[FIC]: five minutes to midnight.

[nacseo]

five minutes to midnight, nc-17, sungmin/kyuhyun.
if we can look at each other and love each other, i can stand up again.

it doesn't matter if i'm lonely
whenever i think of you
a smile spreads across my face
it doesn’t matter if i'm tired
whenever you are happy
my heart is filled with love
today i might live in a harsh world again
even if i'm tired, when i close my eyes,
i only see your image
the dreams that are still ringing in my ears
are leaving my side towards you
everyday my life is like a dream
kyuhyun, "희망은 잠들지 않는 꿈"


FIVE MINUTES TO MIDNIGHT
sungmin/kyuhyun


As far as Sungmin is concerned, standing pressed shoulder-to-shoulder in a sea of a hundred semi-drunk and sweaty people is not the best way to spend a Friday evening. Not that he doesn’t like people, or that he even necessarily minds drunkenness and sweat—all of these things are fine, in the right combination. But this club, hazy with smoke and with the speakers up too loud, is not the right combination, and there are a lot of other things that Sungmin would rather be doing.

“Hyung,” he says to Heechul, the noise from the speakers turning his shout into a murmur, “if your friend’s band isn’t as ass-kickingly awesome as you led me to believe they are, you’re going to be buying me drinks until the end of time.”

Heechul waves a hand, dismissive. “They are,” he says. “I have fantastic taste. Just relax.”

Truthfully, the opening band was awful, and Sungmin has been elbowed at least four times by drunken teenagers trying to rock out, so he’s pretty sure Heechul should have been buying him drinks already. Then again, Kim Heechul is nothing if not a man of discerning tastes—as he likes to call himself—and he’d never made any promises about the openers, so instead Sungmin had distracted himself by making flirtatious eye contact with a dark-haired guy across the room.

“So how’s the New Year’s resolution going?” Heechul asks, giving Sungmin a catty sideways glance over the rim of his glass. He darts a pointed glance between Sungmin and the other guy, raising an eyebrow. “Working out for you?”

For New Year’s, Sungmin had made a drunken and inadvisable resolution to stop having casual sex with so many people—not necessarily because he felt that casual sex was wrong, but because he was sort of prone to grand but ultimately meaningless gestures while drunk. The resolution, suffice to say, hasn’t been working out very well. “Fuck off,” Sungmin says instead of admitting to it, rolling his eyes and taking another sip of beer.

“Well, then,” Heechul says, nodding.

Before Sungmin can come up with an appropriately scathing retort—maybe something about Heechul’s resolution to make more friends that weren’t feline—the house lights dim, and a thousand teenage girls surrounding Sungmin and Heechul erupt into screams. “I told you they were popular,” Heechul shouts over the din. The look on his face is smug.

Sungmin ignores him. Onstage, the lights come up on a band that looks... well, unremarkable except for age—they seem closer to Sungmin and Heechul’s ages than they do to the age of, for instance, the high schooler currently standing on Sungmin’s toes—and attire. This is Hongdae, after all, and the current trend is indie-boho, but the people onstage are in jeans. Sungmin can give them credit for that.

“Thanks for coming,” the vocalist says. He looks bored, but he sounds like he means it. “We’re The Antiga Prime.”

“That’s Kyuhyun,” Heechul says, leaning close to Sungmin. “The guitarist is Jungmo. Amber’s on bass, and you know Siwon.”

Sungmin did know Siwon—he’d accidentally caused a minor crisis of sexuality and, by extension, faith when he forgot to lock the bathroom door at Heechul’s apartment and Siwon had walked in on him after a shower. Still, Sungmin doesn’t know him well, just that he’s a gentleman and often nice to a fault (Heechul’s words, more or less). Somehow he hadn’t expected Siwon to be the type to play drums for an indie band on the Hongdae circuit. “And you’re friends with...”

“Jungmo,” Heechul says. “Well, all of them. But Jungmo’s the one I care about.”

Siwon counts out the beat on his snare, and Heechul and Sungmin stop talking. They’re good, actually—and not only in comparison to the abjectly awful opening group. They seem genuinely talented. The vocalist—Kyuhyun—has a voice like the embers left over after a fire, or something, and Sungmin closes his eyes to listen, trying to ignore the shrieks from the female portion of the audience.

“Popular with the girls, huh?” he asks when their first song ends.

Heechul snorts. “Kyuhyun’s 22,” he says, casting a disdainful glance at the sea of girls. “They probably think they have a chance.”

“Do they?”

“When hell freezes over.”

Sungmin looks back up at the stage and watches as Kyuhyun unscrews the lid of his water bottle and takes a drink. It’s not graceful, particularly, but Sungmin still catches the way his throat moves when he swallows. “Well, he is pretty cute,” he says thoughtfully.

“Don’t bother,” Heechul says. “He won’t play your games. You’d get bored of him.”

If it weren’t for Sungmin’s halfhearted determination to cling to his New Year’s resolution—and also the fact that Sungmin thought Heechul might actually commit bodily injury against him if Sungmin hurt any of his friends—Sungmin might have risen to the challenge. Instead, he just shrugs and says, “Whatever.”

They stand through another six songs, all of which Sungmin likes, though his enjoyment is dampened a bit by the fact that most of the melody is drowned out by high-pitched shrieking. When the set ends and it becomes apparent that an encore is not on the bill—no matter how much the high schoolers scream—Heechul grabs Sungmin by the belt loop and tugs him toward the back.

“I’m sorry, you can’t,” the security guard begins, but Heechul ignores him in favor of screaming, “Yah, Kim Jungmo!”

A moment later, Jungmo appears at the doorway and pulls Heechul and Sungmin inside. “Sorry, they’re with me,” he says, and Sungmin winces a little apologetically at the security guard as they pass. It must not be an easy job, and people like Heechul probably don’t make it easier.

Jungmo pulls them into the dressing room. “Booking,” he announces, and Heechul smacks him on the back of the head before dropping into the chair that Jungmo had clearly been angling for. “Just kidding. Rude hyung and sidekick.”

“Sungmin,” Sungmin corrects, waving slightly. “Hi, Siwon. Sorry about last time.”

If any of them are surprised by Heechul’s appearance (or the presence of a guest), nobody lets on. “No problem,” Siwon says, though Sungmin thinks he can see the faintest hint of a blush. “It was a misunderstanding, no harm done.”

“Are you gonna tell the story or do we have to imagine it ourselves?” the girl—Amber, the bassist—asks.

“It’s probably better if you imagine it,” Sungmin says, grinning. “More embarrassing, anyway.”

“Hyung,” Siwon groans. He doesn’t offer an explanation, though, so Sungmin just shrugs at Amber and perches on one of the unused makeup counters. “You’re Amber, right?”

“Yep,” she says. “And that tall, dark, silent type over there is Kyuhyun.”

Everyone is tall compared to Sungmin, but ‘dark’ does seem like an appropriate descriptor. Kyuhyun is staring at his phone with a look of intense concentration, thumbs moving rapidly over the screen. Sungmin isn’t impolite enough to try to see what he’s doing—and as it turns out, he doesn’t need to. At mention of his name, Kyuhyun brings his head up, glancing between the newcomers to the dressing room.

