Chaeyong’s a fucking pushover and he knows it.

  He’s pissed as he follows Minjae into the hallway, but he can’t even be mad at Minjae. He’s mad at himself.

  Minjae turns around to face him, handle on the door. His face is so serious now, more Jisoo’s Minjae than Chaeyong’s.

  “If you don’t want to do this, then you can just leave.” He keeps his voice low, low enough that Jisoo won’t hear it from inside. Minjae won’t upset him.

  And then because he feels, betedly, way too betedly, like he might have upset someone else, he softens it— “Hyung, I… just… you can be mad at me, but just don’t be mad at him, okay? Please.”

  And Chaeyong does what Chaeyong does best and just stuffs it down.

  When Chaeyong was a child, his noona Yuna was good at everything—best in math, best at sports, best at singing and dancing. Best at being loved by their parents, for sure.

  Chaeyong, it seems, was only born to be second string.

  Second born and second best. It hardly mattered that he was their only son—Yuna had won a science fair competition and then Yuna had won a mathletes event. Yuna was first on her softball team and Yuna won a full-ride schorship to Berklee.

  Yuna was pretty and perfect, and Chaeyong… well, Chaeyong just was.

  His father spping him on the back, too hard to be an accident. At the park, at the stadium, at another auditorium. He couldn’t have been older than seven because no one asks big boys to kiss their sisters.

  “What’s the matter with you, son? Aren’t you happy for your sister? Go and give your noona a kiss.”

  “Of course I am, sir,”

  and Chaeyong just smiling and smiling.

  He covers Minjae’s cool, thin fingers with his own on the doorknob and rubs their knuckles once for warmth. Minjae, his little ice prince.

  He smiles for Minjae.

  “I got it. You don’t have to worry.”

  It unravels several knots inside Minjae’s heart at once.

  * * *

  Jisoo chews on the side of his already-chewed down nails. “What’s Chaeyong-hyung doing here?” he murmurs around his fingers.

  He looks like some kind of doll sitting up in bed, with frothy covers tucked around him and his slim legs disappearing beneath them.

  If Chaeyong-hyung doesn’t leave soon, Jisoo is gonna start pulling at his own hair.

  “Nothing. Just came to hang out.”

  “At 1am.”

  Jisoo’s voice is ft, and Chaeyong huffs. “Yeah, weird timing, huh?”

  Jisoo looks to Minjae, who sits on the bed beside him, depressing the mattress underneath his weight. He picks up Jisoo’s hair, carding his fingers through it.

  “You like Chaeyong, huh? He makes you feel comfortable?”

  “Minjae, what are you doing?” Jisoo mumbles.

  But he leans into the touch.

  “You want me, don’t you baby?”

  “Minjae…”

  Minjae slips his hands under Jisoo’s shirt, and then he’s touching him, fingers on his nipples beneath the thin cloth of the shirt that Jisoo sleeps in, and Chaeyong-hyung is right there, and Jisoo should kick Minjae away—

  He moans instead. Heartbreaking little thing that ekes out of his mouth because Minjae’s fingers on him feel so fucking good. His legs spy a little of their own volition when Minjae sucks two fingers into his mouth and repces them, cool and wet on the buds of Jisoo’s chest.

  It feels so good that Jisoo immediately goes sck and boneless, panting as he leans against Minjae and lets Minjae do whatever the fuck he wants to him. He moans, feeling himself get wet.

  It feels so sticky-close in here. He tilts his head back and moans louder as Minjae starts kissing up the side of his neck.

  His eyes don’t open until one of Minjae’s hands snake down and starts to rub his wet pussy.

  He spreads his legs a little because he wants it—he still always wants it.

  Minjae sees where Jisoo is looking, and then he leans forward to whisper something in Jisoo’s ear—something that Chaeyong can’t hear. He can see, though. He can see that Minjae’s hand never stops moving.

  And then louder, for Chaeyong’s benefit, he’s assuming. Minjae clears his throat and says, “It’s okay.” Asks, “Do you wanna show hyung your pussy?”

  Jisoo snts a gnce at Minjae. Reminds them all that he can cut like a knife under all the yers that hem him in.

  “Does hyung want to see my pussy?”

  Two sets of eyes rove toward Chaeyong.

  It suddenly occurs to Chaeyong, very, very vividly, that he has no idea what Jisoo is wearing underneath that shirt.

  He feels off-base here. Off-guard. He’s supposed to be providing, what. Moral support or something. So why does it feel like Jisoo’s gonna eat him alive?

  But he remembers Jisoo, sitting by the window, heartbreaking little knees hooked up to his chest.

