Chapter Text
In essence, Junkyu has always been an introverted person.
For as long as Hyunsuk’s known him - which is, admittedly, an incredibly long time - he’s been shy and mild mannered in the presence of unfamiliar people, effectively contributing to his overall indifference towards forming close friendships outside of the company of Hyunsuk and Jihoon.
Like most people who aren’t named Park Jihoon, Junkyu is somebody who enjoys sticking to what he already knows. Whereas Jihoon’s an avid fan of pushing himself out of his comfort zone (which is already very wide, so the extremes he often goes to in order to do so are pretty much expected), Junkyu’s the type to memorise the exact same order to put to use in every single restaurant he goes to, the type to remain comfortable in his hometown as long as life allows him. Not even Jihoon’s eccentricity can influence him.
That was, until, meeting Mashiho.
Junkyu’s friendship with Mashiho is difficult to understand and thus far more challenging to even attempt to explain. At first glance, there isn’t really a lot of logic supporting the foundation of their friendship. Though it’s true that Mashiho isn’t as brazen (read: fucking stupid, as Hyunsuk likes to put it) as Jihoon, the latter’s friendship with Junkyu is a living testament to the phrase opposites attract. Shaky logic, but logic all the same.
Mashiho is just... Mashiho. He and Junkyu aren’t too dissimilar nor too alike, the way most people are. They’re the kind of people who make perfect acquaintances, like those colleagues who get along well but wouldn’t necessarily look for each other outside of the work environment. However, those kinds of people don’t tend to end up practically attached at the hip at every waking moment, and certainly don’t snowball into the territory that Mashiho and Junkyu have already.
Junkyu often tells them that they met through a tutoring exchange program within the school, which the pair of them had only signed up for because Junkyu was failing his Japanese classes extremely catastrophically and Jihoon’s special methods of teaching (read: ‘lessons’ consisting entirely of frustrated back-and-forth yelling) weren’t very effective, while Mashiho had no real grasp on the Korean language yet.
As Junkyu loves to constantly emphasise, they just clicked the very second they laid eyes on each other — the noticeable lack of yelling in Mashiho’s teaching format probably helped, if they’re speaking totally honestly.
The gradual shift from Junkyu spending all of his free time curled in bed to him actively making plans with Mashiho outside of studying had been so natural that not even Jihoon had questioned Junkyu’s uncharacteristic behaviour. Where typically, they have to battle tooth and nail to get Junkyu to step out of his house, now, he’s marginally more willing to be dragged along to Jihoon’s escapades (rest assured that he still makes sure to complain every inch of the way, so they know they haven’t lost Junkyu entirely.)
Hyunsuk’s not sure what it is about Mashiho that makes Junkyu so different. All he knows is that somehow, every single attribute they possess, from their heights to their personalities, has merged to fit like Yin to Yang. However, similar to the way in which one cannot mention Junkyu without inevitably bringing up Mashiho, unfortunately, the same laws also apply to Lim Suna.
If Hyunsuk recalls correctly, Junkyu had actually met both Suna and Mashiho around the same time, as fate would have it. Like most of his relationships (except for the growing outlier that has become Takata Mashiho), Junkyu’s relationship with Suna had piqued with more gradual development.
They were the typical high school meet-cute storyline — pretty girl works with pretty boy on a paired project for a teacher they both despise, leading to pretty girl and pretty boy falling in love by the end of the movie. Contrary to popular belief, Hyunsuk doesn’t want to hate Suna. Like most people, he would actually prefer to get along with the person his best friend is dating, at the very least, especially with how deeply Junkyu seems to care for her.
It just so happens that toxicity has disguised itself with a pretty face, a sweet voice, and an overwhelming distaste for one specific Takata Mashiho. He knows it’s not his place, but Hyunsuk often finds himself wondering how true happiness can really come from a relationship with someone who despises his friends, as much as they attempt to make it appear otherwise.
As can be expected of those who are totally sure of themselves, Jihoon is someone not easily made jealous. The fact that he barely batted an eyelash at the concept of his best friend finding another best friend is proof of his security. In contrast, him batting very many eyelashes at his best friend getting a girlfriend is physical proof of how terrible she truly is.
