Like following a treasure map, Yangyang comes to learn that X marks the spot right on the curve of Dejun's neck. A blissful gasp, Dejun writhes deeper into the mattress as Yangyang lets his lips glide over that very particular spot. Teeth exposed, nippling on the soft skin—another moan and Dejun's body arches aggressively against Yangyang's. Naked and beautiful, absolute perfection held in Yangyang's nervous hands.

"More..." A gentle whimper causes a wreck in Yangyang's mind.

Like dancing in the fire, Dejun is burning hot under him. Eyes closed and lips parted, the sheet crumpled between his trembling fingers when Yangyang gives him what he wants. What they both want. What they both need. Yangyang groans, the tightness that engulfs him is almost too much. Nails dig into the skin of his back—searching blindly, desperately, until they find a grip in the locks of his hair.

"Yangyang..." Dejun whispers into a kiss that is all wet and messy.

Yangyang, as nervous as he is about to pass out from pleasure, rocks his hips. The pace increases, the bed creaks, Dejun's moans get louder. A serene voice singing absolute foul praises of Yangyang deep inside of him.

Every kiss, every thrust, every touch against warm skin—Yangyang's head spins and spins and spins. Dizzy, hazy, too good to be true.

Like it's only happening in his own head...

An obnoxious sound sneaks in, beeping louder by the second. Sunlight chases the night away, taking everything along with it. Everything, but Yangyang waking up alone in his bed.

Just another wet dream.

Even his own brain is mocking him now, taunting him even when he's asleep. His body still tingles and a certain part of him is painfully hard, Yangyang silently screams into his hands pressed solid against his face, while kicking the comforter to the floor.

The curtains remain drawn and the lights off, as Yangyang gets ready for work—but even then he sees the crinkles on his white shirt. It's too late to iron it now, he'll take the reprimand from Taeil, should his manager notice.

Backpack hanging off his shoulder, he presses his ear against the bedroom door. No sounds coming from outside, Dejun must still be asleep, if he's home at all. A deep breath, hand clenched around the door-handle. The door clicks open—Yangyang swears the sound of it is the loudest in the entire world, echoing throughout the apartment. One, two steps, stopping to listen again. Nothing. Another step, then sprinting to the entryway. Shoes and jacket grabbed in a rush, put on on the way down the stairs, staggering and struggling, nearly tripping over his own feet. As he bites the inside of his cheek, Yangyang tells himself things will get better, easier. It's probably a lie, and he knows that.

"Hi, I'm calling to ask if you'd be interested in--" Yangyang sighs, fingers pressed against his temples, as yet another call is cut short. The office chair creaks when he leans back, with his hands behind his head he stares at the white tiled ceiling.

There's a constant noise surrounding him at work. Phones ringing, people talking, pens bumped against the table, the squeaking wheels of the office chairs, while fluorescent light paints the entire place with depressing colors.

But even work is better than being at home these days. Tension seeps in from every corner of the apartment, leaving the air thick and heavy. Interactions with Dejun have been pretty much non-existing, but he still leaves dinner in the fridge for Yangyang, with the usual "eat well" post-it.

Yangyang sighs again, adjusting his headset and pulling at the tight collar of his shirt, about to dial the next potential customer, when a shadow sneaks up on him.

"What do you want?" he asks, annoyance rushing through his veins, the moment he looks up.

"What? Can't I swing by to say hi anymore?" Jaemin smirks, leaning over the half-height partition the company claims is for privacy. Yangyang couldn't agree less—or, Na Jaemin simply is too unfamiliar with the word privacy, and the concept of personal space.

Squinting his eyes, Yangyang glares at Jaemin. At stupid Jaemin flashing his stupid smile. The white shirt seems to sit even tighter around his body today, Yangyang considers suggesting him to size up, but that would expose him for even looking at Jaemin's body. And that would be dangerous, Jaemin would never let it go.

"I'm busy," Yangyang then says, turning his head back towards the computer on his desk.

