Chapter Text
“You are such an asshole, Choi Soobin.”
Yeonjun braces himself for the slammed door, and it comes just a few seconds later, Beomgyu erupting from Soobin’s bedroom like a one-person wildfire. His long hair is a mess and he’s still buttoning his shirt; it hangs open, revealing an expanse of collar and chest absolutely riddled with hickeys and bite marks.
Beomgyu freezes when he notices Yeonjun. The scowl on his face softens immediately. “Hey, Jjunie-hyung. Sorry about that.”
Yeonjun shrugs. He slides his phone into his pocket. “Nothing I’m not used to,” he answers.
“Are you headed back to campus?”
“Yeah, there’s a party in the business dorm.” Beomgyu laughs — there’s always a party in the business dorm. “Want a lift back?”
“It’s not like he’s gonna get off his ass and do it,” Beomgyu says, a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of Soobin’s closed bedroom door.
He wasn’t planning on leaving yet; it’s still pretty early. Too early to kick someone out of bed for sure. One glance at Beomgyu’s disheveled state, though, and Yeonjun’s scooping his car keys off the coffee table.
Soobin’s door creaks open a few seconds later. “Who’s around tonight?” He’s pulling a hoodie over his head, his hair a frizzy black halo. He sees Beomgyu and pauses. “You’re still here.”
Yeonjun can’t help but laugh. Beomgyu was right about Soobin: he is an asshole.
Beomgyu makes a noise that sounds awfully like a growl. He grabs his bag and slings it over his shoulder. “I’ll meet you downstairs, hyung,” he says, and then the front door of their apartment receives the same treatment as Soobin’s did only a minute ago.
“What the hell is so funny, hyung?” Soobin grabs a throw pillow from the end of the couch and smacks him with it.
“I don’t think even I could be that mean.”
“You’re probably way worse. Why are you giving him a ride?”
Yeonjun rises to his feet and checks himself in the mirror by the door. The blue in his hair is starting to fade to a drab gray, but there’s nothing that can be done about that right now. “I always do,” he answers. “I’m always carting him and Hyuka around. That’s why I’m the favorite hyung and you get doors slammed in your face.”
“Fuck you, dude.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll see you at the party.”
Beomgyu is leaning against Yeonjun’s K5 when he finally makes it downstairs. He’s glaring at his phone, but pockets it when he notices Yeonjun approaching. Yeonjun wants to say something comforting, but it feels like a betrayal to Soobin, even if Soobin is clearly being an ass, so he keeps his mouth shut as he unlocks and opens the passenger side door for Beomgyu.
“The full princess treatment,” Beomgyu says as he climbs inside. “What’s the occasion?”
“Can’t I just be nice?” Yeonjun asks once he’s seated. He starts the engine and it purrs to life with a loud, low rumble.
Beomgyu snorts. “Not without a price.”
Yeonjun hums his disagreement, pulling into traffic. Beomgyu helps himself to Yeonjun’s phone, tapping in the same passcode he’s always had, and then selects one of Yeonjun’s playlists for the short ride back to campus. He’s quiet after that, until they’re almost there, when he perks up again.
“Can you stop at the 7-11 real quick?”
“Anything for you, princess.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
Yeonjun follows Beomgyu inside. He grabs himself an iced coffee and then watches Beomgyu peruse the aisles. Beomgyu lands on a couple white cans of Monster; Yeonjun figured he would have grown out of that in the time since high school, but some things just never change.
“Are you going to the party? Yeonjun asks, eyeing the energy drinks.
“Hell no. Some of us have work to do.”
“Sure, sure. You know, you’re going to go gray before I do if you don’t let loose once in a while.”
Beomgyu glares at him. “What do you think all this is?” he asks, gesturing to his marked-up neck.
Yeonjun looks away, distracting himself with tapping his phone to the reader to pay. “You’re more tightly wound when you’re done than when you start,” he says.
“Did you pay just so I would have to listen to your opinion?”
