Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at https://archiveofourown.org/works/14780448.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Category: M/M
Fandom: NCT (Band)
Relationship: Lee Jeno/Na Jaemin
Character: Lee Jeno, Na Jaemin
Additional Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe -
College/University, Domestic, Jealousy
Series: Part 1 of heart attack
Stats: Published: 2018-05-28 Words: 7500

anytime, anyplace (i’m thinking about you)

by jenuyu

Summary

Jeno’s never thought that living with Jaemin would be easy, but having a big fat crush on
Jaemin does absolutely nothing but complicate things. Great.

Notes

inspired by and references miss fateline's hands off (eyes on me) so while it's not
necessary, it might be helpful to read it first!

also, please consider these pics thanks !!!!!

See the end of the work for more notes

It’s a lazy Saturday afternoon. Jeno’s sitting on the futon in his living room, his back against the
wall, and he has an organic chemistry textbook flipped to a page with hexagons and pentagons
drawn all over it. He understands nothing, but he still makes half-hearted notes in the margins and
hopes that he’ll understand the material the day before the final.

“I’m hungry,” Jaemin says, apropos of nothing, and when Jeno looks over, Jaemin’s sprawled out
on the couch, his feet dangling off of one side and his head propped up on the other. There’s a
book about the Joseon dynasty propped open on his chest, but his attention is all on his phone as
he scrolls through Naver. “Make me food. I can’t study when I’m hungry.”
“No.” Jeno puts his textbook aside, pads over to the couch, his slippers squeaking with every step
he takes. Their apartment has hardwood floors, but they’ve agreed to keep the shoes at the door
and keep slippers on around their place. Just to be clean and to avoid having to sweep more than
they have to. He stares down at Jaemin and nudges Jaemin’s side with his knee. “I’m your
housemate, not your mom. Go make your own damn food.”

Like a switch has just been flipped, Jaemin’s attention is suddenly completely on Jeno, and his
hand comes up to curl, warm, around Jeno’s wrist. He brings Jeno’s hand to his mouth, pressing a
kiss to the inside of Jeno’s wrist, and Jeno can’t move. He’s transfixed, overwhelmed by the
sudden smell of roses and lilies, and do friends do things like kiss each other where their pulses are
strongest, or is this just a Jaemin thing?

“Make me dinner, Jeno. I’m hungry,” Jaemin murmurs, his breath ghosting across Jeno’s skin. He
presses another kiss to Jeno’s palm, trailing them down to the tips of Jeno’s fingers, looks up at
Jeno through half-lidded eyes. “Please?”

Jeno recovers control of his motor functions, yanks his wrist out of Jaemin’s grip, and tries to
ignore the way his heart is beating like it’s about to come out of his chest.

“No,” Jeno says as firmly and as steadily as he can, and Jaemin stares up at him, his lips curving
into a downturned pout. It’s cute, but it doesn’t work, not after that stunt Jaemin’s just pulled. “I
told you, make your own food, Na Jaemin, you freeloader.”

The thing is, Jeno is actually kind of the freeloader here.

They meet in the pre-vet club in their freshman year, and everyone stares at the guy who walks
into their first club meeting ten minutes late with a suit on.

“Sorry I’m late, everyone,” the guy says, his smile blindingly bright. “I had an interview for a
consulting club just now.”

When he sits down next to Jeno, he leans over, asks, “So when are the cute animals going to be
here?” And at the confused look Jeno must be making, he adds, “Isn’t this a pre-veterinary club?
Aren’t you going to have cute animals for us to play with?”

“No,” Jeno says, slow and measured. “We’re just talking about how we can get into veterinary
school. Discussing tips and strategies and learning from upperclassmen and all that stuff. Aren’t
you trying to go to vet school?”

The guy blinks. “Ah, no. I’m a business student. So there won’t be any animals?”

Jeno shakes his head. No, of course not, what kind of idiot would think that? Clearly, this guy.

“Well, I guess it’s not all that bad,” the guy hums. “At least I got to meet someone cute today. I’m
Na Jaemin, a first year.”

“Lee Jeno, I’m also a first year.” Jeno reaches forward to shake Jaemin’s hand, and when he pulls
his hand back, the scent of flowers faintly wafts up to his nose. “Good to meet you, too.”

Jeno predicts that Jaemin won’t be back for the next meeting. If he’s only come to the first one for
the animals that aren’t there, there’s no way he’ll come to the following once, where they just talk
about what prerequisites they need to take to be competitive applicants.
Contrary to Jeno’s belief, Jaemin comes for all of the meetings that entire semester, every
Wednesday at seven in the evening, and he sits next to Jeno every damn time, and when Jeno has
a falling out with his roommates and complains to Jaemin about it as they’re walking out of a
meeting, Jaemin’s the one to blink and suggest, “I’m thinking of moving closer to campus next
semester. I don’t want to live at home and have to commute anymore. You wanna find a place
together?”

They go apartment hunting. There aren’t a lot of places that still have available rooms, especially
not in the middle of the school year, but Jaemin manages to harangue his parents into hassling
their realtor friends to find an apartment for them. Somehow, either by pure chance or by under
the table trading of cash, Jaemin finds them a place to live that’s about a decent ten-minute walk to
campus and in a bustling neighborhood.

