Misunderstandings

by velooscuro

Summary:

Jisung’s eyes finally pan around the room—there are an awful lot of children’s toys. And a princess dress draped over an armchair. Childish drawings stuck on the walls. Half-eaten chicken nuggets on the kitchen table.

His eyes finally pan to a little girl, scribbling in a coloring book with a large, purple crayon held in her fist. No… no, that’s, like, a full, human child. Jisung signed up for a dog.

 

Or: Jisung is a dogsitter, Chan doesn't have a dog, and other misunderstandings.

Notes:

hi hi!! 🖤🖤 today i offer...... more chansung brainrot.

full disclaimer the smut was written with zb1's youth in the shade on repeat

enjoy 🖤

“Hey,” Changbin says conversationally, as he and Jisung walk away from the gym freshly showered and with their bags slung over their shoulders. Jisung’s entire upper half feels like cooked spaghetti; he’s going to be sore tomorrow. “You mentioned that you sit, right? To make money on the side?”

 

“Yeah,” Jisung says, wondering if it’s feasible to fill his entire bathtub up with ice. “Why, you know someone?”

 

Really, dogsitting is the perfect job. He gets to stay at someone else’s house and play with their dog, and he usually gets paid pretty well. He’s been skating by with occasional offers from his parents’ friends—it’s enough to get him by as a student, as long as he’s careful and doesn’t splurge on anything.

 

“Chan, my workout buddy.” Does Jisung not qualify as a workout buddy? He supposes not; Changbin is more of a personal trainer to him, the way he works him. “He’s going out Friday night, but he can’t leave Arin alone. His other sitter fell through, he told me this morning.” This morning? Jesus, does Changbin go to the gym twice a day? He’s insane.

 

It’s a strange name for a dog, and a little strange that he can’t leave his dog alone for a handful of hours, but maybe she’s an old dog. Or mischievous. Or ill. Jisung can handle that.

 

“Well, sure,” Jisung says. “I should be free Friday. Pass him my name and number and tell him to reach out.”

 

“Will do,” Changbin confirms, and they reach the point of their walk where they veer off in different directions, heading for their respective homes. “See you tomorrow, same time?”

 

Jisung’s arms are going to fall off. He’s not going to be able to move tomorrow. “Sounds great,” he lies. “See you then!”

It takes all of the apartment’s collective brain cells, apparently, to bleach Jeongin’s hair. And there are a lot fewer now than when they started, the smell of hair bleach singeing the air.

 

Jeongin had started by trying to do it himself, but after donning gloves and mixing everything, he’d panicked—“I can’t even see the back of my head, how am I supposed to do this by myself?!”

 

Enter Felix, who can see the back of Jeongin’s head. But he’s very nervous about getting too much of the solution on Jeongin’s bare skin, and his hands are shaking.

 

Enter Jisung, who is no better. Really, he has unmedicated anxiety, what the fuck did they think?

 

“Hyung, is my scalp supposed to be burning?”

 

Cue Felix’s phone call to Hyunjin, who actually has successfully bleached and dyed his hair before.

 

“I’m with Changbin,” he says flatly as he picks up the phone. “If something’s on fire, call Seungmin.” Click.

 

“My scalp is kind of on fire,” Jeongin helpfully supplies.

 

“Hello?” Seungmin answers once Felix manages to dial his number.

 

“One of your friends had better be dying, Kim Seungmin,” comes Minho’s voice in the background.

 

“Is someone bleeding out? 119 is usually a better option than your friend who’s trying to spend his scant free time with his boyfriend,” Seungmin deadpans.

 

“No—Jeonginnie’s scalp!” Felix says, and that’s when Jisung gets a phone call from an unknown number. Content with Seungmin and Minho Googling how to bleach hair and hair bleach burning? over the phone and instructing Felix, Jisung slips out of the bathroom—the fumes are giving him a headache, anyway.

 

“Hello?” he answers, squinting his eyes shut and rubbing at his forehead—is it dangerous to inhale so much hair bleach?

 

“Hi, is this Han Jisung?”

 

“Speaking,” he murmurs, going to the kitchen to get a glass of water—that might help.

 

“Hi, I’m Bang Chan. Uh—Changbin gave me your number.”

 

“Oh, right,” Jisung remembers. He’d been expecting a text, but a call is fine. “Friday night, right?” Fuck, what was the dog’s name? It had been something weird, something human. “With Arin?”

 

“That’s right!” he says. “She’s really sweet—very busy, but maybe that’s not a bad thing?”

 

Ah, is he one of those guys who’s way too talkative about his dog? Jisung would humor him, but his headache has fully manifested now, and he’s not sure he has it in him. “Ah, definitely not!” he says. “What time would you like me over on Friday, then?”

 

“Could you come around 6:30? That’d give me time to go over her schedule and everything with you. And I ought to be back no later than 11:00, I think.”

 

Okay, the mention of a schedule and the fact that he’s watching this dog for less than five hours has him thinking that the dog has to be sick or old or both. Once again, that’s fine—there might even be more money in it for him.

 

“That sounds good to me,” Jisung says, rooting through the kitchen for a bottle of ibuprofen. “Would you mind texting me your address?”

 

“Absolutely, I’ll do that right away. See you on Friday, Jisung,” Chan says.

 

“Thank you,” he says, the sir dying in his throat. This is one of Changbin’s friends, so he’s not like a real adult. His voice sounds young enough—so even if he has that kind of commanding, adult vibe, calling him sir would be weird, right? “See you then!”

 

He hangs up the phone just in time. There’s a crash from the bathroom and a scream that sounds a lot like Felix; Jisung chucks his phone on the counter and hurries to help.

The dogsitting gig turns out to be a blessing on Jisung’s Friday night; the insufferable combinations of Felix-and-Jeongin (hair newly bleached and brain cells completely dead), Seungmin-and-Minho, and Hyunjin-and-Changbin have plans to have a movie night, which really just means ignoring each other’s presence and making out on their shitty couch. Jisung has no desire to participate, and is grateful for the immediate excuse to pass—“Sorry, dogsitting.”

 

This Chan guy doesn’t live too far. Actually, he’s pretty close to the gym where Jisung meets Changbin, just down the block.

 

It’s not a huge place, nothing fancy—he hadn’t expected it to be. He only lives on the third floor, so it’s no big deal to climb up the stairs. And he pulls up his texts and quadruple-checks the apartment number again before finally knocking on the door.

 

The door opens pretty quickly and Jisung immediately decides that he hates Changbin. Because he’d failed to mention that his casual workout buddy was fucking hot. Not that he really knows Changbin like that—the guy is only his friend’s-boyfriend-slash-lowkey-personal-trainer. But still. A warning would have been nice.

 

The apartment seems to be nothing fancy but Chan is, dressed in a suit and wearing an appropriate amount of cologne—Jisung picks up on it immediately but then it fades into a pleasant background smell. He’s going on a date, then. A fancy one, maybe, but a date nonetheless. That’s okay. It’s not like dating the guy you’re dogsitting for is off the table, but that’s really not why he’s here.

 

“Jisung,” Chan greets, smiling at him. “Thanks for coming.”

 

“No problem,” Jisung says, suddenly feeling very ratty and young in his ripped jeans, his oversized flannel. Chan shouldn’t be that much older than him but he feels like a real adult, like a sir, and Jisung is just some college kid who isn’t even fully sure what fabric softener is or why he’s supposed to use it. He doesn’t even own cologne.

 

Chan opens the door wider to admit him, glancing over his shoulder as he does. “Arin, sweetie,” he says. “Can you come say hi?”

 

Must be a well-behaved dog; usually his clients’ dogs are jumping on him from the get-go, too excited, but this is an old dog, a sick dog.

 

Except Jisung’s eyes finally pan around the room—there are an awful lot of children’s toys. And a princess dress draped over an armchair. Childish drawings stuck on the walls. Half-eaten chicken nuggets on the kitchen table.

 

His eyes finally pan to a little girl, scribbling in a coloring book with a large, purple crayon held in her fist.

 

No… no, that’s, like, a full, human child. Jisung signed up for a dog.

 

He’s going to kill Changbin. Changbin had mentioned this was a dog, right? Or Jisung had mentioned that he dogsits, not babysits? Surely he had. He had to have. Except thinking back now, he thinks it must have somehow been lost in assumption.

 

He doesn’t dislike children, not at all. He just… doesn’t really know what to do with them. He’s not even sure how old this child is. You could tell him anywhere between about two and six and he’d believe you. Can she speak? She looks big enough to. Is she… potty-trained? Kids this big are potty-trained, right?

 

“Arin, baby,” Chan repeats, and this time she looks up. Upon seeing the stranger in her house, she cringes away, shy. Fantastic. A great start.

 

Because Jisung already knows he can’t just back out. Nevermind the inconvenience for Chan—it would be so embarrassing to say, “Oh, sorry, I kinda thought your daughter was a dog. I don’t do kids, bye!”

 

But, like. This is a whole child. A child that has thoughts and feelings and can communicate and that Jisung has the potential to accidentally traumatize for the rest of her life. No, this is too much responsibility—Jisung has just killed the basil plant he bought at the store. He can’t take care of a full, human child. Sometimes he thinks he’s not even qualified to take care of his clients’ dogs.

 

“This is Jisung, okay?” Chan says, crouching beside her. He looks very out of place among the startling amount of hot pink strewn across his living room floor. “He’s gonna take care of you while Daddy’s gone, yeah? Come say hi.”

 

Chan hoists her into his arms; she tucks her face against his neck, hiding from Jisung. “Um,” he says. Once again, this is a child. He’s really more of a dog person. Hell, he’d even take a cat, even though they usually make him sneeze, his eyes itch. “Hi, Arin,” he tries.

 

It’s no use. Arin is fully buried in her dad’s shoulder, and shows no sign of resurfacing for this strange man in her home. Fair enough, Jisung thinks.

 

“She’s sweet, really,” Chan promises Jisung with a smile. He sets Arin down, and she hides behind his legs, clinging to them. “She’s just shy. She’ll get over it.” As if on cue, she peeks out from behind his legs. Jisung ventures a smile, and she hides again. Yeah. Kids aren’t his thing. “Come on, I’ll show you everything before I head out.”

 

Right. Kids have needs that aren’t pets and walks and kibble.

 

“So, she didn’t do great eating dinner tonight,” Chan says, gesturing at the half-eaten chicken nuggets on the table. “So if she gets hungry, give her the rest of dinner. She might want a yogurt, but that’s for after she eats everything else.” Striding into the kitchen, he opens the fridge—there’s what appears to be children’s yogurt inside. He glances at Jisung. Oh, god, is he supposed to have questions? About yogurt? Isn’t it straightforward?

 

He can’t think of a single intelligent, not-ridiculous question, and Chan continues. “There’s water or milk if she’s thirsty. She’ll ask for juice, and if she’s really annoying about it, you can give her some that’s half water, half juice.” Sure? Is that normal? Is juice bad? Chan opens a cabinet to the right of the sink. “Her cups are all in here.” Chan turns back to the fridge. “Oh! And just in case, I have her doctor’s number and everything taped up here. Obviously you’d want to call them in a real emergency before me, but you have my number, too.”

 

Oh, god, do kids often have medical emergencies? What if she has an undiagnosed peanut allergy and Jisung gives her peanut butter and she goes into anaphylaxis? Okay, okay, simple solution: no peanut butter.

 

“It’s Friday, so bedtime is 9:00,” he says. “Fair warning, her daycare told me she was not very good at naptime today, so if she gets sleepy before then, you’re welcome to put her down early.”

