Chapter Text
the petri dish was a universe of orderly, predictable chaos. under the lens of his microscope, renjun could map the growth of staphylococcus aureus with a calm, clinical detachment that real life so often refused to offer. here, things made sense. cause and effect. contamination led to clear, visible consequences. it was honest.
the lab door banging open was not part of the equation.
“he’s back!”
renjun didn’t need to look up to know it was chenle, or who the ‘he’ was. the universe, it seemed, enjoyed disrupting his peace. he carefully adjusted the focus, his voice flat. “if you’re referring to mark lee’s will to live, i doubt it. i saw him in the library earlier. he looked like a ghost.”
“not mark!” chenle’s sneakers squeaked on the linoleum as he bounded over, leaning his weight against renjun’s lab table. the whole setup shuddered. renjun’s hand tightened on the fine-adjustment knob. “donghyuck. his flight landed last night. he’s back.”
a cold, sharp feeling, like a scalpel sliding between his ribs. renjun kept his eyes glued to the lens. “oh. how… utterly irrelevant to my day.”
“he’s throwing a party. friday. at his new place. you have to come.”
that made him look up. chenle’s face was alight with a mischievous glee that renjun found profoundly irritating. “i have to,” he repeated, his voice dangerously quiet, “do no such thing.”
“it’s going to be epic! the party of the semester!”
the sheer audacity of the expectation, the cheerful dismissal of history, made something snap taut inside him. he straightened up, the stool scraping back with a harsh sound. “i would rather dissect my own spleen with a rusty spoon.”
chenle, infuriatingly, just grinned wider. “don’t be so dramatic! he’ll be there! don’t you want to see him?”
the name, spoken so casually, was a match to gasoline. all the carefully maintained indifference evaporated, replaced by a white-hot fury that vibrated through his entire frame. his hands clenched into fists on the cool laminate of the table, knuckles bleaching white.
“the only thing i want to see involving lee donghyuck is his obituary.”
the name hung in the air, toxic and final. the lab door opened again, and jeno slipped in, holding two coffees. he froze, sensing the atmospheric shift. renjun didn’t acknowledge him. his entire focus was on chenle, on containing the tremor of rage in his voice.
“who’s donghyuck?” jeno whispered, handing a coffee to jaemin, who had been watching the entire exchange with the fascinated, unblinking attention.
jaemin took the coffee, his fingers brushing jeno’s. a familiar jolt, quickly ignored. “he’s clearly renjun’s arch-nemesis. this is incredible. i’ve never seen him this mad. i’m taking notes,” he murmured back, not taking his eyes off the argument.
“he’s not my arch-nemesis,” renjun snarled, his hearing apparently hyper-tuned in his anger. “he’s a plague. an error in the matrix. a walking, talking reminder of why trust is a fool’s currency.”
“oh, come on, renjun, it was one stupid thing!” chenle pleaded, his glee finally morphating into frustration. “it was years ago! he was joking!”
joking.
the word was so inadequate, so insulting, that it ripped a bitter, hollow laugh from renjun’s throat. “joking? some things aren’t jokes, chenle. some things are just… cruel. and he knew it. he knew exactly what he was doing.” the memory, even now, was a fresh bruise. the ruined project, the frantic, panicked hours too late to fix it, the smug, unapologetic smile.
“he felt terrible! he tried to apologize a million times!”
“and i don’t have to accept it!” renjun’s voice cracked, and for a horrifying split second, the raw, wounded thing beneath the fury was exposed. he saw it reflected in jeno’s wide, surprised eyes. shame and anger warred within him, and anger won, solidifying into icy contempt. “he made his choice. he can live with the consequences. and one of those consequences is me never wanting to see his stupid face again.”
chenle threw his hands up in the air. “you’re both so stubborn! it’s exhausting! you used to be friends!”
“that was before i knew better,” renjun said, his voice dropping to a deadly calm. he turned his back on all of them, on chenle’s pleading and jaemin’s curiosity and jeno’s confusion. he picked up the petri dish, his grip so precise and controlled he was surprised the glass didn’t shatter in his hand. “the conversation is over.”
he heard chenle huff, the sound of defeat, and then the rustle of him latching onto a newly-arrived jisung by the door. the immediate tension deflated, but a cold, heavy energy clung to renjun, a shroud of remembered betrayal.
as they filed out, he caught the tail end of jeno and jaemin’s conversation in the hallway.
“seriously, who is donghyuck?”
their voices faded away. alone in the lab, renjun finally set the petri dish down. his hands were shaking. he stared at the swirling bacterial colonies, but all he could see was a blinding, obnoxious smile from a year ago, and the terrifying, unwelcome realization that lee donghyuck was no longer an ocean away.
