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ghostnebula · 4 years ago

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Sincere and Dignified

“Eddie's twenty-first birthday + The entire Losers' Club + Las Vegas + Being in love with your best friend = Well, exactly what you'd expect.”

[read it on Ao3]

(or here)

Eddie’s birthday is in November. Which makes him the youngest member of the Losers’ Club. Which makes him the last Loser to turn twenty-one.

Which means they go all-out to celebrate, since it’s the first time they can all (legally) celebrate together. And because they’ve kind of forgone “proper” twenty-first birthday festivities for everyone else, so no one would ever feel left out. Finally, no one needs to be left out of it.

They’ve all been living together for over three years now, they’re all getting close to graduating from college, and they all saved up for this one, because this is pretty much it. The last big, fun, tangible milestone in their young lives. The last “new” thing they’re earning the right to do (legally) after driving and voting. You bet your ass they go ham on Eddie’s birthday plans.

That’s how they end up in Vegas. Several long weeks of planning, lots of money they scraped together into jars over the last few years ready to be spent, checking and double-checking every class syllabus to make sure no one misses anything important on Friday (they have to be at their hotel in time for check-in or, between Stan and Eddie, someone will pitch a fit). Then they’re all piling into Ben’s station wagon with as little luggage as they could manage to bring for a weekend trip (the station wagon is “spacious”; it is not a fucking miracle vehicle).

Roughly ten hours later (five hours for driving, two for check-in plus cramming all their crap into the motel room and then attempting to organize it, one for figuring out and agreeing on where to even start with the partying, two more for getting ready) Eddie Kaspbrak has his first legal drink as a proper twenty-one year old, on this night of November third, and there’s no aftertaste of guilt like usual. He’s got Richie pushing shots into his hands, Mike making sure he’s eating some snacks once in a while so he doesn’t get too trashed too fast, Bev directing bartenders to make the most delicious fucking drinks he thinks he’ll ever taste in his life (Porn Stars, or something else inappropriate like that).

He has Bill, the oldest, practically under oath to stay sober (at least for tonight) so there’s one semi-coherent Loser present to keep the rest of them safe and sane until he can drag them all back to the motel.

He has a wad of cash in his pocket, a chunk of his savings from the past year, ready to blow on booze and gambling and whatever the fuck he wants, because it’s his birthday, so he’s allowed to do whatever the fuck he wants.

It’s safe, and more importantly, it’s legal, and most importantly, it’s Vegas. He never thought he’d ever have the balls to set foot in a place like this -- the kind of place his mother would demonize when he was a kid. Drinking, before he left Derry and his mom and the vice grip she had on his life, was completely out of the question, let alone getting hammered in a casino in Sin City, of all fucking places, under the care of the “evil little shits” he calls his best friends.

He more than lets loose. He lets twenty-one years of virtually non-stop anxiety unwind in one night.

When he wakes up the next morning, hung over for the first time in his life, it’s almost worth it. Bill’s the only motherfucker awake already, being that he’s the only one who doesn’t have several bottles of vodka et al. to sleep off, and he’s draped across the ratty arm chair in their ratty motel room, channel-surfing with the television volume as low as it can get. The light burns Eddie’s eyes, still, when he lifts his head and -- instead of turning, his head just kind of lolls on his shoulders until he can look at Bill properly.

He wants to ask him to end his suffering, which he can only assume he has yet to see the worst of. Suddenly he understands why aspirin exists. He wants Bill to pump him full of painkillers until he stops feeling like he’s made of electrified cotton. Instead, he says, articulately, “Guh.”

Bill turns his attention from Scooby-Doo to where Eddie is half-lying, trapped under the weight of Richie’s arm and half his chest. Richie is snoring away, glasses askew on his face, a cooling puddle of drool soaking Eddie’s shoulder. It’s gross, but he can’t really complain at this point. He’s accustomed to it by now.

“Ah, he lives.”

“Ugh,” says Eddie.

“I bet,” says Bill. “So, do you want a recap of the events of last night, or did you keep your promise and remember every life-altering decision you chose to make?”

Bill’s voice, which he’s hardly putting much effort into keeping down -- owing to the fact that all his effort is being channeled into trying not to laugh, and Eddie can’t even begin to fathom what’s so funny -- is causing the other Losers to stir. His splitting headache doesn’t want him to try to figure out what’s funny. He must have fried a metric shitload of braincells with all those Porn Stars last night, or whatever the fuck sugary booze Bev was pouring down his throat before everything went hazy.

“Life-altering?” he repeats after a few moments, as Richie’s arm finally stops crushing him. It’s the only word that really stands out to him in the jumbled mess of hangover discomfort his brain is fighting, and it should cause him anxiety but he’s more worried, right now, about drinking some water. Richie sits up beside him, yawning.

Bill hums. He looks terribly pleased with himself, which can be good or bad depending which side of the story you’re on, and Eddie’s got this sneaking suspicion he’s on the wrong side, here. “Yeah, that life-altering thing I tried to talk you two dipshits out of for longer than the actual ceremony took?”

“Ceremony?” Eddie asks, trying to feel back through his poor, poor brain to remember anything after slot machines and vibrant chatter and deceptively sweet beverages being passed to him. Richie’s head drops onto his shoulder as his arms wrap around Eddie’s waist. “Guh,” he says into the fabric of Eddie’s rumpled shirt. Habitually, Eddie reaches up to pat him consolingly on the head. Richie’s not one for mornings.

“Why don’t you take a look at your ring finger, birthday boy?” Bill says, but Eddie’s already frozen, because there was a flash when he raised his hand and he’s not entirely sure he’s believing what he’s seeing, and where the fuck did he even get the ring anyway, let alone a ring as nice as this? “Or, sorry, I should say: Mr. Tozier?”

Eddie... mostly ignores him, in favour of smacking Richie a few times on the skull to get his attention, hangovers be damned. “Richie,” he hisses, heart going a mile a minute. “The fuck did I do?”

Richie grumbles some kind of complaint, lifting his head from its safe space on Eddie’s shoulder, and when he follows Eddie’s gaze he lets out a kind of... laugh? More of a squawk, really. His left arm jerks off of Eddie’s waist lightning-quick, and then he’s holding up his own hand beside Eddie’s to show off their matching rings. “Oh my god,” he says, quiet (for Richie). A little bit of tension melts out of him. Then, “I think you mean, ‘the fuck did we do?’”

“Oh my god,” Eddie squeaks, and Bill loses his battle and dissolves into peals of laughter, remote slipping out of his hands and landing somewhere on the floor. “Bill, you were supposed to be babysitting.”

It takes a while, but Bill manages to regain his composure long enough to say, “Well forgive me, but you were a man on a mission. I distinctly remember a lot of, ‘we’re practically dating anyway’ and ‘no time like the present’ and ‘Bill, if you don’t step the fuck off I’m gonna shove this ring so far up your nostril you’ll be sneezing gold until you’re ninety.’ What was I gonna do about it?”

“Oh my god,” Eddie says again, red-faced, mortified, heart still going-going-going. They aren’t dating, though, is the problem, and yeah, he’s always had this stupid little idea in his stupid little head that they might as well be, but he’s never asked, because he wasn’t sure if he should. Wasn’t sure if it was safe. Wasn’t sure if Richie wanted something proper or to just stay very, very close friends until the grave. They weren’t dating, and now they’re married, and ohJesusMaryandJoseph why did he let himself get so drunk last night?

