Archive of Our Own

They never argued about Changbin’s job. The only time they’d talked about it being an issue outright, Chan had laughed at Changbin’s concern that he wouldn’t be comfortable with what Changbin did for a living.

“I spent a whole week panicking because I’d convinced myself you were, like, a private physician working for an organized crime syndicate, Bin,” he’d snorted. “I don’t care about your job, so long as you’re happy and safe.”

And Changbin was both happy with his job and safe where he worked, so that was that.

Sort of.

“Oh, God, Bin,” Chan moaned, thighs trembling under Changbin’s fingers as he fought to keep his composure. “Baby. Baby, I can’t- fuck .”

Changbin would grin if his mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied. He could see the numbers changing in the corner of his eye and worked the underside of Chan’s cock with his tongue a little more insistently.

“Bin, you fucking-...oh, fuck you, fuck you, f-f- ah!”

He blinked up at his boyfriend innocently. Or, as innocently as one can blink at anyone with their lips tight around the head of their cock. He glanced to the side. Five minutes down – the halfway mark. He hummed, digging the tip of his tongue into Chan’s slit. The older man cursed again, hunching over Changbin like he was being repeatedly gut-punched. Changbin might have thought the look on his face was pained if he hadn’t spent the last month or so obsessively cataloging every expression of Chan’s like his own personal Mug Book of Pleasure.

As it was, looking at the flush of his cheeks and the pretty scrunch of his nose, Changbin could almost taste victory. It tasted a lot like the steady flow of Chan’s precome.

He dug his fingertips into Chan’s thighs a little harder, taking a few precious seconds to breathe deeply through his nose before sliding his slick lips all the way down Chan’s cock until the heavy weight of it was fully seated in Changbin’s throat.

“Fuck!” Chan almost fell forward, one hand leaving Changbin’s hair to slam into the door behind his kneeling lover.

Humming again and wiggling happily at Chan’s choked little sob, Changbin pulled back achingly slowly, a slurry of spit and precome dripping down his chin onto the entryway floor, obscenely messy – the way Changbin knew Chan liked it. Because this is a thing he gets to know about Chan now, that for all he keeps his life outside of the bedroom neat and clean and almost frighteningly organized, the primal part of his brain revels in sex that’s a little debauched and incredibly filthy. He said he loves everything they do together, and Changbin knew he was being honest about that, but he also knew the difference between the way Chan looked at him when he was riding the older man’s cock and the way Chan looked at him when he was riding the older man’s cock with lube and come squelching out of his hole with every thrust while he drooled all over himself. It was one of many delicious, spine-tingling weapons in his arsenal as he waged a one-man war against Chan’s almost neurotic self-control.

Not that Chan hadn’t come at all in the time from when he’d met Changbin to the time they finally fell into bed together (officially). He’d apparently established a strict routine of jacking off as efficiently and unemotionally as possible to avoid any particular fantasies that would make it even more difficult for him to look Changbin in the eye the next day. In all honesty, Changbin thought that sounded somehow worse. Certainly less sexy, and it had to have been far from actually satisfying. He hadn’t brought it up since, because his incredulous expression upon being told that tidbit had been enough to make Chan’s whole body wilt with humiliation. Changbin wasn’t in the business of making Chan feel bad about anything he’d felt the need to do while Changbin had been busy making his life difficult, not when he’d witnessed first hand how much misplaced guilt the older man still carried over it. No amount of Changbin pointing out his own part in the whole debacle seemed to make much of a dent.

Re-establishing a healthy relationship to their wants and needs when it came to each other through open communication and several rounds of therapy? Way better, especially as it came with a decadent side of passionate, toe-curling, occasionally unhinged sex.

Case in point: Changbin was seven minutes into the challenge he’d presented to Chan and it was looking more and more like he was about to win for both of them. The slow and steady glide of Chan’s heated, hard cock over his tongue and down his throat had him twitching and leaking in his jeans, but he ignored it in favor of continuing his torture, gazing up into Chan’s wide eyes with his sultriest gaze. He moaned, letting the pretty head of Chan’s pretty dick stop the sound up at the source, very purposefully choking a little as it did.

Chan whined, the hand still in Changbin’s hair curling tighter against his scalp, tugging almost unconsciously, and his hips jerked, forcing more of himself down Changbin’s throat. He was biting his lip, little ‘mmh’ sounds slipping out as he fought to keep still as Changbin picked up speed incrementally. Just fast enough to properly mimic being facefucked, not nearly fast enough to be properly satisfying.

At nine minutes and thirteen seconds, Chan grunted, pulling out of Changbin’s mouth to crowd him back against the door, using the hand in his hair to press the back of his head against the wood. Changbin let his mouth loll open, drooling thickly onto the floor in front of Chan’s socks as the other man nudged Changbin’s knees apart to step as close as he could. Pressing the head of his cock against Changbin’s soft, wet tongue, he looked down at him briefly.

Changbin held his gaze and nodded.

Moaning, Chan thrust forward, lodging his cock as far into Changbin’s throat as he could before stilling for a moment, his breaths coming fast and shaky. He pulled out and drove in again, setting a brutal pace that might have been overwhelming if Changbin wasn’t as experienced as he was. He let himself relax into it, eyes going half-lidded, hands slipping from Chan’s thighs to rest on his own knees, sitting pretty while his boyfriend used his mouth like a particularly high-maintenance fleshlight. He could hear, peripherally, the pornographic sounds coming from his own throat and the way he coughed a little, thick ropes of saliva overflowing past his swollen bottom lip like a waterfall. He could sort of feel the way the door pressed against his head and how Chan’s fingers gripped at his hair, just on the right side of painful. He was absolutely, somewhere in his mind, aware of how incredibly hard he was.

He heard the way Chan’s voice whimpered his name in glorious surround sound, though, saw in vivid Technicolor how the other man couldn’t seem to look away from where he was stretching Changbin’s mouth open, his eyes full of genuine awe.

“Baby,” he gasped, the hand he’d braced on the door curling into a fist. “Fuck, thank you. Feel so good, Binnie, take me so well.”

It took some effort to hold Chan’s gaze, to keep his eyes from rolling back into his head. The happy little thrill he got was so pure in comparison to the way Chan was using him that it left him a little dizzy. He wiggled again, pleased, and Chan pulled his hand from Changbin’s hair so he could reach down and press his fingertips to Changbin’s throat, feeling the way it bulged with every thrust.

“Oh, yeah,” Chan groaned. “So good, Bin, you’re so fucking good for me.”

Things were definitely starting to get hazy, the warm, floaty feeling starting to fuzz the edges of his vision until all he could see were Chan’s wide, wondering eyes staring down at him like he was some kind of miracle.

Sometime between then and when Chan let out a broken “Changbin” and sheathed himself as far down Changbin’s throat as he could to pump his come into his stomach, the younger man became vaguely aware that he’d been on the sharp edge of coming for a while, his hips jerking mindlessly, shivering tingles racing under his skin. His cock throbbed in the confines of his too-tight jeans, and his hands shook as he rubbed his sweaty palms along his thighs, but it all felt so inconsequential compared to Chan’s warm fingertips stroking his throat and the unfiltered devotion in his eyes as he gazed down at his lover. Changbin looked back, hoping Chan could read the adoration on his face, warming him obediently until Chan started to soften on his tongue, a few final spurts of come coating it like an indulgent dessert as he began to slip out.

He coughed a little when Chan eased out of him, the hand on his throat moving to cup the side of his face so tenderly he couldn’t be sure if it was that or the rough feeling of trying to swallow after having his esophagus wedged open for an indeterminate amount of time that had him tearing up.

“Okay, baby?” Chan panted, searching Changbin’s face for any sign he might not have enjoyed himself.