---
the bass was a second, shittier heartbeat thudding against renjun’s ribs. he was pretty sure the sticky floor was actively trying to claim his sneakers as a permanent fixture. he’d been here for exactly seventeen minutes, which meant he only had to endure thirteen more minutes of this auditory assault before he could legitimately claim his prize - a month’s worth of free matcha lattes, the only currency chenle understood that held any sway over him.
his plan was simple, elegant even: stay for thirty minutes, avoid the epicenter of the sun (lee donghyuck), and slip out the door like a ghost. a frankly stupid plan, he could admit, given this was donghyuck’s own party, but the matcha had clouded his judgment. now, surrounded by a sea of gyrating, sweating bodies, he realized he would have rather been literally anywhere else. jaemin had texted him a blurry, dark photo of what looked like a decrepit ferris wheel an hour ago with the caption, ‘confession venue secured. if he doesn’t kiss me i’m pushing him off the top.’ renjun, at this moment, felt a profound kinship with the idea of being pushed off a ferris wheel. it was quieter.
chenle had abandoned him almost immediately, spotting jisung looking overwhelmed by the snack table and diving to his rescue. traitor. renjun was marooned on a small island of relative calm near a bookshelf that was purely decorative, nursing a cup of suspiciously warm soda and trying to make himself as unapproachable as possible. it was a skill he’d honed to an art form.
he was counting the seconds, his gaze sweeping the room with the detached disdain of a biologist observing a particularly unhygienic colony of organisms, when he saw him.
donghyuck.
of course, he was at the center of it all. of course, he was glowing, tanned from a year in a country renjun imagined was not even closely as obnoxiously sunny as he was. he was laughing, head thrown back, one hand draped over mark lee’s shoulder as mark looked like he was having a stress induced out of body experience. he looked happy. he looked comfortable. he looked like he hadn’t single-handedly torpedoed a friendship and then fled the country.
a cold, sharp stone settled in renjun’s gut. the thirty minute plan was officially null and void. the matcha was a fool’s errand. he needed to leave, now.
he set his cup down on a stack of books that looked like they’d never been read, the liquid sloshing precariously. he didn’t look back, weaving through the crowd with a determination usually reserved for escaping awkward small talk. the front door was a beacon of freedom, just ten feet away. he could see the cool, quiet darkness of the hallway beyond. he reached for the handle.
a hand closed around his wrist.
the touch was electric, and not in a good way. it was a jolt, a live wire of memory and pure, undiluted annoyance. his skin prickled, every nerve ending screaming in protest. he froze.
“leaving so soon?”
the voice was lower than he remembered. still laced with that infuriating, teasing lilt, but there was a new weight to it. renjun didn’t turn around. he stared straight ahead at the grain of the wooden door.
“i’m not in the habit of staying where i’m not wanted,” renjun said, his voice flat. he tried to pull his wrist away, but the grip tightened, just enough to be firm. not enough to hurt. it was maddening.
a soft laugh puffed against the back of his neck. “who said you weren’t wanted? i’m shocked you even showed up. chenle must have promised you something good. his firstborn?”
“a month of matcha. which i am now forfeiting, so this is a net loss for me. let go.”
“a whole month? damn. i’m flattered i rank so highly.” donghyuck’s thumb shifted, a tiny, almost unconscious movement against the delicate bones of renjun’s wrist. “you can’t just run out without saying hello, jun.”
the old nickname landed like a slap. renjun finally wrenched his arm free, spinning around to face him. the movement was too quick, bringing them chest-to-chest for a dizzying second before renjun took a sharp step back, hitting the door with a soft thud.
and there he was. lee donghyuck, in high definition. the year away had sanded down some of the boyish softness in his cheeks, sharpening his jawline. his eyes were the same, though dark, dancing, and currently fixed on renjun with an unnerving intensity. he looked… surprised. genuinely surprised to see him. it made renjun want to throw something.
“hello,” renjun bit out, the word tasting like acid. “there. social obligation fulfilled. now, if you’ll excuse me, i have a pressing engagement with my bed and a deep, abiding regret for my life choices.”
he turned back to the door, but donghyuck moved, planting a hand flat on the wood next to renjun’s head, effectively caging him in. he didn’t touch him, but his presence was a wall.
“you’re still mad.”
it wasn’t a question. it was a statement of fact, delivered with a wry twist of his mouth. renjun let out a short, incredulous laugh.
