Curtains drawn shut. Late morning sun struggles to filter through—dimmed rays barely meet puffy eyes; Yangyang's stare is blank, distant, aimed towards the ceiling. Night turned into day with little to no sleep, but with lots of worries to keep him company.

"Fucking Jaemin..." A hoarse whisper into drowning silence, it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

And even though there was no "fucking" Jaemin, there are still plenty of reasons to curse him out. Unfortunately, just as many, as for Yangyang to curse himself out for. Endless nights of feeling sad and lonely after a failed summer fling, and months of awkward tension at work to follow—things had slowly gotten better. Far from good, but still, better. Now, back to square one, Yangyang dreads running into Jaemin at work on Monday...

Sprawled over the bed, like a lifeless starfish on a lonesome rock in the middle of the ocean, Yangyang's eyes follow the shadows from the sun through the thin curtains as they dance across the ceiling. One arm reaches out, the sunlight catches his hand, strokes over his skin, but even when he closes his hand, when fingers curl together tightly, he will never catch it. Just like Dejun—he is there, but always just out of reach.

The buzzing sound of his phone has never had such perfect timing; just as Yangyang is about to fall into a self-made pit of self-pity. An incoming call over FaceTime.

"Yo, where were you last night? You weren't online! Did you see my messages?" Mark's eyes are wide open, staring at Yangyang through the phone screen. A cap thrown on top of his messy hair sticking out in all directions, Mark doesn't look like he slept much either—Yangyang already figured from the endless messages last night, asking if he would join the next game, or the next, or the one after that.

"Ah, yeah, sorry man, I was pretty burned out last night..." A groan added, Yangyang shifts around on his bed, one arm thrown lazily over his head—the other stretched out just enough for him to be in frame for the call.

"Bro, Imma be honest with you," Mark continues, no hesitation, like he's been waiting to ask. "We're kinda worried about you, you've been acting really strange lately."

"... Strange?"

Yes, strange. Yangyang has been acting strange lately, and when thinking about it he is awfully aware of it himself. Listening to Mark list all the things only adds to that. Too distant, even more moody than usual, but the biggest giveaway is that he's rarely online these days.

"Nings thinks you're dying. You're not, like, dying, are you?"

"Nah, I'm not dying." Only kind of.

Faint noises seep through the closed door to Yangyang's room. Clanking of pots and pans, Dejun must be in the kitchen. Dejun. Dejun who would "like to get along as roommates", Dejun, too drunk to know what he was doing when kissing Yangyang. Yangyang, who can't think of anything but that kiss—not even when his dick is in someone else's mouth. What a misery.

"I'm just dealing with some stuff, like..." Lips sucked in between his teeth, Yangyang ponders for a moment. Honesty or the easy way out—he knows which one he prefers, but conscience tells him his friends deserve to know what's going on. "It sounds so lame, but I've kinda got a crush on someone, and it's never gonna work out, so..."

"Bro, it's not Ningning, is it? Chenle's gonna kill you, you know he's been crushing on her for ages!"

"It's not... It's... It's this... Guy I know." A hard swallow, the collar of his shirt suddenly feels so tight around his neck. Yangyang has never told his friends how he's into guys—it's never been brought up and it's not like they've asked, because why should they? Yangyang has nodded whenever Mark has shown a photo of a girl, asking Yangyang "isn't she pretty?" because, yes, she was pretty and Yangyang has eyes and enough of a brain to objectively appreciate when someone is good-looking.

"Guy?" It's like Mark is chewing on the word, tasting it, until his eyes widen up and his mouth falls open. "Yo! Is it me?"

"What? No! It's not you, fuckmeat!" Yangyang retaliates, possibly too fast—definitely too brash.

"Hey, no need to be rude, alright, I'm a catch, don't even try to deny that!" There goes Mark again, soon blabbering away about all the game he's got, when in reality the only game he has is the kind on his computer. "Is it someone I know? Wait! Is it that guy from the party?"

"Party?"

"Yeah, your housewarming?"