Yeonjun gives a quick thank-you bow to the cashier before shoving the bag into Beomgyu’s chest with a sweet smile. “You know me so well.”
“Kind of how people know when they’re about to have a flare up of some disgusting, chronic rash.”
“Yah!” Yeonjun flicks Beomgyu’s forehead and doesn’t open the door for him this time around.
Every dorm room door along the 4th floor corridor hangs open, partygoers flowing in and out like river currents. Smoke clings to the ceiling, music drifts between the rooms, and the drinks flow easy. Yeonjun sits on one side of an octagonal card table, swirling his glass over the ruby red felt top, one arm wrapped around Wooyoung’s waist. A drink, a boy in his lap — he couldn’t ask for more.
Soobin appears through the doorway, a head taller than most of the girls mingling around him. He spots Yeonjun right away, and after finding himself a drink, makes a beeline for him.
“Good party?” He asks, falling into the seat across from Yeonjun.
“Business majors really know how to let loose,” Yeonjun says, and then raises the glass to his lips and finishes it off. The whiskey burns his throat going down, cheap as shit.
“Who’s here?”
Yeonjun rolls his eyes. “Everyone.”
“Not Beomgyu.”
“Not San,” Wooyoung adds.
“Jesus, you two are pathetic.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket to scroll through Instagram, taking note of the names he sees in the comment sections. “Jeongin’s here,” he offers, though he knows the answer already.
Soobin shakes his head.
“Hyunjin.” Same thing. “Changbin. Yeosang. Felix.”
“What about Yeji?”
Yeonjun snorts. “Put her on your list.”
“Really, hyung?” Soobin looks truly put out by this one, and tilts his drink down his throat.
“What list?” Wooyoung asks. He snakes his arm around Yeonjun’s shoulders, the tips of his fingers tickling the short hair at the nape of Yeonjun’s neck. It’s nice, familiar.
“Soobin-ah has a list. Of people he won’t fuck.”
Wooyoung has to laugh at that. “You? You have standards?”
“Hey, fuck you.” But Soobin laughs, his cheeks a little red. “I can have standards.”
“Sure, theoretically,” Yeonjun says with a wide, sweet smile just for Soobin. Soobin gives him the finger.
“So, how do you get on this list? Which I’m sure is pretty exclusive.”
A chorus of laughter breaks out across the smoky living room. A girl with long silver extensions braided into her hair lifts her feet into the air for a keg stand.
“What about—“
“Don’t even bother.”
Soobin rests his head on the table like he’s just received the worst news ever. “To answer your question,” he says into the felt, “I won’t go where hyung’s already been.”
A glance up at Wooyoung says he’s doing everything he can to swallow the sip of whiskey he’d just taken. His mouth screws into a pained smile and once the alcohol is gone, his windshield-wiper laugh picks up. His whole body shakes in Yeonjun’s lap.
“Good fucking luck,” Wooyoung wheezes. “Not so exclusive after all.”
“Yah!” Yeonjun jabs Wooyoung in the side, right where he’s the most ticklish. “Be nice. Besides, Soobin-ah, don’t you have a boyfriend?”
Soobin’s mouth falls open in an offended gasp. “I do not.”
Then his phone buzzes across the table.
As fast as he can, Yeonjun shoots his hand out and snatches the phone, just before Soobin can grab it. He already knows what he’s going to see, but Beomgyu’s name flashing across the screen still has him rolling his eyes. Again.
“No boyfriend, huh?” Yeonjun taunts, tossing the phone back to him. “I bet you even texted first.”
“Not boyfriends. We are so much better off as not boyfriends.” Soobin reads whatever message Beomgyu sent, and sticks his phone in the pocket of his hoodie, apparently uninterested in answering.
“What’s the deal then?”
Yeonjun pulls Wooyoung closer, resting his head on Wooyoung’s shoulder. He doesn’t drink much, so the one glass is starting to get to him already, and Wooyoung feels nice and warm in his arms. “They fight like, all the fucking time. They fought earlier today. I had to drive Beomgyu home.”
