The library was almost a foreign zone to Jimin. He was only familiar with the couches on the second floor and the dark, unvisited shelves– for obvious reasons.
Ducking a little greeting to the librarian behind the desk, Jimin hugs his book closer to his chest. There was one other part of the library that he knew by heart and that was the art history section.
One of his favorite things about art.
He’s in his junior year of college, but up until this point, he’s never once had a meeting in the library. Well– for academic purposes. But when little first years come asking for his help, especially first years who are just much too attractive for their own good, who is Jimin to deny.
So to the familiar couches, he goes with a grin on his face and notes in his book. “Hey–” Jimin greets brightly, a little too loudly for the library setting, and leans over, planting a soft kiss on at the corner of the boy’s mouth.
“Sorry, I’m late. I sort of forgot where the library was– oh.”
Upon rounding the couch he’s face to face with someone who is very much not his first year and looking a little shocked– an expression Jimin mirrors.
call it fixation, but one thing that could put him to sleep faster than sleeping pills would be sharing a bed with others, especially jeonghan.
his mind travels back to the days when stability was a bedtime story. cold feet and clammy hands were his wake up call for every night. stomach pain frequent. baekhyun was just a sophomore back then, mind not accustomed to the stress and pressure he puts upon himself. red lines on skin instead of words on loose leafs. tears instead of coffee. yet he managed to hide it all from most–not all, because jeonghan always finds out.
even amidst the daze from his previous slumber, baekhyun thinks how easy it is to fall asleep with jeonghan’s voice, an accompaniment for his trip to dream land. he could be telling him about what his philosophy professor taught in class that day and baekhyun will still fall asleep. or maybe it’s just his presence? the ever calming weight that assures him that he’s not alone there.
he finds himself leaning towards the younger’s cool touch. supplies a chuckle when jeonghan mentions morning classes. “i think that is the most normal you can get, jeonghan-yah.” he tangles their legs together under the blanket, just to prevent jeonghan from leaving once he’s asleep. a habit that stemmed from childhood. “but yeah, i think i get your point.” presses his lips, adds. “you’re not lazy. just…. less motivated?”
you have no idea. “sometimes. you know why i tend to disappear sometimes, right?” there’s a tinge of guilt in his words, but baekhyun smiles anyway. because smiling is contagious and he wants to see jeonghan smile too. he doesn’t want him to remember the times baekhyun had to ‘ragequit’ from life. “i want to just… i don’t know, drop everything and run away. maybe forget who i am and start with a blank slate?” feelings are ridiculous. memories hold you back. “maybe be a baby again and redo whatever i did wrong in my life?”
settling upon the cool side of his pillow, baekhyun continues. “do you want to get away too, jeonghan-yah? maybe we could take a train to busan or wherever, backpack for a couple of days. somewhere far away from here just the two of us.”
most days, jeonghan never talks about his own problems. hell, he rarely ever talks about himself. sometimes he wonders who in this entire household, aside from mingyu, ever remembers he’s a middle child or how he’s supposed to take comparative literature or creative writing instead of library science (all of which might still get him nowhere). sometimes, jeonghan even forgets little details about himself.
a speck among a galaxy of stars.
jeonghan can’t be bothered to care about anyone else, save for the small circle he’s grown to know as his family, a home away from home - not that his actual home can ever have the privilege of being called as such. it’s in unconventional ways, like tasting mingyu’s recipes even though he can’t bring himself to eat; walking home with wonwoo, asking about work; checking to see if he packed his medicine bag when he’s heading out with finny; checking in on baekhyun every night to see if he’s sleeping soundly, and staying with him if not. fucking hell, he even buys food for chanyeol.
so maybe baekhyun is right. he’s not lazy. just... unmotivated.
( or something deeper - like miserable. )
“yeah, i know.” jeonghan catches on the guilt, lips forming into a tight smile. he reaches out, brushes pastel pink bangs away from the other’s eyes. “if you redo everything in your life, from birth, does that mean...” you’re going to forget me, too? instead, he trails off. it’s easier for jeonghan to slip when it comes to baekhyun. maybe it’s because he’s older, albeit not exactly wiser. (jeonghan still thinks otherwise.) or maybe because conversations like this are reserved for when everyone else is asleep, during ungodly hours of the night.
a shaky breath as he leans in, pressing his forehead against baekhyun’s. the intimacy - while platonic - isn’t foreign to both of them, having known each other since primary school. “if you’re running away, can you, at least... take me with you?” a pause, his expression softens.
“you wanna run away tonight?” maybe for a few hours.
it was friday; finals week had just finished; she wasmercilessly downing wine straight from the bottle; and poor jeonghan had the unfortunate pleasure of putting up with her bullshit untilfinny returned home.