“what was your first clue?” renjun’s voice was dangerously smooth. “was it my meticulously crafted ‘go to hell’ aura, or have you finally developed object permanence for consequences?”
donghyuck’s smile was a tight, practiced thing. “chenle’s been narrating my life, i see.”
“he has a compulsive need to overshare. i’m considering it a neurological disorder.”
donghyuck’s smile was tight. “look. about the project—”
“don’t.” renjun’s voice was dangerously quiet. “do not. you don’t get to stand here, in your stupid party, with your stupid tan, and say ‘about the project’ like it was a minor miscalculation. you replaced my work with a piece of shit you cobbled together in ten minutes and hid the real one. i found it a day after the deadline. professor kwon didn’t care. said deadlines were ‘non-negotiable’.”
the memory was still crystal clear, the cold sweat of panic, the frantic search, the final, gut punching discovery tucked away on a high lab shelf, dusty and useless. the look on donghyuck’s face at the time - a mix of guilt and defensive pride, like a child who’d done a bad thing but was still proud of the cleverness of it.
“it was a joke,” donghyuck said, but the words lacked their usual conviction. they sounded hollow, even to him.
“ah, yes. the pinnacle of comedy. academic sabotage. you always did have a unique sense of humor.” renjun’s eyes swept over him, cold and dismissive. “the real punchline, though, was the part where you didn’t have the balls to say it to my face. you just… left. a bunch of text messages weeks later, from another time zone. very brave.”
donghyuck flinched. a real, genuine flinch. the smugness finally cracked, revealing something raw and frustrated underneath. “what did you want me to do, renjun? you blocked me everywhere! you wouldn’t answer my calls! i tried!”
“you could have tried before you got on a plane!” renjun hissed, the volume rising before he could stop it. he forced it back down, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “you could have stood outside my door, and trust me i would answer. you could have told be in person. you could have done anything other than the easiest, most cowardly thing possible. but you didn’t. you left. so, as far as i’m concerned, you can stay gone.”
the words hung between them, sharp and final. the music from the living room pulsed, a jarring, happy rhythm that clashed violently with the static crackle of their standoff.
donghyuck was silent for a long moment, just looking at him. his expression was unreadable, a war between his own stubborn pride and the dawning, uncomfortable realization that renjun was probably right.
“i’m sorry.”
the words were quiet, barely audible over the bass. they weren’t the performative, flippant apologies from his texts. they were ground out, reluctant, and because of that, they felt more real than anything else he’d said.
renjun stared at him, his own anger momentarily stunned into silence. he hadn’t expected that. not here. not now.
he recovered quickly, his defenses slamming back into place. “congratulations. you’ve achieved basic human decency. do you want a medal?”
donghyuck’s jaw tightened. “what do you want from me, then? huh? i said i was sorry. it was a shitty, immature thing to do. i was an idiot. i admit it. what else is there?”
“nothing,” renjun said, the fight suddenly draining out of him, leaving only a cold, hollow exhaustion. “there’s nothing else. you said your piece. i don’t accept it. we’re done here.”
he pushed against donghyuck’s arm. it didn’t budge at first, solid and unmoving. then, with a frustrated sigh, donghyuck dropped it, stepping back. the space between them felt vast and charged.
renjun didn’t look at him again. he turned, wrapped his fingers around the cool metal of the doorknob, and pulled. the noise of the party swelled for a second before he stepped through and closed it behind him, cutting off the sound, the light, and lee donghyuck completely.
the hallway was silent. his wrist still tingled where donghyuck had held it. he walked away, the ghost of an apology and the taste of forfeited matcha bitter on his tongue. the net loss felt greater than he’d ever imagined.
—————————
the morning after the party, donghyuck’s apartment smelled like awful stale beer. his head throbbed in time with the memory of renjun’s voice, sharp enough to draw blood. you can stay gone.
he’d fucked up. he knew this. the apology had felt like pulling his own teeth out, and renjun had just looked at him like it was a piece of gum stuck to his shoe. the worst part, the truly pathetic part, was that the sheer, unadulterated pettiness of it all was, against all reason, kind of… compelling. it was a fire, and donghyuck had always been a moth. but no. he couldn’t think like that. this was about damage control. this was about salvaging a friendship, not getting himself metaphorically set on fire. probably.
the doorbell rang. he found chenle on his doorstep, looking bright and obnoxious, with jisung hovering behind him like a shadow.
“we’re here to help clean!” chenle announced, sweeping in. he immediately beelined for the leftover chips.