“He’s mad at me all the time, dude, I can’t take it.”
“So then let him go?” Wooyoung says.
“But making up is so good.”
“You’re disgusting,” Yeonjun laughs, pointing a finger at Soobin. He turns to Wooyoung. “It’s bad. Beomgyu storms out, Soobin rages. They fight over text for days after. One time, Beomgyu’s roommate posted a TikTok of them — you could hear them screaming at each other through the walls. It’s that bad.”
Wooyoung lets out a long breath of air. “You should just let it go, man.”
“I can’t — it’s like he’s put some kind of fucking curse on me.”
“I’m getting another drink. Jjunie?”
“No, thanks.”
He misses Wooyoung the second he stands up. But then his own phone buzzes, and to his surprise, it’s Beomgyu. He can’t remember the last time he got a text from Beomgyu that wasn’t just shit-talk in the group chat with him, Soobin, and Kai.
Beoms: your roommate is the worst person in the world
Yeonjun snorts and types out a quick reply, until he hears a quiet, “Hey, hyung.”
A boy with hair the color of crushed raspberries hovers over them. He wears all black and his eyes are rimmed with gold. Yeonjun can’t remember his name, but he can remember those lips — and even if he couldn’t, he knows that look. It’s the same one all his past hookups give him, the kind that says they’re back for another round. Yeonjun doesn’t mind. He opens his mouth to say hello, but then Wooyoung slides back into his lap.
The boy’s face falls. “Find me later, if you’re not busy.”
Awkward silence follows until the boy disappears into the crowd at the door, then Wooyoung’s laughter starts again. “It doesn’t stop, does it.”
“You get all the good ones,” Soobin complains.
“You know what you should do?” Wooyoung starts. He takes a long draught of his beer. “Yeonjun-ah, you should fuck this Beomgyu guy. Then Soobin won’t want him anymore, and there — all your problems are solved.”
Suddenly, the room is stiflingly hot. Yeonjun tries his best to take a deep breath and shoves his phone in his pocket, like a simple text from Beomgyu is damnable enough to condemn him. He steals Wooyoung’s beer and finishes it off.
“Soobinnie won’t have to worry about Beomgyu anymore, that’s for sure,” Yeonjun teases. “Are you ready to go yet?”
“So I guess you aren’t free tonight, are you, Wooyoung-hyung?” Soobin laughs.
“Sorry, you’ll have to put me at the very top of that list of yours.”
Yeonjun falls back onto the sticky blue mat, sweat gluing his hair to his forehead. His chest heaves — he can’t catch his breath, like he’s been running a marathon or scaling a building. But he’s not. He’s not doing any of that. This should be easy.
“Yeonjun-ah, don’t get discouraged. You’ve made so much progress.”
Hyejin, Yeonjun’s physical therapist, hovers over him, blotting out the fluorescent light. Her black hair glows like a halo. She reaches down and offers him a hand up, but he shakes his head. He’s not ready yet. The pain in his knee still twinges.
“Not enough,” he says through gritted teeth.
Hyejin drops onto the mat beside him. Her blue scrubs blend in with the rest of colors here, mild and bland, meant to calm the patients. “I told you — I’ve been telling you — you have to stop the dancing. I saw your latest x-rays. You need to give yourself time to heal.”
At this, Yeonjun rises, executing the perfect kick-up that only hurts a little when he lands. Hyejin tuts like a mother hen. “Yeonjun-ah!”
“I know. I know.” He wants to slam his fist into the nearest wall, but settles for shoving it into the pocket of his shorts. He’s not mad at Hyejin; she’s just doing her job. And she’s the best PT he’s had so far on this journey.
They keep calling it a journey. But it never feels like he’s going anywhere at all.
Hyejin stands with him. They’re nearly the same height, but he has to look up just a little to meet her eyes. “Cut yourself some slack,” she says, her face and voice softening. “Think about where you were a year ago, and look at where you are now. You’ll be back onstage in no time, but only if you take a real break.”