“There’s a convenience store down the road on the corner, and the subway station is just a block
away,” Jaemin recites dutifully to Jeno one night when they’re studying together in the library.
“It’s a one bedroom and one bathroom place, but I was thinking we could just get separate beds
and both stay in the bedroom. There’s also a living room and a kitchen. There’s a washer and a
dryer in the unit as well.”

“Wait,” Jeno stops him with an upraised hand. “How much is the rent per month?”

Jaemin, for once, looks uncomfortable, his usual self-assuredness replaced by something less
confident, something more human. “Um. My parents thought it might be easier if we just—
bought the property. So we did. I don’t really know how much the rent would be, and even if I
knew, it’d probably be way too high. Just do whatever you can, I don’t know.”

That takes a brief second to sink in, but once it does, Jeno’s brain goes on high alert. Jaemin’s
shown him pictures of the damn place, and it’s an apartment on the eighth floor of a high-rise. It’s
not the swankiest place ever, but it’s nothing at all like the cramped and tiny triple Jeno had shared
with his slobs of roommates. “I can’t afford that,” he blurts out. “Jaemin, why’d you— why?”

“It looked nice and I didn’t want anyone to snatch the place from me, okay?” Jaemin’s on the
defense now, and Jeno can practically see his hackles rising. “My parents think it’ll be nice for me
to have a place to myself after graduation when I start working, so I guess this is just planning for
the long-term. But seriously, Jeno, don’t worry about it. You’ve been a good friend to me, so you
can just pay whatever you can. Or you can just cook for me. Also, laundry. I hate laundry.”

Jeno drops his head into his hands. He can’t quite believe this is happening, except it is, and he
doesn’t want to be a freeloader in someone else’s place. But then again, it’s a decision Jaemin and
Jaemin’s parents made of their own volition, and if Jeno’s just coming along for the ride, who can
blame him? But he still feels awful and guilty, and he must make some sort of sound because he
feels a hand wrap around his wrists, pulling them down. It’s Jaemin’s face, his features scrunched
up with worry and concern, that meets him.

“Hey, you okay?”

Jeno nods. “I’m good. I’ll just pay you the amount I was willing to budget per month for the
apartment, then. Use that money to buy yourself jjajangmyeon or something. You really, really do
not want me to cook for you. If I cook for you, you’ll probably die, and then your parents will
evict me. Then I’ll be homeless. Also, I’m taking the living room.”

“But the bedroom—” Jaemin starts to protest, and Jeno knows what he’s trying to say. Something
along the lines of it’s fine, we can share the bedroom, it looks pretty big in the pictures anyway, so
I’m sure we can fit two beds and two desks in there. No. That’s not happening, and for more
reasons than one.

“I’m staying in the living room. I’ll just get a futon or something, it’ll be fine. We can just cordon
off a space in the living room if I need privacy to sleep, but really, this is your place. Your parents
paid for it, and it’ll be yours once we graduate. I’m just going to borrow a corner of your space for
a little, and you deserve to have the bedroom to yourself.”

Jaemin mulls the words over in his head before he finally agrees. He doesn’t question Jeno any
further. Thank god.

They shop for furniture in IKEA together, and it feels frighteningly domestic when Jaemin asks
Jeno if he thinks they should get a grey bath mat or a black one, or if Jeno thinks bonsai trees
would die in their apartment or if they should just stick to succulents. It’s even more frighteningly
domestic when they’re seated on the floor of the apartment, trying to put together Jaemin’s new
bed frame and desk, scouring the little packets of nails and screws to find the right one, hanging
up all of the decorative art prints Jeno bought.

“This is so cute, I’m in love,” Jaemin crows when they’re fully moved in, when the fairy lights
strung across the corners of the walls and the ceilings are lit, when the fridge and pantry are
stocked with enough yakult and ramyun to last them through a nuclear war, when they both have
shot glasses of soju sitting in front of them on the dining table they’d had to assemble themselves.
Jaemin picks his glass up, and he raises his to Jeno’s.

“To our apartment,” Jaemin says, looking at Jeno, his eyes dancing and crinkling up, and Jeno
can’t help the way his heart does backflips at the smile Jaemin gives him. It’s been so many
months, but he’s still embarrassingly weak to that smile of his.

“To our apartment,” Jeno echoes, and the clink their glasses make when they bump each other
resounds throughout their new space.

As far as omegas go, Jeno’s fully aware that he doesn’t fit the mold. He’s often been told that he
has the personality down pat, but his looks are too alpha, too masculine, too sharp, to which he
usually replies, “Sorry for being a real person,” or, if he’s feeling particularly snippy that day and
Jaemin’s forgotten to wash his dishes before leaving the house, “Awesome, have a great day and
go fuck yourself.”

Stereotypes, as Donghyuck likes to say as he’s sipping his strawberry milkshake in the student
center, are so last century.

