sweat glistening on his forehead.

Taeyong's head is still reeling but he manages to make his way outside—he knows he has a low limit for drinking, but he shouldn’t be this messed up. His body is burning, nothing like he’s ever felt before even as the cool night air hits his skin and could probably hiss from the contact. He closes his eyes and all he can conjure up is the sensation of the hand so tight at his jaw it almost choked him, and dark eyes boring into his before his mouth was claimed.

The memory burns him down to his fingertips, and he stumbles all the way back to his dorm, haphazardly throwing his clothes off himself onto the floor. The next thing he does is get in the shower and take care of himself.

⤱

He is exhausted with a headache when the alcohol starts wearing off, but he still sleeps awfully that night, tossing in his bed hour after hour and watching the shadows pass through his windows. The anchor around his neck seems heavier now and even more omnipotent.

When the sun rises, he decides to follow it, knowing there is no hope for any more dreaming at that point, and begins his day. His sheer exhaustion allows him enough energy for only one thing at a time and he forces that thing to be cleaning. It's surprisingly easy for Taeyong to avoid having to unpack exactly what last night was about as he once again pushes that thought to the deep back corner of his mind.

Later that evening he’s on his bed, slurping instant ramen from his cup and watching a drama playing on his laptop perched in front of him. He was sort of dazed out of his entire day, only now starting to return to the present moment when his phone goes off next to him on the bed.

 

Changkyun [7:04 pm]
on my way

 

Taeyong nearly spills the noodles on himself when he jolts up from his slump, reading the message over again. Then, he swipes down on his screen for the calendar, realizing he has completely forgotten that they were supposed to work together on the project tonight. Taeyong successfully repressed any thought of Changkyun down to the work that needed to be done, the sight of him at the party making him nearly forget his identity as just his classmate.

He quickly cleans up his dinner and looks around his room in a panic that's quick to settle in. Since Changkyun was wonderfully vague in his text and gave no indication how long it would take him to get here, Taeyong has to prioritize. He quickly runs down to the hall to the bathrooms to wash his face awake with cold water, brushing back his hair with wet hands on his walk back. He makes his bed and closes down the window playing the drama on his computer and doesn't even get a chance to change out of his pajamas when the knock on the door comes.

He doesn't have time to deal with his panic escalating when goes to open the door, impatient to get the inevitable awkwardness out of his way.

Changkyun is leaning against the doorway when Taeyong meets him, and he's arrived empty handed.

"Hey," Taeyong says, stepping aside to let him enter. And already he's overwhelmed by his presence, only his footsteps in the quiet room, his scent tainted with smoke. Taeyong shifts from one foot to another, a safe distance from where Changkyun comes to lean up against his desk. For some reason he's avoiding looking at him, choosing to stare out the window into the dim forestry outside the dorms.

"Sorry, I actually completely forgot," Taeyong says and that makes Changkyun turn to him and look him over completely, from his damp hair to his thick sleep socks.

"Me too," Changkyun says.

Taeyong was right to be suspicious of Changkyun coming here without a bag or laptop or anything to indicate intention to work. His brain is so tired he forgets to be properly suspicious of his empty handedness, barely catching up to the fact that maybe Changkyun is here to address what happened last night.

But as Taeyong looks back to him he's avoiding eye contact again, and he finally understands that Changkyun is not acting like himself, not how he usually is. He seems nervous.

"Taeyong," he says, turning to him. His raspy voice seems to penetrate every particle in the room, a tremble Taeyong can feel the short distance away.

"I'm sorry I came onto you like that."

That was the last thing he expected to hear. His mouth reshapes to begin an answer but ultimately his words escape him. He doesn't know whether to immediately hand out forgiveness or probe for more answers and try to satisfy his own curiosity. He feels the temptation breathe on his neck, the angel and devil that sit on either of his shoulders.

"Why did you do it?" Taeyong asks, allowing the devil to win just this one time.

The way Changkyun is leaning up against his desk makes him seem so innocent, so inconspicuous when he looks at Taeyong with heavy eyes. There is a pool of indiscernible emotion in them, but he's anything but apathetic when he speaks to Taeyong.

"I was so fucking high," he says, a sharp inhale as if he’s replaying the memory of the vice that night. "But I also saw how you looked at me. How you always look at me."

Taeyong knows exactly what he means, but he still asks. "How?"

At that Changkyun grins, like he's reading Taeyong's game, reading through the paper-thin barrier he has set between them. Changkyun crosses it easily when he pushes up off the desk and approaches Taeyong until they're standing face to face. This time Taeyong does not step back.

“You’re curious about me," his voice reverberates above a whisper in the quiet space between them. "Curious in a way that your God wouldn’t allow.”

Taeyong hears what Changkyun says and although it is a common truth—a truth he has believed up until this very moment—there is another of the many versions of the truth that he decides to choose.

“My God does not judge what he has created,” Taeyong answers with a tremble in his voice, going deaf with the heartbeat pounding in his ears. “Only we do.”

Changkyun lets out a breathless chuckle, taking one step forward until they're face to face, some strands of stray hair over their foreheads catching on each other. Changkyun leans in and Taeyong prepares for a kiss, but it doesn't come—his lips brush softly over his cheek and down to the sharp cut of his jaw. He tenses up and holds his breath the entire time Changkyun's mouth travels down to his neck, one of his hands coming up to tangle in the hair at the back of Taeyong's head and tug it back. At the same time Taeyong exhales, allowing the lips on his sternum to spread warmth all over his skin.

Everything is so intense, so heightened that Taeyong feels like he's going insane, like he doesn't have it in him to handle this—is this what seduction feels like?

Changkyun comes up to nose at his earlobe before his lips brush over the shell of his ear, tickling the skin there as he whispers.

"Can I kiss you now?"

Taeyong doesn't have it in him to give a verbal answer—he disobeys the hand weaved into his hair and pulls back to catch Changkyun's lips with his own, the impact knocking their breaths out of each other. He can't help the whimper that escapes him when he feels the hand in his hair tighten, grab the back of his head and lead him into the kiss as Changkyun begins really devouring him. Though he kisses him slowly there's still the silently raging impatience with the intensity of it, how his tongue searches for Taeyong's, how his teeth bite down and suck his lips in between them.

