Chapter Text
‘Auditions are up.’
Donghyuck almost drops the ukulele he’s holding. ‘What?’ It’s only the second week of school. The school’s never been this efficient in getting the sign up sheets up this fast before.
‘Yeah, I know, right,’ says Jeno, heaving a little, having obviously run from God knows where. ‘Are you going to put your name down or what?’
‘Is the sky blue?’
Jeno rolls his eyes. ‘You do know that the sky isn’t actually blue, and that’s just how the human eye perceives it?’
Donghyuck hisses, placing the ukulele down gently on a nearby table as he gets up from the chair he was sitting on. ‘Fuck you, I dropped science.’ He flips off Jeno and the older boy sticks his tongue out at him. ‘Lemme just pack up here – I’ll be out in a bit.’
Jeno leans against the doorframe, hands in his pockets. He looks relaxed like this, carefree, less of a furrow in his brow than there normally is. It’s a good look on him. Donghyuck looks away, tidying up after himself before swinging his schoolbag over his shoulders. Jeno turns to him, smiling. ‘Ready to go?’
‘Yeah. Let’s.’
The audition sheet is pinned up neatly on the noticeboard right outside the CAPA staff room. Next to it is the poster for the chosen musical, the bold yellow letters of the title screaming confirmation.
‘Funny Girl.’ Jeno muses, tracing the title with his finger. ‘The Overture’s pretty nice.’
Donghyuck nods, scanning the list of roles. ‘It’s good. There’s this one motif that pisses me off in it though.’
Jeno goes to put his name down for the violin section. ‘Which one?’ He chews at his lip a bit as he writes down his name. ‘Wait, let me guess. It’s the “Nicky Arnstein” one, isn’t it.’
‘Bingo,’ Donghyuck says, putting his own name down for vocal auditions, sheer want aching through his fingertips. God, he can’t wait for the musical. ‘It’s probably because I hate the character. Gorgeous melody but –’
‘All men do is lie?’
‘Sounds like the plot of the musical.’ Donghyuck lets his mind wander a bit, looking around the hallway. He’s sort of hungry right now. Maybe Jeno would be up for another Woolies run. ‘I wonder why it got chosen.’
Jeno shrugs. ‘Could be a Mr. Nakamoto agenda.’
At this, the CAPA staff room door creaks open, a worryingly dishevelled-looking Mr. Kim sticking his head out through the door. ‘Never,’ he hisses, voice croaky. ‘say that name again.’
‘Oh, hi, Mr. Kim!’ Jeno says, waving, clearly trying to stay positive despite Mr. Kim’s desolate state of being. ‘How was the first week of school? Mum wanted to say hello too – she said she misses seeing you.’ Donghyuck has to school down his look of confusion – he always forgets that Jeno and Mr. Kim are family friends. With Mr. Kim being a music teacher and Jeno being the school’s resident virtuoso, they keep it under wraps a little so Mr. Kim doesn’t get accused of favouritism every time Jeno gets some kind of (well-deserved, mind you) music award.
Mr. Kim rests his head against the doorframe, sighing, the door to the staff room swinging open further. ‘Tell Auntie I hello, too,’ he says, rubbing at his eyes. ‘I miss her bulgogi.’ Donghyuck is increasingly worried about the music teacher, the bags beneath his eyes more prominent than yesterday. ‘I don’t think I’ll be coming around for a while, though.’
‘Are you busy organising the musical?’ Jeno tilts his head, a paragon of innocence and charity. ‘Do you need any help again this year?’
As Mr. Kim tries (and fails to) refuse Jeno’s unfaltering support, Donghyuck takes the opportunity to look over Mr. Kim’s shoulder, taking a look at his desk. It’s in pretty much the same state as it was yesterday, messy as opposed to the pristine state it’d been in for the last four years Donghyuck had seen it in. The photos once stuck to the wall above Mr. Kim’s laptop are gone, with only little globs of Blu-Tack left to signal their absence.
Donghyuck’s struggling to remember what the photos were of. He remembers they were polaroids, but he never paid enough attention to remember who were in the photos. Or, he wonders, who was.
He’s definitely going to bring this up with Jeno later.
‘Johnny’s already organising the stage crew, you know,’ Donghyuck hears Mr. Kim say as he tunes back into the teacher’s conversation with Jeno. ‘We won’t need them for ages, but he seemed quite keen on getting everything together soon.’
‘Johnny’s nice,’ Donghyuck supplies. ‘Sounds like him to do something like that.’
‘He’s quite nice,’ Mr. Kim says, voice surprisingly frosty, eyes narrowed. ‘Unlike some other members of staff that I know. Jeno, remind me to emotionally prepare myself for a certain someone to flirt with the school’s slutty secretary when I have to sort out funding for the musical this week.’