“I’ve taken a break!” He feels like a petulant child.
She hits him with a deadpan stare. “Go home. Rest. I’ll see you Thursday.”
Autopilot gets him through his shower in the locker room, the walk out to his car, the drive from the gym to his apartment building. All the while, he replays their latest session in his head. Why isn’t it getting any easier?
It’s been a year since the accident that derailed his dance career. Hasn’t he been punished enough?
His mind is so full of car crash broken glass and fucking heel slides, Hyejin pushing more weight on him as he insists he can handle it, that he doesn’t notice Beomgyu barreling down the hallway toward the elevator until he’s smacking into him.
“Shit, sorry Beoms.” Yeonjun ducks down to grab the gym bag he dropped. But Beomgyu is still going, not even looking at him. “Hey, you need a ride?”
“No, I’ll walk.” He won’t meet Yeonjun’s eyes as he smashes the elevator button.
Yeonjun has to stop himself from following the instinct to chase after him. Beomgyu’s cheeks are red, and he hangs his head downward, his long hair spilling into his eyes. Yeonjun wants nothing more than to wrap him in his arms — but he knows better. He knows better, but he still has to fight it until the doors close between them.
Soobin is in a similar state inside the apartment. His face is screwed into a horrible scowl, glowering at his phone on the table. He holds a glass piece in one hand that Yeonjun recognizes as his own, packing a bowl as he leans against the kitchen counter.
“What was that about?” Yeonjun asks. He dumps his things on the couch and snatches the bowl out of Soobin’s hands, holding his own palm out for a lighter.
“Smoking this early in the day? What’s the occasion?”
Yeonjun shoots him a glare as he flicks the lighter to life. The smoke burns his throat pleasantly. It’s the good shit — the fight with Beomgyu must have been worse than usual.
“Bad fucking day,” he says, doing his best to hold the smoke in as long as possible. It streams out of him slowly as he passes the bowl to Soobin. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Your knee—“
“I said, I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Fine.”
They smoke together in silence until the burn is too harsh for Yeonjun and he declines. Then he crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the opposite counter, waiting for Soobin to spill. He always does.
Soobin rolls his eyes. “It’s the same shit as always.”
“Beomgyu looked really upset this time.”
“He’s always fucking upset.” To avoid Yeonjun’s eyes, Soobin ducks into the fridge, fishing out a beer. He doesn’t bother to offer one to Yeonjun. “I was supposed to help him with something for the theater department, and I forgot. Then he shows up all pissy, and when I tell him I’ll come he says not to even bother. And then it blew up. Says I lead him on, but then he gets mad when he doesn’t get the full princess treatment. Says he doesn’t want to be boyfriends, but gets mad when he finds out I’m with someone else. I don’t fucking get him.”
Soobin is breathless after his rant. He cracks open the can of beer and drinks down about half of it in one go.
Yeonjun pulls his bottom lip between his teeth. This isn’t even close to the first time he’s listened to the exact same vent, almost verbatim. The answer to all this fighting seems pretty obvious from where he’s standing, but he can’t very well be the one to tell Soobin to stop seeing Beomgyu.
“I like having him around, I do,” Soobin says, disrupting Yeonjun’s train of thought. His eyes are bloodshot, his hair a wild mass on his head after running his hand through it a dozen times. “But he’s never satisfied. He always wants more, and he hates what he does get, even when it’s exactly what he asks for.”
“Then why?”
A stupid, stoned grin spreads wide over Soobin’s face, dimples on full display. “He’s fucking crazy. The sex is too good.”
Yeonjun deflates. He finally gives in and grabs a beer of his own. He needs it to deal with Soobin’s shit sometimes. “You’re a dick.”
“Like you give a fuck. You’re way worse than I am.”
“You know, I take offense to that. You don’t see me or any of the people I bring home slamming doors and storming off, do you?”
“The people you… Oh — that’s it.”