Taeyong feels like melting and he thinks he could actually lose his balance if he doesn't find something to hang onto. He pulls back to breathe, sensing that his lungs have been without air since the moment they made contact.

Changkyun pulls back all the way and goes to sit on Taeyong's bed until his back is against the wall—and one hand is reaching out for Taeyong. With his inked arm outstretched towards Taeyong and dark hair obscuring his eyes, he is the image of true sin, the demon of temptation.

Taeyong lets his hand be taken until it pulls him into Changkyun, allowing himself to be maneuvered into his lap, with Changkyun slipping one leg between his so Taeyong can straddle his thigh. It all comes at once—the arms slipping under his shirt and wrapping around his back, the hungry lips commanding his in a kiss, and the thigh between his legs pressing up into his growing erection, the friction intensifying the heat there.

All Taeyong can do is moan into Changkyun's mouth, let all these sensations shake his body and the heat spread from his abdomen up his back to his neck. With a mind of their own his hips begin moving in slow waves, grinding down onto the hard muscle there in search of more friction. Any thoughts previously in his head become replaced by hollowness, the foggy heat as Changkyun embraces him closer.

Taeyong opens his eyes to look at the man below him, and his eyes are so heavily lidded he can barely see where he's looking but Taeyong can still feel that dark gaze swallow him, now coupled with the hands coming down to dig into his hips. As his own movements give out, the hands on either side of him hold him tighter and pull him down harder into Changkyun's body, forcing him to grind against his thigh again.

Taeyong doesn't know where his body ends and where Changkyun's begins, all he can feel is the heat taking him and the sharp pain of Changkyun sucking down onto the skin of his neck. The wave builds and comes over like a violent tide, an ecstasy that pools and travels through him and he can feel himself spill into the fabric of his pants.

He collapses onto Changkyun's shoulder, hands tight around his neck as he quivers with the aftershocks of his climax. He can barely help the whimpers coming out of his mouth right where he's pressed into Changkyun's skin, small sounds getting quieter and quieter.

"Shh…"

There is a hand caressing his hair before he feels Changkyun's voice against his ear as he comforts him in an embrace so intimate and unconditional that eventually Taeyong calms down because he feels safe, like he can lose himself in these arms. He closes his eyes and drifts away.

It's pitch black and quiet when he finally wakes again. Though he can't see through the dark he's pressed against something warm—someone. And by the feel of all his pillows under his back he knows he's in his own bed.

A sleepy arm falls away from his shoulder when he sits up and reaches out to switch on his reading light above them. Even the warm glow of the light is a bit too much for how groggy Taeyong feels, like he slept for half of a day and woke up in the middle of a deep dream.

"Welcome back," a raspy voice speaks against his arm before Changkyun sits up, leaning up on his elbows in front of him. His eyes seem sleepy too—but then again, they always look kind of dreamy.

"You're still here," Taeyong says, and it sounds neutral to him but Changkyun has a stunned grin on his face.

He begins sitting up. "I think I get the hint."

"No, wait, I'm not telling you to leave," Taeyong crawls closer to him, wrapping a hand around his upper arm. "I'm just…surprised. It's not…bad."

Changkyun turns back to him and doesn't make any other indication of moving away, glancing to where Taeyong is holding onto him.

Taeyong tries to shift over and move his legs under him but is suddenly hit with the wetness in his sweatpants. He instantly grimaces, unable to hold back an annoyed whine. "Ah, dammit, I'm still gross."

Changkyun laughs, his head hanging low from where he's glancing up at Taeyong. "Yeah, you are."

"I think I'm gonna need a shower," Taeyong says and turns to climb off the bed, but Changkyun's hand comes up to take the bottom of his chin, gently but sudden enough that it makes Taeyong stop and focus in on him.

Changkyun's eyes are unreadable in the shadow when he speaks. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Taeyong says almost immediately before pausing for thought. "Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

Changkyun hums but doesn't let go of him—on the contrary, his thumb moves up from his chin to Taeyong's lower lip, both pressing on it and hooking it towards himself. Taeyong follows in all the way until his lips meet Changkyun's in a careful kiss, none of the hurry in the form of tongue and teeth like before. Taeyong leans into it, tilts his head finally getting to kiss Changkyun as much as the other kisses him.

For some reason Taeyong feels strangely emboldened even though just hours ago he was falling apart in Changkyun's lap. Something about getting to be that vulnerable at the mercy of someone else fills him with a brand-new type of exhilaration and he feels himself get excited to chase it.

There's a faint buzzing that vibrates in the sheets, breaking him out of the dream that was the two of them and plummeting him back into the reality of the circumstance. Changkyun completely lets go of him to pull his phone out, quickly tapping over the screen with his thumbs before pocketing it again.

"Gotta go," he says. "Got a drop."

The bed squeaks when Changkyun gets up, picking up his shoes where he kicked him off near the bed.

"A drop?" Taeyong asks late like Changkyun's answer was received with a five second delay.

"Yeah," he answers from where he's bent over tying his laces. "You know, a deal, a drop."

Taeyong feels like he's speaking to him in another language, and he's still so drowsy that his brain would be useless with even simpler information, so he gives up trying.

"We should probably work on that project some time," Taeyong says and instantly feels stupid about saying it.

But he just can't stand to see Changkyun go knowing that he has to eventually face himself, whether it is now or later. Not to mention he's still soiled. The weight settles back on him when Changkyun reaches for the door handle.

"Sleep well," is the last thing he says.

⤱

The very next day Taeyong actually does an internet search on what Changkyun said and concludes that it probably had something to do with dealing drugs. That made sense to him, since when he saw him at the homecoming party the man's eyes were so blown to the point of void-like blackness that Taeyong had a strong of a suspicion that he was on something hard. Changkyun even admitted to being high that night himself, so him being a dealer is not entirely out of the realm of possibilities.

It’s a thought that begins to frequently occupy his mind and makes him tense in front of Changkyun the next time they meet. There are also all the other unspoken things lingering between them coupling with that new tension. He knows he's painfully obvious about how awkward he feels even though this is where he should he feel the most in his element—in the library, studying among the quiet rustling of books, no conversation except what need to be done.

Barely halfway through what Taeyong planned to get done Changkyun turns to him, placing a hand on his knee that he didn't realize he was bouncing up and down.