"W-who are you talking about?"

"So you're not denying it? That it's someone from the party. Is it the model guy? He told Ningning he was gay, when she tried hitting on him."

"What? Sicheng?"

"Eh, I don't remember his name, but that tall, bitch-face looking one. Sorry man, I gotta go, my mom's calling. Talk to you later!"

Mark hangs up before Yangyang can protest further, before he can say that it definitely isn't Sicheng. Had Mark not added the "the one Ningning was hitting on", then tall and bitch-face looking could describe both Sicheng and Junhui—but Yangyang would rather not think about Junhui at all.

Dejun probably does it enough for the both of them anyway.

Mr. Perfect model, Wen Junhui, with his perfect hair and perfect teeth, his expensive clothes and enchanting face. A heavy sigh. Yangyang is certain that people like Junhui are put on this earth solely to ruin the lives of people like Yangyang. The worst part? Junhui doesn't even have to anything directly towards Yangyang, his existence is more than enough—like when Yangyang couldn't fall asleep and he ended up stalking the blonde model on Instagram.

Speaking of—lips sucked between his teeth, fingers tapping too fast on the screen, Junhui's profile shows up once again. Wen Junhui, traveling the world wearing designer clothes and walking the biggest runways, while Yangyang wears the same hoodie every day and slouches around in baggy jeans. Wen Junhui, swiping his credit card in luxury stores, while Yangyang only swipes his metrocard, on his way to work.

When nothing but dark thoughts fill his mind, a message suddenly pops up.

[Hendery] Wanna hang out today? I can bring the 64

[Yangyang] sure sounds fun

[Hendery] Cool😎 Around 1?

[Yangyang] yeah np

The living room looks the same as it always has, Dejun would probably rather die, than to ever change anything, but somehow everything feels different. The wooden floor is cold when Yangyang crosses it bare feet. A quick glance towards the couch and the armchair, he relives the conversation with Dejun from last night.

"It would mean a lot to me, if we could just start over. Clean slate, you know?"

"Sure..."

Hands clench together automatically. "Sure"—tell that to his stupid heart that beats faster with every step towards the kitchen. Soft tunes on the radio and winter sun through the windows, it had all been so cozy—if anxiety wasn't tickling at the back of his neck.

Yangyang peeks from behind the door frame, his fingers slowly curling around the wooden panels. Dejun is busy washing the dishes, but Yangyang can't recall them being dirty recently. It does appear to be some kind of stress reliever for Dejun, to clean things. Light blue shirt, rolled up sleeves, hair pushed back by his glasses—his nose scrunch up at a dirty spot visible to no one but himself, as he aggressively scrubs the dinner plate in his hand. Yangyang takes a more relaxed pose, slouched against the doorframe, already forgetting the clean slate part to indulge himself in a daydream of Dejun—how can he not, when Dejun stands there looking absolutely boyfriend-material-like?

"Good morning," Dejun says as he briefly looks up, his hands in yellow rubber gloves dipping in and out of the bubbly water in the kitchen sink. "So, what are your plans for today?"

Startled, Yangyang stares at him. Dejun has never asked him about his plans for the day before. He blinks once, twice, wondering if he heard it right.

"Oh, I-I'm just gonna relax, game a little with Hendery."

"With Hendery?" Dejun looks up again, this time surprised—the sponge squeezed in his left hand has stopped rubbing against the white porcelain in his other. "Sounds fun," he adds. Facial expression as blank as the plate in his hand.

"Yeah, he'll come over later. Hope that's okay."

"Today? Really?" One brow raised, slightly, "—hmm. He didn't tell me about that."

"Ah, no sorry, he just texted me like ten minutes ago," Yangyang smiles, although hesitantly, walking over to place his hands against the kitchen island. Warm hands against cold marble, his eyes follow the pattern of the countertop, wondering why he's even apologizing.

