The taste of Dejun's lips is sweet, addictive—the touch of them, just the same—soft and supple, pressing against Yangyang's own. Small gasps, tickling and warm between each kiss, and clammy hands tremble while a warmth that cannot be described pools in Yangyang's stomach. Intense, hot, eyes closed but he surely feels it all.

Feels the sweat gathering at the back of his neck, feels the aching pounding of his heart, but most of all he feels the softness of Dejun's lips, soothing like he just put lip-balm on before entering the bathroom. Maybe he did, there is a subtle peppermint scent reaching Yangyang's nose. It is clumsy at first, uncoordinated, not moving in the same direction and teeth that bump together. Yangyang wants to die, for several different reasons—embarrassment is the frontrunner though. Dejun must think he's nothing but an inexperienced boy—which is kind of right, but Dejun doesn't need to know that.

Curious fingers slip under Yangyang's t-shirt, shivers streaming down his back as Dejun slowly makes his way upwards, fingertips stroking along Yangyang's skin. Trails of fire about to burn him up, Yangyang swallows a moan, afraid to even move, arms lie limp against his thighs.

Dejun moves even closer, their chests bump together. Yangyang is awfully aware that he is shaking, but he prays Dejun won't notice the nervousness oozing off of him, when his hands hesitantly curve around Dejun's arms.

The kiss deepens. Yangyang parts his lips when Dejun does—when the tip of Dejun's tongue pokes against his bottom lip. Wet, soft, slipping into his mouth, Yangyang fights to hold back the obscene sounds filling up his throat. The taste of desire and red wine. Yangyang doesn't like wine, but now it is the sweetest taste to ever grace his mouth. It's been too long since he last was kissed like this. Dejun's tongue in his mouth, dominating the kiss right away, swirling around Yangyang's own. Like Dejun wants to taste all of him.

With his hands on each side of Yangyang's waist, Dejun slowly pulls him closer—pulls Yangyang to slip off the toilet lid and down onto his lap. Heat rises in Yangyang's cheeks, burning hot and he pinches his eyes shut even tighter.

A needy whine into the kiss—Yangyang gets the hint, or he hopes he does when his hands follow the curve of Dejun's waist. The faux leather is smooth under his touch, easy to slide across if Yangyang had been greedy. He is, but he is also scared. His fingers itch to move, to feel Dejun's perfect butt in his hands, squeeze it a little, maybe. Fuck, even the baggy jeans feel tight now.

Dejun leans back, Yangyang follows until they're on top of each other on the floor, and there is no hiding the raging hard-on between Yangyang's legs when Dejun rubs his thigh right against it. Yangyang nearly chokes, gasping desperately into the kiss. Fingers under his shirt, exploring his warm skin, and Yangyang dares to do the same. Lips still pressed against Dejun's, Yangyang untucks Dejun's white shirt from his pants, letting his hands slip underneath. Dejun breaks the kiss, head tilted back, he lets a soft moan out.

"Yangyang..."

Yangyang could easily get used to Dejun saying his name that way—whiny and absolutely needy. Dejun is every fantasy Yangyang has ever had, eyes closed, lips parted, dark hair falls perfectly around his face, spread in soft locks against the marble floor. His body arches, nails digging into Yangyang's skin, when Yangyang leans down, leaving a testing kiss onto his neck.

One, two, lips fully set on Dejun's neck, kissing and sucking the skin while the scent of him fills Yangyang's nose like overwhelming ecstasy. Dejun hums and moans, his fingers dive into Yangyang's hair. Yangyang, a little inexperienced, follows the sounds Dejun makes to navigate himself to the places Dejun is the most sensitive. Underneath the white shirt, Yangyang's hands are well hidden, but surely not forgotten. Stroking over Dejun's skin, dangerously close to his chest—to the pretty nipples Yangyang has dreamt of one too many times. Shit, he desperately wants one of them in his mouth. His fingertips brush against the right one, Dejun's body reacts right away, hips bucking against Yangyang's own, a moan heavier than the previous, and it is impossible for Yangyang not to grind against him.