Chanyeol acts as if he didn’t hear a thing while thinly smiling to himself. The guy had tried to grate on his nerves almost right away when they met through Baekhyun years ago. Man, it’s been that long, huh… To this day Chanyeol still has no idea why he acts that way towards him. Sure he slept with his girlfriend once, but that was an accident–an unfortunate, drunken accident that he has no plan in repeating. Plus, it happened after he met Jeonghan and he had tried to pick a fight subtly before the whole disaster happened. So he’s pretty sure that wasn’t the case.
What he didn’t expect to happen was for Jeonghan to actually grabbed the collar of his shirt. He had always used snarky remarks or other subtle, slightly hostile advances and for a fleeting moment he thought Jeonghan would actually land a hit on him. When he kissed him instead, boy, talk about some unexpected plot twists. The place where Jeonghan’s teeth nipped him tingles, and for a while, there was a surge of an urge that’s familiar to him. He’s not going to let that challenge unanswered regardless of the fact Jeonghan actually challenged him or not.
a smug scoff is the last thing he offers chanyeol before he turns on his heels, striding toward his room. the satisfaction is there, although jeonghan isn’t actually sure where from:
having his rage placated for the day;
the force of the sudden kiss; or
number 1 stemming from number 2?
jeonghan, as he does best, shoves the thought to the very back of his head, along with other thoughts he may or may not ever bring up again. this would serve better as the latter, unbeknownst to the rest of the household. being unable to explain his anger toward the tree asshole is bad enough. the kiss in itself wasn’t a challenge. it served, to jeonghan, as more like something to stop him from giving the other a sucker punch to the jaw - like a stress ball. a stupid analogy, but it worked. so far.
it will should never happen again.
a few steps away is all he manages before his back lands harshly against the wall, back of his head hitting the surface. maybe jeonghan’s actually made a deal with the devil. like, chanyeol could actually be a psychopath, and jeonghan’s about to die right then and there. there’s a peculiar mix of excitement - dying, finally! - and concern - oh shit who’s going to make sure everyone in this crap shoot stays alive?
maybe talking it out had been the better option.
maybe this entire ordeal is simply a matter of pride - to both of them.
because jeonghan’s response is an amused snort when chanyeol refuses to let him look away. their eyes meet, and jeonghan merely raises an eyebrow. “what are you gonna do?” he taunts, voice low. “are you gonna ki--”
( --ss or --ll, jeonghan hadn’t decided on that yet, and he won’t get to because, obviously, chanyeol’s already decided that part on his own.)
stunned to silence - quite literally, since he can’t exactly speak when another mouth is covering his own. jeonghan blames shock on the fact that he doesn’t push the other away, the same chanyeol didn’t prior. when chanyeol pulls back, jeonghan opens his mouth, ready to retaliate, but chanyeol leans in for another kiss that’s just as forceful as the first. palms find themselves flat against the surface of the wall, fingers curl into fists ready to knock this bastard the fuck out.
jeonghan elicits a quiet gasp against chanyeol’s lips instead, when hips are pressed against his, keeping him in place. his face turns flushed when previously unfamiliar lips travel along his neck, jaw clenching when he feels a bite, trying to keep himself from shuddering. all color is drained from jeonghan’s face the next time their gazes connect, a weak scowl present.
learn how to kiss like an adult.
a scoff of disbelief. jeonghan sucks on his teeth, tongue running along his upper molars to contain the the onset of rage - question mark - that’s building inside him. adrenaline begins pumping in his veins, and before chanyeol can walk away, jeonghan roughly pulls on the other’s arm, keeping him in place. there’s contempt in the way jeonghan’s eyes glisten.
“then how about you fucking teach me then,” he mocks. he doesn’t break eye contact. “you stupid, overgrown house elf.” a hand he reaches out, threads fingers through the hair on the back of chanyeol’s head, tugging harshly before pushing down to connect their lips again.
it was simply a tragic mistake on his part: jeonghan’s.
“study” breaks now last more than just the usual shameless few minutes. they’ve managed a personal rhythm, a pace that’s generally okay to the both of them without the initial awkward bumping noses and clashing teeth. no fingers fumble to unbutton and unzip until jeonghan’s satisfied enough with whatever the fuck he can get out of standing up (for once) and still having wonwoo pressed against the tall, dusty shelves. the kiss is languid, jeonghan tilting his head to the side until wonwoo’s scent and taste are memories he can’t ever shake off.
before you taste like me.