"Relax," he says, dragging the word out with a drawl. "Why so tense?"

Taeyong turns to him but can't find anything to say, because he knows if he speaks, he'll just admit to exactly what he's thinking.

Changkyun's smirk is playfully annoyed. "You look like you're waiting for me to pounce on you."

Taeyong rolls his eyes but forgets to deny it, the image of it happening more powerful than any response he can provide. Changkyun notices and leans closer into his space until his hair touches Taeyong's cheek.

"Do you want me to?" he says it but he's not really asking—he's testing him. "Do I tempt you?"

Taeyong doesn’t even have it in him to feel ashamed of being caught here, having Changkyun speak the unthinkable in a public place. He feels himself warm up, swallowing as his throat goes dry. He doesn’t know what compels his response and how long it has been since the angel on his shoulder abandoned him, but he looks Changkyun in the eyes when he answers.

“Yes.”

The walk back to his dorm is shamelessly hurried, and it’s Changkyun who slams the door behind them, wasting no time in leading Taeyong to the bed. That same fire from the first night envelops them both, it’s there and burning up so hot and so fast that Taeyong’s heart skips.

“Wait—” he says mid-crawl back on the bed, and Changkyun pauses with just one knee on it. His eyebrows lift curiously and he continues to climb towards Taeyong. He does it more cautiously now, and this new pace makes him seem like a predator, stalking.

“Something wrong?” Changkyun asks, his hands on Taeyong’s knees but not prying them open—not yet.

“I just—” Taeyong says, gulping as he tries to swallow down his own arousal, feeling it grow more intense the longer Changkyun looks at him. “I’ve just never…”

He trails off but Changkyun leans in closer when his throat vibrates with a satisfied hum, a sly grin pulling the corner of his mouth. “Has nobody touched you like this?”

Taeyong’s heart speeds up at the words. “No,” he manages an answer.

Changkyun answers by sitting back and letting his hands gently push against Taeyong’s knees, spreading his legs apart to climb between them. One hand slips under his shirt and grips his waist, the thumb swiping over to feel out Taeyong’s skin. Taeyong gasps at the very first touch, goosebumps spreading across his back and up to his neck.

The hand slides up, pulling the shirt up with it as it bunches up under Taeyong’s chin. Changkyun holds himself up to hover over Taeyong and pulls the shirt above and over his head, the thin chain of his cross necklace slipping out from the fabric and wrapping around the pale neck.

When the cool air hits his chest Taeyong squirms, his arms intuitively folding over his chest to hide him. Taeyong becomes acutely aware of how exposed he is, his bare torso writhing on the sheets, nipples hardening at the temperature of the air around them. But there’s a noticeable shift in Changkyun when he covers himself.

He senses Taeyong’s vulnerability, so he takes his own shirt off, and before Taeyong can even get a good look he leans down and covers Taeyong’s body with his own, dipping down to place a kiss along his neck. His lips press intently, stamping each kiss in their path up to his lips.

“Don’t hide from me,” Changkyun’s words ghost over his skin. “You’re so beautiful.”

Taeyong feels it again, that free-falling feeling, sinking into an ocean of emotions that he doesn’t understand yet. His arms wrap around Changkyun’s back, such an overwhelming feeling to touch so much bare skin at once—someone else’s. He feels the places where it’s slightly raised where he’s tattooed but every place he touches is so smooth, muscles hard where they tense in his back and arms.

“Will you listen to me?” Changkyun says, and Taeyong nods, any caution long gone. But even as Changkyun says that his next command is not verbal—he takes Taeyong’s wrists one by one to lay his hands on either side of his head.

“Stay like that for me,” Changkyun says, face right above Taeyong’s and their lips are a breath away. But Taeyong was told to stay—how still for how long he didn’t know, but he wanted to listen well.

There’s an aftermath of a smile when Changkyun presses his lips to Taeyong’s again, the grin a searing contrast to the teeth pulling at his lips, harder this time, so much that he feels the blood pulsate into them when he finally lets go.

His mouth descends down his neck in an unpredictable path, tongue and teeth alternating without warning, playing with the sounds they can get from Taeyong when he moans between breathy intakes of air. He feels a hand pull at the waistband of his pants and at the same time Changkyun pulls away, leaving Taeyong splayed out on the bed. His hands twitch responsively but he grips onto the fabric beneath them, willing them to stay where Changkyun ordered.

Changkyun’s eyes do not leave his face when he undresses Taeyong, seating himself comfortably between his legs again. Even though there isn’t much input, Taeyong feels like a hot wire, on edge with every micromovement Changkyun makes. It’s the silence around them with Changkyun’s unpredictability that make this so much more heightened.

Changkyun’s doesn’t hesitate to cover Taeyong’s very obvious and neglected erection with his palm, rubbing against it with the smallest hint of friction. But even that breaks a whine out of Taeyong, back arched as the only movement he can manage in this trapped state. His hands grip the sheets tighter when Changkyun's hand wraps around him completely, providing the friction that his body was begging for.

Meanwhile Changkyun’s eyes are taking him in completely, looking everywhere and only pausing to stop on his hand speeding up around Taeyong’s cock. He hunches over and pauses the movement of his wrist to spit into his palm, returning it to Taeyong's cock to pump faster, an easier slide slicked with spit.

Taeyong’s hips softly thrust up, chasing that feeling that threatens to burst and drown him in again. It feels too good to let go of it now—he throws his head back and his mouth hangs open with free moans spilling out of it, any thoughts of shame or guilt gone out the door with Changkyun shielding him from the world like a black-winged incubus.

“Look at you,” Changkyun says, his voice raspy among the sounds of the sheets rustling beneath them and Taeyong's unchecked moans of pleasure. “You’re insatiable, aren’t you?”

Changkyun’s other hand slides up his torso again and pauses to thumb at his nipples but Taeyong puts his hand over it—grips onto it like it’s his lifeline—and slides it up to wrap around his throat. He knows he's disobeying when he's been so good, but he's sinking into the lust possessing him, that image of Changkyun’s hand at his jaw from their first kiss an obsessive print on the back of his eyes. He needs to feel it again, how Changkyun claims him.