  “Wanna see anything you want to show me, Soo-ya,” Chaeyong says in a voice that soaks Jisoo through to the core.

  He doesn’t touch Jisoo because he’s not stupid, but he makes his voice as encouraging as it can be.

  This isn’t weird. It’s not.

  Maybe if he says it enough times, he’ll actually start to believe it.

  Jisoo feels sticky and thorny and hot. Two pairs of eyes on him, Minjae watching him just as surely as Chaeyong. Chaeyong’s eyes on him. He breathes quick through his nose in the air conditioned room. Sits back on his heels and pushes the covers off. Spreads his legs and pulls his shirt up.

  Chaeyong sucks in a breath. He’s never seen Jisoo there.

  “Pretty,” Chaeyong breathes in appreciation. “Pretty boy.”

  It makes Jisoo squirm. Fuck, he’s getting wet, and Chaeyong is suddenly uncomfortably hard in his pants, despite never looking that way at Jisoo before. Fuck.

  Minjae looks at Chaeyong with approval. He’s clearly getting off on this, too.

  He skims his hand down the fwless curve of Jisoo’s ft ass, skimming the little dimple that’s heartbreakingly cute at the tip of the seam that starts above his ass cheeks and flows down to the seam between his legs.

  Minjae’s fingers skim the wet little petals between Jisoo’s legs, and Jisoo jolts and whimpers.

  Chaeyong’s mouth is watering. He wants to eat him out. It hits him with a thundercp of crity, low in his gut. The little bud of his clit is so small and shy when Minjae runs his fingers past that, too.

  His voice is rough when he says, “Fuck, Minjae, stop teasing him.”

  “He likes when I tease him, don’t you pretty thing?” Minjae murmurs close to Jisoo’s ear, more for Jisoo’s benefit, obviously.

  He’s rubbing him so softly, so carefully, and Jisoo is quivering all over, holding his shirt up in his mouth.

  Chaeyong’s mouth is beyond dry. His pants are so tight.

  He’s about to watch his best friend—his first crush, yeah, he’ll admit it—fuck their group’s little sweetheart. This is so fucked up. His heart pounds so loud in his chest.

  Gradually, Jisoo settles down. It’s like watching someone fall asleep, someone deciding that the cares of the world aren’t so heavy, or so important. Someone deciding that it’s safe to close their eyes and just feel.

  It’s not only that it’s hot; it feels so intimate that Chaeyong feels like he’s going to choke. Like all the air in the room gone too thin all at once, Minjae rubbing Jisoo’s clit softly as Jisoo rocks into his hand. Gradually, his legs spread farther and farther apart, hinging open at the hips, so delicate and flexible.

  Chaeyong tries not to—look, when Minjae takes it out. Even so, he still notices. He has images from that split-second that are eternally seared in his brain; Minjae is big, for one thing. It’s not like Chaeyong didn’t know, but he’s never seen him like this—hard, and wet at the tip.

  Minjae breathes hard through his nose, little exhaled puffs of breath, as he rubs his cock through Jisoo’s soaked folds.

  “Ready?” Minjae asks him, brushing a sweet kiss against Jisoo’s cheek that makes Chaeyong feel tender-soft, sick, like he’d got a piece of peppermint taffy lodged in his throat.

  Jisoo’s eyes are closed, so he can’t see the way Minjae looks when he does it, the way his body quivers, holding himself back with barely-restrained need.

  But Chaeyong can see it.

  Eyes closed, Jisoo gives a little sigh and nods. His whole body goes rexed and loose.

  * * *

  And down the hall, Siyeon and Harin curl up like two halves of a perfect whole.

  Harin’s head jerks up at the sound of a high-pitched moan, quickly stifled, and Siyeon drags Harin’s head back down to his chest again. He cuffs his ear for good measure.

  “Go to sleep,” Siyeon gruffs out.

  Harin rubs his ear, feeling put out, and tugs the skin of Siyeon’s neck between his teeth.

  Siyeon grunts, and has to stop his hips from jerking forward into Harin’s front.

  “Brat,” he grumbles, rubbing his neck when Harin pulls away, spit-slick and puckered with red in the shape of Harin’s little mouth.

  “You didn’t have to hit me,” Harin sniffs.

  “And you didn’t have to bite me. Go to sleep.”

  Harin grumbles something into Siyeon’s neck, warm and soft against his skin, but he does eventually go to sleep.

  Siyeon stays up for longer. Long after the sounds in the other room fade and finally stop. He holds Harin very close and carefully and does not let him go.