“She’s not sitting here today, Junkyu.” Jihoon warns just as he places his lunch tray on the table.
Eyebrows furrowing, Junkyu responds. He probably doesn’t appreciate the fact that they had a discussion about this situation just two days ago, where the group settled for civility at the very least. “What happened to trying to get along with her?”
“Yeah, that plan fell through when we literally caught her friends chatting shit about us.” He punctuates the end of his sentence by pressing his lips together in an empty gesture. The bitterness in his tone is impossible to miss.
Junkyu sighs. “She didn’t know, Jihoon-ah.”
Jihoon shrugs noncommittally, making no move to continue the conversation. If there’s one thing to be known about Park Jihoon, it’s that there’s absolutely no changing his mind once he’s made a decision. Experience allows Junkyu to realise this quickly and he just stares at Jihoon for one long charged moment, before sighing once again and grabbing his tray.
He stands from the table. “I’ll see you later, then.”
Jihoon doesn’t even look up and Hyunsuk subconsciously winces. Sure, the pair of them argue, courtesy of their confrontational personalities with regards to each other, but the iciness in the air is biting.
A sudden surge of frustration goes running through Hyunsuk’s veins, and he belatedly realises that the reason this is irritating him to no end is because all of this is so fucking pointless. All of it. Yedam’s still upset with him and Hyunsuk has no spare energy to waste arguing with his best friend over some girl that none of them like anyway. With that sentiment moulding the direction of his decisions, Hyunsuk grabs his own tray from the table with enough force that his food jostles, startling a few of the others. Ignoring the eyes that trail behind him, Hyunsuk goes to follow Junkyu, who’s already disappeared into the crowd. He has a inkling as to where he’s headed, though.
As his suspicions had suggested, he finds Junkyu sitting alone on one of the courtyard benches, tray untouched beside him as he instead rubs his hands together to retain any fleeting warmth. The empty seats next to him must be a product of choice, considering the fact that Junkyu definitely has more than enough friends as to where he’d never be unwillingly out of company.
“Hey.”
Junkyu looks up. He then shuffles to give Hyunsuk space on the bench. “Hey.”
Silence settles between the two of them as they allow the noise of their surroundings to fill the atmosphere instead. Sure, Hyunsuk’s the resident therapist of the group, but the three of them rarely argue amongst themselves, so he’s a little unsure as to where to go from here. A help guide, reading: how to comfort a Junkyu who is clearly feeling very down, would also be much appreciated right about now.
“You good?” Hyunsuk opts for saying after a while of thought. It’s open ended, so Junkyu can elaborate as much as he wishes to.
Which is clearly not very much, going off of the ambiguous shrug that Junkyu offers. A moment of silence passes, where he retrieves his tray from where it was just sitting by him unattended, before he’s finally responding. “I don’t like arguing with Jihoon.”
Hyunsuk knows. Their extensive history has also taught him first-hand that Jihoon is not a pleasant person to be on the wrong side of. He’s just a little short of the absolute playing field that is anger issues and has already mastered the art of debate at eighteen years old. Arguing with Jihoon is a losing battle that will drain literally everything out of the other participant, all the while Jihoon’s only just getting properly started.
His saving grace comes in the fact that he’s a great friend, and an even better leader. (He also makes that weird feeling surge in Hyunsuk’s stomach, but whether that’s a good thing or not is still yet to be decided.)
The situation isn’t helped any by the fact the Junkyu’s the biggest pacifist known to mankind. This is exactly the kind of thing that stresses him out until he’s overdosing on redbull and coffee. Hyunsuk does not want a repeat of last year’s exam season. He will not be divulging any specifics nor any details. That trauma is best kept under lock and key.
“Yeah,” Hyunsuk presses his lips together, trying his best to absolve himself of personal bias and remain neutral. “I think he’s just frustrated.”
“I know.” Junkyu finally admits, setting his spoon down before he can even take his first bite. “I get it. I get where all of you are coming from. I’d be frustrated, too.”