“i can see that,” donghyuck said, watching as jisung gave him a hesitant nod and, without a word, started gathering empty cups with the quiet efficiency of a bomb disposal expert.
“so,” chenle said through a mouthful of tortilla chips, collapsing onto the stained sofa. “saw jaemin and jeno in the dining hall this morning. they were feeding each other yogurt. it was disgusting. they looked… peaceful. i feel violently ill.”
“my deepest condolences,” donghyuck deadpanned, picking up a trash bag. “should i send flowers to your trauma?”
“just thought you should know the state of our social circle. it’s corrupt. all couples now. except for you and renjun, of course, who are… what’s the opposite of a couple? a contentious legal dispute?”
donghyuck shot him a look. “we’re not a thing.”
“oh, i know. you’re a ‘former friend who i wish was deceased’. he was very clear on the terminology.” chenle’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “so, how’d it go last night? did you grovel? did he stab you with a butter knife? details, hyuck. i’m invested.”
from across the room, jisung made a small, distressed noise, carefully stacking cups.
“i apologized,” donghyuck said, focusing on the very important task of tying a knot in the trash bag. “he told me to, and i quote, ‘stay gone’.”
chenle sighed, a dramatic, world-weary sound. “he’s so stubborn. you’re both so stubborn. it’s like watching two bricks argue.” he gestured with a chip. “you know, my advice is to just be persistent. but, like, charmingly persistent. not in a weird way.”
“your advice is noted and filed under ‘useless’,” donghyuck said. he glanced at jisung, who was now meticulously wiping down a counter. “your boyfriend, on the other hand, is a national treasure. i’m keeping him.”
jisung froze, the sponge hovering mid-wipe. a faint pink crept up his neck. “i… i’m just cleaning.”
“a treasure,” donghyuck noded, and he meant it. jisung was quiet, competent, and seemed to have a healthy fear of conflict, which donghyuck found deeply relatable in this moment. he was a calm island in the storm of chenle’s chaotic, unhelpful commentary.
which was exactly the problem. chenle was his friend but chenle was also renjun’s best friend, his roommate, and frankly donghyuck's primary source of information. but the thing is, his ‘advice’ was clearly designed to maximize entertainment, not reconciliation. he was like a god from a greek myth, stirring the pot for his own amusement while his mortal subjects suffered. donghyuck was on his own.
the plan, therefore, could not be normal. a normal person might give space, send a thoughtful message, maybe a peace offering. but renjun had built a fortress of pure spite, and normal tactics would just bounce off the walls. donghyuck needed to be a siege engine. he needed to be annoying.
annoying, he could do. it was, arguably, his primary talent.
his first idea was to figure out renjun’s schedule. this was easier than it should have been. a little casual interrogation of mark (who was so stressed about graduating he’d give up state secrets for a coffee) revealed that renjun, in a fit of masochism, had taken an upper-level elective called ‘principles of toxicology’ to fulfill a science credit.
so, on friday afternoon, donghyuck strolled into the lecture hall ten minutes late. it was a solid power move. all eyes, including the professor’s, flicked to him. he offered a breezy, “sorry, my other class ran long,” and scanned the rows.
he spotted him immediately. of course. third row, center, notebook open, pen poised like a surgical instrument. renjun did not look up. the set of his shoulders, however, went from merely tense to actively hostile. donghyuck felt a thrill that was entirely inappropriate.
he slid into the empty seat directly behind him.
for a full minute, there was only the sound of the professor droning on about neurotoxic agents. then, donghyuck leaned forward, his voice a low murmur near renjun’s ear.
“toxicology, huh? researching new hobbies?”
renjun’s pen stilled. he didn’t turn. “if you’re referring to your presence here, it’s already been classified as an environmental contaminant.”
donghyuck smirked. “dramatic. i’m a student. this is a class. it’s a crazy concept, i know.”
“i was under the impression your major was in being a public nuisance, with a minor in cowardice.”
“it’s a double major, actually. very demanding.” donghyuck leaned back, propping his feet on the empty chair next to him. “so, ‘ld-50’. what’s the lethal dose for you having to look at my face?”
this time, renjun did turn. just a slight tilt of his head, enough for donghyuck to see the icy profile of his cheek. “for you? it’s zero. your presence is inherently toxic. the professor would use you as a case study in low-grade systemic poisoning.”
a laugh bubbled up in donghyuck’s chest. he choked it down. god, he was messed up. “harsh. and here i thought we were bonding over shared academic interests.”