“Sorry?” he says.

“Just talking shit about you like usual,” Amber says, then abandons Kyuhyun in favor of turning her attention to the rock-paper-scissors game that Heechul and Jungmo are playing. In order to pick up the slack—and hopefully kill some of the awkwardness in the atmosphere—Sungmin offers Kyuhyun his hand.

“I’m Sungmin,” he says. “Heechul’s friend. Sorry about the interruption.”

“Kyuhyun,” Kyuhyun says, which is redundant, but whatever. “It’s fine. Not like we’re doing anything but cooling down anyway.”

When he’s not singing, Kyuhyun’s voice has a certain timbre to it, an almost-huskiness that Sungmin likes a lot. He reminds himself forcibly of the potential for death by Heechul and says, “You guys are pretty popular, huh? How long have you been doing this?”

“Singing, or singing for crowds of high school girls in Hongdae clubs?” Kyuhyun asked, the serious tone of the question belied by the mischievous light in his eyes. “I’ve been singing forever. The band, we’ve only been around for... hey, Jungmo, how long have we been doing this?”

“Since forever,” Jungmo says. “Two years. Two and a half years.”

“Wow,” Sungmin says. “It must be fun.”

Sungmin had thought about music once—briefly, when he was in high school, before his parents quashed that dream. It wasn’t that they were malicious, far from it, in fact. Sungmin knew they only wanted him to be successful, to be happy in a way that they didn’t think music could make him. To a housewife and a doctor, the idea of finding happiness in something as intangible and ineffable as music must have seemed strange.

“It has its moments,” Kyuhyun agrees.

“Drinks!” Jungmo announces from the corner. “Heechul hyung is buying.”

“Who says?”

“Me,” Sungmin agrees. “You owe me a drink for every high school girl who elbowed me or stepped on my foot, and at this point that would buy drinks for everyone here, twice.”

Kyuhyun snorts under his breath. “They’re just enthusiastic,” he says. “Ah, I shouldn’t be mean. They’re nice, mostly. And their money keeps us fed, so I appreciate their enthusiasm even more.”

“By ‘fed’ he means ‘video gamed,’” Amber says, standing up and hauling her guitar case over her shoulder. “Are we gonna go drink or what?”



Two hours, a negotiation with the club manager over their fees, a lengthy taxi ride, and several bottles of soju later, Sungmin puts his forehead on the table and whines, “I have a headache.”

“He always does this,” Heechul says, addressing not Sungmin but the rest of the group at large. “He can’t hold his alcohol worth shit so he gets drunk and then gets a headache and complains about it to everyone else until they all have headaches too.”

“Don’t be an asshole,” Jungmo says, patting Heechul’s hand.

“He’s always an asshole,” Sungmin mumbles.

“That’s true,” Heechul agrees.

Next to Sungmin, Kyuhyun stretches a bit. “I have to go home anyway,” he says, “I have work tomorrow. Sungmin-ssi, we could share a cab if you want.”

Kyuhyun really does have a very nice voice, Sungmin thinks. Then he wonders about Kyuhyun having a job, because even though he was pretty sure that playing underground clubs in Hongdae wouldn’t pay the bills, it somehow hadn’t occurred to him that someone who sang like Kyuhyun did would have to do anything else to keep his electricity on.

“Of course I do,” Kyuhyun says. “Are you coming or not?”

So Sungmin hadn’t been thinking quietly. Ah. Sungmin lifts his head up off the table and rubs the place where it had been resting, probably a red spot on his skin for his trouble. “Okay,” he agrees, pushing himself upright and bracing himself against a rush of dizziness. “Let’s~ go.”

Kyuhyun holds his wrist as they wait for a taxi. Privately, Sungmin pretends it’s just because Kyuhyun can’t keep his hands to himself, but realistically it’s probably because Sungmin’s swaying like a palm tree, unable to find equilibrium. “This is why I shouldn’t drink,” he says mournfully, tilting his head to look at Kyuhyun and then promptly standing up straight(er) when he’s overcome by vertigo. “Why do I let Heechul talk me into these things?”

“Because you couldn’t resist the opportunity to hang out with rock stars,” Kyuhyun suggests, perfectly straight-faced. “We can be very alluring.”

“Who told you that?” Sungmin says, laughing.

Kyuhyun just rolls his eyes and pushes Sungmin bodily into the back of the taxi. After he’s rattled his address off to the driver, Sungmin tilts his head back against the seat and looks at Kyuhyun from the corner of his eyes—Kyuhyun’s eyeliner is smeared at the corners of his eyes, and his hair is damp at the temples and sticking to his skin, but he’s still surprisingly good-looking. Not in the way Sungmin usually likes them—his type tends to be glamorous, well-put-together tough guys who he can watch come undone—but he’s not bad, either.

“You’re pretty cute,” Sungmin says, reaching out to touch the edge of Kyuhyun’s jaw. “For a rockstar.”

“Thanks, I think,” Kyuhyun says, catching Sungmin’s wrist and giving his hand back. Sungmin doesn’t bother being offended. “You’re pretty good at backhanded compliments for a groupie.”

“A groupie,” Sungmin begins, affronted, but Kyuhyun just laughs, and then they’re pulling up in front of Sungmin’s apartment building and there’s no more time for pretending to be hurt.

“Leave yourself a glass of water and some painkillers before you go to sleep,” Kyuhyun advises, leaning down so he can see Sungmin when Sungmin climbs out of the cab. “If you’re already like this and you only drank a few glasses, you’re going to have a killer hangover tomorrow.”

“You sound jealous,” Sungmin says.

“Not in the slightest.” Kyuhyun makes a gesture like shoo. Sungmin contemplates pointing out that he’s older, but there’s not much point to that—it’s not like he’ll remember this tomorrow anyway. “Go to bed. Maybe I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sungmin says, and closes the door on Kyuhyun’s half-smiling face.



Sungmin meets Kyuhyun again when Jungmo’s date bails on him twenty-five minutes before their movie starts, and Heechul gets called in as reinforcements. It probably says something about how much Heechul likes Jungmo that he’s willing to drop what he’s doing (though on a Saturday early afternoon he probably isn’t doing much) and go meet him so he doesn’t end up embarrassed—though that’s not to say Heechul does it without complaint. Sungmin gets text message after text message of Heechul’s complaints as he rides the subway toward the cinema, and the flood doesn’t stop until he turns up in front of the cinema.

“Kyuhyun,” Sungmin says, genuinely surprised. Heechul hadn’t indicated there would be four of them. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Kyuhyun says. “Apparently we’re double-dating.”

“What?”

Heechul pats Sungmin on the shoulder with perhaps a little more force than necessary. “Jungmo has terrible taste in women, and we’re his wingmen,” he says, ignoring Jungmo’s protests (”She’s not that bad!”). Then, pitching his voice a little lower, he leans in and says, right in Sungmin’s ear, “If you seduce him into fucking you in the bathroom I will actually kill you.”

A little offended, Sungmin pulls back and frowns at Heechul. “It wasn’t on the playbook,” he says, trying mightily to keep the hurt out of his voice.