 

Jisung follows Chan down the hall; Arin stays in the living room. Are children that young just… allowed to be by themselves? Like, unsupervised? Not that Jisung thinks Chan is a bad parent! Just—fuck, he really doesn’t know shit about kids.

 

They’re in her bedroom; the walls are soft gray and most everything inside is a girly combination of white and pink. “So, once you get her bathed,” Chan says, “her pajamas are in here.” Bathed? He doesn’t know how to bathe a child! “This book is her favorite,” he says, indicating what looks like a normal children’s book. Or—no, why the fuck is the book in English? “But, I mean, it’s in English, of course. So you’re welcome to read anything else to her. Or, she might want to read to you. She’s doing better with that, now.”

 

She can read? Is that normal? Or exceptional? Surely the English part is exceptional. Chan had mentioned daycare, not school. Do kids learn to read at daycare?

 

“Usually,” Chan continues, “I have to sit in bed with her for five or ten minutes until she falls asleep—I know, I know, she’s spoiled. But once she’s out, she’s out; she usually sleeps pretty well at night.” Chan turns pensive. “What else… Oh, make sure her nightlight is on; she’s scared of the dark. But before bedtime, you two can do whatever. She likes cartoons on Friday night, or she might just want to color, play with toys. She’s pretty easy.”

 

And Chan smiles at Jisung so genuinely he could almost believe him.

 

He’s petrified. He’s going to mess this child up somehow, he just knows it.

 

“Is there anything else you can think of?” he asks, cocking his head to the side.

 

Oh. This is the part where he’s supposed to come up with an intelligent question. He doesn’t feel particularly intelligent; he blames Jeongin and his stupid bleached hair stinking up his apartment.

 

“Nothing comes to mind,” he says, which isn’t a lie. There’s not a single thought in his brain right now except general panic. “It was very comprehensive.”

 

Chan smiles at him again, and Jisung can’t believe that he’d forgotten how handsome he is. He has a whole daughter—he’s not married? But, no, his ring finger is empty and he seems to be going on a date tonight.

 

“Well, great,” he says. “If anything comes up, shoot me a text. I’ll check my phone when I can. And if I run horribly late, I’ll text you. Once Arin’s down, by the way, you’re free to do whatever you like. Watch TV, read a book. Oh! I’ll write down the wifi password for you, one second.”

 

Chan scrawls the password on a scrap piece of paper and passes it to Jisung. Then, he’s turning back to Arin, who has tentatively returned to coloring, glancing up at Jisung nervously every so often.

 

He speaks to her in English this time—fluent English. Jisung has to reach back to the foggy memories of international school to understand.

 

“Be good, sweetheart, okay? Don’t give Jisung a hard time, either.”

 

“I wanna go!” she protests, again in English.

 

“No, no, you should stay here, okay? It’s going to be really boring, it’s grown-up stuff. You’ll have more fun with Jisung, I promise.” He kisses her on the head, even as she’s pouting, then rises and turns back to Jisung. “Really,” he says. “Don’t hesitate to reach out, okay?”

 

“Sure,” Jisung says stiffly. “Um—have a nice night,” he offers, already knowing that his own will be miserable.

 

“Thanks,” he says, smiling again. Who said his smile was allowed to be that pretty, anyway? “You, too.” He turns back to Arin. “Goodbye, Arin, I love you.”

 

“Love you,” she mumbles, focused on her coloring again and still sulking

 

And Chan is gone, just like that, leaving Jisung in charge of his fully human, not at all canine daughter.

Arin colors for a while, but after a while, she glances over at Jisung, as if just remembering that there’s this man in her house. “Can I have a yogurt, please?” she asks.

 

Okay, Jisung has trained for this. He’s been prepared. It’s just about an hour and a half until bedtime. He can handle it.

 

“Um—you have chicken nuggets?”

 

“I want yogurt!”

 

Touché. How does one argue with a small child? Or—no, he’s the adult here! Actually, that’s a terrifying thought; he doesn’t feel very adult. Really, he’s just a kid who’s been left in charge of another, slightly smaller kid.

 

“No, you have dinner to finish. Chicken nuggets.”

 

“Daddy lets me have yogurt.” So is she just straight up lying now? Aren’t kids supposed to be cute and sweet and innocent?

 

“Um. Chicken,” Jisung reiterates.

 

Her face screws up and her eyes water. Oh no—is this the beginning of a tantrum? What if she screams and yells and the neighbors hear and Jisung is arrested for being a terrible babysitter? What if people think he’s hurting her?

 

“Wait, um,” he begs, holding his hands out as if to calm her. Is he about to negotiate with a toddler? He’s not proud of it, but he is. This is survival; he just needs to make it through the next few hours. “Okay, you have… three nuggets left. If you eat two, you can have a yogurt.” And he crosses his arms over his chest, as if to say and that’s that.

 

Surprisingly, she engages. “One and a half,” she bargains.

 

The kid drives a hard bargain. “Yeah, fine,” Jisung says. If she’s smart enough to know that one and a half is half of three, hasn’t she kind of earned it?

 

She eats half of her remaining dinner as promised and, before Jisung hands her her yogurt, he has to make sure this isn’t a snitch he’s dealing with. “If your dad asks how many nuggets I made you eat, what do you tell him?”

 

“Three!” she promises, and holds up three fingers.

 

“Atta girl,” he says. He removes the foil lid of the yogurt, digs out a childish-looking spoon, and places it in front of her while he goes to scrape the uneaten nuggets in the trash.

 

She’s a little messy. At the end of it, she has a pretty good amount of yogurt smeared over her face, which Jisung tries his best to clean off.

 

It’s cartoons after dinner. Arin seems to know what channel she wants to watch, and works the remote herself. Then, surprise of all surprises, she crawls onto the couch and leans against Jisung.

 

He goes stock still, as if he’s afraid of startling her. But really, he’s the startled one. Isn’t he… going to hurt her? Like, she’s really small, and Jisung is a full-grown adult. Like, what if he grabs her too hard or knocks his elbow against her skull by mistake…?

 

Arin doesn’t seem to be afraid of this, and she crawls into Jisung’s lap unprompted and without a word, entirely focused on the TV. Uncertain, he wraps his arms around her. Has he been in this close proximity to a child since he was one himself?

 

He’s internally panicking pretty much for the duration of the childish show on screen, but Arin, on the other hand, seems to relax. She yawns and goes still. It’s 8:30, thank god she’s tired early.

 

She protests the idea of a bath—she’s too tired—but Chan had told him to. He gets her bathed as quickly as he can. There are bath toys in the tub and it’s pretty easy to tell her shampoo and body wash from Chan’s, as hers seem to feature an awful lot of cartoon characters on the bottle.

 

He realizes he’s forgotten her pajamas after he’s swaddled her in a towel, and he darts to her bedroom to get a pair. He’s scared to leave her unsupervised in the bathroom—what if she accidentally drowns in the draining tub, or what if she slips on the wet floor and bashes her head on the counter? Jisung has horrors in his mind.

 

But of course none of that happens. He gets her dry and dressed, and then stares blankly at her wet hair. Is he supposed to dry it? Is that something you do for a toddler?

 

Tentatively, he tries, “Let’s dry your hair, then.”

 

And she nods as if nothing is amiss. So it is normal.

 

Jisung finds a hairdryer in one of the drawers, makes sure it’s on the lowest heat setting, and crouches on the ground to properly dry her hair. He can’t tell if she’s still because she’s well-behaved or just sleepy, but she makes it easy on him nonetheless. And she’s young, so it’s not like she has a ton of hair. Even with the heat low, it doesn’t take very long.

 

And then Jisung is pretty sure he’s done with his checklist. Well—mostly. He tucks her into bed, and he notices there’s a wealth of stuffed animals stacked in a corner.

 

“Uh—do you want one of these guys?” he asks, indicating the pile.

 

“William,” she insists, like Jisung has any clue who the fuck William is.

 

“Uh…” He goes to sift through the massive pile of stuffed animals until she indicates who William is—a giant stuffed walrus. Weird choice for a little girl whose room is entirely baby pink, but whatever. If it makes her happy, she can have the damn walrus. “Okay, story?” he asks.

 

She rattles off some English, and Jisung recognizes it as the name of the book Chan had shown him. He’s not sure he has the mental capacity to read English right now, but hadn’t he said…?

 

“Do you want to read me a little of it?” he asks, obediently going to fetch the book.

 

And that’s what they do, in the end. Jisung sits next to her, on top of the covers, and props the book in front of her so she can read it aloud to him, stumbling through a few of the larger words. Jisung knows enough that he can help her out with it, at least.

 

Astonishingly, she’s yawning by the end of it. No way it’s that easy, right?

 

But no, he slips out of bed, turns off the lamp at her bedside. “Uh—goodnight,” he ventures, and she returns it sleepily, already nestled down into her pillows, hugging William to her chest. He glances over at her nightlight, which is safely on and lightly illuminating the room—this should be the actual last item on his checklist.

 

He’s gentle when he shuts the door, as if he might disturb her, and the breath he releases when it’s safely shut behind him is one of supreme relief. He survived. Hell, she survived Jisung.

 

And it’s, like barely after 9:00 and Chan probably isn’t going to be home until 11:00. He’d said Jisung could do whatever he wanted, make himself at home, but—he can’t do that.

 

He ends up sitting on the couch, stiff, and scrolling through his phone. He doesn’t want to watch TV—what if the noise wakes Arin? And he watches videos on his phone, doomscrolling social media, but he watches them with the sound off, just in case.

 

Nonetheless, about a half hour after he’s put Arin down, there’s a thunk from her room. He has horrible visions again—she’s fallen out of bed and busted her skull open. Her bed has collapsed. Hell, the ceiling has collapsed and buried her in debris.

 

Hardly daring to breathe, he cracks her door open and pokes his head inside. There’s nothing, only soft darkness, the sound of her breathing. She’s facing away from the door, but the light streaming in through the window very clearly shows a very asleep little girl.

 

But the noise has spooked him. He can’t—he shouldn’t—he should stay outside her door, just in case something happens. Just in case she needs him.

 

So he parks on the floor in the little hall, right in front of her door. The hardwood floor is starting to make his butt fall asleep and the wall is hardly comfortable against his spine, but it’s better this way. He can’t even really focus on what’s on his phone for all the anxiety thrumming in his body.

 

But there are no more suspicious noises. In fact, Jisung hears nothing at all, and even that is alarming. What if she’s stopped breathing somehow? Jesus, what if the walrus has smothered her? Is that why Chan hadn’t mentioned any of her stuffed animals, because she’s not allowed to sleep with them?

 

He pokes his head in pretty intermittently, every time the anxiety of being in charge of an entire child becomes too much. He just has to see the movement of her breathing under the covers. He has to make sure she’s in bed, and not fallen off, that she hasn’t somehow been kidnapped even though Jisung is right here.

 

Normal parents don’t have this much anxiety, he figures, but he isn’t a parent—he’s nothing more than a woefully underqualified, inexperienced babysitter.

 

Chan doesn’t return right at 11:00, nor does he text Jisung. Probably he’s been attacked. Or the train has derailed and killed him. He’s been run over by a car. And that means Jisung is going to have to continue to take care of Arin, nevermind the fact that Chan almost certainly has parents or siblings who would take her instead of her one-time, very inexperienced babysitter.

 

He’s debating how pushy it would be to casually text Chan and ask him where he is when he hears his key in the door—it is 11:13. And probably it’s very strange and unusual that Jisung is camped right outside of Arin’s room. With that knowledge, he dives for the couch and struggles to make himself look natural as Chan opens the door.

 

“Hey,” he greets, smiling and speaking softly—Arin is asleep. “How was she?”