Mustering a nod, he slumped back against the door with a little grin. “Thirty-three, hyung – nineteen more to go. Also, you broke in under ten minutes,” he added hoarsely, nodding towards the timer, which had long since counted past ten minutes, to be fair. Still, they both knew Changbin took too much pride in his craft to lie about this.

As if to prove it, Chan laughed breathlessly, tipping forward to rest his forehead against the door. “I’ll have to take your word for it,” he admitted, “I wasn’t exactly paying attention.”

They fell silent for a moment, Changbin content to ache deliciously for the time being, Chan seemingly lost in thought if the way he was dragging his thumb back and forth over the glossy slick of Changbin’s lower lip was anything to go by. His expression was soft, affectionate, loving in a way that still left Changbin a little stunned whenever he noticed it.

“Come with me to Australia,” Chan murmured, cupping Changbin’s sticky chin and tipping his face up as he fell to his own knees between Changbin’s spread thighs, the mess they’d made of the floor no doubt soaking into his own jeans. Changbin would be grossed out if he had any energy left to be grossed out with. Tingling and heavy-limbed, it took him a moment to register Chan’s mouth claiming his, and he did his best to reciprocate clumsily.

“...huh?” he huffed, blinking slowly, once Chan had pulled back.

His boyfriend grinned, lopsided and way too bashful for a man with his dick still out. “Come with me to Australia,” he repeated. “I have a wedding to go to, for a friend from school. Be my plus one. Meet my family. All that.”

Changbin swallowed again, the taste of Chan’s come still lingering. Not really the sensory input he wanted while considering meeting his boyfriend’s family for the first time. “Uh…”

“You can think about it for a bit,” Chan reassured him. “The wedding’s not for another month.”

“I…okay…?”

He wasn’t sure why his brain was catching on the idea of going to Australia with Chan, except maybe that they’d only been together (officially) for a little over a month, and that they’d barely passed the point where Changbin’s therapist wasn’t unconsciously knitting her brow with concern every time Changbin mentioned Chan, and that, oh yeah, he was about as far from the kind of guy one took home to meet one’s family as it got without being an actual criminal.

It wasn’t that Changbin was ashamed of his job – he wasn’t. It was just that he was very intimately, very acutely, very painfully aware that most people outside his industry felt that he should be. They felt it very loudly and explicitly, usually with curling sneers and insinuations that he was probably diseased. The number of people Changbin knew that he didn’t work with who accepted his job like it was just a job – which it was – could be counted on one hand with a thumb left over. And, well, he was dating one of them. He never held out much hope that anyone would treat him like an average working adult when they learned about his occupation, and to hope that the various friends and relations of the man he was in a committed relationship would accept him into their circle? Foolish at best.

He didn’t have too much time to dwell on it just then, though, because Chan was looking at his watch with a little frown, cocking his head. “Wooyoung is gonna be here with his date soon, and we still haven’t gotten dressed,” he sighed. Then, curling his hands into fists, giving them an excited shake, and smiling his widest, most adorably dimpled smile, he said, “I will eat well!” Then, tugging Changbin’s fly open, he wiggled his way down onto his belly and swallowed Changbin’s cock.

His technique didn’t have quite the same professional polish as Changbin’s, but Changbin had experienced the passion and talent for the craft of sucking his boyfriend’s dick that Chan possessed many times, even before he knew it was Chan doing it, and it was more than enough to have his vision going white at the edges. He barely had time to register the warm, wet sensation of Chan’s mouth taking him in before he was coming suddenly with a disbelieving giggle. Chan had his hips pinned, and he could do little more than squirm and laugh and gasp as Chan sucked him through his orgasm with single-minded determination. Everything felt shiny and shivery, and he was pretty sure he’d seen God for a second, and then Chan was sticking his come-covered tongue out to show Changbin before dutifully swallowing, which was a more rapturous sight than any deity could hope to provide.

“You’re such a dork sometimes, Chan,” Changbin muttered when Chan had finished, squishing the older man’s face between his palms as he licked his lips with a very satisfied smirk. “I love you.”

“Love you, too,” Chan replied softly, scooting around until he was lying back against Changbin’s thigh, heedless of the absolute filth he was rolling around in because he was, in his heart of hearts, a besotted lunatic. “Happy Valentine’s Day, baby.”

And, well. Changbin was clearly a besotted lunatic, himself, because he just hummed, dragging one hand through Chan’s hair as he lounged against his own front door, covered in even more filth, and replied, “Happy Valentine’s Day, Channie-hyung.”

Jeon Jeongguk, it turned out, was an asshole.

Changbin had dreaded telling Jeongguk about what had gone down that fateful, awful, wonderful night between himself and Chan – especially the bit where Changbin had wasted an entire year being jealous of a spaniel, of all things – but there had been no hiding his goofy grin and starry eyes the next time his friend had visited, hauling two laptops, a bag of supplies for their spa day, and a cardboard box full of takeout containers. He’d taken one look at Changbin, smiled his big bunny smile, and dropped the takeout onto the coffee table to tackle Changbin onto the sofa and squeeze him until he shouted.

And then he’d weasled the whole story out of Changbin, and any warm fuzzies he’d been feeling for his friend had burned to ash in the fiery blaze of embarrassment.

“Hyuuung! Stop laughing, it’s not funny!” He’d squirmed, putting on his most devastating pout – the same one that had gotten Chan to stop fussing about Changbin feeding him spoonfuls of caramel ice cream and just accept that he was being pampered. It hadn’t had nearly the same effect on Jeongguk, who had just laughed even harder.

“One day, hyung,” Changbin had grumbled, shoving off the consoling hand trying to ruffle his hair, “you’re gonna fall in love, and you’re gonna be an idiot about it, and I’m gonna gloat so hard .”

“Unlikely,” Jeongguk had countered, pulling styrofoam containers out of the box and peaking into each one until he found the fried chicken. “But if it ever happens, I promise I’ll take it like a man.”

They were in a similar position at present – Changbin on one side of the couch, honey mask slathered all over his face, Jeongguk’s feet in his lap, takeout on the coffee table and some drama about a man made of knives or something being ignored on the television. He dipped the applicator brush into the polish carefully, dragging it over Jeongguk’s big toe as the older man clicked around on the laptop perched on his thighs. Per usual, Jeongguk was being an asshole, saying reasonable things and refusing to let Changbin just wallow.

“Is there a reason you don’t want to go to Australia with him, Bin?”

Groaning, Changbin blew on Jeongguk’s toes, partly to dry the polish, partly in retaliation. “I do want to go, hyung. I just…I don’t think I should .”

“Because…?”

“What would I even say to his parents?” he asked plaintively. “To his siblings ? What’s he going to do, introduce me to his family and all his old school friends as his boyfriend, the hooker?”

“First of all,” Jeongguk said, eyes hard as he flicked them up to pin Changbin disapprovingly. He grabbed up a fallen throw pillow and smacked Changbin firmly in the face with it. “A second of all, yes? Why not? Just because your family has their panties in a wad over your career choices doesn’t mean everyone will. And that way, you can help Chan filter out all the douchebags from his life. Win-win, in my book.”

Changbin sighed. “It’s not that simple, hyung. These people clearly mean a lot to him. What’s he going to do, cut his family out of his life because they don’t like me? Hardly, and even if he would be willing to, I wouldn’t be. He loves them, I’m not gonna make him choose.”

“I feel like you’re catastrophizing a little bit, here,” the older man said gently, setting his laptop aside and reclaiming his half-painted foot. “You haven’t even gotten on the plane yet and you’re already blowing up his family and ruining his life?”

“I could be!” Throwing up his hands, Changbin shook his head and capped the nail polish. “You don’t know that I wouldn’t be!”

“You don’t know that you would be.” Jeongguk held up both hands placatingly when Changbin opened his mouth to argue. “Stay here.”

Standing up, Jeongguk made a beeline for the front door and exited quietly. Changbin could hear knocking and faint chatter across the hall and groaned, flopping face-down over the arm of the couch and glaring at the floor.