Yangyang might be busy; busy trying to avoid his roommate. Busy, running to Chenle's place and crash there for days. Busy, not thinking about Dejun, his lips and his hands—and his hard cock pressed against Yangyang's own through acid-washed denim and faux leather pants.

But Yangyang isn't busy right now, even though he for once wishes he was. If Taeil is to scold him for not ironing his shirt, now would be the time.

"I just came to say that the guys and I are going out for dinner tonight, if you'd like to join?" Jaemin shrugs his shoulders like he actually doesn't care. A purse of his lips, before he adds a nonchalant: "Jisung told me to ask you, okay?"

It has been a while, months, since Yangyang last hung out with anyone from work. In fact, it has been so long he can't even remember the last time. Must have been around spring time, the weather was warm enough for only a denim jacket—Yangyang remembers that much. Before the summer party with the company, before he became too familiar with Na Jaemin.

"Well, think about it," Jaemin breaks through Yangyang's thoughts, tapping his fingers against the top of the partition.

A lingering stare, then, Jaemin breaks the awkward tension that has built up, with a wink before he leaves.

Yangyang sucks his bottom lip between his teeth. Maybe he should go out, it wouldn't hurt him. Then again, he could just go home too—Dejun won't be there, Yangyang overheard him talking on the phone a few days ago. Some weekend-trip with Yiren. How romantic, Yangyang wanted to throw up when he heard it.

Ten minutes and six failed phone calls later, Yangyang gives in. Slumping in his seat, feet planted solid against the ugly gray rug he turns the chair from side to side. Tapping lazily against the screen of his phone, his heart stops when he witnesses the horror that shows up. He remembers muting the conversation with Jaemin, but he forgot to delete it—nearly six months old messages are now mocking him.

[Na Jaemin] I fucked up. I'm sorry.

[Na Jaemin] Yangyang, come on.

[Na Jaemin] Call me. Please

[Na Jaemin] I miss you.

Yangyang cringes, facial-expression like he's in actual, physical pain. Quickly, he deletes the entire conversation before typing a new message. Hopefully Jaemin deleted everything long ago. He probably did.

As his fingers tap against the screen, Yangyang tells himself not to overthink it.

A short message, hit send. "Okay. I'm in."

Yangyang should have known, he really should have, that dinner with the guys was more drinking than actual dinner. Another glass emptied, Yangyang doesn't mind Soju as much as tequila, but it is dangerous. The fruit flavored ones taste just like candy, and Yangyang is soon piss drunk, swaying in his seat at a nearby Korean BBQ place, while having trouble grabbing the meat from the table grill with his chopsticks.

Chit chat around the table, Yangyang doesn't hear most of it. Mainly work stuff anyway. It's the J-squad, Jaemin, Jisung, Johnny and Jaehyun—the top sellers at work. Their photos hang on the wall, as an inspiration for the others, like they're saving the world or something. Johnny and Jaehyun, the types to wear suits and ties even in their free-time. Johnny thinks he's way funnier than he actually is, Jaehyun is the opposite, all he talks about is work and he laughs like a dad. Jisung is cool though, even joined Yangyang and his friends for a few gaming nights, until Chenle decided he didn't like him. Reason still unknown. It be like that sometimes, was the only thing Chenle had to say.

"So, did Taeil comment on your hair yet?" When the warmth of Jaemin's arm suddenly presses against Yangyang, he flinches. The distance vanished while Yangyang was busy fighting with his food. Jaemin moves even closer, the metal legs of the chair scrape uncomfortably against the tiled floor. "Still remember the riot you caused, when you showed up with that red hair, don't you?"

"Yes. I don't care..." Yangyang replies in a mumble, no eye-contact. For God's sake, no eye-contact. Even with the smell of grilled meat filling the air, the scent of citrus and amber is overwhelming.

"Hm," Jaemin chuckles. "I've always liked that about you. You don't care what others think."