 

“Oh, great,” he lies. Or, it’s not really a lie. But had Jisung had fun? Not really. “Uh, she’s asleep.”

 

Duh. She’s a child, and it’s late. But Chan keeps the smile up anyway and praises, “Good. I’ll go check in on her super quick.”

 

Is this standard? Or is this to make sure that Jisung hasn’t irreparably fucked up his only child? Honestly, it seems fair—he hardly blames Chan.

 

He’s gone for about a minute, during which Jisung awkwardly stands in the living room, swings his arms around. He’s a little desperate for an escape, to be honest.

 

He returns though, shutting the door behind him just as gently as Jisung had. “Alright,” he says, “is a check okay?”

 

Jisung has no idea how to cash a check, but he’ll figure it out tomorrow, if it means he can get out of here. “Sure,” he agrees. It’s worse being here alone with Chan. He has no need to be anxious, not now that Arin’s father is here, but he’s still so stupid good-looking that it has Jisung’s heart spasming for a different reason altogether.

 

Chan goes to dig his checkbook out from a drawer and bends over the kitchen table to make it out. Jisung, bouncing on his heels and waiting, is reminded worse than ever of the juxtaposition between them. Chan, in his expensive suit and having just gone on what was probably a very fancy, adult date, versus Jisung, bouncing like a child in ripped jeans and a backwards baseball cap. You could probably smell the anxiety rolling off of him in waves.

 

“Here you go,” Chan says casually, passing him the check. “Just make sure everything looks right—sorry, I don’t know what your usual rates are…”

 

Jisung has to immediately stifle his reaction looking at the check. Is this… standard babysitting money? People pay more for you to watch their real, human child versus their dog. Who would have thought?

 

“Yeah, no,” he stammers. “This is—yeah, looks good.”

 

“Great,” Chan says, and he reaches out to grab Jisung’s shoulder—a friendly gesture that has Jisung struggling not to tense. He’s seen a porn exactly like this—and the second that thought registers he flings it as far from his mind as he can manage. Because what the fuck? “Well, I’ll let you know if I ever need you again, okay?”

 

Please no. “Haha, yeah, just let me know!” Fuck.

 

Chan checks his watch—he even wears a watch? Jesus fucking Christ. “Sorry, you should get going to make sure you make the last train, yeah?”

 

Oh, god, what a nightmare that’d be. “Yes, I’ll, um. Just go. Thank you again.” Jesus, is he supposed to just call him Chan? He hadn’t ever gotten his last name, he realizes. But it feels strange, the first-name basis.

 

“No, Jisung, thank you,” Chan returns, escorting him to the door. “Have a nice night—and, hey, if you end up missing the train, let me know. I can send you money for a cab, since it’s my fault you’re out so late.”

 

“Ha, sure, but I’ll hurry!” Jisung says. He’s a bit frantic now, he has to be out of Chan’s sight. “Um—good night.”

 

Chan closes the door behind him, and even though he really should hurry to catch the last train, he has to take a few stabilizing breaths down the hall from Chan’s apartment. But it’s over, he’s survived, and probably he’d done such a piss-poor job that he’ll never be asked to babysit ever again.

He wakes to a text the following morning from Chan—Arin is already asking when she can see her handsome babysitter again from last night! :)

 

But, like, he’s surely just being nice. No. Nope. He doesn’t have to see either of them again, at least not in a babysitting context.

It’s later the next week, and he’s been dragged along to the grocery store with Seungmin. Minho’s birthday is coming up, and he’s sworn to try to make him something, even though he’s salty that Felix has sworn not to help.

 

“What even go in brownies?” Seungmin asks, lost in the baking aisle.

“Uh,” Jisung asks, just as lost. Really, he doesn’t bake. Why had Seungmin asked him to come along? “Sugar, eggs, chocolate… butter? Oil?”

 

“I’m just gonna search for a recipe,” Seungmin mutters, pulling his phone out and thrusting the shopping basket at Jisung. “Hey, do we have an 8x8 pan?”

 

“Uh…” Jisung racks his brain, but really, he’s mostly banned from the kitchen. Once again, he wouldn’t know.

 

And then, suddenly, there’s a sturdy weight tackling his legs. He tilts against Seungmin on instinct, before looking down to see who’s rammed their shopping cart into his legs.

 

But it’s not a shopping cart, it’s—“Arin?” he asks, filling with that familiar anxiety.

 

“Jisung!” comes Chan’s voice from down the aisle.

 

Fuck. “Oh, hi,” he says, trying to gently coax Arin away. She’s wrapped around his legs like a koala.

 

“Arin, sweetie, give Jisung some space,” Chan says, and succeeds in prying her away. She’s practically vibrating with excitement—to see Jisung? The man she’d been scared of? “Hello,” he says, nodding at Seungmin, who has looked up from his phone in alarm.

 

“Uh—hi,” he says, wide-eyed.

 

“Oh,” Jisung says, realizing he has to fumble his way through introductions. “Um, this is Seungmin, one of my roommates. Seungmin, this is Chan—and, and Arin.”

 

“Jisung,” Arin says, shoving her hand out to him. “Look—Daddy painted my nails!”

 

“Oh, uh,” Jisung says, bending down to look at them. They’re neatly done, hot pink with glitter on top. “They’re pretty.”

 

He can tell Seungmin is confused about who these people are and how Jisung knows them, why a little girl seems to be utterly infatuated with him—and he’s confused on that point, himself. He hadn’t thought they’d particularly bonded.

 

“Hey, actually,” Chan says, and Jisung glances from Arin’s nails to him. There’s an odd pressure on his chest—Chan looks nice of course, obviously in work clothes. Jisung wishes he’d worn something other than old sweats and a beanie to the grocery store. “It’s good we ran into you, I’ve been meaning to text you.”

 

Please no. No, Jisung can make up an excuse over text—a last-minute paper, a friend’s birthday party. But he can’t lie in person. Fuck.

 

“I have another commitment Thursday night, and I was hoping—Arin was hoping—you’d be free to watch her.” His hands come down on Arin’s shoulders, holding her still. She’s been flitting around, trying to get a closer look at Seungmin, despite the fact that she’d been so painfully shy before.

 

Fuck. Thursday. They’re celebrating Minho’s birthday Friday—couldn’t it have been Friday?

 

Whatever. He’ll get paid well, at least—what Chan had paid him for one night of crippling anxiety had put a decent chunk in the rent he owes each month. Actually, he still needs to figure out how to cash that check…

 

“Thursday?” he wonders, though he already knows his schedule is wide-open. “Yeah, sure,” he says, mentally cursing himself. “I’d love to.”

 

“Fantastic!” Chan says, and grins broadly at him. “What do you say, Arinnie?”

 

“Thank you very much,” she says politely, and bows 90 degrees.

 

“Oh, I mean, um… yeah. Of course,” Jisung says, and he hates the fact that he’s almost certainly blushing.

 

“See you Thursday, then, Jisung,” Chan says. “We’ll let you get back to your shopping, have a nice day.”

 

He pats Jisung’s shoulder again as he passes, and he nearly jumps out of his skin.

 

Seungmin mercifully stays quiet—at least until they’re out of the aisle and out of earshot. “So,” he murmurs. “You watch kids now?”

 

“Apparently,” Jisung sighs.

 

“She seemed to like you,” Seungmin says, scrutinizing his phone. He glances from his screen to the shelves in front of him and back to his screen. “He seemed to like you.”

 

Jisung does jump this time. Because—it’s simply not true. Chan is very civil and grown up, because he can sense that Jisung is a scared little child who he pays to watch his own child. “No,” he says. “No—ah—I mean, he’s just. An adult.”

 

“You’re an adult,” Seungmin says, lifting a box of powdered sugar and scrutinizing it.

 

No, Jisung is not. He’s a student who is resolutely ignoring the fact that he’ll graduate in a handful of months and have to find a real job. In the adult world. And he’ll have to figure out how to do taxes, and stuff. Chan probably does taxes for fun, like it’s nothing, he thinks bitterly.

 

Seungmin continues, “The shoulder pat thing? No, he’s into you. And he’s probably trying to be subtle about it since you’re his daughter’s babysitter.” Seungmin pauses, puts the box of powdered sugar into the basket, then thinks better and takes it out again. “Do you think he’s seen that porn? Fucking babysitters?” He says this casually, as he’s stooping to check out the sugar varieties—Jisung’s nerves are shot.

 

“I—Please stop.”

 

“Why, ‘cause he’s hot?” Seungmin asks. He settles on a different sugar, this kind in a bag, and plops it into the basket Jisung is holding. “So where do you think cocoa powder is?”

Jisung realizes after he’s left for the train station already that he’d never confirmed with Chan what time he was supposed to show up. He’d assumed 6:30 again, and since he hadn’t corrected him, that has to be the correct time, right?

 

He has no idea if he’s running late, early, or on time, and he’d kind of like to throw up about it.

 

He hangs around outside Chan’s door for a solid three minutes. He strains his ears to see if he can hear anything, but the door is pretty thick. And finally, he just decides—fuck it. He’s overthinking for sure. Since Chan hadn’t specified any real time, surely he just meant the same time as last week.

 

Jisung knocks, and there’s a longer pause before Chan is pulling the door open—Jisung notes with dismay that he’s not fully dressed. His shirt is still halfway unbuttoned and not tucked in, and he’s missing his suit coat and a tie. Oh.

 

“Jisung,” Chan says. “Sorry, you’re—you’re early.”

 

Fuck. “Oh,” he says, resisting the urge to wring his hands together. “Um, sorry, I just assumed—same time as last week?”

 

“Oh!” Chan realizes. “No, sorry, that’s my bad—I never did say, huh? No, but, come on in, I’m just still getting dressed.”

 

Jisung can see that. He can’t not see that. He can’t not see the very obvious bulge of his muscles where his shirt is unbuttoned. He needs to ask Changbin what he and Chan’s routine is.

 

“Arin is still eating,” Chan says, nodding to the table.

 

“Jisung!” she calls, darting from the table and locking around his legs again.

 

“Uh—hi,” Jisung says, patting her on the head uncertainly.

 

“Now, hang on,” Chan says, pulling her up and plopping her back into her chair. “Eat,” he says sternly, pointing at her plate.

 

She looks grumpy, petulant, but picks up her fork, anyway, picks at the vegetables on her plate.

 

“Come on,” Chan says softly. “She’ll eat if we leave.”

 

Leave? With Chan? Jisung’s brain feels like it’s short-circuiting as he follows Chan down the hallway, bypasses Arin’s room, and goes instead into the room at the end of the hall—Chan’s room. Fuck.

 

He has a suit coat and tie laid out on his bed, which is made immaculately. Jisung can’t remember the last time he’d made his bed. 

 

“So, it’s a weeknight,” Chan says, buttoning his shirt the rest of the way while Jisung very politely tries not to stare. “That means in bed by 8:30 and no cartoons after dinner,” he explains. “She can color or play or—whatever.”

 

“Sure,” Jisung agrees, casting his glance around the room. Anything to keep from staring at Chan. Everything seems pretty orderly, tidy. Jisung has all of his laundry thrown across a single chair in his room and an orange peel on his bedside table.

 

“I won’t be out too late tonight—probably about 9:00, actually,” he says. “Just grabbing dinner.”

 

Just grabbing dinner for Jisung entails dragging himself to the convenience store around the corner and picking up a bag of chips and some instant noodles. He has a feeling Chan will be eating something more upscale.

 

“Sure,” Jisung says, nodding. This is awfully formal for a Thursday night date, Jisung can’t help but think. And the silence is stifling.