He doesn’t expect Richie to be resentful or anything, but he’s also an anxious mess by default, and post-drunken-haze Eddie is a different, apparently less chill person than mid-drunken-haze Eddie, because he doesn’t remember having this freakout last night.

He doesn’t think that Richie will be pissed about it, necessarily, but he’s terrified that Richie’s going to want to... undo this, somehow.

He expects regret.

He doesn’t expect Richie to slide his hand against Eddie’s so that their rings clack together, letting out a soft little, “Aw,” as he does so, or to press his scratchy, stubbly face against Eddie’s cheek to plant a kiss there, or to say, just as quiet and soft as ever, “We’re married, Eds.”

“Is that okay?” Eddie asks, heart in his throat, wondering if he somehow forced Richie into this when he wasn’t in full control of his faculties.

“More than okay,” Richie says. “Is it okay with you?”

Eddie nods dumbly, staring at their rings again, wondering what the fuck possessed them to make such a rash, life-altering decision like this, yet understanding all too well that his love for Richie is too big to contain and it has to spill out in little doses like this, or it’ll probably kill him, or make him go crazy. “Yeah,” he says finally, nodding perhaps too fast. “Yeah, Richie, it’s more than okay.”

He turns in Richie’s arms to kiss him properly, apparently not for the first time, and just the action brings a couple snippets of last night’s escapades abruptly to the surface.

“$25 Weddings,” a pink neon sign outside a squat white chapel proclaims, “Sincere and Dignified.” And below that, in smaller, baby blue lettering: “Can provide: Flowers, Rings, Witnesses, Transportation, Attire...” The list goes on. It’s a wonder Eddie is coherent enough to read it, let alone comprehend it, but he’s rounding on Richie, whose arm he’s hanging off of, with the best fucking idea already leaping from his lips.

“Ffffffuck Kaspbrak,” Eddie slurs as a reluctant Bill helps him slip on a suit jacket, fiddling with the purple clip-on bowtie Richie threw over the divider at him. “Fuck Kaspbrak, right, Rich?”

“Right,” Richie says enthusiastically -- probably too enthusiastically -- from the other side of the thin wooden divider that separates their “changing rooms.”

“Fuck that name,” Eddie decides, nodding to himself. Bill takes the bowtie out of his hands with a sigh, and Eddie lifts his chin to let Bill fasten it to his shirt, grumbling all the while about how stupid they both are. “And fuck my mom.”

“Fuck your mom!” Richie shouts. There’s a beat of relative quiet, then, “Not, like, fuck your mom, obviously. Fuck... you, maybe?” And then Bev’s raucous laughter echoes through the whole room.

Eddie can’t help laughing with her, even though Bill’s insisting he stay still “so you can at least look semi-presentable for your pictures, c’mon, Eddie, this is a big moment for me, too.”

“How are you the bridezilla, here, Bill?”

“Could you please just work with me here, I swear to-- agh!” (More laughter from Bev. Stan saying something incomprehensible but loud and boisterous. Mike trying to shush them.) “I’m just trying to make sure this is actually special since you absolute buffoons refuse to just wait and do this right.” Is Bill fucking crying?

Richie’s tongue down Eddie’s throat, over and over and over: in the chapel; in a bar; in front of the bar; just before Bill drags them away from the casino they’re trying to sneak back into and instead towards the station wagon he’s doing his best to herd the Losers to; in the station wagon; in front of the motel.

Bill prying them apart with minimal assistance from a piss-drunk Ben who insists he’s “helping,” telling them once again that they are not allowed to consummate their fucking marriage in public, and especially not allowed to do it in the motel room all seven of them have to sleep in--

He hears Bev’s little “aww” behind him somewhere as he and Richie break apart, and Stan’s grief about how fucking early it is “for this shit.” Eddie can hear something like a smile in his voice, if not just plain old amusement.

“We’re married, Rich,” Eddie repeats incredulously, and Bill is saying something about their marriage license in his wallet because neither of them can be trusted, but Eddie couldn’t care less about licenses or whatever, because Richie’s smiling down at him in that way that makes his heart feel too full. And he doesn’t mean to, but a choked noise bubbles up out of him, almost a sob, maybe a laugh. Tears burn in his eyes.

But that’s alright, because Richie’s crying already, and he wraps himself bodily around Eddie, rolling them over so he’s squishing him into the mattress while he kisses all over his face and his throat until Eddie’s squealing with laughter despite his agonizing hangover. He almost feels too good to care about it now, but he’s definitely getting some water and painkillers into his system the second the weird high he’s feeling subsides.

“Okay, okay,” says Stan, standing above them suddenly, swatting at Richie’s shoulders. “You’ve had your fun. Noisy assholes. We were too drunk for proper congratulations last night. Move over.”

All the Losers squeeze themselves onto the queen bed, somehow, and water bottles and aspirin get passed around. At some point Bill gets up to start the coffeemaker and comes back with (good fucking lord) their “wedding photos” in a crisp manila envelope. They’re just as gaudy as he expected. Leave it to Richie to find the ugliest possible outfit for his literal wedding.

Eddie gets hugs and shoulder-squeezes and cheek-kisses from everyone, over and over, and Bev actually cries for about ten full minutes while she holds him, then at least ten more while she holds Richie, and then Ben cries, and... well, they all end up crying all over each other, but it’s awash with joy. “We’re happy for you,” they keep saying, and Eddie’s happy for them, too. He didn’t expect to accidentally do things this way, but he has to be glad it happened.

“God,” he says a while later, shaking his head as he sips sugary coffee from the mug he and Richie are sharing (this room is meant for four people, max, not seven, and is equipped accordingly). He’s still examining a picture of Richie attempting to give him a piggy-back ride out of the chapel. Bill is visible in the background, eyes red and puffy, a wad of tissues clenched in his hand while Mike tries to console him. Eddie has been making fun of him for about half an hour now. “My mom would flip if I told her about this.” But the thought doesn’t scare him. He doesn’t get scared of her anymore. Not like he used to. Not when he’s so far away and he feels so safe with these six idiots who bring so much joy to his life.

Richie’s thumb rubs over the skin of his lower back where his hand has crept up Eddie’s shirt. “Good thing you don’t have to,” he says, and that familiar mantra of “You never have to see her again,” bleeds through, plain as ever.

Eddie hums. Passes the coffee back to him. “I know. But... I kinda want to. Just to watch her head explode,” he says with a shrug and a grin, earning a chorus of easy laughter from his friends. He stares at the ring on Richie’s finger as Richie throws back the rest of their coffee, something warm and familiar blooming brighter in his chest.

#reddie #my writing #oh look i actually found time in the chaos of my life to post this #a miracle #also a fic short enough to just post the whole thing on tumblr???#a second miracle #the losers club #cw alcohol #cw gambling #vegas wedding babey

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lihikainanea · 5 years ago

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tiger would feel so guilty about falling asleep mid-blowjob, especially when bill goes to relieve himself in the bathroom. she’d get up, go to her knees, whimpering while trying to latch her lips to his head. he’d hush her and insist it’s okay, but now she’s small and fussy, just wanting to make him feel good.

the mood today is most definitely SOFF AND SUBBY.