A yank at the door handle from outside the door makes both of them flinch. Yangyang pulls back, hands leaving the warmth of Dejun's skin to press against the cold floor instead, holding himself up. Eyes wide open as he stares at the door. At least Dejun remembered to lock it this time.

Yangyang turns his head to meet Dejun's burning gaze, to stare at him in absolute awe. They kissed. They touched each other. Yangyang suddenly becomes way too aware of himself. He scrambles to his feet, only to stumble around until his back hits the wall. Dizzy. Dejun raises himself to his elbows against the floor, white shirt undone, hair a mess, he stares at Yangyang for way too long.

"Fuck..." Yangyang whispers almost painfully, when he sees the obvious bulge in Dejun's tight leather pants—legs still slightly spread apart, luring Yangyang back in.

Unfortunately, there is another thing that pulls Yangyang back with an even greater force. Reality. They kissed, but why? Why would Dejun want to kiss him? Why now? Why at all? Dejun has taken so many girls back to the apartment, and now he has the perfect girlfriend, sweet, kind and beautiful. So beautiful Yangyang sometimes feels uncertain who he is most jealous of. Pretty, pretty Yiren, waiting just outside in the living room, for her boyfriend to return.

So, why?

Why, why, why, why, why?

"We should... We should go back..." Yangyang regrets his words right as they slip out of his mouth. It's like acid burning his tongue, but he has to say it. As much as he wants Dejun, to kiss him again and take him right on the floor, just as much does Yangyang fear what will happen after. Drunken decisions don't end well, in Yangyang's experience, and one simple mistake could lead to Dejun hating him tomorrow. "We're... Both drunk..."

Judging from how the look on Dejun's face drastically changes, Yangyang knows those weren't the words Dejun wanted to hear. It hurts to even look at Dejun, to realize what he just gave up. Doing the right thing surely sucks, Yangyang tells himself he'll never do that again.

"What?" A huff, Dejun gets up from the floor—a cold stare, as cold as the tiles under Yangyang's feet. From burning up to absolutely freezing, Yangyang feels uncomfortable in his own body.

"You're drunk," he mumbles. "You don't know what you're doing..."—and the last part could have been meant for both of them.

"Are you calling me stupid?"

"What? No! I-I'm just saying..." Inhale. Trembling hands clench together. Like stumbling in the dark, too many thoughts crash together, too many words, and Yangyang is lost. "You- You have a girlfriend, just outside this door."

Yangyang realizes then that the small mistake that will make Dejun hate him in the morning has just happened.

What Yangyang wouldn't give, to go back in time and just be a selfish asshole. To kiss Dejun without any hesitation, fingers slipping underneath his loose shirt again, touch him and take him in all the ways Yangyang has dreamt of way too often. Maybe Dejun will thank him, someday, for not being that asshole, Yangyang likes to believe so—even when the hope is small, judging from the way Dejun glares at him, angrily, like Yangyang has offended his ancestors or something.

"I told you, she's a girl I'm seeing. And, she left before I came in here. Work in the morning."

It is the first flaw in the otherwise perfect Xiao Dejun that Yangyang has ever noticed—or ever let bother him. Yangyang's attempt of not acting like a selfish asshole has revealed Dejun to be just that. A selfish asshole. And the realization hurts.

What hurts even more is when Yangyang realizes he doesn't mean anything to Dejun—this probably doesn't mean anything, besides satisfying Dejun's craving for attention. Dejun is crazy, he must be. As beautiful as he is, with his long lashes and perfect hair, his soft skin and sharp jawline—just as crazy is he. Talking about setting Yangyang up with one of his friends, only to kiss Yangyang in the bathroom afterwards. Xiao Dejun is nothing but a flirt, and Liu Yangyang is nothing but a fool.

"Fine, a girl you're seeing, whatever..." When his voice comes out a bit more mocking than intended, Yangyang actually doesn't care. So what if his reaction comes off as childish? Dejun doesn't think too highly of him anyway. Yangyang spins around, adding a heavy groan as he sits down onto the toilet lid once again.

"I thought you wanted this," Dejun says, but his voice is far from soft. "You've been staring at me with those hungry eyes ever since the day you moved in."