 

But Chan is tying his tie with ease, something Jisung would have to follow along with a YouTube video to attempt. He turns around to grab his suit coat and suggests, “Well, let’s go see if Arinnie’s finished her vegetables,” he says. He pats Jisung on the shoulder again, but he’s expecting it this time, so the warmth and firmness of his hand doesn’t surprise him.

 

Arin’s vegetables have mysteriously vanished from her plate, though whether it’s into her stomach or the trash can, Jisung isn’t sure. Chan seems satisfied with it, though, and carefully wipes her face before sending her to go play in the living room; she tugs Jisung along with her, sitting at a small, plastic vanity and pulling out hair clips. Jisung has a feeling he’s going to become some sort of guinea pig Barbie doll experiment for her.

 

“Have fun, you two,” Chan says fondly, stooping to press a kiss to Arin’s forehead. Oddly, he ruffles Jisung’s hair. “Love you, baby.”

 

“Love you,” she says absently, digging in her vanity until she finds what looks to be a very sticky tube of lip gloss. Jisung’s pretty sure he’s going to have to take a much more active role in babysitting tonight.

Chan returns not long after Jisung has managed to get Arin down. He’s also wiped the mess of lip gloss and blush from his face, finally, returned all the hair clips adorning his head to Arin’s vanity. The nail polish—neon green, very rough, and only on three of his fingers—he keeps.

 

He comes in carrying a box of food from the restaurant, already loosening his tie. “Hey,” he greets, soft as ever. “How was everything? She turned you into her little doll, didn’t she?”

 

Jisung suppresses a grimace. “A little bit,” he admits.

 

Chan smiles, and it crinkles his eyes. “It suits you,” he says. Before Jisung can ask what the fuck that’s supposed to mean, Chan extends the box in his hand to Jisung. “Here, he insisted on getting dessert, but I was too full. Do you like chocolate cake?”

 

Jisung is starving. He hadn’t eaten a proper dinner, and being poked and prodded by a toddler was surprisingly exhausting. “Oh, thank you,” he says, though his mind latches onto the he in Chan’s sentence. It had been a date with a he? He has to figure it out. “So, your date was okay?” he tries.

 

Chan laughs. “Not a date, no, I was with a client.” Okay, so he’s straight, confirmed. Jisung hopes he hasn’t offended him by assuming, but—actually, no he doesn’t. There’s nothing wrong with that. “I haven’t actually dated since Arin’s mom.”

 

Widower? Divorced? Just never married in the first place? He had to have had Arin young, but Jisung isn’t fully sure how old she is—like, three or four?

 

“Ah, right,” Jisung says, awkward. “You’re, um—busy?”

 

Chan smiles at him; it’s a grateful, understanding little smile. “It’s hard having a kid so young, of course. I’ve tried to do the best I can for her, and I think I’m only just now getting to the point where I could have enough free time to date again.” He stops, laughs a little. “Of course, you’re a student, right? So it must be easy for you to meet people.”

 

Quite the contrary. Jisung would lock himself at home all day if he could get away with it. He’s never had much luck with dating. He’s just too awkward, and now he’s stuck as the only single friend in his friend group, which is a special kind of torture.

 

“Oh, not really,” Jisung says. “I’m, uh, kind of a homebody. I’m the only single one in my friend group, actually.”

 

“Ah, me too,” Chan says. It’s weird that they’re just in his living room, chatting. Jisung is clutching the little box of cake with both hands, trying not to fidget. “We fit together well, then, right?”

 

Jisung blinks at Chan, trying to figure out what he means. Just—they’re similar? Jisung knows that he’s a pathetic loser, but he doesn’t really think that Chan is.

 

“I don’t think so,” he says, because that’s the conclusion he draws.

 

Something in Chan’s face falls, but only for a second. Then, he’s crossing the room and grabbing his checkbook again—no need to check in on Arin this time, apparently. But he scribbles the information onto the check, rips it out and passes it to Jisung.

 

“I’ll let you know next time we need you, okay?” he says.

 

Next time. Honestly, though, it hadn’t been very bad with Arin tonight. He had mostly just sat still and let her play with his hair and smear childish makeup on his skin to her heart’s content.

 

He takes the check, glances down at it—that can’t be right. He’s worked about two hours less than last time, but this is the same amount. He looks up to Chan, opens his mouth to point this out, but—

 

“Don’t worry about it,” Chan dismisses. “I figure you put in a little extra work, going to her beauty salon.”

“Oh,” Jisung says. “Well, um, thank you. And thanks for the cake.”

 

“Don’t mention it,” Chan says, and he smiles, but it’s a little sad, somehow. “Have a nice night, Jisung.”

 

“You, too,” he returns, edging for the door. “Uh—see you.”

 

He eats the cake with a spoon—stolen from the convenience store—on the platform of the station, waiting for the train to take him home.

He gets a call as he’s walking out of his chemistry exam, fretting with Felix over how they’d certainly both just failed. He groans as he recognizes the number, contemplates just ignoring it, but—he can’t. He absolutely can’t.

 

“Hello?” he asks as he picks up, and Felix respectfully shuts up about valence electrons.

 

“Hey—Jisung?” Chan says.

 

Who else would it be? “Yeah,” he says. “What’s up?”

 

“I’m so sorry,” he says, which is not a great way to begin a conversation. “I wouldn’t call if I had any other choice, but—I’m kind of tied down with work, but Arin needs to be picked up from daycare. Is there any chance you could grab her and bring her home? I can call the daycare and tell them you’re coming to pick her up.”

 

Fuck. Technically, his schedule is wide open. And also, Chan sounds pretty desperate. It would be a real dick move to say no.

 

So… “Yeah, of course,” Jisung says. “Uh—where is it? The daycare?”

 

Felix’s eyebrows go up at the mention of a daycare; he’s confused, most likely.

 

But Chan gives him the name and general directions; it turns out it’s not too far from the university, anyway. He can go grab Arin, take her on the train to Chan’s, and then go back home and continue wallowing over his failure at chemistry.

 

He hangs up and glances over at Felix. “Sorry,” he says. “I’ve got an errand.”

 

“At a daycare? Is this the hunky Australian dad that Seungmin was talking about?” Felix asks. “Changbin’s friend?” Jisung groans, which Felix takes as confirmation—he just wishes his friends had latched onto a less exact epithet than hunky Australian dad. It’s too on the nose. “I wanna meet him!”

 

“You have a boyfriend,” Jisung reminds him.

 

“Oh,” Felix says. “So it’s like that? You’re interested?”

 

“N-no,” Jisung stammers. “I’m just—we’re only—I just watch his kid. You know, when I have to.”

 

Felix hums thoughtfully. “Do you think he’s into babysitter porn?”

 

He also wishes his friends would stop bringing that shit up. “Goodbye,” Jisung says firmly, resolutely, and stomps away from Felix, in the supposed direction of the daycare.

 

Felix isn’t upset; Jisung can hear him laughing even as he storms away, and he questions yet again why he even bothers having friends in the first place.

 

The daycare is easy enough to find. After searching the name on his phone, he gets directions to it, and it’s only a few minutes’ walk.

 

He doesn’t think he’s ever been in a daycare before, but he sidles up uncertainly to the reception desk. “Uh,” he says. “Hello. Han Jisung, I’m here to pick up… Arin…?” Fuck, how does he still not know Chan’s last name? “Um, Chan, her dad, should have called and said I was coming.”

 

“Bang Arin?” she asks.

 

“Yes,” Jisung says, hoping to god that that’s right.

 

He has to sign a couple of forms, then the receptionist leaves the desk, presumably to go collect Arin. Sure enough, within a couple of minutes, Arin comes sprinting at him, wrapping fast around his legs again.

 

“Jisung!” she says, twined around his legs and looking up at him. “It’s like you’re my dad, huh?”

 

“Uh,” he says, turning red. “Um, sure.” He glances back over at the receptionist, settled again behind her desk. “Sorry, is there anything else I need to do?”

 

“No, you’re all good to go,” she confirms. “Have a nice day.”

 

“Come on, Arin,” Jisung says, trying to gently unlatch her from his legs. “Let’s go home.”

 

Walking with a kid is torture. She’s so slow, even after Jisung takes her bookbag and slings it over his own shoulder, even though it almost certainly looks ridiculous. But he lets her meander—surely they’re in no rush. He holds her hand to cross the street, because he’s pretty sure he’s supposed to do that. And he holds her hand in the crowded train station, as well, makes sure she doesn’t wander away.

 

She’s pretty well-behaved on the train, though—it seems she’s used to it. Mostly she’s just happy to hold Jisung’s hand as he stoops beside her and show him the drawings she’d done at daycare that day as he tries to praise each one.

 

It’s a longer walk between the train station and Chan’s apartment. Arin is pretty tired, so Jisung ends up just scooping her up, balancing her on his hip. She’s astonishingly okay with this, and just wraps her arms around Jisung’s neck, leaning against his shoulder.

 

It’s rough walking up the stairs to Chan’s place like that, but he manages. And then he’s knocking on Chan’s door, setting Arin back down as he waits, her bag still slung over his shoulder.

 

Chan answers, looking frazzled. He’s in work clothes, of course, apparently working from home today. “Hey, sweetie,” he greets, smiling at Arin as she darts inside. He glances back up at Jisung. “Thanks so much, come in for a second.”

 

Oh. Jisung had just kind of expected to pass the kid off and move on with his day. But he obediently edges in. “Sorry, was everything okay at the daycare?” he asks, as Arin tugs Jisung over towards one of her coloring books.

 

“No problems,” he confirms, as Arin thrusts a box of crayons at him. So he’s meant to color, then…? He politely selects a green one and sets to coloring in a tree he sees on the page.

 

“Good, good,” Chan says. “Sorry, I just got swamped with meetings and calls and couldn’t get away.” He’s been digging around on the other side of the room, and now marches over and presents Jisung with another check.

 

“Oh,” he says, not taking it just yet. Honestly, he still hasn’t figured out how to cash the other checks—he should, before rent is due. “I mean, I didn’t know you were trying to pay me,” he admits, probably flushing a little. “I was just doing you a favor.”

 

“No, really,” Chan says, still extending it out to him. “It was a big favor, and I’m sure you had other stuff going on.”

 

“Not really,” Jisung admits, though he takes the check after Chan brandishes it at him again. “I was just leaving my chem exam I bombed.”

 

“Then use this to go buy yourself something to cheer yourself up,” Chan suggests with a smile. “Ice cream, or… or, I don’t know, go catch a movie?”

 

“Sure,” Jisung says, tucking the check in his pocket. He already knows he’s going to use it on rent or groceries. Once he figures out how to cash the damn thing, once he works up the strength to actually walk into a bank and admit to the teller that he’s not exactly sure how these things work.

 

Chan looks over his shoulder at the tree he’s halfway colored in. “Very nice work,” he says condescendingly—but in a teasing way. And he pats Jisung on the head, which for some reason has him flaming red all over again.

 

“Sorry, I’ll, uh. I’ll get out of your hair,” Jisung says, scrambling to his feet. “Bye, Arin-ah.” She looks up, seems to recognize that he’s leaving, and latches her arms around his neck. She even presses a kiss to his cheek, which he's pretty sure is entirely undeserved.

 

Chan walks him to the door. “Thanks again, Jisung,” he says, smiling at him. “Have a nice afternoon.”

 

He stumbles home, considers stopping to buy ice cream but not doing so in the end. It’s a bit too chilly for that, he thinks. But when he makes it to his own apartment, there’s a small collection of people there—Felix, Jeongin, Seungmin, Hyunjin, Minho, and Changbin. The last three of them don’t even live here, and they all go quiet when Jisung walks in.