( but i like how you taste? )
nicotine isn’t something he’s used to, throws unfinished packs toward wonwoo knowing chanyeol’s a dick enough not to buy his own. but jeonghan doesn’t need fucking cigarettes for the taste to become addicting. he’ll gladly welcome the bitterness and elevated heart rate if it means wasting extra time at the back of the library, or in cramped broom closets, or until the other residents of the share house get home. fingers curl, almost desperately, into the hem of wonwoo’s sweater.
( looks like i’m starting to taste like you, regardless. )
( pull away if you want to, you fucking asshole. )
but the way jeonghan’s pressing against the other male says otherwise.
a hand moves to settle against the crook of wonwoo’s neck, thumb grazing prominent cheekbones. the glasses are off, tucked into the collar of the other’s shirt. the last time jeonghan’s pulled wonwoo into the same (and still all too sudden) compromising position, the frame repositioned awkwardly between their faces, and left an indentation on the bridge of his nose.
the thought forms a smile against the other’s lips, tries not to laugh mid-kiss. he takes this opportunity to let his lips to brush along the other’s cheek, and travel down the masterpiece that is wonwoo’s jawline. he plants open-mouthed kisses along the other’s neck, fingers already trailing along the hem of the wonwoo’s pants. from the corner of his eye, jeonghan spots a familiar title peeking from behind the other’s head.
a hand reaches out for the book, the other sneaking itself around and into the back pocket of wonwoo’s jeans. with a final, gentle kiss on wonwoo’s jaw, jeonghan’s chin settles on the other’s shoulder instead.
-
for once, jeonghan finds himself on his ass instead of on his knees, both of them sitting on one of the available stepping stools. no one ever ventures this far back into the library unless they’re consumed by desperation - both sexual and intellectual. but even then.
( is library sex still a thing?
fuck me until the shelves fall against each other like dominoes.
that’s all we’re good for: chaos.)
jeonghan easily flips through the pages - edith hamilton’s mythology - eyes scanning familiar words until he reaches his favorite chapter: cupid and psyche.
“and, listen, my dude,” he states, waving the paperback close to wonwoo’s face to make sure he’s paying attention. “psyche was supposed to get with an ugly motherfucker. but this smooth bastard, cupid, fell in love with her instead. but the dumbass was enough of a dimwit to stab himself with his own goddamn arrow instead. you literally had one job, my guy, and you ended up disappointing your mother.” only slightly relatable. jeonghan prefers to relay stories in his own words. his academic essays, however, are seamless
“godly powers come into place, obviously, and cupid’s like nah, man. you can’t have her. so, right, he drives everyone else away. and, i guess, some other shit happens. but, yeah, in summary: he fell in love with psyche aka the first fucking thing he saw after fucking himself over. as if that isn’t a recipe for disaster. that, my dude, is how trouble begins. you can’t make this shit up.”
heaving a sigh, jeonghan closes the book, hands it over to his friend. for later.“anyway, i–” he runs a hand through his hair. “sorry. for, you know, not going down on you.” a light chuckle, almost sheepish, as he pushes himself off the stool, offers wonwoo a hand. “anyway, i can do it at home.”
it was simply a tragic mistake on his part - this time: cupid’s.
not jeonghan’s. though it depends, really - if they ask the right questions.
( you shouldn’t have been the first thing i saw. )
turns out my semi-hiatus was actually a semi-semi-hiatus. regular replies and plotting will resume after the 9th of june!! for now, i will focus on kiss memes while sneaking in a few replies here and there, probably. sorry for being slow on replies!! i’ve done 5 kiss memes, and 15 more to go!! how did that happen anyway! if you need anything, you can find me on TWITTER if that is more convenient for you!! ( @jcxnghan )
kiss memes:
→ 5 / 20
[ sweats nervously ]
owe starters:
→ @acaxchungha (maybe ??)
awaiting starters:
→ @acapcy (do the thing my dude)
owe replies:
→ @acayoohyeon (high hopes)
→ @acasiyoon (study up!)
→ @acahyunjung (doodle gone wrong)
→ @acajoohyuk (a mess it grows)
→ @acaxeunbi (heads up; face down)
→ @acasoonyoung (fake bitch zone!)