“I’m just saying. You did it with that guy last month.” Heechul pats his shoulder again and then moves away to link his arm with Jungmo’s. “Shall we?”

The movie is a lighthearted, feel-good romantic comedy starring two idol singers and a rookie actress—probably not Jungmo’s choice, Sungmin thinks—that’s cute but light on real plot. Sungmin settles in between Kyuhyun and Heechul and prepares himself for an hour and a half of utter boredom, time sacrificed on the altar of best-friendship that can never be regained.

“This is going to be really painful,” Kyuhyun murmurs to him just before the lights dim. “I’m sorry you got dragged into this.”

“Is saving Jungmo from his dates’ awful taste in cinema a regular thing for you?” Sungmin asks.

“More frequent than is probably healthy.” Kyuhyun leans forward a little so he can look at Jungmo, who looks only marginally less miserable than he’d looked ten minutes ago. “He makes bad relationship choices. We should probably start investing in soju stock, he could make us rich.”

“That’s not nice,” Sungmin says, hiding his grin behind his hand.

Kyuhyun fights back a smile and shrugs, turning to look up at the screen. “We’ll see what you’re saying when I’m a billionaire and you’re not.”

The movie is as bad as Sungmin had predicted it would be, but he finds himself pleasantly surprised when Kyuhyun starts muttering commentary under his breath. He’s funny, in a sarcastic, dry kind of way—like Heechul, only less caustic. When it gets to the point that Sungmin is actually biting the side of his hand to keep himself from laughing, Heechul reaches over and pinches his leg and draws one finger across his throat in the universal signal for dead meat. Sungmin gives him the finger.

Afterwards, Kyuhyun takes Jungmo out for a drink and Heechul and Sungmin take the subway home. “I thought I told you he wouldn’t play your games,” Heechul says once they’re seated, Heechul with his feet in Sungmin’s lap and Sungmin with his cheek pressed against the window.

“Who’s playing games? Heechul, I’m not even interested in him. I know this might surprise you, but I don’t actually have to have sex with every person I meet.” Sungmin props his chin in his hand and gives Heechul what he hopes is a withering glare. “I like him as a friend, not because I want to get in his pants.”

Heechul doesn’t let up. “You only do that coy, demure giggling thing when you’re angling to get laid,” he says.

“I’m not trying to sleep with him!”

“Yeah, so you say now.” With a put-upon sigh, Heechul tips his head against the plastic back of the seat and closes his eyes. “When you try and inevitably fail, don’t come expecting me to lick your wounds.”

“You’re such a bitch.” It’s annoying, because for the most part, Heechul’s right. Sungmin doesn’t exactly have the best track record, after all, and he knows Heechul can be mama-bear protective of his friends when it came down to it. “I promise, Heechul. Seriously.”

Heechul cracks an eye to give him a suspicious look, but Sungmin’s expression must convince him, because he shrugs and closes it again. “Good, because if you hurt him I’d actually kill you.”

“Yeah,” Sungmin says. “I know.”



Kyuhyun texts him on Saturday morning, which is a little surprising since Sungmin can’t remember ever giving Kyuhyun his phone number. What are you doing this afternoon? is what the text says, and Sungmin can’t help grinning as he rolls onto his stomach to compose a reply.

Next to him, Hyojin rolls onto her back and rubs sleep out of her eyes. “What are you so happy about this early in the morning?” she asks, stretching out and tucking her hands behind her head.

“It’s noon,” Sungmin says, and types out, nothing important, why?

“Texting your boyfriend?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” He drops his phone to the pillow and leans over to kiss her good morning. “If you’re going to shower before you leave you should do it now, ‘cause I’m going to need it soon.”

“No wakeup sex?” Hyojin drags her fingernails along the small of Sungmin’s back. “I’m disappointed, kid.”

Sungmin’s phone buzzes. Kyuhyun sends, I got roped into doing someone a favor and I need a wingman. Meet me at the playground in Hongdae at 2:00.

“I have places to be, noona,” Sungmin says, laughing when Hyojin rolls her eyes. “People to do, you know, the usual. Come over next weekend and we’ll see.”

When Hyojin’s showered, dressed and taken leave of Sungmin’s apartment, Sungmin spends an illogical amount of time making sure he looks presentable before heading out towards Hongdae. It’s not like it’s a date—in fact, judging by Kyuhyun’s text message, it’s probably closer to manual labor than anything romantic. And Sungmin’s never been the type to spend too much time on his appearance—he’s perfected the art of looking good with minimal effort—but still, he spends twenty minutes checking his hair in front of the mirror before he realizes what he’s doing.

Kyuhyun is sitting in the bottom of the slide playing a game on his phone when Sungmin shows up, and doesn’t look away until Sungmin stands on the toes of his shoes. And when he does finally look up, the first thing he says is, “Nice hickey.”

Sungmin slaps a hand over the side of his neck. “Wow,” he says. “Hi, nice to see you too.”

“Hi, nice to see you, did you sleep with a vampire last night or what?” Kyuhyun looks like he can’t decide whether to be horrified or amazed, his gaze flicking back and forth from Sungmin’s throat to his face. “Did you even try to cover it up?”

“I tried, okay,” Sungmin says. “Hyojin noona just—bites.”

“Your girlfriend?”

“What? No. She’s a noona from one of my music classes.”

“Who apparently likes to drink your blood.”

“No, she just—” Sungmin sighs and shakes his head. He’s never been ashamed of Hyojin, or of himself, but the conversation sets him on edge. He doesn’t want to be talking about this. “Can we talk about something else now? I thought you had plans.”

“I do,” Kyuhyun says. “I just got completely distracted. Come on, this way.”

The place Kyuhyun had been summoned to—his words, not Sungmin’s—is a cafe up an alley, only a couple of blocks away from the playground where they’d met. “This is where I work,” Kyuhyun says, holding the door for Sungmin as they enter. “My less impressive alter ego.”

As soon as the door closes behind them, Sungmin is practically smacked in the face by a wave of paint fumes. “What the hell,” he says, covering his mouth with both hands. “Are they redecorating or something?”

“Repainting, actually,” Kyuhyun says. “They get a lot of indie bands playing in here, and I guess the manager thinks the current decor isn’t trendy enough.”

It doesn’t seem particularly un-trendy to Sungmin, but then again he’s not exactly an expert in the indie rock scene. “And we’re here to...” he asks, lowering his hands as his nose finally adjusts to the smell. “Help them paint?”

“Apparently so.”

Kyuhyun leads Sungmin into the main area of the cafe and barely manages to catch a flying spray-paint can. “Hey, hyung!” someone—a someone with bright pink hair and a very deep voice—shouts in Kyuhyun’s general direction. “You’re late to the party!”

“I had to pick up my date,” Kyuhyun says, shooting Sungmin an amused glance from the corner of his eye.

“Well, give your date a paint can and let’s get this done,” another voice adds, this one belonging to a skinny blond kid who doesn’t look like he’s a day over eighteen.

“Coworkers?” Sungmin asks.

“Yongguk and Himchan,” Kyuhyun says, indicating the pink-haired one and then the blond one. “They’re good kids, but they’re a little nuts. Watch out for them.”