Look man, maybe the kid’s been dealing with a lot. Work is insane, but she’s getting better at trying to balance it all. Maybe this round she’s not going full throttle, not staying up all night and not eating and becoming maniacal trying to finish the project--maybe she really is being good about it, not putting up any fight whatsoever when Bill comes to get her for her mandatory breaks. Instead, she’s nibbling on what he put on the plate for her, and when it’s nap time she’s curling up with him and burying her nose in his chest and relaxing for the mandated 20 minutes. But this project is taking a lot of brain power and long hours and even if she’s being smart and good about it she’s still exhausted. And when it’s time to go to bed her mind is still going a mile a minute so she kind of loses herself in Bill just to get a few moments of peace.

And Bill, for his part, is a tad reluctant every time she reaches for him at night, every time she softly begs for what she wants. On the one hand, he’s happy to give this to her and his chest is just thrumming with good provider/caretaker vibes. Tiger needs a release, needs to make her mind go blank, and she knows that he can give that to her (and that he will give that to her, every time) so she’s asking him for it. But on the other hand--god she’s just so frail these days so exhausted, that Bill wishes she would just curl up and sleep. But her mind is too jumbled up, too loud and he knows it, and he knows he needs to help her quiet it a bit.

But the way tiger quiets her mind, the way she finds the peace she so desperately needs, is by being small for him. By being good for him. So while Bill is more than ready to make her come until she basically passes out, it’s actually the last thing that she wants. Because what SHE wants is to make him feel good, to be small and soft and good for him, to get on her knees for him. And Bill is just a tad conflicted because he just wants to give her everything she needs always, but he wasn’t quite anticipating that what she needs every night is to please him. It feels little selfish.

So maybe one night as he picked her up after she brushed her teeth--he started doing that a week ago, just looping her legs around his waist and carrying her to bed like a koala--and she melted, so he kept doing it. Maybe one night when he softly laid her out in bed and she reached for the waistband of his boxers, maybe he stayed her hands.

“Kid, can I...repay the favour?” he asked tentatively, “Don’t you want to feel good, too?”

Except tiger let out the worst, most broken little whine he’s ever heard. Because all she’s registering is that she needs something, and he’s telling her no. And being told no is bad, it means SHE’S bad, and that’s a concept that destroys her in that moment. She curls in on herself, backing away from him but he needs to fix it fast--so he just grabs onto her, picks her up and puts her on her knees in front of him. He sits on the edge of the bed, crouching to be eye level with her, and threads a hand through her hair.

“Eyes, tiger,” he snaps his fingers in front of her but keeps his tone gentle, and she reluctantly meets his gaze.

“You’re good sweet girl, you know that right?” he says, “You’re so good for me.”

She looks uncertain, dragging her bottom lip between her teeth but he uses his thumb to tug it free, sliding it into her mouth after.

“Tiger if this is what you need you can have it. As much as you want,” he murmurs, “I just wanted to be sure it’s what you need. Because I feel....selfish taking it, without giving anything back.”

He wants to ask her if this is what she needs. He wants to ask her if she’s sure. But tiger doesn’t want to answer anything right now, she doesn’t want to decide what she needs--she wants to be told. And Bill knows that this is what she needs. He sighs, leaning forward to kiss her nose softly.

“Do you want to be good for me, sweet girl?” he asks, and she nods vigorously at that.

“Okay,” he says, and then with his thumb still in her mouth he reaches under her pillow, grabs her knife.

“I’ll tell you what, then,” he says, holding the knife in his open palm to show her, “We’ll keep doing this every night. You can keep being so sweet, so good for me just like this every night. But if at anytime--any time--you want me to make you feel good too, then you leave your knife somewhere that I’ll see it. How’s that?”

She flits her gaze up to his, her eyes big and innocent.

“You don’t have to ask. You don’t have to say anything. Just leave it out somewhere, and when I see it, I’ll come find you. Okay?” he coaxes. She nods.

“Good girl,” he praises, and he tucks the knife back under her pillow. He tugs his boxers down with one hand, kicks them off, and pulls her head forward into his lap.

But like, here’s the thing--and I’m getting to your point nani, I promise--they do this every night, just like he said. And tiger is getting a little more fussy, a lot more small each time. Maybe sometimes they start off and they’re both on the bed, Bill stretched out with the covers pooled at his knees and tiger laid out on her tummy between his legs. But tiger needs....more. Even like that, getting what she needs and pacifying her oral fixation and making her Big Dude feel good--she needs to be more small. So she’ll start to whine, she’ll start to get fussy and uncomfortable, and Bill will sit up, grab her arms and help coax her to the floor. He’ll help her kneel, and she settles immediately--reaching back for him so she can continue in the new position.

But she’s also just....god, the poor bean is exhausted. And I bet you’re SO right, I bet one night when she’s like that--on her knees between his legs, her mouth full, just being real slow about it, I’ll bet she just deadass falls asleep. Because Bill’s big hand is in her hair scritching softly, and it just feels so good. So right there on his thigh, her mouth still full, she falls asleep.

And Bill sighs, keeps scritching her softly while he figures out what to do. He’s so close that it hurts, so maybe he just gently removes her mouth from him, guides her to rest on the side of the bed, and then quietly gets up and goes to the bathroom. It won’t take long, he knows, and when he gets back he’ll pick her up and tuck her in with him.

But like, here’s the thing. He’s right, it doesn’t take long. But as he’s grabbing a tissue to clean up, the door pushes open and tiger is standing there, looking totally distraught. She takes it in--his slightly heaving chest, the balled up tissue in his hand, the unmistakable look of satisfaction on his face. And she makes a distressed noise, falling to her knees and crawling to him. Bill, not really knowing what else to do, just kind of sinks to his knees too as she crawls to him.

“Tiger, it’s okay,” he soothes, tangling his hands in her hair and kissing her, “It’s okay sweet girl.”

“No, no no no,” she’s muttering over and over again, “Bad.”

“You’re good sweet girl, you’re good for me,” he tries again, “It’s okay.”

But tiger knows what she did, and she feels awful about it and can’t snap out of it.

“Bad,” she cries, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry I--”

And she’s starting to wheeze a bit, starting to get a little too far away in her mind, so Bill turns stern. Balling her hair in his hands, he yanks her head back so she’s looking up at him. When she won’t meet his eyes, he snaps his fingers in front of her face.

“Tiger, eyes. Now,” he says forcefully, and she flits her gaze to his.

“Do you get to decide that?” he demands. And guh, this is how beautiful the complexity of their relationship is. Bill knows tiger is not going to forgive herself for this. He knows she’s not going to find the absolve she needs, unless he punishes her. But he wants to be clear that falling asleep--that doesn’t merit punishment. No way does that merit punishment. So instead, he’s going to give her something to misbehave about, here. She’s challenging him, by not trusting what he says--by insisting that she’s bad, when he’s telling her she’s good--and that is against the rules.

“No,” she mumbles.

“Who decides that?” he continues.

“You do,” she says softly.

“You’re goddamn right,” he says, “And are you supposed to go against what I say?”

She reaches her hands up softly, resting them on his chest--and that’s a good sign. That’s a very good sign indeed, it’s confirmation that he’s doing what she needs, when she didn’t even know that she needed it. It’s her way of saying bingo, buddy. Please keep going.

“No,” she says again. He stands suddenly, grasping her arms roughly and putting her on her feet.

