Should there be a way to measure awkwardness, Yangyang is certain the scale has been broken by now. Way beyond the peak of it, he only leaves his room the following day, when Hendery knocks on his door. Breakfast, he says, even though it is closer to noon than morning by then.

Yangyang didn't sleep much, if any at all—he doubts Hendery did either, when he sees the red, puffy eyes staring back at him when the door creaks open. A forced smile under the shadow of an army green hoodie, with his dark hair poking out.

"Hey, sorry, hope I didn't wake you?"

"Nah, it's cool."

What isn't cool though, is walking through the living room while trying to ignore the big armchair. Like avoiding eye-contact with someone you dislike—such as, every time Yangyang has to pass Jaemin by, in the hallway at work.

Dejun's touch was left in the night, but still haunting Yangyang like a ghost, running all over his skin. Yangyang feels the chills down his back, his hands clenching automatically with every slow step, as he walks by the green chair. Everything looks different in the daylight, although it is still the same.

In the kitchen slow tunes play on the radio, and Dejun stands with damp hair, wearing a matching linen set in beige. His thick framed glasses rest on his nose, and he looks up with a gentle smile. At Hendery. Dejun looks different too, yet he is still the same—he has probably always been this way, Yangyang just never noticed the fragile side of him. The one that is scared to get hurt.

Between winter sun through the windows and the smell of freshly baked bread and scrambled eggs, it glistens in Dejun's eyes like the surface of the ocean catching the sunset.

And it hurts, knowing that Yangyang will never even get close to the shore of that ocean. Never dip his feet into the waters, never let Dejun drown him with starry eyes and longing kisses.

Because Dejun is longing for someone else.

"Freshly squeezed," he says, pouring Hendery a glass of juice. The subtle smell of oranges lingers in the entire kitchen.

"You hate orange juice." Hendery looks confused, fingers slowly curling around the tall glass.

"But you love it."

"Ah, you spoil me, Junjun!" A genuine smile, Hendery's eyes turn crescent, "—maybe I should marry you instead."

They both laugh, but pain is like a shadow ripping into the warmth of their voices, of two very different reasons. Yangyang doesn't laugh. He can't, not even if he wanted to.

As they eat, the conversations feel more awkward than the silence—or maybe it is just Yangyang who feels that way. The hangover alone would be enough for him to lose his appetite—staring at the opposite side of the table makes it even worse. Because Dejun looks so good this morning, and it hurts. Hurts to settle with stolen looks of him, when last night replays in Yangyang's head. Hurts to watch how those sharp eyes soften every time they look at Hendery, how Dejun's dainty hands pours more food onto Hendery's plate despite the complaints of Hendery already being full. To watch their banter and listen to their laughter.

There is so much history between them, too much almost, written in every smile and every look they share—and whatever Yangyang and Dejun had was nothing but a poorly written draft, crumbled up and thrown away. Yangyang sits there, like an outsider, a viewer watching an episode he can't skip or pause. Dejun laughs at every joke Hendery makes, even the bad ones—Yangyang laughs out of politeness, only.

"I'll go take a shower, thanks for the food." The chair makes an eerie sound when pushed against the floor. Dejun looks up at the sound, at Yangyang standing awkwardly with a half-empty plate in his hands—about to leave the table.

And Dejun looks at him, like really looks, for the first time since Yangyang came out of his room. There is a look in his eyes Yangyang can't read, a glimpse of something Yangyang easily could misinterpret. But Yangyang has to look away, even if it feels like ripping his own heart out when he does so. The water splashes up his sleeves, when he washes the plate in the kitchen sink, but there is a lump in his throat—ticking away like a bomb about to go off. Across the living room floor, stumbling into the bathroom, the door locked behind him.

Then, he breaks down. In the corner of the bathroom, curled up on the marble floor, Yangyang cries. Shoulders shaking and tears streaming down his face, he bites into his fist to keep himself quiet. Waves of emotions crash down over him, drowns him in his own stupidity. Desperation... Naivety.

If this is how it feels to be in love, he doesn't want it. Doesn't want to want Dejun—just like Dejun doesn't want him. Oh, how life would have been easier, had Yangyang been nothing but a horny fuckboy. One without feelings, one who would let Dejun suck him off without hoping it meant more than that. Yeah, feelings are solame. But so is Yangyang, and as he quietly sobs with both hands clenched against his chest, he still secretly wishes that Dejun will love him back.

At night he stares at the sky, at the stars shining brightly—only to be admired from far, far away. He listens to Dejun and Hendery talking in the living room, a gentle laughter like it's only the two of them in the entire world. Yangyang can only watch them from far, far away.

There is no collision tonight either. No stars crashing against the Earth, and so, life must still go on. Even if it hurts.

The wind feels colder today; the white steam from the burnt dirt disguised as coffee swirls in the air, when Yangyang walks through the glass doors to the outside smoking area. The few days at work, between Christmas and New Year's feel endless. Looking at the tall, gray building from the outside almost makes it even more depressing to the eye. What an absolute eyesore.