→ @acajonghyun (one more cup)
→ @acaxgyu (even this night is better)
→ @acawonwoo (turf)
[ sweats harder ] oh jesus
awaiting replies:
→ @acahyeri (to the night)
→ @acaxbaek (bring me the night)
→ @acawonho (trapped)
→ @acayoohyeon (no f.u.n)
plotting:
→ send welcomes also !!!!!! ( why do u do this @ candy )
as if the beet red shade of his face isn’t bad enough (he can literally feel his face on fire), their close proximity is enough for jeonghan to start sweating bullets. usually, he sits across from the handsome teacher’s assistant, but it’s too embarrassing, not to mention probably insulting, if jeonghan takes it upon himself to drag the only available chair to the other side of the desk. anyway, it’s easier to check corrections this way instead of passing the paper back and forth, but the red marks are a complete blur, and so is everything else. he’s staring at a wall of text.
an anxious hand twirls a pen in the air, trying to distract himself from the urge to lean forward or away - either one is a dangerous feat. he wonders if the air conditioner in the office is working. jeonghan wants to shrug off his cardigan, but he can’t bring any other part of his body to move.
the sweet baritone of the other’s voice sends jeonghan into mixed state of calm and panic. on the one hand, his tone is relaxing, but his mere presence - obviously not. it’s beyond him why his senses are heightened around the older male, flinching when siyoon so much as moves in his general direction. move - not look - because jeonghan, as much as possible, avoids his beautiful brown eyes, keeps himself from looking up and away from the laptop or paper presented before him. every nerve in his body aches to inch away, but also closer.
he’s supposed to be here so he can pass philosophy. how, pray fucking tell, can he do exactly that when his mind wanders away away away to thoughts of anything but.
why the is this guy so fucking distracting?
god is dead, screams nietzsche.
aforementioned philosopher challenged existing moral values, and such is the case: jeonghan’s moral values are definitely challenged at this point. however, in relation, there’s really no right way to live, nietzsche also said - or some shit like that. unless it was someone else, because jeonghan barely recognizes his own voice, and is just pulling answers out of his ass. his usual cadence turns to measured breathless utterances.
sapiosexuality shouldn’t be an actual thing.
oh my fucking god. he swallows thickly, shoves the words clawing at his throat back into the pit of his stomach. the twirling pen comes to a halt. stop talking. shut the fuck up.
the pen clatters against the desk, rolling onto the floor, when jeonghan’s hands find themselves into the collar of siyoon’s button-up. you smug bastard, he wants to say, but instead pulls the other against himself to press their lips together, tilting his head slightly to deepen the kiss. there’s no fucking way he can look at siyoon ever again once he pulls away, but there’s no other way to shut him the fuck up without having to say a word.
( there are really so many other ways. )
give me a fucking minute.
once jeonghan does pull back, he meets the other’s stunned expression with a scowl. huffing, pale cheeks tinted with an undiscovered shade of vivid pink, he picks up the pen from the floor, and refocuses - tries to - on the paper. “what–” he starts, voice cracking. he clears his throat.
it’s not gay if no one knows about it, right?( @acajongdae )
practices, for most teams, pretty much end the same time, so locker rooms have a tendency to be cramped as fuck, and jeonghan can’t be bothered to wait his turn or share a stall. on a normal day, aching leg muscles push forth to drag his ass back to the share house where he can shower in a reasonably wide space, and go the fuck to sleep.today, however, practice ended a little later than usual, and when he goes into the locker to retrieve his things, it’s empty.
thank god - because he’s drenched in sweat, and he doesn’t think he can make it back to the house without his legs snapping in two.
as he goes to grab his towel from the locker, he hears one of the showers turn on. jeonghan is definitely one to believe in the paranormal, so it’s not unlike him to think that, because he’s currently alone, otherworldly shit will definitely try to kill him. water suddenly turning on is usually a red flag, especially in movies. while he calls protagonists complete idiots for not running off in the other direction, curiosity gets the better of him, and he thinks, as he passes through the empty stalls, that he’s one of those idiots, and this is how he dies.
when he gets to the final stall, there’s an unexpected sigh of relief at the sight of a familiar face, body clad only in swimwear. someone from the team, he figures, although jeonghan never really caught his name. all jeonghan knows about this guy is that he’s hot, and even hotter drenched in pool water.
the surprised expression on the other’s face either says:
1) i thought you were a ghost, too, or
2) what the fuck are you doing here?
the answer to the second question is, obviously, i’m about to take a shower, too. duh. but i thought you were the undead, so here the fuck i am. but, upon experience, he definitely can’t say that out loud because jeonghan doesn’t want to be the basis for the hot/crazy scale. instead, when he thinks he’s been quiet long enough for the guy to think he’s gone off the wire, he says, “the planet is dying, my dude.” the best introduction he’s made in his entire life, really. “we have to save water.”
well, that’s another person who knows he’s gay, albeit untimely, but who’s this guy going to tell? chances are, they may never see each other again except in the deep and shady recesses of the locker rooms. with the amount of students enrolled, what is the possible contingency? so he drapes his towel on top of the tiled wall that divides this stall from the next, and presses the other male onto the cold surface.