There’s a low chuckle out of the other man when he watches Taeyong hang into him, and he squeezes into the sides of his neck just enough for Taeyong to gasp a small intake of air. He's floating somewhere in his mind, eyes rolling to the back of his head as the breath seeps from him. Then, Changkyun releases the grip, and Taeyong comes into his hand with a broken whimper. His hips thrust clumsily to ride out his orgasm, coming out in spurts over Changkyun’s knuckles.

The buzzing in his head is a deafening static with the blood flowing back to his head again, inhaling until his lungs are full. When he comes to, he sees Changkyun leaning back, wiping his hand with his shirt and using it to clean up Taeyong’s stomach.

Taeyong sits up, almost too quickly as tiny stars sprinkle in the corners of his eyes, but he re-centers himself when he nearly climbs into Changkyun’s lap again.

“Will you…” he was almost ready to ask, but he spent his whole life being shy and it’s back to hit him full-force.

Changkyun’s hand is at his cheek, prying him to look up into his eyes again. When they make that eye contact, Taeyong wonders how someone so distant can suddenly feel so safe.

“What do you want?” Changkyun says, and when Taeyong’s mouth hangs empty, he continues with a definitive voice. “Tell me what you want.”

“Maybe…fuck my mouth?”

That receives a surprised laugh from Changkyun—not the sexiest or most encouraging response he could have gotten, but he’ll take it. It’s not as funny to him, realizing he doesn’t usually swear but for some reason is ready to reconsider every barrier he has kept up between himself and the rest of living, right up until Changkyun began meticulously carving through them.

“I won’t make you beg for it,” Changkyun says, shifting off the bed with the clank of his belt buckle. He stands before the bed and slides his pants down completely shamelessly, taking his hard cock in his hand with a few strokes and waiting to allow Taeyong to come to him.

The image is every level of breathtaking for Taeyong—Changkyun is gorgeous, inked skin all over, his muscles toned from his arms to his torso, and he stands confident like a God when he’s naked. Everything about him is intense.

Taeyong feels himself stir between his legs again when he lets Changkyun pull him off the bed and direct him into his knees. Though Taeyong has next to no experience in any of this, he knows that an open mouth follows the prayer position. He opens his readily, a thread of saliva dripping from the tip of his tongue as Changkyun’s cock collects it at the head and pushes it in, following into Taeyong’s mouth all the way in until he gags.

“Fuck,” Changkyun groans but pulls back, his eyes heavy when they look down on Taeyong on his knees. “Sorry, baby, too much?”

Taeyong shakes his head, no time to wonder where any of his own shame has gone as he gets ready to swallow Changkyun back up again. “More.”

Changkyun stifles another groan when he sucks his lower lip into his mouth, guiding himself into Taeyong’s mouth again. Taeyong, so innocent and pious, now so shamelessly opening his throat up to him as he grips the hair on top of his head and fucks into his mouth. His movements gradually speed up as he feels less and less resistance from Taeyong, every gagging sound paired with a moan that vibrates at the skin of his cock.

Soon enough Taeyong’s lips start going numb and he just lets his mouth hang open, jaw unlocked with a tongue under the base of Changkyun’s cock making everything so much wetter. It takes Changkyun one more look down at the man on his knees in front of him, tears streaming down his face and mixing in with the saliva dripping down his jaw until he’s coming into his mouth.

“Fuck, Taeyong, I’m—” he barely remembers to warn when he spills between Taeyong’s lips, almost feeling bad for what a mess he has made out of Taeyong whose face is damp and glistening. So perfectly ruined on his knees in front of him.

But he looks so perfectly stunning like this that Changkyun would never apologize for it. The thought never even crosses his mind.

⤱

The one (and probably the only) perk that Taeyong gets to enjoy as a resident assistant of his dorm building is getting to live alone—no roommates, no forced conversations, no noise or arguments. The ultimate price he has to pay is the rounds he has to take every few hours—and if it’s his unluckiest evening, those can end with some unpleasant confrontation. Parties going too late, underage drinking, lighting candles and incense, breaking school property. The college gave Taeyong his own dorm room in the basement just so he can play cop.

What the college does not know is that Taeyong avoids most instances of confrontation unless it’s serious enough to call campus police. Let him who is without sin cast the first stone and whatnot.

His frequent bouts of insomnia make this midnight round just another tick of the clock as he passes through the halls, holding his breath when he walks by specific dorms that usually emanate a skunky smell—what he doesn’t smell won’t hurt him. When he passes the last room at the end of the hall, a female student peeks out of it like she was waiting for him to approach.

“Taeyong, are you doing rounds?” she asks barely stepping a foot out of her room. He nods. “Can you tell those assholes to stop smoking under my window? My whole room smells because of them.”

As if on cue there is a bout of distant laughter that sounds from her cracked window. He’d suggest she just close it but realizes that with how old this building is that the outside air is probably a safer bet than the moldy air conditioning. So, he tells her he’ll take care of it and wishes her a good evening.

He steps out into a well-lit courtyard and turns the corner of the brick building, following a mental map of where her window would be in relation to the outside. The source of the smoke is a small crowd gathered around the staircase to the back entrance of the building. Indeed, there is a slowly dissipating cloud of smoke over them, growing larger and whiter when everyone exhales at once as Taeyong approaches them.

He hears some hushed curses from the people on the periphery of the crowd while the center stays in the chatter, completely oblivious to the noise and stink they're all making.

“Shit—” he hears someone say, tall guy with orange hair who looks eerily familiar, but Taeyong can’t exactly pinpoint why. It can’t be a friend because he can count those on one hand. The figure throws something burning on the ground and stomps it out in the grass.

This position of authority is really the only time in Taeyong’s life where people are visibly intimidated by him.

“Sorry to bother you,” he says as the group quiets down and turns towards him, the roaches in their hands still smoking behind their backs. “Can you guys take this somewhere else? The whole hall stinks.”

“Please don’t report us,” a high strained voice says from somewhere among them, and Taeyong doesn’t get a chance to respond before another voice does it for him.

“He’s not gonna do anything,” it's Changkyun, who steps out from the circle of people and crushes a burning cigarette against the brick of the building before tossing it in the trash. Taeyong notices how all the eyes follow Changkyun, exactly as he’s doing too, but the one who gets all of Changkyun’s attention is him when he approaches.