The concern is nice, but so totally unnecessary that Sungmin finds it a little adorable. “I’m friends with Kim Heechul,” he says, shrugging out of his sweatshirt and dropping it on a table near the door. “I can handle a little crazy.”

For all that Sungmin doesn’t consider himself an artist in the slightest, the painting party is actually pretty fun. Yongguk and Himchan are a little nuts—true to Kyuhyun’s words—but they’re nuts in a fun way, spraying paint at each other’s clothes and collaborating to create weird but definitely eye-catching designs all over the cafe’s wall. Kyuhyun draws a planet that appears to be being eaten by a black hole, and Sungmin draws a nearby spaceship prepared to rescue the planet’s inhabitants; Kyuhyun draws an enemy craft, and Himchan draws half of what he describes as a “cosmos-eating supernova” before he gets distracted trying to match Yongguk’s hair color in spray paint.

“Your coworkers are really weird,” Sungmin says, when they take a break from painting and he and Kyuhyun head down the street to buy drinks from the convenience shop. “But they’re nice. I can see why you keep this boring human alter ego.”

“Being a superhero rockstar all the time would be really stressful,” Kyuhyun says, straight-faced. “I need breaks, you know.”

“I’m sure.”

“It’s true. It’s tough being this sexy all the time.”

Sungmin laughs, then reaches out to wrap his arms around Kyuhyun’s bicep. “Oppa,” he says, forcing his voice into the simpering pitch of a high school girl, “what do you mean you don’t love me? We’re meant to be together!”

“You know I have to put my music first,” Kyuhyun replies, his tone serious even though his eyes are watering with the effort it takes not to laugh. “I just don’t have time for anything else.”

He wraps an arm around Sungmin’s waist and dips him back in a grand, gallant gesture, then sets him on his feet. “Actually, usually avoid our fans after shows,” Kyuhyun says, shrugging a little. “Jungmo went out once to watch the set after ours and got mobbed. It’s a job hazard, I guess.”

“To be fair,” Sungmin says, “Jungmo is much sexier than you are.”

“Wow, thanks,” Kyuhyun says, biting back a grin and stepping into Sungmin’s personal space. “Say that again to my face.”

They’re a lot closer than Sungmin had expected them to be. He can feel Kyuhyun’s breath, which is weird, but also kind of hot, and for an insane second Sungmin contemplates kissing him—just grabbing him by the back of the neck and hauling him down, finding out what that mouth tastes like. For an insane second he wants to, but he’s—for once—unsure, and the uncertainty keeps him frozen.

In his pocket, Sungmin’s phone buzzes, making the choice for him—he pulls away a little, digging into his pocket. When he pulls the phone out, it’s Heechul’s name on the caller ID. “Heechul,” he says, giving Kyuhyun an apologetic smile. “I’ll be right back, okay? And Jungmo is still sexier than you!”

Sungmin pushes through the convenience store doors before Kyuhyun has a chance to respond, trapping whatever outraged sounds he’s making behind the glass. Outside, he answers the phone, waving cheekily to Kyuhyun as he does. “Hyung?”

“Sungmin?”

“Who else would be answering my phone?”

Heechul ignores him. “What are you doing?”

“What, right now?” Sungmin glances over his shoulder to where Kyuhyun is standing in front of the soju display, seeming contemplating raspberry versus blackberry. “I’m with Kyuhyun. Why?”

“...With Kyuhyun doing what?”

“Buying drinks for ourselves and his coworkers. We’re painting the cafe where he works—what does it matter? Why are you calling me?”

Heechul doesn’t sound particularly trusting. “Hyojin told me you kicked her out of your apartment early this morning,” he says. “And kind of implied you had a date.”

“It’s not a date. I didn’t say it was a date. Why were you even talking to Hyojin?”

“She said you were grinning like a teenager with a crush.”

The insinuation, coupled with the blatant suspicion in Heechul’s voice, is enough to piss Sungmin off. He turns away from the building and plants one hand on his hip, defiant even in his stance. “Hyung!” he says, his voice a little sharper than he means it to be. “What are you trying to say right now? I’m not allowed to hang out with Kyuhyun or something? Why? What’s the issue?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” Heechul says. “I just want to know what you’re doing.”

“Like what my intentions are? We’re friends, we’re hanging out, we’re painting his fucking workplace, okay? I’m not trying to seduce him and jump his bones! I don’t even like him like that!”

“Sungmin—” Heechul begins, but Sungmin cuts him off by hanging up. Conversation closed.

“That’s a relief,” Kyuhyun says from behind him. “I was starting to worry about my innocence.”

Sungmin spins around to find Kyuhyun standing just outside the door of the convenience shop, plastic bags in hand. “Sorry, I didn’t—you weren’t really supposed to hear that,” he says, though he’s not really certain why he’s apologizing, or what it is about Kyuhyun’s tone of voice that makes him feel guilty. “Heechul just... he’s trying to protect you, I guess.”

“From you?” Kyuhyun raises an eyebrow. “What are you going to do to me?”

“Nothing. I’m not going to do—I just—” Sungmin presses his hands to his forehead and closes his eyes. “I sleep around a lot and Heechul thinks I’m going to try to seduce you and sleep with you and then kick you out and wound you forever and he’ll have to clean up the damage I do and I’m trying to tell him that’s not what’s happening but I don’t think he believes me,” he says, all in one long breath, and then inhales deeply. “Which is why I was talking about seducing you. Or not seducing you.”

“I see.” Kyuhyun reaches into the bag and pulls out a bottle of soju. “You look like you could use this.”

Sungmin sighs and takes it. “I could use about six, but then he’d probably accuse me of trying to get you drunk and take you back home with me or something.” Then he stops, aware of how petty and bitter he sounds, and takes a deep breath. “It’s fine. We’ll be over it by tomorrow. Let’s just go back and finish up the painting, okay?”

“Okay,” Kyuhyun says, and Sungmin is pretty sure he imagines the extra inch of distance between them as they walk back down the road.



The nebulous something that had made Sungmin uncomfortable about their conversation solidifies into real worry when Kyuhyun doesn’t call or text him once after they part ways on Saturday evening. Sungmin had sent a few text messages, mostly pleasantries, and Kyuhyun hadn’t replied to any of them—not that Sungmin knew whether Kyuhyun was a big texter or not, but for someone who played around with his phone as much as Kyuhyun did it seemed like he’d know how to send a response.

Heechul is in Sungmin’s apartment when he gets home from work on Thursday, laying out on the couch with a copy of some fashion magazine open on his stomach. “You’re home late,” he says when Sungmin comes through the door and drops his things in the foyer. “Busy day?”

“It’s my apartment, I can come home when I want to,” Sungmin says, tossing a pen in Heechul’s direction. “What are you doing here? I already ate dinner, so I’m not cooking for you.”

“What happened with Kyuhyun?”

“This again?” Sungmin kicks off his shoes, shrugs off his jacket, and pads into the living room to throw himself into a chair. “Nothing happened with Kyuhyun, hyung. God, you’re getting delusional about this.”

“Nothing, really,” Heechul says, raising an eyebrow. “Then how come Amber keeps texting me SOS messages about Kyuhyun being a moody dickhead?”