despite his earlier proposal to conserve water, jeonghan lets the shower run to drown out any sound that could bounce off walls.cold hands gradually move downward, brushing against a toned stomach until they reach the hem of the other’s spandex swimming trunks. this guy definitely has a swimmer’s body. jeonghan tugs it down slightly, planting soft kisses along prominent hipbones.
there is absolutely no justifiable reason for the intensity of jeonghan’s hatred dislike for pork chonyal park chanyeol. it’s one thing to tolerate the presence of this tall-ass motherfucker in the same living space, but it’s another to be in the same area of the house.
the living room is supposed to be his the entire day, the rest of the share house presumably dicking around somewhere else. including chanyeol who, according to baekhyun, is the human embodiment of the student athlete meme. the couch feels extra crowded with chanyeol quietly innocently sitting at the other hand as opposed to when the other housemates do. jeonghan can’t nap in a room full of negative energy.
(given, the negative energy actually comes from him, not chanyeol, and also he can just nap in his own room. but that’s beside the point.)
his passive-aggressive nature toward the other male has - or so jeonghan thinks - definitely go unnoticed by the rest of the household, which is more than fine because jeonghan doesn’t want questions he doesn’t have the answer to. is it jealousy? probably. why? no fucking clue. but a certain housemate making googly eyes at the giant elf makes jeonghan’s stomach twist.
(it’s the lack of validation given his way; or the lack of validation he’s initially used to. the fear of abandonment. the fear of being replaced. irrational, albeit paranoia-inducing, human fears.)
passive.
“can’t you go exist somewhere else?”
jeonghan says this so casually, almost apathetic even if inside there’s a growing urge to knock him the fuck out. an arm is draped over his eyes to block out the light and chanyeol’s face. when the presence remains unmoving and uncaring of jeonghan’s subtle advances of driving him away, he lifts his arm to stare at the other male in unreasonable contempt.
aggressive.
jeonghan runs his tongue along his bottom lip before sinking his teeth into it. fingers curl into fists in a repetitive manner, pupils shaking as he stares at someone who doesn’t even spare him a single glance. is that the actual reason for his unjustifiable growing rage? he shoots up from his position, scrambling over to the other end of the couch. an obvious scowl takes place on usually soft features. the hands on his lap continue to squeeze themselves repeatedly, nails painfully digging into his palms in an attempt to hold himself back.
why do i want to punch him, though?
what is the reason exactly?
anger issues, previously regulated, gnaw at his insides. one swift move, and his knuckles could be hitting this fucker’s jaw, and jeonghan could flee from the scene. jeonghan is a fucking liar - he could just say he didn’t do it, but who would people believe? right, definitely not the person who ragequits after being awake for a mere second. the accusatory look chanyeol’s giving him - the sane voice in jeonghan’s head says the look is out of pure curiosity, but - makes jeonghan reach out, fingers clutching at the collar of the detestable tree’s shirt.
after a sharp intake of breath, jeonghan presses their lips together with a sudden force. fuck you, motherfucker. his lips move slowly against chanyeol’s, and a hand moves to cup the other’s cheek to pull him closer. finally, satisfied, jeonghan nips at chanyeol’s bottom lip before pulling back. he lets go of chanyeol’s shirt, and gets up from the couch. that should placate his aggression for today. he starts walking back to his room, but not before looking back to glare at the other male.
that aching desire to run for the hills - jeonghan hasn’t felt that in five years. the space under the bleachers shouldn’t feel like home. it’s where nightmares were formed, strange looks and the mockery that still echoed at the back of his mind - these made for the sudden disappearing act. handwritten letters stopped overflowing jammed lockers, desks void of colorful post-it notes the shapes of hearts and puppies and flowers. there were no more cheery hellos, only lowered gazes and eyes covered by jeonghan’s previously auburn hair that reached past his shoulders.
they were left with two more years of high school.
they are left with only two more years of college.
sober fingers still fumble with the buttons of hoseok’s shirt, breathing heavy against the other’s ear. the buttons go undone one by one in an almost agonizingly slow pace. upon reaching the last button, jeonghan pushes hoseok’s dress shirt aside, exposing the other’s torso to the chill late afternoon air. jeonghan didn’t get the time to shower, pulling hoseok away to immediately hide from suspicious and curious eyes the minute he crossed the finish line. the loud cheers should be enough to cover any forthcoming noise that escape lips muffled with desperate kisses.
do you still remember?
because i do.