“Go wait on the bed,” he commands. She hesitates for a half a second, and it’s not because she’s trying to be disobedient--it’s because she wants something from him, just a bit of reassurance because this is a lot for her to process. In a heartbeat, he reaches for her again, pulls her so that she slams into his chest, and kisses her roughly.

“I won’t ask again, tiger,” he warns when he pulls away, but she’s moving now--because that’s what she needed. He gives her a few minutes to get settled, and when he walks in she’s on all fours waiting for him. He sits, pulling her across his lap and winding a fist in her hair at the nape of her neck.

“Why are you being punished, tiger?” he asks.

“Because I went against what you said,” she replies meekly.

“And what did I say?”

“That I’m...I’m good,” she says.

“And are you?”

“Yes,” she chokes a little on the word, “Yes, I’m good.”

“You get five kid, count them.”

He makes them hurt, sting just a little more than usual because she needs to feel something. But after--after, he definitely finally gets what he wants, too, and he reaches a hand down to get her off. Tiger sleeps like a fucking baby after that, curled up against him as close as possible and still burrowing in more, his thumb jammed in her mouth, and she doesn’t wake up until real late the next day.

Bill smiles a few days later when he goes to grab his pack of smokes from the hallway table and he finds her knife on top of it. He throws his jacket off, running through her apartment with thunderous steps and flinging her office door open, diving for her.

#ALL THE SUBBY FEELS TODAY #sub tiger #bill skarsgard #bill skarsgard drabble #BFF!Bill

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katrinawritesthings · 8 years ago

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Jinki/Tae; Week Two (Part 3/3): PG

still tw for less gender problems but more anxiety and self-esteem problems

Jinki watches Jonghyun walk away, then turns to find Choi heading to their own car a few spots down. He guesses they’re gonna park it next to the van, now that there’s space. Turning again, he hesitates when Tae is the next person that he sees, leaning up against the front of the van, very close to where he is.

Tae looks away quickly when he catches Jinki’s eye. He stares at the ground, bottom lip between his teeth, fingers twisting with each other. Jinki grimaces, glances at the back of the van, at Choi’s car slowly putting over the asphalt. They did this on purpose. Jonghyun unlocking the doors for him was just a ruse.

Moving Day: 1-2-3-4

Week Two: 1-2-3

Extra Baggage: 1

The entire walk down to the arcade is Ace struggling to unwrap a case of headphones, Choi watching him with the most amused grin, and Jinki trying to figure out when exactly it was that he became important.

Important enough to want to keep a name for him, holy shit. Jinki still can’t believe it. He racks his brain, watching his feet take their steps in puzzled silence. It can’t have been anything he’d done today. Ace had that name ready and easily available to tell him. He must have decided before. Sometime during the week? But, no, that doesn’t make sense either. All they’d texted about this week was memes and shitty puns. Their goodbye at the diner last week? Was a fucking mess. Scratch that. And spending the night with him doesn’t count either, because technically they all spent the night together.

He supposes, actually going and getting Taemin from his parents’ house, helping him move and supporting him, and that whole reassuring hug they had before they left the house for good might have been worth something. Jinki still can’t see it though. That was a jumble of him not knowing what the fuck to say and just doing what any decent person would do. The other three did way more than him that weekend. His actions alone weren’t worthy of wanting to share something so important and personal legally for the rest of his life.

He’s so caught up in thinking about it that he almost walks right passed the arcade and doesn’t notice until Ace’s hand clasps around his wrist and tugs him to a stop.

“Hmm--what? Oh,” he says, blinking up at the colors. “Whoops,” he says, grinning sheepishly when Choi and Ace both roll their eyes at him. He follows them inside, checking his wallet for small bills to exchange for tokens. He decides to see how many extra the other two have gotten for themselves first and winds his way to the back of the arcade. As he expected, Jonghyun and Key are in front of the same zombie shooter game that they’re always at. He shares a fond yet exasperated look with Choi over Ace’s head.

“They’ve had the high score on that thing for years,” he mumbles to Ace. Ace heads forward curiously at that to peep at the screen. Jinki walks up to stand behind them as well. They’re on the roller coaster of death part, right before the giant roller car train boss. Neither of them even flinch from their focused shooting as Ace slips an arm around both of their waists.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hey,” Key hums back. Jonghyun hums just a single noise and blasts a clown bat out of the sky. Ace slides to stand fully behind him, wraps his arms around his waist, nuzzles his whole face into his neck, and presses a little kiss to his skin.

“Mwah,” he says, voice tiny, and Jinki has to fight down too big of a smile. What the fuck. That’s so cute. Apparently Jonghyun thinks so too, because he actually turns his head a fraction to peck the corner of Ace’s mouth.

“My fantastic and marvelous little ace trainer,” he mumbles. His eyes don’t leave the screen but Ace smiles anyway and drifts from him to Key.

“I thought you were scared of clowns,” he says as Jinki takes the opportunity to slip his arm around Jonghyun’s waist and rest his head on his shoulder. “And rollercoasters. And zombies.”

“Yeah, so now I’m facing my fears by murdering them all with ruthless efficiency,” Key replies. Jinki snorts and Choi shakes their head as they step up on Jonghyun’s other side. Their arm settles on top of Jinki’s around his waist and their chin drops onto Jonghyun’s head. Jonghyun doesn’t even bat an eye and Choi’s smug grin about that makes Jinki chuckle softly. They’re good. They’re all good, just by existing in the ways that they do.

They stay there at the shooter for a good fifteen more minutes until Jonghyun and Key finish with satisfied smiles. By that time Ace had already found the closed up bag of popcorn from earlier and piled half of it down his throat. Neither Jonghyun nor Key have noticed and Jinki watches them just replace one of their old high score slots with a new one with a fond shake of the head. Seven out of ten spots on the list just say J&K. He doesn’t know why he ever expected them to bond over something normal.

When they finally put the guns back into their holsters and turn around, Key fluffs up Ace’s hair and fixes his shirt, asks about his ears and pulls out the little kit Amber gave them earlier to clean around the piercings. Jonghyun turns to Jinki and Choi and throws an arm around each of their necks, smiling little kissies against their skin and being entirely too adorable for the world.

“How was your lunch?” he asks, slipping his hands around Jinki fully. He rubs his lower back in slow little circles, something that makes Jinki sigh and rest his head on Jonghyun’s shoulder instead of answering. This is. So nice. Jonghyun hums an interested little noise after a moment which Jinki assumes is a reply to whatever Choi signed behind him. Jinki agrees with it, whatever it was. “Come on,” Jonghyun says then. “Let’s go win some tickets.”

He stops his little massage on Jinki’s back, which Jinki pouts at, but he tugs Jinki gently over to the little ticket area with everyone else. Pushing him to sit on one of the spare stools next to the skee-ball machines, he presses a kiss to his cheek and squeezes his hand.

“I’ll win you something nice,” he says, winking and then crouching down to feed some coins into the machine. Jinki smiles tiredly and leans his head against the side of it. Jonghyun says that every time and every time he just proves himself to have atrocious aim and then whines at Choi to get tickets for him.