“Take a walk with me?” he asks, the scent of smoke and cologne so potent off him that it hits Taeyong like a wall when he stops with just a few steps left between them. His eyes are dark and dreamy, half-closed as they usually are when they look at Taeyong.

“Sure,” Taeyong answers, not like he takes his job seriously any other time. “Will you tell them to move while I grab something warm?”

He doesn’t wait for a response when he heads back into the building through the back entrance, making a quick detour to his room to grab the warmest sweater he has. He throws it over his head on his way back, almost forgetting his room key behind.

When he rejoins Changkyun outside the crowd is gone and so is their noise, and it’s just the man toeing at something in the grass while he waits. Taeyong catches up to him and they walk off onto the forested path at the back of the dorm halls, barely lit with the flickering of the lamps with outdated lightbulbs, salvaged by the light of the moon.

They walk in silence for a bit, attuned to each other’s steps to the point where the rhythm gets comforting, and Taeyong realizes how softly his heart is beating, the nerves somehow having dissipated with the smoke. Changkyun keeps his head low and hands in his pockets next to him as his feet shuffle through the dead leaves on the ground.

“Why did you decide to leave them?” Taeyong asks, glancing over his shoulder as a reference to the crowd that revealed Changkyun among it just minutes before. Changkyun looks to him with a hum, like he’s been yanked out of a depth where even the light of the stars is too sudden.

“Hm?” he blinks twice before turning back to watch his feet walk. “Oh, just wanted to get away.”

“Are you high right now?” Taeyong asks, which makes Changkyun laugh almost as soon as he says it.

“Maybe so.”

Taeyong thinks to himself for a moment, knowing he’s naïve to most of the things that his peers choose to indulge in. But Changkyun seems to be such an extreme that his own naivete becomes laughable.

“Why do you do it? You know… drugs,” Taeyong asks, watching Changkyun kick a rock from out of his path. They turn to walk on an old, wooden bridge built over an empty ravine, the moonlight more scarce around them now.

Like anyone, Taeyong knows drugs are addicting, yet he has never found it in him to judge. Plenty of other things can be just as addicting, so how is he supposed to judge one vice over the other? Maybe love can be addictive that way too.

“It makes me feel things, I guess,” Changkyun says with a voice that is quiet enough to be soothing despite its melancholy. “Everyone does things to feel something all the time. Like travel, like call their loved ones. Like pray.”

At that Taeyong turns to him to catch the gaze that was already on him, pointed but gentle, that sinister undertone that he’s so used to seeing within them so dim he cannot even find it.

“I haven’t prayed in a long time,” Taeyong admits, tearing his eyes away in his own shame. Changkyun drifts closer to him, encouraging him to continue with a soft sound. “I just don’t see the point if our plan is laid out for us anyway. The scripture says to trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding.”

Changkyun grins and Taeyong can tell he’s picking up the cynicism in his tone.

“So as a good Christian you just wait around for things to happen to you?” he asks, and the wicked tone in back. This man is many flavors of temptation, the devil walking at his side.

“Honestly? Sometimes, yeah,” Taeyong answers, the blunt truth of it coming out much softer in the dead of the night, far enough from the noise of the rowdy campus.

Changkyun lets those words linger between them without a response, just the shuffling of feet as they walk, matching their steps to each other either by coincidence or by consciousness. After a few more untraceable and easy minutes of walking they end up circling back to the other end of the courtyard of dorms, stepping onto the illuminated pavement.

“It’s getting late,” Changkyun says, stopping next to Taeyong which makes him stop too. “You should sleep.”

“I can’t really sleep,” Taeyong says with a sigh that trails the end of his confession.

Changkyun turns to him, even with all the lamplight around them his face is shadowy. “Why not?”

“Insomnia, I guess?” Taeyong says even though he never went as far to diagnose the problem. He cannot even bring it up to his parents let alone try to see a doctor.

“No, Taeyong,” Changkyun says and for the first time that night he reaches out to touch him, a soft palm on his cheek with his thumb caressing over the scar next to his eye, pressing the pad of his finger over it. “Why?”

Taeyong bites at his own lips in thought, feeling once again intimately studied by the other man, like he’s bared in front of him even though he’s bundled from the autumn cold.

“I don’t know,” Taeyong says, and even though he has vague ideas he’s never verbalized them, so this makes him feel even more vulnerable to the truth. “Anxiety? Fear?”

“What are you afraid of?” Changkyun asks, listening to him so intently that the rest of the campus around them fades away and drowns out into the night—just the two of them and the moths circling the light above their heads.

“Uncertainty, maybe?” Taeyong says and he hates when he gets talking like this, all in questions like his spine has crumbled from lack of confidence. “Do you have something you’re afraid of?”

Changkyun’s lips press into a tight line like the silence is a response as close to instinctual as it gets. But his eyes glisten, the light shaking in them when they look between Taeyong’s with a silence that is so deafening.

“Sure, everyone does,” he says with his hand falling away from Taeyong’s face. He turns to the darkness of the forest that they left behind them when he continues. “I guess I’m afraid of temporary happiness.”

Taeyong frowns and urges him to continue. “What do you mean?”

Changkyun is silent for a long enough time that Taeyong thinks he may never get his answer, yet he still waits. He doesn’t turn back to look at him, hands sliding into the pocket of his hoodie as he looks from the obscured bushes of the forest up to the illuminated sky.

“Happiness makes me anxious,” he finally says, voice raspy in the cold. “As soon as it comes I wait for the moment that it will end, because I know it inevitably will. So when it does come, the dread comes with it.”

Taeyong listens as the words break his heart at its most fragile seam. He wants to reach out but is sure the man next to him will fragment if he does.

“It’s the equilibrium of the universe,” Taeyong thinks his ultimate truth out loud. “All the bad balances the good, kindness to malice, sinner to savior.”

There is a twitch to the corner of Changkyun’s mouth like he’s suppressing a smile, but he just takes a hand to brush the fallen hair out of his face before speaking.

“So I guess I’m scared of uncertainty too,” Changkyun says, reaching out to take Taeyong’s hand in his. His fingers are warm from being pressed against his body in his pocket while Taeyong’s are ice cold, peeking out from the sleeves of his sweater. When he takes it, he leads Taeyong back to his dorm building, letting it go right as they reach the pathway to the entrance.