"I--" It appears that Yangyang hasn't been as subtle as he would like to pretend. He never thought it would turn out like this though. He pulls at the frayed edges of the rips in his jeans, fiddles them between his fingers while debating whether or not to flee the scene. Run and never look back.

"Am I wrong?"

Their eyes meet and Yangyang instantly knows it was a mistake to even look up. Dejun stares at him, burns him with those eyes Yangyang used to dream of drowning himself in. Now, he is only begging to be saved. Thick brows pull closer, the sharp jawline clenches, and Yangyang's heart drops when he looks at Dejun's face.

Of course Yangyang wanted this—but not this way. Not when they're both drunk, not when Dejun is seeing someone else. The new feeling that entered Yangyang's head a few weeks back, has returned—but now it makes him sick, about to vomit. He wants Dejun all to himself. Liu Yangyang, inexperienced and naive Liu Yangyang, has fallen victim for the romantic inside himself.

"Why are you doing this?" he whispers, eyes dropping to stare at the floor. The truth leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. Fingernails dig into the skin exposed by the rips in his jeans, Yangyang feels so pathetic.

"Why am I? If I am not mistaken, we kissed each other, didn't we?"

"Yes, but--" There's so many questions, too many, Yangyang just wants to escape from his own body. Words upon words clog his throat, his head spins. He is angry, hurt, confused. Inevitably, words just blurt out. "Do you actually want me?"

"Well, not right now..." Dejun scoffs right away, a reaction causing an even bigger reaction to happen.

"What the fuck do you want then, Dejun?" Yangyang shouts. Anger shoots through his body, he leaps to his feet, nearly falling when his body reacts faster than his brain. Shocked by his own reaction, Yangyang takes a step back.

"What do you want, Yangyang?"

You.

The answer is so simple, so short and easy to say. Or, it should have been, but it isn't. Yangyang can taste the words on his tongue, can easily imagine himself saying it out loud. You, I want you. But he doesn't. He can't.

"I... I don't know..." Like a scolded child Yangyang's head drops, shoulders as well.

You, you, you.

"You're right. We should go back then." Dejun has already spun on his heel, heading for the door as he speaks. Swiftly, he fixes his hair and tucks his shirt back into his pants. The door unlocks, and Yangyang follows him like a kicked puppy with sad eyes.

Yangyang secretly sweeps his tongue across his bottom lip; red wine and dumb decisions. It really happened. Dejun kissed him, touched him. And Yangyang fucked it up. Regret fills his head when Yangyang returns to the living room. Mark is dancing in the middle of the room, wearing a feathery hat Yangyang wonders where he found, Yuta next to him breaking it down to the music that definitely is louder than before.

"Yo, there you are!" Mark shouts, pulling at Yangyang's shirt. "Thought you'd passed out or something."

Dejun slips through Yangyang's fingers for the second time tonight, returns back to the world he belongs to, the world Yangyang doesn't fit into, next to Sicheng and some other tall guy Yangyang hasn't noticed before, but now he surely does. Taller than even Sicheng, cat-like features on a face that looks almost unreal. Blonde hair styled to perfection, like he has stepped right out of a photoshoot, and expensive looking clothes, definitely designer. Must be one of Sicheng's model friends. But what Yangyang notices the most, is the way the blonde guy's eyes look at Dejun.

"So," Chenle throws an arm around Yangyang's shoulders, swaying in his spot. "Your roommate said something earlier, about us having to leave before midnight?"

"He did?"

"Yeah, he probably wants to tug you into bed and read you a bedtime story," Mark laughs too much at his own joke, coughing as he chokes on his own spit. Yangyang has no intention of saving him right now.

"He said the party had to end before midnight, out of respect for your neighbors, or something" Chenle then says, and it kind of makes sense. "Are you gonna stay or?"

"Or what?"

"We were thinking about going clubbing."

Yangyang ponders for a moment. He should go out, live a little, do some dumb shit with his friends. His eyes fall on Dejun again, and for the first time he catches himself wishing Yiren was still there. Dejun laughs at something Sicheng's friend says, admires the embroidery down the blazer only held closed by one single button—no shirt underneath. Dejun's finger stroke along the fabric, one simple move and his hand would be all over the taller guy's naked skin. The images of it flash through Yangyang's head, and anger turns his body burning hot.