His door opened again, and Jeongguk’s unfinished toenails walked into Changbin’s line of sight, followed by a pair of socked feet that were soon blocked out by the rest of Chan, crouched in front of him with a bemused expression.

“Why is your bestie knocking on my door in the middle of your top secret no-stinky-boyfriends-allowed self-care session?” he asked, eyes twinkling.

“Because he’s not my bestie anymore,” Changbin grumbled. “I always liked Wooyoung better, anyway.”

“Fair,” Jeongguk said as his feet exited Changbin’s periphery and his friend sat back on the couch. “I like Wooyoung better, too.”

“Everyone likes Wooyoung better,” Chan agreed. “Except me. I prefer my Binnie.”

“Ugh.”

“Hey, now,” Chan said quietly, reaching out to take his hands and give them a little shake. “Jeongguk says you’re worried about what my family and friends are going to think of you? Your job, specifically?”

“Jeongguk also says that helping a friend separate perilla leaves when you’re in a relationship with someone else is tantamount to cheating,” Changbin pointed out, “so he’s not exactly the most trustworthy source.”

“Bin.”

Sighing, Changbin levered himself up onto his elbows, hands still held captive by his boyfriend, and frowned at him. “You know most people are, at best, weird about my job.”

“Weird people are weird about your job,” Chan countered, neither of them bothering to look over at Jeongguk when he let out a triumphant ‘ha!’. “My family, despite being related to me, manages to not be all that weird. They don’t really care.”

“Yeah, but…wait.” Changbin sat up straighter, blinking down at Chan, who was looking more bemused by the second. “They don’t…you told them?”

Chan’s expression bled into something a little hesitant. “Was I not supposed to? They asked, and I didn’t think there was anything wrong with telling them.”

“I mean. There isn’t? I guess?” Changbin shrugged, mind whirling. “They’re your family, it’s up to you what you tell them.”

“Okay. Well, I told them about you after we got together. Or,” Chan laughed a little, eyes cutting to the side, “I’d already told them about my gorgeous, funny, smart, dependable neighbor across the hall who was probably, like, an NIS agent or a bodyguard for someone powerful or something.”

“I thought you were convinced I was a mob doctor,” Changbin said faintly.

Chan shrugged. “I had a lot of theories. Private physician with a crime syndicate, secret agent, high-ranking celebrity security guard, meth dealer. I considered every possibility. Well,” he amended with an embarrassed tilt to his head, “almost every possibility.”

Changbin opened his mouth. Closed it. Shook his head. “Wait, you thought I might be a meth dealer and you were still into me?”

“‘Would you still love me if I was a meth dealer’ is a way better question than the worm thing,” Jeongguk remarked over the sound of a takeout container of drunken noodles being emptied onto a plate.

Ignoring him, Chan looked back at Changbin with a wry little grin. “By the time I’d circled around to meth dealer, I was already way too gone on you. I had a whole speech about ethics prepared in case you were a criminal, though. You know. To guide you back to the path of good with the power of my wise words and awesome dick or whatever.”

“Hyung.” Changbin let his head drop to thump against the arm of the couch, sticking to the leather immediately because of course he was having this emotionally charged conversation slathered in honey. “Please tell me you didn’t tell your parents I’m a meth dealer.”

“No, I didn’t tell my parents the hot guy I was crazy for was a meth dealer,” Chan laughed as Changbin peeled his sticky face off the couch arm to look back at him. “I told them he was a good listener and a loyal friend. I told them about the time he broke the lock on my jammed mailbox to get my electric bill for me, and how he paid the cost of repairing it so I wouldn’t get in trouble.”

“Hyung.”

Chan shifted to sit criss-cross on the floor, still gazing up at Changbin with that bemused expression. “I told them my hot neighbor liked to dance and drink his coffee iced, that he once sang along to Ariana Grande loud enough that I could hear him across the hall. That he worked out even more regularly than I did and that he had biceps as big as my head and a fantastic butt.”

“You did not .”

“I told them he was pretty, and smart, and strong. I told them he was one of the best men I’d ever met. I told them I was in love with him, the real kind of love, the kind that lasts because it feels so good I’m willing to fight for it.” Chan watched him flush and fluster, poked his tongue into his cheek, then added, “Your job never really came up, to be honest.”

“Until it did,” Changbin pointed out, sullen.

“Until it did.” Chan smiled until his eyes squinted and his dimples dug deep. “I called my mom the day after we hashed things out and told her my hot neighbor from across the hall had leveled up to being my hot boyfriend from across the hall.”

“The next day ?” Changbin looked toward the ceiling, praying for strength. “Hyung, we had barely started fixing things!”

“And I already knew I was going to fight for us,” he reiterated. “And when I told her all of that, she didn’t ask me about your job. You know what she asked me?”

He shook his head.

“She asked me if you really made me that happy,” Chan said. “And I said yes. And that was all she cared about.”

Changbin did not have the emotional skillset to deal with all of Chan’s…Chan-ness at the moment, but he struggled on. “But you told them eventually.”

“Well, yeah,” Chan laughed. “You’re successful and well-known in your field, you love your job, and it’s not something horrible or illegal, like, say, dealing meth, for example. Why wouldn’t I brag about you?”

Changbin was starting to think he might have to call his therapist for an extra session that week, because the idea of Chan sitting on a call with his family and boasting that his boyfriend fucked other people for money and not thinking that would make people question his sanity was kind of blowing his mind a little. And maybe he had some deep-seated trauma left over from his own family that he should address. And maybe Chan was kind of an angel, which would make his family angels, and maybe Changbin had hit the jackpot, romance-wise. Unlikely, but he could hope.

“And they just…don’t care?”

Chan shrugged. “If they do, they’re really good at hiding it. And if you know me, you know the people who raised me aren’t going to let me continue on with something they don’t think is good for me without at least talking to me about it. If they really thought me dating a sex worker was some kind of shameful or unhealthy thing, they’d tell me.”

Changbin pulled his hands out of Chan’s and ran them through his hair. There was a bit of honey caking one of his curls, and he glared down at his now-sticky fingers. “How is it,” he asked helplessly, “that you think hiring a sex worker is something you should feel guilty about, but dating one isn’t?”

“I mean, my issue wasn’t really that I was hiring a sex worker,” Chan reminded him. “It was why I was hiring said sex worker. I’ve never once thought there was something wrong with your job, Binnie. I’d be a hell of a hypocrite if I did.”

“A lot of people are hypocrites, Chan,” he sighed. Then, plaintive, he asked, “You’re sure they don’t care?”

“As sure as I can be. They love me, Bin. And I love you. And they can see how happy I am. They’ve heard me talk about how good things are with us now, how well you take care of me, how much better my life is with you in it. That’s what they care about. That’s all they care about.” Chan reached out, taking up Changbin’s hands again, heedless of the stickiness, and pressing a tender kiss to each of his wrists.

Changbin nodded. “What about your friends? The ones getting married and all the guests. Will they have a problem?”

“If they do, I’ll set them straight,” Chan promised. “And if they don’t listen, they’re not very good friends.”

Changbin nodded again. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re kind of unreal?” He flushed at Chan’s raised eyebrow. “Like. In a good way. Just. Unreal.”

“Not in recent memory,” Chan giggled, ears lighting up bright red. He craned up to kiss Changbin, who met him over the arm of the couch gladly, both of them uncaring of the goo on Changbin’s face that threatened to glue them together.

“Well, you are,” Changbin said when they’d parted. There was a smudge of his honey mask on the end of Chan’s nose. Changbin was so in love.

There was a beat of silence, and then the sound of a bottle of banana milk being opened. “Cool,” Jeongguk said, not unkindly. “Now that Bin’s done with his crisis, can I eat? He still has to finish my toes.”

Yeah, Jeongguk was an asshole.

