Junho reads and rereads the letter several times before setting it gently onto his pillow. Then, gripping his large puppy plushie tightly to his chest, he lets loose a slow, calming breath. It isn’t all that calming.

“Fuck.”

He might have just made a mistake in prematurely opening that letter, because can he consider Luca an acquaintance? Has he done anything to get close to him and break through his walls? Will Luca even listen to him now? That’s a big fat no.

There’s no way Junho will be able to do this, to get Luca to cut his hair, of all things. At least not any time soon. It isn’t even that bad of a haircut! A little overgrown and shaggy, but not awful. Okay, it’s maybe kind of awful. But sort of attractive in the way it intensifies the color of his eyes a bit—

Oh, Christ, why is he thinking about Luca in this way in the first place? Definitely Ciana’s fault!

“I needa get laid,” Junho mutters to himself, entirely too aware of the fact that he’s been repressing himself lately. And for all he poses himself as a virgin in front of family and acquaintances, the truth of the matter is that Junho likes sex and he typically gets a lot of it.

Which, he keeps insisting to himself, must be why he’s been so drawn to Luca. Surely because he has a case of blue balls and Luca’s a fairly attractive guy, there’s really no wonder why he’s reacting so strongly.

Setting aside the letter matter for now, Junho has several options before him: he can call up a past hook up, of which he has three he typically cycles through, or he can get on a stupid app and try to engineer it that way.

Junho’s too lazy to bother with the latter. 

Decided, he pulls out his phone and messages Clark first, who is his usual go-to. Not because they have any special feelings for each other, but because they both agree special feelings are for losers whose parents’ divorce doesn’t feed into their anxiety about getting into relationships.

And they have great chemistry.

Clark texts back that he’s already made plans. Tch.

Next is Emmanuel—Manny—who he appreciates for his friendly attitude and earnestness for performing with gusto any sex act the two can think up, which is a surprising lot when both parties involved are creative and enthusiastic.

Except, Manny’s having dinner with his parents. Fuuuuck.

That leaves Junho with Andre, who Junho typically saves as a last resort, if only because Andre likes it a bit too rough for his tastes and Andre isn’t always satisfied bottoming. And Junho? He’s never been anything but a top, no matter who he’s slept with—though not for a lack of trying to be a switch. Junho simply likes to take control, struggling when he feels out of it.

There isn’t a polite way to say this: Junho’s a bit of a deviant, a sex-fiend, a full-on degenerate. By the purity standards he’s grown up around, at least.

It’s a secret he’s kept more for his family’s sake than his own. Ciana used to accuse him of it being an addict’s habit, and he remembers vehemently denying it with the simple truth. It isn’t that he’s addicted, not exactly. He just doesn’t get much joy out of an orgasm if he’s by himself.

It will surprise no one in saying that Junho’s a sharer, perhaps an oversharer, but he can’t help it. Masturbation is more frustrating than satisfying if he doesn’t have anyone else to jack off with him. There’s just something in the expressions of his partners, when they’re feeling good that gets him hot. Seeing other people’s pleasure has always made him feel good, though.

Which, he often thinks during times like this, is an inconvenient kink to have.

It means that if he wants sex to take any edge off his stress, he’ll need a partner.

Thankfully, Junho’s prayers are heard. Andre is available and he’ll be over in thirty minutes.

. . .

“You aren’t into it,” Andre announces, pulling back from their kiss with raised brows, using his fingers to push his dreadlocks back out of his face.

At this, Junho gets a bit defensive. “I totally am—”

“No way. If you were then I’d already be butt-ass naked and you’d be railing me as if your life depended on it.”

This isn’t exactly false. Junho isn’t one to waste time striping someone. Usually.

“D’ya wanna try bottoming this time, is that it?”

“What?” Junho scowls. “No.”

Andre sighs loudly at this. “Listen, I have great technique—”

“It’s not about technique, it’s instinct,” Junho mutters, recalling the few times he’s attempted to bottom. Each time has been unsuccessful, and not for lack of wanting to, but because something inside Junho resists and whether by accident or a Judo move he picked up from the brief stint he had in sports—at his grandmother’s behest, until she quickly recognized the error of her ways—he finds himself right where he started: on top.

“Instinct.” Andre scoffs. “You know, for a little guy—”

“I’ll stop you right there. I’m not little, you’re just huge,” he retorts. 

If anything, Junho is a very respectable height of five foot, ten inches. Not too tall, not too short, just right—hell, Luca—

We’re not thinking about Luca right now, idiot!