“we share nothing. you are the control group in the experiment of basic human decency.” renjun turned fully back to his notes, his posture a clear ‘conversation over’.
donghyuck spent the rest of the class in a state of perverse enjoyment. he asked a question about arsenic just to hear the sound of his own voice and feel renjun’s spine stiffen. he sighed loudly during a quiet moment. he tapped his pen against his teeth. it was a masterclass in low-grade terrorism.
when the lecture ended, renjun packed his things with a speed that suggested the building was on fire. he stood up and finally looked donghyuck dead in the eye.
“what is this, donghyuck? what’s the endgame here? because if it’s to get me to slip you a real sample, i have to warn you, i know the precise dosage that would mimic a tragic, accidental caffeine overdose.”
“see? common ground. you like poisons, i like coffee. we’re building bridges.” donghyuck stood, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “it’s a class, renjun. i’m expanding my horizons. you should try it sometime. yours seem a little… concentrated.”
renjun’s eyes narrowed into slits. “you are a biological hazard.”
“and you’re my very grumpy antidote. see you thursday.” he gave a little wave and sauntered out of the lecture hall, leaving renjun standing there, practically vibrating with rage.
it was, by any sane metric, a catastrophic failure. he’d probably set their reconciliation back by another year.
but as he walked across campus, the late afternoon sun warm on his skin, he couldn’t wipe the smirk off his face. he’d gotten under his skin. he’d made him react. it was messy and counterproductive and probably proved renjun’s point about him being a toxin.
but for the first time since he’d gotten back, it didn’t feel like he was shouting into a void. it felt like a conversation. a deeply hostile, sarcastic, potentially friendship-ending conversation, but a conversation nonetheless.
and lee donghyuck had never been able to resist the last word.
—————————
the problem with lee donghyuck, renjun decided as he ground his molars into fine dust, was his sheer, unmitigated stamina for being a nuisance.
monday: he’d shown up at renjun’s favorite library carrel. not to study, obviously. he’d propped his stupid limited-edition sneakers up on the table, right next to renjun’s open pathology textbook. “cozy,” donghyuck had said, smirking. renjun, without a word, had taken his finest-tip pen and meticulously drawn a shockingly detailed, anatomically correct penis on the pristine white toe of the left shoe. donghyuck’s face had been a masterpiece of horrified betrayal. “you animal,” he’d hissed, snatching his foot down. “these were a limited collab!” it had felt like a petty, glorious victory.
tuesday: revenge. donghyuck had somehow gotten into the med students’ shared fridge and replaced the vial of matcha concentrate renjun kept there with blended peas. the color was almost identical. the taste was a vegetative crime against humanity. renjun had spat it into the sink, his entire body shuddering with revulsion. he’d then spent his entire lunch break supergluing every single one of donghyuck’s sociology textbooks shut. a draw.
wednesday: donghyuck had ‘coincidentally’ been at the same coffee cart renjun visited every morning. “fancy seeing you here,” he’d said, holding his bitter, black iced americano like a trophy. “hearing great things about the pea latte.” renjun had ordered his drink, paid, and then ‘accidentally’ knocked the entire cup of americano out of donghyuck’s hand. it had shattered on the pavement, a dark, caffeinated puddle of loss. the look on donghyuck’s face, pure, unadulterated pain, was almost worth the five dollars renjun had to slip the cashier to avoid a scene. later renhunfound out donghyuck painted and super glued his face on his microscope.
thursday: the war escalated. renjun had printed out fifty copies of a particularly unflattering, blurry photo of donghyuck mid-sneeze and papered the entire sociology building with them. the caption read: ‘have you seen this disease vector?’ donghyuck’s counter-move was diabolical. he’d signed renjun’s email up for every single mailing list he could find, from timeshare seminars to a very enthusiastic local crochet circle. renjun’s inbox was now a digital hellscape.
it was exhausting. it was juvenile. and the most infuriating part was that donghyuck seemed to be enjoying it. every scowl, every hissed insult, every act of petty vandalism only seemed to fuel him. he was getting the attention he craved, and renjun was the one supplying it. it was a fundamentally flawed dynamic.
and he couldn’t even complain properly because the world had apparently decided to become a live-action romantic comedy.
chenle, who used to be a reliable ally in misery, was now a traitor. “you’re so tense, jun,” he’d say, draped over jisung on their shared sofa. “you should get a boyfriend. it’s very relaxing.” jisung would just blush and bury his face in chenle’s shoulder, which was somehow both cute and nauseating.