Hands clench by themselves, trembling, Yangyang stares until he gets caught by those cat-like eyes, and he flinches. The blonde guy is staring back at him, slowly from head to toe and back—no facial expression until their eyes meet again and a sly smirk spreads over his lips. His attention is brought back to Dejun, an actual smile, his hand resting against Dejun's elbow as he leans in to whisper something in his ear—and Yangyang is about to explode.

"Nah, I'm kinda beat. I'll stay in tonight," he finally says, responding to Chenle's question. He should go out, but he should also stay at home. He has to speak with Dejun, alone.

Time goes by slower than ever before, when everyone is getting ready to leave; some heading home, others to the club Chenle has suggested—even a few of Dejun's friends, especially Yuta, seem excited to go. Yangyang wanders restlessly around the room, fiddling with whatever comes close to his hands, waiting for people to leave.

A knot sits tight in his stomach, Yangyang's eyes are glued to Dejun, and so he also has to watch how all hope shatters when Dejun heads for the door with the others. Chit chatting and laughing with Sicheng and his model friend, the last clank of wine glasses, Dejun doesn't look at Yangyang. Not even once. Surely, Sicheng's story about his next trip to Paris can't be that interesting.

"You're not going?" It's that dark haired guy, the old roommate, what was his name again? Hendery? He looks at Yangyang, curiously, coat hanging over his folded arms.

"Nah. Not really in the mood for clubbing tonight..."

"Me neither. I was gonna go home, but I'm kinda hungry. Wanna go grab some KFC?"

It isn't Yangyang's intention to be rude, but his response is delayed when he watches how Dejun keeps looking at that stupid blonde guy. Like he's the only person in the world. Sure, he is good looking, but come on. Sicheng is just blabbering away next to them, while putting his long coat on. Every story Sicheng tells seems to only revolve around himself.

"He's so full of himself," Hendery mumbles with a small shake of his head.

"I thought you guys were friends?" Surprised, Yangyang turns his head.

"Me and Sicheng? Ha! I'd rather eat my own foot! Granted, I do have very nice feet, if everything else goes south, I can always start selling feet pics on OnlyFans." His big eyes turn crescent as he laughs. Hendery shakes his head again. "No, we're not friends. He is Junjun's friend, of whatever reason that is still unclear to me."

A small hum, Yangyang gives one nod, holding back the thought of while Dong Sicheng might be a selfish asshole, Dejun has shown himself to be just the same. Birds of a feather flock together, or whatever the saying is. But Hendery seems nice, and it appears that he has known Dejun for quite a while. Maybe Yangyang is wrong.

Silence fills the apartment when the rest of the people have left, and the sudden rumble of Yangyang's stomach is loud like thunder. Yangyang realizes he never answered Hendery's question.

"Right. Sorry, yeah let's go to KFC."

Hendery sure talks a lot, but in a good way. He has a deep voice, warm and soothing, and is very expressive with his face—like he is passionate about everything he both says and hears. It is comforting, kind of, and it makes Yangyang wonder how he and Dejun became such good friends. Nickname kind of friends, even.

The walk to the nearest KFC is around ten minutes, Yangyang fishes his half-empty pack of cigarettes from his pocket.

"Oh, damn, can you spare me one?" Hendery asks next to him.

"Yeah, of course."

"Thanks. My fiancé is a nurse, better not smell of smoke when I get home," Hendery laughs, as he sticks the cigarette between his lips. His next words sound a little slurred, while he struggles with the old lighter Yangyang hands him. "So, what do you do for a living? Hopefully something that doesn't clash too much with Junjun's messed up sleeping schedule. I remember it drove me nuts."

"Oh, I-- Just some telemarketing job, for now. But it's okay, and I don't sleep much, so it's not like he's keeping me up or anything." Except for all the ladies that used to visit, Yangyang thinks to himself. Now it's only one, but it is more than enough. Hendery is right though; Dejun works at godawful hours, whenever creativity strikes him, he says. He is in and out of his atelier, some days several times a day, and Yangyang often hears him come home late at night.