Oh no. “I hate when your voice gets like this. You always have some dumbass idea right after.”
“Not my idea. Wooyoung-hyung’s idea.”
It takes Yeonjun’s syrupy-slow brain a moment before he catches on to what Soobin’s talking about. He feels all the energy sap right out of him. “It’s been weeks and you’re still on that?” he asks. He tosses his empty beer can into the bin and walks away. He needs a nap. Or food. Or a girl. Maybe all three.
Soobin follows him, though, all the way into his bedroom, and collapses onto the unmade bed before Yeonjun can. “Come on, hyung, you have to admit it’s a genius idea.”
“I don’t have to admit shit.” Yeonjun sighs; he stares at Soobin and weighs his options. “If you don’t move, I’m gonna cuddle you.”
“Will you fuck Beomgyu if I say yes to cuddling?”
“No.” Yeonjun climbs into the bed before Soobin can say anything else. He curls into his side, wrapping both legs around him. “There are a million reasons that’s a terrible fucking idea, Soob. Now shut up and let me sleep.”
There were never a lot of downsides to being a dance major. Yeonjun enjoyed every second of it, really, even the late nights, the aching muscles, the lack of free time. The hardest part was finding the motivation to focus on his other classes, when he could be down in the practice room working on something that mattered.
The other hardest part? The overlap with other arts majors who suckered him into helping them. Nude modeling for the fine arts department; clothed modeling for costume design; and now, getting dragged to the recording studio. Yeonjun’s in music admin now, but that doesn’t seem to matter when people come calling in favors.
Besides, none of it ever turns out that bad. Nude modeling got him a whole list of numbers from a market he could never quite pierce before. Regular modeling made him realize how hot he looks in a skirt. And voice acting? Well, the benefits aren’t entirely clear to him as Kai literally drags him by the wrist up to the nondescript rectangular building on the furthest end of campus, until they get inside and Beomgyu is working the reception desk.
His whole face lights up when he sees Kai. “God, finally something interesting.”
“Not a lot of people coming in at 11pm on a Wednesday?” Kai laughs.
“I don’t even know why we have a second shift.” Beomgyu yawns. He snaps his notebook shut.
“I didn’t know you worked here,” Yeonjun says. He eyes the desk full of presumably homework and the two drained coffee cups.
“Yeah, a few nights a week. I just started last week.”
“Well, that explains it.”
Beomgyu hasn’t been around since the big blow up with Soobin a little over a week ago. He hasn’t been active in the group chat either, or around for their usual lunches together, at the campus cafe or the shitty pizza place near Yeonjun’s apartment. It’s been strangely quiet, and Yeonjun has noticed that absence more than he’d ever admit, especially to Soobin or Beomgyu himself.
Beomgyu leads them to the booth they’ll be using. Yeonjun finds himself a seat on the small bench lining the room, and half-listens to the speech Beomgyu gives Kai about how to operate the equipment. It’s a side of Beomgyu’s he’s never seen before; perfectly polished and at ease with all the gadgets and buttons collected on the table to make it look like the inside of spaceship.
It’s sexy. The way he knows everything here is sexy. And of course, Beomgyu’s always sexy, but this is new, and Yeonjun feels himself blushing when Kai notices him staring.
Beomgyu turns to Yeonjun. “You’re recording, right?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, just nods his head for Yeonjun to follow him.
On the other side of the wide windows of the control room are a live room, with racks for instruments, and an isolation booth, for singers. Beomgyu leads him to the booth. There’s hardly enough room in here for Yeonjun alone, and squeezed in here with Beomgyu makes him a little lightheaded.
“Here, hyung.” Beomgyu offers him a smile along with the heavy set of headphones. Then he points to the mic hanging from overhead. “There’s a lever here if you need to adjust it, but it looks good.”
“Thanks, Beoms.”
“Have you done anything like this before?”