“I can’t believe you’re going to Australia and leaving me here! Alone! Friendless!” Wooyoung wrapped his arms around Changbin’s bicep and yanked him back and forth. “You’re terrible!”

“Youngie, I need to finish packing,” Changbin sighed. He strained towards his open dresser drawer, dragging Wooyoung along the floor on his socked feet.

“Nooo! If you pack you’ll go away Down Under and get eaten by drop bears!”

Rolling his eyes, Changbin turned to Wooyoung and gripped his chin in his free hand, squishing his cheeks. “Wooyoung. I am not going to be eaten in Australia. I am not going to vanish into the Australian outback. I am not even going to move to Australia to live forever with my Australian boyfriend. I am going to a wedding with my Australian boyfriend, a wedding that will be completely free of any and all drop bears, whatever those are, and I will meet his family, whose home is not full of drop bears, and then I will come home with my Australian boyfriend, entirely uneaten.”

“I mean, you want to get a little bit eaten,” Wooyoung allowed, gesturing at the travel-size bottle of lube sitting out, waiting to be packed away. “Clearly.”

“By my boyfriend, sure,” Changbin snorted. “And he’s not a drop bear.”

“You don’t know that,” Wooyoung argued, releasing Changbin and sitting on the bed to help fold his socks together. “He might be.”

“What is a drop bear, even?”

“No idea, I heard about them from Rosie-noona.”

Humming, Changbin tossed a few more shirts in the general direction of his suitcase. “Well, I’m not scared of them, whatever they are,” he decided.

“You will be if one starts chewing on you.”

Changbin shook his head, shutting the drawer and opening the one that held his jeans. “Channie-hyung would protect me,” he declared, picking through the offerings. “Should I bring the ripped ones, or is that too much for staying with family?”

“Probably the latter,” Wooyoung said, moving on to folding the shirts. “I’ve never met a partner’s family before, but I hear it’s a more formal affair than meeting the friends.”

“I’m doing that, too.”

“Maybe bring them and see what the vibes are when you get there?”

Groaning, Changbin dug out a few pairs of jeans and frisbeed them one-by-one at Wooyoung, who smacked them out of the air with a yelp. “Binnie! Watch it!”

“Hmm.” Shutting that drawer as well, Changbin moved to inspect his closet. “Guests aren’t in full suits for weddings, right?”

“Depends on the wedding, I think. Pretty sure my mom was still dressing me last time I went to one. Oh, wait!” Wooyoung dropped his hands into his lap. “There was that one old friends-with-bennies who invited me to her wedding last year.”

“She was so weird,” Changbin muttered. “Who invites their old dick appointment to their wedding? You weren’t even really friends at that point.”

“I think she was trying to remind her groom she had options. I don’t know. It was super uncomfortable for everyone involved.”

“...that makes no sense.”

“I know, right? I don’t get people sometimes. I still went, though. Free food, open bar, causing drama?” Wooyoung grinned. “My kind of party.”

Taking a break from his wardrobe, Changbin sat down on the bed next to Wooyoung. “Youngie, are we, like…”

His friend waited, stacking his re-folded jeans neatly in the suitcase.

“Are we okay?”

Eyebrows winging upward, Wooyoung peered at Changbin. “Like…you and me, friendship-wise?”

“No, like.” He looked down at his hands. “Like…mentally.”

“...are you skipping your therapy appointments or something? Because that’s probably not a good idea.”

“No, no, fuck, let me, like…put my thoughts together.”

Humming a vaguely familiar tune under his breath, Wooyoung went back to organizing Changbin’s suitcase. He’d managed to make a lovely frame of clothing stacks around the lube when Changbin spoke again.

“I feel like I only ever talk to people at work,” he said. Wooyoung nodded – this was a long-standing concern that Changbin had brought up to his friends more than once. “Or people I used to work with. People in the industry or adjacent to it. And I feel like it might have, like…warped how I see the world?”

“Hmm.” Cocking his head, Wooyoung rearranged the suitcase so that it looked like the lube was perched on top of a table made of clothes. “I mean, you’re kind of friends with Yoongi and Hoseok, aren’t you?”

“They literally own a business inside the red light district,” Changbin pointed out.

“Yeah, but aside from that, they’re ‘civilians’ or whatever.” Wooyoung picked up the lube and rolled the bottle between his palms. “And Jeongguk used to be in our field, but he’s not anymore. He’s probably absorbed a lot of ‘normal’ along the way. Also, I don’t know if you know this, but you’re dating a poet. He didn’t even know you were a sex worker until, like, six weeks ago.”

“I guess.” Staring at the wall opposite, Changbin considered the possibility that he was letting his insecurities loom larger than they needed to. “I think I just worry that I’m…y’know.” He gestured vaguely, looking over at Wooyoung to gauge his expression.

It was pretty much just confusion, with a little side of concern. “No, I don’t know.”

“I’m just…”

“Just…what?”

“I don’t know.” Changbin’s shoulders slumped. “Too much? Not enough?”

“Uh, excuse me?” Wooyoung’s eyebrows were now looking significantly less confused and significantly more angry. “Too much for who , exactly? Not enough for what ?”

Changbin swept his arm out, gesturing to the suitcase, mostly, but also the world at large. “This! This life, this thing where I go home with a guy I’m into and eat dinner with his parents and go out for drinks with his friends and he’s excited to show me off to all the people who made fun of him in high school because he’s sure they’ll be super jealous and we’re just a normal couple who does shit like that! That’s not me, Wooyoung! I’m not that person!”

Wooyoung stared at him for a long moment. Then he shook his head, disbelieving. “Are you talking to your mother again?”

“No,” Changbin cried, pressing his face into his hands. “I don’t know. I think she’s communicating with my psychically or something, because every time I think about this trip, I keep hearing her begging me not to tell the aunts and uncles what my job is and that I’m a disappointment and that she has no idea how I turned out like this when she tried her best to raise me well, and Channie-hyung was showing me all his photos and talking about how his family won’t shut up about me and how excited they are to meet me, and her stupid voice keeps telling me those are lies and I’m a sinner and I’ll never have anything good and-”

“Tell her to shut her fucking mouth, then, Changbin,” Wooyoung snapped, reaching out and pulling Changbin into a hug. “Babe. Sweetheart. Bestie. Lovey to my Dovey. I want you to breathe, okay? Just…Jesus. Just breathe. Do I need to  go get Chan?”

“No, don’t bug him. He’s writing. And my friends need to stop siccing my own boyfriend on me,” Changbin complained, dropping his head onto Wooyoung’s shoulder as his friend playfully rocked them back and forth, rubbing his arm. “Sorry,” he said, quieter, suddenly exhausted. “I don’t know what’s going on with me.”

“What’s going on with you,” Wooyoung said, “is that you’ve spent a long time avoiding thinking about all the ways your family rejecting you has fucked you up. Like. Way too long. And I’m thinking you haven’t brought it up with your therapist as honestly as you should have. And maybe, when you get back from Australia, you should try doing that. In the meantime,” he continued doggedly over Changbin’s wordless whining, “are you seriously going to sit here and tell me you believe the things your mother said to you eight years ago over the things Chan said to you, like…yesterday? Because if I had to pick which of them knew you better, it wouldn’t be the one who hasn’t had a real conversation with you in almost a decade.”

“What the fuck?” Changbin pulled away and socked Wooyoung on the shoulder. “Don’t get fucking reasonable with me, Youngie, ew. This is a melodramatic-theater-kids-only zone, you know that.”

“My point stands,” Wooyoung insisted, refusing to let Changbin side-step. “Are you really going to sit there and try to convince me that your mother was right? About anything? Ever?”