jaemin and jeno were worse. they’d entered a state of perpetual, dopey-eyed bliss. they held hands under the library table. they shared a single pair of headphones. it was revolting. the final straw was when jaemin, of all people, had approached him with a look of sincere concern. “you seem… lonely, renjun. i know this guy in my communications class. he’s nice. very… stable.” renjun had just stared at him, utterly disturbed, until jaemin shrugged and went back to braiding jeno’s hair.
even mark was no help. when renjun had grumbled about donghyuck’s ‘sociological field study in being a dickhead’, mark had just blinked, his eyes glazed over from sleep deprivation. “oh. yeah. hyuck’s… persistent. have you tried, like, talking to him? i gotta go, my business model is collapsing.” his emotional intelligence was that of a soggy paper bag.
so by friday, renjun was a live wire. he had a three-hour anatomy lab, which was usually a sanctuary of quiet, orderly dissection. it was his element. today, it felt like the calm before the storm.
the storm, of course, arrived twenty minutes in.
the lab doors swung open and donghyuck strolled in, looking wildly out of place in his streetwear amidst the clinical white coats and the faint, formalin-tinged air. his eyes were fixed on renjun, a familiar, obnoxious lie already forming on his lips, probably something about needing to observe ‘the social constructs of the human body after death’.
he got about three words out. “hey, junnie, your professor said—”
then his gaze landed on the cadaver at renjun’s table. more specifically, on the exposed thoracic cavity, the layers of muscle and tissue peeled back, the heart and lungs a stark, visceral landscape of red and pink.
all the color drained from donghyuck’s face in an instant. his smirk vanished, replaced by a slack-jawed, wide-eyed horror. a fine sheen of sweat appeared on his forehead. he made a small, choked sound in the back of his throat.
renjun’s lab partner, sooyoung, looked from donghyuck’s green-tinged face to renjun’s stony one, her eyebrows climbing into her hairline. her expression was a clear, silent question: what the hell is this?
“i…” donghyuck stammered, his voice thin. “i have to…” he took a wobbly step back, his hand flying to his mouth.
renjun let out a long, exasperated sigh. the sound was sharp in the quiet room. he threw his scalpel down onto the tray with a metallic clatter. “unbelievable,” he muttered, stripping off his gloves. “absolutely unbelievable.”
he grabbed donghyuck by the elbow, his grip was firm, almost rough. then he steered the stumbling, gagging sociology major out of the lab and into the hallway. he half-dragged, half-shoved him towards the men’s restroom, shoving the door open and pushing him towards a cabin just in time.
it was disgusting. renjun stood there, arms crossed, leaning against the sink, listening to the unpleasant sounds and trying to convince himself that the tight, uncomfortable feeling in his chest was pure, unadulterated annoyance. it had to be. why else would his pulse be hammering like this? why else would he be cataloging the pallor of donghyuck’s skin with a clinical detachment that felt a little too forced?
when the retching subsided, donghyuck slumped against the wall, breathing heavily, his forehead damp. he looked pathetic. small.
“you’re an idiot,” renjun said, his voice flat. “a spectacular, self-sabotaging idiot. you’re afraid of blood. why would you come in there?”
donghyuck wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes still squeezed shut. “wanted… to see you,” he managed, the words weak.
the admission, raw and stripped of its usual sarcasm, hit renjun like a physical blow. it was so stupid. so needlessly, recklessly stupid. it shouldn’t have affected him. it didn’t affect him. he didn’t care that donghyuck had walked into his own personal nightmare just to get a rise out of him. he didn’t care that the determination, however misguided, was… a lot.
“well, you saw me,” renjun snapped, the anger a convenient shield. “congratulations. you successfully ruined my lab, made a scene, and almost vomited on a two-hundred-thousand-dollar education. feel better?”
donghyuck just shook his head, a miserable, tiny motion. “you drew a dick on my expensive shoes, i'm still not over that”
renjun scoffed, turning on his heel. “don’t follow me.”
he went back to the lab, finished his dissection with a cold, furious efficiency that made sooyoung give him a wide berth, and tried to forget the image of donghyuck’s terrified, pale face.
he failed.
later, back in the silence of his room, the memory was still there, nagging at him. it was the leaving. that was the real, festering core of it all. the project was the spark, but the leaving was the inferno. donghyuck had ruined his work, and then, without a single word, had left. he hadn’t even told a proper goodbye. he’d just… vanished from the country, leaving renjun with a ruined project and a pile of unresolved, angry words. he hadn’t even been given the chance to say goodbye. to scream it, maybe, but to say it.
and now he was back, acting like a barnacle on the hull of renjun’s life, refusing to be scraped off.
with a groan of pure frustration, renjun picked up his phone. his thumb hovered over donghyuck’s contact, still blocked. this was a mistake. a colossal, strategic error. he unblocked him.
the act felt momentous and stupid.
he typed out a message, his fingers stabbing at the screen.
renjun: if you die of sepsis from a panic-induced fever, don’t come crying to me. i only deal with the already-dead.
he threw his phone onto the bed like it had bitten him. it was a dry, clinical, utterly renjun way of checking on someone. it was also, undeniably, a check-in.
a few minutes later, his phone buzzed. a single, predictable word.
donghyuck: worth it.
renjun stared at the screen, at the unblocked contact name, and felt the walls of his meticulously maintained fortress develop a very, very small crack. damn him. damn him to hell.