“If you do pray again,” Changkyun says, watching how Taeyong’s pale fingers fall away from his. “Save one for me, yeah?”

⤱

“It’s so nice to finally have my son back,” his mother’s hand freely ruffles up his hair, surely leaving remnants of flour in its dirty strands. Taeyong can barely maneuver away from her, one hand on the knife and the other on the greens he’s slicing through.

“I’ve only been gone a few weekends,” Taeyong says, the guilt bitter on his tongue with all the excuses he ran out of to avoid coming home.

“It has felt much longer than that,” she says, sprinkling something in her mixing bowl before the whisk hits the metal with a careless clang. “Even the pastor has been asking about you.”

Taeyong doesn’t respond to that, just busies himself in the printout of the recipe stuck to the wall in front of his face.

“Anything new happen?” she asks above the clatter of her working hands. “Any new friends?”

Taeyong shrugs. “Not really.”

“Have you thought about what to do after college?” she probes again and by this point he knows he can’t weasel his way out of her question.

“Uh- not exactly, no,” he says, dragging out each word. “I’m having some doubts, I guess.”

“About what, my son?” she throws a glance over her shoulder.

He sighs, knowing he needs to choose his words carefully from now on. “The path God has set out for me.”

When the mixing of metal-on-metal stops, the lack of that jarring sound is more than telling. His mother doesn’t need to question him further for him to know that he needs to begin explaining himself, so he does.

“I just…” he starts, pausing everything with his hands gripping the edge of the counter and eyes on the paper, letters blurring together as his focus fades out. “If there is a path that He has predestined for me, shouldn’t I know it by now? And if I choose something myself, what if it goes against what He has planned?”

“Taeyong,” her voice is soft but stern, the one that parents use to make their children believe that the direction they push them is self-directed. “His purpose is to instruct you and teach you in the way you should go, to counsel with His eye upon you.”

The words she says he knows too well, having recited them before bed in the hopes that he will wake up with a newfound purpose. But he never ended up sleeping, getting up in the morning with torment slowly displacing his faith.

“The Proverbs say to trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding,” Taeyong recalls, the words slipping easily from his lips, now tainted with that drop of venom that has begun to stir within him.

“That’s right, son,” his mother says and as he hears the smile in her voice the venom turns more bitter.

“So all I’m left with is counsel without direction or meaning?” he says and his voice carries strongly through the small kitchen.

His mother turns to him with a hand on her hip, racing thoughts evident in her slow blinking as she looks at him.

“Are you doubting our faith?” she asks with a tone that’s one wrong word from chastising.

“No,” he says even though he knows that lying is a sin. “Just asking.”

She sighs, turning back to her mixing bowl within which is now a surely useless lump of dough.

"Well, you're asking a lot of questions," she says and Taeyong really cannot blame her for how irritated she sounds, because she's struggling to reconcile his questioning with her own lifelong devotion. He almost pities her for having a son like himself.

“Isn’t our faith strongest when it can withstand the toughest questions?” Taeyong says, picking up his cutting board and sliding the cut vegetables off it with the back of the knife into a pan on the stove, watching them plop one by one into the broth with his own heart full of defeat.

They're silent for a moment aside from the sounds of their cooking. Soon enough there is free time with them waiting for the soup to simmer, and for the first time in a while Taeyong feels uncomfortable in his own house, that feeling made heavier knowing he brought it inside.

"Taeyong," his mother starts again, making him turn to look at her. "I know that a lot of things go on in school, you know. I want to trust you to make the right decisions."

His face falls. "What do you mean?"

"Remember that you must not fall into temptation," she says, softness giving way to something else, something less sympathetic. "Often what feels good to us is not what is best for us."

Though Taeyong knows her intention behind these words is innocent since there is no way she can know anything that happens on campus, he does not know how to accept her words yet. If leading life as he has in his belief has led him here, then is that not the path he was ultimately set out on? And now he's left wondering how much control he can really have, whether he is here by choice or by divine plan.

Taeyong nods, turning down the dial on the stove down to a simmer when the water begins boiling. "I'll let Him guide me."

⤱

The drive home is always a flat, monotone road of fields and towns smaller than most university campuses. It eventually becomes a mindless task, so much so that sometimes when he gets to his destination he cannot remember a second of the drive.

This time Taeyong leaves earlier than usual, blaming it on the sun that sets earlier now that it's the end of autumn. But really, he needs that time to be alone, to undo all the things that his mother's words did to his consciousness. This nagging feeling under his skin every time he feels at odds with how he was and how he was supposed to be.

But oddly now that he's stepped into forbidden territory, he yearns it even more so. It fills him with a passion for the first time in his life, exhilarating and intoxicating. He grips the steering wheel as memories of every time he has stepped into that territory run through him like a skipping tape.

With half an hour left to campus, his phone rings.

"Hey, are you on your way back yet?"

It's Changkyun—he doesn’t even have to check the screen to know it, his voice his identifying mark as soon as he speaks. Even though he knows Changkyun is only calling because they agreed to finish the project tonight for the presentation tomorrow, his heart cannot help how it skips when he recognizes his voice.

"Yeah, almost there," Taeyong says.

"Come to my place."

Taeyong has to slow down to avoid swerving off the road but manages to hold it together.

"Okay, sure," he says. "Send me your address."

"I will, just pull over."

Changkyun is quick to hang up but Taeyong doesn't mind that. He pulls off the highway to enter the new address into his phone maps app and pulls up the directions. The entire drive to Changkyun's place is full of anticipation—his fingers squeeze the wheel for a second to release some tension from his body. But it's useless to get himself back now, he knows this as he pulls up to Changkyun's place.

He grabs his laptop bag out of the backseat, leaving his car in the driveway when he approaches the door of what looks like a fairly low-key townhouse. He doesn't get a chance to look around much when the door opens before he can even knock, Changkyun standing there in the entry way.

"Hey," Taeyong says. He doesn't expect grand welcoming gesture or even an embrace from Changkyun because he doesn't want to expect anything from Changkyun. He's unpredictable and free-flowing, and Taeyong thinks very little can change that.

The last thing he expects is what Changkyun does—pulls him inside by the wrist, shuts the door behind them, and takes Taeyong's face into a kiss.