Jeno’s rooting around in the medicine cabinet for his antihistamines— he’s just found out that their
neighbor down the hall has a few cats, so he’s going to go over and introduce himself and maybe
get to pet the cats, which is a venture that requires him to make sure he won’t break out in nasty
rashes and hives in front of Jaemin— when his fingers brush against his bottle of heat
suppressants. He turns the bottle around so that the label faces outward— it’s easier for him to find
later on this way— and his fingers brush against another small, white, and almost identical bottle.

Take one pill every twelve hours after the onset of rut, the label reads, and it’s a bottle that is most
definitely not his. Realization dawns on him, a bit slower than he usually is on the uptake, and
Jeno puts the bottle back where he’d found it. He wonders how long it’ll take Jaemin to realize
that Jeno knows.
The answer ends up being right away, because in about two weeks, Jaemin’s sitting at the small
dining table in their living room with a shot glass of water and the bottle of pills in front of him.
He looks up at Jeno, who has his own suppressants and his own water in his hands, and says,
wry, “You too?”

In response, Jeno obligingly leans down to bump their glasses together. “Cheers.”

When Jaemin pops the pill in his mouth and swallows, throwing his head back and downing the
shot glass of water right after, Jeno can almost swear that the smell of roses around them starts to
fade. Jeno’s about to comment on it before Jaemin beats him to the punch.

“What a shame,” Jaemin mutters. “You smelled so good just now, too.”

Jeno turns away, goes back to his futon and hides himself behind his laptop. Jaemin’s always like
this, flustering him, scrambling his thoughts until he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to feel
anymore.

It’s around the end of semester, when they’re up to their noses in writing their final papers and
cramming for exams, when Jeno decides that he wants to be doing anything but trying to
memorize reactions. There’s a club that he wants to go to— he knows Jaemin doesn’t like it, says
that it smells bad, but Jeno’s nose isn’t as good as Jaemin’s is. It smells like any other club to him,
all of the smoke and sweat and alcohol. It’s not necessarily a great smell, but he needs to get out.

“I’m coming with you,” Jaemin says abruptly when Jeno mentions that he wants to leave. “I’m
coming.”

Jeno wrinkles his nose. “Don’t you have a history paper to write? Also, you’ve said that you hate
the way this place smells before, so you don’t have to come along if you’re busy. My friend
Donghyuck’s going to be there, so it’s not like I’ll be alone.”

“I’m done with it, just turned it in a few hours ago.” Jaemin disappears into his bedroom for a bit,
then reappears fully dressed to go out, fitted tee and ripped jeans making him look altogether too
handsome for the occasion. Well, Jeno amends. This is basically what Jaemin looks like every day
of his life anyway. He reaches down to twine his fingers with Jeno’s, a touch that sets all of Jeno’s
nerve endings on fire. “Let’s go, you better make this worth my time.”

It ends up being a night Jeno doesn’t want to remember. Jaemin gets harassed, manhandled by a
drunk alpha, and Jeno’s helpless to confront him. It’s fine, Jaemin resolves it all without any blood
or beer being spilled, and they’re immeasurably lucky that the other guy had been drunk and
unstable enough for Jaemin to be able to scruff him the way he did. But as much as he pretends
that he’s fine, Jeno knows that he’s rattled to the bone. They decide to take the long way home,
and Jeno’s by his side the entire time, hoping that by the time they get back to their place, Jaemin
will have calmed down.

He’s better once they’ve locked the door to their apartment behind them, and Jaemin abruptly
drops his chin onto Jeno’s shoulder. They stand there, still and unmoving, for a few breaths.
Jaemin’s trembling, his body shaking against Jeno’s, and Jeno can’t do anything but reach
backwards behind him to clutch at Jaemin’s hand. He feels Jaemin’s hand tighten in response, and
they stay that way until Jaemin’s breath evens out.

“You ground me,” Jaemin whispers into Jeno’s shoulder. He knows he probably still stinks of
smoke and alcohol, and he’d been drinking earlier but the walk home has more than sobered him
up. Hearing Jaemin say that, though, makes him feel like he’s just had a shot or two. His head is
swimming, unnaturally light, and it’s funny that Jaemin says that Jeno grounds him when Jeno
feels like the only thing keeping him tethered to earth is Jaemin’s hand in his.

“You can sleep with me tonight if you think— if maybe that’ll help you. That was scary, Jaemin.
You don’t have to be alone tonight if you don’t want to.”

Jeno turns to face Jaemin, and he studies Jaemin’s face for a reaction. His eyes are bright,
luminous.

“Yeah. I think I’d like that,” Jaemin breathes out into the air between them, and he knocks his
forehead against Jeno’s, lightly, softly. “Thanks.”

When Jaemin moves away, goes back to his own room to work on his paper, there’s an abject
sense of emptiness in the space where Jaemin was. Jeno pushes the thoughts away and goes to
shower and brush up, to wash all the scents of the club away from him. He scrubs at his skin until
it’s almost red, until he’s certain that he and Jaemin won’t be able to smell anything but him, and
he lifts his wrist up to his nose to check. Nope. Nothing.