Pulling his coat tighter, Yangyang maneuvers past a few businessmen from the other floors to find his usual spot in the corner. There is mumbling chit chat between smoke clouds and every face looks as lifeless and gray as the building. He really should quit smoking, but work makes it so hard. And everything else at the moment... In the end, it isn't all that bad being at work. It's better than being at home at least.

"Hey."

A thud, a yawn—Jisung comes to lean against the wall next to Yangyang. Cigarette between his lips, his dark hair sways in front of his eyes as he struggles with his lighter.

"Here." Yangyang reaches out his hand, flicking his own lighter on.

"Thanks," Jisung smiles politely as smoke passes from his lips. "I quit by the way, if you hadn't heard." Judging from the cigarette burning away at the corner of his mouth, it is presumably not smoking he is referring to.

"What? When?" No, Yangyang hadn't heard, who would tell him anyway? He's been actively avoiding Jaemin since their last incident, and it's not like he meddles too much in his other co-workers' business anyway.

"Last week, just before Christmas. Last day is on January 15th." A small shrug falls from slender shoulders. "I'm going back to school in February," he adds.

"Ah. I see."

Going back to school, now that's a thought that has crossed Yangyang's mind quite frequently—in the past. Dropping out of uni, twice, wasn't his plan, just like being stuck in this dead-end job wasn't either. But it is what it is, he used to think.

"How's Ningning by the way?"

"Ningning?"

"Ah," Jisung chuckles. "Judging by your face, I'm guessing you didn't know we dated for a short while?"

Oh. The Chenle-hating-Jisung-thing suddenly makes sense. Yangyang shakes his head, he definitely didn't know and he assumes Mark didn't either—he would have run his big mouth long ago.

"She's good," he replies, realizing he has no idea how or what Ningning has been doing lately.

Jisung simply hums as he throws his cigarette butt into the ashtray on the wall. He stays a little longer though, hands stuffed into the pocket of his pants he stares at the sky.

"Well. Thank God it's Friday, right?" he then says.

"Right."

Yes, life goes on, people leave, people change. But why does Yangyang feel like he is stuck?

When Yangyang shares he'll spend a few days at Mark's place, it happens against his own free will. Bag slung over his shoulder, he tried to sneak out—like a kid running away from home. Now, awkwardly caught between Hendery's big eyes staring at him and the front door only within arm's reach, he feels even more like a child.

"If it's about me crashing here," Hendery starts. A nervous hand dives through his dark hair.

"It's not," Yangyang is quick to cut him off—too quick, perhaps? "It... It really isn't. I... I just promised my friend to help him out with a project. Music thing... We used to study music together, so..."

It's a lie, but he can't tell Hendery the truth.

"Aha, I see," Hendery slowly nods with a strained smile.

He stands leaned against the wall, oversized sweatshirt where the long sleeves cover his hands. He is so apologetic, Hendery, so observant—and he is handsome too, with his long, dark Disney-prince hair and huge eyes. Yangyang wishes he could just hate him, it would make things a lot easier, but he really can't. And he can't blame Dejun for loving Hendery either, he kinda gets it, after all.

"You can take my room, if you want, I mean the couch must be killing your back," Yangyang says with an awkward nod in the direction of his room. Hendery's old room.

Hendery laughs at that. "Typical Dejun, right? Design over comfort," he says.

"Yeah," Yangyang forces a chuckle before waving goodbye and turning around.

It was intentional to leave while Dejun wasn't at home. They're not a couple, they're not even friends. They're just roommates. Yangyang isn't obliged to tell Dejun about his whereabouts. That doesn't mean he doesn't feel guilty though.

"You know?" Yangyang angles his head to look at Mark sitting on the couch behind him. Mark's trusty old acoustic guitar rests against Yangyang's crossed legs on the floor. "I was thinking about going back to school."

"Yo, really?" Mark looks back at him, pausing the game played on the TV in front of them, the PS5 controlling hangs loosely in his hand. "Same as before?"

"Nah, I don't know, man..." The guitar strings are cold and rough against his fingertips. Yangyang has always loved that feeling.

He plays a low melody while Mark continues his game.

"Sucks, would be fun if you'd have to call me your senior," Mark laughs while focusing on the TV.

Yangyang simply snorts at that comment.

"So, it's like New Year's in two days, what are your plans?"

"I don't have any," Yangyang mumbles into the tunes of the guitar.

"For real? Thought you'd do something fancy with your fancy roomie?" There's a tiny hint of annoyance hidden in Mark's voice. "I mean... It's cool, but we never really see you anymore, you know?"

"I know..."

And Yangyang does know. He has been too occupied with his own stuff, Dejun-stuff, to even think about his friends. He plays the guitar, staring at the game Mark's playing, without watching it at all, while his bad conscience hits him in the head like a game of Whac-A-Mole. He's missed out on gaming nights, multiple, too many to count, he even forgot to reply to the Merry Christmas messages in the group chat. Scratch that, he hasn't opened the chat at all for days by now.