A compliment from Na Jaemin isn't out of the ordinary. Or, it didn't use to be. Polite comments turned flirty, culminating at the last staff party when Yangyang was way too drunk—and way too lonely. And Jaemin looked way too good in a simple white tee and denim jeans.

"I just don't care in general... There's a difference." Yangyang bites into his chopsticks at the sound of his own words—more precisely, his choice of the last few words. The very same words Dejun used to lure him in, two weeks prior.

Jaemin hums, seemingly done with the conversation, Yangyang foolishly believes so.

"I owe you an apology," Jaemin then says, only loud enough for Yangyang to hear, his voice tickles in Yangyang's ears, it always has. That low, raspy tone that matches perfectly with his pretty but damn dangerous smile.

"For?" Yangyang asks, knowing Jaemin owes him several apologies already.

"For interrupting your date that night at the restaurant. It was rude of me, I'm sorry."

A brief side-eye towards Jaemin, Yangyang ignores him and turns to smile politely at Jisung who pours him another shot of Soju. But the night Jaemin is referring to replays in his head, much to his dislike. A beautiful night turned into a disaster, like it was the very starting point of Yangyang's downfall.

"Wasn't a date. Just my roommate," he mumbles.

"You're shitting me?" Jaemin looks shocked at first, then his eyes narrow down—brows as well. "That's your roommate? And you're not boning him?"

"He's straight," Yangyang replies, as he empties the shot, wishing the alcohol could wash his words away.

Wash it all away. Girlfriend or not, whatever Dejun is actually into isn't up to Yangyang to decide, but he did do some pretty non-straight things in the bathroom.

"Sure," Jaemin scoffs, like he doesn't actually believe it.

And neither does Yangyang.

"I owe you another apology. Face to face, this time."

The wind feels cold against Yangyang's cheeks, filtering through his hair sticking out under a black beanie. Hands stuffed into the pocket of his jacket, eyes glancing towards the sky. Jaemin's words echo in his ears. Only the two of them left, walking towards the subway together after the others bid farewell, heading in a different direction.

"Jaemin, it's not... It's fine. Let's not--"

"I'm serious, Yangyang. I'm sorry for what I did, for not being honest with you." Na Jaemin talks a lot and when he is drunk even more, like he's afraid of silence. Yangyang internally shakes his head at the thought, no, Jaemin just likes hearing his own voice.

The only time Jaemin went silent when he should have spoken, was the moment he now is apologizing for. Yangyang could have wondered why now, of all time, but deep down he really doesn't care anymore.

"I said it's--"

"I don't do relationships, I never did, I should have told you from the beginning, instead of..." Jaemin pauses, but they both know the ending to that sentence. Yes, Jaemin should have told Yangyang the truth back then, instead of fucking his personal trainer, while Yangyang was waiting for him for hours in the rain. Like in some lame ass k-drama.

"It's cool, you know, I'm over it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

A loud thud, resonating as desperation and dumb decisions. Jaemin's back against the wall, his lips parted and ready—Yangyang, like starved, takes and takes. Messy kisses and eager hands struggle to pull off their coats and scarves, and shoes land randomly on the floor in the small entryway. There's a brief moment where Yangyang considers picking them up and placing them nicely, but when Jaemin's tongue is down his throat he forgets all about it. Also, fuck Dejun and his stupid rules.

"Fuck, you're so hot," Jaemin breathes between the kisses, hands all over Yangyang's body, bringing back memories. "Where is your room?"

Yangyang pulls away, a simple nod in the direction of his room. Jaemin is as good of a kisser as Yangyang remembers, and it is a dangerous realization. A playful grin draws across Jaemin's face, bottom lip sucked between his teeth—Yangyang can't ignore the twitch inside his pants.

"Damn, this place is nice!" Jaemin exclaims when they walk towards Yangyang's bedroom.

"It's all Dejun's stuff," Yangyang instantly replies. There's a small sting in his heart when he says Dejun's name out loud. "My roommate's. His name is Dejun."

"He's got good taste."