Some ten minutes later, after Jonghyun has huffed at the machine and whined at Choi to win tickets for him, he presents Jinki with a lovely pair of fuzzy pink dice and a little alien friend finger puppet. Jinki boops his tum with it and follows him easily to the air hockey table. That little sit gave him enough rest to be able to stand and hunch over for long enough to wreck Key like usual. After that Ace wants to play. With a pair of shutter shades and glow-in-the-dark clip on piercings at the tops of his ears, he’s so good at the game that it catches Jinki off guard. He almost doesn’t switch from “easy mode” to “actually trying” in time and when the game does end, he’d only won by one point.

“Bruh,” he says, raising his eyebrows. He’s impressed. No one’s ever scored more than four points against him. Ace smirks and drops his handle onto the table like it’s a mic.

“Guess what game the only friend I was ever allowed to see had in their basement,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows so much that his shutter shades almost fall off his face. Jinki laughs, shoulders deflating with the breath that leaves him. Holy shit. He’s way too proud, and it’s not helped at all by the way Jonghyun clings to him and presses a congratulatory kiss to his cheek. “Also,” Ace adds, “can you not call me ‘bruh’?”

“Oh,” Jinki says. Whoops. “Yeah, sorry.” He gives Ace a finger pistol; Ace gives him two back. Nice. “Here,” he says next, turning to give his handle to Choi. “I’m gonna go sit down.” His few minutes of back relief are ending and he really doesn’t want to keep standing right now, or at all anymore. Choi pats his shoulder sympathetically, then turns to sign “bring it on” to Ace. Key drifts from behind Ace to stand on the side of the table so he can support both of them and Jonghyun drifts away entirely to follow Jinki.

“Four?” he asks quietly, running his palms up Jinki’s shoulderblades.

“Fiveish,” Jinki mumbles back, and then, “hey, it’s fine,” when Jonghyun makes a stern worried noise. “It’s not bad until, like, a six.”

“Jinki,” Jonghyun sighs, but Jinki turns and shushes him with a gentle boop to the cheek.

“My back,” he says.

“Your decisions,” Jonghyun grumbles back. Jinki gives him a gentle kiss on the cheek this time.

“I’m fine if I’m sitting down,” he says, and then immediately sits down in one of the racecar games seats. “So sit with me,” he says, raising his eyebrow in a challenge. Jonghyun hesitates, but Jinki can tell that the temptation is too strong for him. They do this every week.

“Guh,” Jonghyun says, and sits down heavily in the second chair. “But I’m driving us home,” he says as he hands Jinki a token. Jinki shrugs. He was going to ask anyway.

“Not before I drive you off the road,” he grins. He picks out his favorite car and slams the start button. Jonghyun gasps loudly and does the same and the next few minutes are filled by intense driving and heavy curses from Jonghyun.

When Jonghyun loses the first time he demands a rematch immediately; by the fourth time, he sighs and slumps down in his chair.

“You know you could could let me win once,” he grumbles. Jinki smirks back and fluffs up his hair.

“I could, yeah,” he agrees. He looks around the rest of the arcade while Jonghyun keeps up his grumbling. If he leans just right, he can see the other three. They’ve left their air hockey table and are now at the basketball hoops. Choi is rhythmically scoring goals as tickets flow out of the slot. Key is leaning against the wall next to it and Ace is leaning back against their chest. His head is on their shoulder and their arms are around his waist, and they’re sharing what looks like serious words. As Jinki watches, Choi pauses just long enough to boop Ace’s nose. Ace smiles, looking immediately comforted and relieved. It’s so effortless, the way they can make him smile.

“You okay, bun?”

“Hmm?” Jinki turns to face Jonghyun’s questioning look. “Yeah, fine,” he says. As fine as he can be, anyway. “Why?”

“Mmm, you just seemed kind of… suddenly troubled,” Jonghyun says. He reaches out and picks some fuzz off of Jinki’s shirt with a knowing look.

“Ahh,” Jinki says. “I mean.” He contemplates actually lying for a moment but it’s not like Jonghyun didn’t already catch on. He goes for the obviously fake lie instead. “Yeah, it’s nothing.” he says. “Just my back.” He shrugs; Jonghyun cocks a brow at him, amused.

“Alright, well, if we’re not gonna talk about it,” he says, and grins even wider when Jinki grumbles at being so blatantly called out like that. “C’mere,” Jonghyun says. He tugs Jinki up gently, picks up a spare stool by a fighting game, and carries both to a pokemon claw machine. “I wanna get a Rowlet,” he mumbles, setting the stool down for Jinki to sit. Jinki shakes his head fondly as he eases himself onto it and scoots back so he can rest straight against the wall.

“You’ve literally never gotten anything from this,” he says.

“Not yet,” Jonghyun says back. He winks and jams a token into the slot. Jinki sighs in vague disapproval as he watches Jonghyun meticulously line up the claw. He hits the button and it goes down, closes feebly around a pokémon’s leg, lets it slip through, and returns to the starting position. Jonghyun frowns at it, looking personally offended, and puts another token in.

“Your two dollar limit, remember,” Jinki says after Jonghyun’s fourth try.

“Uh huh,” Jonghyun says back. He doesn’t take his eyes off of his target, but Jinki does. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees someone winding through the machines and towards them.

Ace smiles at Jinki as he comes up. He holds up a plastic flower crown from the prize counter and places it gently upon Jonghyun’s head, leaning around to press a kiss to his neck. Then he steps in front of Jinki and gives him a flower crown too, though he skips the neck kiss. Jinki can’t say that he’s disappointed.

“Hi,” he says, putting his hand on Jonghyun’s shoulder to get his attention. “Call me Tae from now on?” he asks, looking between both of them.

“Of course,” Jonghyun hums, lifting Tae’s hand to kiss it and going back to his claw.

“No problem, Tae,” Jinki says. He guesses he’s found out what the other three were talking about before. A smile grows on Tae’s lips that’s even wider than before, and he gives Jinki two cute flower bracelets with a meaningful nod at Jonghyun. Jinki nods easily, wiggling one on and holding the other to give to him when he’s done. Tae touches Jonghyun’s butt, then steps back with a smirk after he squeaks.

“Alright, bye again,” he says, and leaves them both to slink back to Choi and Key.

“God, I love him so--gnngh, fuck--so much,” Jonghyun breathes. He growls at the claw machine and bangs his fist on the counter halfway through that confession. Jinki barely notices the sad defeat jingle it plays, nor what Jonghyun says after that. He watches Tae walk away, rubbing a plastic flower petal between his fingers, more confused than he’s been all day. “Jinki?” Jonghyun asks, and even that feels distant and muffled--but it’s enough to snap him into speaking.

“Why does he think I’m so important?” he asks loudly, quickly, heavily. It all leaves him in a distressed whoosh, a thick swallow, a plastic flower bracelet accidentally squished in his hand. Across the arcade Tae is bouncing lightly in front of a fighter game that Choi is effortlessly beating him at. He doesn’t understand.

“Dude,” Jonghyun says flatly. When Jinki tears his eyes away to look at him, he’s giving Jinki this extremely judgemental look with a cocked hip and brow.

“What?” Jinki asks. Whines, more like, not that he’d admit it. Jonghyun looks at him for another second before rolling his eyes and turning back to the claw machine. A fond smile tugs up his lips that Jinki can’t seem to enjoy.

“Because you are a golden gem of a human being,” he says matter-of-factly as he maneuvers the claw around. He lowers the claw, bites his lip, sighs, and rests his forehead against the glass. “I’m so bad at this,” he mumbles. Jinki frowns.