cold fingertips brush against the warm bare skin, jeonghan’s lips immediately finding themselves grazing along milky collarbones, nails digging slightly into hoseok’s waist. jeonghan takes his time, planting kisses along the other’s chest. it’s always been his favorite place to touch, to kiss, and the all-too familiar sensation brings him back to when they were young, back when hoseok provided jeonghan the sense of freedom he craved his entire life.
his approval is easy to gain ( as expected ) and she is quick to scribble on his arm. the professor rambles on about something she doesn’t understand, she figures she’ll get it when she goes back home and cracks open the textbook. her attention is all on jeonghan and his arm, and she is careful to carve out little masterpieces on his arm. five minutes pass and she’s drawn a four-membered family and their dog chewy, along with a little ufo spiraling out of control. by his wrist, she draws what looks like to be an attempt of a milk carton with eyes. the only space that’s left for her to draw on is his upper arm. but she wants to make this part a full blown masterpiece. not just a few tiny doodles to cover up his arm, but a whole big ass doodle.
“i’m gonna draw something on your upper arm, okay? it’s gonna be something that you really, really like.” she does everything in her power to not let him see it, because it was supposed to be the best surprise and the best drawing she’s ever done on anyone. he squirms and his arm moves a little, and she has to tap his head with her pen. “stop it. if you move, it’s gonna look ugly.”
the last painstakingly few minutes of class pass by and she’s got most of it drawn out. she hears muffled laughter from the guy next to her and it takes everything in hyunjung to not kick his chair. one minute left. she scribbles as quickly as possible and it’s done. she pulls herself back, all smiles and pen clutched between both hands. she’s proud of her artwork and she thinks jeonghan would be too. because it’s a full-blown drawing of a penis on the entirety of his upper left arm. she keeps it simple, mainly because she only recalls what it looks like from brief and unfortunate glimpses of drunk guys who wanna show off how big they were.
“so, how is it?”
the silence says enough about how thrilling the class is. the professor doesn’t seem like he cares enough if any of them pass or fail anyway, so fuck it. the feeling of the pen tickling his skin has him twitching lightly, and he merely clicks his tongue at her retaliation, wonders what the fuck she’s talking about. is it a bed? it should be. jeonghan counts the seconds via the deafening ticking sound of his watch. jeonghan inhales deeply, trying to compose himself from throwing his notebook across the room. when she finally lifts the pen away and utters how she’s finally finished, jeonghan snaps back to reality. he lazily retract his to take a look at -
a fucking dick.
“bitch, i--” it’s simple, likes ones hungover frat kids see the moment they look into the mirror the next morning. how did she takes so much time drawing this one thing? hyunjung isn’t completely wrong, though. it’s something jeonghan really, really likes. (he could do without the extra really, though.) after a seconds of staring at the masterpiece that is a fucking cock on his arm, he snorts.
“i’d rather have it in me than on me.”
the realization comes a beat too late, when the bell finally rings. ah, fuck. before anyone else in the room could get up to leave, jeonghan wordlessly scrambles to grab his sling bag and notebook, scurrying out of the classroom before the professor can even step off from the platform. he doesn’t have a clue where to go, so he follows his feet, ending up in one of the nearby campus cafes he and hyunjung usually study or pass the time at.
he’s never said it out loud - not to anyone besides a certain person at the share house. maybe it’s his subconscious telling him he trusts hyunjung enough from him to admit the truth to himself. as he waits for his order, he glances at the drawing on his arm. this time his immediate reaction is a soft chuckle and a shake of his head.
“you’d like to know,” he teases casually, hand now awkwardly clenched into a ball as he swings it forward once and tucks it into his pocket. a few seconds pass as he opts for silence, eyes down on the ground, foot idly kicking a pebble before he can answer.
wonwoo shakes his head, looking back up at his friend and exhaling through his nose. “unless my sisters count? we were kids, obviously.” the corner of his lips tugs up more than he’d expected at the thought, another sigh happening as he runs his hand through his hair. “they used to make fun of me having a small forehead. told me it was bound to get bigger eventually, but… i’m pretty sure they were just using me as a mirror for their so-called ‘pep talk’.” fingers crookedly accompany the last two words in the air, hands falling back to his sides as he continues to walk up until they find shade.
at least that’s his intention. someone catching the corner of his eye disturbs this plan, however, causing wonwoo to freeze then and there at the sight. eyes widen, feet stuck in place as he tries to form a valid reason to avoid what’s at hand.
shit.
shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.
wonwoo’s fingers are quick to find jeonghan’s wrist soon enough, free hand pushing the double doors leading to the nearest building. they don’t intertwine with his this time, but he doesn’t make an effort to let go, pulling him in closer even as he dodges any passersby in his path. doesn’t make the effort to look back, apologize for possibly giving jeonghan a semi-permanent cramp in his legs at this point.
we’re not really supposed to be in here. that’s a sole reminder, playing through his head as he tries to think of an excuse behind this impulse. not that it was entirely invalid -
the bitch of the year had just disturbed his fucking agenda.
she knows he knows.