"Yeah. He's a fashion designer, so..." The need to keep talking about Dejun leaves a bitter taste in Yangyang's mouth. He opens the door to his room, thankful that he actually managed to clean a bit for the housewarming party two weeks ago. He leaves the lights off though; he might do a few sit-ups now and then, and also thank all the Gods for his fast metabolism—but he is nowhere near as fit as Jaemin.

The bed bounces when they fall on top of it, lips connected again, Yangyang on top pressing Jaemin into the mattress as the kiss deepens. Warm fingertips sneak under his shirt, then sink down to pull at the waist of his pants. Jaemin grinds into the heat growing between Yangyang's legs. A ragged moan, Yangyang can't breathe when Jaemin's hand suddenly presses against the bulge in his pants.

"Want you to fuck me," Jaemin whispers in his ear. "Want you so bad. I've been thinking about it so many times."

They kiss again, hungry, wet and open, tongue everywhere. Yangyang feels his hands tremble, he grabs around the sheet to hold himself steady—to stay focused even when it's nearly impossible.

Yangyang has thought about it too, fucking Jaemin. Even after their falling out, before meeting Dejun, Yangyang thought about it, dreamt of it, blamed himself for not going through with it when he had the chance. He kept telling himself he should've done it, but by then it was too late.

It's different now. There are no feelings involved, no hearts to break. No reason to take things slow. There never was, but Yangyang wasn't aware of that, back then. And he really, really needs to get laid soon—now, preferably.

"Turn the light on." Jaemin cards his fingers through Yangyang's hair and down his neck—it tickles, just like his warm breath against Yangyang's lips. "I want to see you."

Yangyang hesitates, his eyes find the dark silhouette of the small bedside lamp, but it seems so impossibly far away.

"Don't be shy," Jaemin adds, like he can read Yangyang's mind. His voice is practically a purr, tempting and teasing. "You're so fucking sexy."

One deep breath, Yangyang gets up on his knees to reach for the light switch. It's not too bright, but it's enough. Jaemin adjusts himself, leans his back against the wall while his fingers slide down his shirt, slowly unbuttoning it, the dimmed light falls over his skin like glowing waves.

"Fuck..." Hot breath gets stuck in Yangyang's throat, he tries to swallow but to no avail.

"So, do you have any...?" Jaemin smirks, one brow raised, hands stroking down his own naked skin. Yangyang gets the hint, a simple nod and he pulls out the drawer of his nightstand.

Only to have disappointment punch him right in the face. Half a bottle of lube, but no condoms—Yangyang asks himself why he even checked. When was the last time he bought condoms anyway? It's not like he ever needed them.

Until now...

"Actually, I- I don't..."

"Shit, are you serious? I didn't bring any either, I honestly didn't think this would happen. I mean, I assumed you still hated me."

"Never said I don't, Jaem."

"Aww," Jaemin promptly coos, and Yangyang rolls his eyes. He shouldn't have used that nickname, it just slipped out. "Been a long time since you last called me that. You can't hate me that much then."

Yangyang bites the inside of his cheek. What a mess he's got himself into. Finally he's about to get his dick wet, and then he doesn't have any condoms? The nearest convenience store is about a five minute walk away, but what a mood killer that would be. But what can he do then? Yangyang ponders for a moment, and then—no, he couldn't possibly... Yangyang looks back at Jaemin under him. Messy brown hair, parted glossy lips, lust burning in his eyes. The open shirt, exposed skin over a toned chest. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"I'll be right back..."

Yangyang stumbles out of the room, cursing himself over and over for what he's about to do. He is crossing a line, he knows that, but his horny brain is the one in control now. With a shaking hand he opens the door to Dejun's room—realizing it's the first time he's ever looked behind that door. He flicks the lights on.

The room looks like Yangyang would have expected, but surprisingly smaller in size than he had imagined. Way smaller than Yangyang's room. Simple interior, not too much decor. Dark bedding matching the long curtains. A desk by the window with sketches. Yangyang looks at them with curious eyes. A beautifully drawn dress with a somehow familiar silhouette. Oh, it must be the one Yangyang saw on the mannequin in Dejun's atelier. A veil drawn onto the paper, it must be a wedding dress?