Dejun just hums along to the song on the radio, back to scrubbing the already clean plates, and Yangyang knows he needs to stop staring at his roommate the way he does. It's just so damn hard not to. While pretending to be busy grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, Yangyang peeks over his shoulder to stare at the back of Dejun's neck. Heart beating faster, hand turning clammy around the cool plastic bottle. No marks, no signs of Junhui left behind on Dejun's skin. Not in any visible places at least. A small sigh of relief.

"I made coffee, if you want some?" Dejun suddenly says, the rubber gloves snap in the air as he pulls them off.

"Yeah, sure, thanks..." Yangyang smiles weakly—an awkward move with his hand, a silly wave with the water bottle that makes no sense, before he puts it back inside the fridge. Dejun looks at him, a few seconds of silence—then, a small shake of his head and something that sounds like a chuckle as he turns away. Yangyang watches as Dejun finds a cup from the cabinet and how he hums a soft melody as he pours the coffee.

For once it is Yangyang's turn to scrunch his nose, wondering what the hell has happened to Dejun for him to act this nice, this cheerful—hoping it has nothing to do with last night. With Wen Junhui. A gentle smile spreads across the lips Yangyang can't stop staring at; Dejun hands the cup of coffee over, and their fingers brush against each other as he does. It lasts less than a second, but to Yangyang it feels like a million years.

The sudden sound of the doorbell has both of them turn their heads. Dejun frowns, head tilted to the side, clearly not expecting any visitors. Neither is Yangyang, not to anyone's surprise. Dejun pulls the glasses from his hair and places them onto his nose—a simple move that makes Yangyang's heart flutter. Inaudible mumbling, Dejun leaves the kitchen.

A couple of buzzes from his phone in his pocket; Mark is spamming again, Yangyang skims over them from the lock-screen only.

The Markinator: yo

The Markinator: I just realized

The Markinator: it's your roommate isnt it?

The Markinator: Chenle was just kidding about that mommy kink thing yk

The Markinator: didnt actually think you were into him like that

The Markinator: the mommy kink maybe tho

It's better not to answer now, Yangyang decides, Mark will just drown him with questions. Phone shoved back into the pocket, Yangyang sips the coffee Dejun gave him. His friends can be so lame, he certainly does not have a mommy kink—he just likes when Dejun takes care of him, so what? Sure, maybe Yangyang does catch himself thinking it wouldn't be all that bad, if he saw Dejun in the kitchen with a cute little apron on. A frilly one perhaps. Then, maybe, Yangyang would kiss him, slowly undress him and make love to him on the kitchen counter.

Wait.

Make love? What happened to fucking? Ew—Yangyang scrunches his nose; that romance shit is really getting to him.

Voices from the entryway grabs Yangyang's attention—draws him out of the kitchen as well, coffee left behind on the counter. Yangyang tiptoes through the living room, like he's some kind of burglar trying to move unseen.

"What are you even doing here? Didn't you just get back from Paris last night?" he hears Dejun say.

"Ouch, that's the welcome I get? After eight months abroad? I'm here to pick you up for brunch, remember? Oh my God, you forgot? Well, glad I didn't just wait at the restaurant for you, I could've waited forever then!"

The voices turn louder as Dejun and the stranger walk into the living room, making Yangyang freeze in his spot.

"Oh, you've got company?" the stranger asks, curious eyes instantly scanning Yangyang from head to toe.

"It's my new roommate."

"New roommate?" A click of his tongue. "Well, maybe that's for the better."

Yangyang used to think Dejun was the only person with eyes of fire—but this stranger is dangerously close as well.

"H-hi, I'm Yangyang," Yangyang nervously introduces himself to the guy in front of him.

"Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul, enchanté," he says, an airy laughter at the end. Alluring, kind of. "And while I'm sure that tongue of yours can do wonders, you can just call me Ten."

A smile, a wink and a sweet laughter that tickles over Yangyang's skin, Ten oozes confidence and it makes Yangyang blush. It doesn't help that Ten definitely is good-looking. Dark hair in a shag cut reaches the collar of his shirt. Black, glittery, see-through, tucked into perfectly tailored pants. Yangyang stares for a moment too long, the warmth spreading further across his face reveals that.