 

He’d caught only the tail end of their conversation, Changbin murmuring something about, “—meet every morning—”

 

It’s suspicious, but his friends are weird and stupid, anyway. He has wallowing to go do, an unmade bed to fling himself on and lament his own stupidity, feel-good anime to watch. So whatever his friends are plotting, whatever. Let them.

So, it’s unusual that Changbin insist he come to the gym early morning, rather than in the afternoon, once Jisung is done with classes and Changbin is done with work. But, it’s just a one-off thing, and once Changbin had cited some research to him about how it’s easier to build muscle in the early morning, Jisung is willing to give it a try.

 

It’s even more suspicious when Jisung shows up at the ass crack of dawn (7:00 AM, which is unhealthily early for him) and Changbin texts him that he’s running late with no other explanation. Changbin is very serious about the gym, and Jisung has never known him to be anything other than early for their sessions.

 

But he tells Jisung to go ahead and get started, and he’s ready to get this over with and flop back in bed until he has to go to class.

 

He’s sure as hell not going to do anything that requires a spot, though, not without Changbin, so he just picks up a couple of dumbbells to do bicep curls.

 

“Jisung?”

 

He immediately almost drops the dumbbell on his foot, because he knows that voice. He’s dreading turning around, because he has some inkling of how ripped Chan is, and seeing him in gym clothes will only confirm it, therefore haunting him.

 

He turns, and Chan is in a compression shirt. Of course. And he is—fuck. Fuck, he’s hot. Jisung has only ever seen him in suits and work clothes, but—fuck. Again, fuck.

 

Jisung would like to be put into a headlock until he passes out. He would like Chan to hold him up against the wall. He would like—

 

He would like none of that, he reminds himself, because it’s Chan who is almost certainly straight and most certainly not into Jisung, who is just a scared kid masquerading as a grown-up.

 

Jisung puts the dumbbells down before he actually hurts himself. “Chan,” he says. “Uh—Chan-ssi?”

 

“Hyung is fine,” he says, and Jisung’s heart skips a beat. “I knew you worked out with Changbinnie, but I didn’t know you came here so early.”

 

“Uh—not usually. Changbin’s running late, he said. Hyung,” he tacks on, a little thrilled that he’s allowed to say it.

 

Chan cocks his head to the side. “Oh, he told me he just couldn’t make it this morning. It’s weird, Changbin would die before he missed the gym, so I thought it must be something serious.”

 

It clicks in Jisung’s head. The mysterious conversation in his apartment. The morning workout. Changbin “running late.” Fuck, had he lied to him about it being easier to build muscle in the morning?

 

Are his friends trying to set him and Chan up?

 

“Oh,” Jisung says. “I guess he just didn’t… update me…”

 

“I was going to wrap up early and go check on him,” Chan admits. “I have time before work… Arin’s already at daycare…”

 

Would it be somewhat satisfying to confront Changbin with Chan, to let him know that his plan hadn’t worked? Probably so—he’d spread it to everyone else, and they’d know to leave Jisung alone. It’s embarrassing.

 

“Yeah,” Jisung agrees. “Yeah, I’m worried, too. We should do that.”

 

Chan nods, serious. “Sure. But first—do you need a spot?”

Changbin had come up with the plausible excuse of food poisoning when questioned, before Hyunjin slammed the door in their faces. The only thing Jisung had earned for his efforts is even more sore muscles. He’d gone too hard, just so Chan didn’t think he was a weakling or anything, and now he’s paying the price.

 

His roommates play nurse. Or—Felix plays nurse, bringing him ibuprofen and ice packs, while Seungmin and Jeongin make fun of him.

 

“So you do like him,” Felix says.

 

“He’s hot,” Jisung grumbles, non-committal.

 

“You should ask him out, then,” Jeongin says, paying more attention to his phone than the situation at hand.

 

And that’s ridiculous. Jisung can’t just do that. First of all, he’s not sure he’d be able to get the words out, in the end. And more importantly: Chan is a grown-up. Jisung is some dumb college kid who doesn’t even understand what a valence electron is. It would be laughable for him to ask Chan out—where would he take him, the park? He pictures Chan in a fancy suit and Jisung in his ratty thrifted clothes. No, it wouldn’t work.

 

But no amount of convincing on Jisung’s part will convince his friends of this, and they seem more determined than ever to meddle, even if they won’t tell him how.

 

Anyway, Chan doesn’t text or call him to babysit again, so he kind of figures it was a weird, short thing he had to do. He never figured out how to cash the checks, never managed to accomplish that quick Internet search, somehow. They’re sitting in his wallet, folded with what little cash he carries.

 

A couple weeks pass, and there are plans to see the midnight premiere of a movie that Jisung has no interest in seeing. But Felix uses his puppy-dog eyes and Minho threatens to castrate him if he doesn’t show and that about clinches it for him.

 

Because it’s a midnight premiere, it’ll be after trains quit running, so they’ll share cab fare on the way home. It’ll be Jisung seventh wheeling The Boyfriends again, but if it’s a movie they all really want to see, he doubts they’ll waste time making out in the theater, at least.

 

He has to get there a bit early to make sure he doesn’t miss the last train, and—he’d forgotten about Chan. Or, not forgotten, because how could he, but somehow, Chan had failed to cross his mind.

 

Because Chan’s here, standing outside the movie theater in a warm jacket and tapping his foot. He’s in jeans, another thing Jisung has never managed to see him in. Fuck.

 

“Hyung,” he greets, because no way it won’t be more awkward later on if he’s failed to greet Chan.

 

“Jisung,” he says, taken aback. “I mean—I thought you were coming, but I wasn’t sure.”

 

“Who’s, uh. Who’s watching Arin?” Because he hadn’t even been consulted, and that hurts a bit. Arin likes him, he thought. Chan likes him, at least a little, he thought.

 

“Oh, a couple of Changbin’s boyfriend’s friends,” he says. “I’m sorry—I would have asked you, but since it’s your friends who put this together, I did kind of figure you’d be here.”

 

Changbin’s boyfriend’s friends. Hyunjin’s friends. Aka Jisung’s friends. “Sorry,” he says. “What friends?”

 

“Oh, uh—Felix and Jeongin,” he says. “Felix is Australian, too, so it was nice to meet him.”

 

Snakes. Absolute fucking snakes. “One second,” he says, pulling out his phone and storming away, already dialing Felix’s number.

 

“Hello?” he whispers as he picks up—Arin must be asleep.

 

“What the hell are you doing?” Jisung asks. “You and Jeongin are watching Chan’s kid? So you’re not coming to the movie?”

 

“Shit,” Felix mutters. “You weren’t supposed to find out so fast. Wait—Innie, what time is it?”

 

Jeongin’s voice in the background, muffled, murmurs, “Almost midnight.”

 

“Oh,” Felix says. “Then you can’t catch a train back, anyway. So: surprise! None of us are going. Have fun on your date with Channie hyung, and you’re welcome!”

 

“Felix—” Jisung tries, but the asshole has already hung up.

 

What the fuck is he supposed to tell Chan? Sorry, my friends set us up, haha! Wanna split popcorn? Does he even tell him? Or does he just act like he doesn’t know where the hell his friends are?

 

He has no explanation for where his friends are other than the obvious: they’ve meddled, and tried setting him and Chan up. And he can’t admit that to Chan.

 

So he returns, anxious again. “Um,” he says. “They missed the train. My friends, I mean.”

 

“Oh, no,” Chan says, his eyes widening in genuine concern. “Are they gonna make it?”

 

“They’re going to try their best,” he says, gritting his teeth.

 

Chan sighs. “Well, Bin texted me. He says Hyunjin’s come down with food poisoning this time, so we should just catch the movie without them.”

 

Fucking devious. A weak excuse, a bad lie, but devious nonetheless.

 

“Oh,” Jisung says.

 

“It’s cold, yeah?” Chan says. “We don’t know how long your friends will be, and the movie’s about to start. Might as well go on in without them, right?”

 

“Yeah, of course,” Jisung says through gritted teeth.

 

They pay for their tickets separately, though they choose seats beside each other. There’s plenty of open space—this isn’t a popular movie. Jisung should have known, should have at least been suspicious.

 

Chan sends Jisung on to the theater while he stands in the concession line—he wants popcorn, he explains, and when he asks Jisung if he’d like anything, he declines.

 

Heading to the theater, Jisung calms. It’s just a movie. Movie dates are, like, the worst. You can’t even talk to the person you’re with, you just sit side by side in a dark room. It’s hardly romantic or intimate. So it’s no big deal. It won’t even be awkward.

 

This movie theater has no armrests. Or—it does, but some jackass has apparently vandalized the armrests of their section, and the staff had simply removed them. This is torture.

 

Jisung settles in his seat as the lights dim, feeling slightly sick. Chan comes with a bigger-than-necessary popcorn, whispers to Jisung, “It was a good deal, you’re welcome to some,” in explanation.

 

Only to be polite, he takes a small handful, and then hunkers down in his seat petulantly, pouting.

 

He realizes the true extent of his friends’ plotting and scheming once the movie gets underway. Because it pretty quickly, from the first jumpscare, becomes apparent that this is a horror movie. Jisung should have checked the movie information more closely, because this surely would have tipped him off. No way Hyunjin would willingly come see a horror movie.

 

The first jumpscare catches him off guard, not expecting it. He nearly jumps out of his skin, knocking against Chan’s stupidly buff arm as he goes.

 

“You okay?” Chan asks in a murmur, as Jisung tries to keep his heart from exploding.

 

“Yeah,” he gasps. “Yeah, just—Jesus.”

 

He watches the movie from behind his hands after that, sinks even further into his seat. Like, what did his friends expect? That he’d get frightened and leap into Chan’s lap, make out with him for comfort?

 

Knowing them, it’s probably exactly what they expected.

 

But no, it’s really just a miserable experience. Jisung can barely even look up at the screen, and once Chan catches on to the extent of his displeasure, he’s bringing his lips down next to Jisung’s ear. “Hey, we can leave, if you want.” His breath hits the shell of Jisung’s ear, and he shudders.

 

And, yeah—fuck this movie. “Is it okay?” Jisung asks, feeling a little bad. Because Chan had paid to watch the movie, too.

 

Chan snorts. “Yeah, it sucks. Come on, we’ll just cut our losses and call it quits for the night.”

 

So Jisung follows Chan out of the movie theater, jumping one more time as there’s a particularly loud boom in the movie.

 

“Alright,” Chan says. “Let’s go find a place we can hail a couple of cabs, yeah?”

 

Ah, right. Because Jisung now has to get a cab on his own, too. Chan doesn’t live close enough for them to reasonably carpool. Fuck it, whatever the bill comes out to is coming out of the rent amount he owes this month—his roommates owe him that much, at least.

 

There is immediately a problem upon exiting the movie theater. Traffic is crazy. “What are so many people doing out this time of night?” Chan asks, stunned.

 

And in the back of his memory, Jisung recalls—“Hey, that idol group is having their concert here on Friday night, right?” Seungmin had asked. “By the far movie theater we never go to?”

 

“Yeah,” Jisung had confirmed, having heard classmates chatter excitedly about it during his chem lab. “Why—are you gonna try to get tickets? Good luck.”

 

“No, no,” Seungmin had said, and looked down with a devious little smile. “Just wondering.”

 

Fuck. If this is traffic from the concert letting out, there’s probably not a free cab in the whole city—much less getting home in a reasonable time, before they charge you an arm and a leg.

 

“A concert,” Jisung says, gritting his teeth.

 

Chan seems to have come to the same conclusion as him. “Let me call Felix and Jeongin,” he says worriedly. “I don’t quite know how I’m going to get home yet.”