His hands caress the peaks of his cheeks and over to the ears, slipping into his hair. His touch is so gentle but thorough and Taeyong already feels overwhelmed even though it's just hands and lips. He barely remembers to kiss back, so drunk in the feeling of Changkyun leading him that he forgets to question the sudden intensity—because he feels it too. It's been simmering in his nerves for the past hour, and realistically probably even longer than that. And now it all wants to spill out of him.

Changkyun pulls away, starting to speak.

"I—"

"I missed you," Taeyong interrupts. He doesn't know why he does it—maybe the fear that he wants Changkyun to say it but not getting his hopes up to hear it. So he says it himself before he can be disappointed.

"I missed you too."

Taeyong's head is spinning as he's lead into the house, the surroundings in his periphery completely obscured. He's zoned in on the feeling of Changkyun's hand on his and resurfaces only for a moment when his back hits the bed. He has half the mind to stop and think: what is this? They were supposed to do schoolwork but they weren't even bothering to uphold the pretense of it, hands at each other forgoing a proper greeting.

Taeyong lifts up on his elbows to steady himself, and Changkyun slows down too—a firm hand on his thigh, the other taking Taeyong's chin in his hand when he leans in to kiss him again. He's slowed to a maddening pace—pulling his lip between his teeth and then lapping at, letting his tongue meet Taeyong's in the middle. Taeyong has barely kissed before, let alone kissed like this—meticulously, like he was drinking the lust from his lips.

When he pulls away from his mouth Changkyun immediately goes for the neck, the spot right under his earlobe that's so sensitive it almost tickles. Taeyong moans unabashedly—he's not afraid of letting Changkyun know how much he wants him, and he thinks that Changkyun might feel the same.

The slow pace does not last much longer when Changkyun's hands impatiently tug at the fabric of his sweater, sliding all the layers off Taeyong in a single pull, dropping them off the side of the bed. Taeyong wishes Changkyun would undress first so he can soak in his body without having to worry about his own, but it doesn't take long for the man to grant his wish.

At the same time as he's taking off his shirt, he starts asking. "Will you let me touch you?"

It's almost like he knows Taeyong is too unfocused, too loopy between the sight of his godlike body and the implications of the question. Then again, would the answer be different even accounting for the implications?

"Yes," he says and though it's barely above a whisper Changkyun still accepts it. Instead of kissing him again, he undresses Taeyong's lower half and maneuvers to sit behind him, caging him in between his legs while himself leaning back against the pillows.

Taeyong doesn't know what to do with his hands, so he places them on Changkyun's still clothed thighs, the fabric of them pleasantly rough on his flushing skin. He realizes how suddenly exposed he is—then Changkyun points to look up.

If he felt exposed before, seeing the mirror on his ceiling makes him feel completely bare before God.

He drops his head back to lay against Changkyun's shoulder as the man's hands snake around him, one up to his neck and the other smoothing over his abdomen down to his thigh, beckoning it open.

"I had this idea like," Changkyun's voice rumbles against the shell of his ear. "Like I wanna watch you watch yourself."

Taeyong is speechless save for a whimper that forms and stays in his throat, his hips writhing to attempt to get some friction at his slowly warming groin, all of Changkyun's words in his dark tone collecting there. Seeing himself writhe against Changkyun in this bird's eye point of view goes straight to the heat pooling between his thighs.

"Changkyun, that's-" Taeyong says as it hits him, the tide of vulnerability as his arms fold in and cover himself, thighs snapping together.

"Taeyong, you’re stunning," Changkyun says, his hands moving over Taeyong's torso and squeezing, pressing in right where tension collects, coaxing his arms open again. His fingers move like they're memorizing every crevice they pass over, tracing and re-tracing parts that make Taeyong gasp. "Just as you were created, completely bare. Look."

His eyes snap open to connect with his own in the mirror, but the thing that catches him is Changkyun's gaze over his shoulder, dark and untamed. He manages to unravel Taeyong again, folding his arms behind his back and spreading his legs open, slightly bent at the knees, completely naked save for his cross on a chain around his neck. He looks at his form in the mirror and he sees a doll, laid on top of his puppeteer, pale and pink skin with a face both flushed and sleepy.

When Changkyun's arms wrap around him Taeyong zones in on the tattoos that decorate his wrists and shoulder, a stark contrast against all of Taeyong's untainted skin. Here they were, laid skin to skin and operating on pure human instinct. Taeyong sees two creatures of God, one chained in the fate laid out for him and the other changing his, God's plan for him drawn over in black ink.

A hand wraps around his cock and he keens, thrashing back against Changkyun with a guttural sound ripping out of his throat. His mouth stays agape, and three fingers slide into it. He cannot be coherent if he tried, simply following the most stripped-down version of his intuition as he sucks down on Changkyun's fingers in his mouth and thrusts up into his hand. The fingers probe deeper, making him gag until tears blur his vision. His jaw slacks and he lets the fingers pull open, a stream of saliva dripping down from his tongue over them and down to Changkyun's palm.

It doesn't take much longer for him to seize up and spill into Changkyun's hand, the yelp forced from his climax stifled by the fingers in his mouth. With shaky thrusts he rides it out and though he should feel satisfied, his blood still burns.

As soon as Changkyun frees his mouth, Taeyong blurts out the only thing spinning on his mind.

"Fuck me," his voice is pleading and fragile. "Please, fuck me."

Changkyun's laugh rings against his ear, and he feels lips at his neck, kissing down to the shoulder.

"No, baby," he says. "I don't think you're ready."

Taeyong's throat vibrates with a whine, because he needs more, needs something, hooked on the feeling of Changkyun enveloping him whole.

"Turn back for me," Changkyun says and Taeyong does so until they're face to face on their sides, and Changkyun is finally unbuttoning his own jeans. He slides them with his boxers barely halfway down his legs before one hand reaches out for Taeyong and pulls him in until their chests collide. He takes that moment to catch Taeyong's lips, while the hand still wet with his saliva wraps around his cock and gets it slick.

"I'll show you how it feels," Changkyun's voice is raspy when he speaks against his lips, sweat already collecting on his temples. "Keep them tight together."

With that he pushes his cock in the tight space between Taeyong's thighs, the other hand wrapping around Taeyong and harshly grips his ass. His first few thrusts are slow, panting against Taeyong's mouth as he fucks between his thighs. He speeds up when he feels Taeyong's body jolt as his cock brushes up against his balls, his own spent cock beginning to fill out again between their stomachs.