“How should I know? I haven’t even talked to him since Saturday.” Which was a little annoying, actually. “If he’s being a moody dickhead it has nothing to do with me.”

Unless Kyuhyun was angry about—well, Sungmin doesn’t know about what. About overhearing his conversation with Heechul, maybe, but that doesn’t make any sense.

“Look,” Heechul says. “I know I’ve been kind of an asshole about this, but—I just don’t want him to get hurt, okay? He’s not... Kyuhyun’s been through a lot of shit in his life, he doesn’t deserve to be treated the way you treat guys. No offense,” he continues, as Sungmin opens his mouth to protest, “I don’t give a shit who you hook up with and kick out in the morning, but Kyuhyun needs to mean more to someone than just a one-night stand.”

“I keep telling you I’m not trying to hook up with him,” Sungmin says, playing with a loose thread in the fabric of the chair. “And I can’t figure out why you don’t believe me.”

Heechul shrugs. “Call it a hunch,” he says. “I’m protective of the kid. Sue me.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” Sungmin replies. Oddly, he’s not as angry as he’d expected to be—nothing Heechul had said was untrue, after all, and Sungmin knows better than to think he’s some kind of model of sexual virtue. “I know I fuck around a lot, but I don’t do it with people I consider friends. Unless,” he amends, “they know exactly what’s up and are okay with it.”

“Like Hyojin noona,” Heechul says.

“And like Sunny. And Youngwoon. But yeah, you get the idea—and if Kyuhyun’s not that type, I’m not gonna try anything with him. Seriously, hyung.”

Heechul studies his face for a long moment, then nods. “Okay,” he says. “I believe you. I guess I’ll tell Amber she’d better start doing her own investigative work about the mysterious case of the moody blues.”

“I can’t believe you abused your spare key privileges for this,” Sungmin says. “Go away, I’m tired.”



The problem is that Sungmin isn’t totally sure he’d been telling Heechul the truth. He doesn’t just want to get into Kyuhyun’s pants, that’s for sure—but he can’t entirely say he’s not interested, either. Kyuhyun is gorgeous—not exactly the tall, dark, handsome type that Sungmin usually goes for in his conquests, but that doesn’t mean Sungmin can’t appreciate him on a purely physical level. And besides that, Kyuhyun is smart, funny, sarcastic, makes Sungmin laugh—his presence is something Sungmin genuinely enjoys.

Sungmin’s a social creature, but his circle of friends—the real inner circle, the ones he tells his secrets to—is small, and the fact that Kyuhyun’s wormed his way into it after only a few weeks of knowing each other has to mean something.

Siwon, I think I’m having a crisis, Sungmin texts at eleven in the evening on the eight consecutive day of radio silence from Kyuhyun. Send help.

A crisis of?

A crisis of maybe wanting more than just sex with someone.

Why do I need to send help for that?

Sungmin sighs and rolls onto his stomach. Because I’m not exactly relationship material, he types, feeling bitter about the words even as he writes them, and because it’s just going to end really badly if I try.

Siwon calls him after that. “Hyung, what are you talking about?” he asks when Sungmin answers the phone, forgoing ‘hello’ entirely. “You’re a great person. I don’t know why you think you’d be bad at relationships.”

“Let me tell you how many relationships I’ve had in my life that lasted longer than a month,” Sungmin says. “None. Every time I get involved with someone I either trick myself into thinking I’m in love with them when really I just love the idea of them, or I panic and withdraw and ruin everything anyway. I’m definitely not what you’d call an ideal type of anything. Except maybe friend with benefits.”

He can almost hear Siwon wince at the term, but Siwon chooses not to comment—probably smart, considering. “How many of those other people—the ones you tricked yourself into thinking you liked, I mean—how many of them did you text someone an SOS over?” Siwon asks.

“None of them,” Sungmin says. “I just dove in. And then found out the water was shallower than I thought.”

“So don’t you think the fact that you’re worried about this means something’s different?”

“...No,” Sungmin says. He imagines Siwon pinching the bridge of his nose. “I think it means I’ve wised up.”

Siwon sighs. “Hyung, I really don’t think you should cut yourself off from a possibility just because you think it won’t work,” he says. “God works in mysterious ways. —Ah, or should I say, sometimes life happens to us in ways we don’t expect. Just... let things happen. Don’t rush into it, but don’t rush out of it either.”

It’s good advice. Sungmin wishes he could take it; it would make everything so much easier if he could force his rational mind to actually exercise any control over his gut instincts. “I’ll try,” he says, because that’s the best he can manage. “Thanks, Siwon. Sorry about the middle-of-the-night counseling session.”

“Don’t worry about it, hyung,” Siwon says. “You can call me any time.”

When they hang up, Sungmin stares at the ceiling and contemplates the conversation—specifically, the idea of life happening in unexpected ways. Not that Sungmin’s ever been very religious, but he can see where Siwon was coming from—sort of, in a distant, through-a-telescope kind of way, not in a way that seems applicable to his own life. What? Try to convince Kyuhyun that he’s worth dating? It seems stupid, after he’d all but straight-out told Kyuhyun what a slut he is.

Sungmin just isn’t dating material. It’s probably for the best, that way.



The next time Sungmin runs into Kyuhyun is on Friday, and it’s an accident. Sungmin is a little tipsy, walking in the general direction of the subway from a club he’s just left, and Kyuhyun—if the form-fitting black t-shirt and leather jacket are any indication—is heading home from a gig. “Kyuhyun-ah,” Sungmin says, too surprised to even be offended about the fact that Kyuhyun hasn’t spoken to him in two weeks. “You’re here?”

Kyuhyun’s expression is a little like a deer in headlights, but he pauses anyway. “We just finished a show,” he says, gesturing vaguely behind him. “I’m going home. Are you—hyung, are you drunk?”

“No,” Sungmin says, then amends, “not very much. Just a little. I’ve been sobering up.”

“Were you at a party?”

“Club.” He heaves a sigh. “My... date decided someone else was a better idea. And he was my ride, so—” But Kyuhyun’s not really interested in all that, so Sungmin cuts himself off and says, “Anyway, um—go home safely.”

For a moment, Kyuhyun looks conflicted. “Are you going to the subway?” he asks.

“I... hope so,” Sungmin says.

A long pause. “I’ll walk with you,” Kyuhyun finally says. “I’m going that way too, and—hyung, no offense, but you don’t really hold your alcohol well.”

Sungmin doesn’t bother being offended because it’s true—Kyuhyun had seen it firsthand the very first time they’d met, after the concert Heechul had dragged him along to. “You don’t have to,” he says, but Kyuhyun has already fallen into step alongside him. “I thought you were mad at me.”

“I’m not mad at you,” Kyuhyun says, though Sungmin can hear another layer under his words—something Kyuhyun isn’t saying, and Sungmin feels like he should understand it, but no matter how hard he focuses he just can’t work it out. “I’ve just been busy... Yongguk quit, so I’ve been doing double shifts at the cafe.”

“Ohhhhhh,” Sungmin says. All of a sudden he feels like an asshole—of course Kyuhyun’s been busy. He has a life that doesn’t involve texting Sungmin every minute of every day. “You must be tired.”