"A-are you a model too?" Yangyang unknowingly adds the 'too', but it would make sense, seeing how Dejun seems to know one too many models already.

Yangyang's attempt at small-talking is both weak and surprising. He's never really been into it, small-talking, it seems stupid and as a waste of time, but Ten is fascinating, and would probably be the most beautiful man Yangyang has ever seen, if he didn't already know Dejun.

"Oh, honey, no, but thanks." Ten laughs and he draws a little closer, the sleeve of his shirt brushing against Yangyang's. "I'm a dance instructor. And I'm very bendy."

Blood has never rushed to Yangyang's head this fast before. Said head might explode any given minute now. Both heads, actually.

"Sorry, Ten is just very flirty," Dejun says next to them, and Yangyang flinches—like he actually forgot all about Dejun's presence.

"You should see me when I'm drunk then," Ten laughs and his eyes burn into Yangyang's, "- then I'm also very slutty."

Yangyang isn't sure what to say or do with such a comment, he just stands there, frozen with a dumbfounded look on his face. Cheeks, definitely red, he can feel the warmth spreading in his entire body. Ten just keep looking at him, studying him—and Yangyang kind of likes it.

"Alright. Brunch, then?" Dejun's voice suddenly cuts through the tension, and it is significantly sharper than before. "Let me just go change real quick."

"Take your time, I'll just wait here," Ten smiles, but his eyes never sway away from Yangyang.

"Oh no, no, no, you're coming with me," Dejun interferes, pulling Ten by the arm. "No funny business, I just cleaned the apartment."

"Oh my God, why didn't you tell me you got a new roommate? And that he's a hottie? I'm so offended," Ten complains loudly as he is dragged away. One last look over his shoulder, he sends Yangyang another wink.

Hendery is good company, Yangyang gets why even someone like Dejun feels comfortable with him. Laid back and carefree, Hendery comes off as the kind of person Yangyang wishes he could be. Oversized baby pink tee and dark, loose jeans, he sits leaned forward on the couch—his huge eyes squint now and then when focusing on the game on the TV.

"Damn, you're good!" he exclaims with a laugh, arms thrown over his head as he playfully shows his surrender. Yangyang has won 8 out of 8 laps of Mario Kart 64.

Had his opponent been Chenle or Mark, Yangyang would have replied "or you just suck ass", but he figures he isn't quite there yet, with Hendery.

"Want something to drink?" he asks as he gets up.

"Yeah, sure, thanks. Just water would be great!" Hendery falls back into the couch, controller next to him and arms thrown over the backrest. Yangyang watches him for a few seconds. Looking at Hendery like that feels strangely natural, in a strangely unnatural way—like he is the one living there and Yangyang is the one visiting.

It does make sense, kind of, Yangyang tells himself on the way to the kitchen. Hendery used to live there, this used to be his apartment, his home. Yangyang can only hope that someday he'll feel the same way about himself and this place.

"So, how's it going with you and Dejun?" Hendery asks when Yangyang returns with two bottles of water.

You and Dejun. Yangyang likes the sound of that, just as much as he hates it.

"Oh it's... Good," he replies, fiddling the bottle cap between his fingers.

"Eh, Dejun can be... Difficult. It takes time for him to warm up to people," Hendery says as if he can read Yangyang's mind.

The response leaves Yangyang confused—Dejun doesn't come off as that kind of person at all.

"If it's people he likes," Hendery adds. Reading minds again, creepy.

"What?" Yangyang's voice cracks halfway through the short word. He would prefer if Dejun liked him, or more than that, even. He clears his throat, forcing out a tone way calmer than his heart is racing. "I mean, I would like for us to get along, so any tips would be great."

"Like, he seems outgoing and shit, but he really isn't. But if he feels like the other person has no actual interest in him, Well... Pay close attention and you'll quickly notice how most of his words are just hollow talk. Superficial stuff, you know?"