Jeno blinks. ‘What?’
The pieces begin to slot together in Donghyuck’s head.
‘Nothing,’ Mr. Kim says, a little too curtly to stay unnoticed by Jeno, who begins to frown. ‘Nothing at all. Now if you don’t mind me, I’ll be tidying my desk a little.’ He slinks back through the doorway, closing the door with a click.
‘Damn,’ Jeno whistles, quietly. ‘The breakup really hit him hard,’
A faded memory of Mr. Kim going on a coffee run one autumn morning, holding hands with a blurry figure, sharpens in Donghyuck’s mind. Mr. Kim’s raspy (tear-streaked?) voice saying never say that name again. ‘He was dating Mr. Nakamoto?’
Jeno tugs Donghyuck away from the sign up sheets, walking down the stairs out of B-Block. ‘They met in university, apparently. In Dongyoung’s – shit, I mean Mr. Kim’s – last year. Mr. Kim tells me Mr. Nakamoto was part of the university’s socialist group or something, and when he passed him a pen to sign a petition for letting refugees enter the country Mr. Kim dropped the pen and accidently headbutted Mr. Nakamoto in the crotch. They made up over a sloppy BJ in the bathroom next to the campus’ Subway branch.’ Jeno sighs, wistfully. ‘It was true love.’
Donghyuck shakes away the R-rated image forming in his mind with a shudder, following Jeno out to the quad. ‘Tragic, but a little too detailed a description, Jeno. I’ll never be able to sit through Modern History again without thinking about Mr. Nakamoto as the Subway BJ Man.’
‘I’m sure he can distract you with his Marxist theories and unfaltering love of Neil Faulkner.’
‘Sad, but true. Still never eating a foot-long again.’
Donghyuck suddenly feels Jeno’s palm pressing against his chest, the other boy’s arm outstretched to stop Donghyuck in his tracks. ‘Wait. Across the quad.’ He points at a figure huddled over a picnic table, someone else sitting beside him. ‘Is that Mark?’
Donghyuck’s stomach flips over. ‘Is it?’ Donghyuck is this close to sprinting away.
‘I think it is,’ Jeno says, shielding his eyes from the sun as he peers over. ‘And hey, I think he’s with Lucas.’
Well, shit.
Just as he begins to turn around, ready to make a run for it, Donghyuck hears his name screamed across the quad. ‘DONGHYUCK LEE! HEY!’ It’s Lucas, deep voice booming.
Donghyuck wants to die more than he usually does. ‘Does this mean we go over?’
‘I guess?’ Jeno grabs Donghyuck’s hand and squeezes, gently. ‘Do you want to?’
Donghyuck honestly can’t fathom not wanting to go over. Logically, rationally, there’s nothing wrong. In theory, he’s just going to sit at a table with two of his nicest friends and a friendly acquaintance. Nothing stressful about that – it’ll be a Bros being Dudes moment with four dudes who are just bros. Donghyuck has absolutely nothing to worry about.
‘Sure,’ he says. His chest tightens the moment he the words leave his mouth.
Jeno gives him a wry smile, swinging their arms together as they walk. ‘Well, this’ll be fun.’
It’s going to be anything but fun. Lucas is going to look at him with those horribly hopeful eyes of his, eyes that Donghyuck has to tear his gaze away from because they’re so threateningly nice and inviting. And then he’s going to look at him with that one hurt expression of his that makes him look like a puppy locked outside in the rain.
God, Donghyuck is a monster.
When they get to the table, Mark’s hideous black bowl cut comes into clear view. Mark turns around, waving. His ridiculously curved eyebrows look like they’re about to flap off his forehead, and smiles in the way that makes the apples of his cheek shine. Donghyuck wants to kiss him. He turns away.
‘Donghyuck!’ Lucas says, voice cracking he waves him and Jeno over. ‘You never say hello back when I see you in the hallways.’
‘I probably didn’t realise it was you,’ Donghyuck finds himself biting out, sliding into the seat opposite him. He’s already regretting coming here, Lucas and his eagerness and the desperate looks Mark is sending Donghyuck to try grab his attention. ‘Don’t really pay attention.’
Lucas’ smile falters a little. ‘I was right in front of you?’ He shakes his head a little, smile coming back in full force. ‘Nurries, man. It’s nice to see you, either way.’
Why does Lucas have to be so nice? Can Donghyuck catch a break? Can he please catch a break? ‘Yeah, I guess,’ Donghyuck says, really trying to be unbothered by the dying mirth in Lucas’ eyes. This is why he doesn’t want to make new friends. He always fucks it up, anyways. Why is Lucas even bothering?