Yeonjun shakes his head, pulling the headphones on. They press into his earrings, their pointed ends stabbing into his neck, and he winces. And then he freezes when Beomgyu reaches up and unhooks the one closest to him. His touch is so gentle, Yeonjun hardly feels it at all, and he holds his breath as he turns away so Beomgyu can reach the other side.
Without his permission, Yeonjun’s eyes drop to Beomgyu’s lips, full and pink and turned up in a smile. The tips of Beomgyu’s fingers are rough with guitar-player calluses as he pushes Yeonjun’s hair behind his ear. He’s so close, Yeonjun can see the shadow of stubble decorating the sharp line of his jaw. And he smells so good, like fresh laundry, warm from the dryer. Soobin’s outrageously stupid idea comes to mind — and just as quickly as it came, Yeonjun stuffs it down. He swallows around a dry throat, and hopes Beomgyu can’t sense how weird he’s being.
“I’m looking forward to hearing it, then,” he says, dropping the earrings into Yeonjun’s waiting hand. “You’ll do great. You have a nice voice.”
Yeonjun rides the high of You have a nice voice for the entire session. When their booked hour is up, he’s pleased with the results, and more importantly, so is Kai. It’s his project after all, and the opinion Yeonjun should actually be worried about.
Beomgyu is slumped over his desk when they come out, and rises groggily when he hears them passing by. His hair sticks up at odd ends and there’s a mark the size and shape of his bracelet etched into his face. He rubs his eyes and shoots up, alarmed when he realizes he’s been sleeping.
“Don’t work too hard, hyung,” Kai teases. “Thanks again, Jjunie.”
Kai heads toward the door, but Yeonjun stops him. “I’ll give you a ride back to your dorm, just give me a second.”
When the front door closes behind Kai, Yeonjun turns to Beomgyu. He feels suddenly anxious, shoving his hands into his pockets where he finds the loose earrings. “Have you eaten yet?”
Beomgyu’s typing something into the work tablet on his desk as he answers. “Not yet. Not used to this weird schedule. I’ll pick something up when I’m done.”
“When are you done?”
“2.”
“Shit.” Yeonjun shifts his weight from foot to foot. “I need to get Kai home, but I’ll be back.”
Beomgyu pouts, finally looking away from the screen and up at Yeonjun. His eyes are red-rimmed and glassy. He yawns again. “Hyung, you don’t have to worry about me.”
“I do anyway.”
Thirty minutes later, after practically throwing Kai out of the car, and then stopping at two convenience stores to find the right tteokbokki he knows Beomgyu likes, Yeonjun pulls up to the studio for the second time that night. He feels kind of like an idiot, juggling food as he lets himself in — Beomgyu is more than capable of taking care of himself, and if he really needed something, shouldn’t Soobin be the one to get it for him?
“Here you go.” He sets the bag down gently on the one clear corner of the desk, then the bottled iced americano and the white Monster beside it. “I wasn’t sure which one you’d prefer. And you know, I had to go to the far 7-11 to get the stuff your picky ass likes.”
Beomgyu laughs. “You didn’t have to go anywhere at all, that was all you. But thank you.” He cracks open the can of Monster immediately. “Stay and eat with me?”
“That’s alright, I’ve eaten already tonight.”
“Then just stay?”
Yeonjun absolutely could say no if he wanted to. But he doesn’t want to, especially not with Beomgyu beaming up at him like he’s the best thing that’s walked through this door all night.
Beomgyu clears the desk off as quickly as he can, shoving notebooks and mechanical pencils and his laptop into a drawer. Then he gives Yeonjun the nice swivel chair, pulling up an old plastic, folding monstrosity from somewhere in a closet behind him.
He’s quiet for a while, except for the little sound of delight he lets out after his first bite. “Are you sure you don’t want some?”
It’s too sweet for Yeonjun’s tastes, but he leans in anyway, taking the rice cake from Beomgyu’s outstretched chopsticks.
“How come we don’t hang out alone anymore?” Beomgyu asks.
Yeonjun nearly chokes. This would be the perfect way to go out, wouldn’t it? He steals a sip of the battery acid energy drink. “I don’t know. Not a lot of time?”