“Nah, not really. It’s not that bad—Himchan’s still around, anyway.” Kyuhyun rubs his hands together to generate heat, then shrugs. “And money is money.”

“Mm.”

They walk together in silence for a few minutes. Sungmin glances at Kyuhyun out of the corner of his eye—Kyuhyun really isn’t his type, not even close, but somehow he still wants to reach out and hold his hand, or touch his jaw, or something. “Kyuhyun-ah,” he says. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” Kyuhyun says.

“If you want something—but you know you’ll fail at it, should you try for it anyway?” Sungmin’s not sure how much sense he’s making, but he has to ask. “Or should you give up, if you know you’ll just get hurt?”

The question hangs between them. For a long while, Kyuhyun doesn’t answer, but when Sungmin looks up at him he’s frowning thoughtfully. “You should try,” he finally says, his tone decisive. “If you don’t try you’ll die never knowing what you could have done. It’s not worth it to live with regrets—you might get hurt or fail, but you won’t know unless you try to do it.”

The passion in Kyuhyun’s voice takes Sungmin by surprise. “Strong answer,” he says, because he’s not sure how else to respond.

Kyuhyun gives him a small smile. “I have strong feelings,” he says. “Plus, I almost learned the hard way.”

“What?”

“What it’s like to die with regrets.” Kyuhyun shoves his hands in his pockets, looking down at his feet as they walk. “I don’t really talk about it—I was in a car accident a couple of years ago. Spun out, flipped a couple of times... I really thought I was going to die. My life flashed before my eyes and everything, seriously—they don’t make that up. I was in a coma forever, all the doctors told my parents they should start making funeral arrangements.”

“Kyuhyun,” Sungmin begins. It’s almost uncomfortably intimate, hearing this—like he’s being made privy to a secret he has no right to know, and in some ways, it’s true. He doesn’t need to hear this, Kyuhyun doesn’t need to tell him. He hasn’t earned that right yet.

“It’s okay,” Kyuhyun says. “Seriously. But when I woke up and went through recovery and everything, I realized—it’s not worth it to give up on things before I even try. You never know what might happen, you know? So what if you fail. At least you tried.”

It’s then that Sungmin realizes they’ve stopped walking. Between streetlights, the only illumination they have is refracted through building windows, but it’s enough for Sungmin to meet Kyuhyun’s eyes and see the expression there—determination, mostly, but some pain, too, something residual that time hasn’t been able to soothe.

“Kyuhyun,” Sungmin says again. Not for the first time, he wants to reach out and kiss Kyuhyun, or just hold him, maybe. He wants to wrap his arms around Kyuhyun and feel him breathing, hold him until whatever it is between them—this thing that feels like it might shatter at any second—stops aching.

Instead, because Sungmin has never been that brave, they just look at each other.

Kyuhyun’s smile is half-obscured by darkness when he speaks. “You’re not about to get all drunk and sappy on me, are you, hyung?” he asks. His voice is fragile, but it breaks the silence, and suddenly Sungmin can breathe again.

“I don’t get sappy when I’m drunk,” he says, “and anyway I’m mostly sober.”

“Sober enough to find the subway station on your own?”

The fact that Kyuhyun is already pulling away means that Sungmin isn’t crazy, at least—they had been poised on the brink of something, for just that split second. “It’s only block away, I’ll be fine,” Sungmin says, pushing his hands into his pockets so he can resist the urge to touch Kyuhyun’s face and make sure he’s real. “Go home safely, okay?”

“Okay,” Kyuhyun says. Sungmin watches him walk away until he’s swallowed by the darkness, but Kyuhyun doesn’t look back.



Heechul drags him to another of The Antiga Prime’s shows. It’s not very fair, considering that Sungmin has only just come to terms with the fact that he has the kind of embarrassing crush on Kyuhyun that he hasn’t had since he was in high school—but it’s not like he’d told Heechul that, and not like he plans to, since he’s not suicidal.

So he distracts himself from thoughts of Kyuhyun and eyeliner and tight jeans by chatting up a guy at the bar—he says his name is Henry, and he speaks awkward Korean with a vague Chinese accent, but he’s cute, and he’s funny, so Sungmin doesn’t mind.

They keep talking even when The Antiga Prime comes on, leaning so close together their foreheads are almost touching. “So what brings you here?” Sungmin asks, smiling a little up at Henry as he sips his drink. “You’re not a teenage girl, so...”

Henry laughs, his gaze flicking down to Sungmin’s mouth for a moment. “My friend is friends with Amber,” he says. “You?”

“My friend is friends with the guitarist.”

As far as Sungmin knows, Heechul is already backstage, probably writing inappropriate things on the dressing room mirrors in lipstick. He’d gotten Jungmo to bring him back before the show even began, but Sungmin had begged off—didn’t think he was ready to see Kyuhyun at the moment, even if he couldn’t bring himself to say no to going to the show at all.

“...said something about it?” Henry is saying. He does this thing where he ends all his sentences like questions, like he’s not sure he said it right. “Amber said a friend of Jungmo’s, so maybe it was your friend.”

“Heechul?” Sungmin asks.

“Yeah, right. He’s here?”

Sungmin leans out a little to take a glance at the crowd, looking for Heechul’s head. “Somewhere,” he says. Onstage, Kyuhyun is scanning the crowd—Sungmin entertains the brief and fanciful notion that Kyuhyun is looking for him, but imagination never got him anywhere. “Well, it doesn’t matter,” he says, shrugging and leaning back into Henry. “I’d rather talk to you.”

“Really?” Henry seems a little—well, starstruck is the wrong word, but he doesn’t seem like he’s had much experience being hit on by men at bars. “I mean—thanks.”

“Of course,” Sungmin says, looking up through his eyelashes.

It’s an art, really, the whole seduction thing. People like him, his big eyes and natural pout and the way he plays up his own coyness—it makes people want to simultaneously protect him and tear him apart, and it works every time. Every single time (Kyuhyun excepted), so Sungmin’s not really surprised when Henry leans in very cautiously and kisses him, soft lips and Henry’s hand pressed gently along the edge of his jaw.

It’s nice, objectively. Very nice, actually, but Sungmin can’t help thinking about other things—Kyuhyun’s hands, the way his voice echoes under Sungmin’s skin, the look in his eyes when they’d stood in the darkness and Kyuhyun had told him about touching death.

When they pull apart, Sungmin sighs. “This isn’t fair,” he says, feeling like a terrible person when Henry’s expression goes confused. “I shouldn’t be kissing you and thinking about someone else.”

“I don’t understand,” Henry says, but Sungmin’s not listening.

Over Henry’s shoulder, he sees Kyuhyun, and he sees Kyuhyun watching him. The set’s over—he hadn’t noticed the music ending—and the band is packing up, but Kyuhyun isn’t moving, just looking at him. He’s probably been looking for a while. Probably saw him kiss Henry. Probably.

Kyuhyun doesn’t look happy. It’s not anger on his face, but a strange sort of blankess—like hurt, almost, and it burns right into Sungmin’s stomach. There’s no reason for Kyuhyun to look at him like that, not unless—

“I have to go,” he says. “I’m sorry, I’m really sorry—”

By the time Sungmin all but throws himself into the dressing room, Kyuhyun is gone. “Where is he?” he asks, ignoring the surprise on Jungmo and Siwon’s faces and the knowing look on Amber’s.