⸻⸻⸻
going to the anatomy lab had been, by any objective measure, the single stupidest thing donghyuck had done in at least a calendar year. his brain kept replaying the moment in high-definition, surround-sound terror: the clinical smell, the cold air, the sight of a human chest cavity opened up like a poorly planned diy project. his stomach did a lazy, unpleasant roll just thinking about it.
he’d admitted this to himself, lying flat on his back on his apartment floor. it was stupid. a tactical nightmare.
but.
renjun had unblocked his number.
the little text bubble, the dry, bitchy concern disguised as an insult… it was a flag planted on hostile territory. it was progress. it was, objectively, worth vomiting in a public toilet.
the sound of his front door unlocking startled him out of his victory lap. he sat up, blinking, as jaehyun strolled in like he owned the place, which, given he’d co-signed the lease, he kinda did.
“what are you doing here?” donghyuck asked, not bothering to get up. “did mom send you? i told her i’m fine.”
jaehyun didn’t answer. he walked straight to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. he stared into its barren, light-bulb-lit abyss for a solid ten seconds. it contained a half-empty bottle of ketchup, a single energy drink, and three packs of instant ramen that didn’t even require refrigeration.
he closed the door slowly. “mom is concerned your refrigerator is broken. it’s not. you’re just a lazy bastard who cant even buy proper food.” he leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. he was wearing a stupidly soft-looking sweater and looked infuriatingly put-together. “so. what’s the crisis that’s preventing you from performing basic acts of sustenance?”
donghyuck flopped back onto the floor. “i need to make a guy develop stockholm syndrome.”
there was a beat of silence.
“context,” jaehyun said, his voice utterly calm. “please provide context before i call a crisis helpline on your behalf.”
so donghyuck told him. the abridged version, anyway. the ruined project, the cowardly exit, the return, the concerted campaign of strategic annoyance. he left out the part where renjun’s pettiness was weirdly attractive, framing it instead as a ‘challenging friendship-resumption scenario’.
jaehyun listened, his expression unreadable. when donghyuck got to the part about the shoe, however, a slow grin spread across his face. “he drew a dick on your off-whites?”
“it was a detailed rendering! it had vasculature, hyung! it was traumatizing.”
jaehyun’s grin widened. “that’s hilarious. i like him. he’s absolutely valid, by the way. you were a little shit.”
“whose side are you on?”
“the side of good penmanship and justified revenge.” jaehyun shook his head, still laughing. “so your master plan to win him back is to… annoy him until he cracks? that sounds less like friendship and more like a prelude to a restraining order.”
“it’s working!” donghyuck insisted, sitting up again. “he unblocked me! he texted me! it was a mean text, but it was a text! he could have just let me die of sepsis.”
“the bar is in hell, donghyuck. you’re tripping over it.” jaehyun sighed, the picture of older-brotherly exasperation. “so this ‘friendship’… does it require you to think about his… detailed anatomical drawings quite this much?”
donghyuck stared at him. “can we stop talking about dicks? specifically, can you stop making this about dicks?”
“i’m just trying to understand the strategic objective.”
“the objective is to get him to stop hating me!”
“and then what?”
the question hung in the air, simple and devastating. and then what? donghyuck didn’t have a good answer. he just knew that the hollow space renjun had left behind had been aching for a year, and now that he was back, filling it with noise and conflict and stupid, petty wars felt infinitely better than the silence.