It’s late, so he gets into bed, pulls out his abandoned organic chemistry textbook, and starts to
work on some practice problems. His head’s not really in it, though, as distracted as he is with
what happened earlier, and at half past two, Jaemin leaves his room and heads into the bathroom.
He must be done with his paper, so Jeno puts his book and papers aside and curls up with his
phone into the corner of where the futon meets the wall. Around three, the bathroom door opens,
and instead of heading into his own room, Jaemin’s footsteps beeline for the living room, getting
closer and closer.

They bought a curtain with cat paw print all over it when they first moved in, and it’s what they
strung across the length of the living room to give Jeno some semblance of privacy. He hasn’t
drawn it in a while, though, not even when he’s sleeping— he doesn’t have anything to hide from
Jaemin except one thing, and not even drawing the curtain would be able to keep that kind of
secret, so it stays in its spot against the wall, a curtain that doesn’t serve its purpose at all.

When Jeno looks up, Jaemin’s wearing a too-big t-shirt with their school’s name emblazoned
proudly on the front and basketball shorts. His hair is still wet, and there’s a small towel draped
across his shoulders. He looks smaller than Jeno knows him to be, and in this moment, Jeno
understands why people often think their dynamics are the reverse of what they actually are.

“C’mere,” Jeno says, sitting up and pushing his blanket back. Jaemin kneels on the edge of the
futon, his gaze downturned, and Jeno reaches up to take the towel and make a few attempts at
drying his hair off. He gets it passably dry, and he throws the towel to the side, and it lands
somewhere on the couch. He’ll grab it tomorrow morning. “Get in.”

The futon was clearly meant for just one person, but Jaemin manages to squish himself in next to
Jeno. They can only fit when they’re both on their sides, their limbs tangled up together, and
Jaemin pulls Jeno’s blanket up over their shoulders once they’ve found a comfortable enough
position.

“Sorry it’s so small and squishy.” Jeno tries to scoot back, but his back hits the wall with a soft
thud. “Oops.”

“That’s okay. It’s nice like this.”

It is nice. Jaemin’s warm, almost too warm, the way he always is. Jeno’s never told Jaemin, but it
gets kind of cold in the living room sometimes even if he closes the window, so it’s good having a
human space heater next to him for the night. Jeno throws his arms around Jaemin’s back, pulling
him closer.

“You’re warm,” Jeno offers up as a clearly half-baked excuse, and Jaemin laughs, low and
familiar, the kind that sends rumbles through his chest.

“I know,” Jaemin says, and he snuggles up closer. Once he’s right up next to Jeno’s face, he
doesn’t try to hide the way that he inhales, deep and purposeful, and Jeno can’t help but hold his
breath. What if there’s something on him that Jaemin doesn’t like the smell of? What if he ends up
making Jaemin’s mood even worse? What if—

Jaemin leans even closer to Jeno, buries his face in Jeno’s neck, hooks his leg over Jeno’s calves,
curls an arm around Jeno’s waist. “You smell so good. Like home.”

Jeno’s breath leaves him. Hook, line, sinker, he’s been caught.

Jeno wakes up the next morning feeling the most content he’s felt in his entire life, and it’s only
when he opens his eyes that he remembers just what happened— just what he offered— last night.
Jaemin has Jeno squished all the way against the wall, and Jeno’s leg is hooked around Jaemin’s
hip, and Jaemin’s face is still buried in the side of Jeno’s neck. Jeno would be more flustered,
more “Jaemin, get the fuck off of me” at the position they’re in, but Jaemin’s hair is tickling Jeno’s
chin, and it’s all Jeno can do not to sneeze.

“Wake up,” Jeno hisses, a hand over his mouth, because ugh. Morning breath. “Wake up,
Jaemin.”

Jaemin blearily cracks an eye open— Jeno can’t see it, but he can feel the motion against his neck
— before he seems to register where he is and he extricates himself from Jeno.

“Morning,” Jaemin yawns, covering it with a hand. He’s still clearly more asleep than he is
awake, his eyes closed and his body swaying just slightly to the side. “You sleep okay?”

Jeno can’t exactly tell Jaemin that was the best night of sleep he’s ever had in his entire life, so he
settles for an explanation that he deems more socially acceptable. Less fawning, more casual.
“Yeah, it was good.”

Smooth, Jeno. Smooth.

Jaemin’s hair is sticking up wildly on the right side, and the hair on his left side is smushed from
where it’d been on Jeno’s pillow. Jeno reaches up to flatten the right side down, patting it this way
and that. His hair, dyed a light chestnut brown a few months ago, shines almost golden in the
morning sunlight, almost ethereally so, and when Jaemin opens his eyes and looks at Jeno, it’s like
the sun’s risen again.

“Only good? I’m disappointed.” Jaemin yawns again before he picks himself up to toe his slippers
on and pad over to the bathroom. Jeno’s left there, hand outstretched, wondering if he’d just
imagined it all before Jaemin pokes his head out of the bathroom. “Oh, shit, I forgot to tell you last
night because of everything that went down, but I’m having some business student friends over
because we have to work on a final project presentation for econ. Sorry for such late notice, Jeno.”