“I’m being serious, Jonghyun,” he says. “I don’t--”

“So am I,” Jonghyun says firmly. He faces Jinki fully, more serious this time. “Just because your super humble insecure ass downplays yourself as much as possible literally all the time, it doesn’t mean that everyone else does.”

“I can’t downplay things I’ve never done in the first place,” Jinki huffs. He can barely talk to Tae alone without making it awkward. Jonghyun just looks at him, rolls his eyes, and puts another token into the claw machine.

“Okay, let’s see,” he says. “You support him, you comfort him, you care about him.” He taps next to the claw button with every thing he lists and Jinki huffs again.

“I mean, obviously, but--”

“You respect his identity and help him figure it out.”

“Well, yeah, why would I not--”

“You helped him through a panic attack like, an hour ago.”

“I barely knew what I was doing though?”

“Literally the first time you ever met him in person you told him you would lay yourself down in between him and his parents if they tried to get to him--”

“Okay, you know that was a joke.”

“And it made him feel safe.” Jonghyun says that last word heavily but Jinki doesn’t know if it was for emphasis or because he just lost again. He drops another coin in immediately and this time Jinki can’t tell if his frown is because of the machine or because of him. “You dropped everything at a moment’s notice last week--”

“Yeah, but so did--”

“--to drive ever an hour to help him escape his house--”

“Jonghyun, that’s not--”

“--which was something that can potentially get you arrested if his parents are assholeish enough about it, and--”

“I’m not the only one that did that,” Jinki says loudly. Jonghyun shoots him a confused and annoyed frown at the interruption and Jinki sighs, a short huff. “All of that is just being, like, a good person,” he says. The others all do that shit too and Jinki doesn’t see Tae wanting to share a name with them. “What have I done extra?” he asks.

“Extra?” Jonghyun asks incredulously. “What do you mean, extra?” When he leans against the claw machine to frown at Jinki with his hand on his hip, his other hand presses the descend button. He doesn’t even look at its journey and Jinki sighs.

“I mean,” he says, “like. You’re his boyfriend, and Key is dating him too, and Choi fucking lives with him--what have I done extra?” He gestures at himself for emphasis. “What have I done extra that’s not something everyone else has done?”

“You don’t need to do anything extra,” Jonghyun tells him. He looks more confused and upset than he usually is when he’s arguing with Jinki over how good or bad he is. “If Minjunggie didn’t live in that house, would they not be important?”

“What?” Jinki asks, appalled. “No, what the fuck?” Of course they’re important.

“Jinki. If they didn’t literally live with Tae, they would have less interaction with him than you do.” Jonghyun taps his hand on the counter of the machine for emphasis. He pauses; picking up the quarter under his hand, he glances at the coin slot and then shakes his head. “That would, by your definition, make them less important than you,” he says, looking back at Jinki. Jinki opens his mouth, takes a breath, lets it out with an inarticulate noise.

“That’s--different,” he says.

“How?” Jonghyun asks flatly.

“It’s--just--” Jinki huffs loudly, pushing his fingers through his hair. “He’s not gonna change his last name for me,” he says. He can see Jonghyun’s face fall from sternness into understanding, some kind of sympathy, and shakes his head. “I don’t get it,” he says quietly.

“Jinki…,” Jonghyun says softly. He steps forward and puts his hand on Jinki’s knee, squeezing gently. He moves so he can lean his shoulder against the wall next to him and nuzzle his arm. “You could’ve just said that’s what this was about from the beginning,” he says. Jinki shakes his head with a sigh. He could have, yeah, but that wasn’t really the root of the issue. He turns to lean against the claw machine instead and lets Jonghyun stand between his legs, close enough to hold his waist. “Look,” Jonghyun says, and taps Jinki’s chin up to make him look. “I know that’s big, but I don’t think it’s as big as you think it is,” he says. “His first name is the one he’s worried about, not his last.”

“No, Jonghyun, it is, like.” It’s exactly as big as he thinks it is. Jonghyun leans up to give him a soft kiss, one of the ones he puts all of his comfort into, but Jinki pushes him away gently. He doesn’t need to be distracted and calmed down right now. He’s upset and he can speak loudly if he wants to. “He is literally terrified,” Jinki says, “of his parents finding him.” He waves a hand when Jonghyun opens his mouth to get him to stop. “We spent all last weekend wiping fingerprints off of things so they couldn’t DNA track us down. He’s changing everything, his his number, his appearance, his name--he’s changing his name legally and applying for what’s basically a watered-down witness protection thing so they can’t find him. So he can be completely hidden and never have to worry about it.

“And he still? Fugking worries about it, Jonghyun, you know he will. It’ll be ten years from now and he’ll still be worrying about it. And fuck, even mentioning anyone’s parents can trigger a panic attack, let alone his, and--and suddenly, none of that fucking matters because of me?” Jonghyun’s hand reaches for his cheek but he stops it, holds it and squeezes it instead. “Suddenly wants to keep his parents’ name, the one that can literally trigger him, the one that can be used to track him down and ruin his life, just because it’s the same as mine?

“I don’t--get it, Jonghyun, I don’t fucking understand--what have I done to deserve that?” The question comes out louder than he meant it to but he couldn’t help it. He’s too emotional right now and whenever he gets too emotional he starts falling apart. He squeezes Jonghyun’s hand in apology for making him wince but doesn’t let go of him or the question. “There’s no--” he starts, and then falters when Jonghyun suddenly looks away from him with wide eyes. He blinks, confused, and turns to the rest of the arcade as well. “What--oh.”

Tae’s eyes meet his, as serious as Jinki is guilty. Choi and Key are still on the other side of the arcade, leaning on the counter and turning in more tickets. They have no idea, just as Jinki had no idea that Tae was here, listening. He slowly looks back to Tae, who hasn’t moved his gaze. He opens his mouth to try to speak, to say anything, but he can’t think of anything to put into words. Another long moment pases after he gives up before Tae takes a breath.

“You’re,” he says. “All my life, just. And--but now I can.” He falters, fingers twisting with each other. “I-it’s just--” He stops and sucks in a breath, gritting his teeth and huffing at the ground. “I don’t…,” he mumbles. “I’ll change it if it bothers you.” The shake in his voice makes Jinki’s heart sink. He tries to say something again, and this time actually gets a word on his tongue, but Tae speaks over him without noticing. “Jonghyun,” he says. His breathing is picking up and Jinki’s heart plummets even lower into his stomach. “Kibummie said--said that it was getting late. And that we usually l-leave soon.” He lifts a shaky hand to run through his hair. Jonghyun steps forward to do that for him, but Tae steps back just as quickly. “I’ll--take your time,” he says, glances at Jinki, and turns and walks away quickly.

Jinki watches Jonghyun’s hand close on nothing in midair. He watches Tae walk all the way back to Key and sink into their arms. He watches Choi and Key both look over at him with confused expressions and he watches the back of Jonghyun’s head as he lifts a hand to rub his palm over his eyes. He closes his eyes, letting his head fall against the wall.

“God, I’m garbage,” he breathes.

“You’re not.” Jonghyun’s voice is small and thick, the kind it gets when he’s trying not to cry. Jinki sighs slowly. Guh.