“then we’re friends again,” he said, but it sounded weak even to his own ears.
jaehyun just gave him a long, knowing look. “right. well, good luck with your… asset acquisition strategy. i’m going to the store to buy you actual food so mom stops having a panic attack. try not to get a restraining order before i get back.”
the plan, however stupid, was indeed working. the proof came two days later, in the form of a group text from chenle announcing a hotpot dinner. in a group chat that included both donghyuck and renjun.
the new place was loud and steamy, the air thick with the smell of boiling broth. donghyuck arrived late on purpose, a classic power move. he scanned the table. chenle was holding court, jisung a silent, nodding statue beside him. jaemin and jeno were already in their own world, sharing a single plate of condiments. mark looked like he was calculating the economic downturn of the hotpot industry. and renjun was sitting at the far end, looking small and annoyed and perfect.
donghyuck didn’t hesitate. he shoved a protesting chenle aside and dropped into the seat next to renjun. “scoot over, i need access to the mushroom basket.”
renjun didn’t even look at him. “the mushroom basket is a communal resource, not your personal fiefdom.”
“it is now. i’ve declared sovereignty.” donghyuck dumped a entire plate of enoki mushrooms into the spicy broth.
two hours and several beers later, the dynamic had shifted. the sharp edges of the room had softened. donghyuck felt pleasantly warm and loose-limbed. tipsy. jaemin was telling a story about how he’d accidentally locked himself in a campus maintenance closet for three hours and had to be rescued by a janitor who he was now convinced was a retired spy.
“that is the most made-up shit i’ve ever heard,” donghyuck said, pointing a chopstick at him.
“it’s true!” jaemin insisted, eyes wide. “he had a very specific set of skills!”
“he had a set of keys, you idiot,” renjun muttered into his drink, but there was no real bite to it.
to donghyuck’s surprise, jisung, who was also looking rosy-cheeked and less tense, leaned over. “it could happen. the probability is low, but never zero.” he and donghyuck had somehow fallen into a conversation about league of legends earlier, and it turned out jisung was both knowledgeable and brutally honest about donghyuck’s main.
“see? jisung gets it,” donghyuck said, feeling a strange sense of camaraderie with the quiet engineer.
chenle, ever the chaos agent, slammed his hand on the table. “don’t listen to him, sungie! donghyuck is even worse at league than you are! he once got so mad he uninstalled the game and then cried because he missed it!”
a ripple of laughter went around the table. donghyuck’s pride, buoyed by alcohol, flared. “i did not cry! it was a strategic uninstall! for mental clarity!”
but defending his gaming honor suddenly felt less important than the person sitting next to him. he turned his attention back to renjun, who was quietly picking at a piece of cabbage, a small, almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips from chenle’s outburst.
the sight was like a physical shock. it was a crack in the fortress wall, a sliver of the sun from a year ago.
donghyuck found himself leaning closer, his voice dropping. “you think that’s funny? you should have seen the time i tried to explain sociological theory to mark while he was having a stress dream. he started quoting stock prices in his sleep.”
renjun’s head tilted. he didn’t look at donghyuck, but he was listening. “sounds more productive than your awake explanations.”
“he offered me a 3% stake in a failing crypto venture. i was offended.”
a huff of air escaped renjun’s nose. not quite a laugh, but close. it was a seismic event.
encouraged, donghyuck doubled down. he started telling stupid stories, leaning into the self-deprecation, painting himself as the fool in every anecdote. he talked about getting lost on the london tube for two hours because he was too proud to ask for directions. he described the time he’d tried to make kimchi jjigae and had somehow set a towel on fire. it was a performance, a one-man show designed for an audience of one.
and it worked.
during a particularly ridiculous story involving a miscommunication with a barista that ended with him receiving a latte with a picture of a sad frog drawn in the foam, renjun actually smiled. a real, proper, full smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. it was brief, there and gone in a flash, but donghyuck saw it. he felt the impact of it in his chest, a bright, warm burst that had nothing to do with the alcohol.
he must have been staring, his own face probably a picture of dumbstruck awe, because renjun looked at him then, really looked at him, and let out a soft, breathy laugh. “what’s with your face? you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
donghyuck blinked. he had to physically pinch the skin on his wrist under the table, the sharp sting a reality check. this wasn’t a dream. this was real. renjun was tipsy, flushed, and he’d just smiled and laughed at something donghyuck had said.
“just… making sure you’re not a hologram,” donghyuck managed, his voice a little rough. “your smile has a really low resolution. thought you might be buffering.”
renjun’s smile faded, but the softness around his eyes remained. he shook his head, turning back to his bowl. “idiot.”
the word lacked its usual venom. it sounded almost… fond.
donghyuck sat back in his chair, the noise of the restaurant fading into a dull roar around him. the plan was stupid. it was juvenile and counter-intuitive and jaehyun was probably right about the restraining order.
but as he watched renjun steal a piece of beef from his own plate without a word of protest, he knew, with a terrifying, exhilarating certainty, that it was working. and he had no intention of stopping.