Oh. Well, there goes his plans of a peaceful Sunday in with Jaemin. It’s barely eleven, and Jeno
just wants to lay in bed and pretend like he’s studying while he’s really watching Jaemin bustle
around the kitchen, but alas. Jeno briefly considers changing from his usual sleep clothes, but it’s a
notion that he discards approximately five seconds after thinking of it. He doesn’t need to impress
Jaemin’s friends. If anything, they’re the ones who should be impressing him.

That’s why, when Jaemin’s friends arrive at noon, Jeno’s still lounging on his futon, wearing the
same sweatpants from last night and a wrinkled hoodie he’d pilfered from Jaemin’s closet some
weeks ago. Jaemin’s changed into clothes that he wouldn’t get stares at on the street for wearing,
Jeno notes with no small amount of judgment. Well. Jaemin gets stares from people on the street,
regardless of what he’s wearing. Most of them, while well-meaning, are just appreciative enough
to rub Jeno the wrong way, and Jeno usually makes it a point to stick just a bit closer to Jaemin
after the first onceover Jaemin gets whenever they’re out together to get groceries or something.

There are three of them, and Jaemin introduces them to Jeno, but Jeno blames his shit memory on
the fact that he doesn’t remember their names five seconds after Jaemin tells him. His nose isn’t as
good as Jaemin’s is, but he can pick up some foresty smells, some citrusy ones, some that remind
him of the sea. They’re not bad, per se; they’re actually quite nice, but Jeno doesn’t like the smells
on principle. All of this isn’t because he’s a bit jealous. Of course not.

“We can draw the curtain,” Jaemin says, his tone creeping into a slightly apologetic territory, “Or
you could grab your stuff and work in my room? I’ll help carry your laptop and books if you
want. You can feel free to work on either the desk or the bed, I don’t really care. You’re probably
not even used to sitting on an actual chair at this point, anyway.”

Jeno doesn’t like drawing the curtain. It’s cute enough, but it’s a physical barrier between the two
of them, so he stands, grabs his books, and makes his way to Jaemin’s room with Jaemin trailing
just slightly behind him with his laptop and some study guides.

“You gonna be okay in here?” Jaemin asks once he’s set Jeno’s stuff down on his bed. He’s
standing in the doorway, and when he’s like this, when his hair is combed down to be artfully and
intentionally unruly, when the lines of his shoulders are broad, filling out the shirt he’s wearing—
it’s a black one with an apple on it, Jeno should know since he was the one who got it for him—
Jaemin’s unbelievably breathtaking. There’s no other word to describe the way he looks.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” Jaemin’s not looking at him, though. His eyes are fixed at a point below
Jeno’s eyes, and Jeno’s suddenly acutely aware that this isn’t the first time Jaemin’s done this,
when he’s tried to make eye contact with Jaemin and Jaemin’s looking somewhere else
completely. “Hey,” Jeno says, lightly. “My eyes are up here.”

Jaemin’s gaze tracks up, slow, deliberate, to meet Jeno’s, and a smile curls, wide, across his face.
“Yeah. Of course.”

Jeno’s parents had been less than pleased when Jeno decided to move out of his old student dorm
and in with Jaemin. They’d been fussy about him at first, worrying and nagging about how Jeno
didn’t know if Jaemin would be a good guy once they started living together.

“He’s an alpha,” his mom had said, her lips pressed into a thin line. “You don’t know— you don’t
know what he could do, what could happen to you. Jeno, I worry about you.”

To prove his point, Jeno brought Jaemin home with him over break, and his parents instantly fell
in love with him to the point where now, they send occasional care packages to both Jaemin and
Jeno, and not just to Jeno alone, their actual son. Traitors.

Jeno supposes that it’s a testament to how good Jaemin is around people that he’s capable of
winning over even a potential housemate’s parents, but he’s really just that good. Jeno’s never had
any cause to worry about with Jaemin, but sometimes— sometimes Jaemin makes him feel on
edge, like he’s being studied. He wonders, idly, if Jaemin is like this with his other friends, but he
suppresses the urge to go check.

They’re working on business stuff, Jeno tells himself. It’s important. Stop being annoying and
paranoid.

Jeno lasts less than thirty minutes before he caves in and tosses his textbook to the side. He makes
his way to the kitchen to grab a glass of water, and on his way, he passes the dining table. Jaemin
has an arm curled around one of his friends’ shoulders as they work, and they’re leaning close
together to see the laptop screen. He’s smiling, bright and wide, even as they talk about how to
deal with the problem of diminishing marginal returns, and he doesn’t look up when Jeno passes
by.

Jeno feels something like jealousy curl around his heart, and it’s choking him, ugly and nasty and
twisting around his throat. He goes back to Jaemin’s room, and when he closes the door, it’s a
vindictive thought, one that makes him burn with shame as soon as it comes to the forefront of his
mind, but he hopes Jaemin hears it.

He’d been naive to think that Jaemin treated him in a special way. He’s seen the way Jaemin
interacts with his friends, and it’s probably just delusional thinking that he blocks those memories
out, that only remembers the ones where the person Jaemin is smiling at and laughing with and
touching is Jeno. In reality, Jaemin’s just like this to everyone, and over the course of a few
months, Jeno’s managed to delude himself into thinking that Jaemin treats him differently from the
way he treats others.