 

While Chan steps away to do that, Jisung seethes. How are they just—going to force Jisung on a date like this? Strand him on the opposite side of the city? What is he supposed to do, anyway? It’s not like he can afford a hotel—if there are any free ones in the city. It’s not like he can get a cab, much less for a reasonable price. Is he supposed to freeze to death with Chan out in the cold?

 

“So,” Chan says, returning. “Felix and Jeongin are good to stay overnight if need be, thank goodness.” Yes, how convenient, Jisung thinks sarcastically. “But I don’t think we’ll have much luck getting home now—or all night, probably. These things more or less shut down the city.”

 

“Yeah,” Jisung says grimly.

 

“So, uh—Felix suggested we get a hotel for the night,” Chan says, and—are his cheeks turning pink?

 

It doesn’t matter what Felix has planned, anyway. “There’s probably not an empty hotel in the whole city, with this going on,” Jisung says, glum.

 

“So, um,” Chan says, uncharacteristically sheepish. “I have a thought about that. But please don’t take it the wrong way.”

 

Jisung cocks his head. “You know a place we can stay?” He’s not thrilled about presumably sharing a hotel room with Chan, but whatever. Jisung will sleep on the floor if he has to, because he will probably combust if he shares a bed with Chan.

 

“Um, sort of. Just—there’s no other option.”

 

“Well, what is it?” Jisung asks, confused.

 

“No, just—let’s go. Follow me.”

 

Jisung’s a little confused why Chan can’t just tell him. But, well, it’s cold, and they can’t loiter outside of the movie theater all night. He’d like to get somewhere warm, go to bed so he can just kind of forget this whole night happened. He’ll never watch Arin again, he’s sure, because this has been sufficiently awkward to ensure he can never face Chan again.

 

Chan pulls up directions on his phone, though he seems to be taking care that Jisung can’t see his screen. Nonetheless, he leads them down the road, then another, then an alley, and Jisung is a bit uncertain. If he didn’t trust Chan, he’d be convinced he was trying to murder him or something.

 

But then Chan brings them to a stop outside what is marked as a hotel, a flashing neon sign with a large pink heart, and Jisung reads, “Love hotel.”

 

No way. No fucking way he’s staying in a sex hotel with Chan. Don’t these places charge by the hour and come stocked with lube and lights and music? Heart-shaped beds? Jisung won’t survive it, really.

 

“If you have another suggestion, I’d love to hear it,” Chan says, a bit desperate. It’s not defensive, just—genuinely, Chan doesn’t love this option, either.

 

But. Is there another option? Not that Jisung can come up with, not that doesn’t involve freezing his ass off in the middle of the night until the trains start running again in six hours.

 

So he sighs in defeat. “No,” he admits. “No—I guess this is it, huh?”

 

“I’m sorry,” Chan says, and he takes the initiative in leading them inside.

 

The inside, unfortunately, is garish pink. Garish pink and covered in neon signs and suggestive artwork. There’s no doubt what this place is meant for, and Jisung’s stomach turns.

 

He feels awkward trailing behind Chan as he approaches the reception desk. “Um, a room, please,” he says.

 

The receptionist is nothing short of pleasant; of course she doesn’t care or find it all odd that they’re here. She runs them through the services and packages as if they’re nothing; Chan cuts her off at the first polite opportunity and just goes for whatever the most basic (and presumably least sexy) is.

 

They are charged by the hour, so Chan just books it until 7:00AM. It’s early, but—neither of them want to spend more time here than they have to, and trains will be running by then. Chan will want to get home to make sure Arin is okay, and Jisung will want to get home so he can move forward with his plan of acting like his roommates are dead to him.

 

Chan has taken care of everything while Jisung hung back, frightened, and it’s Chan who receives the key and instructions from the receptionist on where to go. He hadn’t asked for separate beds, knowing such a thing was probably laughable, in a place like this.

 

The hallway is similarly, disgustingly pink. The walls are oddly plush, and there’s a lot of tasteful nudes, close-ups of lips, the like. It’s horrible.

 

They don’t say a word as Chan leads them to their room—what is there to say? If Jisung so much as opens his mouth, he’d probably combust.

 

The room is shockingly—and deceptively—normal. Sure, there’s a larger-than-average TV that Jisung is willing to bet is full of nothing but porn, but aside from that and a few lube bottles innocuously laid out, it’s not so bad.

 

Then Chan fumbles for a lightswitch and the entire room is cast in red lights while an undeniably sexy tune blares from the speakers in the ceiling—and is that a fucking disco ball?

 

Chan flicks the switch back, immediately horrified and mortified, his face roughly the same color as the lights that had just come on.

 

And Jisung can’t help it—he bursts into laughter. He laughs because what else can they do? They’re spending the night in a fucking sex hotel because their friends have tried to set them up and it’s horribly backfired. There’s porn on the TV, god-knows-what in the nightstands, and every flavor of lube Jisung could imagine (plus a few he couldn’t).

 

He’s actually doubled over and clutching his stomach. It’s probably the nerves spilling over and providing him a type of catharsis, but it’s suddenly so funny. He’s in a love hotel with the hottest man he’s ever personally known and it is so incredibly awkward.

 

Surprisingly, after a few seconds of confusion, Chan is joining in, also doubled over with laughter. “Oh my god,” he breathes, and he clutches at Jisung’s shoulder for support. “This can’t be happening. This can’t be real.”

 

“Holy shit,” Jisung gasps. “No, sorry, I—I have to check this place out. Like, how many times are you ever in a love hotel?” Because Jisung doesn’t ever plan to come to a place like this again. He thinks he’d rather have sex in his living room in full view of all of his roommates.

 

Chan is still close to tears from laughter, leaning heavily against the door of the room. Jisung ventures further in and—there’s a mirror on the ceiling, right above the bed. Holy shit.

 

“Hyung,” he says, incredulous. “Hyung, you have to see this.”

 

“Did you know there’s chocolate flavored lube?” Chan asks. He’s stopped laughing and picked up one of the many bottles of lube at their disposal. “This can’t be good, right?”

 

Jisung is still loopy, this place is insane. “I dare you to try it,” he says immediately.

 

Maybe it’s the fact that he’s been seeing Chan as a dad, as a grown-up, and it’s nice to see him as flustered and shocked and unsure as Jisung about something.

 

He purses his lips at Jisung, but then flips the cap of the lube open, squirts a miniscule amount onto his finger. When he puts it in his mouth, he screws his eyes shut. “No, this is crazy,” he concludes. “You have to try it.”

 

Well, Chan had. So Jisung takes the bottle, squirts even less onto his fingers, and puts it in his mouth—it’s vile. It’s disgusting; it makes him physically recoil. He actually coughs. “Jesus,” he says. “Did the person who made this ever try chocolate before?”

 

Chan is grinning at him. “Well, come on, the sooner we go to bed, the sooner we can make our escape and never speak of this place again.”

 

“Any chance there are pajamas here?” Jisung asks, already resigning himself to sleeping in his T-shirt and boxers.

 

“Toothpaste?” Chan wonders. “Or is our best bet mint-flavored lube?”

 

But no, there actually is a little complimentary basket with basic toiletries inside—no one wants to fuck with bad breath, presumably. There are no pajamas, since clothing isn’t really the point of this place, but Jisung’s not going to make it weird that he’s pulling his jeans down his legs. He just—he can’t sleep in jeans. It’s normal, it’s nothing weird.

 

He opens drawers in the bathroom wondering if there’s a hairdryer—he’s not sure if he wants to shower or not—and when he finds a douche first, he gives up the search. He can shower in the morning at home; he’d just showered this afternoon, so it’s no big deal.

 

Chan is already in bed, trusting the sheets an infinite amount. Jisung is sure they’re washed well, but… it’s a little icky, isn’t it?

 

“Just don’t think about it,” Chan says, noting the hesitation. “And don’t think about the giant mirror over us, either.”

 

“Oh, that’s what I was going to show you!” Jisung says, and he crawls into bed. Sure enough, laying face up he can perfectly see himself and Chan.

 

“Well, I took the liberty of searching through the bedside tables,” Chan says. “No Bible, of course.”

 

“What is it, a dildo?” Jisung asks.

 

“No, but more condoms than I think I’ve ever seen.”

 

They dissolve into giggles again—it’s nice they’re laughing about it, at least. It’s laugh or cry, and there’s no use crying. But once they settle down, only about a foot separated, Jisung sighs. “I’m going to fucking kill my friends in the morning.”

 

Chan snorts. “Why, what’d they do?”

 

Jisung and his big, stupid mouth. He’d somehow forgotten that Chan doesn’t know that this is his friends’ doing; he’s gotten too giggly and delirious to remember.

 

What’s he supposed to say? Oh, no, it’s nothing. That’s hardly going to work. God, he’s a shit liar.

 

“No, just—they were being stupid.”

 

Yeah, it’s weak. It’s definitely going to make Chan question more. He’s so fucked. He can be stuck in a love hotel with a guy who doesn’t know how insanely hot Jisung thinks he is. He cannot be stuck in a love hotel with a guy who knows exactly how Jisung feels about him.

 

“No, what’d they do?”

 

So is he just supposed to come clean? Fuck, it’ll make things awkward again. But, they’re already in bed. They can just roll over and go to sleep now, leave quietly in the morning and go their separate ways. Fine.

 

“So, it’s my two friends watching Arin,” Jisung says. “My roommates, Felix and Jeongin. Changbin and Hyunjin are probably lying about food poisoning. And Minho and Seungmin—I don’t know. But they never planned to go to the movie. They wanted to strand us there. Felix told me to have fun on my date.”

 

Chan is quiet. And yeah—Jisung can just roll over and go to sleep. No big deal. Oddly, and uncharacteristically, he thinks there’s no big reason to fret. He’s ruining things, the opposite of what his friends want, so he can at least go back with concrete proof of why they shouldn’t involve themselves in his love life. He never had a chance with Chan, anyway.

 

“So… your friends are trying to set us up?” he says eventually, quiet.

 

“Yeah,” Jisung admits. “It’s stupid. They’re stupid. They knew about the concert, but I don’t think they thought through the, uh… hotel options that would leave us with.”

 

“Ah,” Chan says, and he sounds pained. “Ah, right.” There’s a beat of silence, then: “Well, goodnight, Jisung.”

 

That’s all? Why does he sound so upset? “Sorry,” Jisung says, urgent. “I didn’t mean—I mean, I’m sorry my friends are such dickheads. I had nothing to do with it, I promise.”

 

“It’s not your friends, Jisung, I promise,” Chan says. He sounds… sad. Distant. Why?

 

“No, please don’t be upset,” Jisung says, because he really can’t stand people being upset at him—but especially not Chan. “It’s me, right? Whatever I did, I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I don’t know what I did.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Chan says placidly. “You can’t help your feelings. You can’t help that you don’t want me back.”

 

Back? It’s an odd choice of words, because that would somehow imply that, against all odds, Chan, sophisticated grown-up Chan, wants ratty, unsure, unconfident Jisung. And that just really, truly, honestly doesn’t seem possible.

 

Before he can work out how to respond, Chan continues. “Sorry, this is the absolute worst place to tell you such a thing. I didn’t even intend to tell you. Just—I know I have a whole kid and a busy job, but—you’re young. You’re free. You should enjoy your life.”

 

It’s ridiculous. Chan is only… How old is Chan?

 

“Sorry, how old are you?”

 

“Twenty-five.”

 

Three years older than Jisung. That’s, like, barely anything. He’s barely an adult. “You’re not that old,” Jisung says. “You’re just more mature because you have a kid.”

 

“Well, yeah,” Chan says, taken aback. “I had to grow up for her. But regardless—our lives are too different. I get it.”