“We used to all the time in high school, though.”
“Are you sure?” Yeonjun smiles, remembering. “The way I remember it is I just used to drive you places. Or bring you to parties you weren’t invited to, just for you to ditch me.”
“Hey, there was that one soccer match.”
“Yeah, one.”
Beomgyu smiles as he digs through his food. He sighs almost wistfully, and says, “You know, I had the fattest crush you back then.”
Yeonjun’s glad he isn’t eating anything this time. He probably would have spit it out. He tries to laugh Beomgyu off, but it comes out sounding forced. “You never told me.”
“I didn’t even know you were gay. Or bi. Whatever. I didn’t know until I got here, actually. That party.”
Right, the first party Beomgyu ever went to here on campus, thrown by the dance majors on move-in night. The night Beomgyu met Soobin. “Well, you’ve got Soobin now.”
Beomgyu snorts. “Right.” He chews another bite of food while Yeonjun waits for him to elaborate. Yeonjun’s stomach sours; he doesn’t like where this is going. At all. “That’s over.”
“Yeah, yeah, you guys say it’s over and then you’re back at our place the next day. Whatever happened, I’m sure it’ll blow over.”
“Not this time.” Beomgyu takes his last bite, collecting the trash and tossing it in the bin beside his desk. Then he drains the Monster. “This time, I’m done.”
“What could he have done that’s worse than all the other shit he’s done? And all the other shit you’ve done.”
Beomgyu sighs, sitting back. It’s clear how tired he is. Yeonjun wishes he could do something better than coffee and energy drinks. When the spindly chair beneath him creaks suspiciously, Beomgyu sits up again. “He fucked my roommate.”
Yeonjun wishes he could feel even a little dismay. But fucking Beomgyu’s roommate is, unfortunately, par for the Soobin course. The worst part is, he probably doesn’t even realize how badly he fucked up. Yeonjun opens his mouth to apologize on Soobin’s behalf but he clamps it shut again. He can’t do that. He can’t just go behind Soobin’s back like that.
Instead, he says, “You guys weren’t together, though, right? Like officially, or whatever.”
“Don’t.” Beomgyu shakes the bangs out of his eyes. “You’re better than that bullshit. And no, we weren’t. But it doesn’t matter. He’s fine as a friend but this was just too far. I had to fucking move.”
“You should have said something, I could have helped.”
“You help me all the time, though. I feel bad asking at this point.”
“You never have to worry about that, Beoms, come on.”
An alarm blares on Beomgyu’s phone, loud and obnoxious. “In case I fall asleep,” he says with a sheepish grin, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear. “I need to like, clean and everything to close up so you don’t have to stay.”
“I don’t mind.”
“Yeah, yeah, you never do. Seriously, go home. Sleep. You have an 8am tomorrow.”
“Aw, Beomie, you memorized my schedule?”
“You sent it to the group chat and told all of us ‘bitchless, carless peasants to tattoo it on ourselves and never ask for a favor when you have a class’ so yeah, I memorized it.”
“And you memorized my message? Word-for-word?”
“God, you’re insufferable. And here I thought tonight was nice.”
Tonight was nice. Beomgyu throws Yeonjun a sweet, soft smile of assurance — it’s always just teasing between them; even if the bickering goes overboard sometimes, neither of them truly ever means it.
Yeonjun rises up from his chair, stretching and letting out a long sigh when his back cracks a few times. Beomgyu’s concentrated on his work, brows drawn together, the tip of his pink tongue poking between his lips as he types something onto the touch screen in his hands.
“I’ll let you work,” Yeonjun says as he heads for the door.
Beomgyu looks up from his screen. “Thanks again, for the food. You didn’t have to.”
“It’s nothing. And Beoms?”
“Hm?”
“You should have told me. About the crush. You really should have.” He doesn’t know why he says it, but the look on Beomgyu’s face — pink cheeks and wide, round eyes — is well worth it.