Hendery works in publishing, Yangyang learns after they've ordered their food, he is twenty-seven, the same age as Dejun, and his fiancé's name is Karina. Hendery shows a photo of her, sparkles exploding in his huge eyes as he does. She's very beautiful, Yangyang reckons.

"But my biggest dream when I was younger was to own a video game store," Hendery says when squeezing ketchup out of the small packets onto his tray. "Are you a gamer?"

"Yeah, I- Yeah, I guess."

"Cool, what games do you play?"

"Well, my friends and I are playing PUBG at the moment. We've used to play League, and a bit of Arena of Valor," Yangyang says. He would never have imagined that he, Liu Yangyang, would find a common interest with one of Dejun's best friends. Granted, before meeting Hendery, Yangyang only had Sicheng to compare with.

"Hey, would it be cool if I joined you guys for a game someday?" Hendery asks, and Yangyang nods; he can't really see an issue with that. Hendery smiles and eagerly continues: "Oh, I recently bought an old Nintendo 64 on eBay, if you want I could bring it over someday? Karina isn't too fond of the noise of me gaming. I can get a little too carried away."

The excitement in Hendery's eyes feels contagious when Yangyang nods his head. He's never gamed on anything older than a PlayStation 3, but it somehow feels embarrassing to tell Hendery that. Yangyang pops a few fries into his mouth, chewing them slowly, when a thought makes him frown. Dejun probably wouldn't be too fond of the gaming noises either. Yangyang swallows, slowly sipping his soft-drink, then again, Dejun did use to live with Hendery...

"Don't worry, I'll make sure to ask Dejun first," Hendery suddenly says, as if he can read Yangyang's mind. "I know he can be a lot, but he's a good guy, deep down. He isn't giving you a hard time, is he?"

Oh, if only Hendery knew.

As he tugs at the sleeves of the zip up hoodie he threw on before leaving, Yangyang shakes his head.

"So, you guys have known each other for a long time?" he asks as an attempt to stir the conversation away from his little white lie.

"High-school," Hendery nods as he pulls the chicken skin off with his teeth. "Then roomies at uni. When we graduated, rent was too high for either of us, so we chose to stick together for a little while longer." A small chuckle, brown eyes squint slightly, focusing on the chicken in his hand. "To me, he'll always just be quiet, shy Dejun, sitting in his room flipping through fashion magazines in his oversized hoodie, and afraid of taking the bus by himself."

"I can't even imagine..." And Yangyang really can't imagine Dejun being afraid of anything.

"Well, people grow up, we change. He had to toughen up. The world can be cruel to us, but the fashion industry is cruel, you know? Or, well, that's what he's always said to me, I just figured he had watched The Devil Wears Prada too many times."

The phone buzzes in Yangyang's pocket. Once, twice, Yangyang ignores it until it buzzes for the third time. It's just Mark spamming him on SnapChat. He tries to listen to Hendery talking, the stories of how Dejun used to be have definitely caught Yangyang's attention. At the fourth buzz, Yangyang's curiosity takes over. Fingers itch to swipe the phone open—to check for the smallest glimpse of Dejun and what he is doing.

Regret hits Yangyang straight in the face when the videos are played on the screen. The first three aren't that bad, it is just Mark shouting inaudible nonsense drowned by the music, second and third are Chenle and Donghyuck having a shot battle, the last one stops just as Chenle looks like he's about to puke onto the table. But the fourth one, the last one—Yangyang replays it, finger pressed against the screen to pause it.

In an ocean of flickering lights, blue and green washing over glowing skin, Mark has filmed around the club, and there—right there in the crowd is Dejun. Head tilted back, laughing a bit too much next to the tall blondie Yangyang has decided he hates now. Blondie even has his arm around Dejun, holding him by the waist.

"Who is... Who is that guy?" Yangyang quietly mumbles, quickly correcting himself—hoping Hendery didn't notice the jealousy laced thick in his voice. He tilts his phone towards Hendery's side of the table. "I... I mean, I don't think I got the chance for an introduction back home."