Hendery sets up a new round of Mario Kart as he talks, while Yangyang just blankly stares at the screen.

"Just keep talking to him, even if it seems like he hates it," Hendery continues as he once again picks Yoshi under character select. "Ask him stuff, like about him, you know? How was his day, like in details. What's his favorite color. Let him rant about buttons and nag you about buying the wrong laundry detergent. He'll warm up to you."

Yangyang nods, picking Toad and waiting for the game to load without saying anything. Hendery's words just keep floating around inside his head, stumbling over each other, making sense—then none.

"How is he doing these days?"

"You're asking me?" Yangyang asks, surprised. A brief glance at Hendery from the corner of his eye. Yangyang assumed he and Hendery talked every day. Then again, Hendery didn't even tell Dejun about coming over today.

"Well, yeah," Hendery grins, but it seems strained. "He's been kinda pissy lately. I know he's stressed with work, getting ready for fashion week and all. And Karina has been spamming him nonstop, I didn't want to make things worse."

"Karina? Your fiancé?"

"Yeah yeah. Junnie's designing her wedding dress."

Oh. The dress on the sketches in Dejun's room. The dress Yangyang saw at the atelier.

"Ah, well yeah..." Yangyang mumbles. His hands feel a little clammy, clenched around the controller. "As you said, he's been busy. Haven't seen much of him lately."

A few hours later Yangyang is in the kitchen, attempting to make himself some early dinner. Hendery left not long ago, to go "deal with some catering drama, before Karina's head explodes," he said.

The sound of the front door, Yangyang was starting to wonder when Dejun would be home. He pulls at the sleeves of his oversized hoodie, looking with great disappointment at the pan on the stove in front of him. What a sad looking portion of scrambled eggs.

"Hi," he manages to mutter, as Dejun comes into the kitchen—busy on his phone, a bouquet of pink flowers in his arms. Something feels off. Tense.

No reply.

Yangyang turns the stove off, the clicking sound is like thunder through the silence. Just talk to him, he thinks to himself. How hard can it be?

"How was... Brunch?"

"It was nice." But Dejun's short answer doesn't make things any easier.

"Alright..." Clearing his throat, Yangyang leans against the kitchen counter, fingers nervously clenching around the cold edge—he'd like to believe he looks cool, nonchalant, but he probably doesn't. "Just nice?" he asks.

"What? Well, okay, it was good? It was brunch? Coffee, eggs, avocado toast, I'm not sure what you want to hear?"

A small scrunch of his nose, Dejun puts the flowers on the counter top and Yangyang swallows the question of what Dejun then did after brunch. Quick steps, the sound of the drawer sliding open makes Yangyang flinch for unknown reasons. Dejun is standing right next to him—the warmth of his presence makes Yangyang's skin tickle.

"Those are nice flowers," Yangyang tries again, but his voice is getting weirdly squeaky. "What are-What are they called?"

Dejun looks at him with a raised brow as he turns around, kitchen scissor in his hand, as he walks back to unwrap the flowers from the brown paper around them.

"Peonies," he simply says as he cuts the stem a little shorter. The cut off pieces fall into the kitchen sink, the sound resonates in Yangyang's ears.

Dun...

Dun...

Dun.

"Cool..."

Whatever happened for Dejun to act all cheery and nice this morning is surely long gone. Sharp voice, eyes not even searching for Yangyang. A small sigh, Yangyang quietly finds a plate from the cabinet and scoops his miserable scrambled eggs onto it. At least he's not the only sad-looking thing in this kitchen.

"Just leave the pan," Dejun says without looking up, no emotions in his voice as he continues cutting the stems. "I'll clean it for you."

"Okay. Thanks..."

About to leave the kitchen—leave the hopes of ever having a normal conversation with Dejun, Yangyang's shoulders drop.

Suddenly, a sigh—heavy and deep. Dejun's hands fall towards the counter, the scissors slipping from between his fingers.