Taeyong can barely keep kissing as Changkyun's hips rocks against his, the raspy voice speaking his name as his movements speed up. In the blur of the moment he feels a finger prod against his rim, breaching it at the same time as Changkyun's hips thrust forward.

It's a surreal feeing and going dizzy Taeyong groans, feeling Changkyun penetrate him deeper while the pressure on his cock between them increases with the heat building around them. He clings onto Changkyun—his hair, his arm—but he cannot last longer when this feels so close to what he imagines getting fucked would feel like. With a particularly rough thrust of Changkyun against him he comes again with a strained moan, his second climax leaving him trembling against the other's body.

Changkyun comes in the tight heat of the space between his thighs, his moan lost somewhere in Taeyong's hair and he wraps an arm around him and presses him as close as possible to himself while riding out his orgasm. When Taeyong feels Changkyun release against the tender skin of his thighs he thinks he may come for the third time, the filthy feeling making him lightheaded. Their chests heave as they pant while coming down, skin glistening with sweat and sticking to each other.

For a while they lay in the rhythm of their slowing breaths, each second paired with soft touches, eyes following the movement of fingers. It's a silence like a calm before the storm, each minute devoid of talking a forewarning.

Changkyun's eyes are heavy as he looks across at Taeyong and confesses. "I think I've got it bad for you."

When Taeyong hears this, he wonders why that confession sounds like an omen to him. His heart doesn't have within it to speed up anymore, exhausted to the bone after Changkyun's mind games. He tries to lean up to stop his head from spinning, vaguely remembering that they still had a project to finish.

That attempt fails and as soon as his back hits the bed again his eyes are suddenly so heavy that he cannot stop them from falling closed. He hears a distant low chuckle from Changkyun, then a hand on his cheek. Within the next second, he's asleep.

⤱

The next morning, he wakes up to an empty bed with a head so groggy that he can barely get his eyes open. He tries to wipe the sleep from his lids and eventually it works, and he can finally place himself—alone, in Changkyun's room, in his bed. Taeyong barely got a chance to look around at it last night, but now as he takes it in he realizes there's really not much in it. The bed, next to it a bedstand, and a closet along the opposite wall. There's some art hung up but it looks like a place of someone who hasn't given it much thought.

The daylight slips through the blinds and it hits him—it's Monday, and depending on the time it is now, he could be late to class.

He hurries out of the bed, throwing the blankets off him and frantically searching for his pants where hopefully his phone is. He finds it in the back pockets and anxiously checks the time. Thankfully, he still has at least an hour before class, which means he can stop by his room and at least change and wash his face before having to present.

As he pulls last night's clothes on him one by one, he carefully listens for any sounds from the rest of the house. The realization takes no time to settle in—he's completely alone.

He leaves, takes his detour to his dorm and cleans himself up, the anxiety right in his throat the entire way to class. From the emptiness of the house to Changkyun's lack of response to his texts this morning, Taeyong suddenly feels like he should have trusted last night's gut feeling that told him something was about to crash. That Changkyun's words and touches were a warning, not a confession.

Changkyun is not there when class starts, not when the pairs go up to the front and present one after another. Taeyong can feel his professor's pitiful look on him, both of them occasionally glancing at the door but no one else comes.

When all the pairs run out, his professor doesn't make a show out of his partner being absent, just dismisses the class with an excuse. Taeyong is eternally grateful to him for not forcing him to present alone—even though he could have managed the content it was the humiliation that would be too much to bear.

As the students clear out, his professor gives him a knowing look, so Taeyong stays behind when the room empties out. Taeyong cannot even bear to worry about the consequences of this on his grade, not when his heart is slowly breaking in half.

"Do you know where your project partner is?" the professor asks, clearly just for the sake of logistics.

"No, didn't hear anything from him today," Taeyong says. "We worked on it up until yesterday."

The professor nods. "I'll allow you to submit the written portion for your grade, and I'll decide how to deal with your partner. You're dismissed, Taeyong."

Taeyong gives a deep bow with a breathy thank you before rushing out of the classroom.

As his feet carry him as far away from that building as they can, he is almost ready to sulk—but if they were to extinguish what they had, Taeyong isn't going to let it go without one last burst of flame. He doesn't attempt to stop the anger bubbling out of him and starts Changkyun's number try after try after try. His thumb starts going numb after countless unanswered calls.

Until one of them finally picks up.

"Stop blowing up his phone!"

It's a stranger's voice—a complete stranger answering Changkyun's phone.

"Who are you?" Taeyong asks before his throat goes completely dry.

"Who are you?"

"Taeyong…" he answers, though the voice is harsh he tries to reason with it. "Changkyun didn't show up to our class presentation today. He's my project partner. And also…a friend."

"A friend, you say?"

When the voice gives him nothing more, Taeyong figures at least it's not angry anymore. "Where is he?"

The noise from the other side comes out like crackling static as the person exhales. But eventually, it gives in.

"He checked himself into rehab."

Taeyong's heartbeat spikes all the way into his ears, the world zoning out from around him. He thinks of when he saw Changkyun last—those dark eyes through the mirror, always melancholy but when they looked at Taeyong there was always a dim light, but at least it persisted.

But maybe he was seeing something that was not there. Maybe he was forcing a fate that could not be.

"You still there?"

The voice drags him back. "Yeah," Taeyong says, raspy and frail. "How long will he be there?"

"Don’t know—a year? Maybe less, maybe more."

"Oh," Taeyong says, listening to the words come out but not really hearing them, not ready to understand it all. "But, uhm, who are you? Did you take him there?"

"He asked me to. I'm Kihyun. We used to date, but I'm just watching over his shit while he's gone."

It seems that Taeyong's heart will not stop breaking today. But now the cracks are filling with an ugly, envious feeling, as the poison inside crawls toward and reaches his heart.

"Anyway, if you guys really are friends you might be able to visit him. You can let me know if you'd wanna do that."

His fist squeezes so tight that his nails dig into the palm to the bone—tight and tense as he feels himself slowly fall from grace.

"Thanks," he says through gritted teeth. "But we'll see."

Notes:

idk why this first part turned out so long but i hope you liked it??

 

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