“fuck.” one hand settles against the corner of the corridor wall subconsciously as wonwoo decides to focus on jeonghan’s face, eyebrows furrowing together in contemplation. he’s distracted - wants to be, at least. but the thoughts running in his mind make this difficult. so does the weight in his chest from having just - well, ran for his fucking life.
his bangs obscure his vision when he looks down at their feet and tries to catch his breath, face lifting back up to peer over jeonghan’s shoulder and past the surface he’s clutching.
so far, so good. (subjective, as always.)
“i guess we’ve had our fair share of exercise today,” wonwoo offers breathlessly, patting jeonghan’s jaw softly as he focuses his gaze back on him. he squishes the other’s face between his thumb and remaining fingers, forming a pout on his friend’s lips. “unless you wanna race back home, too.”
they’re closer to the place by now anyway.
jeonghan takes a few strides ahead, walking backwards as he looks at his friend with narrowed eyes. “your forehead looks fine. it’s a beautiful forehead.” he punctuates this with lips pressing tightly together to suppress a snort, and failing. “anyway, they say large foreheads mean you’re, like, a fucking genius or something. so there’s that.” you are, though. usually.
but the sudden change in the other’s expression has jeonghan stopping mid-step. he turns - or attempts to, really - turn to where wonwoo’s gaze is directed at, only to feel fingers around his wrist, and the return of the searing fucking flames engulfing his thigh muscles. he almost hits the glass door, arm reaching out to keep it open as he hops on one foot into the building.
jesus fucking christ.
practice is fucking over, wonwoo.
track, thankfully, has heightened jeonghan’s ability to jump over obstacles, squeeze himself between people and things, which he apparently needs to do multiple times in this sudden extension of the field. by this point, jeonghan feels disgusting - shirt and hair damp with sweat, and skin pressed against his own bumping into people. (just the idea of people is repulsive enough.)
jeonghan finds his back pressed against the wall. his face, he easily guesses, is one of utter disbelief, eyebrows raised in question and mouth hanging agape both in an attempt to catch his breath and force out a rebuttal that can’t seem to come. his throat is fucking dry; he’s parched. it’s hot, and his skin is burning. jeonghan can only shove the other’s shoulder, a light gesture considering he’s out of energy.
“dude, what the actual fuck?”
fair share of exercise my fucking ass.
he pulls his face back, away from the other’s hold. he slides down onto the floor, giving in to exhaustion. there’s a wince that escapes when he crosses his legs. “what the fuck was that?” he smacks the other’s knee with the back of his hand. “asshole. can you at least fucking explain?”
and jeonghan knows that she knows. chungha should know that he knows, too.
a decade (more, even) should be enough to tell. sometimes jeonghan wonders if genetics has anything to do with falling off the gay tree. it’s usually compared to russian roulette - one in every five cousins, or something like that. in this case, however, someone obviously forgot to replace the actual bullets in the cartridge with blanks. jeonghan prays his younger brother should at least be bisexual because jeonghan already put his money on his older sister being in love with her best friend.
a tale as old as time.
similarly, chungha’s probably been side-eyeing jeonghan and mingyu since they were ten anyway, and is just too polite to say anything. which, really, is just as well since jeonghan hasn’t said anything about the way she looks at girls either, aka how jeonghan doesn’t. but he wants to believe that the attraction part in brains can be reprogrammed without having to get his ass dragged to jesus camp to pray the gay away.
(plot twist: it can’t, regardless.)
but his dad is going to kick his ass if he ends up with a man, regardless if it’s mingyu or not. so, while finny is out doing god knows what at this point, jeonghan waits at the apartment he shares with chungha. they’re sitting on the couch - more like, jeonghan’s taken over most of the couch, lying down with his head on the armrest. “have you ever kissed a guy?” he asks, purely out of genuine curiosity. “like ever?” i’ve kissed girls, he wants to add. i didn’t really like it.
before she can elicit any sort of response, jeonghan pushes himself up into a sitting position, tucking his legs beneath him as he shifts closer to his friend sitting at the other end of the couch. he narrows his eyes at her, elects to ignore the way she’s looking at him, as if he’s probably gone off the wire. well, she’s not wrong. “come on, let’s try it.” there’s a toothy grin that makes its way to his lips. “just once. to see if there are sparks.” heterosexual sparks.