“She’s not…she did her best with me. She just…she doesn’t…” Off of Wooyoung’s look , Changbin grimaced. “Yeah, okay, I know it’s ridiculous. I know that, in here,” he clarified, tapping his temple. “But in here is a different story,” he added, rubbing his palm over his heart. “It’s fucking jarring, you know? I haven’t given much thought to anything she had to say about my career path since the day she said it to my face. I know she doesn’t understand, and that she doesn’t want to understand because it scares her or whatever. I know she’s wrong. I’ve never once believed any of that bullshit. But…”

“But…it’s different when it’s Chan.”

“It shouldn’t be,” Changbin sighed. “He’s proof that she’s wrong, that I can have something good. I don’t know why this is fucking me up so badly.”

“I mean, I’m not a therapist,” Wooyoung remarked, drawing his legs up to hug his knees. “But if I had to guess, I’d say it’s probably because your only experience with telling family about your life choices went really fucking badly, and that’s kind of the only example you have to measure by now. This thing you’re stepping into…it’s new,” he suggested gently. “And new is scary, especially when you don’t have a metric for ‘positive interactions with relatives’ to fall back on for reassurance.”

“When did you get smart?”

“Sucked this psychologist’s brain out through his dick once,” Wooyoung joked, “and now it’s all just in there.”

“You’re such a freak, Jung Wooyoung,” he teased. Then, heaving an almighty sigh, he pulled out his phone. “Hi, Bixby,” he called, waiting for the acknowledging tone. “What do guests wear to weddings?”

By the time they’d trawled Google and texted Chan at least a dozen panicked questions, they had settled on a charcoal suit with a white shirt and a pastel yellow tie to complement Chan’s lighter gray suit and pastel green tie, and Changbin was feeling a little bit more like he might actually be in control of his own life and that this wasn’t a trainwreck waiting to happen. Wooyoung was right – Changbin’s family had not exactly set the most useful precedent when it came to how to interact with one’s relatives. And he was right that Chan knew better than anyone how his family really felt about Changbin and whether or not this trip was going to go well.

Changbin was the master of his own fate. He walked his own path. And people liked him, just in general, but also the people who knew him best liked him, and that was probably the more important thing. Chan liked him, he liked him a frankly astounding amount, really, and Changbin had decided a while back that Chan’s judgement could be trusted.

Usually. Appropriate times of day to go to the gym notwithstanding.

He could do this. He could be the kind of guy whose boyfriend showed him off to everyone he knew. He could be the kind of guy who knew what to bring said boyfriend’s parents when he visited. He could be the kind of guy who made his boyfriend look good in front of the people who used to make fun of him in high school. Seo Changbin could be anything he felt like being; it was literally his job to do exactly that. How was this any different?

Slipping the suit into a garment bag, Changbin grinned to himself.

He ran this kitchen, and he was ready to serve up something great.

“And this,” Chan said, doing a terrible job of pretending he wasn’t laughing at Changbin, “is Berry. You know. My dog .”

Changbin squinted down at the wiggly little pup, frowning at her wagging tail and big, soulful eyes. “I’m cuter,” he declared.

Chan laughed, slinging one arm around Changbin’s waist and pulling him in close. “Yes, you are,” he agreed amicably. “You remembered your allergy meds, right?”

“Yes, Dad ,” Changbin groaned.

With a little ‘tsk’, Chan leaned in and nipped at Changbin’s earlobe. “Not your dad,” he murmured against the shell of Changbin’s ear, “but if you’re a good boy I can be your daddy.”

“Hyung!” Shoving him away, Changbin laughed. “Not in your parent’s house!”

“They’re not even home,” Chan reminded him, which was true – no one would be home for another couple of hours, Chan’s father had said when they’d pulled up to an empty house and called him in a panic. His siblings had class, his father was teaching two more swimming classes that day, and his mother had been unexpectedly called to look after a sick family friend until her daughter could take over. None of them would be home until dinner, at least.

Still.

“I’m not going to defile your very kind and welcoming parents’ very neat and comfortable home with your debauchery,” Changbin cried, dodging out of the way of Chan’s grasping hands.

His boyfriend laughed, chasing him around the dining table a couple of times, Berry wiggling around their feet like the trip hazard all small animals delighted in being. Chan did actually manage to trip over his own feet while avoiding her, crashing into Changbin, sending them both stumbling into the wall. Changbin panted, smushing his face against the immaculate pain job and enjoying the feel of Chan wrapping him up in his arms and resting his chin on Changbin’s shoulder.

“Gotcha,” Chan breathed, turning to rub his nose against Changbin’s neck. “Can’t escape me, silly Binnie.”

“Wasn’t trying to,” Changbin promised. “Besides, we both know you’re way faster than me.”

“True!” Hauling Changbin back away from the wall, he penguin-marched him into the sitting room and threw them both onto the couch, landing on top of Changbin’s back and squishing him into the cushions. “What do you think,” he teased, wiggling his hips against Changbin’s backside, “good spot for some light defiling?”

“Your family sits here, you pervert,” Changbin cackled, pushing up and tipping Chan off onto the floor. “No defiling in the house!”

“Ugh, you’re no fun,” Chan pouted at him from the floor. “Well, if I can’t press my wicked and licentious wiles upon your chaste flesh, can we at least go swimming?”

Propping himself up on one elbow, Changbin peered at Chan suspiciously. “I suppose…”

“Naked?”

“Chan! No defiling in the pool, either!”

Cackling, Chan rolled to his feet and took off down the hallway to his childhood room. He’d already flung off his clothes by the time Changbin ambled in, tugging on a pair of trunks. Changbin lingered, watching that perfect ass disappear behind the dark blue fabric and reminding himself that he was not going to jump Chan when he was a guest in someone else’s house. Chan caught him staring and grinned, unrepentant, and made a ‘hurry up’ gesture to get Changbin moving.

“C’mon, before all the water gets up and leaves,” he insisted, tugging Changbin’s shirt out of his jeans and lifting it up to pinch his side.

Rolling his eyes, Changbin dug through his suitcase for his swimsuit and did his best to ignore the heated way Chan watched him change.

“Acceptable?” Changbin asked, spreading his arms out and doing a little turn to display his own salmon-colored board shorts.

Chan hummed. “I mean, it’s no Naked Binnie, but it’ll do.”

Despite his teasing, Chan mostly behaved himself as they played in the pool – he only tried to pull Changbin’s shorts off once, barely dipped his fingers a centimeter beyond where they ought to have been when he helped Changbin with his sunblock, and kept his tongue in his mouth and his hips well away when he pressed him against the side of the shallow end to kiss him breathless. Changbin was glad of it, because in the commotion of their impromptu game of who-can-throw-the-ball-into-the-inner-tube, they actually missed Chan’s father coming home. Changbin didn’t even have time to get truly nervous, because he was too busy retrieving the beach ball from the bushes to even notice Chan’s father coming out to greet them until the man was already there, feet in the pool, waving at Changbin as he stood there, hugging the ball to his chest, frozen like a rabbit in front of a wolf.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Changbin,” he said once they’d introduced themselves, reaching out to shake Changbin’s hand firmly. “Our Chan hardly talks about anything else these days, I feel like we’ve known you for ages.”

Changbin laughed, shaking a little, and looked over at Chan with wide, panicked eyes. Chan just smiled back, holding out his hands for Changbin to toss him the ball.

“Want to join the game, Dad?” he asked, easy and casual, like he wasn’t even nervous to introduce his father to his boyfriend, because he probably wasn’t.

His father declined, but sat on the edge of the pool and kept score, chatting lightly with Chan about their trip and what the weather was like back home and how his new publishing deal negotiations were going while Changbin stuck himself to his side like a burr. Chan’s dad was as friendly and easy to talk to as Chan, though, and soon enough he and Changbin were complaining about dishonest fitness influencers loudly while Chan claimed the inner tube and floated, seemingly content to listen to his father and his boyfriend bonding over their mutual loathing for scammy affiliate links.