"Yangyang, wait," he says. A subtle smack of his lips, a deep inhalation. He finally looks directly at Yangyang. "I... Promised Ten to ask you something..."

"A-ask me what?"

"Well, if you're single..." Dejun quickly turns away, opening the cabinets closest to him. The sound of glass clinking together, as he goes through his collection of vases, blends with his voice. Like he's trying to cover up his own words. "I said I didn't know, because of that Jaemin thing, but if you are... Single... Ten would like to have your number."

"What? H-he does?"

"Yes."

Yangyang is left speechless, almost dropping his eggs onto the floor. Dejun's way of turning 180 all the time has been confusing from the start, but now he isn't making sense at all. Clearly bothered that Hendery didn't tell him about coming over earlier—but maybe that is just his constant need to be in control? Then, dragging Ten away as he tried flirting with Yangyang—only for him now trying to set the two up on a date?

Xiao Dejun; like the sun drawing warm colors over Yangyang's skin, tickling and warm. But Yangyang can never touch him. Have him. The only thing that is certain, is that Yangyang will always get burned if he comes too close.

And then there is Ten.

Gorgeous, and-apparently-very-bendy, just-came-home-from-Paris-and-has-only-met-Yangyang-for-like-two-minutes-Ten wants his number? Yangyang feels lightheaded at the thought of it. Sure, Ten isn't Dejun—but the way he looked at Yangyang isn't easy to forget.

Maybe it wouldn't be all that bad after all? Go on a date, with a beautiful man, get over his crush on his obviously unattainable roommate?

"Oh... Wow, okay... But, y-you wouldn't mind?" Yangyang asks—but a part of him still hopes that Dejun will say yes. Hopes that Dejun would want Yangyang all to himself—even though Yangyang already knows that is only wishful thinking. He quickly corrects himself, to cover up the true intentions for his question: "I-I mean, it wouldn't be weird if I went on a date with one of your friends?"

"It definitely would." Dejun looks back at him with a raised brow. "But, it would probably be good for him. Get his mind off of Si-- Other things."

Warmth rushes to Yangyang's head, cheeks burning hot, and a fluttering feeling spreads in his stomach. Does he actually have a chance to go on a date with someone like Ten?

"A-alright then," he nods eagerly. "Just... You can send him my number."

Dejun is back to concentration on the flowers, letting them carefully slide down into a tall, white vase. He fixes the leaves—fingers slowly and gently stroking along the colorful petals, giving no reaction to Yangyang's words.

"I don't have it," he then says.

"What? You don't have my number? I gave it to you when I moved in."

"New phone."

"Dejun, what the-" Frustration rushes through Yangyang, causing his voice to come out louder than intended. Harsher. The way Dejun is almost taunting him is the last drop. To hell with him and his stupid games of back and forth, Yangyang knows he has to move on, this time for real. "Whatever. Just... Just give me his number then."

[Yangyang] hi

[Yangyang] it's Yangyang

[Yangyang] dejun's roommate

[Ten] I was hoping I'd hear from you

[Ten] It's quite late, should I interpret this as a bootycall?

Yangyang nearly drops his phone, cheeks flushed red in a second. It took him nearly five hours to send the first message. "Hi" how lame is that? Yangyang cringes, maybe he isn't ready for a date with someone like Ten. Or anyone in general. Type, delete, type, delete. What's a good response?

[Yangyang] omg I'm sorry, didn't check the time!

Wow. That was so lame too.

[Ten] Haha no worries, cutie. Jetlag got me up anyway.

[Ten] So, are you busy on Friday?

[Yangyang] not that I know of

[Ten] Dinner at 6?

[Yangyang] sure

[Yangyang] I mean, that'd be great

So, so super lame.

[Ten] Great. It's a date then

[Ten] ;)

Texting Ten started off as such an adrenaline rush; made Yangyang's heart beat faster and his hands tremble. The thought of going on a date with him was exhilarating—but now, everything becomes real. Too real. Yangyang flips the phone around in his hand, staring at the ceiling.

"I guess it is, then..." he mumbles to himself.