stupid as fuck, but it’s worth a shot. it didn’t work for hyeri, but jeonghan blames it on the fact that, while intelligent, his borderline sapiosexual ass still thinks his fake girlfriend is generally annoying as fuck. he reaches out, squishes her cheeks together so her lips form a pout. finally, after studying how hilarious she looks like this, his hold on her face loosens and he leans in, pressing their lips together. it lasts only a few seconds. nothing beyond having their lips stagnant against each other.
once jeonghan pulls away, he brushes stray hair away from her face before his eyebrows furrow, gaze shifting to the side in contemplation. “that wasn’t weird, right?” then, a quick afterthought.
“A… paranormal club?” He blinks owlishly at the response he’s received and was about to ask why, when the gasp beside him startles him, “Chess? It’d be a good club to join in, true,” he trails off afterwards, unsure (oh, he’s sure enough) of how the other would take what he was going to say next, “but I was thinking of a more, physically inclined club?” he tacks in a question mark at the end, because he’s still unsure if he’d like the thought of joining a sports club.
Jihoon tucks the flyer in a folder he carries specifically for this day, eyes continuing to roam around the area, a wider smile tugging at his lips at the sight of the Art Club, “is Mingyu hyung in art club?” his voice is then laced with admiration (and why wouldn’t it, when it’s Mingyu they’re now talking about.) at even the mention of the older boy whom he’s grown up with along with Jeonghan. Why, the admiration, is another story entirely.
“But anyway, there’s a paranormal club?” He quickly swerves back to their previous topic, lips pursing before he eyes the older teen beside him with worry, “it’s not like… an occult club, right?”
an occult club.
jeonghan’s mouth runs dry. it is exactly like an occult club balances at the tip of his tongue, ready to be offered. mythbusters. honestly, the name makes the entire thing even sketchier, like a drug trade hiding in a basement of a pre-school. but since baekhyun is the president, it’s decided that jeonghan might - is, probably - going to join. eventually. “no, finny. it’s more... you know the mythbusters show, right? yeah, you learn things. like science.”
the other’s response - decision - makes jeonghan stop in his tracks. well, considering every one of them bring around an inhaler, some more than the others, jeonghan can’t exactly regulate jihoon’s like any more than they already do. (jihoon! no! - everyone, always.) however, he steers jihoon away from clubs that seem too physically challenging, leads him to a line of booths that are a lot tamer.
“i... really haven’t talked to mingyu that much lately.” so, he wouldn’t know. although the art club isn’t a surprising choice. just the mention, combined with jihoon’s tone sends a sharp pang of guilt straight to his chest. they stop in front of a booth, and jeonghan takes a flyer, handing it over to the younger male. “how about dance club? i know someone on there.” i’m sure they can take care of you. “you think you’re up for it?” or i can give you heelys, and just pull you around.
smart remarks fly so easily from the other’s mouth, it’s hard to decide on whether to shoot back or let him drown in how stupid they actually are on his own. wonwoo just scoffs though, taking jeonghan’s hand with ease before gathering himself and wiping the track dust from his shorts. fingers intertwine with his soon enough, just because. “these hands are better dry, hyung.” he nods at the top of his friend’s head, giving him a look to prove his point.
but really, they are. it’s got something to do with a better grip is his excuse, thumb grazing over the back of jeonghan’s hand when they walk over to the bleachers. step, step, step… all the way to the top, eventually. (stopping by all the way under was never really a choice, as tempting as it had originally seemed.)
“on a strictly curious side note, though,” wonwoo starts, free hand running through his bangs as he keeps his focus ahead, “have you ever tried showering with someone else?”
he responds by offering his friend a toothy grin, blissfully swinging their hands together as they walk up the bleachers. jeonghan’s answer is not obnoxiously snide (for once!). “well, i mean, sure.” his grip on the other’s hand grows tighter with each step - an attempt for balance since it feels like his feet have been submerged in cement.
“i’ve been in track since...” with his free hand, he counts, but five fingers aren’t enough. the index finger on his other hand subconsciously twitch. “well, i guess almost a fucking decade. we’re bound to share showers. it’s not a big deal.”
once they’re on stable ground (his calves are burning), they pass by a few other members of the track team. jeonghan’s first instinct is to free his hand from wonwoo’s grasp, uses it to casually wave back. goddamn it. fuck. he runs his tongue along his upper molars, hands settling on his hips this time instead. public hand-holding. what’s so wrong with that?
“have you, though?” he asks in return, feigns nonchalance, a hand running through damp hair. “showered with someone else?”