Jeno doesn’t cry often, but at times like these, he wishes that it came more easily to him. At least
crying would give him an outlet for everything he’s feeling. Instead, he works through his practice
problems with an almost single-minded intensity, burning through practice exam after practice
exam. He doesn’t even realize how much time’s passed until Jaemin knocks, opens the door,
pokes his head through the space.

“I’m heading out to dinner with my friends because we just finished,” Jaemin says, his fingers
tapping out a lazy rhythm against the doorframe. “You want me to grab you anything?”

He usually says yes, in instances like these. Jeno’s awful at cooking, and if Jaemin doesn’t cook
for him, they usually end up ordering in or going out to eat. Today, though, he can’t be bothered
to muster up anything beyond a wan smile. “I’m good, thanks.”

Jaemin’s eyebrows furrow, his stance shifts. He opens the door wider, leaning further into the
room. “Hey, you okay? I can stay home if you’re feeling unwell or anything.”

Jaemin is so nice, Jeno thinks bitterly. No wonder he’d fallen for him. Who wouldn’t? “Oh, I
think I’m just coming down with a stomach bug. Kinda hurts a bit. I’m fine, though, have fun with
your friends.”

Jaemin doesn’t look convinced, so Jeno shoos him away until he leaves. He doesn’t manage to
relax until he hears the front door lock behind Jaemin, and it’s only then that he lets out a long,
long exhale. He’s come to terms with the fact that he likes Jaemin more than Jaemin likes him.
The only thing to do now is to think about his next course of action. There’s absolutely no way he
can stay in this apartment next year, and he doesn’t even know if he can make it until the end of
the semester. Being around Jaemin is maddening, his presence making Jeno’s body and mind burn
with the need to be around him more, more, more.

He’s helpless, drowning in an ocean of his own making, and he’s just lost his only lifeline.
Jeno doesn’t have much of an appetite, so he picks his belongings up and carries them back out of
Jaemin’s room and into the living room to dump them all on his futon. He’s on Youtube watching
a new girl group’s performance on a music show, when the front door opens again. It’s Jaemin,
bringing the scent of oranges in with him, and Jeno realizes with a sinking heart that he’s also
brought a bag of takeout back.

“I got you samgyetang. My friends and I got fried chicken to celebrate being done, but I thought
maybe you wouldn’t be up for it. Good thing I found a place that had some on my way back,”
Jaemin says by way of greeting. Jeno hates how considerate Jaemin is about his fake stomach bug.
Jaemin stops, stares at where Jeno’s just sitting at the dinner table. A quick cursory glance at the
kitchen tells Jaemin that Jeno hasn’t used any pots or pans to make himself dinner. “Lee Jeno, did
you even eat?”

“Um,” Jeno says eloquently, and that spurs Jaemin into action, setting the samgyetang down on
the dinner table before hurrying to the kitchen to grab some bowls. The samgyetang smells
delicious, all the smells of the chicken and ginger inside the takeout container mixing in the air.
Jaemin said just last night that Jeno smells like home, but Jeno knows that’s bullshit. This is what
smells like home, Jaemin and Jeno and their oil diffuser that looks like a cat and the little bouquet
of herbs Jaemin likes to keep in the kitchen and this samgyetang, the proof that Jaemin’s entirely
too warm and too kind for Jeno.

Jeno’s heart is too full with everything that he feels for Jaemin, and he knows that he has to stop
this before he lets himself fall even more.

“Jaemin,” Jeno says, and Jaemin pauses in the middle of grabbing some chopsticks. He looks
over, turns, an owlish look in his eyes and two pairs of chopsticks in his hands, and Jeno
swallows. He might as well get it over with. He looks down at his keyboard so he won’t need to
see Jaemin’s face. “I’m going to move out when this year ends.”

The chopsticks clatter to the floor, loud and cacophonous, and Jeno winces.

When Jeno looks up, Jaemin’s face is shuttered, a shadow over the light that’s usually there in his
eyes. No, I’m sorry, Jeno wants to say. I’m sorry. Don’t make that kind of face anymore. Jaemin
looks the best when he has a smile on his face, the kind that’s blinding and wide and white, the
kind that makes his eyes shine even more brightly than they usually do.

“Why?” Jaemin’s voice is quiet, and Jeno can feel the tension in the air skyrocket. The hair on the
back of his neck stands on end, and he can tell that Jaemin’s holding back. This is nothing
compared to what Jaemin had been like last night, but it comes pretty close.

Jeno presses his lips together. This is all to salvage their friendship. Maybe, with time spent apart,
he’ll stop feeling the things he feels for Jaemin, stop thinking about him in every waking moment,
stop loving him the way he does now. “I can’t tell you. I just have to. I— I have to, Jaemin. I can’t
stay here anymore. Please.”

“Why? Was it something I did? What was it?” Jaemin’s voice is still eerily quiet, but it’s lower
now, with an edge to it that Jeno can’t quite place. He stands up instinctively, pushes himself
away from the table. “Jeno, tell me.”