There's a big painting above the bed, Yangyang stares at it, as he hesitantly draws closer to the nightstand. Golden frame with some kind of abstract art in dark green and blue. Other than that there are no pictures in Dejun's room. With a trembling hand Yangyang slides the drawer of the nightstand open. A small box inside, on top of what looks like a journal. Yangyang opens the box, relieved to find what he is looking for—or, as relieved as you can be, when sneaking into your roommate's bedroom to steal one of his condoms.

When Yangyang closes the box again, the journal underneath slides—revealing some photographs hidden underneath.

Yangyang bites his lips, as he stuffs the condom into the back-pocket of his pants. He shouldn't intrude more than he already has, but curiosity gets the best of him. As per usual. Carefully, he lifts the small box and journal to peek underneath.

Seven different photos, all of them are of Dejun and Hendery. Smiling, laughing, some of them appear to be from a couple of years ago. Dejun looks so happy, so carefree, in the older photos—so different from the way he looks now. Like there's a different kind of spark in his eyes that can't be found anymore. It suits him, Yangyang catches himself wishing Dejun would smile like that again. He wonders though, why Dejun hasn't put the photos up on his wall, instead of shoving them into a drawer.

The sound of the front door makes Yangyang flinch. Rustling of keys. Yangyang quickly puts everything back into the drawer, closes it and storms out of the room, flicking the lights off on his way. He nearly slips, heart pounding in his chest as he slides across the living room floor. Then he stops. Frozen in his spot, he stares at Dejun coming around the corner.

"Y-you're back?"

It's a tired Dejun who is looking back at him. Weekend bags slip from his hands and onto the wooden floor.

"Yeah..." he simply says. Something is different, but Yangyang can't pinpoint what it is.

"Oh... Is... Is Yiren here too?" Yangyang asks, even though he can't see or hear her anywhere.

Dejun looks at him for a few seconds, but it feels like an eternity, like he is searching for something. Shivers stream down Yangyang's back, and the stolen condom is burning a hole in his pocket. Shit, shit, shit, what if Dejun finds out Yangyang has been in his room?

"No, we- I- Actually, Yangyang, I--" Dejun pauses, and Yangyang has never heard Xiao Dejun sound so hesitant before. But then a noise is coming from Yangyang's room, Dejun's eyes shoot towards the door, and the tone in his voice changes completely. "You're not alone?"

It then occurs to Yangyang that Dejun didn't even notice the mess in the entryway. Something is definitely off.

"I--"

The door opens and Yangyang feels every part of his body tense up. Jaemin comes out, no shirt—of course not. Slow steps, a playful smirk.

"Oh, hi. Dejun, right?" he says with his fingers running through his brown hair.

"Yes." Dejun glares at Jaemin. A scrunch of his nose, his brows knitting together—the dislike oozes off of him.

"Lovely place you have here." There is no stopping Jaemin, no shame as always, his arm slips around Yangyang's waist. "I miss you, come back to bed," he whispers, but Yangyang knows it's loud enough for Dejun to hear it too. It is the pure intention.

"I-I'll be right there, okay..." Even now, Yangyang can't look away from Dejun. Fearfully and helplessly he stands there, arms hanging limp down his sides, staring at his roommate—wishing he had been the one to hold him.

"Nice seeing you again. We won't be too loud, I promise," Jaemin then says. Hand held up, crossing his fingers, he winks at Dejun before strutting back to Yangyang's bedroom.

Silence. Complete, drowning, horrible silence. Yangyang is burning, while Dejun now is busy on his phone.

"Dejun..."

"Don't worry about being too loud," Dejun cuts in, voice cold like ice. Bags picked up from the floor, he slips his phone into his pocket without looking at Yangyang. "I'll go out with Junhui tonight. Have fun. Wear a condom."