“Kyuhyun?” Amber says. “He just left. He looked pissed.”

Sungmin kicks the doorframe and swears, and Heechul raises an eyebrow. “What’s it to you?” he asks.

“I think—that maybe I’ve been really stupid,” he says, “at least I hope I have been—did he say where he was going?”

“Home,” Amber says. “If you run you can catch him.”

Sungmin doesn’t bother questioning how Amber knows—he just runs, pushing out the back exit and into the cold. It’s raining a little, it’s stupid how cliche it is, and Sungmin has never been as nervous as he is right now. His palms are even sweating, for god’s sake, and he can’t decide if he hopes he’s wrong or wishes desperately to be right.

A block ahead of him, Kyuhyun’s shape passes under a streetlight and then fades back into blackness. “Kyuhyun!” Sungmin shouts, jogging to catch up. “Kyuhyun, wait!”

Kyuhyun doesn’t wait, but Sungmin catches up with him two streetlights later, grabs him by the sleeve and pulls him to a halt. “Kyuhyun,” he says, fighting to get his breath back. “I think I’ve been really stupid. At least—I hope I have. I think.”

Kyuhyun gives him a blank look. “What are you talking about?”

“I saw you watching me,” Sungmin says. “Kissing Henry. —The guy at the bar. And you just—looked really angry, and Amber said you’d been pissed, and I couldn’t figure out why you would be angry about me kissing anyone, unless you—” Sungmin cuts himself off, studying Kyuhyun’s face, hoping for some kind of clue as to whether he was on the right track. “Unless you wanted to be kissing me,” he finally finishes, his voice wavering a little. “Am I wrong?”

“Does it matter?” Kyuhyun asks, shrugging one shoulder and looking so nonchalant that Sungmin wants to smack him, or kiss him, or both. “You don’t like me like that.”

“I was lying through my teeth,” Sungmin says, matter-of-fact.

“Sorry if I have a hard time believing that,” Kyuhyun says. “You don’t seem like the type who would lie to his best friend and not make a single move on someone you like. Someone who sleeps around as much as you do wouldn’t.”

It stings, but it’s not like it’s not true. Sungmin had said it himself. “That’s why I didn’t,” Sungmin says, finally letting go of Kyuhyun’s sleeve. He takes a step back. “Because I know—you deserve better than me. A lot better, actually. I don’t know what to do with feelings, like real ones, I just have a lot of sex. I’m—defective. And you’re funny and gorgeous and nice and talented and why would you want anything to do with me? I’m just a slut.”

At his sides, Kyuhyun’s hands curl into fists. “So what?” he says, his voice tense. “I don’t get any say in this?”

“I just didn’t want to break your heart—” Sungmin begins. And then Kyuhyun grabs him, with more force than Sungmin thought Kyuhyun had in him, and kisses him so hard Sungmin forgets how to breathe for a moment. He forgets how to breathe and how to move, and how to think—all he can do is wrap his arms around Kyuhyun’s shoulders and kiss him back, desperate. The bolt of heat that sinks into the pit of his stomach is embarrassing, or would be, if Sungmin could remember what ‘embarrassing’ means.

“Kyuhyun,” Sungmin half-gasps when they pull apart. Kyuhyun looks just as destroyed as he feels, his eyes dark, fingers digging into Sungmin’s waist.

“Shut up,” Kyuhyun says. His voice is rough, and Sungmin shudders. “I’ve been waiting to do that since you touched my face and told me I’m cute for a rockstar.”

“I’m going to hurt you,” Sungmin says. He wants it to sound like a warning—it doesn’t. “I’m bad at this, at—caring about people, at being a boyfriend—”

“You’re not allowed to give up before you’ve tried,” Kyuhyun says.

Sungmin thinks about Kyuhyun’s life flashing before his eyes, and how many regrets he must have seen, things he wanted to do but never tried for because he thought he’d fail. There must have been a lot—there’s no other explanation for the way Kyuhyun is looking at him right now. “Kyuhyun,” he says.

“Say yes,” Kyuhyun says. “Say you’ll try—just say you’ll try so I can kiss you again, hyung, dammit—”

“I’ll try,” Sungmin says. It’s a reckless promise to make, but it’s hard to say anything else when Kyuhyun is pressed against him like this, when he can feel Kyuhyun’s heart beating in his chest. And then they’re kissing, and Sungmin’s fingers are in Kyuhyun’s hair and Kyuhyun’s teeth are against his lip and how had he ever thought about saying no to this?



Kyuhyun drags Sungmin into the cool darkness of his apartment and kisses him against the wall in the foyer, and again pressed against the back of the couch, and again against the bedroom door before they finally figure out how to get the door open without pulling apart. Sungmin’s not really sure what he’d been expecting—he hasn’t given himself much time, over the last couple of months, to imagine this, to envision what Kyuhyun would be like in the bedroom. So he’s not really sure why he’s surprised when Kyuhyun knows exactly what he’s doing.

“You’re unbelievable,” Sungmin gasps when Kyuhyun pushes two fingers into him and leaves them there, flexing against sensitive muscle. “Kyuhyun, move, I can’t—I can’t—”

“You can,” Kyuhyun says. He’s so self-assured that Sungmin doesn’t even know what to do about it. “And you’re going to. I think you’re sexy when you’re moaning like this, you know?”

The words make Sungmin moan again, self-consciousness be damned, and he closes his fists in the blankets, tilting his head back in hopes of getting more air. Kyuhyun works his fingers deeper, his fingertips brushing against Sungmin’s prostate, and he’s never been this turned on, never in his entire life. This isn’t what he was expecting, but he’ll take it. He’ll definitely take it.

When Kyuhyun pushes into him, he does it so slowly that all of Sungmin’s air stutters out of him, overwhelmed by the stretch and flex and burn. He’s been with a lot of people—has had a lot of people inside him—but Sungmin has never been with someone who was just as determined to make Sungmin come totally undone as Sungmin was to return the favor. “I’m going to—kill you,” he manages, his fingers finding purchase low on Kyuhyun’s hip, pulling him forward. “I swear, Cho Kyuhyun, you’re dead meat as soon as we’re done—”

Kyuhyun laughs and pushes forward, sinking as deep as he can go, and Sungmin can’t even moan.

For how desperate Sungmin had been to have Kyuhyun inside him, it takes them forever to come. Hours pass, years, eternities, until they’re both sweat-soaked and gasping, fingers sliding on each others’ skins—they’ve changed positions so many times Sungmin can’t even remember them all, and he’s lightheaded and feels like his heart is in his throat, and the only words he can remember are “Kyuhyun” and “please.”

“Sit back,” Kyuhyun murmurs, wrapping an arm around him, pressing his hand against Sungmin’s chest. It pulls Sungmin a few inches back, until his back is pressed to Kyuhyun’s chest, and—that’s it. That’s it. The shift makes Kyuhyun’s cock hit his prostate on every thrust, and it’s too much. His impending orgasm is white noise in his head, drowning out everything but the sound of skin on skin and his own desperate, ragged breathing.

