Yifan has the bedroom with the eerily large window that faces the street. When he first moved in, Jitae asked him which room he preferred. He said no preference of course, but made the decision knowing Jitae wouldn’t uproot himself to move to the empty room. He enjoys the snapshot of routine life occurring right in front of him. Sometimes, he tries to paint it, and he’s up until light has faded. His glasses perch crookedly on his nose and paint is smeared under his left eye.
There are still faint fingerprints on his neck where he’d gone to scratch an itch with pigment on his hand. He had abandoned the stool to sit on the floor with his canvas propped up against the wall. The old t-shirt he’s wearing dwarfs his large frame, stained and torn in places. He’s just putting finishing touches on the painting when he hears his door creak open. The hinges have needed oil for months. Yifan likes to know if anyone is trying to come in, so he never tries to fix it.
Silence invades the room.
“I know you’re trying to sneak in.” He doesn’t turn, but hears feet shuffling in the hallway. “You do it at least once a week, Jitae.”
“Yeah--” they confess, throwing open the door without hesitation, all meekness gone from posture. “You’re usually asleep though.”
“Maybe I didn’t feel like having you drool on me tonight.”
Now Jitae is embarrassed, rubbing the back of his neck before he adopts that famous bravado Yifan is used to, hopping on his bed and flipping through one of the books on his night stand.
“No I don’t,” he deadpans, finally leaning back on both hands to focus on Jitae. “You know, it’s rude to go through people’s things-- in case you forgot.”
Jitae stares at him from over the top of the book.
“You know what you do like--” Yifan is halfway on the bed, taking the book from Jitae’s hands just in time to see that mischievous glint in their eye. “You like getting your butt touched.”
Yifan takes his sweet time setting down the novel before he starts to roughly shove Jitae off his bed. The other quickly protests with a tight grip around his waist, suckering to him. Yifan feels like he’s peeling off glue with his hands shoved between jitae and himself.
“And you like sleeping in people’s beds because you can’t stand the idea of being alone for one second.”
Jitae grows stiff, instantly loosening grip. Yifan mentally berates himself for being so blunt.
“I didn’t--” he starts, unsure how to end the sentence. ‘I was joking’ sounds worse than anything else. Jitae is already slipping away before Yifan pulls them back. It develops into wrestling at some point, Yifan locking Jitae’s arms behind their back as the smaller boy lazily kicks socked-feet back into his calves.
“I’m sorry,” he finally says, aggression fueling the apology when Jitae tries to squirm out of the hold.
“This,” Jitae emphasizes, kicking Yifan’s knee because he’s rendered immobile from the waist up. “Is how you say sorry? You either have some conflict resolution issues, or you have a really weird way of revealing your kinks.”
Yifan lets go, and Jitae almost rolls completely off the bed.
“Asshole,” Jitae shoots back.
Yifan expects Jitae to leave after that. He has his glasses abandoned on the bed side table, eyes closed. The bed sinks under Jitae’s shifting weight, and he opens his eyes to see his roommate facing him. The distance between the two boys is minimal, considering Yifan’s bed is only a full.
“What nightmare fuel,” he comments, closing his eyes again.
Jitae blows air into his face and he sits up on one elbow.
“I will seriously put you in a sleeper hold, Jitae.”
Yifan shifts as if he might and Jitae ducks under the covers, “All right! All right. I’m done.”
They remain turtled under his comforter like a strange looking lump. Yifan lifts one hand before smacking a random place. Jitae reveals his head, yelling out in pain.
“You ass,” Jitae sucks a sharp breath between his teeth, grumbling.
“Yes, I believe that’s what I smacked.”
Jitae exhales through his nose, but Yifan still hears them chuckled. They cover it with a cough.
“If you’re sick, get out of my room.”
Jitae clears his throat immediately, shaking his head. Yifan tries not to smile. It’s gone as soon as Jitae lifts a photograph in front of his face. It had been tucked under the lamp on the nightstand.
The faintest cheshire smile sits on Jitae’s lips until Yifan ends the amusement with, “My sister.”
“Sister… you have a sister?” Jitae expressions shift as he mentally processes this information, mouthing the word ‘sister’ over and over again as if he can’t comprehend the idea of Yifan with a family. Yifan had started to nod off before Jitae asks at random. “Will I ever meet her?”
They never talked about their families with each other. There’s familiarity between them, but so much that they had kept to themselves at the same time. Their lives as agents truly lived in different worlds from a real identity. Yifan thinks about it long enough that Jitae starts to grow restless.
“Maybe,” he finally speaks up. “We are roommates, so I guess that’s a good enough explanation. She’s really intuitive, and she’ll probably ask you about yourself. But…”
Yifan’s frown deepens as he mulls over another issue.
“Butttt…” Jitae quietly prompts him, cover pulled up over their nose so they sound muffled.
“She’s almost completely deaf.” Yifan rubs his eyes, yawning. “She’ll try to read your lips when you talk, so make sure you face her.”
Jitae is quiet after this, and Yifan’s eyes are closed when he feels them prod his shoulder. He blinks slowly, noticing Jitae had sat all the way up.
Yifan follows the eyes that drop to his hands and then back up. Catching on, he quickly shakes his head. “You dont’ have to learn--”
“I want to.” There’s a flare of determination in Jitae’s eye. If it was one thing the boy is, it’s genuine. There’s a softer expression on Yifan’s face before he slowly walks through the first few hand signs. Jitae watches intently, attempting, albeit sloppily, to copy Yifan.
“That’s how you say hello.” He walks through it again, reaching forward to correct Jitae’s finger placement before he’s confident enough to show them the second phase. “That’s how you tell her your name.”
Jitae searches for Yifan’s approving gaze the entire time he mimics the hand movements, eyes lighting up when he finally nods. He feels the covers being ripped off him when he tries to go to sleep again, a narrow-eyed sleepy gaze focusing on Jitae above him.
Jitae starts whispering, as if Yifan had been sleeping.
“How do you say ‘goodnight’?”
Yifan touches his nose and then covers his eyes. Jitae huffs impatiently, taking it as a sign of Yifan refusing to do it.
“No, you idiot...” Yifan touches his palm over Jitae’s nose to demonstrate. “Good.” He lifts his arms and covers Jitae’s eyes with both of his hands. “Night.”
Jitae’s grips Yifan’s wrists, pulling them away so he can practice, mimicking the movement much slower. Jitae covers Yifan’s eyes twice.
Jitae looks so triumphant over the modified phrase. Yifan simply exhales through his nose, unable to wipe the slightest smile from his face.
“That’s not how sign language works.”
He earns a shake of the head in response, watching Jitae complete the movement perfectly. He signs back only after Jitae slaps his arm.
At some point, they both fall asleep. Jitae manages to stick to Yifan’s side, tangled up with him and sheets thrown off their body while a wet spot of drool stains his shoulder.
Yifan disappears after the events of the bombing.
Jitae shuffles into an empty room. A half-finished painting sits on Yifan’s easel, untouched ever since they had that fight. The bed is still perfectly made when he throws back the covers and crawls in. His eyes are trained on an empty spot of the ceiling. He touches his nose just barely, covering his eyes after. The palms of his hands are wet from the beginning of tears.