Yangyang watches in silence, as Dejun walks away, and all the things he wants to say and do slowly slips away like sand between his fingers.

How he would grab Dejun by the arm, turn him around and press him against the wall. How  he would whisper in Dejun's ear, tell him to stay. Their lips would meet, naked skin as well, and Yangyang would tell him everything he's been holding back.

But all of that will never happen. The door to Dejun's bedroom closes between them, Yangyang is alone in the living room.

What follows next might as well be a dream, or something Yangyang isn't actually part of. How and when he returned to the bedroom is uncertain. Like he blinked and suddenly he was back inside his room with Jaemin's lips traveling down his skin. The clank of his belt, the cool air against his bare legs, Yangyang lets Jaemin pull his pants off but his mind is elsewhere.

Fingers tease at the waits of his boxers, his body reacts as it should, but still Yangyang can't keep his focus. Wet kisses smear over his stomach, warm hands rub against his thighs, Jaemin's soft moans as he mouths against Yangyang's bulge.

The sound of footsteps, of the front door. Dejun has left and Yangyang can only wonder why he feels so guilty. His toes curl up, fingers as well—digging into the sheet. Now completely naked, Yangyang lets out a choked gasp when Jaemin's tongue sweeps over the tip of his cock. Warm, wet and wonderful. Jaemin's lips suck down around Yangyang's length, his back arching at the sensation.

Yangyang pinches his eyes shut. Focus, focus, focus, he tells himself. It works, but only for a moment that is way too short.

"You have such a nice, fat cock," Jaemin whispers, lips stroking against the shaft, fingers wrapped around the root. "Can't wait for you to fuck me with it, fill me with your cum."

"Could... Could you, like, maybe not talk?"

It isn't the fact that Jaemin is talking that throws Yangyang off—more the choice of his words. Or, that is what Yangyang tells himself instead of the truth.

Dejun probably wouldn't talk like that...

"You don't want me to talk?" Blending his words with a teasing lick, Jaemin looks at Yangyang with the most insane fuck-me eyes Yangyang has ever seen.

But it still isn't enough.

"Yeah... No..." Yangyang mumbles, shifting uncomfortably on the bed. "It... It's not really working for me..."

"Okay, okay fine. No talking." There's a small roll of his eyes before Jaemin continues sucking Yangyang off, but he does so, this time without talking.

Shivers spread across his skin, his cock twitches in Jaemin's mouth. It's good, it definitely is. Jaemin's pretty moans, the wet sound of his lips sliding up and down Yangyang's length. So what if Dejun is out with Junhui now? Yangyang is getting sucked off by Na Jaemin, the hottest guy at work—one of the hottest guys in the world... The hottest, had Xiao Dejun not existed.

But he does... Maybe Dejun will go home with Junhui. Maybe they will make out. Dejun and Yiren must have broken up, and he wanted to talk—Yangyang was scared to even think it earlier, but now it is crystal clear to him. The look on Dejun's face, his hesitant words changing into a harsh tone at the sight of Jaemin. Maybe he will let Junhui take him to bed, let him touch him. Fuck him. Then, what chance would someone like Yangyang ever have?

Jaemin's pace suddenly sets up, like he can feel Yangyang is distracted. Yangyang pants heavily, fingers completely lost in Jaemin's brown hair, tugging and pulling it. Bottom lip sucked between his teeth, Yangyang can feel his climax getting closer.

Closer.

And closer.

A buzzing noise pulls him out of the daze.

"Your phone," he gasps, head tilting towards the nightstand where Jaemin's phone keeps buzzing against the wooden surface.

"Ignore it."

And Yangyang does so, until the phone starts buzzing again. A second incoming call.

"Maybe it's important?"

"It's not." Jaemin is on a mission, still working his lips up and down Yangyang's cock, completely uninterested in whoever is trying to reach him.

But by the third call Yangyang can't ignore it any longer. Without pushing Jaemin away he stretches his body to grab the phone—only to wish he never had.