Donghyuck looks over to Jeno, who’s currently engaged Mark in a heated discussion about the merits of The Lego Movie. At least that’s one less thing to deal with.
Maybe Donghyuck doesn’t need to deal with this at all. He should probably go – no one’s going to miss him anyways. Jeno will be fine, he’s pretty close with Mark, and he seems to get along alright with Lucas. He definitely gets along better with the two of them than Donghyuck does.
‘I’m gonna go,’ Donghyuck says, grabbing his bag again. This is too much for him. It was a mistake coming here. He’s a mistake.
Fuck.
‘Where are you going?’ Lucas is standing up as well, palms flat against the picnic table as he pushes himself up. ‘Do you need anyone to go with you?’
Oh, sweet God. Why does Lucas have to look at him like that? If he keeps it up, Donghyuck’s going to get the wrong idea. He’s too sweet to be true. ‘No, I’m alright,’ Donghyuck finds himself forcing out. He can’t help but look at Mark, helplessly, watching the way his eyes curve up in a smile as Jeno makes him laugh. Donghyuck could never do something like that. They’re always fighting.
It’s too much for him to bear.
He slings his bag over his shoulder and walks off. Donghyuck doesn’t know where he’s going. All he knows is that he needs to get away from here. Away from Mark, away from Lucas. Even away from Jeno. The shaking of his palms and the tremor that runs into his kneecaps just isn’t letting up, he can’t breathe properly, and he just needs to get away.
Right now, he doesn’t care how many more periods of school he has. He just wants to go home.
…
‘How was school today?’
It’s a question Taeyong asks Donghyuck every day. He never fails to ask it, even if he looks like he’s about to drop to the floor from exhaustion. Even if Donghyuck just grunts at him for a month straight and chooses to hole himself up in his room instead.
‘Same old,’ Donghyuck says, bringing out a quickly-slapped-together vegetable roast from the oven. ‘same old stuff.’
Taeyong frowns, rolling over to face Donghyuck from his place on their ratty couch. ‘That bad?’
Donghyuck puts the casserole dish down on a wooden board, placed gently on top of the kitchen benchtop. ‘Not really. Just sort of stressed about school again, I guess.’ There’s no need to go in depth about his problems. Donghyuck’s probably just being a hormonal insecure teen again or something. And Taeyong’s got a lot on his plate already. ‘It’s whatever. How’s the bakery going?’
‘It’s going.’ Taeyong props himself up on the couch. ‘We’re actually doing alright this month. Might be enough for me to hire someone new at this point. That, or it could be enough for me to go on a break.’
Donghyuck thinks that his brother definitely deserves a break at this point. He can’t remember a day where Taeyong hasn’t gone to work, or done something work related. Apart from Christmas, that is. Christmas is for family, Taeyong would say every single year.
Okay, so maybe the bakery’s right downstairs so Taeyong would still have the shop open so that people could collect Christmas orders. But they’d always be closed by noon. They’d have the night and the next morning, all to themselves.
‘A break would be good for you,’ Donghyuck says. ‘It’s about time. You look like you’re about to break your back out there, old man.’
Taeyong grimaces at him. ‘Watch it, you.’ A pause. ‘Do I really look that old?’
‘For a twenty-five-year-old man? Not a day over ten.’
Donghyuck can’t help but laugh at the way Taeyong flops to the ground, whining. His brother’s hair, black lightened to a chocolately brown, is ridiculously mussed as he rolls around on the wooden floorboards. ‘Hyuck.’
‘I’m not even sorry.’ Donghyuck rolls his eyes for the aesthetic of it. ‘Now come eat yo’ damn greens.’
Taeyong drags himself off the floor, slumping into a stool beside Donghyuck. ‘When did you start taking care of me?’
‘When I realised that someone has to take care of you,’ Donghyuck sighs, shovelling pumpkin and zucchini onto one of the plates he’s already set out, sliding it towards Taeyong. ‘School doesn’t really take up much of my time anyways. Someone has to do the cooking in this household.’
‘I cook, sometimes,’ Taeyong mumbles weakly around the potato he’s shoved into his mouth. ‘Wait. Scratch that. I’m always cooking. I cook for a living.’
Donghyuck knows it. Sees Taeyong cracking hundreds of eggs into an industrial sized bucket like he’s in some kind of fucked up egg-cracking sweatshop every few days. Taeyong’s gotten so worryingly good with a knife that Donghyuck’s concerned for his brother’s next significant other. But what’s even worrying is that Taeyong doesn’t even have the time to think about dating, let alone look for a date. At this rate, Donghyuck might just have to arrange his own brother’s marriage. He briefly entertains setting Taeyong up with Mr. Kim, before realising that it’s a recipe for disaster – no brother of his is going to become a Marxist music teacher’s rebound.