“Kyuhyun,” he gasps, almost a moan, and then he’s coming, the white noise roaring to a crescendo and then tapering out into a pleasant emptiness.

When he comes down, Kyuhyun is still inside him, still hard, pressing absent kisses along the back of his shoulders. “Sorry,” he whispers, and before Sungmin can ask for what, he pushes Sungmin forward—forward until Sungmin is on his hands and knees, and then Kyuhyun moves, fucking him through the aftershocks until every nerve ending feels like it’s alight, until Sungmin can’t even breathe because it feels like he’s been laid open.

Kyuhyun comes quietly, just a caught breath and a whisper that’s almost Sungmin’s name, and then sits back, pulling out of Sungmin and letting him collapse onto the bed.

“Oh,” is all Sungmin can manage when Kyuhyun stumbles back to the bed, condom discarded and bearing a wet cloth. There’s come on his thighs and stomach, but he’s having a hard time caring a lot. “Why, can’t we just cuddle...”

“We can cuddle in a second,” Kyuhyun says, dropping the cloth next to Sungmin’s face. “Clean up.”

Sungmin obeys, and then through their combined efforts they kick the soiled sheet to the floor and pull Kyuhyun’s comforter up to cover them both. It’s been a long time since Sungmin felt this comfortable—he’s almost afraid to blink in case it turns out to be a dream. “Come here,” Kyuhyun says, opening one arm, and Sungmin curls up against him, his head on Kyuhyun’s chest. “Feel good?”

“Yeah,” Sungmin says. He runs his fingertips over Kyuhyun’s chest and down his stomach, tracing absently over lines of scar tissue—remnants from the accident, he assumes. Kyuhyun tenses slightly, but Sungmin presses a kiss to his shoulder and he relaxes, little by little. “Sleepy,” he mumbles, letting his eyes fall closed.

“So sleep,” Kyuhyun says.

“Can I ask a favor?”

“Mm?”

“Sing to me,” Sungmin says, blushing even as he’s asking. How embarrassing, asking for a lullaby—he’s not a child.

But Kyuhyun just laughs softly, a rumble under Sungmin’s ear. “Okay,” he agrees, rubbing his fingertips along Sungmin’s spine. “Anything in particular?”

“Anything.”

So Kyuhyun sings him a lullaby, something in English—Sungmin can only pick out a few words, and those dissipate quickly, as sleepy as he is. It’s something else, really, being held like this, being sung to—it’s more than anyone has ever given him, and more than he’s ever expected. Sungmin doesn’t know what to make of it, so he just doesn’t think, letting the murmur of Kyuhyun’s voice lull him to sleep.



He wakes up with his head still on Kyuhyun’s chest, Kyuhyun’s arm still wrapped around his shoulders, and immediately panics.

It’s not that he regrets it, not even for a second. It’s just that the moment—his legs tangled with Kyuhyun’s, the light coming in through the blinds, the easy way he’d fit against Kyuhyun’s side—is intimate, hugely, terrifyingly so, and it scares the shit out of Sungmin. He doesn’t know how to do this, how to do intimacy, how to have a real lie-in with someone.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

For a moment, Sungmin stays still by force of will alone, allowing himself to relax bit by bit as he works through his desire to bolt. Focus on other things, he tells himself: The even rise and fall of Kyuhyun’s chest, how comfortably lived-in this room is, the way Kyuhyun’s eyeliner is smeared under his eyes—that last makes Sungmin smile.

“I promised I’d try,” he whispers, leaning down to press a kiss to Kyuhyun’s forehead.

He climbs out of bed and takes his time dressing, because he’s not running away (he reminds himself, looking in the mirror). There’s a bakery across the street from Kyuhyun’s apartment building—Sungmin remembers staring at the sign as he waited impatiently while Kyuhyun fumbled with his keys. He’ll go there, get breakfast, and come back.

It’s a tiny first step. Sungmin’s never eaten breakfast with someone he slept with the night before.

The girl behind the counter at the bakery greets him cheerfully, and Sungmin focuses on that, too, trying to keep his mind from wandering. He does pretty well, actually—thinks about Kyuhyun telling him offhandedly that he doesn’t like blueberries, for instance, and switches out a blueberry scone for a chocolate one. But then he thinks, I’m buying breakfast for him, and thinks I remember that he doesn’t like blueberries, and it all comes crashing back in on him at once.

Sungmin wants to run, and doesn’t want to run. The entire thing—the knowledge that he knows Kyuhyun well enough to know his fruit preferences, the knowledge that Kyuhyun is upstairs in his bedroom sleeping, that he’s waiting for Sungmin to come back—suffocates him.

He calls Heechul.

“What did you do,” is how Heechul answers the phone. Sungmin almost wants to laugh at how obvious he must be.

“I slept with him,” he says. He can’t manage lying right now. “I promised him I’d try to be good to him and—not hurt him. And I meant it, I mean it, I don’t—” Sungmin breaks off and breathes. “I want to try for him. Tell me I can do it, hyung.”

“You—” Heechul begins, then falls silent. Sungmin only calls him hyung when he’s desperate. “You do mean it, don’t you?” Heechul finally says, sounding a little awed. “This is different. You’re different about him.”

“I really mean it.”

“Then of course you can do it.” Sungmin knows he’s going to catch hell from Heechul later, but for now, Heechul says it with such conviction that Sungmin can’t help believing him a little. “You’re stubborn and loyal when you need to be. When you want to be. I know you can do it, if you want it enough.”

Sungmin looks down at the tray of pastries. “Okay,” he says. “I can do it.”

“You can do it,” Heechul repeats.

“Thank you, hyung,” Sungmin says, and means it.



He’d left Kyuhyun’s apartment door unlocked when he went out, and it’s still unlocked when he comes back in with the bag of pastries and two hot chocolates. Sungmin kicks off his shoes, comes out of the foyer, and comes face-to-face with Kyuhyun—bleary with sleep, still, standing in the middle of his living room.

“Hi,” Sungmin says.

Kyuhyun blinks at him. “Hi,” he says.

“I was hoping you wouldn’t wake up until I got back,” Sungmin says. He holds up the bag, displaying the bakery logo so Kyuhyun can see it. “I got breakfast. Or brunch. I think it’s like ten thirty.”

Kyuhyun doesn’t move for a second. “I thought you’d left.”

It makes something ache in Sungmin’s chest to know that it had been a real possibility. He’d been inches away from making a break for it. “I promised I’d try,” he says instead, his voice quiet. “I meant it. I’ll try.”

There’s nowhere in the foyer to set the bag and cups down, so when Kyuhyun crosses the room and pulls him into a hug, Sungmin just accepts it, pressing the cold tip of his nose to the curve of Kyuhyun’s throat and smiling at the noise he makes. “I can’t promise anything,” he says. “But I want this to work.”

“That’s enough,” Kyuhyun pulls back and smiles, and even with the pillow printed on his cheek and his eyeliner smeared under his eyes, he’s still the most beautiful thing Sungmin’s ever seen.

“That’s enough for me,” he says, and Sungmin lets himself believe.