 

“No, I—” How does Jisung make Chan see that he’s taken with him? That he admires him? That he wants to be him—but he’ll settle for curling up against his side, crawling on top of him, spending every second he can with him? It’s so utterly ridiculous that Chan—once again, the most attractive man Jisung thinks he’s ever seen—thinks that Jisung could ever look at him and go Nah, pass. It’s not a choice. He wants Chan whether he wants to want him or not.

 

But in the end, he can’t quite work out how to put that into words, and well… when in Rome…

 

So he dives to close the small gap between them, lays on Chan’s chest and presses their lips together. It lasts a glorious few seconds, before Chan pulls back, bewildered.

 

“Wait,” he says. “What—what does this mean?”

 

Is he stupid? He can’t be this stupid, right? “What are you thinking so hard for?” Jisung asks. “What do you think it means?”

 

“That… you want me back?” Chan tries, blinking stupidly.

 

“Yes,” Jisung confirms. “So can I kiss you some more? The ambiance in this room is undefeated.”

 

It earns a snort, and Chan allows Jisung to kiss him again. It’s better this time, with Chan fully reciprocating. Jisung is laying halfway across his chest, and his hand comes up to stroke along his waist, his lips pressing softly against Jisung’s.

 

And is it a little ridiculous to confess and share a first kiss in the bed of a love hotel? Yes. Can Jisung stop thinking about the fact that they’re literally in a room that might as well be begging them to fuck? No.

 

He’s trying very hard to ignore it, actually, because if he focuses on it too hard he’s going to start imagining things, and that can’t end well.

 

So he tries to focus on the feeling of Chan’s lips against his, the weight and heat of his hand through his T-shirt, and nothing else. It works decently well, but then Chan’s teeth bite into his lower lip and tug, and it kind of all goes out the window.

 

“Wait,” Chan says, and Jisung realizes that he might be having the same kind of dilemma as Jisung. “Sorry, just—strange place to be doing this, huh?”

 

It doesn’t have to be, Jisung supposes. Like, he’s perfectly fine with it. He suspects Chan might be, too, so fuck it. He’ll go for it.

 

“I mean,” he says, trying to ignore the fact that his heart is hammering, “we could just take advantage of this room while we’re here. We paid for it, it’d be a shame to not get our money’s worth.” Okay, well, Chan had paid for it, but Jisung is all but flat broke.

 

Chan seems taken aback. “You’re—okay with that?”

 

“I wouldn’t bring it up if I wasn’t,” Jisung points out. Chan is cautious and considerate, to a fault at times.

 

“No, hang on,” Chan says, and he rearranges them, grips Jisung around the waist and flips them so he’s pressed into the pillows. Chan is looming over him now, caging him in with his arms, and Jisung can’t pretend like he hates it. “We don’t have to feel pressured to do anything.”

 

It’s a little annoying, but mostly sweet, Jisung supposes. “I know,” he says, feeling a little small underneath Chan. “I wanted to, but it’s okay if you don’t.”

 

That seems to clinch it for Chan; he groans and lowers his head to Jisung’s chest. “No, I—I do,” he admits. “Pretty badly.”

 

“Okay,” Jisung says; he reaches down to cup Chan’s cheek and bring their faces back together. “Then there’s no problem, right?”

 

“No,” Chan says softly. When their lips meet again, it’s surprisingly gentle. Their torsos are pressed together, but since Chan is laying off to the side, their lower bodies are side by side. Jisung gets the idea that Chan is a little tentative, a little unsure. And, fine, Jisung can be the sure one for once.

 

Chan’s hands are cradling his face, which is nice, of course. But Jisung grabs one of his hands and drags it to his hip, situating it just under the material of his T-shirt. He just needs Chan to know that it’s okay to touch, if he wants.

 

When he finally does slide his hand under Jisung’s shirt, he shivers. It’s so illogical because he feels so hot, and Chan must misinterpret it somehow. Against Jisung’s lips, he murmurs, “Sorry. Been a while.”

 

Jisung scoffs, as if there’s any need for Chan to apologize. Really, just the drag of his hands across Jisung’s bare skin is borderline intolerable. “No,” he says. “Just—more. Please.”

 

Chan’s hand tightens on his waist, and he grins down at him. “Didn’t take you to be so demanding.” Jisung frowns, and Chan leans down to kiss his cheeks, his nose, his lips. “It’s okay, I don’t think there’s much I’m interested in denying you, anyway.”

 

He grins. “Great,” he says. “Then more.”

 

Luckily, Chan seems more enamored by this than anything. He pushes Jisung’s legs open gently and settles between them, surging down to kiss him more seriously this time.

 

And, uh. Jisung believes he’s lost the ability to form a coherent thought. The grip Chan has on his waist is just the correct side of bruising, and he is incredibly aware now of the fact that he and Chan have less than two layers of clothing separating them.

 

He wants there to be fewer.

 

He tugs at the hem of Chan’s shirt, unable to make much progress with it due to how tightly they’re pressed together. But, as expected, Chan just chuckles at him and separates enough to slide his shirt off, chuck it somewhere off the side of the bed.

 

“I had a thought, you know,” Chan says as he pushes Jisung’s shirt up, as well. He doesn’t try to push it all the way off, it seems he just wants to kiss up his stomach, across his chest.

 

It’s nice that Chan has a thought, because there is absolutely nothing in Jisung’s brain right now. He’s pretty sure his brain has dissolved down into a giant goopy puddle, or else an echo chamber of Chan’s name. “Okay,” Jisung gasps; Chan is sucking gently against his chest, and it’ll probably leave a mark. Good.

 

Chan slides up to his face again, glides a hand along his jaw. How had this asshole just insisted that it’s been a while when he’s affecting Jisung this much? “You’re welcome to say no if you’re not into it,” Chan prefaces, and breaks to press a line of long, soft kisses to Jisung’s jawline. “But have you ever had your ass eaten?”

 

Fuck. Holy shit. What.

 

Chan thinking that Jisung might not be into that? He’s stupid, he has to be. “No,” he gasps, reaching out to clutch at Chan’s arms, realizing belatedly that they’re larger than he’d expected and even that’s affecting him. “No, but—but you should do that. Please.”

 

“You’re okay with that?” Chan asks.

 

Jesus. Jisung would probably beg Chan on his knees for such a thing. He’s so ridiculous. Instead of pointing this out, he just says, “Yes, hyung, more than okay. Just—please.”

 

He breaks into another huge grin again, and it is so endearing. It’s just like he really likes that Jisung wants him—like he likes Jisung so much it borderline hurts.

 

Still, he doesn’t get to it straightaway. First, he pulls Jisung up to straddle his lap. His hands dip under his shirt again, knead at the base of his spine and creep slowly upwards, taking his shirt as he goes.

 

“I can get it off myself, you know,” Jisung points out teasingly; Chan has gently tapped his arms, indicating him to hold them over his head.

 

“I know,” he says quietly, pecking a quick kiss to his collarbone. “Just—I want to. Let me.”

 

Jisung isn’t going to bother pretending like he hates not having to lift a finger; Chan can take care of him all the way if that’s what he wants to do. He curls a hand around Jisung’s hip and kisses him again, softer this time. It doesn’t quite match the heat and desperation that Jisung feels, but it’s nice nonetheless, if a little out of place.

 

“Sit tight,” Chan murmurs, and then he’s easing Jisung back onto the mattress and going to peruse their absurd lube collection. “Probably strawberry’s the least of all evils, right?” he wonders, glancing back at Jisung as if to ask his opinion.

 

“Sure, yeah,” Jisung says, a little dizzy. “Strawberry, for sure.”

 

Chan laughs a little at his reaction and slides back onto the bed, looms over Jisung. The kiss he offers him is deep, wanting—Jisung fears he’s getting whiplash from the way Chan keeps switching it up. Or maybe it’s just his melted brain being unable to make sense of anything. Chan has a hand on the small of his back that presses them together, and he’s a little embarrassed that he actually whines at the contact.

 

“Hang on,” Chan says. “Keep your hips up for me.” There’s not a chance in hell that Jisung is going to move away from the pressure Chan is providing to his cock, so it’s a pretty redundant command. But he hooks his thumbs under Jisung’s waistband and pulls down until his cock is springing free and he’s gasping at the cool air hitting him. “Let me see you, baby,” Chan requests in a murmur.

 

A little shiver runs up Jisung’s spine, and he at last falls to his back on the mattress, slightly mourning the loss of contact. But it’s not for long; Chan is looking at him hungrily, and his hand reaches out to lightly fist his cock, just to give it a few teasing pumps. His hips buck violently anyway, a tremble taking over his whole body.

 

“Don’t tease,” Jisung begs, a bit breathless. “Please, you’ll kill me.”

 

Chan smiles at him softly. “Sorry, baby,” he says, and Jisung watches wide-eyed as he leans down to press his lips against the head of his cock. He feels his tongue just trace around it, and his fists twist into the bedsheets, every muscle in his body tensing. “You’re just too pretty.”

 

“Oh my god,” Jisung says, dragging his gaze up towards the ceiling as Chan rubs circles into his hipbones with his thumbs. And—the fucking mirror. How had he forgotten about the fucking mirror on the ceiling? They’re in a fucking sex hotel, of course there are mirrors.

 

He looks wrecked. He’s quite literally starfished across the bed, his arms spread wide and his legs spread to accommodate Chan. There’s a flush up his chest, extending up into his cheeks, and his cock is hard and already starting to leak onto his stomach.

 

Chan seems to realize what he’s looking at, and takes a moment to lay on his back beside Jisung, moving one of his arms to make room.

 

“See?” he says, and he meets Jisung’s gaze in the mirror. “Pretty. I told you.” He turns his head to look at actual Jisung, not mirror Jisung, reaches out to stroke his cheek. Jisung is still transfixed by the mirror above them, and Chan chuckles. “You like looking at yourself?”

 

It’s not that, Jisung thinks. He’s not that vain. He just—he’s a visual kind of guy, he thinks, and the visual of just how much Chan has affected him is really doing it for him.

 

He’s trying to pull these vague feelings into words when Chan moves, drags him up by the hips. He reaches for a pillow to situate under Jisung’s head and folded arms, and makes sure his hips are in the air.

 

In this position, his head is naturally forced to the side, staring at the ugly hotel wallpaper. “It’s okay,” Chan says. “Look at the headboard.”

 

He’s facing the headboard, so all he has to do is prop his chin on his arms. And—there’s a mirrored band at the top of the headboard that he hadn’t noticed before, transfixed by the much larger mirror on the ceiling.

 

It’s not huge, but he can see his ass pushed into the air, his hair strewn messily over his eyes and cheeks. Chan behind him, smoothing a hand down his spine and kneading at his ass.

 

“Fuck,” he swears, and his fists tighten in the pillow below him.

 

“So you can see how pretty you look,” Chan encourages, pressing a kiss to one of the globes of his ass, making him squirm.

 

“Don’t tease, I said,” Jisung whines, pressing his forehead to his forearms.

 

“I wasn’t meaning to,” Chan says gently. “You just really do look pretty.” He doesn’t scold him for not looking; it just genuinely seems like he’s provided it as an option if Jisung wants to. “Sorry, baby, you’re dying for it, huh?”

 

It’s an understatement, it’s such an understatement. Jisung is practically vibrating, buzzing. And when he finally feels the first press of Chan’s tongue against him, he immediately, selfishly presses his hips back. Chan doesn’t seem to mind—rather, he encourages it. With the grip he has on Jisung’s hips, he also pulls him back, as if he wants more.