There’s a pause as the remnants of his sentence linger in the air, the truth uncomfortably exposed. So, Junkyu hears it too. He feels it too. Then what’s the point of this entire argument if he agrees in the first place? Hyunsuk will be the first to admit that their delivery certainly needs work, but Junkyu has just admitted that he isn’t blind to the way Suna behaves. Maybe, it’s a defence mechanism, Hyunsuk thinks, but quickly gives up on trying to understand what goes through Junkyu’s head. He’s probably just too single to get it.
Junkyu continues, and Hyunsuk promptly becomes even more lost. “But, she’s my girlfriend. I need her.”
Without even realising, Hyunsuk begins to frown. One of Junkyu’s striking qualities is his very unique, extremely hard-to-miss way of speaking, often characterised by the way he meticulously enunciates all of his vowels. Yet, strangely, the words are missing all of his classic intonations and mannerisms in an odd way that makes the words sound almost foreign, more like they’ve been regurgitated.
Moreover, the phrasing in itself also strikes Hyunsuk as a bit strange, especially coming out of Junkyu’s mouth. No one really needs anybody else, they’re all individuals with their own set of autonomy. If there’s anything that Junkyu would ever outrightly claim that he needs, it’d be his bed, not another person.
“Just- just remember that we’re here too, Junkyu-yah. You can talk to us.” Hyunsuk just says, placing a gentle hand on Junkyu’s shoulder. Exactly what kind of message he’s trying to convey, he’s not too sure.
Junkyu nods in lieu of an actual response, but says nothing else. The cold is bitter as they finish off their food.
-
By the time school lets out, Hyunsuk feels like he’s just sat straight through three days worth of lessons, but also like he’s blinked and it’s already over.
A quick summary of his day would read something like: waking up, realising today is - in fact- a Wednesday, contemplating both murder and suicide as a result of said realisation, going to school, actually participating in P.E for the first time in a long time, a litany of other boring things, and last but definitely not least (that would be P.E), attending a routine meeting with the various other club leaders alongside a couple members of faculty.
Speaking of, club finds the the eleven of them (minus Doyoung because basketball practice) gathered in a tight circle, all listening intently as much awaited details are finally disclosed. They’re spending less and less time singing, these days.
Junghwan sighs.
Hearing such a hopeless sound like that come from someone like him is jarring, to say the least. After all, Hyunsuk thinks it’s a part of their sport etiquette to be as outwardly positive as obnoxiously possible, so it’s pretty much all Junghwan ever is, yet the sigh leaves his lips regardless. It’s how Hyunsuk instantly knows that no form of good news is to come.
The dejection that penetrates the tail end of his sigh wraps around each of Junghwan’s next words like a vice. “They kicked me off of the basketball team. I can’t play until next season.”
The air that follows Junghwan’s confession is weighted with heavy regret. They saw it coming, but still. Wishful thinking, Hyunsuk figures is all it was.
“Next season is next year.” Someone says. Hyunsuk thinks it might’ve been Jeongwoo.
It’s wrong thing to say, considering the way Junghwan’s veins protrude from the side of his neck and the way his jaw clenches as he searches for the correct words to use in response. They end up coming out short and clipped. “I know.”
Junghwan next words are muffled as a result of him covering his head with his hands. “They’re just barely letting me off with treasure because Jihoon’s mom sent an email, but I’m still grounded for life.”
Sure, it’s technically the silver lining they were all looking for, but certainly it does not behave like one. Hyunsuk blames the bruises still painting Junghwan’s features, which don’t allow for the heavy atmosphere to resolve itself. It’s like branded regret is just stamped on his face for everyone to see.
“What happened to you, Junghwannie?” Yedam finally breathes, unable to stop himself.
They’re all rendered silent as the elephant in the room is finally addressed. It’s been two whole days since Junghwan had first appeared in club with a worrying collection of bruises adorning his features, and none of them seemed to have eased very much with time. Hyunsuk wonders whether the same goes for Asahi’s.
“I told them that I don’t want to be involved anymore, like said to Hyunsuk-hyung.”