Not even if Donghyuck kind of wonders what it’d be like to live off Mr. Kim’s stable income. Yeah, Donghyuck can see that Rolex on Mr. Kim’s wrist. Who’s gonna blame a boy for dreaming sometimes?
(Though, if he thinks about it, Donghyuck’s pretty sure that a high school teacher salary is nowhere high enough for anyone to comfortably buy a Rolex. How the hell did Mr. Kim manage to stumble across one, then?)
‘You do know I don’t mind cooking for us,’ Donghyuck says, spooning food onto his own plate. ‘As I said, I don’t really get any work at school right now anyways.’
‘Surely you’ve got other stuff you’d want to do, though,’ frowns Taeyong, and Donghyuck feels a part of himself die when he sees Taeyong’s eyebags, deep and dark in the dull light of their kitchen. It almost looks like someone’s punched his brother in the face, twice. Taeyong’s always looked younger than his age, but there’s something weary in his eyes. ‘Like, you know. Kid stuff. What do teenagers do these days?’
Kid stuff, Donghyuck thinks. Kid stuff that Taeyong never got to do. ‘Uh, I don’t know. Pingers?’
‘Pingers?’ Taeyong tilts his head a little in thought. ‘What’s a “pingers”?’
Donghyuck almost chokes on a green bean. ‘Pingers? Did I say pingers? I meant Pingu. We watch Pingu.’ If Taeyong doesn’t know, he never has to know.
‘I remember when you used to watch it on ABC.’ Taeyong’s eyes get that distant, wistful look that they do sometimes. ‘You’ve grown up a lot, Hyuck.’
Donghyuck forces himself to look away, shoving more pumpkin into his mouth. ‘I guess.’
‘Wait a minute.’ Taeyong jolts up, as if someone poked him in the spine. ‘Don’t your musical auditions start soon?’
‘How’d you find out?’ There it is, that familiar pang of anxiety, thrumming through Donghyuck’s veins. He puts his fork down, wiping his palms on the legs of his sweatpants.
Taeyong puts his own fork down as well, balanced on the rim of his plate, to ruffle Donghyuck’s hair. ‘I was reading your school newsletter when the shop was quiet this afternoon. There was a little part in it by your music teacher, Mr. Moon? Did I get that right?’
‘It sounds about right.’
‘You’re going to sign up, right?’ Taeyong gives him a (tired, worryingly tired) smile. ‘You’ve done it every other year.’
Donghyuck wonders if he should, this year. He wants to, he really does. He breathes for music, feels it in every footstep, dances to every rhythm he hears. He loves to spend time with his friends, to watch them flourish. The way that Jeno closes his eyes when he plays the violin, led along by the melody. The way Chenle and Jaemin play around, singing and dancing as Jisung and Renjun compete to see who can pirouette the longest. And Mark, sweet, beautiful Mark who works so hard no matter what his role is. Donghyuck remembers the one year that Mark played a tree. The tree was the only character that the audience ended up remembering.
Donghyuck wants to do the musical so much it almost hurts. He loves the stage, loves performing, if only to see the smiles he can put on everyone’s faces.
You’re like the sun, Taeyong had told him once, fondly, when they were younger. You make everything so much brighter.
And that’s why he’s not so sure if he should join the musical anymore. Joining the musical means going to rehearsals. It means practicing lines and practicing staging out of school time, late hours after school and paying for stage outfits and makeup. The musical is the only thing he’s looking forward to this year, but it means time and commitment and money, and he doesn’t want to do that to Taeyong.
Taeyong looks more and more exhausted as the days go by. Donghyuck’s talked to Jaehyun, one of the two part-timers Taeyong had hired to help out (Donghyuck thinks that without Jaeyhyun and the other part-timer, Sicheng, Donghyuck would’ve had to have buried his brother six feet under by now), and the older boy shares his concern. Jaehyun had stopped him during his first week working at the bakery, three years ago now, after Donghyuck had caught him on the way out after his shift had ended. Keep an eye on your brother, Jaehyun had said, a frown plastered across his face. I don’t think he understands his limits.
Donghyuck was familiar with Taeyong and his lack of self-preservation. I know, he’d said, about to wave it off. He’s always like that.
You might know that, Jaehyun had said, looking forlornly at Taeyong’s silhouette in the back of house, diligently icing a monstrosity of a wedding cake, but I’ve been here for the last four days, and the man bakes like he’s possessed by a demon. The only thing he seems to want to eat is the praise of his customers.