 

It feels more teasing than anything at first. It’s not enough to do much for Jisung, except for heightening his anticipation, which in turn turns him on more. And that’s fine—despite what he’s told Chan, he’s never much minded being teased, up to a certain point.

 

And then Chan sucks on his rim and he lets out an honest-to-god shout before he can stop himself. He goes fully lax then, sinking his upper half against the mattress and letting his own legs and Chan keep his hips in the air.

 

It’s maddening; he’s squirming and writhing and he can’t even help it, though Chan hardly seems to mind. He continues sucking and licking and kissing, occasionally squirming his tongue inside, sometimes pulling away to thumb at his hole, as if testing the give of it.

 

Jisung muffles whatever embarrassing noises he threatens to let loose against his arm. Chan pulls away for a few seconds and, confused, Jisung drags his gaze up to the little mirror on the headboard.

 

“Sorry, baby, one second,” Chan says, catching his gaze in the mirror and smiling. He’s reaching for the lube, coating his fingers with it. “Will you keep looking at me?” he asks. “I like seeing you.”

 

Jisung is certain that his view is more than enough of Jisung, more than he’s seen himself, but he’s not going to deny him this. He props his chin on his arm and keeps his eyes trained on the mirror.

 

So he both sees and feels Chan press his fingers to his entrance; he whines and arches his back more.

 

“Shh,” Chan soothes, rubbing the base of his spine, even as his finger presses in. Chan bends to suck a mark into his cheek, though he keeps his eyes fixed upwards at the mirror.

 

Jisung tries to keep his eyes fixed on the mirror, too, on Chan, but it’s really not natural for him. So at the first pulsing of his finger, he’s already dropping his head back to his arms, overwhelmed.

 

Chan laughs softly, presses a fond, soft kiss to the mark he’s just left. “Cute. You feel good?”

 

Obviously. His cock is hard, but he’s shockingly okay with it being an afterthought for the time being.

 

Chan is obviously enamored, pumping his finger slowly, occasionally pulling out to lap at his hole again, and he whispers praise in between. It swirls through Jisung’s puddle of a brain, hazily pleasant and rewarding but unable to really take root in his current state. It’s okay, he has a feeling Chan has plenty of praise for him when he’s more lucid, as well.

 

It feels like Chan is more stroking his walls than properly fucking him, and he’s two fingers deep when he decides to hone in on the spot Jisung has been dying for him to.

 

He stops even fucking Jisung, just rubbing circles against that spot, seemingly enjoying seeing Jisung lose his mind. He whines and pants and circles his hips, breathes out some embarrassing combination of begging and Chan’s name.

 

He’s shuddering and trembling uncontrollably, clutching the pillow below him so tightly his knuckles are aching and stark white. He doesn’t think he comes, but he does go a little hazy for a while; his cock leaks more than it ever has, one continuous stream down onto the mattress below him.

 

Chan stops eventually, pulling his fingers out gently and returning to press his tongue to Jisung’s hole. It enters him much more easily now, and Jisung pants against the mattress, his legs quaking.

 

“Chan—Channie hyung,” he gasps, wriggling away for the first time. “Just—wait one second.”

 

Chan obediently pulls away, gently presses another kiss to Jisung’s skin—one of the dimples at the bottom of his back. He latches his arms around Jisung’s waist and very gently pulls him back, settles them both on their backs, Jisung atop Chan.

 

He’s boneless, melting against Chan and unable to even help it—he feels like there’s not a functioning muscle in his body except his cock, which is somehow, after everything, still painfully hard.

 

“You okay?” Chan asks. His arm locked around Jisung’s waist is keeping him from sliding off, an anchor.

 

Jisung drags his gaze up again—straight to the fucking mirror. He looks even more debauched than before, a feat he hadn’t thought possible. His chest is heaving, his skin red. He looks small in Chan’s arms, and he’s a bit surprised by how much he likes the sight of it.

 

He comes to an immediate realization. He wants to—he has to—see Chan fuck him like this. How many more times is he going to have a mirror so conveniently located?

 

“You should fuck me,” Jisung mumbles. He thinks he’s past embarrassment now—especially because Chan won’t tease him, not seriously. “Just like this. Wanna see it.”

 

As expected, Chan doesn’t do anything more than kiss behind his ear and say, “You have such good ideas.”

 

Chan has to work his underwear off, which Jisung honestly doesn’t help with. He can’t move, and Chan seems perfectly capable at the moment.

 

“Do you want—condom?” Chan checks. Because, like, there is a full drawer of them.

 

“Wasn’t your tongue just in my asshole?” Jisung points out in a murmur.

 

“Well—yeah,” he admits, sheepish.

 

“I think we’ll be fine, don’t you?” Jisung concludes. “I am if you are. I’m clean. And you’ll hardly knock me up, anyway.”

 

Chan’s grip on his hips tightens, and—oh. Maybe he likes that idea. Sure, sure, that’s an idea to play around with sometime.

 

It’s not the easiest angle with both of them flat on their backs. But Chan manages it anyway, slipping into Jisung’s hole, still open and wet. It’s an interesting angle for sure, but Jisung arches his back, anyway. He still feels a little buzzy from earlier, from Chan massaging his prostate, and he thinks it’s making him more sensitive.

 

Chan’s lips are at the joint of his neck and shoulder. “You feel good, baby,” he murmurs, and Jisung shudders again, his eyes drawing up to the mirror.

 

Chan’s staring straight at him, too, even though he’s half-buried in Jisung’s shoulder. And it’s not easy for him to thrust at this angle, but he’s doing a pretty outstanding job, if the sparks darting through Jisung’s body are any indication.

 

But it’s really the visual that’s doing it for him. Jisung draped over Chan’s body, locked in place by his arm around his waist and his cock. It looks like Chan is completely owning him, and he doesn’t expect to find it nearly as hot as he does.

 

“Channie—” he gasps, writhing against Chan’s grinding hips. He’s looking directly in his eyes—he can’t look away.

 

“Jisung,” Chan returns softly—but there’s something quietly desperate about his tone. Looking in the mirror, something screams behind his eyes. He’s close, Jisung guesses.

 

Fuck.

 

He reaches a hand down to grab at his cock, intending to jerk himself the rest of the way off. “No,” Chan says immediately, watching him in the mirror and swatting his hand away. “No, I’ll do it.”

 

There’s something possessive about it, almost. It’s borderline too much with Chan in control, even though that’s what Jisung needs to reach that edge. He’s gentle when he fists Jisung’s cock, even though he’s writhing against him; his eyes fall shut against his will.

 

“Shh,” he soothes, but his voice is dark, heavy, wanting. “Shh, you’re okay, baby, you’re okay.”

 

Surprisingly, Chan comes before Jisung; he feels it as a tightening of Chan’s hand, a warmth spreading through his belly. Even as his hips still, he picks up the movement of his hand, relentless and insistent until Jisung is spilling over himself and shoving his hand away, exhausted and overstimulated already.

 

Chan’s arm around his waist goes lax and Jisung inadvertently slides off of him sideways. “Oh my god,” he breathes, feeling Chan loom over him again.

 

“You’re not going to sleep, are you?” Chan asks; his tone is lightly teasing. How has he recovered so quickly? Jisung feels half dead. He turns to glance at the clock on the bedside; it’s only a few hours until they’re due to leave, anyway.

 

“Guess not,” Jisung mumbles, even though he can already feel sleep clouding his mind.

 

“Come on,” Chan says, and somehow, his legs don’t turn to jelly when he stands. In fact, he reaches out to lift Jisung from the bed—and that wakes him up.

 

“Wait—” he says, startled. When was the last time he, a grown man, was fully, bodily lifted? But actually, he doesn’t so much as slide in Chan’s grip; he throws him over his shoulder like it’s nothing. Jisung might be hard again if it were physically possible.

 

But Chan just starts a bath—the bathtub is ridiculously large, and Jisung thinks he can guess for what purpose.

 

But not for them, not now. Chan just lowers them into warm water, locked around Jisung again, massaging the ache from his hips and upper thighs with his fingers.

Jisung is running late, but considering he’s with Arin’s babysitters, he figures it doesn’t matter much. And it’s not his fault—Minho had dragged his feet in coming (“Because I don’t want to.”).

 

But it works out well. Jisung’s friends had been stupid and stranded them on the opposite side of town in the cold (he and Chan had kind of exaggerated what happened that night) and so the least they can do is provide free babysitting services for Chan for a month or so. It’s Seungmin and Minho’s night.

 

“I don’t know anything about kids,” Seungmin complains as they leave the train station by Chan’s house.

 

“Just nod and smile,” Minho says, crossing his arms over his chest, grouchy.

 

“Hyunjin said she was impossible to understand,” Seungmin complains. “And she tugged half his hair out brushing it.”

 

“She’s just a kid,” Jisung counters. “You’re the grown-ups, I think you can handle it.”

 

They continue bickering all the way to Chan’s apartment, and when they knock at his door, he seems relieved. “Oh, there you are,” he says, but then he swoops down to kiss Jisung, presumably out of sight of Arin. She’s laid claim to Jisung as hers, and doesn’t really like when Chan takes his attention off of her.

 

Sure enough, she pokes around the open door. “Jisung!” she says, immediately reaching for his hand and tugging him inside. And, fine, he can amuse her while Chan teaches Seungmin and Minho exactly what they need to do for her tonight.

 

It’s easy enough; she’s really just content with Jisung’s attention and focus. So he watches as she demonstrates a dance from her ballet class, as she jabbers about an apparent field trip she’d taken with her daycare class.

 

It’s hard to rip her away from both Jisung and Chan, especially when she’s stuck with two more strangers. But Jisung squats down beside her, points at Minho, and tells her, “He has cats. You should ask him about them. He has a lot of pictures on his phone.”

 

That does it. Arin’s full attention is on Minho, bouncing up and down as he struggles to find cat pictures on his phone to appease her. Chan pats her on the head and she barely registers it, otherwise occupied. “Bye, sweetheart, be good. I love you.”

 

“Yeah, love you,” she agrees, barely sparing a glance back. She’s wrapped around one of Seungmin’s legs, peeking over Minho’s lap at his phone.

 

“We’ll be back pretty late,” he reminds Minho and Seungmin, before dragging Jisung out the door and into the cold. He wraps an arm around him immediately.

 

“So, what’s the plan for tonight?” Jisung asks, leaning into his side and looking over at him.

 

“Just dinner,” Chan says, though his eyes slide over to Jisung suspiciously. “Although—my budgeting is off this month, since I’m getting free babysitting from your friends.”

 

“Oh,” Jisung says. “But that’s a good thing, right? You should have a bit of extra money to save.”

 

“Oh, I save enough already,” Chan says dismissively. “Just—how serious were you that night, when you said we should take advantage of everything at that hotel since we probably wouldn’t be back?”

 

Jisung’s face spreads into a wide grin. “I mean—I could be convinced to go back. If you made it worth my while.”

 

Chan presses a long kiss to the side of his head. “I don’t always?”

 

Despite the cold air around them, Jisung’s face heats. He remembers visiting Chan in the midday, letting him fuck him up against the wall during a break from work. Yeah. Yeah, he always makes it worth it.

 

He snakes an arm around Chan’s middle, squeezes his hip. “You do,” he admits. “You always do.”

Notes:

jisung please just mobile deposit the checks i beg you. i swear i planned to have a scene where chan asked jisung why he hadn't cashed the checks yet and uhhhhh idk what happened to it tbh. didn't ever fit in anywhere oops

also, i have never been to a love hotel and there is only so much research i can do on them before it's no longer fun, so i took some liberties 🖤🖤🖤🖤

and sorry but i predict jisung will never tell chan he'd thought his daughter was a dog; he will take it to the grave i fear

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