“You won’t like it,” Jeno warns him, backing away from Jaemin as he starts walking closer, his
steps slow and purposeful and measured. “Seriously, Jaemin. Let it go. It’s been fun, but this can’t
go on.”

“Why not? I’m listening.” Jaemin gets closer still, and Jeno feels too underdressed, especially
when Jaemin’s fully clothed and his hair is as perfectly tousled as it was this morning. Jeno’s back
hits the wall behind him. There’s nowhere left to go, and he and Jaemin know that. Jaemin stops a
few steps away from Jeno, and Jeno can tell how hard he’s trying to hold himself together, and he
hates himself for being the one to do this to him. He’ll understand in time. Then he looks up, and
Jaemin looks desperate, looks heartbroken, like he’s lost a lover instead of a friend.

“Please,” Jaemin pleads, and Jeno cracks.

He can’t do this anymore. He’s too tired to keep treading water, to keep his head above water, to
try to stay afloat. He’s sinking.

“I love you. I’m sorry, I love you,” Jeno confesses. He keeps his eyes trained on Jaemin’s slippers
— they’re a slate grey, to match the mint blue ones he’d gotten for himself. His hands have balled
into fists at his sides, and he’s fully aware that he’s shaking, his entire body trembling with the
force of what he’s just said. “I’ll— I’ll pack my stuff tonight. I’ll be out of your hair by tomorrow.
You don’t have to worry about me anymore, I’ll be fine. I can stay at Donghyuck’s, it’ll be okay.”

Jeno’s fully aware that he’s rambling, talking without any clear direction, and he almost misses the
quick steps Jaemin’s slippers take— he catches it just in time to duck his head, to think god, I hope
he doesn’t hit me, because my mom’s gonna be so mad— and instead of the impact, he gets the
sudden weight of Jaemin’s arms around him, tugging Jeno to his chest.

“I was so scared,” Jeno hears above him, muffled into his hair. “I thought— I thought I fucked up.
I thought I did something last night that you weren’t okay with, even though you were the one
who asked if I wanted to sleep with you, and— god, I got so fucking scared. Jesus fucking christ,
Jeno, don’t scare me like that. Holy shit, my heart.”

Jeno blinks. This conversation is taking a different turn than Jeno’s imagined. Jaemin’s heart must
be beating at two hundred beats per minute, that’s how fast it sounds like it’s going. Thump-
thump, thump-thump, thump-thump, against Jeno’s face, and Jeno finally looks up when Jaemin
hiccups.

Jaemin’s crying, tears streaking down his face, and Jeno’s immediately brushing them away with
the pads of his thumbs. “Oh my god, Jaemin, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry, Jaemin. I just— listen, if
you’re uncomfortable with this, I’ll move. I just don’t want to force my feelings on you or
anything, so it’s really, really up to you. I don’t want you to feel obligated to like me back.”

That only makes Jaemin’s shoulders shake harder, and Jeno is fairly sure he’s about to have a
heart attack or a stroke. Either seems like a plausible option until he looks closer and realizes that
Jaemin’s not crying, he’s laughing. And now Jeno’s offended. “What?”

“You’re so stupid, Jeno,” are the first words Jaemin says once he’s recovered his breath. “God,
you’re so fucking dumb, I can’t believe you never noticed.”

Jeno tries to pull away from Jaemin, extremely offended, but Jaemin’s grip is like a vice,
unyielding and relentless. If this is a joke, it isn’t funny. “What do you mean?”

“Do you really think I’d offer to let someone stay with me, practically free of charge, if I didn’t
like them?” Jaemin asks, and Jeno stares back at him. Na Jaemin doesn’t have a brain, that much
is clear.

“That’s the stupidest question I’ve ever heard,” Jeno retorts. “Of course you like me. We’re
friends, friends like each other. Stop calling me stupid when you’re the stupid one here, stupid.”

Jaemin blinks, wide-eyed, at Jeno before he mutters, “Oh my god,” before, louder, “Let me show
you what I mean.”
Jaemin’s lips are dry and chapped when he plants his hands on the wall and leans in to kiss Jeno,
and Jeno’s too shocked to kiss him back. His brain has completely short-circuited and experienced
a system failure, and Jeno has no idea how to bring it back online. Jaemin pulls back, and his eyes
are bright. “Get it?”

“I told you, you don’t have to feel obligated to like me back,” Jeno says dumbly, what’s left of his
brain still racing to comprehend what’s just happened.

“You fucking— Jeno, I kept smelling your neck and telling you that you smelled like home. I
kissed the inside of your wrist! I basically kissed your neck! Everyone told me that I was being too
forward, but you never caught on, so! I kept doing it!” Jaemin’s voice gets progressively shriller,
progressively higher, and Jeno watches and listens with no small amount of amazement. He’d had
no idea that Jaemin’s voice could do things like these. “Holy shit, I— how dense can you possibly
be? How did you never catch on? My god, Jeno, you wanted to move out because of this
bullshit?”

“Oh, do you like me back?” Jeno asks, and Jaemin lets out a strangled sort of scream. He’ll take
that as a yes. “Damn, why didn’t you just say so?”