Oh, Donghyuck had said. That night, Taeyong almost fell down the stairs when he saw the amount of food Donghyuck had ended up cooking for the two of them. Upon seeing the spread of food, Taeyong had almost had a meltdown about potentially going over the weekly budget, before Donghyuck had ended up confessing to his part-time job as a Target employee.
Target, Taeyong had moaned, through a face-full of tears. Out of all the places I forced you to work at, it had to be Target.
In my defence, Taeyongie, It’s better than McDonalds. Donghyuck had replied awkwardly, shifting his weight on the spot. But that had quelled Taeyong’s crying. At least for the time being.
Money. It’s something that they both had to keep in mind. Not having parents around has forced the two of them to have to step up, fulfil roles they’d never wanted to, at least not for another decade or two, or maybe an eternity. It’s hard not living with parents, especially living without good ones. Donghyuck remembers his father’s strong hands, carding through his hair every night before he went to sleep. He remembers his mother’s cooking, the flavour Taeyong and him can never really quite recreate, her steady, sure driving, taking them to school and sport and the beach and everywhere they wanted to go.
It couldn’t have been a car accident, they’d both had thought. Their mother was always the safest driver. She’d never run a red light in her life. She refused to even start the engine before their seatbelts were on.
But Donghyuck remembers the police officers, knocking at their door, clear as day. He remembers wearing one of his father’s old hoodies, misted in his mother’s favourite perfume. Inviting the officers inside. It was 11:34pm, on the clock hanging above the doorway. Is this about our parents? Taeyong had asked, pale as a sheet, like he’d known even before they’d said anything. Mum and dad said they’d be back by 11, max. They haven’t been picking up our calls. Sitting on the couch, lumpy. Dad promised he’d buy a new one, after his next pay check came through. Dad always kept his promises.
The policeman, the first one in, with the sandy blond hair, had looked down at their mottled carpet. I’m sorry. Taeyong had started crying, choked sobs hidden behind a anxiety-chewed fingers. They were in an accident, at an intersection a half-hour drive from here. Your parents are dead.
Their parent’s death hadn’t felt real, not to Donghyuck. Not with the cold, empty absence in the house, not with the ache in his feet from now having to walk everywhere. Not even in the cold gravestones, side by side, a small, quiet funeral because their extended family were all back in Korea. It’d only begun to feel real when Donghyuck had dropped a plate in their kitchen, a couple of weeks after the funeral, ceramic shattering, shard cutting open his finger and he’d realised his mother wasn’t there to scold him, to bandage the cut, his father never again to pinch his cheeks, sighing at his clumsiness. It’d only begun to feel real when Taeyong had run into the room, dropping to his knees at the sight of Donghyuck curled up on the floor, surrounded by ceramic dust and blood, tears streaking the tiles, arms slashed up and down.
It’d been a long week, then, in the hospital. A long week of wondering and waiting and feeling the hairs on the back of his neck prickle as nurses watched him and the other kids in the medical facility from behind the bulletproof glass of the lounge. Of being unable to sleep when the door to the little room he’d been assigned would creak open every fifteen minutes to see if he’d tried to off himself again. Of watching the same damn movie on repeat because there was nothing else to do. It wasn’t a bad movie at all, but Air Bud had been forever ruined for him.
There’s nothing wrong with needing some help, Donghyuck thinks, but he feels like there’s something wrong with the system if he never wants to seek help again after his experience. He’ll just be a good kid at home, keep up the appointments with his social worker, brush off those nightmares he has of Taeyong dying and leaving him alone with bills and a bakery and himself.
‘Hyuck.’ Taeyong’s voice snaps Donghyuck out of his haze. ‘You’ve been staring at that pumpkin like it kicked your dog or something.’
‘Oh.’ Donghyuck stabs at the pumpkin with his fork, shovelling it into his mouth. ‘We don’t have a dog.’
Taeyong bites at his bottom lip, the skin a chewed mess. ‘Should we get one?’
Donghyuck just about falls over at the suggestion. ‘Do we even have the money for it? Scratch that, do we have enough space for a dog?’ He’s certainly not going to say no if Taeyong insists on one, but he’s pretty sure that if he were a dog, he’d want more than an apartment to run around in.
‘We’ve got plenty left over from… from inheritance,’ Taeyong starts, leaning his head on his hand, propped up on the table, ‘but you’re right. Maybe a cat, then?’
‘A cat?’ Donghyuck thinks about Jeno’s three cats, the way the boy had presented them proudly to him, one by one, amidst sneezes and sniffles the last time he’d gone over to Jeno’s place. ‘Awesome.’