Though already Junho is picturing the direct eye-contact, the breath against the back of his ear, and what the hell, it would have been only too easy to lean in and kiss the damn fool. He’s heard rumors that couples with similar heights tend to kiss a lot more, and now after today, that really comes as no surprise to him.

Junho sighs. There’s something wrong with him thinking about coming on to Luca at all—he’s just lost his twin sister for Christ’s sake. And he's just lost his best friend.

Oh, god, oh, god, what is he doing—?

“...-nho, Junho, Junho!”

“What, what, what?”

“See? You’re not into it,” Andre accuses with a grimace. “What did you bring me over for if you just want to ignore me and stay depressed? My boner’s been killed just looking at you mope.”

A glance at his package calls him a straight up liar.

“I wish I was a bottom,” Junho says with an unmistakable whine in his voice. “It’d be really nice to be mindlessly screwed and not have to do any work.”

To that, Andre pulls back entirely, hand pressed to his heart, gaping. “Not any work? Not any work!? It’s hard work taking it up the ass and I do it for you cause I care, you willfully ignorant fuck.”

“Oh, don’t take it the wrong way,” Junho mutters, shifting to lay onto his right side, propping his head up with a hand. “I’m sorry—I’m too sad right now to mind my words.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he knew he was wrong for them. Also realizing how unfair he’s being to him, Junho gives what he imagines is an apologetic pout.

Andre stares at him for a moment before rolling his eyes in utter exasperation, grunting before laying his back on the bed and opening his arms up for Junho. “C’mere, ya dumbass.”

Eyes beginning to water, he takes the offer for what it is and clambers up, collapsing onto the chest of the six foot, four inch giant. Warm, muscled arms wrap around him and he sighs, letting Andre’s scent calm him. If cuddling is a hobby, Junho considers it his favorite pastime. There’s really nothing better then this, head pressed to someone's chest, hearing their rhythmic heartbeat, the exhale of their breaths.

“If you suck my dick, I’ll let you tell me what’s wrong,” Andre offers gruffly, making Junho's eyes snap open.

He considers the offer for a moment before adding to the bargain, “With a condom on though—I have rubbers that taste like cotton candy.”

Andre is silent for a few seconds, scratching the five o’clock shadow on his chin in deep contemplation. “Eh, what the fuck, I’m feeling generous.”

Junho sniffles, eyes already wet. “It’s a deal, then.”

“Get at it then, bud,” he says, patting Junho on the ass. “Tell Dr. Dre what’s the matter.”

First, he rolls his eyes at the pun, but then Junho quickly delves into explaining, starting from the very beginning.

“My dad was the one to tell me the news that Ciana died. It took him a while to get it out at first and then he just said it, point blank, that she’d died an hour after I’d last seen her. An hour. She’d been smiling that day, more tired than usual, sure, but she was still laughing at my jokes and was even telling me about her newest movie idea...”

He didn’t even believe his father at first, and somehow, despite knowing his dad isn’t the type to joke about such things, he wondered if Ciana had set it up to prank him, ignoring the fact that she also would never do that to him.

Junho had just been desperate, ready to believe anything else.

“The last thing I said to her was that I’d see her later,” Junho continues, taking a deep and shuddering breath. “She’d said, ‘bye, loser’, like normal. And then I’d just left, thinking nothing important. Just got in my mini cooper and drove home, watched some stupid sitcom, and then when Dad called, I didn’t believe him. Thinking it was just a joke, I drove back, just to be sure, just in case, because what if it was the truth? And then I got to her room and she was just gone. For good. They’d already moved her and I...”

Junho ducks his head under Andre’s chin and lets out a high, keening sob that hurts even his own ears. Andre doesn’t complain though, he just lays there, listening, a hand on Junho’s hip. Something about that frustrates him—something about all of this frustrated him.

Why is all of this even happening? How can he accept that this is happening? It shouldn't be real—how can it be real?

“It’s not fucking fair, none of it is fair!” he bursts, clenching his hands into fists and grinding them into his eyes, not wanting to cry anymore but unable to stop it. “Why the fuck did it have to happen to her, Andre? She just wanted to live! She just wanted to do more, be more! And now, now she can’t do anything and here I am having to do it for her and it fucking sucks—it feels wrong and it terrifies me. She asked me to do something for her, but it’s hard, it’s so difficult. I have to talk to her family, I have to help them somehow, I have to—have to—”

Junho suddenly can’t breathe very well and the pressure in his skull increases as if someone has grabbed on and is squeezing. Concerned, he draws away from Andre and moves to the edge of the bed, trying to see past the black dots in his vision. Running his hands through his hair, he draws in a breath, struggling to get it in, and blows it out with just as much effort.