Everybody instantly knows who he’s referencing. Junghwan. A lick of guilt washes over Hyunsuk as he watches the rest of them figure out exactly where this story is leading. He shouldn’t have let him go alone. What was he thinking?
“I guess they took it like I snitched.” Junghwan shrugs uselessly, expression horribly neutral. He should be crying. He should be distraught. He should feel wronged. He should want to punch something, punch someone. God knows Hyunsuk wants to, and Jihoon’s been itching to throttle someone lately. But Junghwan just lays it out simply, like he’s accepted that this is just the way of things. In what world is snitching justified reasoning for causing bodily harm?
Hyunsuk frowns deeply, suspicions confirmed. He supposes it was only obvious who the culprits were. It takes a moment for the rest of them to successfully connect the dots, and the air becomes stagnant as weighted realisation slowly spreads across the room, across each face. Beside him, Hyunsuk sees Jihoon’s fists clench — once, twice — and watches as his jaw locks, a telltale sign that all hell is about to break loose with Jihoon as its unlucky vector.
Seemingly reading Hyunsuk’s mind (or maybe they do just know each other’s triggers better than he’d originally thought), Junghwan rushes to cut Jihoon off before he can even think about opening his mouth. “You can’t confront them, hyung.”
“Why not?” Jihoon shoots without pause for breath. During their extensive years of friendship, Hyunsuk has always known Jihoon to have a temper on him and it certainly makes itself known now, his voice threateningly calm with brimming anger.
“They’ll just do it again when you aren’t around.” Junghwan pleads, voice tight like his throat is suddenly seizing.
Jaehyuk slowly steps forward, bottom lip trapped between his teeth. “We need to tell someone, Junghwan-ah.”
The unfamiliar voice seems to snap Junghwan out of his freneticism and his eyes momentarily clear, but he remains adamant all the same. “We can’t. It’ll make me look worse than I already do.”
“I don’t fu- I don’t care.” Most of them recoil at Jihoon’s harsh words — while he’s unapologetically blunt in his delivery on a good day, he does make an effort not to curse in front of the younger members. The words leave Hyunsuk relatively unfazed, it’s the look in Jihoon’s eyes that has him slightly concerned that he may just put his six years of boxing training to methodical use. “I’m not just gonna let people treat you like this.”
Junghwan just sighs again, the sound rumbling terribly on its way out. The loudest noise in the box room is the sound of him swallowing. A second later, Junghwan blinks and the panic in his eyes disappears into nothingness, mirroring his expression from before. Hyunsuk doesn’t think it’s a good sign.
“Who’s gonna believe me, Jihoon-hyung?” Junghwan chuckles, the true nature of the sound a total juxtaposition to the way in which it leaves his lips — with no semblance of happiness lining it. A depressing sense of self awareness coats his next words in thick, viscous salve. “I hang out with the wrong crowd, get sanctioned for arson, then a couple days later, I show up beaten and bruised while my ex-friends sit in class and do their best to make their grades.”
“They should get arrested for assault!” The words come tumbling out of Hyunsuk’s mouth in a bid of frustration.
“But, they won’t. Honestly, hyungs, there’s no point.” The youngest clearly tries for a reassuring smile but all that ends up making it to the other side is a hollow shell of what it probably should be.
The conversation ends at an awkward place, with the mood tense, Hyunsuk drowning in guilt, Jihoon threatening to explode, and Junghwan doing his best to pretend like he wasn’t beaten black and blue by his best friends.
-
With regards to a certain Bang Yedam, the entirety of Hyunsuk’s next week passes extremely awkwardly.
Thursday come after the incident on Monday, and Yedam still hasn’t spoken a single word to him. Not that Hyunsuk’s really made a serious effort to mend things between them either, but in his defence, he has no clue where to start.
Knowing exactly what he did wrong, and what it was that made Yedam blow up so explosively would massively help him get his bearings. As a result of not knowing these things, Hyunsuk’s resorted to this awkward dance between giving him space and offering small half smiles in attempt to show that there’s no animosity on his side, at least.
As expected when two people go from talking every single day to not even once in four, the tension between them is very obvious. Inevitably, the people around them are beginning to notice. Jihoon is especially observant, and Hyunsuk can tell that the curiosity is slowly killing him. Maybe it’s time to offer an explanation.