‘Then I’ll take the weekend off next week, and we can go adopt one?’ Taeyong puts down his fork, in favour of wringing his hands, the shadows from his fingers making a sort of anxious echidna silhouette on the table. ‘I was thinking going to the RSPCA? If that was alright with you, because –’
‘Taeyong. Say no more.’ Donghyuck doesn’t know if he’s going to laugh or cry, at the earnest expression on his brother’s face, the hopeful worry that swirls in his eyes. ‘I’d rather adopt from the RSPCA than go to a breeder, anyways. And I can’t wait. I haven’t spent quality time with you in ages.’
‘I’m sorry, Hyuckie,’ Taeyong looks relieved, but the anxiety that lines his features still refuses to go away.
Donghyuck takes the opportunity to lean over the table, piling Taeyong’s plate back up again with more vegetables. ‘What’s there to be sorry for? Just eat your goddamn food.’
‘Hyuck.’
‘Shut up and eat your dinner, old man.’ Donghyuck watches in satisfaction as Taeyong rolls his eyes, resuming his meal, wiping little tears out of his eyes. If Donghyuck ducks his head to rub the tears out of his own eyes, too, neither of them say anything. God, Donghyuck would do anything for his brother. He’s the only family he has left.
Taeyong freezes, a piece of broccoli halfway to his mouth. ‘But, Donghyuck. Are you going to try out for the musical?’
Donghyuck thinks about Taeyong’s gaze, worn and tired, lighting up at the thought of seeing him on stage. ‘Maybe, hyung-ah. Maybe.’
…
‘What do you mean you’re going to sing Mariah Carey for your audition?’
‘I said what I said, bitch,’ Donghyuck simpers, brushing a hand through his fringe in the most melodramatic way he possibly can. It’s recess, and he’s currently engaged in dramatic, hot, gay gossip with the only person he knows can even attempt to one-up Donghyuck with even more dramatics.
Jaemin is still reeling from the (fake, so very fake, everyone and their pet goldfish knows how hard Donghyuck goes during auditions) shock, slumped against the wall beside him, an open palm splayed open at his forehead, the other flared at his waist, making him look like either a drunk chicken or a drag queen in training. ‘I beg your pardon?’
Donghyuck grins. ‘Then beg.’
‘Donghyuck Lee, a skinny queen. We stan a legend forever,’ says Jaemin. Donghyuck strikes a pose, fighting back the urge to weigh himself on the scales and cry about his weight. He’s not going to ruin a little bit of banter with his goddamn insecurities today, alright? He’s got this in the bag. His mental health is his bitch, today. He’s got this. He is Donghyuck Lee, brother of infallibly gorgeous Taeyong Lee. Visuals run in their blood, much like his tears run down his face every time he looks in the mirror, hating his chubby cheeks and his small, round eyes and his small, round lips.
God damn it.
He strikes another, more dramatic pose, to make up for being unable to come up with more witty self-praise. Jaemin straightens up, then, looking a little more serious when he says, ‘But I also wanted to ask you something.’
‘Ask away,’ Donghyuck replies. He checks his nails, nonchalantly. He’s chosen a muted red this time, one of the little bottles of polish his mother always loved. For special occasions, only, she’d said to Donghyuck, when he was younger, as he watched her paint her nails at her dresser. It was an hour before the bakery opened up, his father already downstairs, baking with Taeyong and their staff. Their mother was never good with pastries, so she’d stuck to managing finances and the front of house. You wear this colour every day, Mum, he’d said. She’d laughed, leaning down to kiss him gently on the crown of his head. Every day is special, Hyuck-ah. Remember that for mum, yeah?
‘It’s about Jeno.’ Donghyuck looks up, hands falling back to his waist. ‘He’s been acting…’
Donghyuck makes a mental note to find Jeno later. ‘Acting…?’
‘Weird.’ Jaemin says, finally, after what seems to be a long moment of deliberation. ‘He seems a lot more skittish than usual. Doesn’t reply to my texts until the next day or a few days later. I thought you might know something about it.’
‘Why don’t you ask him yourself?’ Donghyuck feels his phone vibrate in his pocket, probably a text message.
Jaemin laughs, and it’s odd how bitter it sounds. ‘Hell, if I could. I couldn’t get a hold of him even if I had a SWAT team on hand.’ He smirks, but pull of his lips is lemon-sour. ‘I mean, how is this even possible? Who could resist a face like this?’
Jeno, it seems, but he really likes your dumb Mii-shaped face, Donghyuck thankfully does not say, lest he ruin his four-year-long friendships with Jaemin and Jeno with one breath. ‘Who knows? I’ll see if I can ask him what’s up, then.’ By that, Donghyuck probably means cuddle Jeno as the older boy sniffles into his shoulder about what Donghyuck believes just might be the result of having third-wheeled Renjun and Jaemin on another disgustingly sweet date. ‘When was the last time you saw or talked to him?’