“I am, though,” he says. “I gave him a panic attack and I made you cry and I ruined today and--”

“Stop, Jinki, fucking--” Jonghyun faces him with an annoyed huff. His eyes are watery but his frown is stern. “You didn’t, and I’m not even crying, I’m just. Almost crying. Because I’m tired and hungry and... emotional.” He sucks his hand into his sleeve to soak up a tear from his waterline before it falls.

“You’re gonna cry, though,” Jinki says. “Because you always need to once you start.”

“I know,” Jonghyun grumbles. He comes forward to stand in front of Jinki and bury his face in his chest. “So, just, shut up and let me cry on you for a minute.” His arms come around Jinki’s waist next and Jinki sighs, lifting his arms over Jonghyun’s shoulders. He gives him gentle back pats as he sniffles into his shirt.

“Just because you say I didn’t fuck up it doesn’t make it true,” he mumbles.

“I said shh,” Jonghyun replies. He squeezes Jinki closer; it intensifies the pain in his back and makes Jinki hiss and squirm. “Shit--sorry,” Jonghyun says quickly. His grip turns soft again immediately. He wiggles up to press his teary face into Jinki’s neck and kiss his skin. “I love you,” he whispers.

“Nnngh,” Jinki groans. He can never handle romance when he’s like this and the shiver and twist of unease in his stomach it gives him proves that. “Not right now,” he says.

“I platonically admire your many good qualities then,” Jonghyun mumbles. His voice carries a note of petulance before he sniffles and nuzzles closer. Jinki snorts, an empty noise of amusement. He pats Jonghyun’s back comfortingly and closes his eyes. Ugh. Now Tae thinks he’s some kind of asshole. And honestly, he’s right.

He doesn’t keep track of how long Jonghyun weeps on him, but it’s not as long as he usually takes. Only a minute or two of deep breaths and countless sniffles pass before Jonghyun pulls himself away. He swallows thickly, rummages in his bag for his jumbo travel pack of tissues, and wipes his face. Jinki reaches out to fix his bangs with a tired hand until Jonghyun pushes it away.

“You’re not garbage,” he says. His voice is quiet but firm as he looks Jinki in the eye. “You’re just… confused. And insecure. And have bad luck at timing.” He shakes his head and stuffs his tissue into his back pocket. “And you need to talk to him,” he adds. “Don’t--give me that look, Jinki,” he says when Jinki starts trying to protest. He can’t talk to Tae. Not today, at least. He’ll just fuck it up more because that’s what he’s been doing this whole time. “You can’t make it any worse than it already is,” Jonghyun tells him. Jinki puffs up his lips, thrown off by how Jonghyun just knew what he was thinking. He knows everyone too well.

“I don’t,” he starts, and then sighs. He can’t even come up with a good excuse that doesn’t make him sound like an asshole. “I’ve already… upset him… enough,” he tries. The attempt wilts before he even finishes under Jonghyun’s gaze.

“He’ll be even more upset if you just leave like this.”

“Ugh,” Jinki sighs. He scrunches up his face and lets his head thunk back against the claw machine. “You’re right,” he grumbles. Leaving would probably be the only way he could actually make it worse. “Fine,” he says. He doesn’t know how the fuck he’s going to go about it, but fine. Jonghyun leans in to nuzzle his neck and take a deep breath.

“How are they doing over there?” he asks. His hand squeezes Jinki’s leg gently, but Jinki shakes his head.

“I don’t know,” he says. “I don’t want to be the one to look.” He doesn’t want to get caught and have it look like he was staring. He doesn’t need anything to feel any more awkward than it already does. Jonghyun snorts and looks himself; after a moment, he signs something that Jinki doesn’t catch because of the angle. Something about the car, he thinks. Bluh.

“Come on,” Jonghyun says then. He tugs Jinki gently until he gingerly slides off of the stool. Jinki grimaces at the dull ache in his back as he stretches his shoulders. Of course this stress has made it worse. “Do you want a patch?” Jonghyun asks. He rustles in his bag and pulls out the corner of an Icy Hot patch, but Jinki shakes his head. The walk to the car isn’t more than five minutes from here.

“On the way home,” he says. Jonghyun nods and tucks it back away.

“Okay then,” he says, and tugs Jinki across the arcade. At the counter, Tae has his eyes closed with his head on Key’s shoulder, but when they approach he looks up. His eyes fall on Jonghyun and a smile ugs up his lips. When he switches to Jinki it falters, twitches back up, and is replaced by a bitten lip as he looks away. Jinki looks away awkwardly too. Fuck.

“Okay, well, anyway,” Key says. Even for someone as practised at sounding casual as they are it seems forced, but they push on anyway. “I’m ready to get home. No one else is forgetting anything?” they ask. They clap their hands in some weak show of authority with a peppy smile and it actually brings the tiniest smile to Jinki’s lips. They’re trying so hard.

He checks his pockets, his bag, Jonghyun’s bag when he can’t find some of his prizes from before, and confirms that everything he has is accounted for. Everyone else does the same and with some of the loudest bravado Jinki has ever seen, Key leads them all out of the arcade and back onto the sidewalk.

For all the way they marched outside with their arms linked with Tae and Jonghyun, it all fizzles back into just feeling weird after five steps. Jonghyun slips his arm away from Key, moves to their other side to press a soft kiss to Tae’s cheek, and then falls back a few steps to fit himself between Jinki and Choi instead. He links his arms with both of them and spends the whole time biting his lip, pouting at the back of Tae’s head and digging worried fingers into Jinki’s wrist. Jinki looks over his head to try a friendly smile at Choi; they catch his eye, give him half of a little smile in return, and look away with their own troubled frown. Jinki sighs. Everyone thinks he’s an asshole now.

Needless to say, the walk back to the parking lot is the most awkward five minutes of his life. Once he reaches his minivan he doesn’t know what to do; he wants to get in and recline the seat all the way back and lie there for the rest of eternity, but something tells him that that would be frowned upon. Jonghyun takes his arm away and gets up on his tiptoes to nuzzle his cheek.

“I’m gonna help Gwi get Tae’s stuff out of the back,” he says. “Gimme your keys?” He holds his hand out and Jinki nods, digging in his pocket for them. “Thanks,” Jonghyun says, grabbing them. “I’ll unlock the doors for you too.” He smiles softly as he boops the unlock button before walking to the trunk. Jinki watches him, then turns to find Choi heading to their own car a few spots down. He guesses they’re gonna park it next to the van, now that there’s space. Turning again, he hesitates when Tae is the next person that he sees, leaning up against the front of the van, very close to where he is.

“Hey, um,” he says quietly, stepping closer to lean on the hood of his car as well.

“I’m sorry,” Tae says quickly. He looks up and his eyes are wide, guilty, sincere. “I didn’t--I didn’t think it would bother you,” he says. “I should have asked, or--”

“No, no, it didn’t… bother me,” Jinki says. The glance Tae gives him is extremely skeptical and Jinki winces. He can see why. “It just,” he says. “Confused me.” It still does.

“Yeah, um, about that,” Tae says. “When I. I overheard, um.” He waves his hand to mean what happened in the arcade and Jinki nods. He doesn’t think he’ll ever forget that. “I, uh, figured out what I wanted to say that I couldn’t figure out how to say. Then.” He looks up and then back down quickly with a hand clenched at his side. Jinki looks down at his own hands for lack of a real reply.