He waits all the way until they’ve dropped the kids off at school before even attempting to figure out exactly how he’s planning to alleviate Jihoon worries without violating Yedam’s right to privacy.
“So, long story short.” Hyunsuk finally begins and Jihoon immediately opens his mouth, probably to ask for the long story. Predicting Jihoon’s curiosity from a mile away, Hyunsuk beats him to it. “Uh, I don’t think I can give you the long story just yet.”
Jihoon visibly deflates, but nods at Hyunsuk to continue. Hyunsuk does his best to keep it as short and simple as he’d originally intended, with the least amount of openings for questioning as possible. Not that he has any actual answers to offer.
“I saw something of Yedam’s that I don’t think he wanted me to see - and I guess we aren’t talking now.” Hyunsuk shrugs uselessly. “I can’t answer any questions, Jihoon-ah. I get the feeling that he wouldn’t want me to.” He tacks on at the end once he sees Jihoon’s expression of utter confusion, though he’s pretty sure that he and Jihoon would probably be asking the same questions. Regardless, he wants to leave however few answers he does have for the subject of conversation to provide.
Though he’s obviously unsatisfied with such a vague attempt at an explanation, Jihoon deals with the cryptic nature of the conversation rather well. Seeing as it’s in Jihoon’s hardwiring to pry wherever possible, Hyunsuk has to commend his efforts.
They get to school with little else mention of anything Yedam-related, and Hyunsuk traverses through another day of mental overload and frosty awkwardness, right up until the end of lunch, where the source of mentioned frosty awkwardness corners him.
Be aware that Hyunsuk means this in the least unkind way possible, but Yedam looks terrible, like he hasn’t slept nor eaten in days. Hyunsuk has to put in a good effort to keep the surprise out of his tone and far away from his expression.
“Can we talk? Please.” He says instead of an actual greeting, tone so firm it barely sounds like a question anymore. Regardless, Hyunsuk agrees easily - albeit with a little added fumbling - feeling as if asking ‘what about?’ would be pretty redundant in these circumstances.
Yedam suddenly rights himself from where he was previously teetering on the balls of his feet, expression pinched like has somewhere he’s itching to be. He lights up at Hyunsuk’s confirmative response, but it doesn’t reach his eyes the way it normally does. “After school? Meet me by the gates?”
Hyunsuk barely has time to wonder where earth Yedam’s planning on taking him and what the hell he has to say before he’s being dragged along to lesson by his friends, Yedam disappearing into the crowd like he was never even there in the first place.
-
The cafe Yedam takes him to is a small, aesthetic one, a mere five minute walk from their school, which is why Hyunsuk is so surprised that he’s never been here before. It’s exactly Junkyu’s scene; minimalistic, clean and pastel-themed. Business seems to be rather lucrative, probably helped by the fact that most school kids have just been set free to roam the streets with their friends. Hyunsuk makes a mental note to drag Junkyu out here when he next gets the chance.
Across the table, Yedam pulls his knees up to his chest as best as he can in their tiny booth, then resumes playing with his straw like he has been for the past ten minutes. The vanilla milkshakes they’d both ordered are sitting largely untouched, though Hyunsuk’s already had a small cookie. Yedam hasn’t eaten.
It’s then when Hyunsuk notices just how bad Yedam truly looks. His unfair gene pool hides the true extent of it, but it becomes obvious upon closer inspection. He’s pretty sure that the younger’s even wearing concealer in an attempt to disguise how deep and purple his eye bags have become, but they’re so pigmented that the makeup may as well be translucent. When he speaks, his voice is gritty with fatigue and something else.
“I guess it’s pretty obvious by now that I’m going through something.” Yedam huffs in some sad echo of a chuckle. Saying the words out loud seems to trigger whatever he’s been holding back this entire time, and a single silent tear manages to escape despite his best efforts. It’s a strange sight, because while Yedam’s eyes gleam with unshed tears, his expression is one of strange neutrality (probably practiced, Hyunsuk’s brain helpfully supplies).