‘Oh?’ Jaemin looks up, wondering. ‘Probably when I went with him and Junnie to the movies, last night. But he was really quiet. Has been for a while.’
‘Movies, huh?’ Donghyuck is so going to slap Jeno for putting himself in that kind of situation willingly, and then going to hug him for being such a self-flagellating, romantic sap. ‘Well, I’ll see what I can do.’ He pulls out his phone, as if to check the time. He checks the notifications on his lockscreen instead – yeah, it’s Jeno, the little message asking hey baebey,,, u up?? xdxd. Cheeky fucker. ‘I think I wanna go ask Mr. Moon something, though. I’ll see you at lunch, Nana?’
‘Lunch? Sure.’ Jaemin gives Donghyuck a two fingered salute, turning around and walking back down the stairs they were chatting on top of. ‘See you later, Mariah Carey.’
‘You too, you strange, humanoid Mr. Potato Head.’ Jaemin flips Donghyuck the bird in response.
Once Jaemin rounds the corner, Donghyuck turns on his heels, ready to run to the Music practice rooms where Jeno probably is, when he comes face to face with someone’s whole chest, crashing into them.
It’s a good chest, Donghyuck finds himself thinking, broad and warm and solid. The arms that wrap around him, encircling his shoulders are even more so, keeping him from falling to the floor. He’s feeling a lot of things right now, warmth and some kind of butterflies and maybe a little bit of shame and shock, but none of them really come into play until he looks up.
‘Lucas?’
‘It be me.’ Lucas Wong gives Donghyuck the dopiest smile he’s ever seen in his whole life. The senior is even doing jazz hands behind Donghyuck’s back, if the turbine-like fluttering of his palms against Donghyuck’s spine is any indicator. ‘Oh. I should probably let you go.’
‘Just probably,’ Donghyuck wheezes out. ‘Uh…’
‘I didn’t mean to run in to you,’ and oh God why does Lucas look so damn mournful. ‘I was going to say hi, but then you kind of…’
Donghyuck really wants to fall into a hole and never ever get back up again. ‘It’s all good, bro.’
‘Bro?’
‘Yeah, dude,’ says Donghyuck, brushing his sweaty palms off on his school pants. ‘No biggie. You alright?’ And then Donghyuck chances a glance up at Lucas, only to see that the older boy looks like his soul has been siphoned out of his body like someone took a Shamwow to it.
‘Yeah,’ Lucas breathes, pale to the lips. ‘Yeah. I’m. I’m just going to.’ He turns around, sighing, drooping. A pair of juniors, arm in arm, walking down the hallway look at him in concern, as he disappears around the bend of the corner, feet dragging behind him.
Huh. Strange.
Donghyuck brushes it off. If he gives Lucas too much thought, he’s going to start feeling really weird stuff, and he’d rather not at this point in time. His energy’s better invested in something like Jeno’s wellbeing and health, and his current assessments, and next month’s water bill.
And auditioning for the musical.
He’s practically alive with excitement, the nervous energy running through his veins when he hears a voice, right beside him from behind the classroom he’s standing outside. ‘Houston,’ the voice behind the door says, creaked open just slightly, ‘I’ve just witnessed a cold-blooded murder.’
‘Jeno?’ And there he is, the man, the myth, the legend himself, slinking out the door with his long legs and catlike smile. ‘Jesus fuck, my soul almost left my body.’
‘Well, Lucas’ definitely left his,’ Jeno says, shaking his head, ‘so I’d say that’s equivalent exchange.’
‘Fuck you,’ Donghyuck laughs, without any heat behind his words. ‘It doesn’t mean a thing, anyways. Why are you here and not at the music rooms?’
Jeno rolls his eyes, pulling Donghyuck into the room by the wrist. ‘My last class was in here. Wasn’t bothered to move. But hell yeah it means something. This is the most action you’ve gotten since the school’s golden boy.’ He stops, in thought. ‘Though, Lucas is kind of a golden boy in his own right.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘He’s gotten into State-level Zone pretty much every single year,’ Jeno says, sighing in a way that Donghyuck can only describe as wistful (and why the hell does that make Donghyuck feel like there’s a rolling boil in his stomach?). ‘He’s sweet even though his grades are trash, and not even Mr. Kim can hold a grudge against him.’ Jeno tilts his head, smiling. ‘And you know how petty he can be.’
Donghyuck blinks. ‘Why would Mr. Kim have a grudge against Lucas in the first place?’