“Um,” he says after a long silence. “Do you… wanna... tell me about it?” he asks. He looks up to see Tae still studying the ground, but he’s also taking deep breaths like he’s steadying himself for something. He waits, as patiently as he can when his whole body is dying for an explanation, until Tae finally looks up. His gaze is determined and his voice barely has any shake in it when he speaks.

“My whole life,” he says, “‘Lee’ has been something that belonged to my parents. Every time I wrote down ‘Lee Taemin’ on a paper it was like I was writing their Lee Taemin. Their kid, legally and inescapably. They would use it against me and tell me I had to love them because we were family. Because--” He hesitates, closes his eyes, shivers and shakes his head. Jinki plays with his fingers while Tae takes a few slow breaths before he speaks again. “Because they owned me,” he says quietly. “But with you.” These words come out as a breath, a sigh of relief, a glimmer of freedom in his eyes.

“With you, it’s Lee Jinki. Lee Jinki and Lee Taeyeon. It’s ‘ha ha, there go those Lees again.’ It’s ‘wow, those two are pretty alike, just like their names.’ It’s sharing a name with someone that wants me to be happy. It’s something positive. It’s that for the first time, in my whole life, something that’s haunted me is able to make me smile instead.” Tae lifts his hands, like he wants to reach out, then clenches his fists and clasps them together instead, looking down. “With you, being a Lee is something that I want to be,” he says. He looks up and holds Jinki’s gaze for a long, slow second before looking away with a shrug. “Yeah,” he mumbles.

“I… oh,” Jinki says. It comes out of him in a whoosh of breath that he didn’t even know he was holding in. That was… a lot. “Um,” he says. He still doesn’t… get it. “I’m not,” he says. “I don’t…. Why… do you think.… Is it really so important to you that you’re… willing… to risk… making it that much easier to find you?” He understands that he’s comforting somehow, he understands the reclamation angle, he understands how it can feel nice; he doesn’t understand how any of that measures up to staying safe.

“Listen, Jinki,” Tae sighs. “I don’t know you enough to know what to say to reassure your insecurities or whatever.” He rubs his nose awkwardly as Jinki blinks. Yeah. That is also true, also a very good point. They do barely know each other. “But,” Tae says. “I know you enough to know that I want to risk the danger just so I can share the name.”

“But why?” Jinki hisses. This has been his question the whole time and he’s still yet to find a real answer. Tae’s reply shocks him; instead of more hesitant explanations, another quiet confession, he just laughs softly. A weak but fond laugh, accompanied by a shake of the head.

“Whether you think you deserve it or not,” he says, “you have a space in my crusty little heart too. And it’s just as important as everyone else.” He lifts his hand and taps his chest once, then immediately blushes and just scratches his shoulder to try to play it off. Jinki goes with it because he’d rather not encourage the cliché heart touching play. “You’re…, Tae says. “Good. And secure. And comforting... and… one of my saviors.”

“And,” he adds, when Jinki opens his mouth to ask how that makes him special at all. He gives Jinki this look that says he knows Jinki was about to ask again and isn't going to have any of it. “I don’t think… it matters, if you personally don’t think you’re worth it,” he says. Jinki opens his mouth, then hesitates, confused.

“What?” he asks. That seems… off. Tae shrugs, leaning his elbow on the hood of the car.

“Whatever it is that you think about yourself doesn’t affect the way I think of you,” he says. “No matter what you think, I’m still going to think you’re one of the most important people in my life. Like, it’s fact. Even if you think it’s bad judgement.”

“So…,” Tae mumbles. He looks up at Jinki and bites his lip. “I think that means that it’s either… you doubting both yourself and me, or you only doubting yourself but trusting me.”

“I mean, of course I trust you,” Jinki says immediately. Of course he does. There’s no reason not to. Tae smiles a little wider at his reply.

“So trust that you’re important to me,” he says simply. “Whether you believe it or not.”

“That’s…,” Jinki says slowly. That seems simple and straightforward, yeah, but it’s not that easy at all. But still, when he looks into Taemin’s eyes, tried and sincere and open, he finds that it’s hard to not trust him.”I’ll… try,” he says.

“I can take that,” Tae says. This time, looking at his relaxed, easy expression, Jinki feels the tiniest smile coming up on his lips as well. That was good. A good talk. He thinks. He hopes? The silence stretches on between them and he wishes he knew what to do now that neither of them seem to have nothing to say.

“Hug him,” a voice hisses loudly. It’s followed by a snap and a “shh” and Jinki turns with a start to see Choi and Jonghyun quickly turning Key away. He watches the three of them try to act like they haven’t been eavesdropping with a snort. Wow. Turning back to Tae, he sees him shaking his head with his own fond little smile.

“I think maybe we should hug, for some reason,” he says casually. Tae laughs softly and gives him the most amused look, and with that, it’s like they’re almost back to normal. Almost; their hug isn’t really one of the best.

“Ooh--less tight,” Jinki hisses, wincing at the sharp reminder of his back pain. Tae hisses too, lets go, and stammers out a quick apology before stepping forward again. The second time it’s nicer, and Jinki finds himself kind of melting into it. This is nice, his arms around Tae’s shoulders and Tae’s around his waist. He never was much of a meaningful hug kind of person but he could get into this.

Until an uncomfortable amount of time passes and neither of them have let go yet. He pats Tae’s back awkwardly, not sure of when they should break apart. He doesn’t want to interrupt Tae if he’s having a super intimate bonding moment, but this is kind of starting to get weird.

“Um,” he says. Immediately he feels Tae stiffen and then he’s straightening up, just leaving his hands on Jinki’s waist with a small smile.

“Uh, yeah,” he says.

“Yeah,” Jinki says back.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah….”

“Yeah,” Jonghyun whispers, and Jinki turns to see him creeping around the car to get to them. He sidesteps Jinki to wrap Tae up in his own hug, one that looks warm and comfortable and perfectly executed by the way Tae smiles and hums into his neck. “Time to go,” Jonghyun says when he pulls back. Jinki blinks. Ahh. Yes. Of course. That’s what they were doing before that whole conversation started. Tae makes a noise that’s half realization and half pout and Jonghyun shushes him with a gentle kiss. “Next week,” he says, smiling it against Tae’s lips.

“Mmm, yeah, okay,” Tae says. He kisses Jonghyun again and then reaches for Jinki’s hand to give it a quick squeeze. “Next week,” he says.

“Next week,” Jinki confirms. Next week will definitely be better.

“Shoo,” Jonghyun says gently, patting Tae’s butt towards Choi’s car. Jinki watches fondly as he wiggles himself into the backseat. He gives Key a quick goodbye hug too, murmuring goodbyes and accepting their smug “I told you you two needed to hang out more” with a snort. He knows. They’re working on it.

Choi sighs him a genuine “nice job” before he waves goodbye, which Jinki accepts fondly. That whole thing did go better than expected. Jonghyun slips up to link their arms together as Choi starts their car, waving sadly as they drive away like usual. And also like usual, he turns to nuzzle Jinki, except this time, not like usual, he tugs Jinki’s head down for a slow kiss.

“Thank you,” he says quietly when he pulls back. Jinki blinks, shrugs, looks away. He didn’t do anything that wasn’t… decent. He accepts Jonghyun’s praise anyway with a thankful smile.

When Jonghyun turns him gently around so he can put the heating patch on under his shirt before they leave, Jinki closes his eyes and thinks.

“Lee Taeyeon” kind of has a nice ring to it.

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