Once he feels the wetness, Yedam quickly wipes at his cheek, like it’ll also wipe the sight from Hyunsuk’s permanent memory. “I’m sorry.” He apologises. “I don’t know why I’m crying.”
You do, Hyunsuk wants to scream. Even if it seems like a mess in his head right now, Yedam has to know that he can’t be crying like this for no reason, that whatever it is that’s tormenting him shouldn’t be downplayed if it’s the same thing that’s sucking the life out of his eyes.
“What’s going on, Yedamie?” Hyunsuk tries, hoping his voice isn’t too raw with concern. He briefly wonders if knowing the answer to his question will even solve anything. Whether he really wants to know, or if it’d be better for all of then if he just lets his brain continue to fill in the gaps for him.
“Please, hyung. I don’t wanna talk about it.” Yedam squeezes his eyes tightly shut and shakes his head, like he’s physically trying to rid himself of his thoughts. “Just- please don’t tell anyone about what you saw.”
Confusion leaves his scattered memories in complete disarray for a moment before his mind flickers back to the orange bottle. The empty orange bottle. That sentence alone solidifies all of Hyunsuk’s deepest suspicions. Yedam has a problem. And he’s the only one who knows.
(Except Doyoung. Maybe. Probably.)
-
Over the next few weeks, life begins its long awaited, steady descent back to normality. There are no more incidents in club. Junkyu and Jihoon seem to have telepathically mended their relationship, in spite of things still being a little awkward. Yedam’s talking to him way more than he has for the entirety of the past week. Asahi doesn’t appear to have sustained any new injuries, though Hyunsuk can’t shake the fact that he doesn’t know for sure what’s beneath his collar.
Of course, Hyunsuk still worries. He worries about Junghwan and his friends, so much so that they’ve even nvited the freshman to sit at their table, partly because they don’t want him feeling lonely, and mainly due to the fact that Junghwan literally looks fearful for his life these days. To keep him company, they’ve invited a couple of the other kids as well as Junghwan, and the new additions allow Hyunsuk to learn that Haruto and Jeongwoo seem to have also resolved their own issues.
He’s also worried because the descent to normality seems to have created a few glaring abnormalities along with it, the first one being Doyoung’s new girlfriend.
They go well together, Hyunsuk must admit; both perfectly sculptured with long limbs and pretty smiles. They even have their athleticism going for them — with Doyoung’s basketball endeavours and Yuna’s position on the girls’ soccer team. It makes sense. It’s just mildly surprising, considering the fact that previous to the relationship, Doyoung seemed perfectly content with dividing all of his free time between Yedam and basketball. Hyunsuk would’ve never guessed that he’d get a girlfriend so soon.
Initially, Hyunsuk had seen this as an opportunity for things to settle between Doyoung and Yedam. He’d hoped that they’d use this change to move on from whatever it is that’s going on between them. They probably would’ve, if Doyoung didn’t continue looking at his best friend like that. If Yedam actually stuck around in their company long enough for him to display anything other than that dejected, exhausted expression. (But then again, it has been hard to tell exactly what’s been making Yedam so unhappy these days.)
Hyunsuk sighs. This isn’t going to end well.
-
There are many occasions as to which one could argue Jihoon being a positive influence on the people around him.
This, unfortunately, just isn’t one of them.
To cut Jihoon some slack, it’s admittedly not often that Hyunsuk actually allows his best friend to tempt him back to his old ways of skipping class, so Hyunsuk guesses he can accept partial blame. Knowing exactly how terrible it feels to be left alone, Hyunsuk does his best to shoot Ryujin an apologetic glance through the window when they pass his English class en route to the fields. It’s not well received, if he correctly interprets the coarse finger gesture she sends his way.
“I’m blaming you if we get caught.” Hyunsuk warns as they near the wiry fence separating them from freedom. It’s an empty threat; Hyunsuk knows full well that there’s no chance in hell that they’ll believe that Hyunsuk over Jihoon, considering his not too distant past.
Jihoon just laughs, a pretty sound. “And I’ll dutifully take the fall for you, your highness.”