‘Lucas tried to audition for the musical too, apparently, earlier this week. He got as far as opening his mouth before Mr. Kim’s room started falling apart around him.’ Jeno’s speaking with the most serene look on his face, but the shaking of his shoulders betrays the humour he finds in the situation. ‘Seems like the guy’s not entirely suited to school musical productions.’
‘Hey,’ Donghyuck protests, before he can take the ire out of his voice. ‘He can’t be that bad.’ He’s never heard Lucas play an instrument in his life, nor has he ever heard the boy sing, but there’s something in him that wants to stand up for the guy, talentless or not.
Jeno, that smug bitch, grins even wider. ‘Knew you’d defend him, Duckie.’
‘What do you mean you knew, you cheap whore.’ Donghyuck shoves Jeno, lightly, the older boy cackling.
‘There’s nothing wrong with having a new crush, Donghyuck Lee. If anything, I’m glad you’ve found someone you’re interested in, now.’
‘I’m not interested in him,’ Donghyuck can feel himself blushing, tongue stuttering over the syllables.
‘Keep telling yourself that.’ Jeno’s smile falters, just a little. ‘At least you have someone who likes you back.’
Oh, Jeno. Poor, sweet Jeno who leads with his heart too much for it to not hurt. Sweet, dumb Jeno who willingly thirdwheels with not one, but two people he’s kind of madly in love with. Donghyuck sits down on the floor, crossing his legs before beckoning Jeno over. Jeno tucks himself under Donghyuck’s arm, dutifully. ‘Jeno. You know Jaemin’s been trying to catch you alone for a while now, right?’
‘Oh.’ Jeno stills, against Donghyuck’s chest. There’s a long pause, Jeno’s brow furrowed in thought. And then, ‘Oh, worm?’
Donghyuck almost bursts out laughing. Whether it’s from hysteria or relief, he’s not entirely sure. ‘Really, Jen? A meme?’
‘I use memes to cope with my crippling anxiety and self esteem issues,’ Jeno says, smoothly.
‘Big mood.’
‘Bigger mood.’
‘Dude, you can’t big mood yourself. That’s so not how it works.’
‘Does it look like I care?’ Jeno sighs. ‘But yeah, I guess I need to face him, some time.’
Donghyuck pulls Jeno closer, sighing. ‘It better be soon. You can’t keep doing this to yourself, Jen. What you’re doing to yourself, it’s not healthy. Be kinder to yourself.’ It’s the sort of advice that’s always easier to say than it is to hear, Donghyuck thinks.
‘I guess,’ comes Jeno’s voice, soft. ‘I’ll try. I miss sitting with the guys, you know. I want to get this over and done with so I can face everyone again. I miss Chenle and Jisung.’
‘Yeah,’ Donghyuck hasn’t seen those two in ages. He hopes they’re not embroiled in their own brand of teenage drama. Then again, they probably won’t. Chenle’s always been too honest, Jisung too sweet, for anything to come between the two of them. Whatever might happen between them would most likely work out in a manner of minutes. Man, does Donghyuck wish his issues were that easily resolved. Maybe if he just knew how to open up properly, maybe if he wouldn’t pick a fight with Mark whenever he could. ‘You know, I miss Mark too. I just don’t know how to approach the guy.’
‘It’ll be alright, Hyuck. We’ll work it out.’ Jeno links his hands with Donghyuck’s, warm, pale digits threading between his own. ‘We’ll find a way to work it out.’
Donghyuck hopes, prays, that Jeno is right. He can feel his breath against his neck, warm puffs of air. He wonders how he might be able to make Jeno smile, just for a moment. And then it hits him. ‘Oh yeah, by the way, did you know I’m getting a cat?’
‘A cat?’ Jeno's eyes are star-speckled, pupils full-blown with sheer joy, radiating a pure warmth. Donghyuck is so unbelievably endeared it’s almost physically painful. He acts upon his personal impulses, bringing, Jeno into the warmth of his arms. ‘Duckie, you’re getting a whole cat?’
‘Damn, bitch, how the fuck are you so cute?’ Donghyuck sighs, into Jeno’s hair. ‘Hell yeah I’m getting a cat. What should I name it?’
‘You don’t choose the cat’s name,’ Jeno says, sagely. ‘The cat’s name calls to you, from the warm orbs that form their eternal gaze. Calm. Cool. Serene. All that you will ever need in life.’
‘You’re right. I’ll just wait to meet them, and then see.’
‘Good move, my friend. Good move.’ Jeno nuzzles his cheek into Donghyuck’s collarbone, and Donghyuck melts.
Maybe he’s just about ready to bury all his boy drama, for now. When Donghyuck thinks about it, a good friend is all he really needs.