It’s all too much. The world is everywhere, all around him, just chaos and misery, and it’s too much.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Andre says in a tone that’s surprisingly soothing as he gets off the bed to come around and crouch before him. “Just breathe slowly, in and out, in and out, like a pregnant lady giving birth. Just like that, except there’s no need to panic here because you’re definitely not giving birth—you can’t even take it up the ass, Junbug, no way you’d be having anything, but a food baby.”

The absurdity of that statement makes a hysterical choking laugh climb up his throat and escape. It makes his ribs ache and he chokes, struggling to breathe but trying to listen to him.

“In and out, Junho," Andre keeps saying, also seeming at a loss, "in and out. Slowly, in and out, in and out. I’m here with you.”

“I’m gonna do awful,” he cries, unable to stop shaking. “I can’t do this, I’m not ready. I’m an awful person—fuck, why can’t I just—” He cuts himself off and looks into Andre’s brown-eyed gaze, glancing down to see that Andre has cupped his much larger hands with his, his thumb rubbing circles into his palm.

“Why don’t you tell me what’s got you so worked up,” Andre murmurs. “What did Ciana want you to do for her?”

“Her brother, she wants me to get him a haircut.”

Andre is quiet for a long moment, his expression a mix of bewilderment and amusement as he takes in Junho’s words. He then asks very bluntly, “What?”

“You’ve never met Luca before,” Junho says with a defensive sniffle, his tone hysterical. “He’s a bridge troll!”

Andre continues to look baffled. “Junbug, why the hell would Ciana want you to get him a haircut?”

“For a makeover thing, make him feel better or something, y’know, healing stuff. It’s the first mission she gave me, 'cause she sent me letters, like seventeen of them, asking me to do what she couldn’t get around to doing herself because she died!”

God.

Understanding passes through Andre's gaze. “So, if I’m getting this right, Ciana wants you to get her brother to get his shit together.”

Junho shrugs half-heartedly. “I guess so.”

“And you’re doing this out of love for Ciana, right?”

He nods slowly, and then admits in a tight voice, “But I’m worried. Isn’t it too arrogant to say that I can help him? And doesn’t he have the right to grieve the way he wants to on his own? What business do I have involving myself with him at all? It's not like I know him! I already have enough shit to deal with on my own, how the hell can I handle his too?”

“You can’t and you don’t have to, Junho,” Andre says, tone certain. “It’s inevitable that no matter what you do, he’ll hurt and he’ll get over it in his own damn time—”

Junho reels back, incredulous. “So should I just give up?”

Andre checks him with a sharp look. “You didn’t let me finish. It’s true that he’ll deal with his own shit on his own, but that’s not to say he won’t need someone else to help him, and that you won’t need him to help you. We may all grieve differently, but what’s consistent is that we all need a little extra love when it feels like we’ve lost something crucial to us—which both of you definitely have.”

Junho's frown deepens in confusion. “So... what you’re telling me is...”

“Jun, I know you. If you gave up just as the going got tough, you’d regret it your whole life and feel like shit, more than you even do now. And like the poster that hangs up in my therapist’s office says, it's not that we should fear failing, it's that we should fear never trying at all. So what if he refuses a damn haircut? That'll be on him, not you.”

At that, Junho lets loose a soft, shaky breath, and when he takes a small look around his room, notices that the air is slowly becoming less constricting, less difficult to breathe in. His heartbeat slows, and the tension in his body gradually seeps out, leaving him hunched forward, exhausted from the emotional rollercoaster.

What Andre says makes a whole lot of sense to Junho, the more he contemplates it, and there’s something very calming in the way Andre has kept holding his hand throughout it all.

Junho sniffles, maneuvering to drag his sleeve across his face and watches a string of boogers come away onto the fabric. He looks to Andre. “You want that blowjob now?”

Andre wrinkles his nose. “Eh, let’s rain check that shit. This ain’t a time for you to be sucking dick.”

At such a blunt phrase, Junho can’t help but laugh. “So, you do have a heart.”

His returning smile is sheepish, a bit embarrassed. “Don’t let that get out, okay, dumbass?”

“Sure thing, asshole.”

Though the raincheck doesn’t stop them from sleeping together, pressed together under the blankets, Junho relaxes into the presence of a warm body and gets the best sleep he’s had since the loss of Ciana.

Friends are good like that.