In an active demonstration of his maturity, Hyunsuk retaliates with a playful shove that sends an off-balanced Jihoon flying. Choosing to ignore his subsequent yelp of surprise, Hyunsuk instead forces his way through the tiny hole in the fence that the school really should’ve fixed by now. On the other side, Hyunsuk’s glad to step onto the wide expanse of rimy green that contrasts the dull mossy colour of their school fields. He smiles, even the air feels different on this side of the fence.
Winter seems to have momentarily eased its intensity and the breeze is comfortable — teetering on the edge of brumal — as the pair of them take a seat somewhere where the grass isn’t too long. A familiar weight settles on Hyunsuk’s shoulder as Jihoon leans against him, and he feels his arm instinctively raise to run his fingers through his best friend’s hair.
For some reason, the fields are exceptionally empty today, so it’s just him and Jihoon for miles, along with their inevitable truancy sanctions trailing behind them. His heart is still doing that weird thing in his chest, and these days, he’s found his mind trailing back to their almost-kiss at the party whenever they’re silent for too long. Thankfully, Jihoon disrupts that from happening.
“Jaehyuk confessed to Asahi yesterday.”
Of all of the things Hyunsuk could have been expecting to hear, that is certainly not one of them. Jihoon says it out of nowhere, eyes staring off somewhere in the distance, like this isn’t the biggest, most unexpected deal that Hyunsuk has come across in the past six months. The information barely makes its way to the processing centres in Hyunsuk’s brain before his mouth is moving on its own accord.
“Jaehyuk likes Asahi?” He asks, incredulous, tone fluctuating. Much too unbothered for Hyunsuk’s liking, Jihoon just shrugs.
“Apparently.”
Hyunsuk blinks. He’d appreciate Jihoon helping him out here, a little. “Well, what did Asahi say?”
“I don’t know.” Jihoon muses, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets. “I don’t think he accepted it.”
Hyunsuk’s mouth snaps shut, and the quiet hum of the wind settles around them. “Huh.”
This makes no fucking sense. Jaehyuk’s way too emotionally unavailable for feelings, and Hyunsuk didn’t even know that he swung that way in the first place. Yet, the more Hyunsuk allows himself to ponder on the turn of events without leaning on his own prejudices regarding the two, he realises that this truly was a long time coming. Pulling Jaehyuk’s attention away from his phone is not a feat easily conquered, but these days, Jaehyuk spends more time staring at Asahi than his phone.
He wonders why Asahi rejected him. Anyone would accept a confession from someone like Jaehyuk in an instant, just go asking around, if you don’t believe him. It’s strikes Hyunsuk that Jaehyuk’s probably never been denied anything in his entire life, and it makes him curious to see how he’s taking it. He just hopes that the situation doesn’t impact their friendship because this is, quite literally, a disaster.
Hyunsuk hums. “Do you think they’ll be okay?”
Rather worryingly, Jihoon takes a long moment where he doesn’t say anything at all, before he’s finally quenching Hyunsuk’s anticipation. “Yeah.” He nods, slowly gaining confidence. “They’re still best friends, after all." The 'even if there’s something more going on.' echoes silently in his words.
Hyunsuk looks at Jihoon in all of his boyish charm, really looks, and realises that yeah;
They are.
Even if there’s something more going on.
-
Maybe, just maybe, Hyunsuk spoke too soon earlier because alas, the peace within club can only be maintained for so long. Approximately ten minutes prior to everything going nuclear — or more specifically, Mashiho’s meltdown — Hyunsuk had been responsibly leading a practice session for a cover due to be uploaded to their socials. It’s a stranger session than most, largely due to Junghwan’s terribly quiet presence in the far right corner of the room, and the complete lack of Yedam’s.
Perhaps Hyunsuk should’ve known that today wasn’t going to be as peaceful as he’d initially hoped. After all, starting practice with a sudden, partially unexplained departure from Yoshinori doesn’t exactly scream normal.
“I’m busy right now, mom.” Yoshinori had whispered from outside the practice room, in that unique blend of Japanese and Korean he uses when conversing with his family. A few moments passed where all they could hear was distorted garbling — the sound of Yoshinori’s mom on speakerphone — when a strained sigh traveled through the narrowly opened door. “When isn’t she missing? Why do I have to be there?”