The sun was low in the sky when Chan’s siblings came home, immediately sniping at him over the kinds of things only siblings argue about. They greeted Changbin in friendly tones, but with the sort of feeling that told Changbin they were doing their best to pretend to be disinterested in anything going on in their big brother’s life. It was adorable, watching Chan interact with them like they were all still in middle school.

Changbin found himself posted up against the kitchen sink, bottle of Tooheys in hand, watching as the four members of the Bang family stood around the island debating dinner options over a stack of takeout menus for a solid forty-five minutes before Chan’s mother came home. She swept in, apologizing for not being there when they arrived, hugged Chan so tightly Changbin could swear he heard his spine crack, and then turned around and hugged Changbin, as well.

He froze, looking immediately to Chan, who grinned and shrugged, indifferent to his plight. Luckily in this instance, his professional instinct when confronted with unexpected but not unwanted physical cues was to ‘yes and’ the hell out of them, so he hugged Chan’s mother back warmly and smiled when she pulled away and put a hand on his cheek.

“You’re so handsome! Channie, I thought you were exaggerating when you said he was gorgeous,” she laughed.

Chan laughed back. “Nah, I didn’t need to exaggerate anything – Binnie’s just that wonderful.”

And if it didn’t sound like a joke at all to Changbin, well. No one needed to know that his flushed face was due to anything besides the sun and the beer.

Most of that first trip to Australia went by in snapshots. Remembering it afterwards felt, to Changbin, like scrolling through a camera roll, vague memories of laughter, friendly arguments, the vague taste of champagne and the feel of Chan’s hand in his as they slow danced under a hideous disco ball. Dog fur. Changbin had a very clear sense memory of the dog fur. Some things, though. Some things really stood out in Changbin’s mind.

Chan – and by extension both Jeongguk and Wooyoung – had been right. Of course they’d been right. Chan’s family was normal about Changbin’s job, asking about benefits and how his vacation time worked and whether he got to choose his own hours, making suitably impressed noises when he explained as best he could without bringing up things like STD screenings (mandatory) or where he’d learned the textbook-perfect headlock he’d used on Chan during their two-on-two pool volleyball match (grappling with Jeongguk in a rhinestone-encrusted jockstrap).

Chan’s friends had been similarly normal, if a little more taken aback at first – the looming threat of upsetting the newlyweds by paying too much mind to someone else on their big day probably helped, but the reception also gave Changbin a chance to see just how Chan approached the discussion.

“What do you do for work, Changbin?” the guests would ask politely.

“Oh, my Binnie is a Fantasy at the most prestigious brothel back home,” he would reply in Changbin’s stead, tucking him into his side and kissing him on the cheek, his eyes soft and his voice full of honest affection. “He’s so talented – he’s one of the most popular Fantasies they have on the roster. One of the most sought-after in the city, actually, and not even five years into his career, so naturally we’re all very proud of him.”

The rest of ‘we’, Changbin had assumed, referred to his handful of friends who would have been proud of him no matter how well he’d been doing, but no one asked for clarification on who, exactly, Chan was talking about, swayed by his laid-back approach so well they were forced to match his vibe. It was like he was hypnotizing them out of the initial discomfort most people felt and leading them by the hand directly into viewing it as the fairly normal job that it was, simply by talking about it like the fairly normal job that it was.

“You’re a magician,” Changbin had whispered after witnessing it five times in a row.

“I respect you,” Chan had whispered back, his palm hot and grounding against the small of Changbin’s back as he led him back to the dance floor. “People can’t help but respond to that.”

“A con artist,” Changbin had said in lieu of letting his whole heart just explode into a sparkly pink cloud of butterflies in the middle of a complete stranger’s wedding reception.

“A man in love,” Chan had countered, whirling them around.

Changbin had been too afraid that he’d melt into a twitterpated puddle right there under the hideous disco ball to the tune of ‘Unchained Melody’ to push any further.

That night, though, they lay face to face under the covers of the new guest bed in Chan’s old room, their fingers twining together, separating, twining together again, just to feel the way they slid against each other over and over, and Changbin sighed.

“Thank you,” he said.

Chan hummed, watching their fingers slot together again. “For what?”

“Loving me so well.”

Their eyes met in the darkness, only visible because neither of them could bring themselves to move any further away.

“You don’t ever have to thank me for that,” Chan replied eventually, his voice so soft it melted on Changbin’s tongue like cotton candy. “It’s my privilege.”

He could have sworn it was all a dream the next morning, the cool quiet moment tinged the barest silver by the moon burned away in the light of day, except their fingers were still tangled together, and he could still taste Chan’s words. It took him an hour longer than usual to speak to anyone that morning, loathe to open his mouth in case the remnants of Chan’s gentle adoration wisped out like smoke. Ridiculous.

He loved that man so much.

When their trip came to an end, Chan’s family sent them home with an extra suitcase full of Aussie treats and an album of Chan’s baby photos, telling Changbin that they were so glad they got to meet him, that they were so happy that Chan was happy with him, that they hoped he’d come visit again soon, and they were all so very, very like Chan that he had no choice but to believe they meant it.

“Fall into me,” Chan sang lightly as he scrubbed at the casserole dish that Changbin had maybe kind of burned their dinner onto. “And I’ll catch you darling, we’ll dance in the street…” He petered off into wispy hums, pursing his lips as he peered at the charred bits that refused to budge.

Changbin sat on the counter, hands clasped penitently in his lap, awaiting the verdict. The air still smelled like smoke, and a little twist of anxiety still tightened his gut, an echo of the genuine jolt of panic he’d felt at the sound of the smoke detector going off so suddenly.

“I think I can save it,” Chan decided, setting the dish into the sink and running the water as hot as it could go. “I’ll soak it for a bit, and we’ll see if I need to break out the baking soda.”

“‘M sorry,” Changbin sighed, tipping his head back to thud against the overhead cabinets. “I just wanted to do something special.”

Chan grinned at him, peeling off his rubber gloves to pat Changbin’s knee comfortingly. “It’s okay, baby, I know you didn’t mean it. Maybe we’ll just stick to sandwiches when you want to make me dinner, though, okay?”

Changbin wilted. “But hyung…that’s not special .”

“You’re special to me,” Chan said easily, laying the gloves out on the dish rack to dry and slotting himself between Changbin’s knees to settle his water-warmed hands on Changbin’s hips. “So everything you do for me is special, no matter what.”

“Gross,” Changbin giggled, letting Chan’s soppy expression and steady hands soothe away the last of his jittery nerves. Reaching out, he cupped Chan’s face in his palms. “You’re unbelievable, Chan. You know that? Just…just wonderfully unbelievable.”

“Hmm.” Chan’s eyes refused to meet his own, but Changbin expected that whenever he tried to compliment the older man. “I’m kind of awful most of the time, I’m pretty sure.”

“Nope.”

“Not even my snoring?”

“So musical it should be sampled in love songs.”

“I work too much.”

“So dedication. Much attractive.”

“My elbows go the wrong way.”

“Am I supposed to find a flexible man repulsive?”

“I can’t watch horror movies without crying.”

“My biceps will protect you, my love.”

Chan laughed, delighted. “You’re pretty wonderfully unbelievable, yourself.”

“Thank you, Chan,” Changbin accepted, grinning. He tipped Chan’s face up. “See, that’s how you take a compliment, hyung. Notice how I did that without making a fuss? You should try it sometime.”

“I take it back,” Chan snorted. “You’re awful.”

It wasn’t until later, curled up with a greasy pizza box and strains of Debussy, that Chan turned to him and asked, “what was the occasion?”

“Hmm?”

“You said you wanted dinner to be special – was there an occasion?” He paused, frowning. “I didn’t miss something, did I?”

“Oh.” Changbin swallowed, looking down at the plate in his lap. “Uh, no. Just.” He took a deep breath. This was something he’d been hoping to bring up over a candlelit dinner he’d lovingly homemade, with wine and everything, so Chan would be too pleased and impressed to be upset. “I’m not going to be home for a couple of days.”