"Jaemin..." A knot forms in Yangyang's stomach, and not the good kind. One that hurts. Everything changes within a second, from feeling like burning up to absolutely freezing. Yangyang throws the phone next to Jaemin on the bed. "It's Jeno."

"Shit..." Jaemin curses under his breath, finally pulling away. Sitting on his knees between Yangyang's legs, his head drops between his shoulders.

Jeno. Lee Jeno. A name Yangyang knows all too well without knowing the guy at all. But he knows of him, or, used to. As he pulls at the comforter to cover himself up, Yangyang is taken back in time. Back to summer, back to Jaemin's bed and sweet nothings whispered in his ear. A summer fling, but Yangyang foolishly believed it to be more than that. Jaemin promised him more than that.

It never was—and Yangyang was never the one and only in Jaemin's life. Or bed, for that matter.

"Another late-night work out session?" It's a mocking comment, but Yangyang can't hold it back, as he recalls all the times Jaemin canceled their plans to 'go work out with his personal trainer'.

"Yangyang..." With a sigh, Jaemin pulls away, legs down the side of the bed, elbows against his thighs—hands covering his face as he mumbles: "it's not... It's not like that."

"What is it then?"

"It's... He's... He's sort of my boyfriend."

"Boyf--"

Na Jaemin never seems to change. Brown eyes search for Yangyang's, when Jaemin turns his head, his hair shadowing over his face. Yangyang feels gross, pulling the comforter tighter around his body. Not only did Jaemin lie earlier when he said he doesn't do relationships—he also cheated, and he brought Yangyang into his mess. Again.

"I'm sorry, Yangyang. I just... I guess I just missed you, you know?"

"No. I don't know, Jaemin." A deep breath, Yangyang stares at his feet peeking out from the comforter. "You should leave."

It is late into the night—moon high on the dark sky outside the windows. Yangyang lies on the couch in the living room, staring at the ceiling—eyes heavy and dry, but his body feels restless and even after a long shower he still feels gross.

At the sound of the front door Yangyang doesn't move, but his heart does start beating a little faster. Footsteps, stopping as they turn the corner to the living room. Yangyang angles his head, slightly, to look at Dejun standing by the door.

"Hey..." Dejun says.

"Hey."

"Why are you--" Dark eyes flicker, darting towards Yangyang's bedroom door and back to the couch. Confusion actually looks adorable on Dejun's face.

"Oh, I... Jaemin left. Or, well, I kicked him out."

Dejun hums softly, stepping closer to lean over the backrest of an armchair. Hands folded, he nods a few times before taking a deep breath and letting out a heavy sigh. Yangyang pulls himself up to sit straight, watching how Dejun's brows furrow and his lips purse together.

"I want to apologize for my behavior earlier," he then says. "I wasn't in the right mind. You're always welcome to have company over, I hope you know that. Jaemin, or whoever you want to. It is none of my business, I'm sorry."

Yangyang nods, fingers sliding along the fabric of the couch. Silence, for what feels like an eternity, Yangyang wants to say so many things—but ends up saying nothing at all. Like always.

"I'm also sorry for what happened at the housewarming," Dejun suddenly says.

"What?"

"You were right, we were both drunk. It was wrong of me to get upset and lashing out the way I did. And... I'm also sorry for... Coming on to you, and doing what I did. I shouldn't have done that. As you said that night, I was drunk, I didn't know what I was doing."

"I-I don't understand..."

Dejun clicks his tongue as he stands up straight, finally looking directly into Yangyang's eyes. Everything's coming together and falling apart all at once, Yangyang looks back at him in pure confusion.

"I would like for us to get along," Dejun continues. His words make sense, but every one of them stings. "We are living together after all. It would mean a lot to me, if we could just start over. Clean slate, you know?"

"Sure..." A weak mumble is the only sound to struggle its way from Yangyang's lips.

"Thanks, Yangyang. Good night."

"Good night..."