By then, the members that had already arrived for practice did their best to appear as if they weren’t tuning into the single sided conversation, outwardly busying themselves with practice-typical tasks to mask their curiosity. Hyunsuk remembers how Yoshinori’s voice had raised in a way that he’d never heard before. “I know, but I’m tired of you guys dragging me into all of her drama. I have my own life to deal with.”
Making eye contact with Junkyu, Hyunsuk tilted his head questioningly to the side, while the latter just shrugged. From that point onwards, it had become difficult to discern exact words from the conversation, likely because Yoshinori had moved further away from the door connecting them. The garbling had continued for about thirty seconds longer, before it was abruptly cut off, silence seeping between the cracks and permeating the entire room.
Upon Yoshinori’s eventual return, they made sure not to make any move to indicate that they did just hear that entire conversation, instead letting him leave without so much as a single question when he announced that he predictably had to go.
Though Haruto and Jeongwoo have since then taken it upon themselves to provide the liveliness that they are all in dire need of, it’s far too empty. It’s odd how the absence of just two people can completely turn the room on its axis, and the only explanation Doyoung is able to offer for Yedam’s disappearance is that he’s unwell. Needless to say, it’s pretty unconvincing, what with Yedam’s recent behaviour.
It appears that they aren’t alone in this sentiment, because people are starting to talk. It’s only natural for people become very sensitive to change surrounding those that possess that level of social presence, and Hyunsuk is beginning to evidence of it in the halls; vague fragments of whispers that when strung together create warped variations of the truth. Well, whatever the truth even is. Lord knows Hyunsuk is still trying to figure it out.
Unfortunately, he is given no time to further ponder the fact, because Mashiho and Junkyu’s incessant bickering in the background seems to be escalating into a full-blown argument. Their little squabble had been relatively easy to tune out at first, but it only appears to be growing in intensity as they are allowed to continue with no intervention. Hyunsuk closes his eyes and breathes, attempting to cool the frustration brewing in his chest.
“She doesn’t let you out anymore!” Mashiho suddenly bursts, loud enough for all of them to hear.
Multiple heads turn as a result of the commotion, but Mashiho simply pays them no mind, otherwise staring Junkyu down in a stern type of anger that he rarely releases. For such a gentle soul, Mashiho certainly does not joke around when he’s mad. The fact that all of this is directed at Junkyu, of all people, makes the entire situation even more surreal.
“I can go out whenever I want.” Junkyu retorts, nose scrunching up in indignation.
Mashiho only snorts, totally uncaring of the volume thresholds his voice is currently breaching. “So where have you been these past few weeks?”
“Studyi-“ Junkyu begins, but is pitifully cut of by Mashiho, whose anger is now successfully elicited. He flips, his Japanese accent unexpectedly surfacing to accompany his frustrations. “Don’t even give me that bullshit, Junkyu. You’re eighteen fucking years old, for fuck’s sake! She isn’t your mom!”
A few of the kids clearly weren’t expecting Mashiho’s choice language to make an appearance with the way their eyebrows shoot up to the ceiling, but it only serves to harden Junkyu’s features. It doesn’t take long for the majority of them to piece together exactly what - or who, they’re arguing about. “Yeah, but she’s my girlfriend. I care about her opinion.”
“Her opin-“ Mashiho sounds incredulous. “So you wanna do whatever the fuck you want with me then go back to her?”
Wait, what?
“Don’t- it wasn’t-“
Mashiho stands, all eyes following him, all widened in an otherwise comedic concoction of surprise, horror and confusion. He swiftly turns to leave, muttering on his way out. “You don’t even understand what she’s doing, do you? You don’t understand what you’re doing.”
Neither does Hyunsuk, his mind helpfully adds, though it is still reeling and in recovery.
“Wait! Mashiho!” Junkyu calls after his best friend, scrambling to get to his own feet but by that time, the door’s already slamming heavily shut behind him.
What the fuck, the entire room is left wondering in total synchrony.