"Ah, the blonde one?" Hendery asks, drying his fingers in a napkin before leaning across the table for a better look. "Wen Junhui, he's one of Sicheng's friends. A model too, if you haven't guessed from the chronic stone face."

Hendery looks at the screen for a few seconds more, his big eyes narrowing down before he shakes his head. Yangyang stuffs the phone back into his pocket, wishing he had never looked at it. A knot in his stomach, it hurts. He closes his lips around the straw, the bubbles from his drink tickling against his tongue.

Maybe Dejun will kiss Junhui later, just like he kissed Yangyang. Soft and gentle, turning hungry and needy. His tongue around Junhui's, with small moans slipping out. Yangyang feels sick just thinking about it.

Tired eyes beg to fall shut, when Yangyang finally returns home. The key clanks against the door, Yangyang gets it unlocked three attempts in. Shoes kicked off, Yangyang is about to pass by when he changes his mind and picks them up to place them neatly by the door. Stupid Dejun and his effect on Yangyang.

"Where have you been?" a voice says behind Yangyang, startling him.

Yangyang turns around, a few steps into the living room, surprised to see Dejun at home, Yangyang had assumed he would be out all night. With Junhui, or whatever.

"Went to KFC, with Hendery," Yangyang replies, shrugging his shoulders.

"Oh," Dejun chuckles lightly. Loose linen pants and no shirt. Fucking hell, is he trying to kill Yangyang? "So typical Hendery. Taking a stray cat in."

And Yangyang kind of knows what Dejun means, and he kind of doesn't. Either way, he doesn't give it much thought, when the dimmed lights fall in all the right ways down Dejun's skin.

"Didn't know you'd be home so early," Yangyang manages to mumble, nervousness sneaks up on him—tickling down his back.

"Yeah, no, it was fun but..." A shrug, like Yangyang should know what Dejun means by that. He doesn't.

They're alone. The realization hits Yangyang like a truck. They should talk now, they need to talk, and Yangyang feels better after hanging out with Hendery. Dejun might not be that bad, after all. He fiddles with his sleeve, trying to find the courage that keeps slipping away. Dejun just stands there, looking like an absolute dream. A dream Yangyang has held in his hands, has touched, kissed. Heat rises in his body, Dejun just keeps looking at him with those damn, dangerous eyes.

"Listen, Dejun... I--"

The sound of Dejun's bedroom door. Yangyang freezes. Shivers down his spine, his stomach turns in the most unpleasant way. Yiren. Only barely covered in the white shirt Dejun was wearing earlier—brown hair a mess.

"Oh, Yangyang? Sorry, I didn't know you were here," she smiles politely, but embarrassment is written all over her reddening cheeks, as she pulls the shirt tighter around her body before hurrying towards the bathroom. Yangyang follows her with his eyes, every light step she takes feels like a knife to his heart. She went home earlier, before Dejun went to the nightclub. But yet, here she is again, meaning Dejun must have called her to come back. Work in the morning apparently wasn't as important as a booty-call.

"Right..." Yangyang mumbles, more to himself than anything else, squeezing his hands into closed fists, nails digging in the palms of his hands.

"Yangyang..." Dejun's voice is low, quiet in a way Yangyang has never heard before. A hand reaches out, hesitant or so it seems, but Yangyang pulls away.

"The party was great. Thanks for helping me arrange it. Good night..." Head down, Yangyang mumbles as he passes by Dejun, lump in his throat, it hurts when he swallows. Hurts, when he closes the door, when his nose itches and eyes blur. Hurts when he lays down on his bed, alone, hurts to know that Dejun will go back to his own bed with Yiren.

Yangyang nuzzles his face into the pillow, inhales in ragged breaths that soon turn into quiet sobs. He feels pathetic, embarrassed, confused. What will happen in the morning? How can they go on like nothing happened? A heavy sigh, Yangyang dries the tears with the back of his hand. Will he have to move out? Finding a place with a decent rent is so hard these days.

The sun is rising outside, when Yangyang finally falls asleep, clothes still on and a tear-stained pillow under his head.