Jaemin screams again, but his hands move from where they’ve been bracketing Jeno against the
wall to rest on Jeno’s waist. They slip around his waist, holding him tight, and it’s easy for Jaemin
to lean in to kiss Jeno again, easier still for Jeno to meet him halfway.

“So,” Jeno says when they break apart for air, “Does this mean I don’t have to move out?”

“Stupid, you’re still moving,” Jaemin says, fond, and Jeno’s immediately on the defensive, his
arms coming up to try to push Jaemin away, but it’s no use. Jaemin is surprisingly strong when it
comes to things like this. “Except the only place you’re gonna be moving to is my room.”

“Try saying that when you don’t have snot in your nose,” Jeno chirps, and Jaemin sniffles,
grabbing Jeno’s arm and dragging it across his own nose. “Oh my god, that’s fucking disgusting.”

“It’s my hoodie,” Jaemin singsongs, and Jeno flushes. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice when one
of my hoodies suddenly went missing? You’re not as sneaky as you think you are, Jeno, I know
you don’t have this one. How is it? Soft? Comfy?” Then, leaning closer to Jeno’s ear, he
whispers, “Smells like me?”

Jeno yelps and startles, accidentally smacking Jaemin on the neck, but he can’t deny it. “Shut up,
asshole,” he says in lieu of a real answer, and Jaemin only grins.

Jaemin makes good on what he’d said earlier. Jeno’s futon is covered in books and study guides
anyway, Jaemin says, so he should just come sleep with Jaemin tonight. There’s an added raise of
Jaemin’s eyebrows when he makes the suggestion that Jeno chooses to ignore, but he comes along
anyway. He’s never slept in Jaemin’s bed before, and Jaemin has his arms wide open for Jeno to
slip into. Jaemin’s brushed and changed into his usual t-shirt and shorts, and it’s warm in Jaemin’s
room, and even more absurdly so in Jaemin’s arms.

That gives Jeno an idea.

Slowly, so Jaemin won’t realize what he’s doing, he brings his feet up until they’re roughly in
position, and when Jaemin’s brushing a strand of hair from Jeno’s face and leaning in for a kiss,
Jeno presses his cold feet to Jaemin’s bare calves. In a split second, Jeno and the blankets tangled
 around him are sent sprawling to the ground, and Jeno stares balefully up at Jaemin when he
pokes his head over the edge of the bed.

“I’m leaving,” Jeno huffs, doing his best imitation of a caterpillar and scooting himself along the
ground, “And I’m taking your damn blanket with me. What good is it being warm if you can’t
even warm my feet up.”

“No, Jeno, come back here,” Jaemin laughs, and he scrambles onto the ground and picks the
bundle of Jeno and his blanket up. “Ouch, you’re heavy. Consider eating fewer cookies, Jeno.”

“Consider actually working out, Jaemin,” Jeno says, sweet, right before Jaemin dumps him on the
bed and crawls over him to get to the other side.

“Do that again and I’m kicking you out,” Jaemin warns, seriously, before he’s turning Jeno and
the blanket bundle around. Jaemin unravels as much of the blanket as he needs to so he can get in
behind Jeno as well, but he leaves the rest alone. “Ha, try to do it now. You can’t.”

“Asshole,” Jeno mutters. He tries it, but the blanket’s in his way, blocking his feet from getting to
Jaemin’s warm calves. Damn him. Then there’s a suspicious wetness on his neck, and when he
looks over, it’s Jaemin, pressing sloppy and open-mouthed kisses to Jeno’s neck. “What the fuck,
Jaemin, gross.”

“I like the way you smell,” Jaemin murmurs, soft. “Honey, just as sweet as you are. Lavender,
because you’re as pretty as a flower.”

“Stop it, you’re so embarrassing,” Jeno says, pushing ineffectually at Jaemin. “Roses suit you,
too.”

Jaemin laughs, huffed out against Jeno’s neck. “Roses have thorns, Jeno.”

Jeno twists in Jaemin’s arms, leans in to press a kiss against the tip of Jaemin’s nose. “I know. I
still like you.”

Jaemin’s stunned, his eyes widening before he smiles at Jeno and leans closer. “Make me food
tomorrow,” he whispers against Jeno’s lips.

“Fine.” Jeno kisses Jaemin, and Jaemin’s lips are parted just slightly to let him in. “I’ll do it in the
morning, but it’s not my fault if you die.”

That night, when Jeno falls asleep, he’s lulled into his dreams with the weight of Jaemin’s arms
around him, the scent of roses and honey and lavender all woven together wrapped around the
two of them like a second blanket. Nothing’s perfect, but this comes pretty damn close.

End Notes

please i just.. domestic jaeno... i'm rotting u_u

thank you so much for reading!!!! i hope you enjoyed it!!!!!! if you did please feel free to
drop me a note on twt or cci!

happy one month anniv to ao3 user jenuyu heheh ♡ ty to miss akajung for being my first
commenter ever and miss fateline for being my first cc anon ♡_♡ and to everyone who's
 left comments and kudos along the way!!! thank u!!!!!!

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