“Oh.” Surprised, Chan set aside his own plate and brought his legs up onto the couch to turn fully towards Changbin in that way he always did when he sensed an uncomfortable relationship discussion coming on. “Okay. Is this for a good reason, or a bad one?”

“Uh…neither?” Changbin picked at a pepperoni listlessly. “It’s for work.”

He couldn’t see the expression Chan wore, but the silence was awkward, and his boyfriend didn’t immediately move to reassure him, so. Probably not great.

“Like…a client? Or some kind of…training thing?”

Changbin was startled into a laugh, though it didn’t sound very amused. “What, like a buttsex bootcamp? No. It’s a client,” he clarified. “She doesn’t request often, but she pays well for a full weekend.”

“Okay,” Chan said, drawing the syllables out slowly, his tone dipping upwards into a question at the end. “And?”

“And it’s a few of us, not just me – a house call, too, rather than her coming to God’s Menu.”

“I see.” There was a beat of silence, then a sigh. “Bin, I’m sorry, I don’t understand. You seem really upset, but I’m not sure what part is upsetting you, so I don’t know how to help.”

Peeking up at Chan, he could see the concerned frown, the way he had one arm slung up on the back of the couch, fingers tapping in agitation, his other hand grasping his own ankle tightly. Upset, but not angry. Worried. Worried about Changbin .

“Oh.” Practically throwing his plate off his lap, Changbin wiggled around to scoot close to Chan, who immediately opened his posture and drew Changbin into his lap. “Hyung, no, I’m not…I’m not upset about the request, it’s fine. She’s really nice, and it’s nothing too intense, she just likes to have a hot harem of men to fuck around with for a weekend, you know? All, like, furs and champagne and shit. I’m not worried about it, okay?”

Reaching up, he stroked his thumb over the furrow between Chan’s brows, but it didn’t smooth out. Chan took his wrist in one hand, the other gripping his hip to pull him closer until he was being cradled against Chan’s chest. “Okay. So why are you so upset right now? I don’t understand what’s wrong.”

“Just…I’m going to be gone. For a whole weekend.”

“...did we have plans?”

“No, just.” Chewing on his lip, Changbin blew out a gusty sigh. “Doesn’t it bother you?”

“I mean, I’ll miss you,” Chan allowed, pecking Changbin on the cheek. He was still frowning, still confused and concerned. “But you’ll be back soon enough, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Changbin groaned. “I’ll be back after spending a weekend having a decadent orgy with a gaggle of hot people, Chan. Without you.”

“Uh.”

“It should bother you!” Leaning back, Changbin stared at him. “Why doesn’t it bother you?”

Closing his eyes slowly, Chan shook his head and took a deep breath. Then another. Then a third, for good measure, apparently. When he opened his eyes, they were dark and knowing, and Changbin felt like shrinking away from them. “Changbin. We’ve talked about this. I told you already, your job doesn’t bother me. It never has. It never will, so long as you’re happy and safe and still want to pursue it as a career. If it ever did, I would tell you. Why is this coming up now?”

“So when your mom calls this weekend, you’re gonna tell her, what, that I’m on a work retreat?”

“Why are you so desperate to convince yourself my family has a problem with you?” Chan leaned back, as well, frowning deeper, eyes narrowing. “I don’t get it, Bin. I don’t get this need you have to prove that no one is really as comfortable with you as they say they are. Why can’t you just believe me? Why can’t you trust me?”

Changbin swallowed, eyes darting away. Debussy had given way to Satie, and Chan’s hands were somehow still so gentle on him despite how frustrated he sounded.

“Why can’t you trust me?” he asked again.

“I…” Changbin shrugged, unable to push words past the fear tightening his throat.

“Binnie.”

“Can you tell me you really don’t think about it?” he rasped, reaching out and grabbing the front of Chan’s shirt like Changbin isn’t the one trying to pull away. “Can you look me in the eye and honestly say it never bothers you to think about me having sex with other people?”

Chan took his face between his hands and looked him in the eye. “It never bothers me to think about you having sex with other people, Seo Changbin. The only time I’m ever upset about it is when you are. I know what you do, I know what you are, and I knew it when we got together. You know all of this. We’ve had this conversation before. You asked me, and I told you, and I thought you believed me. So please, tell me, what is going on ?”

Changbin looked at him intently, searching for any signs of falsehood, and found none. “You took me home with you,” he said, plaintive.

Brow furrowing in confusion again, Chan nodded, thumbs stroking softly over Changbin’s flushing cheeks. “Yeah, I did.”

“You…your family liked me.”

“Uh-huh, they did.”

“Your friends were nice to me.”

“I would’ve kicked their asses if they hadn’t been.”

“You…it…” Changbin’s breath hitched. “It was really nice. It was…it was good .”

Chan nodded again. “Yeah. It was good. It is good.”

Changbin’s mouth worked around the words he was trying to say, but nothing came out.

“Changbin, please,” Chan whispered, pulling him close to kiss him, something frantic in his voice. “Please, just talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong, let me fix it.”

“You can’t,” Changbin admitted. “It’s not…everything is just so good right now. And I’m…I don’t…”

Chan’s hands tightened on Changbin’s face, and his expression twisted horribly. “Baby. Hey.” Tugging him in, Chan wrapped him up tightly. “Hey, you don’t have to be scared, yeah? It’s okay that things are good. You’re allowed to have good things.”

“I know I am,” Changbin snuffled, burying his face in Chan’s shoulder and letting himself be comforted. “I know. I just. I don’t know what I’m doing. I haven’t dated anyone seriously since before I started doing sex work. I don’t know what’s going on, or how this is supposed to go, or what is or isn’t a problem. I don’t know how to be a boyfriend,” he hiccupped. “I feel like I’m really bad at it. Can even make you dinner before I go running off to let a stranger sit on my face.”

“Oh, Changbin,” Chan murmured, running one hand through Changbin’s fluff of hair. “Baby, you’re doing fine, okay? I’m not expecting some kind of perfect k-drama relationship, here.”

Changbin snorted, then sniffled. “Not enough amnesia.”

Chan’s soft laughter vibrated through Changbin’s chest, settling him further. “You know what I mean. There’s never going to be a formula that fits every relationship. So long as we’re both happy and we keep loving and respecting each other, keep trusting each other, then whatever we’re doing is working. This is working. You’re a really good boyfriend, Binnie, I promise.”

“...okay.”

“And if my mom ever decides to go the evil drama antagonist route and split us up with some kind of outrageously convoluted plan, I promise I won’t fall for it.”

“What if my mom does?”

Chan paused. Changbin could understand the hesitance – he’s pretty sure he’s never mentioned his mother to Chan once, and being the sweet soul he was, Chan had never pushed. It was inevitable, though. If they were going to have the big, emotional discussion about Changbin’s deepest insecurities, his family was going to come up.

“You think your mom isn’t going to want her son involved with a mere poet?” his boyfriend tried to joke gently.

“I think my mom is going to try to save you from the wicked clutches of her degenerate spawn,” Changbin sighed.

“So, not very supportive, then.”

“No.” Changbin snuggled closer, like Chan’s warmth might suffuse down into his very core where the cold ball of familial resentment sat hidden, but never really gone. “None of them are.”

“Did they…” Chan paused, like he was unsure if he had a right to ask. Changbin did his best to stay relaxed against him, waiting. “Was it bad?”

“It was…it was sad, I guess,” he said softly. “They didn’t get mad, or anything. Just…my mother told me in no uncertain terms that she was ashamed of me, and everyone else just kind of agreed, and now they kind of do this thing where they mostly pretend I don’t exist, and when I do, they either pretend the past eight years never happened, or they make sure I know I’m going to hell or whatever. Just in case God’s listening, I guess, so he doesn’t get the wrong idea and accidentally think they might accept me or something. Sinners by association. Sometimes they even manage to do both.”