"Can't believe I never knew you were into dudes," Mark suddenly says. Luckily he's never been one to hold grudges, but the change of topic was unexpected. "I feel like a shitty friend."

"It's not like I ever told you, so it's cool."

"So how's it going? Are you going to ask him out or whatever?"

Mark is pressing the buttons on the controller with rapid fingers, click, click, click. Eyes squinting, biting into his bottom lip—it's best not to disturb him now, Yangyang tells himself. He waits for a bit, fiddling with the guitar strap Mark's mom has crocheted, white with blue flowers—cornflowers, Mark once said when Yangyang asked what it was supposed to be. "They represent happiness," he had added.

"Or did you like already do it?" Mark suddenly asks, breaking the silence between them.

"Do what? Ask him ou-?" As he turns halfway around, arm slung onto the couch he's been resting his back against, Yangyang carefully lets the guitar slide onto the floor.

"Fuck him?" A quick glance, as he cuts Yangyang off, Mark raises a brow before looking back at the TV. "He's a pretty dude, I kinda get it though."

"Oh, well... I-" The question caught Yangyang off guard, the words get stuck in his throat. Technically he didn't... Do what Mark is asking, but... He also did not not do it. Kind of.

His silence acts as enough of an answer. Mark pauses the game again, his mouth falling wide open as he turns to fully stare at Yangyang.

"Yo, wait!" he exclaims. "You finally got your dick wet!"

Yangyang makes a grimace at that. Head thrown back, pressing against the couch. A heavy sigh, his body feels uneasy—but whether it is because of the rather awkward conversation with his friend, or the reminder of whatever happened between him and Dejun, is uncertain.

"To be honest, it feels dryer than ever," he replies in a mumble.

Mark resumes the game after a few more seconds of staring and Yangyang ignoring him. The walls in Mark's dorm room are painted light gray, the ceiling as well, the same as Yangyang's old room down the hall, before dropping out—Yangyang stares at the ceiling, while the sounds of the TV plays in the background. He wonders what Dejun is doing now, if he's even noticed Yangyang has left. If he even cares. He has Hendery to take care of, to worry about.

Then, another thought pops into Yangyang's head, one he wishes he could just delete, like one of those bad angle photos Chenle always takes on his phone.

Has Dejun and Hendery ever... And if not... What about kissing? They've lived together for so long, probably seen each other half-naked before. Maybe even fully naked. Yangyang makes a small shake of his head. Why does his brain work against him like this? Hendery is straight, possibly, Yangyang used to think the same about Dejun.

"Wanna hang out on New Year's then?" Mark then asks, breaking through Yangyang's thoughts. "Nings has this thing she wants us to go to."

"Sure."

"Come on, move your slow asses! The cab is here!" Ningning has confetti in her hair, Chenle thought it was hilarious to pour it all over her, while she was busy trying to pop the champagne open. The confetti falls all around her as she screams for the guys to get moving, it almost makes it hard to take her seriously.

"Yo, calm down, I'm ready, I'm ready!" Mark complains while he's still bending down to tie his shoes, swaying back and forth—about to fall over. Trying to tie your shoes with one hand isn't very productive either, but Mark insists on holding onto his beer at the same time.

The clock struck midnight 5 minutes ago, they cheered, emptied their glasses—almost choking on the cheap bubbles, as Ningning stressed them through the past few minutes. Yangyang struggles to get his coat on, the drunken gestures of his arms are not his friends right now. Why is it so hard to put your arm through the right sleeve?

For a moment Yangyang forgets all of his sorrows. He is with his friends, celebrating New Year's, getting drunk on horribly mixed drinks Mark has made, laughing until his stomach hurts. Just living life, being twenty-three. And it feels good. Half of New Year's Eve was spent drinking and partying at home—Chenle's place is left in a mess, confetti, half-empty bottles everywhere, but they need to leave. Ningning's newest crush works as a DJ downtown, he's a few years older and just so fucking cool, according to Ningning—insert heart-eyes emojis. On the way out the door, Chenle rolls his eyes while Ningning is busy talking about the guy, Minghao or whatever his name is, Yangyang gives Chenle a gentle pat on the shoulder. He gets it. It sucks when the one you like, likes someone else.

"Ah, fuck, I forgot my phone!" Yangyang realizes this too late, already standing outside with the cab right in front of him.

"Sucks, get in." Ningning almost violently shoves him into the cab.

"We're all here anyway," Mark shouts from the front seat, the loud music he played earlier must already have affected his hearing. "What do you need your phone for? Just don't get lost. Unless you're gonna hook up with someone, then rock out with your cock out!"

"Bro, what the fuck?"

2 new messages

[Dejun:] Happy New Year, Yangyang.

[Dejun:] I miss you.