“I see.” Chan’s nose pressed against his throat, followed by a soft press of his soft lips. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s…I’d say it’s in the past, but.”

“Clearly it isn’t, if it still bothers you so much.”

“Chan…it isn’t about whether it bothers me.” He pulled back, reluctant, ever fiber of him trying its best to cling to the way Chan’s body held him like he could protect him from anything. “Or, it is, but. It’s complicated.”

Chan watched him as he struggled to put together his words.

“I told them in the car on the way home from Easter Mass,” Changbin said, dredging up the memory of the rumble of his father’s old Chevy and the way his sister had pretended she couldn’t hear them when the lecturing started. “My father asked if I needed money for books for the next semester, and I told him I was making money, and how. I…it’s not like I wasn’t expecting it. I knew they wouldn’t like it. I knew they’d be ashamed. I was just…really determined to not let that make me feel ashamed.”

Chan nodded, running his hands up and down Changbin’s sides.

“And I guess I’m still in that defensive mode, eight years later. I’m just always ready to fight back when people give me shit over something I shouldn’t have to feel guilty about, and when they don’t…” He shrugged, tugging on Chan’s shirt. “I don’t know. I get kind of turned around, I guess. Confused. I don’t know how to let people accept me without fighting for it anymore.”

Nodding again, Chan leaned forward to press another kiss to Changbin’s throat. “I wish I knew how to help. I wish I knew how to let you believe that you don’t have to fight me.”

“I do, I promise I do.” He let himself fall back into Chan’s chest, sinking back into the comfort. “It’s not you I’m fighting. It’s not you I don’t trust. It’s just hard to remember sometimes that the whole world isn’t waiting to push me around. That I don’t always have to start off with my fists up. It’s…it’s harder to put them down when there’s nothing to defend myself from.”

“Makes sense.” Adjusting until Changbin was straddling his lap, Chan leaned back until they were lying down. “In that case, how do I make you feel safe?”

Changbin considered this. “I guess…I don’t know. I’ll let you know if I think of something.”

They didn’t argue about Changbin’s job. Not really. Because it was never about his job. It was about him.

It was about them .

So when Chan asked that evening, as they got ready for bed, if Changbin wanted Chan to meet his family, and Changbin said, very shortly, no thank you , Chan only nodded, and if he maybe held Changbin a good bit tighter than either of them found comfortable as they tried very hard to fall asleep, well. Neither of them was complaining about it.

If Changbin sometimes got defensive about his work, even when Chan never said one wrong word about it, they would acknowledge it, and Changbin would apologize, and Chan would forgive him easily, and they would move along with their day.

And if Chan sometimes made an extra point to tell Changbin when his family or friends asked him to say hello to Changbin for them, or that they’d asked after his health and whether Chan was being good to him, Changbin accepted it easily, tucked it down into his core where that cold ball of resentment still lived to try to warm it up, just a little.

And if some of the things Changbin brought up in conversations sounded a little more like a challenge than usual, Chan smiled and laughed and prodded him out of whatever surly mood had him ready to box shadows that day. They would make sandwiches and sit on the floor at the coffee table and do puzzles until Changbin’s shoulders came down from around his ears.

And if Chan went out of his way to meet all of Changbin’s friends, to let Changbin see that it wasn’t just bias, just love that was somehow overcoming some kind of instinctive disgust, to let him see that Chan understood , just by the way he joked and jostled and teased them, Changbin watched and smiled and complained loudly that his friends weren’t allowed to steal his boyfriend so they could stop trying to be all cute around him.

And when, one evening about two months into their relationship, Changbin was elbows-deep in dishwater and asked Chan to answer his phone for him, he couldn’t help but peer over his shoulder when his boyfriend didn’t reply and the ringtone kept playing.

He was standing, bottle of water held loosely in one hand, thumb hovering over the screen, his face carefully blank. Barefoot in jeans and a loose flannel over a plain tee, he looked so beautiful in the warm light of the kitchen, Changbin almost forgot why he’d been looking.

“It’s your mother,” Chan said, tone carefully neutral.

Sighing, Changbin pulled his hands out of the sink and dried them. “Give it to me,” he said, exasperated.

“Bin-”

Raising an eyebrow, he held out his hand and wiggled his fingers. “Give it here, boy,” he teased like he was talking to a puppy.

The corner of his mouth quirked, and Chan held out the phone, letting Changbin tug it out of his resisting fingers. He backed up as Changbin tapped to answer, but the younger man caught his boyfriend’s belt loop in his fingers and pulled him close. Chan went easily, setting his water on the counter and caging Changbin against the marble, arms going around his waist.

“Hey, Mom,” Changbin greeted quietly, pressing the phone to one ear as Chan nuzzled the other. “It’s nice to hear from you,” he lied.

“Well, you never call me,” she replied, “so I figured I would make sure you were still alive.”

“I’m fine. How are you?”

“Fine, fine. We’re all fine. Your father has been complaining so much about his back lately, you know, but the doctor says it’s just overwork. You can imagine he was thrilled to hear that.”

“Hmm.”

“Has your sister called you?”

Changbin paused, pulling the phone away from himself to stare at it incredulously, then held it back to his ear. “Uh, no. I haven’t heard from her in…a while,” he hedged. In eight years, they both knew he meant. “Everything okay?”

“Oh, yes,” his mother said, her voice going from cautious and impersonal to warm and excited. “She’s getting married soon, you know, to that nice boy she met at university. I hope you’ve sent your RSVP – they need them all back by the end of this week, or they won’t have a plate for you at the reception. I know you can be forgetful about these things.”

Changbin swallowed. “Mom.”

“I know you probably wouldn’t want to be on the groom’s side, since I don’t think you’ve met yet,” she continued, as if she wasn’t aware that he hadn’t even heard of the man, much less introduced himself. “But I’m sure they’d love to have you at the bachelor party. It’s going to be a nice, quiet weekend at the hunting lodge, your father insisted-”

“ Mom .”

“Changbin.” The tone was a warning one. One that would have had his back straightening when he was a child. As it was, he flinched a little against Chan’s determinedly grounding weight. His boyfriend’s fingers dug into his hair, his body pressing Changbin hard enough into the countertop that it would probably leave a bruise along his lower back. Their cheeks slid together, and he could hear Chan breathing deliberately slowly in the ear that wasn’t full of his mother’s disapproving voice.

“Mom, you know I’m not going,” Changbin said quietly. “I haven’t even been invited.”

There was a short pause on the other end of the line. “I’m sure the invitation was just lost-”

“Mom. No. Noona doesn’t want me there. You know that.”

Another pause, this one significantly longer and more loaded.

“Well. I suppose you can’t blame her, it is a church wedding, obviously,” his mother said eventually, primly. “But it isn’t like anyone here knows about…well. You could come back home, you know. Confess and do your penance. You can be forgiven, if you could just-”

“I have to go, Mom,” Changbin cut her off, his free hand pressing anxiously against Chan’s back. “I have things to do.”

“Changbin-”

“Places to go, people to see, dicks to suck.”

“ Changbin. ”

“Bye.” Dropping the call, Changbin tossed his phone onto the counter and wrapped his arms around Chan, shaking. It didn’t take nearly as long for him to calm down as usual when Chan kept petting his back and rubbing their cheeks together, but it left a sickly, hollow sort of feeling in his stomach all the same. It took a few playful pecks of Chan’s mouth against his to soothe that away, as well.

“Leave the dishes,” Chan insisted, pulling Changbin away from the counter towards his bedroom. “Come on.”

“They’ll get all crusty,” Changbin warned.

“I’ll live. You apparently have dicks to suck,” he teased with a sly grin.

“Well,” Changbin said, surging forward to push Chan towards his room a little faster. “When you put it that way.”

FIN.